Shon leaned back in a large, cushioned armchair, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, and began to wrap his father’s miraculous wire back around its spool. His fingers were numb where he had held prolonged contact with the wire, and his head was swimming from the pure stimulation overload of the last six hours, but despite all of that, Shon felt amazing.

“Tarun and Seth met up with the messengers I sent to them, and now they’re on their way here,” Shon said. He stretched and rolled his shoulders, then took a sip of the mint tea that had gone cold while he was concentrating on listening to the thoughts of his friends a few miles away. It wasn’t the farthest distance his magic had been able to reach that night. His maximum reach so far was when he had managed to contact Aluanna and her satyrs. They had been over two leagues away by Shon’s estimate. And although the connection had been hazy and left him feeling strained, there was no denying they had gotten his message, and he had been able to hear their response.

“Are you sure the delay was absolutely necessary?” asked the large minotaur necromancer sitting on a comically small wooden stool next to Shon. Vdekshi had offered his own enormous chair to Shon as a sign of respect and as well as an attempt to make amends for his mistreatment in the dungeon. Shon didn’t dare refuse him at the time, but the longer the two of them sat in their respective seats, the more ridiculous he was convinced they must look.

“It was important they receive all the information they could, directly from the source,” replied Shon. “There has already been enough grief caused among us due to misinformation and half-truths. I may not be able to command undead armies, but at least I can use my magic to finally get to the bottom of things here. Has it always been this dysfunctional between you and your underlings?”

“Allowing my servants to retain some degree of freedom while still assuring their obedience has always been a…” Vdekshi took in a deep breath as he searched for the right words. “…a test in patience and balance. It’s a test I fear I failed far more than I ever realized.”

“Well, I won’t say you’re wrong about that,” said Shon. “But I doubt it would be fair to put all the blame on you. It seems like everyone who works for you has been secretly serving Gravine all these years.” At the mention of the name, there was an angry hiss from the crystal in Vdekshi’s staff, and the minotaur gave it a hard thump on the floor to silence it.

“Do we really want to have that thing in here with us?” Shon asked. “There are lots of things I’d like to tell you, but I don’t dare share too much with Old Green and Nasty listening in. Couldn’t we have left it down in the dungeon?”

“That would be far more dangerous than you realize,” Vdekshi replied. “Especially considering what you’ve told me about how eager my servants are to betray me. If one of them willingly wielded the power of Gravine, they would be all but unstoppable. And I promise you that none of them would show the kind of restraint that I’ve exercised these past decades. Any one of them could use a mere fraction of his power to bring ruin and destruction on this whole land, and all my self-sacrifice these many years would be for nothing in the end.”

“Well hopefully once my friends arrive, there won’t have to be any more sacrifice,” Shon said, “of yourself or anyone else.”

“I hardly dare to hope,” said Vdekshi, his weight making the wooden stool creak. “What you say seems to confirm what my sources reported. Your friend Tarun was poisoned by the dragon and yet somehow lived. That alone gives me more hope than I’ve had in decades. Yet even now I fear that some other sinister joke of fate will prevent your friends from arriving, even as they’re finally so close.”

“You know even when I’m not trying to listen to your thoughts, you broadcast them quite loudly,” Shon said. “I know you’re feeling frustrated and nervous that I sent Tarun and Seth on that detour. I know that you wish they were here already. But I need you to trust me that I believe it really was necessary before they arrived here.”

Vdekshi let out a snort from his great nostrils, and Shon suspected there may have been the sound of a small chuckle mixed in with the great outgoing air. “Honestly I had forgotten for a moment that you could read my mind,” said Vdekshi. “It’s refreshing to speak with someone who isn’t trying to manipulate me, beg for their life, or mock me. It’s as if my ears had forgotten what true honesty sounded like.” Vdekshi stood up from the wooden stool, which seemed to quietly groan in relief. “I do believe you Shon, and I thank you for helping to facilitate this meeting.”

“Don’t be too quick to thank me,” said Shon. “They’re not here yet, and I’d rather wait until they are before we go brewing another kettle of tea. You may have ordered all of your forces back here to the stronghold, but the thoughts I’m picking up around here are incredibly angry and looking for any excuse to tear me and my friends from soul to sternum.”

“I’m afraid that’s nothing new,” Vdekshi replied. “Every one of my servants has wanted to do the same to me all along. But don’t worry. This room isn’t simply a parlor. It’s my personal sanctuary. I’ve laid down runes and built wards to make it the safest room in the entire stronghold. Even if I were to lose my concentration and my control over Gravine were to slip, there’s nothing that could threaten us from outside these walls, or from within.”

Shon tried to relax as he sat back in the oversized chair and took another large drink of the tea. He had swallowed half the mouthful when he was suddenly aware of a presence that made his blood run cold and knocked all the air from his lungs. He tried to cry out in alarm, but instead merely dribbled the rest of the tea down his chin and onto his clothes.

Even without the sound of a scream, Vdekshi had no trouble recognizing Shon’s expression of terror. The color had drained out of his face, and the wet spot on the young wizard’s lap seemed to indicate that he had either spilled his tea in alarm, or perhaps even wet himself. Either way, something had obviously shaken him. “What’s the matter?” Vdekshi asked.

Shon shook his head slowly and then looked at Vdekshi with wide eyes. He didn’t say anything, not even with his mind. He simply raised a finger to his lips to indicate the need for quiet. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and slumped to the floor.

Somehow, an old nightmare had followed Shon, even while he was wide awake.

***

Gravine fumed and cursed within his emerald prison, when suddenly he heard the deafening sound of a crack. In the moment of silence that followed, Gravine felt the first genuine fear he had experienced in nearly a century.

As much as he loathed his prison, he was far more afraid of anything powerful enough to penetrate it. In the thousands of years it had held him, it had only cracked once. Gravine hoped desperately that the source of this one wouldn’t be the same as the first. The moment the silence was broken, he knew he had hoped in vain.

“I am displeased with the current situation,” said a voice. Though the source of voice was clearly far away, once it entered through the crack, it began to echo off the endless facets of walls within the crystal prison, so it seemed to come at Gravine from every direction, including from within his own center. “And I am disappointed in you.”

The audacity of this last statement was enough to rouse the pride in Gravine to overcome his fear. “Disappointed?” Gravine hissed. “That’s a rather odd complaint considering the last time we spoke you said we were enemies. Why should I care if I’ve disappointed an enemy?”

There was a harsh, hard, booming laugh, and the hairline crack in the prison seemed for a brief moment to spread out in a thousand directions at once. “You were never worthy to be my enemy. It was the ox I was grooming for my war. You were merely to be his tool. And yet you even managed to fail at that.”

“A tool?!” Gravine shrieked. “How dare you? Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You are Gravine Korbrim, of the Third Age,” replied the voice. Though the volume was still deafening, the tone was now bored. “You were mediocre for your time, as far as necromancer tyrants go, but you had a decent run. Compared to your contemporaries, the most remarkable thing about you is that you managed to be just noteworthy enough to merit magical imprisonment, and yet so laughably forgettable that no one ever bothered to go on a quest to either free you or finish you off before that age of legends faded away. You’re a muddy little catfish who managed to outlive the extinction of all the barracudas and sturgeons of the world. And with your betters all gone, you now feel like a mighty monster among the minnows of this current age.”

“So yes,” said the voice with relish, “I’m well aware of who you are.” The hatred Gravine felt for this interloper seethed and boiled, but he could not think of a single retort. It seemed that any response at all would merely make him seem petulant and small. The words had cut him deep, and not one of them had been false.

“I’m also the only one who knows the truth about your current situation, little scavenger. That for all of your relative power, you would have remained little more than a sad and forgotten relic if I hadn’t orchestrated the means of your escape from that monastery. I was quite generous to you that day. In one simple master stroke, I provided you with more freedom than you’d enjoyed in centuries, not to mention a young protege to carry on your legacy and make you important for once. And for all that, I only wanted one thing in return.”

“You expected me to be the servant of a stinking minotaur child,” muttered Gravine.

“I expected you to do as you were told!” roared the voice. “I told you to make yourself indispensable to the ox. I told you to keep him alive and give him intoxicating amounts of power. I told you to sink your hooks into him so deeply that he feared he would die without your help. I told you to make him the mightiest necromancer of this age, while ever dependent on you. And you squandered it all with pointless scheming and intrigue.”

Gravine quailed as the fissures in his prison multiplied a hundredfold during the chastisement. All remaining pride that had fueled his defiance up to that point seemed to shatter in an instant. “No, you don’t understand! I was trying to do even more than you asked,” groveled Gravine. “My machinations and plans have been to find someone even more worthy to be your enemy. At this very moment I have a candidate I’ve been grooming for years to be my new successor. He is a hundred times more qualified than that fat, hairy, dimwitted yokel from the middle of-”

“I am not interested in sycophants or lackeys,” the voice interrupted. “Nor do I have any intention of wasting my time and energy explaining my decisions to the likes of you. The effort required to breach your imprisonment is an effort, even for me, and I am weary of this exchange. I sensed that things had gone awry here, and I came to see if the situation could still be salvaged from this mess. It is clear that due to your incompetence, and perhaps some outside influence as well, that all my carefully laid plans for the ox have been wasted. You cannot fathom how much this angers me. He was to be one of the chief among my most significant enemies. One of only a very few who I have foreseen with the potential to sufficiently contend with me through a thousand years of war. And you threw all that away to play with your puppets.”

“You disgust me, little parasite. And I am done with you. I will not even waste the time and energy to destroy you, because it’s clear you will soon do that yourself. And besides, I now have other plans that need to be accelerated.”

“Wait!” Gravine begged. “Please, Lord Creed let me explain-” But Gravine’s words were cut off as he felt pain for the first time since losing his body. It stabbed into his very center, and it felt as if something broke inside his soul.

“You,” said the voice in a tone as cold as ice and sharp as obsidian, “are not allowed to say my name.” The cracks in the prison were now spreading in weblike patterns under the weight of Creed’s fury. “Of all the oaths you made to me, that was the first, and most important. It was the foundation of every oath you made since. You have now broken every oath to me. Your word and your name mean nothing. As such, every oath made in your name from that day to this is now null and void.” And then the voice was gone.

***

Vdekshi watched dumbfounded as the impossible seemed to be happening all around him. The unbreakable crystal in his staff was cracking. The eternal oaths that bound his servants to his will were unravelling. The magical energies that had sustained his life for so long were bleeding out of him. Outside, he could hear the moaning and raging of the undead who were no longer under his control. On the other side of the door, he heard the pounding of a dozen relentless fists.

“Shon, what’s going on?” Vdekshi asked when the wizard finally started to move again. “This rune I inscribed on the floor should have been potent enough to ward off a demon, and it just burned away like parchment.”

When Shon looked up, Vdekshi could see that not only had the color returned to his face, it had been replaced by a red nearly deep enough to match his robe. Shon didn’t move his lips, but he heard Shon’s words burn in his mind.

“Who is Creed?”

Vdekshi Art by Ryan Salway

Illustration of Shon by Ryan Salway

“What was that sound?” asked Tarun, looking around for the source of the unearthly scream that hung in the air. 

“With any luck, we won’t have to find out,” said Seth, glancing nervously at the last light of dusk that was fading in the west. “Though somehow I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky tonight.” 

Tarun and Seth walked on in silence. They had left Mayor Marissi barricaded in the old town hall that afternoon, and followed his directions towards Vdekshi’s stronghold. Marissi had told them that if they followed his directions without stopping, they should be able to arrive at their destination before sundown. But that was before a familiar voice had sent them on a detour. 

The distant scream peeled through the night air again, and Seth held his lantern a bit higher to light their way. “Are we sure this voice in our minds is truly Shon giving us instructions?” he asked. “It was only last night we were tricked by imposters, and I’d rather not fall for that again.” 

“It’s Shon,” said Tarun. “I’m sure of it.” Seth looked over at Tarun and saw a twinkle in his eye that for a moment reminded him of the white light that had shown through him earlier that day. Tarun was sure, and for the moment, that was enough for Seth. 

“But how did he manage to reach us?” Seth asked. “Has he ever been able to use his magic at such great distances before? Why didn’t he contact us sooner? And why did he send us on a path that takes the long way around to rescue him?” 

“When Shon reached out to both of us, he only shared the basics,” Tarun explained. “He’s been sharing several more details with me as we’ve been walking.” 

“Oh,” said Seth, trying to not look hurt. 

“Don’t take it personally,” said Tarun. “Using his ethereal magic at this range is new to Shon, and he’s nervous that others may be able to listen in if he’s not careful. He thought he may be able to keep the information more private if he focused on only a single mind to communicate with. And since my mind is the most familiar to him, it was easier to focus on me.” 

“Of course,” said Seth, feeling foolish. “You’re his friend, and you’ve known him much longer than I have. It makes sense he would reach out to you.” After a moment of silence, Seth added, “Is it safe to share what he passed along to you?” 

Tarun took a look around them. “Yes, I believe it should be safe,” said Tarun. “Shon informed me that Vdekshi has recalled all of his forces back to his stronghold, including any spies that may have been listening before.” 

“How did Shon learn that?” asked Seth. “Did he find a way to read Vdekshi’s mind and find out what’s going on?” 

“Better,” Tarun said with smirk, “he’s been talking things over with Vdekshi in his parlor while drinking mint tea and eating wheat cakes with honey.” 

“You’re joking,” said Seth. 

Tarun shook his head and chuckled. “You know, I’m a lot stronger than I look, but Shon is the one that everybody makes the mistake of underestimating. He’s full of surprises.” 

Tarun then explained to Seth about Shon’s encounter with Gravine in the dungeon, his discovery of the spool of magically conductive wire in his cloak, and how he had used his magic to start piecing together the web of deceit that seemed to keep everyone in the stronghold at odds with each other. “When I shared our plans to heal Vdekshi instead of killing him, Shon seemed to agree with the decision,” Tarun added. “From what he’s told me, it seems Marissi’s description of Vdekshi and his motivations was accurate.” 

“And your opinion of him now?” asked Seth. “Does forgiveness come so easily to you, Tarun?” 

Tarun’s expression turned grave, but not angry. “There’s been nothing easy about it,” Tarun replied. “I have no doubt that Krall told me nothing but the truth when he described his old master, and yet…” Tarun trailed off, and they walked in silence for several more minutes before he found the words he was looking for. 

“Sometimes people see us at our worst,” Tarun said quietly. “The situations we share with them are monstrous and cruel. It doesn’t excuse what Vdekshi has done, but… But what he’s done and how Krall remembered him doesn’t define everything there is to know about him.” 

Tarun rubbed the scar on his arm. “When we met just a few days ago, if you hadn’t healed my arm and cleared my head, I might’ve killed you simply for insisting I spare someone’s life. Your death would have been a loss for the whole world, and I would have been the monster responsible. But even when I was ready to strike you down, you saw me as something other than a monster, even though I was acting like one.” 

“I’m glad the lantern led me to you and Shon,” said Seth. “You’re good. Both of you.” 

Seth sighed, and then continued. “My father raised me alone and kept everyone at shillelagh’s length, including me. There was no closeness or warmth, though my father seemed to feel guilty for not providing it. And there was certainly no forgiveness. How could he forgive anyone else when he could never forgive himself? The only thing he believed he could pass on to me for an inheritance was the same shame that his father and grandfather had passed along to him.” 

Seth swung his shillelagh in the air, making a whooshing noise as it moved. Then he held it up to his lantern and looked at it with renewed interest. “But I think it’s like you said, Tarun. There’s more to monsters than we might think. And so why couldn’t there be more to my father than simply being Seth the Liar? Or more to my grandfather than being Seth the Thief? Or more to his father than being Seth the Traitor? There must have been more to them than that, which means there can be more to me than that, right?” 

“Of course,” Tarun replied with a smile. “Just be careful where you swing that thing.” 

“Despite only knowing you a few days, you and Shon feel to me like the kinds of brothers I’ve always wanted,” Seth said. “I think that’s why The Ancient One sent me here. Because he knew I wouldn’t be strong enough on my own to do what he expects me to. And being around you two strengthens me. I can tell already.” 

“You strengthen us too,” said Tarun, the bright twinkle returning to his eye. “You’re one of us now, and I hope you’ll continue with us after this business with Vdekshi is over.” 

Seth’s face brightened, and so did the lantern in his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “That means more to me than I can say. I’ve always wanted to be part of a family.” 

Seth held up his shillelagh, and the light from his lantern seemed to move and dance across the intricate carvings that ran along it. For a moment, Seth thought he could almost read the meaning of what those symbols had been trying to tell him all his life. “I still want to find out about them though,” Seth said, handing the shillelagh to Tarun for a moment. “Even with a new family, I’ll never stop wondering about the family I came from.” 

Seth hung his head. “That’s how Laronius got the better of me that night when Aluanna and her band had to rescue us,” he said. “Laronius claimed he could tell me about them, and it opened up an old hunger I’d nearly forgotten about. I let my guard down, and I’m sorry. It’s clear now that Laronius was simply lying to me just like he lied to Mayor Marissi. I promise I won’t let him distract me like that again.” 

“But what if he really does know something about them?” Tarun asked. His voice was so low it was almost a whisper. 

“What?” said Seth. “Why would you say that?” 

Tarun took a step closer to Seth, lowering his voice even more. “Shon wouldn’t share the specifics,” he said. “Apparently the information is too dangerous to risk sharing through ethereal magic, at least until he’s had more practice at this kind of distance. But from what he was willing to say, it may turn out that Laronius wasn’t completely lying about knowing more about your family than you do.” 

Seth’s face fell. Tarun clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder and handed the shillelagh back to him. “Don’t worry,” Tarun reassured him. “Shon wanted to avoid another situation where Laronius can use what he knows against you. That’s why he sent us on this detour on our way to the stronghold.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Seth. 

“Shon thought it was too dangerous to share using his magic,” Tarun whispered. “So he’s arranged for us to meet with someone who can share it with us face to face.” 

Seth spun to look around him. “Someone is meeting us?” he asked more loudly than intended. “Who in their right minds would meet us after nightfall so close to Vdekshi’s stronghold?” 

“That would be us,” said a gruff voice. 

Seth and Tarun turned to see the satyr brothers Roj, Soj, and Toj emerge from a large, wild patch of shoulder-high wheat. 

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” continued the short, dark-haired Roj. “We are definitely not in our right minds if we actually agreed to this stupid gig.” 

“Not now, Roj,” said Toj, the eldest satyr brother. His expression was somehow both less jovial and more friendly than the last time Seth had seen him. “You know why we’re here and why it matters. Can any of us say no to Lady Aluanna when she has a mission for us?” 

“Aluanna?” Seth blurted. “Is she here?” 

“No,” replied Toj. “This was too dangerous to bring the whole band, and with the potential that the events of tonight could disrupt the balance of power in the whole region, she thought it best to stay with them for protection.” 

“Besides,” Toj continued, “Lady Alunna required speed, stealth, and discretion for this mission. And that’s what satyrs do best.” 

“Stealth and discretion?” interrupted Roj. “Have you been hanging out with some different satyrs lately or something?” 

“Don’t take it personally,” said Soj in a smooth, calm tone. The tall, light blonde satyr stroked his shorter brother’s curly black hair to calm him. “We all know you’re the most boisterous, loud-mouthed satyr in all the land. But it can’t always be about you.” 

“Indeed,” said Toj, looking to his brothers. “And as fun as this act is, we don’t have time for it. We’ve got time for one act, and one act only before we need to hoof it back to camp.” 

The handsome, brown haired satyr stepped right up to where Seth and Tarun had stopped during the bantering of his brothers. “Now Seth,” Toj said. “Have I got a story for you.” 

The opposing commands from his two different masters hit the mind of Laronius almost simultaneously. It was an extremely unpleasant experience. 

First came the message from Vdekshi, issued through the red jewel set in the ring on his right hand. “Laronius, I will have guests arriving here shortly. You are ordered to go to the caverns immediately and stay underground as long as they are here. You are absolutely forbidden to harm them or impede their journey here in any way, directly or indirectly. Don’t bother replying with your usual mocking flattery, and in fact do not contact me at all until I have called for you. You are ordered to use this time to prepare a full an honest report for me regarding your shameful and embarrassing treatment of my honored guest, Shon. That is all.” 

The command came so forcefully and directly that Laronius felt as if his hand would burn to ashes that moment if he did not obey immediately. At once, he began moving at top speed down to the caverns. That is, until the second command came, overwhelming his senses with a whirlwind of dizziness and nausea. 

“Laronius, come here at once,” hissed the voice of his other master. “The world has gone mad and all of our careful plans are about to be upturned this very night unless you come to me this instant. The time has finally come for you to reveal your true loyalties, and for me to grant your ultimate reward. To me!!” 

Laronius hung in the air, curled into a ball, spinning and somersaulting wildly as his body tried in vain to obey both masters at once. The cloth tied over his freakish mortal eye fell away, and the blurred scene that resulted caused the disfigured vampire to heave and wretch. Of course nothing came up. His stomach was empty. Everything about him was empty. His mouth, his veins, his nose and throat. Every orifice that mortals so disgustingly took for granted as containing moisture and relief was dry and empty for him. 

As the realization sank deep into Laronius that there would be no relief or escape from his predicament (for as a vampire he could not even faint or lose consciousness) he felt a tear fall from his one hideously mortal eye. 

***

Mutt scurried away from the tunnels of the dungeon as quickly as the rat body he inhabited would carry him. And for once, it truly was carrying him. He wasn’t guiding it, steering it, or bullying it into giving in to his demands. All he did was share one message with the rat mind that he shared a body with. “Danger! Flee!” he had said to it, and then retreated inward as far as he could, and let the rat brain take care of the rest. 

While Mutt didn’t like forfeiting total control of the commandeered body back to the mind and soul of the rat he had usurped it from, the sacrifice seemed to be having the effect he had hoped. As his human spirit retreated further and further inward, he gained some measure of protection from the commands of his masters. He could, at least for a little while, hide from them. 

Mutt was aware that his masters were both calling out to him with their magic, and trying their best to order forceful commands. He could hear them as if from a great distance, but he was insulated enough that he could avoid hearing any specific commands. The mind and soul of the rat, meanwhile, were completely immune to the words of his masters, and under no obligation to obey any of them. After all, the rat had made no bargains and agreed to no deals. It was a victim only, and beholden to no one. 

Mutt’s mind shuddered at that last thought, retreating further as all of his old arguments and justifications for his abuse against his unwilling partner seemed to fall away. “I’ll figure out how to live with myself tomorrow,” Mutt told himself. “Tonight the only thing that matters is staying hidden and letting the rat get us as far from here as possible.” 

“Good plan,” said Shon, “you should stick to that.” Despite being able to hide from his masters and everyone else, the weak young wizard could somehow still find Mutt in his hiding place and send his voice into Mutt’s mind to harass him, even while his pale skinny body was far away and walking with his two masters. 

“Hey, watch who you’re calling weak,” Shon scolded. “I could step on you when you’re that size, you know.” Mutt grumbled, but tried to control his thoughts in order to avoid giving Shon any additional information he could use against him. “Look, we had a deal, and I’m going to keep my end of the bargain. You told me what I needed to know about Gravine and everything going on in this creepy fortress, and you helped me find Vdekshi so I could call out to him with my mind and get him down there before things got worse. In exchange, I won’t rat you out to your masters while you escape. And as a bonus, I won’t even tell Treshigan about that weird, obsessive crush you have on her.” 

Mutt bristled at the distasteful rat pun, but it was the comment about Treshigan that made him so furious that he nearly wrestled control back from the rat mind to go upstairs and bite the smug little wizard’s throat. But when he tried, the rat mind shrieked back at him, and he relented. Revenge against Shon would wait for another day. All that mattered tonight was escape. Mutt hunkered his mind down like a rodent preparing to hibernate, and continued to let the rat do all the walking. 

***

Treshigan was absolutely fed up with everyone thinking the only person who didn’t deserve a say in her life was herself. 

Decades ago when she was still naturally young and beautiful, she was desired by every eligible man for miles around. And some ineligible. But it wasn’t just her beauty that they desired. They wanted to mold her and shape her into what they wanted her to be. A lady for a lord. A merchandise model for a merchant. A faithful wife for a farmer. And for most of them, she had been happy to play whatever part they had wanted. Except for the poor farmer, of course. 

After her youth and beauty had all been spent, the rest of the world expected her to become what they believed she was, a bitter old spinster who would finally learn the error of her wicked ways and resign herself to the sad fate she had earned for herself. And after she had come to Vdekshi’s fortress and begged him to make her a deal and restore her youth in exchange for her service, he had expected her to deliver. He had used ritual magic to separate her soul from her body, preserving her natural body to keep it from aging or dying from hunger or thirst. Meanwhile, he placed her soul in the portrait of a young and wild-looking woman, then used his magic to give that portrait a physical body. 

The portrait of the young woman was one of dozens that had been stolen by Vdekshi’s zombies during a raid on a nearby town. Vdekshi didn’t care that the young woman was covered with unsightly piercings and tattoos. He didn’t care how she would appear at all. He only chose that portrait because he believed the subject looked like a witch with powerful magic and conviction in her eyes, and that was what Vdekshi wanted Treshigan to become. 

So that’s what Treshigan became. Treshigan the witch. 

She learned to tap into the magic that flowed from the jewelry and trinkets that Vdekshi entrusted to her. Though the source of the magic itself was a mystery to her, she learned not to question from what dark well Vdekshi drew this seemingly limitless supply of power. She didn’t need to know where it came from. She only needed to know how to use it, and she learned that quickly. 

As time went on, Vdekshi became more and more conservative in the way his magic was spent. He tried to use less himself, and he gave less to his servants. At one point he asked Treshigan how long she thought she would last if he stopped supplying her with the magic that kept her original body in a state of suspension, and her second body in a state of lively activity. She had feigned indifference and answered Vdekshi with a short and haughty reply about how little she thought about such things, but the question had left her deeply shaken. 

Ever since then, Treshigan had been far more proactive in proving herself a valuable and profitable servant to Vdekshi. She became more adept at using cunning and subtlety to succeed in the tasks she was assigned, rather than raw magical power. She had even recruited two other mortal women who were willing to enter into the same contract she had with Vdekshi so she could delegate and pass along the blame when anything went wrong. She called them her “sisters” when she recruited them, but there was little sisterhood between them. The competition and animosity between them was fierce, and these days they avoided each other as much as possible. 

And yet, she and her sisters had managed to work together once again just the night before. As unbelievable as it was, they had actually agreed to each do their part willingly, and the mission had been a success. Treshigan had distracted that blonde idiot Seth long enough that her sisters were able to distract the other two as well. And in the end, it had given Laronius the opening he needed to take that meddlesome wizard Shon as a prisoner. 

Treshigan was glad that she hadn’t been assigned to deal with Shon or Tarun, especially since her guise wouldn’t work on them after they had already seen through her before. But her encounter with Seth had been unsetting in its own way. Treshigan wasn’t sure if it was the innocent expression on his face or the way he held himself, but there was something about him that had been far too reminiscent of that foolish young farmer that had expressed his love to her all those years ago. 

Still, what mattered most was that she had done her job, and miraculously her sisters had done theirs too. Treshigan didn’t know what Gravine had promised them in order to get them to cooperate, and frankly she didn’t care. She just knew what he had offered her, and that she was now holding his payment in her hand. 

There, gleaming in the palm of her hand with a spectral light, was the ring that idiot farmer had given her as a token of his loyalty to her so many years before. The glow could only be seen by one who knew how to look beyond natural light for the radiance of a magical aura, but for Treshigan it shone like a beacon. Though it seemed impossible, Gravine had somehow delivered on his promise to Treshigan that in just one night he would gift her with more power than Vdekshi had eked out over decades in his service. And he would give her freedom. 

“Well, more freedom than you have now,” the imprisoned schemer had promised. “From sunup until sundown, you will be free to do whatever you choose, and no one will have any power to command you. Not me, nor my servants. And certainly not that stingy oaf who’s been wasting a lifetime’s worth of your skills.” 

“But when the sun is down,” Gravine had continued, “you will answer my call and do as I say. And for every show of obedience and job well done, I shall increase your power more than you can possibly imagine.” Treshigan had found the last line to be rather presumptuous. After all, she could imagine a lot. 

And indeed her imagination was already running wild thinking of all the things she would do and pleasures she would once again enjoy once she had finished securing her freedom. For even if her freedom only lasted while the sun was shining, she reasoned that a life of half freedom was better than a life with no freedom at all. She nodded to herself as she walked, reminding herself of that reassuring thought as she walked into the room that housed her withered and wrinkled first body. 

No, not her “first body,” she thought to herself resolutely. Now it would once again, finally, simply be “her body.” Rather than continue this hollow existence living through an animated portrait image, Gravine had promised her that once she had placed the ring he empowered upon the hand of her body, she would be whole again. She would be young, she would be beautiful, she would be powerful, and she would be alive. 

Treshigan felt a shiver of excitement up her sternum at the thought of being alive once again. She walked right over to the body of the old woman, picked up her left hand, and slid the ring on the finger next to her pinky. She watched the ring pulse and glow with its spectral light, and then everything went dark. 

***

When Treshigan opened her eyes, she was laying on a soft bed. She was wearing a lovely gown, and was adorned all over with various pieces of jewelry she had collected over the years. On her left had was a ring that sparkled as if it was covered with the brightest diamonds, although it was made of simple iron. By the side of her bed was a small pile of smoldering ash. 

As she moved to arise from the bed, she was amazed at how graceful and easy every movement was. This was not the awkward and foreign body of Treshigan the witch. She no longer felt like an intruder in her own body. This was vibrant and lively body of Treshigan the woman, back when she had been young and beautiful and confident. No, not “had been,” but “now was.” 

Treshigan moved elegantly to the mirror hanging on the wall of the room, and admired herself with gasps of elation and tears of joy. She was herself again. She was young. She was beautiful. She was strong. She was alive. She was free. 

She stood basking in the glory of her new reality for so long that she didn’t even notice her room becoming gradually dimmer until the sun had nearly set. She glanced over at the setting sun defiantly, then back to her own reflection in the mirror. 

“Whatever Gravine has planned for me, it’s worth it,” she said aloud to herself. “This is worth it, and I’m ready for whatever the night may bring. I’m stronger than any task he can throw at me, and I’ll show him he hasn’t even seen the half of what I can do.” 

The words buoyed her up, and she squared her shoulders and puffed up her chest with a deep breath as the sun went down over the horizon. But the moment that the sun was out of sight, that breath turned icy cold in her lungs. 

Strange shadows danced across her vision and her head became dizzy. For a moment she feared that she would lose her balance and fall, but then realized that her feet were not touching the floor anyway. She was floating. Everything about her was weightless. Her body hung in the air. Her hair and clothing slowly floated about her in any direction, as if she was underwater. Even the loose jewelry she wore drifted hauntingly around her body, heedless of the invisible tethers that held down everything in the world. Everything in the mortal world, that was. 

Treshigan looked down at her hands and found that they had become grayish white, and seemed to glow with the dim radiance of the moon. They had also become thin and frail, but not with wrinkles and age as they had been before. Now they clung tightly to the bones inside, making them appear like little more than gloves on a skeleton. 

With great effort, Treshigan managed to concentrate and will her floating body to turn back to the mirror to her left. As soon as the mirror was back in her sight, she wished she had simply let herself drift. The gown she was wearing now appeared tattered and bleached of all color. The jewelry she wore was all cracked, faded, and dotted with rust and decay. And the face that stared back at her was far more terrifying than the witch had ever been. Her cheeks were gaunt and drawn, her hair thin and wispy, her expression was a permanent mixture of terror and fury, and her eyes were sunken and black. 

She had become Treshigan the banshee. And as she realized this, she exhaled the icy cold breath inside of her, and released a howling cry that could be heard for miles around. 

Gravine peered out of his emerald green prison, gratified that the petulant young wizard had finally given up his useless defiance and was instead contemplating in silence, as he should have from the beginning. Soon enough the disrespectful upstart would learn his place, and pay Gravine the fear and respect that everyone else did, as they should. As soon as Gravine managed to coax the wizard into entering his domain, he’d find himself as trapped as Gravine himself. 

While Gravine loathed his prison of magic crystal, it did have some benefits. He no longer had to concern himself with such tiresome considerations as eating, sleeping, aging, and other nuisances that came from having a body. He could hear the slightest whisper for miles around, though he had to know where to focus his attention. His sight was no longer limited by darkness or physical barriers. 

But there were other limitations that hindered him. It was difficult to pick out any one conversation when there was too much noise or other sounds in the area. Light, particularly sunlight, overwhelmed his magical senses with its abundance of colors both seen and unseen by mortal eyes. For Gravine, trying to see outdoors in daylight was about as useful, and pleasant, as staring at the sun itself. So places of darkness and quiet were where his perception was clearest. For locations of clamor and brightness, he had learned to rely on servants. 

Acquiring servants had also been a limitation for Gravine within his prison. Or so he had thought at first. For, while he had been a mortal with a body of his own, he had been able to use physical force and the magic that he channeled through his body to threaten and compel others to do his bidding. Trapped in his prison, he was capable of little more than talking to those outside his prison. That is, until he learned that others could enter the prison with him, as long as they did so willingly. 

It was all thanks to a line in the enchantment that held him imprisoned in the stone. “To end thy reign of terror and grief, this stone shall hold thee, thy power, and thy allies who would offer thee relief.” 

When the enchantment had first been activated by those meddlesome mages more than a century ago, the effects had been devastating. In one fell swoop, everything that Gravine had devoted his life to building; his armies, his magical talismans, his wealth, his network of spies and conspiracies, and even his very heart, mind, and soul; all of it had been trapped and contained inside his insufferably small cell. 

Of course it was only small when viewed from those outside in the mortal realm. For those trapped within, it contained a limitless void whose walls were forever impossibly out of reach. But the fact that the entirety of his vast former empire could be contained within an object of such unremarkable size and shape was an unbearable embarrassment to Gravine. 

The necromancer did take some measure of satisfaction from the fact that it had cost the lives of an entire conclave of mages and enchanters to build and and activate a prison strong enough to hold him. But it was a small satisfaction. For although it had cost them dearly, it had also worked. Despite a century of effort, all attempts by Gravine to escape his imprisonment had failed. 

That was not to say his time within had been completely devoid of progress, however. While it was true that Gravine was still unable to escape his prison, he had learned how to invite others in, and gift a portion of his power to flow out. The trick was convincing those he invited to choose to enter. 

This required far more subtlety and patience than he ever had to exercise during his mortal life. At the height of his power, Gravine could demand nothing less than complete loyalty and obedience from those under his rule, and deliver swift punishment without mercy or hesitation when they displeased him. The strategy had been direct, brutal, and incredibly effective. But that method didn’t work within the prison. 

For one thing, complete and utter loyalty were now useless to Gravine. The moment someone outside the prison became truly and wholeheartedly devoted to Gravine and his cause, the enchantment on his prison would bind them within as completely as Gravine himself. But as long as their loyalty was shallow, hesitant, or limited in any way, then such partial allies would retain their physical freedom outside the prison, unaware that whatever small portion of their souls had become loyal to him were now trapped within his domain. 

And once within that domain, Gravine would no longer be limited to mere words. He could offer trades. He could exchange a portion of his own vast power for an equal portion of their loyalty. The more loyalty they offered, the more power he could give. But because complete loyalty would result in complete imprisonment, he had to tread carefully with servants becoming overly zealous. Even the ones with potential, like Laronius. 

Gravine found that pain and punishment were effective tools to curb such enthusiasm. And in the rare moments he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that it helped provide some amusement to his otherwise agonizingly dull existence. Fortunately for Gravine, the same portion of loyalty that allowed him to exchange some of his power also gave him an equal portion of power over such a hapless ally. The more of themselves they gave, and the more power they accepted, the more punishment and control Gravine could inflict upon them whenever he wished. 

If there was any way out of this arrangement, none had ever found it. Like a fly caught in a sticky web, any struggle to escape the snare only led to a soul’s further entanglement. The more bitterly they fought for freedom, the more Gravine could sink his hooks into them. All he needed was the smallest step into his domain, and he could draw them in further and further, with no hope of escape. 

This was exactly how he had made a puppet of the idiot minotaur upstairs, as well as every other servant he commanded within the fortress. Vdekshi may have been able to justify to himself that his first tiny portion of loyalty to Gravine was necessary and even selfless, but the moment the oaf was willing to trade even a tiny sliver of his soul in exchange for the power he believed he so desperately needed, Gravine got his hooks in and never gave an inch back. 

And now it would be this foolish young wizard’s turn soon enough. The brat’s initial attitude of defiance had annoyed and offended Gravine, of course. The willfulness of youth always grated against his nerves. He considered it the height of arrogance that anyone would consider themselves capable of making a valid argument against him. 

And yet, Gravine knew that such defiance was also useful to him. For the stronger his prey was willing to fight back against his control, the more fully he could ensnare them, the more power he could grant them, without risking them giving into him completely. All those bratty remarks and comebacks simply told Gravine that this was someone willing to struggle and pull once his hooks were in. And he could practically see this pathetic bald child preparing himself for those hooks. 

After all, no one can resist making a deal once they’re desperate enough, and Gravine had orchestrated everything about the situation as desperate as possible. He had ordered Laronius to separate the wizard from his friends so he would be scared and alone. He had also ordered the vampire to deliver his captive to the complete darkness of the dungeons practically naked so he would feel disoriented and vulnerable. Once suitably humiliated and afraid, he would offer the first bait. 

He had ordered that filthy wererat Mutt to find some unused magical trinket within the fortress that he could use as an early bribe to both sway him towards Gravine and  provide a false sense of security. “I don’t care what it is,” Gravine had told Mutt, “just make sure it’s something the brat can’t resist, and Vdekshi won’t notice is missing.” The sniveling wererat had tried to to ask some pathetic question in response, so Gravine had hurried him along with jolt of pain that clearly conveyed that he wasn’t in a patient mood. 

The harsh motivation had obviously worked on Mutt because the object he delivered had evoked such a strong response from the young wizard that even Gravine was impressed. And Mutt rarely did anything that left Gravine impressed. 

The moment that the young prisoner had accepted the gift and put on the cloak, Gravine had expected to sense a small portion of the wizard’s soul step across, or at least near, the boundary of his domain. He was surprised, and more than a little annoyed, when he found that hadn’t been the case. But it was fine, he had told himself. Even if the brat was so spoiled that he didn’t realize he owed Gravine a portion of loyalty for the gift, certainly he could bully such loyalty out of him by threatening to take it back. 

The threat had an immediate effect, just as Gravine had expected. There had been a moment of sudden fear, panic, and then… something else. A shift of some kind that Gravine couldn’t quite place, but he was certain the shift was in his favor. A shift in priorities perhaps. A shift in loyalty. Something was happening in the petulant mind of the wizard that was making it slow down, open up, and relax its defenses. He had barely put up a fight since. Gone was the defiance and resistance, and in its place was a suggestible and agreeable little boy just waiting to play along right into his snare. 

Within moments, he would finish delivering to Shon the speech he had given to so many over the centuries regarding the righteous justification of his cause and his necromancy. He would end the speech as he always did, with an offer of power. And, as always, the fool on the other end would accept. And, as always, Gravine would get what he wanted. 

A new servant. A new plaything. A new victim within his trap to provide entertainment as it pulled and struggled against his hold. And this time as he imparted a portion of his power, he would be able to manipulate his new servant into using the magic he already possessed. What a bargain! 

“So Shon,” Gravine said as the wizard stared forward with a glassy gaze. “Knowing everything that I’ve told you, I’m ready to make you an offer. And I believe you’ll find it impossible to resist.” 

Shon shook his head a little, the glassy look disappearing from his face. “Oh I’m sorry,” said the youth with a bratty smirk, “were you saying something? I was kind of lost in thought.” 

Suddenly, the door to the dungeon burst open, and in rushed the minotaur Vdekshi holding a blazing torch. Shon screamed and ran to the far side of his cell, shouting, “You are so much bigger than I imagined!” The stupid oaf looked back and forth between the young wizard and the staff which housed the necromancer’s green prison. Gravine could do little but seethe with fury that the idiot had intruded on his plans, and wondered how he could have possibly found them. 

“Look, we had a deal,” said Shon, taking a nervous step forward. “I tell you where your missing staff is, you get this emerald lunatic away from me, and I introduce you to my friends who are on their way so we can all get to the bottom of this peacefully. Right big guy?” 

The angry minotaur turned to the prison of Gravine and snorted. “Agreed. Perhaps together we can finally start unravelling the web of lies this one just loves to weave.” Vdekshi then pulled a ring of keys from his robe and unlocked Shon’s cell before walking over and retrieving the silver staff that held the crystal prison. “Speaking of deals, I would caution you against making any with my prisoner here. They always come at a terrible price.” 

“Who, Gravine?” Shon asked. If Gravine had not been so shocked at the current turn of events, he would have cursed at the brat for having the audacity to actually speak his name aloud. “Nah, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I doubt he has anything I’d be interested in.” 

Gravine was about to unleash a scathing rebuke when Shon’s voice cut in again. “In fact, that idiot is so bad at negotiating that his first plan was bribing me with something that was already mine. I mean, what kind of creep even does that?” 

Vdekshi’s booming laugh that followed seemed to bounce off every wall and fill the entire stairway out of the dungeons, completely drowning out the string of obscenities that Gravine was attempting to hiss at the bald brat. 

Vdekshi Art by Ryan Salway

As Shon sat in the dark dungeon and considered his current situation, he couldn’t help thinking about Conetail Jelly Soup. He doubted it was the kind of thing that most people would think about while conversing with the soul of an ancient necromancer trapped in a prison of magical crystal. But then again, Shon had a mind that didn’t work the same way as most people, so there he was, thinking about Conetail Jelly Soup.

Shon wasn’t really craving the soup, although he certainly was hungry. After all, he hadn’t been fed since he was captured by the vampire Laronius. He didn’t even know how long he had been a prisoner there in the dungeon. There were no windows, and none of the doors let in sunlight, so it was hard to track time. However long it had been, it was long enough for Shon to become hungry. Just not hungry enough to want Conetail Jelly Soup. Not yet, anyway.

Conetail Jelly Soup was a meal that his uncle Grodin had served for dinner several years before, back when Shon was very young and his uncle had just recently taken him in. Uncle Grodin had used the meal to try to teach Shon a valuable lesson, but the lesson didn’t really stick at the time. Uncle Grodin seldom made Conetail Jelly Soup, usually just once every couple of years. The ingredients were very hard to come by where they lived, and it tasted bland and disgusting, even for Uncle Grodin who was so proud of it. Yet on rare occasions, always to Shon’s utter shock and dismay, Uncle Grodin would make the unsatisfying soup when he wanted to take another shot at teaching the very valuable lesson that was always served alongside it.

“The best and harshest teacher I ever had,” Grodin had said, “was hunger.” Grodin had always begun the lesson this way, serving Shon a bowl full of the hot, disgusting soup. Uncle Grodin would then always recount an experience from his days as a young man, traveling in the wilderness. At the time when Shon heard the story told, he had still believed that his uncle was nothing more than a plain and ordinary gardener, rather than the skilled magic-wielding druid that he later revealed himself to be. So when Uncle Grodin talked about “wandering the wild places of the world to learn its secrets,” Shon had thought he just meant collecting seeds and learning about different kinds of dirt. In hindsight, Shon was beginning to realize that his uncle had dropped a lot more hints about his true identity than Shon had ever imagined.

During one of Uncle Grodin’s first journeys into the great forests alone, he had underestimated how much food he needed to pack, and around the time that the food ran out, Grodin had realized that he was completely lost. During his first day without food, Grodin had been very conservative in his efforts to find food. He had mostly looked for berries and nuts to gather, but he found neither. He had told Shon that when he set up camp to sleep that night, he realized that with the winter months almost upon him, he wasn’t likely to find any nuts or berries the next day either, and the thought had gnawed at his stomach before going to sleep.

Grodin had awoken the next morning more determined, more daring, and much hungrier. Rather than limit himself to looking for what he typically thought of as food, he forced himself to focus and remember back on what he had learned as a young boy about the types of food the forest might offer. He had found cattails growing in a nearby marsh, and after wading in the cold murky water, he had pulled them out, stripped the skin off the roots, and ate the fleshy starch inside. He found parasitic groundcones growing off nearby tree roots, and ate them too. They weren’t very tasty, but they were enough to keep him alive and take the edge off his hunger.

As Uncle Grodin had continued his story to young Shon, he had explained how it was a week after eating his first groundcone that he had found the final ingredient that would make the long winter in that forest bearable. While searching around a dead tree for some firewood, Grodin had spotted something small and yellow. It was a golden-colored fungus that was partly translucent and squishy like jelly. When Grodin had tried a bite, he found it to be totally flavorless and not enjoyable, but when he tried cooking it in boiling water he had found that it would dissolve and thicken the water into a liquid with the texture and substance of a broth.

After adding in some cattail roots and groundcones to the broth, Grodin was proud to call Conetail Jelly Soup his first original recipe. And even though the soup was far less appetizing than most other meals that Shon could think of, Grodin had explained that the nutrition, reliability, and comforting warmth of Conetail Jelly Soup was enough to sustain him and keep him going until he managed to find his way back to civilization the following spring.

Grodin had also explained that on top of all that, the soup ingredients had not only kept him alive, they had expanded his understanding of how the different parts of nature all connected with each other. He had looked closer at them and gave them much more thought than he would have otherwise. His hunger had forced him to not only look, but to really appreciate, and sometimes even obsess over, those three key ingredients. Grodin had told Shon that after that experience, he had tried to look at all other parts of the wild with the same careful attention.

“As your uncle and your guardian, I would never make you go hungry on purpose,” Grodin had told Shon all those years ago. “It wouldn’t be right for me to do that. But I believe there will come a day when you’ll find yourself on your own, feeling hungry or desperate or both. And if that day comes, I don’t want you to waste your time complaining about it or holding yourself back, like I did that first day. And I certainly never want you to give up.”

At this point in the lesson, Grodin would always look directly into Shon’s eyes with an ardent expression. “Instead, I want you to remember that hunger is a powerful teacher, Shon. So focus on what you can learn.”

***

As Gravine continued his dark ranting in the corner, threatening to steal Shon’s cloak and goading him in the darkness, Shon realized that the day of desperation that Uncle Grodin had predicted had finally come. And the lesson finally stuck.

“Thank you for your patience with me.” Shon said the words aloud, but he wasn’t speaking to Gravine. He was saying what he wished he could say now to his uncle. “I know I was difficult before and it was rude of me to refuse to listen. But that’s all changed now, and I’m ready to listen and pay attention. I believe I’m finally ready to learn the truth.”

“Ah, that’s more like it,” Gravine said with self-satisfaction. “I knew you could be properly trained as soon as I found the key to properly motivating you.”

“Motivation can be a powerful teacher,” Shon said with a nod. “A wise man once told me that.” Shon removed the hood from his cloak, opening his mental senses as far as he could, and looked straight ahead at the green jewel that held Gravine prisoner. “So tell me, what motivates you? Why spend so much time and devotion to mastering necromancy? Surely someone like you could still have a great destiny pursuing the study of anything. Why all the death and decay?”

If Gravine suspected that Shon was being overly generous with his flattery, he didn’t show it. “True as that may be,” replied Gravine, “the very nature of necromancy is what motivates me. After all, is death not the great equalizer of all mortals? Whether rich or poor, nobility or a peasant, all must eventually die.”

Shon nodded his head. This tactic was already going better than he had hoped. Now that Grodin’s lesson had gotten his mind in motion, he needed a chance to think. He needed time to figure out what he was supposed to learn from this situation that he would’ve overlooked if he wasn’t hungry enough and desperate enough to focus on it.

Shon figured the best way to get a break from the constant menacing and manipulating assault of words from Gravine was to get him talking about himself. The fact that he had succeeded so easily at it was perhaps the first lesson his hunger had taught him. But he couldn’t just ignore the sinister rock now, or he would realize what Shon was up to and go back to harassing him. He would have to divide his attention just enough to keep Gravine talking.

“So with the chains of death binding us all together,” Gravine continued, “why are there still wars and borders? If everyone must die, young wizard, doesn’t that mean that all are one? So why is there no unity? Why is there no lasting peace?”

For a moment, Shon was tempted to give sarcastic and derisive reply, like, “Maybe it’s because sometimes there are jerks who go around raising undead armies and ruining things for everyone else?” For a moment, he was tempted to actually engage Gravine in debate and give an honest attempt at replying to the question. But he realized that both of those options would eat up the precious time to think that Shon had given himself. And he was so ravenously hungry for that time, that he ignored both temptations.

“Tell me,” Shon said simply, and hoped it would be enough.

“It is because of work!” shouted Gravine. “Without plowing and harvesting, we starve. Without building and repairing, there is no shelter. Fairies may spend their days flitting from leaf to flower, but mortals cannot survive without hard work and toil. And because work is hard, there will always be those who seek a way to conscript others to do their work for them. The only true division among mortals is the division of servants and masters. All other divisions and conflicts are merely appendages to it.”

“But what if necromancy could finally cure the world of this division? What if every mortal was a master while alive, and a servant in death? Let the living enjoy mortality while they can, and use the bodies of the dead to…” Gravine was growing louder, and his crystal prison was glowing brighter than ever, but Shon was already shifting his focus away from the madman. He could tell that the invitation to Gravine for an explanation had worked perfectly, and now he could ignore the actual words, and instead simply half-listened to Gravine’s tone enough to know when to nod or hum thoughtfully.

Shon quietly took a deep breath and tried to consider his situation the way Uncle Grodin would want him to. What had hunger and desperation taught Uncle Grodin? Conetail Jelly Soup. Hunger had taught him how to make Conetail Jelly Soup, and how to somehow enjoy it enough to survive for a winter in the wilderness.

No, Shon realized that wasn’t really true. Hunger couldn’t teach anyone how to make soup. Conetail Jelly Soup was invented by Uncle Grodin, and hunger can’t create something that doesn’t already exist. But it did help him discover things that already existed, and consider them differently. So Shon needed to consider what existing resources he already had that he might be able to consider more carefully.

What did he have? Not much. In the dim light provided from Gravine’s glowing crystal, Shon could see that his cell was practically empty. Not even a cot to lay on or a blanket to keep him warm. He did have his clothes though. And oh, how grateful he was to have his cloak back. So he had the gift from his father.

But what about the gift from his mother? Shon’s hand reached for the pocket near his left shoulder to see if his familiar egg was still there. At first he experienced a thrill of panic when he couldn’t seem to find the lump where the enchanted stone should be. He couldn’t even find the pocket where it was supposed to be.

Shon pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and took some deep breaths to try and calm himself. Am I sure it was in that pocket? Shon thought to himself. He began quietly patting the sides of his cloak, hoping to find some pocket that he had forgotten. That familiar egg must be around here somewhere…

No sooner had Shon thought this than he felt a heavy lump near his left shoulder. He reached up again, and found that the pocket had somehow returned, and by the size, weight, and warm pulse coming from the pocket, he could tell that the familiar egg from his mother was still inside.

It was then that Shon remembered something that Uncle Grodin had told him about his father’s cloak. How his father had loved pockets, and he wouldn’t be surprised if hidden pockets showed up every now and then, depending on the situation.

OK, dad, Shon thought to himself. Let’s see if you’ve left me some presents to make up for all those birthdays you missed.

Shon thought for a moment about what kinds of thoughts might cause a pocket with something useful to appear. I need help, thought Shon. He patted around the cloak, but couldn’t find any extra pockets.

Alright, I guess that is pretty vague. Let’s try again. Shon considered more specifically what he needed. He thought of the Conetail Jelly Soup. Then he tried to shake that thought from his head, afraid that he might find a pocket full of the slimy soup.

I’m hungry, Shon thought, and he felt a pocket open up near his right hip. He slowly reached down into the pocket, unsure of what he might find. Feeling with his fingertips, he could discern the shape of a fork and spoon, with a small flat saucer next to them. Well it’s no snack, thought Shon, but I suppose I could stab a hand with this fork if I really needed to. I doubt that would do much more than surprise somebody though. Not enough to injure someone, let alone get past a strong opponent like Laronius.

What I really need, thought Shon, is a way to call for help. At that thought, Shon felt a smaller pocket open up inside the one he already had his hand inside. Within that inner pocket, he could feel a small metal tube with three holes at the top and a pinched end on one side. A whistle perhaps? He could also feel the rough surface of a miniature flint and steel kit.

Shon supposed those objects may have been useful to call for help if he was lost in the woods, or needed to start a signal fire, but he wasn’t sure if blowing a whistle would do him any good down in the dungeon. If anything, it might just alert Gravine to the fact that there was more to the cloak than he had realized, and he’d try to steal it back.

Better keep those hidden for now, Shon thought, and the opening of the inner pocket closed itself up again, its contents disappearing in the thick fabric.

Shon knew that the best chance he had to call for help was using his own magic. But without the focus and clarity he achieved by wielding Stick, he figured his range would only reach a little beyond the room he was in. I need Stick, thought Shon.

When nothing happened, Shon realized it was a pretty ridiculous request. Not only was there no reason for his uncle’s staff to be hidden in the pockets, Shon couldn’t even imagine a pocket being large enough to hold the staff that was nearly as tall as he was.

Shon was beginning to lose his patience, and the same fear that he was experiencing earlier began to creep up on him again. Then he felt the gentle warm pulse of the familiar egg in his shoulder pocket, and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

Look at it deeper, Shon thought to himself. Like Uncle Grodin taught me, think about it like I’m hungry for it. Shon considered the kind of desperation and open-mindedness that must have been necessary for his uncle to look at a conetail and think that it looked anything like food. He tried to open his own mind the same way.

It doesn’t have to be Stick, Shon thought. It doesn’t even need to look or feel like Stick. I just need it to do what Stick does for me. Shon considered for a moment what exactly that was. I need something that can help me focus my magic. Something that can be a conduit of magical energy and channel my energy back through it.

A pocket opened up on the inside of the cloak, right next to Shon’s sternum on the right side. Shon slowly reached up, feeling keenly aware of how long he had been ignoring Gravine’s rant, and how if he was called out now, there was no way he could fumble his way through pretending he had been listening.

As his hand reached the pocket, he found that it was the smallest of all the pockets he had found since the cloak had been given to him. Inside it was what felt like a spool of thread. Shon pulled it out, trying to keep it concealed beneath the folds of his cloak. Something twisted around the spool, but it wasn’t thread. Not exactly.

It was metal that had been spread out thin and even into a kind of flexible wire. The metal was light and it would bend to Shon’s touch, but it was also sturdy enough to hold its shape when he let go. He also found that it seemed to tingle whenever his fingers touched it.

Under his cloak, Shon straightened out a length of the wire as he tried to mentally reengage with whatever Gravine was saying. He had something now. He wasn’t sure how to use it, but it was something he could try to figure out. It was something he could focus on to keep from panicking.

After shaping a portion of the wire into a straight line about twice the length of his hand, Shon maneuvered the wire through the sleeve of his cloak, trying to hold it behind his back, hoping that Gravine wouldn’t notice it.

The moment that the wire was outside of the dampening effect of the cloak, he realized that his father’s ingenuity had come through more than he had expected. The tingling in his fingertips became an electrified buzz where his hand touched the wire. This thin metal conduit lacked the firm, gentle grounding qualities of Stick, but what it lacked it subtlety, it more than made up for in sheer scope and magical conductivity.

Shon could pick up magical energies that seemed to come from every direction. Up, down, forwards, backwards, right, left, and even some directions that he didn’t have words for. He could feel his own ethereal magic emanating out from the opening in his hood, and bouncing all around the surfaces in room, giving him a mental picture of things he had failed to see with his eyes in only the dim light available.

And there was something more. There was something in the wall behind him. There was someone in the wall behind him. Shon realized that he had sensed the strange individual vaguely before, but now that he held the wire conduit in his hands, the thoughts of the eavesdropper broadcast out like a trumpet. It was a rat, but somehow it wasn’t. It’s thoughts were that of a man, but with a strange animal twinge to it. But that strangeness was no problem for Shon now. With the volume of input he received while holding the wire, Shon suspected he would’ve been able to make sense of even his old friend Piggy’s wild and unintelligible thoughts.

So Shon held still. He held the wire. He listened to Gravine enough that he could pick the conversation back up without arousing suspicion from the egocentric necromancer. And as he did, he paid the majority of his attention to listening to the rat man inside the wall, until a full picture began to come together in Shon’s mind.

Suddenly, not only did Shon feel that he would be able to survive his stay in this dungeon, but that he may have figured out the key to unravel the tapestry of deceit that kept this whole cursed stronghold bound. All he had to do now was make his choices very carefully and pull on the right threads.

Shon thought about what this victory would mean for him. Not only survival today, but a whole new way of looking at the challenges and dangers he faced, and how he could use his magic and wits to solve them. It was like a whole world of possibilities was now open to him, thanks to the great teacher of hunger.

But hunger wasn’t done teaching him just yet. Don’t celebrate the victory until the meal has been finished, Shon thought to himself. Hunger doesn’t look kindly on students who congratulate themselves too early. So Shon put away his thoughts of someday and focused on now. He took a deep breath and chose his next words carefully.

He could hear the rat man, who he had discovered was his old foe Mutt, ranting and raving in his own mind, scheming schemes and planning dark deeds. Shon had tested the effectiveness of the wire at picking up thoughts and ethereal energies, and now it was time to test how effective it was at directing his own energies outward at a target.

He focused intently on Mutt, hoping that the signal wouldn’t fizzle or redirect to Gravine or some other target. There was no need to worry though. The message came through to Mutt so sharp and clear that for a moment Shon almost felt sorry for the rat man. Almost.

“You know what I love about self-absorbed scoundrels?” Shon said inside Mutt’s head. “They’re like the best teacher and narrator anyone could hope for when you have the ability to listen to minds.”

Shon gripped the wire in his hands and stifled a laugh as Mutt nearly fell out of his hole. Try as he might, he couldn’t manage to keep the grin off his face, and for once, he didn’t care if Gravine could tell that he was up to something.

After all, it was time to stop acting like a scared and hungry kid, and start acting like a wizard.

Illustration of Shon by Ryan Salway

Toj sat next to a crackling fireplace, taking in the warm and comfortable scene around him. Men and women were chopping vegetables, scooping flour, stirring bubbling pots, and engaging in all kinds of meal preparation. Friendly Seth, his host, directed others who were bringing more food and supplies from a door on the ground that led to some kind of storage cellar. Fruits, grains, meats, spices, firewood… it seemed like there was no end to the abundance being handed from one member of the human chain to the next. How big would a cellar need to be to hold so much?

In the midst of it all were the children. So many children. Their ages seemed to range from as young as a newborn infant to old enough to hardly be considered children at all. But these weren’t the kind of whining, frowning human children that Toj tried so hard to avoid when he performed at large towns. These children smiled at him. They seemed to smile at everything. Some were smiling at their mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles as they tried their best to help with the food. They smiled at their cousins as they played games together. They smiled at their grandfathers and grandmothers as they listened to stories and sang songs. Their smiles seemed to warm the scene as much as the fireplace.

The only children not smiling were those that were sleeping. Some slept together in bunches under piles of patchwork blankets. Some were bundled up and snoring within hammocks that hung from sturdy wooden rafters, suspended like blissfully swaying cocoons. Some were held close and swaddled by parents or older siblings who rocked and bounced and soothed them with motions like a gentle dance. Instead of smiles, each child who slept wore a face of utter peace and tranquility.

Outside, a storm raged. There were no windows in view from where Toj was sitting, so the satyr was unsure how he knew about the storm. Nonetheless, he knew. Outside those sturdy walls of stone and clay, the wind was howling, the clouds were churning, the rain and sleet and snow and hail were beating. And yet within the walls where Toj sat, there was only a soft murmur of the tumult beyond. Rather than frighten the adults or disturb the peaceful slumber of the children, the low, constant rhythm of the muffled storm seemed to somehow add to the comfort and peace of the entire scene.

“This is what it was like for me the first night I stayed at the Homestead,” said Timot. The young enchanter smiled, but there was a sadness behind the expression.

Toj hadn’t noticed Timot sitting next to him near the fireplace, but he realized that the enchanter must’ve been there ever since… Since when? How long had Toj been in this room? How had he even gotten there? He looked at Friendly Seth again, and then back at Timot.

“The enchanted dream,” said Toj, realization snapping him out of the moment. “For a moment there I was so wrapped up in it all that I nearly lost myself.”

“This is no trap that seeks to ensnare you if you let your guard down,” said Timot. “You’re in no danger of losing yourself here, and there’s nothing wrong with getting wrapped up in a moment from time to time. Though if this were a trap, I could hardly think of a more enticing scene among all my many memories.”

“Enough,” Toj replied, shaking his head. While this memory may have been a pleasant one for the enchanter, it seemed cruel to Toj to witness such peace and contentment when his own upbringing had provided him so little of either. “The last thing I remember before we came here was you claiming to be the one who created the Sword of Wheat. That’s what I’m here to learn about. So why show me this?”

“The Sword of Wheat was created as an instrument of protection,” said Timot. “If you want to understand it, you need to understand what it was meant to protect.”

“Dinner?” Toj scoffed.

“A home,” replied Timot. “Peace. A family. People who took me in and cared for me when I was a total stranger. People who showed me kindness and made me feel like I belonged, when everyone else in my life before that just wanted to use me for one thing or another. Doesn’t that seem worth protecting?”

“I honestly couldn’t say,” said Toj. The satyr grinned, but he wasn’t smiling. “I’ve never had a home, and I have no idea what peace feels like. So I guess I just can’t relate.”

“And what about a family?” Timot asked.

“I’ve got my two brothers,” said Toj. “Roj and Soj. We watch each other’s backs, and we’re always good for sharing a laugh, but it’s nothing like this. I’ve been taking care of them as long as I can remember. But this…” Toj gestured at the scene all around them. “These are people who took you in and took care of you. How am I supposed to understand what that’s like?”

“Has no one ever invited you in and cared for you?” asked Timot. His voice was the same tone, but softer somehow. His expression became familiar and knowing, as if Timot had know Toj for years and was now sharing an old joke he should already know.

Toj scooted back in his chair a bit. “What’re you…”

“Toj,” said Timot, as the room shimmered slightly. “You are sitting here speaking with an enchanter who has been dead for over a century. If you think I’m the one causing this enchanted dream, then you are farther off the mark than you think.”

“But then…” Toj looked around the room, as if he expected to find someone in the corner, casting a spell.

“Do you know of no one else who knows how to weave enchantments?” asked Timot. “No one at all?”

Toj’s eyes went wide as realization dawned on him. “Lady Aluanna? Is that you?”

“Of course not,” said Timot, straightening in his chair. “I told you, I am Timot, creator of the Sword of Wheat. Your Lady Aluanna is not here, but she is the one weaving this enchanted dream for you so I can share the sword’s story.”

“So Lady Aluanna isn’t here, but she’s the one controlling it?” asked Toj. “Can she see and hear everything happening?”

“That, I couldn’t say,” replied Timot. “In my time, I had never heard of such an enchantment as this. I would imagine that even in your day it would likely be considered a rarity, if not unique altogether. I suspect it may be something of an experiment. If that’s the case, questioning the enchantment further would only cause to weaken and disrupt it, or shatter it entirely. Best to go with the flow from here on out.”

“Before we go on, I will tell you one more thing about this dream itself,” Timot said. “You look dreadfully embarrassed, and that will likely get in our way if you let it weigh you down. For what it’s worth, and my expertise as an enchanter is worth quite a lot, I don’t believe your Lady Aluanna has seen or heard anything that has transpired in this dream. She is playing her part to supply the magic for this enchantment, while someone else seems to be providing the facts and history that feed the truthfulness of the dream. But you Toj, are the witness. That is your part to play. Why have you be the witness if Lady Aluanna could simply witness it herself? Do you understand?”

“Yes, I believe I do,” said Toj. “And you’re right, I do know how it feels to be taken in and cared for. Lady Aluanna and her band have cared for me and my brothers as if we were no different from the rest of them. They are my family.”

“And what would you do to protect that family?” asked Timot.

“Whatever it takes,” said Toj.

“Good,” said Timot, “then you’re ready to witness what comes next.”

There was a shimmer in the air, and then Timot’s expression was completely different. He was no longer looking at Toj with a knowing smirk, he was instead looking around the room with worry written all over his face. He took a deep breath, and then stood to speak.

“Please everyone, you need to listen to me!” Timot said to the crowd around him. “If you understood the kind of danger you’re really in, you would have driven me off the moment I stepped foot on your land. You’re all good people, and I know you mean well to show me so much kindness, but you’re only dooming yourselves.”

The room went quiet and Timot turned to speak directly to Friendly Seth. “My friend, I told you I’m a coward. If I try to turn myself in, I’ll lose my nerve and run away again. The penalty for deserting my lord’s army is death, and if the deserter can use magic, that penalty extends to anyone who harbors or helps them escape. So I’m begging you one last time, put me in shackles and deliver me back to my post to face execution. I can’t bear to imagine what will happen to your family when my lord’s soldiers arrive to retrieve me.”

Friendly Seth put down the sack of flour he was holding and gave Timot a hard stare. “You’ve already told me all of this, Timot,” he said. “And I’m going to tell you the same thing I said before. We have no shackles here, and we never will. Here in the Homestead, all are free and all are friends who wish to be. We won’t turn on you, my friend. There may be wicked men out there who abuse their power to hurt and bully anyone they can. But that isn’t how we do things here in the Homestead. We take care of each other and we do what’s right. The only way they can take that away from us is when we choose to act like they do. Please never ask us to act like them.”

Toj looked around the room to see everyone in the family nodding in agreement with their patriarch. Even the children had resolute expressions on their faces. The bravery and loyalty in the room was so thick that Toj struggled to fight back tears.

“If that’s to be your final answer,” said Timot, “then I’ll do everything in my power to give you the best protection I can.”

The entire scene shimmered, and Toj found himself once again standing outside in the wheat field where his dream had begun. Timot was there, standing in front of Friendly Seth, and the rest of the clan stood around them. “Danger approaches,” said Timot in a voice more resonant than before. “Seth, steward of this land and patriarch of your clan, have you brought what I asked of you?”

“I have,” said Friendly Seth. He stepped forward and handed Timot his scythe. “This is the tool I use to harvest the bounty of this land. It has served me well over the years, and has become like another limb to me. I now entrust it to you and this enchantment.”

“Brothers of Seth,” said Timot in the same resonant voice, “have you brought what I asked of you?”

Two men stepped forward, carrying a large loaf of bread. It was not hard for Toj to see the family resemblance. “We have,” the brothers said in unison. “This is the bounty of our harvest and the fruits of our labor. It gives nourishment to our bodies and fills the bellies of our wives and children. It sustains us so we can return to the field to harvest again. It is the source of our strength. We now entrust it to you and this enchantment.” The brothers gave the loaf of bread to Timot, now holding the scythe in one hand, and the bread in the other.

“Children of Seth,” Timot called out, “have you brought what I asked of you?”

More than a dozen children of various ages stepped forward, and Toj realized that the group must have been the grandchildren of Friendly Seth, since they were all too young and too numerous to be his actual offspring. They moved in step with one another, as if performing a dance they had rehearsed for months.

“We have,” they said together. While a few voices trailed behind, it was clear to Toj that this too had been carefully rehearsed, and it sounded more to him like the recitation of a poem than the words of children. As they moved towards Timot, they each held out a seed of wheat in their hands.

“This is the next generation of our harvest,” they said. “Even when the time of one crop ends, and the stalks of wheat fall, new seeds will always return to the soil to grow up stronger and more resilient than the ones before. Though simple, it holds countless possibilities. Though small, it is the source of our whole future. We now entrust it to you and this enchantment.”

When the children reached Timot, one by one they bent down and placed the seeds they brought into a small hole near his feet. After delivering the seeds, the children scattered to return and stand with their parents in the circle surrounding Timot.

“I thank you for these precious gifts,” Timot called to the assembly. “I am honored by your trust, and humbled by your strength. I was once an enchanter in the service of a warmonger, and I drew upon my own skill and strength and wisdom to fight his enemies and fortify his forces. But against the struggle that approaches us, my strength and skill and wisdom are not enough. My magic would be drained in an instant if it was sustained by my might alone.”

“But here in the Homestead, none of us is ever alone!” A cheer rang out among the crowd as Timot said these words. “The strength of the Homestead does not come from any one of us alone. The strength of the Homestead is not even limited to those gathered here today.”

Timot held the scythe high. “The strength of the Homestead comes from those whose arms would labor to till and cultivate and harvest it.” Timot held up the bread in his other hand. “The strength of the Homestead comes from the land, which nourishes and sustains its stewards who care for it.” Timot stepped forward and looked down at the hole full of seeds. “The strength of the Homestead comes from each rising generation that comes, and has yet to come, always retaining the heritage they bear.”

The bread in Timot’s hand began to glow, and he held it aloft until it rose from his hand. As it hovered higher in the air, its light became brighter and brighter until it looked like a second sun. The hole filled with seeds grew full of tall, golden stalks of wheat that reached above the heads of everyone in attendance. The scythe in Timot’s hand began to shimmer and change, and its metal blade began to glow as if had just been pulled white-hot from the forge.

Timot held the scythe high with both hands. “Seth, steward of this land, and patriarch of your clan,” Timot called out. “Last autumn you rose up from your field and defended my life with this scythe. On that day, your strength was enough to protect me. Now there approaches a force that is too great to defeat with the strength of your arm alone. And so, I shall forge for you a weapon that will grant the patriarch of this clan the strength, skill, and wisdom of the Homestead. And just like the Homestead, your might, and the might of any who wields this blade to defend the Homestead, will not be limited to the might of flesh and bone, but to the very heart of the land. And the heart of the land will likewise be made mightier by all of your clan who make it their home.”

Timot reached to the top of the scythe, breaking the blade off with only a hand width of the handle remaining. Taking the glowing blade, he plunged it into the golden stalks of wheat. The stalks twisted in tightening spirals around the blade until it was completely enveloped, and Timot withdrew his hand. “Seth, steward of this land and patriarch of your clan,” called Timot, “come forth and claim the might of the Homestead!”

Friendly Seth stepped forward and reached inside the spiraled column of wheat. Toj had to admit to himself that if he had been asked to stick his hand inside a writhing mass of magical grass, he probably wouldn’t have looked as confident as Seth did.

When Friendly Seth withdrew his hand, the golden wheat stalks scattered into a thousand pieces, blowing around in a great whirlwind. And there, in the middle of the whirlwind, stood Friendly Seth, holding the Sword of Wheat.

The blade of the sword looked simple and unadorned, though expertly crafted and sharp. The hilt of the sword was made of the same wood that had been the handle of Seth’s scythe, though now it was finely polished and appeared to be carved with the image of wheat all around it. From the look on his face and the way that he held it, Toj could tell that it had already become like another appendage for Friendly Seth.

“Now for the final verse of this enchantment,” called Timot. “The might of the sword and the one who yields it, comes from the Homestead as I have said. Yet the connection binding this enchantment still relies on my strength alone. To avoid calamity when my own strength fails, take this bread provided by your kin, and cut it with the Sword of Wheat.” At these words, the second sun above them descended back to Timot’s hand, and its intensity dimmed until it appeared again to be a normal loaf of bread. Its heavenly aroma now wafted across the whole field, and Toj thought it unfair that a dream could make him so hungry.

“Once you have cut the bread,” called Timot, “give a morsel to every member of your clan present here today. By doing this, the connection that binds this enchantment will be shared and strengthened by all, rather than bound by me alone. And from this day forth, anyone born to or adopted by those who ate this bread will add their strength to this binding as well. Seth, steward of this land, patriarch of your clan, and protector of the Homestead, do you accept these duties?”

“Yes,” said Friendly Seth, “I do.”

“Then I hereby name you, Seth the Protector,” said Timot, his voice wavering and his knees shaking, “and I declare this enchantment, bound and sealed.”

As soon as the last words were spoken, the entire scene shimmered and became dark and silent.

“What happened?” Toj asked in alarm. “Is that the end?”

“I certainly thought it was,” said the voice of Timot from the utter darkness surrounding them. “I knew that an enchantment of that magnitude was beyond the strength of a common enchanter like me. Such acts would be the stuff of legend, and I was nothing but a lowly infantry enchanter, capable of little more than providing basic support for footmen or a mild nuisance for a knight or two. I suspected that even attempting to channel that kind of magic would leave me magically drained, and very likely dead.”

“So why didn’t you?” asked Toj.

“It seemed I had underestimated the hospitality and kindness of Friendly Seth yet again,” said Timot. The darkness shimmered, and Toj saw the frail body of Timot lying in a bed with a beautiful young woman sitting beside him. At the door stood Seth the Protector, with the Sword of Wheat hanging from a scabbard at this waist. He nodded, and the young woman placed a piece of bread in Timot’s mouth. After a moment, Timot’s jaw moved as he began chewing the bread, and his eyes fluttered open.

Toj stepped closer to the bed, trying to understand what was happening. A shimmer crossed Timot’s face, and he turned his head to speak to the satyr. “After cutting the enchanted bread into enough morsels for his entire clan, he ordered that one piece be saved for me. He declared me a member of his clan that day, and adopted me into the Homestead. A year later, I would fall in love and marry one of his daughters. This lovely young woman you see tending to me here. The magic that I thought would kill me to bind, instead became the magic that strengthened me as soon as I was bound to it.”

“And that binding effect grew and multiplied far beyond what I ever could have imagined. I suspect that if I had really understood what I was doing, I never would have been able to accomplish it. The enchantment bound the might of the clan to the might of the land, causing the land to grow even more lush and fertile than before. In return, the enchantment also bound the might of the land to the might of the clan, making them all more hearty and resilient than before, even those who didn’t wield the Sword of Wheat directly.”

“The wisdom and skill possessed by the patriarch of the clan was also greater than I had anticipated,” continued Timot. “Seth the Protector saw the value in keeping not only the Sword of Wheat, but also the wooden handle from his old scythe that the blade had been broken from. He commanded his clan to carve their history into the polished hardwood, using an intricate and beautiful written language that he created himself.”

“What about the warmonger’s troops?” asked Toj. “Did they ever arrive and attack you after all that trouble?”

“Of course they did,” said Timot. “Countless times they came to punish us, subjugate our clan, and steal our home. In some of the early battles, we took heavy losses, but as we continued to fortify the Homestead, we took fewer and fewer. Seth the Protector instructed us on building a great walled storehouse in the center of the Homestead, and that came to act as our fortress when enemy forces marched against us.”

“We learned to prepare for sieges. We build secret tunnels and passages leading out from the walls of the storehouse so we could continue to harvest the crops, even when our enemies believed they had us surrounded. Our patriarch even used the Sword of Wheat to cut through solid stone as we excavated and delved deeper into the ground, gradually expanding the large cellar into an entire underground kingdom of storage rooms and strongholds.”

“Not all of the encounters with outsiders were violent though. As news of the Homestead spread, many came to seek us out and see if the stories were true. When they heard of a place where they could live free from tyranny and abuse, many left all that they had to come to the Homestead and ask to be adopted in. Our patriarch never hesitated for a moment, and invited in everyone who arrived.”

“What happened to Friendly Seth?” asked Toj.

“I died of course,” said Friendly Seth, suddenly shimmering into focus from the blur of scenes rushing past Toj’s eyes. “I suppose that in theory I could have used the strength of the Homestead to avoid death by old age indefinitely, but fortunately I had the wisdom of the Homestead to see the heartache that would cause.”

“Oh, Seth!” said Toj, feeling a bit startled. “It had been so long since we spoke that I didn’t think you had anything else to tell me.”

“Well, I suppose I do have one last thing to tell you,” said Friendly Seth. “The mantle of leadership in my clan was always meant to be passed along, never hoarded. That’s why I didn’t use the might from the Sword of Wheat to keep myself alive for generations. Because I knew it would never do to choke out the new generation by keeping the old generation holding on longer than was natural. So now that you’ve witnessed all that you have, please take your witness back to the land of the living and the awake. Share the truth of who we were and who we are.”

Friendly Seth held up a staff, carved from the wooden handle of the old scythe. It was much taller, and less worn away from repeated carving, but there was no denying the design at the top. It was the same pattern on the end of Seth’s shillelagh. “If you ever happen to run into someone who carries these carvings with them, please help protect them and bring them home.”

“Actually, I think I have,” said Toj. “One of your kids, I think. Or one of your grandkids, that is great-grandkids. Or maybe a great-great-great-great-not-so-great nephew? In any case, I’ve seen him and he’s not too far away.”

“Well then,” said Friendly Seth and Timot in a unison voice that clearly hadn’t been rehearsed at all. “This audit is officially over.”

“What?” asked Toj. The moment had so surprised him that it took him a while to realize that he was already once again sitting in the small, stuffy office of Lord Haughlt.

“I said,” Lord Hault responded with a bored expression, “that this brings us to the conclusion of the auditing logs I have on file for this particular case. Will you be disputing any of the information? There’s a report I need to fill out if that’s the case.”

“No, but thank you,” said Aluanna, stifling a yawn. “That information was all very fascinating and helpful for our quest.”

As they left Lord Haughlt’s office, Aluanna turned to Toj. “Please say that you witnessed something interesting and usable during that little nap you had in Haughlt’s office,” she said. “Because all his numbers and dates and details went right over my head.”

“Not to worry, my lady,” Toj said with a wink. “I’ll have the whole story bound together in a nice easy-to-listen-to story by the time we get back to camp. And boy is it a story to tell!”

“The night I met with Vdekshi for dinner, I had intended to save my town” said Mayor Marissi. “Instead, I was tricked like an arrogant fool, dooming the town rather than protecting it.”

Marissi looked across the table at the two strangers who sat with him in the ruined former town hall. Seth, the one who had healed him, looked at him without judgment or pity, just a gentle encouragement to continue his story. Tarun, the large stranger who had nearly strangled him to death, no longer had the look of rage he had the night that Marissi had betrayed them, but his expression was still serious and his gaze was piercing.

Marissi took a deep breath before continuing. He had already admitted to them about being the former mayor of this ruined town, and he was halfway through his story about how he had caused its ruin in the first place. The confession had gone smoothly enough so far, but he steeled himself as he remembered that it was the second half of the story that cast him in the most damning light.

“I suppose you didn’t realize the entire dinner was simply a trap,” said Tarun, sensing Marissi’s hesitancy.

“It wasn’t a trap,” Marissi replied quickly. “At least, Vdekshi didn’t mean for it to be one. I genuinely believe that he had extended the invitation in good faith, and hoped to work together and deal honestly with me. As far as I can tell, everything he told me that night was the truth. I was the only one who lied and went back on my word.”

“What did you lie about?” asked Seth.

“My vow to keep secret everything he had told me that night,” said Marissi. “Including… including my vow to keep it a secret.” Marissi unconsciously brought a shaking hand to his mouth, eyes wide and breathing heavy. He felt around in his mouth for his rejuvenated teeth, gums, and tongue, relieved to find them still intact.

“Forgive me,” said Marissi. “For a moment I feared that I might have inadvertently brought the curse down upon myself again by speaking of it. But it seems that broken vow has already been paid for and healed thanks to that magic of yours. Again, my profound thanks for…”

Seth raised a hand to interrupt the praise. “I’m glad you’re well and that you can share the truth with us,” said Seth. “Now what was it that you discussed with Vdekshi that night?”

“A deal that Vdekshi offered me,” said Marissi. “It was a deal that he said would save my town, extend his life, and give him the strength to keep a great evil at bay.”

“Keep a great evil at bay?” Tarun asked. “I thought Vdekshi to be evil incarnate. What could he possibly consider so evil that even he would want to keep it at bay?”

“He never told me the specifics because he said he didn’t want it to tempt me,” said Marissi. “He simply said that it was very ancient, very powerful, and capable of corrupting nearly anyone who got near it. That’s why he said he needed to safeguard it within his stronghold and make sure he stayed alive to ensure that no one ever stole it.”

“So what did he want you for?” Tarun asked. “Guard duty?”

“Vdekshi has no shortage of guards,” Marissi replied. “What he asked for was cooperation… and a sacrifice.”

Seth’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of a sacrifice?”

“Not… not the kind you’re thinking!” stammered Marissi. “This wasn’t like putting a bunch of kids in a wagon, or tying a maiden to a rock or anything. It was actually quite gentle and generous.”

“What do you mean?” asked Seth.

“Well, Vdekshi explained that there was some kind of poison or something destroying him from the inside out,” said Marissi. “It would have killed him years before, but he had used his necromancy magic to prolong his life.”

“Necromancy is the magic of death,” said Seth. “It’s the antithesis of life. How could it have healed him?”

“The magic doesn’t heal him,” Marissi replied. “It merely delays his death. But in order to do that, he needs to power the spell by drawing on the power of a soul as it leaves the body. Essentially, he draws on the power of death in the moment it takes place.”

“What kind of poison?” asked Tarun. There was a grave tone in Tarun’s voice that caused Marissi to think he already knew what the answer would be, though dreaded hearing it.

“I think he said it had somehow fused to his blood,” Marissi said. “Or maybe it actually was his blood? I can’t exactly remember. He said that it was contagious, and that anyone or anything that came in contact with it would go insane and die, but that it wasn’t an illness or infection. He was very clear that it was poison.”

“Was it purple?” Tarun asked. “Did it smell like lamp oil and burst into flames when lit?”

“I, uh… I don’t know,” Marissi replied nervously. “I never saw it myself, and I didn’t really ask any questions about it. Sounds like you maybe know quite a bit about though. Are you familiar with this poison?”

“Maybe,” Tarun replied darkly. “My apologies for the interruption. Please continue.”

“Well,” Marissi continued, “Vdekshi said that while there was no cure for his affliction, he was working on developing a treatment that might provide a more permanent solution for him. Something about dragon eggs that might develop a resistance to the poison if they were strong enough to survive until hatching. I didn’t really understand it, to be honest, but he seemed convinced that he was on to something.”

“But the problem was,” said Marissi, “that he still needed to survive the months or years that it would take to perfect that treatment he was working on. That was where he was hoping for help from me and the other town leaders. He explained that much like a mayor, he was having difficulty managing his responsibilities while also taking care of his own needs in a way that felt just and merciful.”

“Responsibilities?” confirmed Tarun. “Just and merciful? What are you talking about?”

“Well, the way he explained it actually sounded quite reasonable,” said Marissi. “You see, in order to safeguard the evil, he needed to maintain a sufficient fighting force that can adequately protect his fortress. But all he has access to are the undead, and they become unruly and difficult to control when their dark and violent natures are suppressed. But to protect the innocent people in the region, that’s exactly the kind of suppression that Vdekshi has to enforce. It’s quite the difficult balancing act. I mean, you saw the mass of undead that surrounded this building last night. Hasn’t it occurred to you that a force like that could easily wipe out any town in the area in a single night?”

Seth and Tarun exchanged a dumfounded look. “Honestly, no,” replied Seth in bewilderment. “I don’t think that had occurred to either of us. You’re saying that Vdekshi isn’t waging all-out war on the people of this region?”

“Well, not until war was waged on him,” Marissi said. “But now I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, in order to survive his condition and keep his sanity, Vdekshi needs the energy released in death about once a month, at least. Over the years, he had tried to find options that avoided the needless deaths of innocents. Sometimes he would use the death of murderers and thieves. Sometimes he would use living servants of his who had tried to plot and rebel against him. As rumors of his existence spread, he found he could even use the deaths of those who had been hired to kill him. He took no pride or pleasure in any of these deaths, but he felt justified that they were better than taking the lives of the innocent.”

“So why didn’t he keep doing that?” Seth asked.

“Like I said, he already had enough to balance just trying to keep his undead forces from tearing the region apart,” Marissi said. “Finding at least one individual a month that deserved to die, and getting them there to his fortress was another constant struggle, and he was already stretched thin. So he asked me if I could help convince the other mayors in the region to ease that burden of his.”

“By sacrificing one of your citizens every month?” Seth exclaimed. “Wouldn’t that eventually lead to the extinction of your whole population?”

“If only one town participated, then yes,” Marissi explained. “But in addition to my town, Vdekshi had four other towns in mind that he was hoping to convince. And like I said, it’s not like we were going to be sending him our women and children. We wouldn’t even have to send any law-abiding healthy men. We would simply need to send him one of any criminals who had already proved they weren’t worth the cost of feeding in jail. And when the jails were empty, we would just send one among those who were old and already sick and dying anyway. He promised that he would provide for their needs right up to the end, and in far better comfort than we could afford them at home. By all accounts, it seemed like a just and merciful agreement.”

“Sure,” said Seth with thinly-veiled sarcasm, “as long as you don’t mind taking the responsibility of judging who’s worth living or dying.”

“A hard responsibility to be sure,” replied Marissi. “But if the alternative was Vdekshi losing control and his hordes fall upon the entire population, isn’t his offer the better choice?”

“It sounds like you had decided to accept his offer,” Tarun said. “So then what changed?”

“I was poisoned,” said Marissi. “Only it wasn’t the obviously dangerous poison in Vdekshi’s blood that got me. It was much more subtle poison in the flattering words of his servant Laronius.”

“Laronius,” Seth muttered. “Why am I not surprised?”

“As I was leaving the fortress,” said Marissi, “Laronius praised me for my bravery and leadership. He said he admired how strong I must be to make such a difficult decision on behalf of my people. He sneered at how a brutish minotaur like Vdekshi could never understand the bonds that humans shared or the weight of the sacrifice he was asking me to make.”

Marissi lowered his head before continuing. “Laronius then took me aside and whispered that although it was outside his power to directly overthrow his master, he would gladly help in any kind of resistance we chose to offer. He said that countless of Vdekshi’s undead servants used to be humans as well, and would surely side with us over their monstrous master. He told me that if the four other mayors and I decided to gather an armed force and attack the fortress, he would ensure that the gates would be wide open, and we would face almost no resistance or retaliation. He said we could defeat Vdekshi without a single life lost, and I would be the greatest hero mayor in my town’s history.”

“So what happened?” Tarun asked.

“What do you think happened?” Marissi scoffed. “I was set up. Every word Laronius spoke was a complete lie. I met with the other mayors and urged them to help me muster an army large enough to attack the fortress. Only two other mayors were willing to join me. The force we gathered was no army. It was little more than a mob.”

“I ordered the women and children to evacuate the town and wait with any family and friends in neighboring towns until it was all over. I didn’t want them in any danger in case we had to fall back and retreat to the town to regroup. I’m glad I made at least one right decision that day. I’m glad they got away.”

“When we arrived at the fortress, the gate was open all right, but that was just to make it that much easier to trap us in. Vdekshi knew we were coming. Based on that awful grin Laronius has plastered across his face, I could tell he was the one that had alerted him too. But that grin was nothing compared to the expression of pure rage I saw on Vdekshi’s face that day. He had trusted me with his secrets, and I had betrayed him in every possible way. When he squeezed his fist and triggered the curse on my mouth to make me mute, there was no doubt in my mind that I had gotten exactly what I deserved. I wished the curse had just killed me that day, but instead, I was the only survivor.”

“That was when Vdekshi started waging war on the other towns in the region,” Marissi said, tears now falling from his eyes. “So much death and pain, and all because I wanted to be a hero. My life ended that day, and even though I didn’t die, I became a husk of the man I once was. I never thought I’d see the day when I could tell my story and have any kind of chance at life again.”

Marissi wiped his eyes. “Well,” he said, “now you know the truth. What are you going to do now?”

There was silence for a long moment, and then Seth spoke. “Well, how about it, Tarun? What do you think we should do now?”

Tarun looked at Marissi. All of the anger and rage that had been there the night before was gone, replaced by understanding. He looked at Seth, and then gazed towards the center of the rusty lantern. “I’m tired of letting that ringing in my ears tell me what to do,” Tarun said. “It’s time to do what feels right. It’s time we go and heal Vdekshi.”

Tarun Art By Ryan Salway

Mutt hunched in his small tunnel, relying on the darkness of the dungeon to keep him hidden. He peered out of the small hole in the wall he had crawled out of earlier to deliver the cloak to that brat wizard, Shon. He waited and listened. Just like always.

Mutt knew his master would punish him if he found out that he had lingered there after already completing the task he had been given. He wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop or pay attention, or even have his own opinion. He was only supposed to obey and scamper away. That’s all Gravine thought Mutt was good for. That’s all anyone thought Mutt was good for. But that’s only because nobody knew how good Mutt was at collecting secrets.

Being able to fit into very small places was a big part of it, of course. The whiskers and ears were a big help too. As much as Mutt hated this weak, ugly body of his, he couldn’t deny that it was much better suited for spying than his old body had been. The body from his first life, from back when he was whole and handsome and still alive.

Not that Mutt was dead. Not really. Not the same way all those disgusting zombies or phantoms were. They weren’t alive at all, just reanimated. Nor was Mutt an undead creature like that vampire Laronius or the banshee sisters whose lives were suspended through supernatural means in an odd kind of twilight between life and death, without truly being either. In contrast, Mutt was, in a way, both.

His body was certainly alive. It was just… borrowed. “Commandeered” was another word that Mutt would tell himself described his relationship with his body. He thought it foolish to consider it “stolen,” because humans don’t steal from animals. Humans might steal from each other, or from other intelligent races. But when it came to dumb animals, there was no such thing as stealing, just taking and putting to better use.

After all, people put out traps and poison to kill rats every day. Who would complain if one of them went missing so a fellow human could get a second chance at life? Not that Mutt could really remember much about his first chance at life. He couldn’t remember his name, where he came from, or if he had a family. All he could remember was that he had been handsome, and he had been a spy, trying to gather information about something sinister when something went wrong and he ended up dead.

Waking up dead had been an unsettling sensation. He could tell he wasn’t supposed to still be around, but something was keeping him tied to the spot so he couldn’t leave or move on. Not that Mutt had wanted to move on anyway. He had cared about little in life other than himself, and the thought of losing that self was terrifying. That’s when he was offered a deal.

In exchange for his permanent obedience and loyalty, Mutt had been offered a chance to anchor his soul to a living body, and have another chance to walk, talk, eat, sleep, and do everything else it means to be mortal. Though he’d had neither breath to speak, nor head to nod, somehow Mutt had been able to agree to the bargain.

Mutt hadn’t been told that the body he’d be given belonged to a rat. He hadn’t been told that the rat’s soul was still inside the body too. He hadn’t been told a lot of things. Like the fact that animal bodies weren’t made to fit human souls, and that it would have to change to accommodate him. He hadn’t been told about the excruciating pain he would endure as the body stretched and contorted, grew and mutated, twisted and writhed as it strained to fit the human form his soul was accustomed to. He hadn’t been told that the rat soul now stuffed in the body with him would squeal and cry at the agony along with him. And he certainly hadn’t been told that when it was all done, his body would look like a short, misshapen old man the size of a child.

Much later, after Mutt had started to grow accustomed to his new body, he had learned that the same magical process that had been used on him had been attempted several times before. Mostly with wolves. Mutt had some sense that during his first life, he had heard stories of werewolves, but he had never known where they really came from. The most popular stories and legends said that they were men who had been cursed with the ferocity of a beast. Now he knew the truth. They were animals that were cursed with the ambition of greedy humans who thought that one life simply wasn’t enough.

Mutt had learned that the werewolves that once lived in the castle and roamed the nearby forests were too unpredictable and reckless to be of any use to Gravine. The wolf souls within were constantly fighting for dominance, and on nights when the full moon weakened the magic that kept them in check, they would gnash and revolt against their usurpers. They would struggle so hard that even their bodies would begin to revert to some semblance of their former canine forms.

The rat soul that lingered in Mutt’s new body was not nearly so stubborn or fierce. Like Mutt himself, the rat was quite cowardly and timid. And yet Mutt had learned that, when he needed to, he could pull back his own soul’s dominance, and allow the rat soul to scamper forward a little. This decreased Mutt’s sense of awareness and self, so he tried to avoid doing it very often, or for long stretches of time. But the benefit was that it caused his body to revert again to something similar to the size and form of a rat. Which was how he had managed to sneak down to the dungeons so many times before, and how he had been able to drag the cloak through the small hole in the wall that he now hid inside of.

Mutt wasn’t sure how much his master knew of his abilities. On the rare occasion when Gravine actually condescended to talk to Mutt, he never let on that he thought Mutt was anything more than a diminutive servant with a knack for sneaking around places he didn’t belong. Never once did he mention Mutt’s ability to shift his form between a small deformed human to a large deformed rat, and everywhere in between. But then again, Sefit never willingly revealed everything he knew. Neither did Mutt.

That’s why Mutt hadn’t told his master that the cloak he had found and claimed had already belonged to the wizard he was trying to bribe. Not that Mutt would have lied if Gravine had asked. But by withholding that kind of information, Mutt had been able to learn a great deal about how much his master did, and didn’t, know. And for as much as Gravine liked pretending to be all-knowing and all-powerful, Mutt had figured out there was a lot that Gravine didn’t know.

Now, thanks to that whiny and impudent young wizard Shon, Gravine was revealing more of himself in an evening than Mutt had been able to learn from him in the past five years. Perhaps it would even be enough information for Mutt to finally have some leverage and tip the scales of power in their relationship. But he would have to be patient. He would have to listen carefully. And most importantly, he would have to stay hidden.

“You know what I love about self-absorbed scoundrels?” said a quiet and sarcastic voice inside Mutt’s head. “They’re like the best teacher and narrator anyone could hope for when you have the ability to listen to minds.”

Mutt held perfectly still, trying to calm and soothe the rat soul in his body to keep it from scurrying inward and causing him to grow back into his more human form while still squeezed inside a rat-sized hole. Surely the wizard had only spoken out loud, and he had heard it with his physical ears. Why would he be speaking directly to Mutt’s mind?

“See,” said the voice of Shon in Mutt’s mind again, “trying to listen to the mind of a modest or selfless person is the absolute worst. They rarely think about themselves, so I usually can’t learn anything about them. But you! You’re like a dream come true!”

No, Mutt told himself, he was imagining things from being down in the gloomy dungeon for too long. There was no way the wizard had listened to his thoughts.

“Think again, Rat Boy!” replied Shon’s voice in his head. “By the way, that’s literally a request. Keep thinking off all that juicy information I can use!”

“Shhhh!” Mutt whispered so quietly in his high-pitched squeaky rat voice that he hoped Gravine couldn’t hear. “You’re going to get us both killed if you keep this up.”

“Only if he figures out what’s going on,” Shon said. “Right now he has no idea that I’m speaking to your mind. He’s probably not even halfway done yet with this long, stupid monologue about how the conquest of his undead army was noble and just when he was alive because of… reasons. It feels like he’s been talking to me for at least an hour so so and he never really has been clear about that, and at this point he’s just rambling.”

“Now that we understand one another, I’ve got a deal for you,” said Shon within Mutt’s mind. “After all, you like deals, don’t you? Gambling? I mean, what’s the fun in playing if you never take a real risk? Am I right?”

When Mutt made no reply, Shon continued. “See, here’s the thing. I know so much about you now. A lot more than you think. While you were daydreaming about being a master spy and reminiscing about terrifying rat creature transformations, I was able to pick up on a few extras you left lying around in your mind, clinging to those memories you hold so close.”

“So now you’re going to help me with the biggest risk of all,” said Shon, his voice ringing clearly like a bell. “You’re going to help me escape this horrible place. You’re going to obey every command I give, and even go above and beyond. And most importantly, you’re going to swear to me that you will never lay a single finger on my cloak, or I’m going to tell Gravine EVERYTHING you’ve been up to.”

“I think you’re bluffing,” Mutt whispered inaudibly.

“Fine,” came the voice of Shon. “I think I’ll start with what you’ve been up to with the banshee sisters-” Shon’s voice was drowned out of both their heads as Mutt let out a terrifying mental scream.

“Glad to see I finally have your attention,” said Shon. “Now let’s talk about how you’re going to help me get out of this nightmare.”

Illustration of Shon by Ryan Salway

Toj looked at the outstretched hand of the human farmer in his dream. “Friendly Seth?” asked Toj. “Any relation to Seth the Traitor, Seth the Liar, or Seth the Longwinded and Rambling Storyteller?”

The man chuckled, deepening the wrinkles near his eyes. “Can’t recall ever being called any of those things,” replied Friendly Seth. “Maybe Seth the Nuisance on occasion,” he added with a wink.

Toj smiled. Despite the farmer’s mundane appearance, Toj couldn’t help but enjoy this human with such an immediately easygoing demeanor. Even though Toj was still aware that he was dreaming, he was taken in by the profound sense of welcome and belonging in this place. With a momentary pang of sadness, Toj realized that it was the warmest greeting he had ever received from a stranger. He wished his brothers were there to enjoy the experience with him. “Where are we?” Toj asked.

“I suppose that depends on whose map you’re looking at,” said Friendly Seth. “Around here though, my family and I just call it The Homestead. I settled here years ago with my three brothers, and our wives and children, and it’s our home. We raise a lot of things here. Crops, livestock, barns, and cabins. But the two things we’re most proud of growing are the wheat and the family.”

“Wheat!” exclaimed Toj. He had been so wrapped up in his emotions that he had nearly forgotten he was in a dream, and that he had a job to do. Before the dream began he had been in the office of that horribly boring little man, trying to learn more about the Sword of Wheat. “What can you tell me about the wheat?”

Friendly Seth smiled, crinkling his eye wrinkles again. The entire field around them seemed to shimmer with gold as a wind blew across the tops of the wheat. The farmer held up a handful of seeds in his weathered palms. “This is a very special grain,” he said. “It’s incredibly nutritious, and so hearty that it even grows wild around here. I first discovered it in the woods nearby when I was just a boy. None of the lords or kingdoms have ever built settlements here because the land is too hard to tame. The plants are all so hardy that it’s practically impossible to weed out the ones you don’t want growing, so they consider it worthless as farmland.”

“My family decided that we didn’t need to worry about weeding and taming the land as long the wheat was tough enough to grow anyway. And it sure is! Nothing chokes out our special wheat, no matter what comes along. It takes more work on our part during harvest time, of course. Wheat, grass, wildflower, thistle… we cut it all down together at harvest time, then separate it all by hand. But then again, that’s also taught us to be resourceful and use everything we can. You’d be surprised how nutritious a thistle can be.”

“Hey, you’re talking to a satyr here!” Toj said with a smirk. “You don’t have to tell me about how delicious a good thistle is. And don’t forget all the salves and tea you can make from it.”

“Well spotted!” Friendly Seth beamed and clapped Toj on the back. “You’ll have to forgive me, you’re the first satyr I’ve met. Is this refreshing respect of thistles common among your kin?”

Toj’s smile turned sad, and he looked down at his hooves. “Let’s just say we’ve learned how to make do with the things that humans overlook and throw away.”

Friendly Seth put a strong hand on Toj’s shoulder and looked right into his eyes. There was no pity or embarrassment in his expression. There was only respect and understanding. “It sounds like you’ve learned a lot of lessons that were hard-earned. I’m sure you could teach us a lot here on The Homestead. I’m glad you’re here.”

Toj stepped back, suddenly angry with himself. Satyrs were supposed to be quick and nimble. He had learned to leap out of danger so effortlessly that he made it look like a dance. And yet this simple human farmer had left Toj feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he had since he was a young kid watching out for his brothers. Friendly Seth hadn’t even moved his feet, yet he had stepped past all of Toj’s defenses before he even realized what was happening. He felt stupid for letting himself believe he could ever be so loved and welcome and safe.

“Why am I here?” Toj asked, turning away from his host and looking out at the field of wheat surrounding them. “I know this is a dream, you know. I’m not fooled into thinking any of this is real. So just tell me what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

“I recon you’re here to witness something. Something tricky to witness without a bit of help. And helping is what we do here at The Homestead. Including helping those who don’t know how to ask for help. Even in a dream.”

The sky shimmered with colors, and suddenly the light of noon day had changed to the dim of twilight, yet Toj could still see everything in perfect clarity. He plucked the top of a stalk of wheat and felt each seed in his hand. “This is no normal dream,” he said, turning back to face the farmer. “What’s going on here? Some kind of enchantment?”

“I’m afraid enchantments are outside my area of expertise,” said Friendly Seth. “You’ll want to talk to Timot about that.” Before Toj could reply, Friendly Seth looked at something behind Toj and gave a knowing nod. “There he is now, right on time.”

Toj turned around and saw in the distance a young man in robes being chased by a soldier on horseback. The soldier was holding a torch, and shouting angrily at the man in robes. The young man stumbled and for a moment it looked like the horse would trample right over him. Toj was about to shout, when suddenly Friendly Seth stepped in front of the horse, swinging his scythe in a wide arc to scare the horse back. Toj looked back over his shoulder. How had the farmer gotten over there so fast? Even with his sling and his smoothest river stone, Toj couldn’t have thrown a rock there any faster.

There was another shimmer in the air, and Toj found himself right next to the action. The soldier had fallen off his horse when the animal had reared back, and was now drawing his sword to fight Friendly Seth. The farmer held his scythe defensively, and his expression was so serious and determined that he nearly looked like a different person. Toj balled up his fists and began looking around him for anything he might use as a weapon. He found nothing but the frightened young man in robes scrambling to get himself up off the ground.

Toj stepped forward, ready to kick the soldier with his hard hooves. The air shimmered again, and for a moment, everything seemed frozen in time. Friendly Seth looked over at Toj, with his friendly expression and calm demeanor restored. “I appreciate that you want to help,” he said, “but the best thing you can do for now is witness. Trust me, this is how the story is supposed to go.”

Slowly, Toj stepped back from the scene. The air shimmered, and time resumed. Gone was the friendly host, and back was the resolute defender. The soldier charged at Friendly Seth with his sword, but the attack was blocked by the scythe. After that, the battle moved strangely. Sometimes it would slow down and Toj could see the most nuanced movement. Other times it would speed up, skipping past whole portions of the struggle.

There were several moments where Toj could tell Friendly Seth had the opportunity to kill the soldier if he had wanted to. The farming tool was sharp as a razor, and Friendly Seth was clearly the stronger and smarter opponent. But as the fight went on, Toj realized that the farmer’s goal was only to disarm and subdue his opponent. Before long, he had succeeded.

The scene then skipped and became disjointed. Toj couldn’t tell what anyone was saying, but he could tell the soldier was angrily threatening the other two. Friendly Seth took the soldier’s weapons, put the man back on his horse, and resolutely sent him on his way. After that, the farmer helped the young man up off the ground, and shook his hand.

The scene shimmered again, and the two humans stood facing Toj. “What was that?” Toj asked in alarm. “You were just in a fight and you don’t even look winded!”

“That was how I met Timot,” said Friendly Seth, patting the young man next to him on the shoulder. “And I think you know why I’m not tired, or why neither of us is worried about the soldier returning. You’ve already guessed at what’s going on.”

“So this IS an enchanted dream,” said Toj. “Why didn’t you just tell me so?”

“Like I said, enchantments are outside my area of expertise,” Friendly Seth replied. “If you’re going to witness this story, you’re going to need to get it from expert witnesses.”

“I believe that’s where I can be of assistance,” said the young man. “My name is Timot. I’m an enchanter, a deserter of the Battle at Moorfast, and creator of the Sword of Wheat.”

“Well,” said Toj, crossing his arms, “at least we’re finally getting somewhere.”

Mayor Marissi had never considered himself a strong man, but it was only during the last year of his life that he had seen himself as weak. Weakness was a luxury unsuitable for someone like him, he had always told himself. After all, the people of his town trusted him to lead them to prosperity, settle disputes, uphold the law, and above all else, keep them safe. And while that duty seemed to become increasingly difficult every year, Mayor Marissi had managed to uphold his family legacy and keep his town safe.

Until last year.

Last year, the ghost of his grandmother had appeared outside his window with a message and an invitation. Grandma Lucille had been the mayor when Marissi was growing up, and he had never known anyone as charming or commanding as she was. It seemed to Marissi that the entire town loved Grandma Lucille, and he had never tried to hide his pride in her. While some of his friends had grandmothers who could make pies and tell stories, his grandmother could make speeches and tell jokes that rallied the whole town behind her decisions.

Grandma Lucille’s unwavering humor and optimism were at the very heart of her legacy as the mayor, no matter how long the winter or how bad the harvest. She always seemed to know just the right thing to say to bring smiles and laughter to a room. That was one of the reasons Mayor Marissi had been so unsettled to see her as a somber, sorrowful spirit floating outside his bedroom.

“I have a message for you Mari,” the ghost had said. Mayor Marissi had known it must truly be Grandma Lucille because she was the one who had given him that nickname, and he had never shared it with anyone else. “Three messages, in fact. An invitation, an offer, and a warning.”

The invitation had been to go to the fortress home of a powerful wizard, the necromancer who had summoned the ghost of Grandma Lucille herself, for dinner and discussion regarding the future of his people. The offer had been to use magic to ensure the safety of Marissi and his town from invasion or attack if he would accept the invitation, and listen in good faith to the necromancer’s proposal. The warning was that if Marissi did accept the invitation, he must keep the meeting secret, as well as any of the information that would be shared with him during the meal, and if he betrayed the trust of his host, he would be cursed and would lose his ability to speak and lead the town.

“I cannot tell you what to choose, sweet Mari,” the ghost of Grandma Lucille had said sadly. “I can only tell you that Lord Vdekshi’s power is great and terrible, and he will surely keep his promises to you. The good, and the bad. Consider carefully, Mari.” And then, after shedding a single spectral tear, Grandma Lucille had faded away, and Marissi was left sitting up in his bed, shocked at the ominous encounter.

Mayor Marissi had heard rumors and ghost stories for years about a mysterious death wizard who lived in a secret fortress and was responsible for everything from robbing graves and terrorizing travelers to ruining crops and rigging local elections. He had never taken the rumors seriously before that night. But then, he had never been visited by a ghost before that night either. Once he was forced to confront the evidence before him, Mayor Marissi was no longer able to ignore all the accounts of strange disappearances and unexplained mysteries, nor could he deny the creeping dread that had been increasing throughout the years.

The day after Grandma Lucille had visited him, Mayor Marissi had felt a chill and foreboding that no coat could seem to warm and an emptiness in his stomach that no meal could seem to settle. He tried to share his usual jokes and banter with the people in his town, but it all seemed so hollow. Even when they had smiled and laughed, he had seen the unease and worry in their eyes. Everyone had been frightened for years, but nobody had been willing to say or do anything about it. And as mayor, although he felt afraid, he knew that he must be the one to stand up for his town and do something about it.

So when Grandma Lucille had returned the next night, floating silently outside Marissi’s window, he had known what he must do. “Please tell Vdekshi that I’ve decided to accept his invitation,” he had called out to the ghost. “Someone needs to speak up for the people of this town like you used to. Someone needs to be strong.” Grandma Lucille said nothing. She never had spoken to him again after that first night. She just turned away with a sad look on her face and her misty form dissolved into the late night fog.

Marissi knew that his grandmother had delivered his reply though, because two nights later, a black carriage had arrived in front of his home. It had no horses or driver that Marissi could see, but when the knock on his door echoed through the house, he knew it was time to step out into the night and keep his appointment.

Vdekshi had been a gracious host, and just as Grandma Lucille had said, he’d kept every promise he made and then some. But Mari had not been strong. He’d been weak. So weak that he was tricked into breaking his promise and bringing the curse down upon him, and bringing even worse down upon his town. He had proven himself the weakest mayor his town had ever had. And now, after those two years had passed, he was certain he was the last mayor his town would ever have.

He had never considered himself strong, but since the events of the past two years, his weakness and cowardice had utterly consumed him, until it was the only thing he could see when he looked in a mirror anymore. Nothing but weakness incarnate, living inside a shell of the man he used to be.

Until this morning.

This morning he had awoken with the power of speech restored to him, and the curse lifted from his tongue. This morning he had looked out one of the windows of his old town hall and saw two of the strangers he’d betrayed the night before. One of the strangers was the one who had healed him. The other one had nearly killed him.

But now the one who had nearly killed him stood with the morning sunrise behind him, and his eyes were glowing with a white fire. When Mari looked into the white flames, something changed within him. Something was growing and burning.

The stranger with the lantern and stick had given Mari back his speech, but as he watched the flames become brighter and more glorious in the eyes of the large, dark-skinned stranger, he could feel something else come back. It started as an ember in his heart, then grew to a flame he never knew he had. It was his strength, brighter and hotter than he had ever felt it.

Then the white flames had disappeared from the eyes of the dark-skinned stranger, and the stranger had fallen to the ground. The other stranger caught him, and gently helped him recover. Though the flames were no longer visible, the strength was still there. It was time to act. He reached for the door handle, and stepped outside to face the strangers.

“My name is Mayor Marissi,” he said. “And if you’re planning to go after Vdekshi, then I have some information you’re going to need.”