“Who’d you kill?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was young and foolish and oh, so arrogant. When I died, I was alone—a face pressed up against a window looking in at the world I used to know but couldn’t touch. I didn’t know about entering bodies then and could only watch helplessly as the people I used to know made terrible decisions. The person I cared the most about was another Fhrey, who, like me, also broke our sacred law. I wanted to be with him when he died, but once separated, I couldn’t find him. I looked everywhere. Then…well…I just kept heading west until I came to the land’s end, to this place, and here I stopped.”
“Nice place.”
“Yes, until the humans came. I tried to keep them out. Can’t do much without a body, but if I try really hard, I can make things move. I even possessed a few dead animals. Got a raccoon once. They have fingers, you know? Hands make all the difference and soon these will be too stiff to be of use. With hands I’m able to—” She stopped, refusing to look at him.
Said more than she wanted to. More than it wanted to, he corrected. This isn’t Nysa.
He was having trouble remembering that and had to remind himself that if he touched her skin it would be like ice.
“So you were Dul the Ghast’s nature spirit,” Royce said.
“Ugly, ugly man. Sunken eyes, looked just like a skeleton. I don’t know why I did it. I was lonely, I guess. He was up on top of this mountain crying and begging for help. They were starving to death, you see. Dul’s son and daughter had died, and his wife was sick. The whole lot of them wouldn’t have survived another month, so he climbed up and begged for help. I like it up here, nice view. I sat on top of the mountain often and was watching the sunset when Dul came up bawling and wailing. I’d started to leave when I heard him say, I know you’re there. I know you can hear me. Please help us. At that time, no one had spoken to me for centuries, but here this creepy little man was talking right to me. I don’t think I can explain how that felt—to be acknowledged after so long—to have someone recognize that you exist when even you had started to doubt.
“I didn’t know what I could do. I followed him home. Together we watched his wife die, and I performed my first miracle.”
“I take it she made an unexpected recovery.”
“Yes, as far as everyone else knew. There really wasn’t anything wrong with her, except the discomfort of acute hunger, the pain of losing her children, and a fever that was gone by the time I stepped in. Mostly, she’d just given up. People do that, more often than you’d think.”
“So the squirrel settled into the bird’s nest.”
“Yes, and with human hands, hands nearly like my own, I was able to—” She stopped herself again. “I was able to help them.”
“Did he know?”
“Oh yes. I set him straight right away. Did I mention how ugly Dul was? Didn’t want him touching me. I’ve never liked humans. Dirty, awful things. It’s why I never thought I’d find anyone to be with. Their kind can be so repulsive.”
You’re a talking corpse spitting up blood, and you think we’re repulsive?
“And yet you helped them.”
“Was nice being alive again, to be able to do things. I thought I had found a way to survive, but then he came.”
“He?”
“The rumors of my miracles had traveled all the way to Percepliquis. When he heard, he came looking for answers.”
“Who is he?”
“Perhaps the most remarkable human—no, person—I’ve ever met, and I’ve been around a long time. His name was Bran and he was looking for someone. Not me, as it turned out, but I think something led him here and brought us together. Bran recognized me the moment we met. Not specifically, not my name, but he said he knew what I was. What I’d done. He’d been taught about my sort and knew what to look for. He told me the most amazing story, about a woman named Brin. At first, I thought he was making it up, but he spoke of places where I had lived—oh, so long ago—and told stories that were handed down from this Brin. Then, just like Dul the Ghast, I started crying. I didn’t think I could anymore, but that story—Brin’s story—gave me hope.”
“What was this story?”
“That eternity isn’t nearly as long as I thought; that there will come a day when I’ll have a chance to redeem myself. That this time, these moments right now, are my chance to learn, to practice, and to improve. But most of all, that both Bran and Brin will be watching and rooting for me.”
“Are these people still alive? Are they Fhrey like you were?”
“No, they were human and both died thousands of years ago. So long ago that the monks who practically worship Brin as a demigod have most of her story wrong—so wrong they actually think she was a man. I’d set them straight, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
“If these two are dead, how can they be watching?”
Nysa’s lips smiled. “That’s a completely different story, and we don’t have time for it, either.”
“You said that before. What’s the rush? Why don’t we have much time?”
“Because this body is dead. The muscles are stiffening. I’ll have to leave it soon. You need to get me to the monastery.”
“Why? What’s at the abbey?”
“Nothing right now—but something will be.”
The trail was quickly turning into a mountain stream as the rain flash-flooded over rocks. Overhead, thunder boomed, rattling the trees. Scarlett had slowed down as the trail became a darkened tunnel, shrinking in on the sides, becoming the narrow footpath Hadrian remembered. They were halfway, possibly as much as three-quarters. He searched for landmarks, things he could remember, but in the storm everything looked different. Surely they were close to the top; the trees were getting shorter.
The crash of rain made it hard to hear anything, and Hadrian might have died if it hadn’t been for Scarlett. Despite her professed desire to escape him in her chase after Nysa Dulgath, she continued to look back—never more than a glance—but enough to see he was still there.
As they climbed into the shorter trees and low brush, lightning flashed while she looked back. She reined her horse and pointed. She wasn’t looking at Hadrian; her sight went past, focusing behind him. Wide eyes completed the story. Before she even yelled her warning, Hadrian had drawn his bastard sword and wheeled Dancer around.
Lord Fawkes and Sheriff Knox came rattling up the trail. They were both soaked, slick, and shiny. They had drawn their swords, bright silver in the lightning flash. Both showed white teeth in vicious grins.
“Deal with him, Sheriff,” Fawkes barked, letting Knox squeeze past.
“Keep going!” Hadrian shouted to Scarlett.
“There’s two of them,” she yelled back.
“I can handle two.”
“Maybe on a good day, but this isn’t a good day for you.”
She knew not to mention his ribs, not to even say he was hurt, but that’s what she meant. She refused to abandon him in the face of uneven odds.
“Trust me. I can handle this,” Hadrian told her.
“I remember you now,” Knox said, tucking the loose end of his sodden cloak into his belt after the fashion of some mercenaries. In the military, only officers wore them. Those that transitioned out brought their cloaks as status symbols but maintained the axiom that only fools fight with a flag on their back.