Songreaver (21 page)

Matron Beeks looked taken aback. "This is the
novitiate assigned to the library, Matron Shelbie," she said.

"The library?" Matron Shelbie's eyes bulged
beneath her green-shadowed eyelids. "Who authorized this?"

"Matron Brix assigned him to me," Beeks said,
her voice losing a tiny bit of its softness, "Is there a
problem?"

Garrett suddenly realized who she was. Matron
Shelbie, Assistant to the High Priestess, had been the one to order
the necromancers' assets seized during the Northern Campaign. His
eyes hardened, but he said nothing,

Matron Shelbie scoffed. "This one is a...
necromancer... Serepheni's little pet," she said, "He is
not
to be trusted."

Matron Beeks pursed her lips before speaking
again. "This boy is an excellent scribe, and has proven himself
quite trustworthy in the past two months. I would vouch for him,
even if Matron Serepheni did not."

Matron Shelbie glared down at the shorter
woman, but Beeks stood her ground. Shelbie cast a contemptuous
glance at Garrett. "If you will not heed my warning, then keep him
at your peril," she said, "but I don't want him in the library
while my class is studying... they would find his freakish
appearance distracting."

The point of Garrett's quill snapped off
against the parchment, and a black stain spread from the tip.

Matron Beeks put her hand on Garrett's
shoulder and squeezed gently. "Yes, Matron Shelbie," she said.

Shelbie's eyes went toward a great column of
shelves in the center of the library. "And see that he has no
access to the restricted section," she said, "I will not have the
secrets of our order stolen from beneath my nose by the enemies of
the Church!"

"Yes, Matron Shelbie," Beeks said.

Matron Shelbie turned and swept away in a
flutter of green silk.

Matron Beeks sighed. "Pay her no mind," she
whispered, "... just finish quickly, and I will see you again
tomorrow."

Garrett nodded, not trusting himself to
speak. She patted him on the back and smiled at him before walking
away.

He wiped the broken quill clean with a rag
and picked up the little knife that lay beside the inkwell on the
desk. If anyone had been watching, they might have said that he
sharpened the quill with a bit too much enthusiasm.

****

Caleb stood motionless in the rainy street
outside the temple walls. Little rivulets of water poured off of
his black three-cornered hat and down his oilskin cloak. The heavy
satchel slung over his shoulder gave him a slightly lopsided
appearance.

"Is that him?" Banden asked. His green,
short-sleeved tunic, already soaked through, clung to the muscles
of his shoulders and chest. A little trickle of blood ran from the
cut on his elbow, all the way down to the wooden stave he held
clutched in his right hand. He kept twirling the club as though
ready to continue his sparring lessons at a moment's notice.

"Caleb!" Garrett called out, waving at the
zombie. His own purple, hooded cloak glistened darkly in the rain,
covering the neophyte greens he wore beneath.

Caleb lurched forward, slowly crossing the
street to where Banden and Garrett stood at the temple gates. He
groaned once in greeting and then stood still.

"Banden, this is Caleb, my zombie," Garrett
said.

Banden wiped the rain from his eyes with the
bruised knuckles of his left hand and grinned. "He's really dead,
isn't he?"

"Undead," Garrett said, reaching over to lift
the flap of Caleb's satchel and peer inside, "Looks like Marla was
able help us out." At least six full canisters of essence glowed
inside the leather bag.

"So he'll live like this forever?" Banden
asked. He reached out and touched one of Caleb's cold, pale
hands.

Caleb turned his milky eyes toward the boy
and moaned.

"Sorry," Banden said, stepping back.

"Yeah," Garrett said, "You want to come with
us? We're going to Marrowvyn to work with the ghouls."

"Nah," Banden said, "I've got class."

"What now?" Garrett asked, securing the flap
of Caleb's bag again.

"Laws and Tariffs," Banden said, "Not my
favorite."

"They let you bring your stick to class?"
Garrett asked, grinning.

"No," Banden said, swiping at the rain with
his club, "just trying to get in a little extra practice... I could
teach you. I bet I could get Matron Brix to let you have another
try at sparring."

Garrett laughed and shook his head. "No,
thanks!" he said, "You're the one who likes getting hit in the
head."

Banden frowned. "You don't get hit in the
head if you know what you're doing," he said.

"I guess I'd better stay away from sparring
class then," Garrett laughed.

"How come
you
don't have to go to all
the boring classes?" Banden asked.

Garrett shrugged. "I don't think they want me
learning anything," he said.

"Huh?"

Garrett looked back at the temple gates and
lowered his voice. "A Matron by the name of Shelbie came by the
library today and tried to convince them to get rid of me. She
really hates necromancers for some reason and doesn't want me here
at all."

Banden shrugged. "What are you going to do?"
he asked.

Garrett chuckled. "I guess the worst thing
she can do is get me thrown out," he said, "Then I wouldn't have to
come here anymore."

Banden looked troubled. "I thought you liked
it here," he said.

"It's all right, I guess," Garrett said, "I
like the library well enough, but I'm mainly here because my
friends asked me to do this for them."

"Oh," Banden said.

"You like it here though, don't you?" Garrett
asked.

"Yeah," Banden said, "I really do. It's way
bigger than the monastery back in Astorra, but it's kinda the same.
Mauravant likes worms a lot more than Masza does though."

"Who's Masza?" Garrett asked.

"The Old God," Banden said, "I thought
everybody knew that."

"I don't know," Garrett said, "My family was
never that religious, and, since I came to Wythr, all I ever hear
about god-wise is Malleatus and Mauravant."

"My sister and the monks taught me some,"
Banden said, "but I wasn't supposed to start my real studies at the
monastery until next year. I kinda had the feeling that she didn't
want me to be a monk though." He fell silent and stared out into
the rainy street.

Garrett looked at his friend, knowing the
hurt he was feeling but not the cure for it. "Hey," Garrett said,
"I'll see you tomorrow."

Banden sniffed. "Yeah," he said, "have fun
with your magic practice."

"Thanks," Garrett said.

****

Warren and the other ghouls waited in the old
grain mill that Garrett had chosen for their meeting place. Though
partially collapsed, like many of the buildings in the subterranean
city of Marrowvyn, most of the stone structure remained intact, and
the old grindstone in the center of the building made for a
resilient and non-flammable target. They greeted Garrett warmly
upon his arrival, and Diggs and Scupp were the first to swarm poor
Caleb, anxious to get their paws on the essence flasks that he
carried.

Garrett smiled and gave Lampwicke a little
wave. Her cage sat nearby, atop a moldy crate that Warren had
dragged in from somewhere. The book of Fae magic that Max had given
him, recently rediscovered in one of the auction house crates, lay
beside her cage. The little fairy waved back, glowing a rosy pink
at the sight of him.

"Thanks for bringing Lampwicke," Garrett
said, nodding at Warren, "I didn't think I was gonna be able to
make it home and back before class."

"Yeah, no problem," Warren said. He pulled a
flask from Caleb's bag and worked the nozzle open, sniffing at the
glowing liquid inside.

Garrett walked over to Lampwicke's cage and
pulled the scrap of parchment from his shoulder bag and showed it
to her. "I found this in the library today," he said, "Do you think
it will work?"

Lampwicke's shining eyes followed along the
lines of text that he had transcribed from the book. She smiled
then and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe work," she said.

Garrett grinned. "I guess I'll try it first,"
he said.

Garrett turned to face the scorched millstone
in the center of the room and cleared his throat. Diggs, who was
trying to stick his long tongue down the nozzle of his essence
flask, suddenly looked up and scurried out of the line of fire.

Garrett held up the scrap of parchment and
studied the words he had written. He made a guess at their
pronunciation. "
Ghe'haalan jegro thu'uhla
," he said, then
looked at Lampwicke for confirmation.

"
Jheghaaro the'Uhla
," she corrected
him.

Garrett whispered the words again under his
breath, committing them to memory. He focused his concentration on
the old millstone and pulled the essence flask from his bag.

"
Ghe'haalan jheghaaro the'Uhla
," he
shouted, thrusting his free hand out toward the stone.

Suddenly a cloud of green butterflies erupted
from his fingertips, dancing away toward the target stone. As they
moved away from his hand, they changed in color, shimmering in blue
and yellow with flashes of red and purple. Many of them landed on
the stone, fluttering their bright wings, as others disappeared
through the dark windows of the old mill into the darkness of the
ghoul city beyond.

Garrett gasped in surprise even as Lampwicke
clapped her hands together, chattering with laughter.

"My turn!" Diggs cried, shouldering Garrett
aside, "What's those words again?"

Garrett repeated them, again and again, until
the ghoul seemed able to parrot them back with a passable Fae
accent.

Diggs's hairy face twisted with concentration
as he shooed Garrett away and brought the essence flask to his lips
and took a long drink. The ghoul shuddered as the glowing green
essence ran down his throat, and a shiver ran across his brindle
fur.

"
Ghe'uulan ziggaro Thualla!
" the ghoul
shouted, and a cloud of green mist belched from his jaws,
coalescing into a swarm of dirty green moths that flew away in
random directions.

Warren, Scupp and the other ghouls hooted
with laughter as Diggs wiped his lips with a shaggy forearm.

"That was wicked!" Diggs said, baring his
long teeth in a wide grin.

"Pretty good," Garrett said, fighting back a
wave of nausea. He was still not used to the ghouls' technique of
drinking the essence first. Still, it seemed the only way they were
capable of wielding its magic. He had tried for a week to show them
how a human sorcerer could draw the magic directly from the essence
through the metal of the canister, but none of them could do it. He
had been about to give up altogether when Diggs had gotten curious
and decided to taste the rendered beetle essence within the
flask.

"So, how is that supposed to help us fight a
demon?" Warren asked.

Garrett shrugged. "I don't know," he said,
"I'm just trying to teach you guys magic as I figure it out. I just
wanted to try something new."

Warren raised his eyebrows. "Well, I guess
coughing up bugs is a neat trick," he said, "but I really just want
to learn how to kill bad guys."

Garrett frowned. "All right," he said, "Do
you guys just want to practice your
faefire
?"

"Yeah," Warren said, "unless you've got
something on that paper about
flying swords of death
or
something."

"No," Garrett said, "just butterflies."

"So fire then," Warren said.

Garrett nodded and went over to climb up
beside Lampwicke on the crate. The old wooden box creaked a little
beneath him, but it held. He sat and watched as the ghouls took
turns lighting up the old mill with bursts of rainbow flame,
banishing the eternal chill of the buried city with its unnatural
heat. Lampwicke had taught them that, how to make the flames burn
hot. Garrett did not care for that version of the spell. He
preferred his flames a bit less dangerous.

A tiny cough drew his attention, and he
looked down at Lampwicke. "Are you sick?" he asked.

Lampwicke smiled up at him, stifling another
cough. "I just am...
house-sick
," she said, "since a little
while I was staying at river man's home."

"Homesick?" Garrett said.

"Yes... homesick," Lampwicke said, her eyes
turning again to the practicing ghouls. She giggled at Diggs as he
yelped and tried to beat out the tongue of green flame that was
swiftly epilating his tail.

"How far away is your homeland?" Garrett
asked, "I could try to find a way to take you back."

Lampwicke looked at him, her blue eyes
flashing with a sudden hope, then their light faded as she looked
away. "No, Garrett," she said, grasping the bars of her cage, "If
see my forest again, and not fly free... I would die. I know
this."

Garrett fell silent, watching the ghouls
practice their magic, but his mind drifted, searching for a
solution to Lampwicke's curse.

"Hey," he said, "I know someone I'd like you
to meet."

****

A chill ran through Garrett as he walked
through the last tunnel before he reached Annalien's house. A dim
glow of sunlight spilled through the tunnel's mouth ahead, and with
it, the faint sound of music and the laughter of many voices. He
stopped, clutching Lampwicke's cage tightly in his hands, and
looked back at Caleb for reassurance.

The zombie bumped into him before coming to a
stop as well. Caleb narrowed his milky eyes and moaned
questioningly.

"I don't know," Garrett whispered. He cocked
his head, straining to hear. He thought he caught snatches of words
in a language that sounded like Fae, but not quite. The music grew
louder, and the light flared, filling the tunnel with golden
light.