Chapter 8

Teren woke up in a cramped cell devoid of natural light. It was that unnatural awakening, where one couldn't figure out if he had been sleeping for hours or mere moments. 

There was a rat sharing his cell that kept trying to get close to him. But after a few missed kicks the vermin figured out it was best to keep some distance, scampering out of sight. Somehow, not knowing where it was made it worse.

He couldn't see the men on either side of him, but he could hear their shouts and hollers reverberating throughout the dungeon, which from what Teren could see was a long corridor of cells side by side. The flickering shadows of torchlight played across the stone-packed walls, reminding him of Spellhaunt. And how she had played him.

Teren sat in the dark, thinking about what he had done. And what had been done to him. He thought long and hard as the hours in the cell grew long, listening to nothing but the moans and shouts of his neighbors. Shame and rage coursed through him. He had been played. He had been played! The emotions bubbled up, threatening to burst out of his chest howling if he let them. 

Eventually, a man in ragged brown robes came for him. His hairless head and scowling face accentuated his gaunt features. Stepping into the torchlight revealed three wavy lines branded on his forehead. 

"Ah," said Teren. "You're that fellow who was working the Leygate."

Wavy Brand shook his head and sighed. "Great mess you have made."

He sat up. "Does my master know I'm here?"

The Kanibrir ignored the question. "You have committed great crimes in Merdz. Untold damage. But you were under orders from Prince to do so. This makes for interesting case, yes?"

"The people who traveled with me refused to go along with Prince Dirjir's plan. My crimes are mine alone, I want to be clear about that."

"No, if crimes were all yours then you would be dead already. Fault lies with the young Prince." The man took a key out of his sleeve

and unlocked Teren's cell. "But still. Spell is yours, so you must stop spell." 

Teren stretched his legs before stepping out. "Easier said than done."

"Curious expression. Most things are this way." He turned away, motioning at the rat who had been trying to pick at Teren. "I will give you a moment. Then we go."

The rat stood on its hind legs and nodded. Down at the end of the corridor a door unlatched, and a second branded man walked in. Behind him were four faces Teren couldn't meet eye to eye.

Rotwood rushed forward, pulling Teren into a back-breaking hug. "Damn it all, boy! You had us worried."

"Sorry."

He pulled back, gripping him by the shoulders. "You starting to understand why I didn't want you to do this?"

"Yes. Sorry."

Farstride leaned against the wall, exasperated. Her hair was spiked up like she had just rolled out of bed. "Sorry isn't going to solve this."

"I know. I'll make it right." He looked at the masters and the apprentices. "And I'm sorry I have to ask, but… I don't think I can do it alone."

Ronic grinned, throwing Teren the pack he had left in the palace. "Good thing you aren't."

…

Teren filled them in as Wavy Brand led them deeper into the tunnels underneath the city. The farther they went, the more natural the walls became. Sharp-cut stone gave way to naturally forming lava tubes triple his height. 

"So you caught yourself a ghost, thought it was a Gravecaller, but it was actually a Moonlight Apostle?" asked Baltry.

"Uh-huh. What I thought was deathcrafting was darktwisting illusions."

Rotwood pursed his lips, barely visible in the torchlit cave. "The dead can't tell you a fake name. She did go by Spellhaunt in life, so the next step is to gather some information and find out what she might be after." He glanced to the side, and a sharp scent filled Teren's nose. Rotwood nodded to something Teren couldn't see, and the smell dissipated. 

Teren cleared his throat. "Also, the curse upon the Maze District is funneling into Spellhaunt, then flowing into me through Spiritlink, and then powering the new curse that's raising the dead."

"Lovely," said Rotwood. "And let me guess– you can't shut it off now, and you aren't able to deathcraft at full strength."

"…Yeah."

Farstride cursed. "A Spiritlink should be far above your ability. Even Rot and I would have trouble pulling one off."

"So why is she doing this?" asked Baltry. 

"I don't know, but she told me she dreamed all of this happening, back when she was alive."

"That's ridiculous," Ronic scoffed. "Even the strongest Moonlight Apostle couldn't dream like that."

"And what they dream isn't set in stone," Rotwood added. "I think she might have been lying about that part, but until we know more let's just go along with it. She dreamed events happening, and what she dreamed has put her in the perfect situation to reclaim a body and do whatever it is she's trying to do here in the land of the living."

Teren ran his hand along the ancient volcanic tunnels, feeling their porous grooves. "She told me she was after power, but not the throne."

Wavy Brand glanced back at the five of them. "That seems true. Earlier in the day, Prince Dirjir's body asked me to ferry him off to Maio Karalz, a mountain village of no importance."

"And did you?"' demanded Farstride.

Wavy Brand scowled. "Yes? How could I know my Prince was a dead man walking!"

"If he left this morning then we should still be able to catch him," said Ronic. "Should we really be wasting our time down in these…" the words died on his lips as the group rounded a corner.

In front of them was an underground river. No, a canal. The lava tubes had been redirected to create it, complete with a pool of slack water where several wooden rowboats were moored to stalagmites. Wavy Brand motioned for them to get in, leaving the oars on the shore. "Come. I will take you upriver. You will find the Prince's body. You will solve this problem."

…

The boat ride was fast, upsettingly so. The Kanibrir's wavecalling had shot them upriver at such a pace that several times they nearly lost their packs–or themselves– over the side. Eventually the darkness gave way as they left the lava tunnels behind and emerged to find a more pleasant sight. 

They had left the crater city of Merdz behind for a roaring river of the most invigorating blue-green. It was surrounded by steep slopes full of boulders and pine trees, with a thin dirt path running alongside the river. A local leading several yaks stared as their boat sped on by. Baltry waved.

Every time they approached a set of rapids, Wavy Brand would raise his hand and the water would rise with them. Teren had a hard time enjoying the spectacle, unable to shake off the shame that coursed through his body. He closed his eyes, and Spellhaunt was staring back at him. Smiling with the face of a dead man. He shook his head rapidly and growled.

Ronic raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"

"I will be. Just have to fix this."

Farstride crossed her arms. "About that." She looked at Rotwood.

Rotwood sighed. "Teren, I explicitly told you there would be consequences for your actions. And there already has been. I think you understand that."

His mouth felt dry. "I do."

"Good. I said you'd lose the right to become a Gravecaller. And, well… You already have. Your strength is a fraction of what it was as long as you're connected to that curse."

Teren was silent. He fought to keep his expression neutral.

Rotwood sighed, rubbing his bald head. "But I'll tell you what. You fix the problem you made, you'll get your strength back. You get your strength back, I'll give you a title on the spot."

He mustered a smile for his master. "It's a deal then."

Ronic whooped, slapping Teren on the shoulder.

"That seems a bit too lenient," grumbled Farstride.

Rotwood nudged her playfully. "Compassion is the backbone of the Order of Remains. And that compassion isn't just for those who have gone ahead."

"Ugh. Ronic, please give me a reason to title you first."

"I already have!" he exclaimed. "Silentstep's perfect!"

She sighed. "Show me it works the field and I'll consider it."

Wavy Brand made a fist and held it out, slowly turning it. The boat began to slow down, coming to a stop below a bridge made of rope and wooden planks. The boat veered to the side, beaching itself gently. The Kanibrir stepped out and pointed at the dirt path that followed the river upstream. "Maio Karalz is not far. There is a beastbonder in village, man named Hokdul. He can contact me when you are finished."

Rotwood tilted his head. "You aren't coming with us?"

The gaunt man shook his head. "The Queen has summoned all at her disposal to bring order to the city. I must go before night falls, and when I do I will not hold back truths. I will tell the Queen what you've done, and where you are."

"But Teren was only doing what her son had asked of him!" argued Ronic. 

"Yes, and that is the reason I am giving you this chance." Wavy Brand stepped back into his boat. He crouched down, whispering to the water. In response the river around the wooden hull became unnaturally still. He glared at the five of them as his boat pushed off the shore. "In the Southrange, Kanibrir are not trusted. What you have done has washed away much progress." He shook his head ruefully. "Saintlanders. So… Barbaric!"

Teren didn't look at the boat as it sped away. He already had his pack on and was walking up the path. "Come on," he called back as he attempted to put his long hair into a bun. "We don't have a moment to spare." He glanced at the sun, well past high noon.

He didn't know how far they had traveled upriver, but it must have been quite a distance. The Crater City was well behind them, impossible to see from this vantage point. 

And the air was thin here.

It had been noticeable in Merdz, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on the cause at first. Teren had assumed it was part of ley travel or some bug and thought little more of it. But no, it had definitely been the air. And here it was worse. He found himself breathing twice as hard for what should have been a relatively easy hike. 

The path winded up the slope was a well-trodden dirt road. Teren took in the pine-covered slopes, so different from the landscape back home. He had never thought of Fendal as being flat. Decidual and the coasts, sure. But what of the hills of the Greenreach, that separated Iar from Fendal? How could anyone call the depths of that great forest flat?

Now he knew. These here were true mountains. Not gently rounded hills, but rugged and steep ridges, separated by that icy blue-green river roaring down below. It was such a different hue than the Mudmouth or Swampsplitter. This river here was fresh like the water came from the heavens itself. Teren supposed in a way it might, all the way up here where earth and sky met.

Far out in the distance, ridges went from dark green and light brown to a startling white contrasting with a deep grey. The peaks rose into the heavens like something out of a dream. He couldn't even conceive their size, or their height. Were they close, just beyond this ridge? Farther away surely, with the snow they were covered in. He shivered. How high up did something have to be to escape the warmth of the world? Here surrounded by the pines there was a brisk wind in the air, but the sun still beat down warm upon his neck. 

Few people walked the path, and their group drew stares from those who did. Not that Teren blamed them, as his party stared right back.

These were northerners. Far north from the looks of it, like the kind he had heard of in old stories. Men with hair like the orange and red of the fading day. Their eyes glinted an unnatural blue as they glanced at him from beneath floppy caps. They were smaller than most, yet the few men and women he saw carried absurd loads of wood on their backs that would have given any Fendali trouble. 

Ronic raised his eyebrows as an elderly woman outpaced him hauling a hefty load of lumber. "These people look nothing like the ones in Merdz. How far did that river take us?"

"Not that far," said Farstride. "These people must be of the Quia Boralz. They aren't native to the Southrange."

"Definitely from up North," mused Rotwood. "Far beyond the Roaming Nations, if I had to guess. They must think it strange, seeing people from the opposite side of the world out here in the middle of nowhere."

The village of Maio Karalz wasn't large, merely a dozen or so houses surrounded by terraced farmland. The slope it was built upon completely defined the entire layout, with all the buildings built parallel to it. They were rectangular and squat, with slate roofs and walls of mudstone. Aside from the doors they seemed completely devoid of wood, an oddity for someone used to Decidual's woodwhispered architecture. 

The fields were brown and barren, separated by stone walls. Cattle wandered through them lazily, cows and yaks and hybrids of the two, fertilizing the land for the crops of Waxing Spring.

A man stood in the road staring at them. Squat and pale, he was well into his years. His beard was red tinged with white, and blue eyes peeked out from underneath a fur cap with floppy earflaps. There was anger in his eyes and his stance, and Teren took note of the Rakji blade nestled in the waistbelt of his thick wool robe.

And the blood crusted under his fingernails.

Rotwood stepped forward smiling. "Hello. We're looking for a man who came by earlier today. A young Narabir, with a mustache and short curly hair?"

The man grimaced. "Feathered Prince Dirjir Pajirhut."

"Ah, so you have seen him!"

"Yes."

"…And could you tell us where he went?"

"Let us speak plain. I have eyes and ears in Merdz. I know who you are, I know what you have done."

Farstride crossed her arms. "And what exactly do you think we have done?"

"You are Saintlanders. Guests of the Prince. You raised the dead, for his ambition."

"I raised the dead," said Teren. "But my companions here warned me not to. We need to find the Prince so I can fix what I broke."

The man scratched his beard. Then he snorted and spat on the ground. "Follow". He went into a house, leaving the door open behind him.

Rotwood looked at Farstride. She shrugged, following him in.

Inside, Dirjir's body lay lifeless on the ground. 

Teren cursed, jumping back. 

Rotwood knelt to examine the body. There was blood soaked into his clothing, and deep cuts all over his face and arms. "This corpse is empty." He looked up. "Hello. Care to fill us in?"

"I came back from the fields early," said the man. "The door was ajar, and inside I found the Prince. Dead."

"Yes, good to know." Rotwood waved at the far corner of the room. "But I was talking to her." And with a snap of his fingers, the ghost materialized.

She was curled up in the corner, shivering. Tears ran down her cheeks. The poor girl couldn't have seen more than a dozen winters. 

The man gasped. He crouched down to embrace the girl, but his arms passed right through her. She looked up at him tearfully, and then began to bawl. 

They waited for them to finish their moment. Teren had a look around. The interior of the house was simple, merely a kitchen and a bedroom. The kitchen was the brunt of the building and included a dining table. In the middle of the was a clay stove. The fire in it had long gone out, and a teapot rested on top of it. Teren sniffed the contents before pouring himself a cup.

Ronic elbowed him discreetly. "Stop."

"What?" Teren whispered. "It was just sitting here."

The ghost was speaking to the man in a hushed tone. It didn't sound like the sharp narabric he had heard in Merdz. The words of this tongue had a weighted, slow drawl to them.

Rotwood listened from a distance. The dead held no secrets from him, no matter the language. "She says the Prince came alone, asking questions. He wanted to know the path to a monastery higher up in the mountains. She told him, and then he smiled at her funny, and then…" He sucked his teeth. "Spellhaunt's switched corpses. Maybe she hoped we'd see this one and just take it back with us. Or she didn't want the attention that comes with wearing the body of a royal."

Baltry tilted his head to the side. "A little kid walking through the mountains by herself? That'll draw attention, maybe leave a trail for us."

"Assuming she doesn't just keep changing bodies," growled Farstride.

"Spellhaunt isn't a deathcrafter. She's hopping bodies using residual energy left from Teren's spell." Rotwood looked at him. "You just had to have your petty revenge on that merchant, didn't you?"

"Sorry."

Rotwood tsked. "Sorry is all you can say, yet for some reason I don't believe you." He waved a hand, and the little girl began to fade away.

She cried out, and the man whispered to her softly as she faded away in his embrace. 

"Hate to cut things short, friend. But the dead have their world, and we have ours. And the sooner we find out where her body went, the sooner you can properly put her to rest."

The short man stood up. There were tears in his eyes when he looked at them. "This girl… I have known her since before she could walk. Explain to me. Why did this happen?"

"There was a spirit inside the body of the Prince," said Rotwood. "That spirit has moved into the body of the girl, and now we need to find it before it takes any more lives. Where exactly is this monastery the spirit was asking about?" 

"And why would it want to go there?" added Farstride.

"Karache Henuat. Hard journey for those not of the mountains." The man turned away. "Why anyone would want to go there? I know not."

"Your Sainted Tongue is great for someone living all the way out here," said Teren. "You wouldn't happen to be named Hokdul, would you?"

"Yes, I am him. My familiar lives in Merdz." He sniffed. "When he isn't receiving or taking messages, I have him listen to the talk of travelers. Easy way to learn much."

Farstride nodded. "We were supposed to have you contact a Kanibrir with a wave branded on his head when we had wrapped things up. Looks like we'll have to keep moving. Can you at least let Merdz know the Prince's body is ready for retrieval?"

"Already done. But you will never make it to Karache."

"It can't be that dangerous, can it?" asked Ronic.

"Mountain air can poison those not used to it. You must adjust, slow." Hokdul began rummaging through the kitchen until he had found what he was looking for– parchment, along with a clay jar with a quill sticking out of it. He started to write something down.

Rotwood peered over his shoulder. "Unfortunately, turning back isn't an option for us. We have a responsibility to uphold."

Hokdul finished what he was writing and stood up. "I will have to take you there. But you must listen at all times. We go too fast and you will get sick. Too slow, and we will lose the trail."

"One problem," said Ronic. "How far away is this place exactly? We aren't exactly prepared for a multi-day outdoor excursion."

"Hmm. Two days for me, but four for you to adjust. And it will take the spirit four days as well if he goes in Yavi's…" He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply. "But we must find her before that. Come. I will ensure you get bed and food. Kanibrir will pay your costs."

And without another word they headed out, leaving the Prince's discarded body behind.