The thin sliver of the consciousness that had once belonged to a man known as Ghost remembered that barn. Ghost had seen this body, his body, charred by that wicked Cadderly in that very barn! The evil corpse drew in some air - the action could not be called breathing where this undead thing was concerned - and dragged his blackened and shriveled body the rest of the way out of the hole. The notes of that distant, yet strangely familiar, melody continued to thrum in the back of his feeble consciousness.
Unsteadily, Ghost loped more than walked toward the structure, the memories of that horrible, fateful day coming back more fully with each stride.
Ghost had used the Gkearufu, a powerful device with magical energies directed toward the spirit world, to steal the body of the firbolg Vander, an unwilling associate. Disguised as Vander, with the strength of a giant, Ghost had then crushed his own body and had thrown it across the barn.
And then Cadderly had burned it The malignant monster looked down to his bone-skinny arms and prominent ribs, the hollow shell that somehow lived.
Cadderly had burned his body, this body! A single-minded hatred consumed the wretched creature. Ghost wanted to kill Cadderly, to kill anybody dear to the young priest, to kill anybody at all.
Ghost was at the barn then. Thoughts of Cadderly had flitted away into nothingness, replaced by an unfocused anger. The door was over to the side, but the creature understood that he did not need the door, that he had become something more than the simple material wooden planking now blocking his way. The shriveled form wavered, became insubstantial, and Ghost walked through the wall.
He heard the horse whinnying before he came fully back to the material plane, saw the poor beast standing wild-eyed, lathered in sweat. The sight pleased thellndead thing; waves of a new sensation of joy washed over Ghost as he smelled the beast's terror. The undead monster ambled over to stand before the horse, let his tongue drop out of his mouth hungrily. With all the skin burned away from the sides of the tongue, its pointy tip hung far below Ghost's blackened chin. The horse made not a sound, was too frightened to move or even to draw breath.
With a wheeze of evil anticipation, Ghost put deathly cold hands against the sides of the beast's face.
The horse fell dead.
The undead creature hissed with delight, but while Ghost felt thrilled by the kill, he did not feel sated. His hunger demanded more, could not be defeated by the death of a simple animal. Ghost moved across the barn and again walked through the wall, coming into view of the lights within the farmhouse. A shadowy shape, a human shape, moved across one of the rooms.
Ghost was at the front door, undecided as to whether to walk through the wood, tear the door apart, or simply knock and let the sheep come to the wolf. The decision was taken from the creature, though, when he looked to the side of the door, to a small pane of glass, and saw, for the first time, his own reflection.
A red glow emanated from empty eye sockets. Ghost's nose was completely gone, replaced by a blacker hole edged by ragged flaps of charred skin.
That tiny part of Ghost's consciousness that remembered the vitality of life lost all control at the sight of that hideous reflection. The monster's unearthly wail sent the barnyard animals into a frenzy and shattered the stillness of the quiet autumn night more than any violent storm ever could. There came a shuffling from inside the house, just behind the door, but the outraged monster didn't even hear it With strength far beyond that of any mortal, he drove his bony hands through the center of the door and pulled out to the sides, splintering and tearing the wood as though it were no more than a thin sheet of parchment
A man stood there, wearing the uniform of a Carradoon city guardsman and an expression of sheer horror, his mouth frozen wide in a silent scream, his eyes bugged out so far that they seemed as if they would fall from his face.
Ghost burst through the broken door and fell over him. The man's skin transformed, aged, under the creature's ghostly touch; his hair turned from raven black to white and fell out in large clumps. Finally the guardsman's voice returned, and he screamed and wailed, flailing his arms
helplessly.
Ghost ripped at him, tore at his throat until that revealing scream was no more than the gurgle of blood-filled lungs,
The creature heard a shuffle of feet, looked up from the kill to see a second man standing beyond the foyer, in a doorway at the other side of the house's small kitchen.
"By the gods," this man whispered, and he dove back into the far room and slammed the door.
With one hand, Ghost lifted the dead man and hurled him out the shattered portal, halfway across the barnyard. The undead creature floated across the floor, savoring the kill, yet hungry for more. His form wavered again, and he walked across the room and through another closed door.
The second man, also a city guardsman, stood before the wicked thing, swinging his sword frantically at the horrid monster. But the weapon never touched Ghost, slipped right through the insubstantial, ethereal mist the creature had become. The man tried to run away, but Ghost kept pace with him, walked past furniture that the man stumbled over, walked through walls to meet the terrified man on the other side of a door.
The torment went on for a long and agonizing time, the helpless man finally stumbling out into the night, losing his sword as he tumbled down the porch steps. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the dark night, ran with all speed for Carradoon, howling all the way.
Ghost could have, at any time, re materialized and torn the man apart, but somehow the creature felfthat he enjoyed this sensation, this smell of terror, even more than the actual killing. Ghost felt stronger for it, as though he had somehow fed off of the horrified man's emotions and screams.
But now it was over and the man was gone, and the other man was long dead and offered no more sport
Ghost wailed again as the thin sliver of remaining consciousness considered what he had become, considered what wretched Cadderly had created. Ghost remembered little of his past life, only that he had been among the highest paid killers in the living realm, a professional assassin, an artist of murder.
Now the creature was an undead thing, a ghost, a hollow, animated shell of evil energies.
After more than a century of being in possession of the Ghearufu, Ghost had come to consider mortal forms in a much different way than others. Twice the evil man had utilized the powers of the magical device to change bodies, killing his previous form and taking the new one as his own. And now, somehow, Ghosf s spirit, a piece of it at least, had come back to this plane. By some trick of fate, Ghost had risen from the dead.
But how? Ghost couldn't fully remember his place in the afterlife, but sensed that it was not pleasant, not at all. Images of growling shadows surrounded him; black claws raked the air before his mind's eye. What had brought him back from the grave, what compelled his spirit to walk the earth once more? The creature scanned his fingers, his toes, for some sign of the regenerative ring Ghost had once worn. But he distinctly remembered that the ring had been stolen by Cadderly.
Ghost felt a call on the wind, silent but compelling. And familiar. He turned glowing eyes up toward the distant mountains and heard the call again.
The Ghearufu,
The malignant spirit understood, remembered hearing the melody from his place of eternal punishment. The Ghearufu had called him back. By the power of the Ghearufu, Ghost walked the earth once more. At that confused, overwhelming moment, the creature couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not He looked again to his shriveled, gruesome arms and torso, wondered if he could withstand the light of day. What future awaited Ghost in such a state? What hopes could the undead thing hold?
The silent call came again.
The Gheantfyt!
It wanted Ghost back - and by its power, the creature's spirit could surely steal a new form, a living form.
In Carradoon, not so far from the farmyard, the horrified guardsman stumbled to the closed gate, screaming of ghosts, crying for his slaughtered companion. If the soldiers manning the gate held any doubts about the man's sincerity, they needed only to look into his face, a face that appeared much older than the man's thirty years.
A large contingent of men, including a priest from the Temple of Ilmater, rode out from Carradoon's gate less than an hour later, hell-bent for the farmhouse, prepared to do battle with the malignant spirit Ghost was far gone by then, sometimes walking, sometimes floating across the fields, following the call of the Gkearufit, his one chance for deliverance.
Only the cries of the nighttime animals, the terrified bleating of sheep, the frightened screech of a night owl, marked the ghost's passage.
Step Over A Dangerous line
The dawn had long since passed, but the room Cadderly entered was darkened still, shades drawn tight to the windows. The young priest moved to the bed quietly and knelt, not wanting to disturb Headmistress Pertelope's sleep. If Headmaster Avery had been Cadderly's surrogate father, then wise Pertelope had been his mother. Now, with his newfound insight into the harmonious song of Deneir, Cadderly felt that he needed Pertelope more than ever. For she, too, heard the mysterious notes of that unending song; she, too, transcended the normal boundaries of the clerical order. If Pertelope had been beside Cadderly in his discussion with Thobicus, then his reasoning would have been bolstered, and the withered dean would have been forced to accept the truth of Cadderly's insights.
But Pertelope could not be with him. She lay in her bed, deathly ill, caught in the throes of a magical enchantment gone wild. Her body had been trapped in a transformation somewhere between the smooth and soft skin of a human and the sharp-edged denticles of a shark, and now neither air nor water could satisfy the headmistress's physical needs.
Cadderly stroked her hair, more gray than he remembered it, as though Pertelope had aged. He was somewhat surprised when she opened her eyes, which still held their inquisitive luster, and managed a smile in his direction.
Cadderly strained to return that look.
"You must recover your strength," he whispered to her.
"I need you."
Pertelope smiled again, and her eyes slowly closed.
Cadderly's sigh was one of helpless resignation. He started to turn away from the bed, not wanting to tax Perte-lope's depleted strength, but the headmistress unexpectedly spoke to him.
"How went your meeting with Dean Thobicus?"
Cadderly turned back to her, surprised by the strength in that voice, and surprised also that Pertelope even knew he had met with the dean. She had not been out of her room in many days, and on the few occasions Cadderly had come to visit her, he had not mentioned his upcoming meeting.
He should have expected that she would know, though. As he considered the revelation, he reminded himself that she, too, heard the song of Deneir. She and Cadderly were intimately joined by forces far beyond what the other priests of the library could even understand, joined by a communal bathing in the river that was their god's song.
"It did not go well," Cadderly admitted. "Dean Thobicus does not understand," Pertelope reasoned, and Cadderly suspected that the headmistress had suffered many similar meetings with Thobicus and other priests who could not comprehend her special relationship with Deneir.
"He questioned my authority in branding Kierkan Rufo," Cadderly explained. "And he ordered that I hand the Ghearufu..." Cadderly paused, wondering how he might quickly explain the dangerous device. Pertelope squeezed his hand, though, and smiled, and he knew that she understood.
"Dean Thobicus ordered me to turn it over to the library supervisor," Cadderly finished.
"You do not approve of that course?"
"I fear it," Cadderly admitted. There is a will within the artifact, a sentient force almost, that may overcome any who handle it. I, myself, have had to struggle against the alluring calls of the Ghearufu since I took it from the assassin's burned body."
"You sound arrogant, young priest," Pertelope interrupted, her emphasis on the word "young."
Cadderly paused to consider the response. Perhaps his feelings could be considered arrogant, but he believed them nonetheless. He could control the force of the Ghearufit, had controlled it to this point, at least Cadderly realized that he held a special insight now, a gift from Deneir, that others of his order, with the exception of Pertelope, seemed to lack.
"That is good," the headmistress said, answering her own accusation. Cadderly eyed her curiously, not quite understanding where her reasoning was leading.
"Deneir has called upon you," Pertelope explained. "You must trust in that call. When you first discovered your budding powers, you did not understand them and you feared them. It was only when you came to trust in them that you learned their uses and limitations. So it must be with your instincts and your emotions, feelings heightened by the song that ever plays in your mind. Do you believe that you know what is the best course concerning the Ghearufit?"
"I know," Cadderly replied firmly, not caring that he did indeed sound arrogant
*And concerning Kierkan Rufo's brand?"
Cadderly spent a moment considering the question, for Rufo's case seemed to encompass many more edicts of proper procedure, procedures that Cadderly had obviously circumvented. "I did as the ethics of Deneir instructed me," he decided. "Still, DeanThobicus doubts my authority with good cause."
"From his perspective," Pertelope replied. "Yours was a moral authority, while the dean's power over such situations comes from a different source."
"From a created hierarchy," Cadderly added. "A hierarchy that remains blind to the truth of Deneir." He gave a chuckle, unintentionally derisive. "A hierarchy that will hold us in check until the cost of a war with Castle Trinity multiplies tenfold, a hundredfold."
"Will it?"
It was a simple question, asked simply by a priestess who had not the strength to even rise from her bed. To Cadderly, though, the question's connotations became quite complex, implicating him and his future actions as the only possible answer. He knew in his heart that Pertelope was calling upon him to prevent what he had just predicted, was asking him to usurp the authority of his order's highest ranking priest and bring Castle Trinity's influence to a quick end.
Her coy smile confirmed his suspicions.
"Have>ott ever dared to overrule the Dean?" Cadderly asked bluntly.
"I have never been in such a desperate situation," the headmistress replied. Her voice sounded weak suddenly, as though her efforts to be strong had reached their end.
"I told you when you first discovered your gift," she went on, pausing often to collect her breath, "that many things would be required of you, that your courage would often be tested. Deneir demands intelligence, but he also demands courage of spirit so that intelligent decisions can be acted upon."
"Cadderly?" The quiet call came from the door, and Cadderly looked back over his shoulder to see Danica, her face grave. Behind her stood the beautiful Shayleigh, elven maiden, elven warrior, from Shilmista Forest, her golden hair lustrous and her violet eyes shining as the dawn. She made no greeting to Cadderly, though she had not seen him in many weeks, out of respect for the obviously solemn meeting.
"Dean Thobicus is looking for you," Danica explained quietly, her tone full of trepidation. "You did not give the Ghearufu..." Her voice trailed away as Cadderly looked back to the bed. to Pertelope, who appeared very old and very tired.
"Courage," Pertelope whispered, and then, as Cadderly looked on with full understanding, the headmistress peacefully died.
*****
Cadderly did not knock and wait for permission to enter the office of Dean Thobicus. The withered man was sitting back in his chair, staring out the window. Cadderly knew that the dean had just received news of Headmistress Pertelope's death.
"Have you done as you were instructed?" Thobicus snapped as soon as he noticed that Cadderly had entered, and by that time, Cadderly was already up to the man's desk.
"I have," Cadderly replied.
"Good," Thobicus said, and his anger faded, replaced by his obvious sorrow for Pertelope's passing.
"I have bid Danica and Shayleigh to assemble the dwar-ven brothers and Vander by the front door, with provisions for the journey," Cadderly explained, popping on his blue, wide-brimmed hat as he spoke.
"To Shilmista Forest?" Thobicus asked tentatively, as though he was afraid of what Cadderly was about to say. One of the options Thobious had offered to Cadderly was to go out and serve as emissary to the elves and Prince Elbereth, but he didn't think that was what the young priest was now hinting at
"No," came the even answer.
Thobicus sat up very straight in his chair, a perplexed expression on his hollow, weathered face. He noticed then that Cadderly wore his hand-crossbow and the bandolier of explosive darts. The spindle-disks, Cadderl/s other unconventional weapon, were looped on the young priest's wide belt, next to a tube that Cadderly had designed to emit a concentrated beam of light
Thobicus considered the clues for a long while. "You have turned the Ghearufu over to the library supervisor?" he asked directly. "No."
Thobicus trembled with mounting rage. He started to speak several times, but wound up chewing his lips instead. "You just said that you had done as you were instructed!" he roared at last, in as furious an outburst as Cadderly had ever seen from the normally calm man. "I have done as Deneir instructed," Cadderly explained. *You arrogant... you,.. sacrilegious - * Tliobicus stammered, his face shining bright red as he stood up behind the desk.
"Hardly," Cadderly corrected, his voice unshaking. "I have done as Deneir instructed, and now you, too, are to do Deneir's bidding. You will go down with me to the front hall and wish my Mends and me good fortune on our all-important mission to Castle Trinity." The dean tried to interrupt but something that he did not yet understand, something intruding into his very thoughts, compelled him to silence. Then you will continue the preparations for a springtime assault," Cadderly explained, "a reserve plan in case my friends and I cannot accomplish what we set out to do." "You are mad!" Thobicus growled. Hardly.
Thobicus began to argue back - until he realized that Cadderly had not spoken the word. The dean's eyes narrowed and then popped wide as he came to realize that something was touching him - inside his mind!
"What are you about?" he demanded frantically.
You need not speak, Cadderly telepathically assured him.
"This is..." the Dean began.
"... preposterous, an insult to my position," Cadderly verbally finished for him, sensing and perfectly revealing the words before Thobicus ever spoke them.
The dean fell back in his chair. Do you realize the consequences of your actions'? he mentally asked.
Do you realize that I could shatter your mind? Cadderly responded with all confidence. Do you further realize that my powers are bestowed by Deneir?
The dean's faced screwed up in confusion and disbelief. What was this young upstart hinting at?
Cadderly held no love for this ugly game, but he had little time to handle things the way the proper procedures of the Edificant Library demanded. He mentally commanded the dean to stand, then to stand on the desk. Before he knew what had happened, Thobicus found himself looking down at the young priest from a high perch.
Cadderly looked to the window, and Thobicus telepathically sensed the young priest privately musing that he could quite easily persuade the dean to jump out of it - and suddenly Thobicus believed that Cadderly could! Without warning, Cadderly released Thobicus from the mental grip, and the dean slumped down from the oaken desk and slid back into his chair.
"I take no pleasure in dominating you so," Cadderly explained sincerely, understanding that the best results might be gained by restoring the defeated man's pride. "I am allowed the power by the god that we both recognize. This is Deneir's way of explaining to you that I am correct in these matters. It is a signal to us both, nothing more. All that I ask - "
"I will have you branded!" Thobicus exploded. "I will see that you are escorted from the library in chains, tormented every step of the way as you leave this region!"
His words stung Cadderly profoundly as he continued his tirade, promising every conceivable punishment allowable by the Deneirian sect Cadderly had been raised under those rules of order, under the precept that the dean's word was absolute rule in the library, and it was truly terrifying to the young priest to cast aside convention, even in light of the greater truth playing within the notes of the Deneirian song. Cadderly focused his thoughts on Pertelope at that terrible moment, remembering her call for courage and conviction.
He heard the harmony of the song playing in his mind, entered its alluring flow and found again those channels of energy that would allow him into the private realm of Dean Thobicus's mind.
Cadderly and the dean exited the library a few minutes later, to find Danica and Shayleigh; the giant Vander (who was using his innate magical abilities to appear as a huge, red-bearded man); and the two dwarves, stocky, yellow-bearded Ivan, and round-shouldered Pikel, his beard dyed green and pulled up over his ears, braided with his long hair halfway down his back, waiting for them. The smiling dean wished Cadderly and his five companions the best of fortunes on their most important mission, and waved a fond farewell as they walked off into the Snowflakes.