Songreaver (17 page)

"Let me see her," Uncle Tinjin said.

Lord Ignasio held out the bundle, his hands
trembling.

Uncle Tinjin pulled back the corner of the
blue blanket to reveal a little tuft of black and white fur. He
smiled sadly as he passed his fingers over the little animal's neck
and face. "She was a beautiful little dog," he said, "What was her
name?"

"Her name is Branni," Lord Ignasio said.

Uncle folded the blanket closed again and
shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "but there isn't any way to
bring Branni back. You must let her go."

The old man looked at the floor. "No," he
said, "I can't accept that. If it is a question of money..."

"No," Tinjin said, "it isn't about money. I
don't know what you've heard about necromancers, but we simply do
not have the power to bring back your loved ones. Remember who she
was and be happy in that, but you must let her go."

"But I've seen the dead walk again," Ignasio
protested, "I know you have the power!"

"I can only cause the body to move again,"
Tinjin said, "to
pretend
at life, but it would not be
Branni, it would only be her body. Everything that made her the dog
you loved is already gone, her personality, her compassion, her
love for you in return... I cannot bring that back."

"But it's been done before," Lord Ignasio
said, "When Lord Charington's wife fell ill and died, a necromancer
helped her. They say she can even dance again."

"What?" Uncle Tinjin said.

"It's true!" Lord Ignasio continued, "She
looks as hale and rosy as her wedding day, or so I'm told."

"What necromancer did this?" Tinjin
asked.

Lord Ignasio thought for a moment. "Martin?
No, something like that."

"Marsten?" Uncle Tinjin said, his voice flat
and cold.

"Yes! That's the one!" Lord Ignasio said,
"They say he has the power to help those in need. I would have
sought him out first, but you came so highly recommended."

Uncle Tinjin dragged the cowl from off his
head and ran his fingers through his thin hair. "Marsten is here,
in Wythr?" he asked.

"Yes, or so I've heard," Lord Ignasio said,
"Should I seek out his services instead?"

Anger flashed in Tinjin's eyes but quickly
faded. "I swear to you," he said, "That nothing that I, or any
other necromancer can do will ever truly bring your Branni back to
you."

Lord Ignasio looked down at the little
cloth-wrapped bundle. He said nothing for a long while. A single
tear fell upon the blue cloth in his hands. "I will accept anything
that reminds me of how she was," he whispered, "even if it is only
a lie."

"It
will
be a lie, you know that,
don't you?" Tinjin asked.

Lord Ignasio nodded, a tear running down his
cheek.

Uncle Tinjin got to his feet. "Give her to
me," he said.

The old man hesitated a moment and then
softly kissed the little bundle in his hands before surrendering it
to the necromancer.

Uncle Tinjin bowed his head and walked out
into the hall with Branni's body in his arms.

Garrett started to follow, but Uncle shook
his head. Garrett watched his uncle walk to the end of the hallway,
but, rather than taking the stairs down to the laboratory, he
turned and disappeared into the study, shutting the door behind
him. Garrett peered around the corner to see the flask of essence
still sitting on the table by the front door.

"Is something wrong?" Lord Ignasio asked.

"Huh?" Garrett said, "Oh, no. It's just...
nothing."

The old man dried his eyes and managed a thin
smile. "I know it must seem awfully foolish to you... getting so
attached to an animal."

"No," Garrett said, "I understand,
really."

"Do you have any pets?" Lord Ignasio
asked.

"I have a fairy... or I did," Garrett said,
"but they sold her in an auction, and I haven't been able to find
out who bought her."

"Oh, yes, terrible mistake that auction,"
Lord Ignasio said, "Of course, you must understand that we thought
you were all dead. Otherwise, we would have never.... you know." He
sighed. "There was this lovely collection of wood carvings, but I
was outbid by that brewer chap..."

Garrett smiled politely and rocked back and
forth on his heels.

"Wait now," Lord Ignasio said, "You say your
fairy went to auction?"

"Yes," Garrett said, feeling a sudden flicker
of hope within.

"I remember it now. There
was
a fairy.
Went for quite a lot, as I recall," Lord Ignasio said.

"Where did she go?" Garrett gasped.

"Ah... to that Zhadeen fellow," Lord Ignasio
said.

"Zhadeen?" Garrett asked, his heart sinking,
"From Zhad?"

"Yes, his name is Chaille."

Garrett felt sick to his stomach. "Do you
know where I can find them? Do you think they've left the city
yet?"

Lord Ignasio laughed. "Don't worry, boy," he
said, "I'm certain that Ambassador Chaille is still at the embassy.
He never leaves, except for parties... and auctions, I
suppose."

"Thank you!" Garrett said. It felt as though
a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. He wanted to ask
more, but the door to Uncle's study creaked open, and then
something extraordinary happened.

A little black and white dog ran down the
hall and skittered around the corner, her paws slipping on the
hardwood floor. With an excited bark, she leapt into Lord Ignasio's
arms.

The old man broke down in tears, hugging the
little dog to his chest as she licked his face and wagged her tail.
Garrett watched in disbelief, unable to speak.

Footsteps in the hall drew Garrett's
attention, and he turned to see Uncle Tinjin standing there with a
hollow, devastated look on his face. In his hand, the old
necromancer held an empty glass jar.

Garrett looked at the dog again, and Branni
turned her face toward him, giving him a happy bark. Her little
eyes flashed, and the patches of white on her fur seemed almost to
sparkle with an unnatural brightness. Garrett struggled to contain
his own emotions and had to look away to keep from crying.

When Lord Ignasio was at last able to speak,
he looked at Uncle Tinjin and cried out, "You've done it! You've
done it! Thank you!"

Uncle Tinjin Stumbled forward, and Garrett
rushed to catch him before he fell. The empty glass jar that once
held the lake stone sand rolled away across the floor. Garrett
helped his uncle to a nearby chair, and Tinjin collapsed into it,
his eyes fluttering.

"You are a true master, Sir Necromancer!"
Lord Ignasio said, burying his face in Branni's fur, "Tell me how
much I owe you, and I will double it! Triple it!"

Uncle Tinjin groaned. "No!" he shouted, his
voice strained and thin, "I'll take no pay for this! Go now, and
never speak of this to anyone!"

Lord Ignasio stared back at him in
astonishment. "But I must pay you something..." he said.

"Leave me!" Uncle Tinjin hissed, leveling a
bony finger at the nobleman's chest, "And know this, the day you
tell
anyone
what happened here is the day I take back what I
have given!"

Lord Ignasio clutched Branni to his chest in
terror and fled from the room.

The little dog looked back over Lord
Ignasio's shoulder as they raced down the front steps, and barked
happily. They disappeared into the carriage and rolled away down
the street.

Garrett shut the door and returned to the
parlor where Uncle Tinjin sat with his face in his hands.

"How did you do that?" Garrett asked.

Tinjin shook his head. "I don't know," he
whispered, "I don't even know
why
I did it... It just seemed
right
somehow."

"You really brought it back to life, didn't
you?" Garrett asked.

Uncle shook his head. "I don't know," he
said, "I don't know what that was."

"It looked alive to me," Garrett said, "maybe
a bit... shinier."

Uncle Tinjin groaned and laid his head back
on the chair. "
What have I done?
" he said.

"Uncle Tinjin, that was amazing!" Garrett
said, "I'll bet no one's ever done anything like that before!"

"No," he said, "They haven't... and it can
never be undone."

"What's wrong?" Garrett asked, "Why aren't
you happy?"

Uncle Tinjin rubbed his eyes and looked at
Garrett. "Suppose," he said, "that man goes out and tells everyone
that necromancers have to power to bring people back from the dead?
What happens then?"

Garrett shrugged. "Well, we sorta do... now,
thanks to you."

"No, Garrett," Uncle said, "We just have the
knowledge of
how
it can be done. I risked my life to obtain
a sample of sand large enough to reanimate one small dog. We
already know that at least two factions of killers are vying for
control of this resource. Imagine what will happen if everyone in
the world learns what it can do?"

Garrett waved his arms. "So, what?" he asked,
"Should we just pretend that didn't happen? I mean, isn't this
exactly what you've been trying to do all along?"

Uncle Tinjin stared at the floor for a long
while. "No, Garrett," he said, "I think I've been trying to prove
that it
couldn't
be done, because, if it can then..."

"Then what?" Garrett asked.

Uncle Tinjin buried his face in the crook of
his arm and wept.

By the time Garrett came back with a blanket,
the old necromancer was already asleep.

Garrett sat beside Warren on the shore of
Brunnog's Lake, the ghouls' name for the place where one of the
city's underground storm drains had long ago dammed up with debris,
forming a deep black pond. It was a great place to fish for sewer
carp or just to sit and think things through.

"So, your uncle is all right?" Warren asked.
The ghoul scratched absently at the sticky patch of grave mold that
Ymowyn had smeared along the burn on his jawline. A similar
greenish-gray patch covered the wound on his arm.

"Yeah, just pretty tired... he's been sick,"
Garrett said. He wanted to say more, but Uncle had sworn him to
silence on the matter of the dog.

"He musta been pretty mad when he found out
the church took all his stuff," Warren said.

"Not as much as you'd think," Garrett said,
"Cenick sure was mad though when he found out someone had tried to
use his haunted root collection to make beer."

Warren snorted. "Really?"

"Yeah," Garrett said, "He's warning everybody
to stay away from the taverns in the Lower City for at least a
year."

Warren laughed, then fell silent, staring out
over the dark surface of the lake. Snowflakes drifted softly down a
little shaft of daylight from a drain somewhere in the roof high
above. Silver ripples danced on the black water where the light
touched it.

"You sure your dad is gonna be all right?"
Garrett asked.

Warren nodded. "Uncle Raikjaa is a great
healer," he said, then looked around the chamber to be sure they
were alone before continuing, "...not a very nice guy sometimes,
and Norris gives me the jibblies, but Uncle Raik knows his
business."

"How do they change themselves to look like
humans?" Garrett asked.

"That's
white wolf magic
," Warren
said, "Nemre's work. Dad was never much into it. Says that, if you
start puttin' on other people's faces, you wind up forgettin' who
you
are."

"So, Raikjaa is really your dad's brother?"
Garrett asked.

"Half brother," Warren said, "same mom,
different dads."

"Oh," Garrett said, "How does your uncle know
Miss Ymowyn?"

Warren looked around again and lowered his
voice, "Now that's
really
weird. They act like they know
each other from way back, but she doesn't want anything to do with
him."

"Why did your uncle say that she
called
him
?"

Warren shook his head. "She must've sent word
to him when she knew the redjacks were gonna catch her. She didn't
know me and dad and the others were already on our way."

"She got caught?" Garrett asked.

"Yeah, we were right about the Inquisitor
having some sort of magic
finding out stuff
spell," Warren
said, "By the time we got there, they were haulin' people out of
their homes in the middle of the night for all sorts of reasons and
draggin' 'em down for trial in the morning. The whole city stank of
burnt people when we showed up.

"I was jumpin' outta my skin, worried about
her, but Dad sniffed her out. They had her locked up in a cell,
ready to burn her as soon as they had a pole free. Me and Dad tore
through those guards like a two-copper shroud." Warren paused,
grinning at the memory. "Ah, Gar, she looked so glad to see us...
wouldn't stop cryin' and huggin' me... Anyway, we thought we'd got
free, but then, outta nowhere, the creepin' Inquisitor himself
shows up, screamin' mad!"

"Prex?" Garrett said.

"Yeah, all decked out in gold armor with this
big hammer, yellin' and pointin' at us, calling us
demonspawn
! Dad tells him exactly what he's gonna do with
that hammer, and that shuts Prex up fast. Bad thing though, there
was about twenty redjacks between Dad and old Torchy. That don't
matter much to Dad, he's got his blood up by now, and, when he's
like that, you'd think Raikjaa was
his
little brother. Prex
sees the odds startin' to turn, and he runs for it, but not before
he chucks some sort of spell at Dad."

"A spell?"

Warren grimaced. "Like a ball o' nighttime...
hits Dad square in the snout, and he yells like it burns really
bad, but he shrugs it off and keeps after Prex. He got away though,
and Dad says we can't waste any more time on him, so we run.

"We made it all the way out of the city and
into the woods, what woods there are in Astorra, and we run like
our tails are lit. We don't slow down to catch our breath 'till we
reach Gloar, thinking we made it clean. That's when the
real
demons showed up." Warren shivered.