Stories from Osterin

Stories from Osterin

Richard Young

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Richard Young

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Dedicated to all the

Madmen I know.

Bayett

Killing myself was going to be harder than I thought.

I looked at the knife in my hand, poised against the flesh of my arm. Six inches long, single edge, ivory hilt. The blade was razor sharp, the evidence running down my arm in warm rivulets from the shallow wound. I steeled myself, and the blade bit further. For several long moments I held the pose, deliberating, contemplating, arguing. Then I lifted the knife from my skin and hurled it across the room. It clanged against the wall and fell to the floor. Again I had failed. The scratch on my arm would join the other scars that marked past attempts.

I didn't fail because I was afraid of death. Far from it, I was intimately familiar with the afterlife, having discovered the ability to speak with the spirits more than two years ago. No, there was one main problem with suicide. The pain of a spirit separating from a body that would no longer support it was said to be the single most excruciating experience a person could have. As much as I longed for the freedom of the spirit world, I wasn't willing to face that.

Not yet.

I slumped against the wooden wall of the small hut I called home and held my head in my hands.

Ever since my parents had died - I say 'died' because it's easier than saying 'my father killed my mother and then himself' - I found myself with the unusual ability to speak with the dead. Imagine coming home one evening and finding your father sobbing over the body of your mother, a bloody knife in his hand. Before you can process the scene, he takes the knife and thrusts it into his own neck, falling to the ground to join her.

Bad enough, right?

Now imagine that you can see their spirits floating above their bodies, misty, hazy representations of the most important people in your life. Within moments, the mist dissipates, leaving you wondering whether you were hallucinating.

It gets worse.

After the law enforcement has gone, after the bodies have been cleared away, after the shock has worn off, and you've convinced yourself that you were seeing things, after you've passed through all the stages of grief, you decide to do some research. And you discover you're a Necromancer.

You flip through the pages of the book, and the words hit you. It says: Necromancers can bring the dead back to life. You could have saved them, if only you had known.

No wonder I'm so screwed up.

Still on the ground, I tipped my head back against the wall, preparing to enter the realm of the dead. I had learned so much since my revelation. Mostly that I had to be careful.

The process of connecting with the Madness was easier now than it had once been. I had been practicing. My mind snapped into contact with the power, using my own corruption as a channel. The more power that flowed through that channel, the more the corruption would erode at the healthy parts of my mind. Eventually, all Madmen succumbed to their corruption, minds trapped in a state of useless haze. They become a Ratan. A fate worse than death, and the one that awaited me if I continued to visit the spirit world.

But the risk was worth it.

I slowed my breathing, closed my eyes, and allowed my spirit to separate from my body. It only took a moment before the familiar feeling of weightlessness came over me. Opening my eyes again, I looked down at myself, sitting on the floor. My body, my anchor, the only thing holding me back from sailing through the skies without limits.

I sighed - in as much as spirits can sigh - and moved my spirit away from my body, intending to get as far as I could before my body called me back. Moving in this form was easy as thought. I passed through the walls of my hut as though they were made of mist.

For nearly ten minutes I roamed the spirit world. It was empty, which wasn't unusual. There isn't as much death around as you might think, and most spirits dissipate within minutes of death anyway, unless a Necromancer is around to bind them.

The emptiness, the silence, the solitude - I loved it. Nothing could bother me here. It was a place I often used for my experiments. I had tried to work with spirits of animals on occasion, attempting to return them to their bodies. One thing I had discovered: a spirit would not return to a body that could not support it.

If only I had known that earlier, maybe I wouldn't have all this guilt that continues to gnaw at me. Fact is, I couldn't have saved my parents. Knowing that now still couldn't erase the years of suffering though.

A flash of light to the right caught my attention. As bright as it was, there could only be one source: something else had entered the realm of the dead. I knew I didn't have much time left, and curiosity briefly overcame my desire for solitude. Maybe it was a spirit I could experiment on. I still hadn't figured out how to bind a spirit to an object.

As quick as thought, I shot towards where the light had come from. It led toward the graveyard. Odd - not many people die in graveyards. I soared high, and dropped down near the beacon of light.

It was a man, mid-thirties by the look of him, glowing clear and bright in this otherwise murky place. I didn't recognize him. I watched for a few moments; he stared back. I was waiting for his spirit to disappear, to fade back into the essence of this place, to feed back into the world to be born again.

However, I realized with a growing sense of dread, that wasn't going to happen.

This was no recently deceased spirit. This man knew his way around the spirit world. The question was, was he free, like me, or bound to the Asylum?

His eyes narrowed. So, he said. It wasn't so much speaking as it was a voice that resonated with my spirit. A Necromancer?

If he was with the Asylum, he'd be with his Qui. If he was with his Qui, they'd have to come after me, bring me with them, to chain me to a Qui myself. I said nothing.

I don't recognize you, he continued, and judging from your reaction, I'll assume you're on your own.

My mind screamed at me to flee, but my spirit stood rooted to the spot. This was worse than becoming a Ratan. This was a lifetime of being chained to another person. Worse, it was a merging of minds. No more freedom. Ever.

What's your name? the man said.

With a supreme effort, I focused my will on returning back to my body. Something snapped, and my spirit raced back to my body as fast as thought. I shot up from the floor with a gasp. For a few moments I stood there, staring at nothing, as the adrenaline rush faded.

He didn't know who I was, I rationalized as I tried to calm myself. He only saw my spirit, he wouldn't be able to find me.

Even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true. Though I had never seen my own spirit form, it was based on my mind's familiarity with my own body. There was very little doubt that I appeared in the spirit realm as I did in life.

Surely they wouldn't even search for me, I thought. I wasn't important enough to put the effort into. They could just leave me in peace.

My nerves were shattered. My hands were shaking. I needed something to calm down.

For years, I had been experimenting with the effects of various substances. When mixed together, burned and the vapors inhaled, these substances had profound effects on one's mind. I searched through the shelves of bottles containing mushrooms, herbs, and liquids, settling on a certain herb known as calenthis. I pulled it off the shelf and tried to recall the effects. A calming sensation. Freedom from worry. Relaxed state. Most importantly, it had a simple preparation.

Satisfied with my choice of herb, I poured some into a small stone mixing bowl. Some of the herb spilled to the floor as my hands shook. I ignored it and placed the bottle back on the shelf. Taking the bowl in my hand, I made my way to the fireplace, where some embers still smoldered. I thrust a dry stick into the heat; it caught almost immediately. I placed the bowl on a small stand on my work table and used the stick to light a small pile of tinder underneath it.

Within moments, the herb had started to smoke. Eagerly, I thrust my head into the fumes and inhaled deeply. The sensation was immediate. I felt my nerves begin to calm, and my hands relaxed. The table no longer shook as I leaned on it. Another deep breath, and my mind was overtaken with calm. I collapsed onto a small chair as the smoke filled the room. I was content.

I don't know how long I slept there. All I know is that I awoke to the sound of someone pounding on my door.

Bayett Laysen! A voice shouted. I almost fell off my chair. We know you're in there! Open this door or we'll break it down!

They had found me.

The herb's effects must have lingered, because I felt calm as I walked to the far side of the room. They won't take me, I thought as I picked up the knife that still lay on the floor. Not alive.

A few moments later, a hole appeared in the door, filled by a metal boot. I very nearly snickered at the absurdity of the situation. A crash on the other side told me that the boot's owner had lost his balance. The boot disappeared, and a second later, the lock splintered and a heavily armored man stumbled into the room.

I pressed the point of the knife to the side of my neck as two more men and a woman entered the room. One was armored like the man who had broken the door, one was the man who I had seen on my previous excursion. A brief moment of panic flitted across my mind, but it was easily quelled by the knowledge that I was in control. I wouldn't go with them. I would die first.

Stop, I said. Don't come any closer. The knife dug into my neck, and I felt a drop of blood trickle onto my shoulder. I swear I'll do it. The armored men stopped and backed away warily, but the other two held their ground. A small victory.

Bayett, the strange woman said in a soothing voice. We're not here to bring you harm. You must understand, we only want to help you.

I don't need your help, I said. Leave. Now!

I'm afraid, she continued, that we have no choice in the matter. Madmen such as yourself are too dangerous to be allowed to roam without a Qui. If you were overtaken by the Madness, this entire village could be destroyed. Is that what you want?

I hesitated. The entire village? No, I said hesitantly. But there's another option. I do not fear death.

The woman extended her hand and took a step forward. Come now, Bayett, she said. Neither of us wants that.

I almost smiled. Shifting my grip on the hilt of the knife, I looked the woman in the eyes. That's where you're wrong.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, then in one swift stroke pushed the blade through the side of my neck. The pain was incredible as the steel split skin, opened veins, and pierced my throat, exiting on the far side.

My hand fell from the hilt. My legs lost their strength, and I collapsed to the floor. Warm blood poured from the wound, and I quickly passed out to the sound of feet running toward me.

Having my spirit ripped from my body wasn't as bad as I was expecting. It was worse. The pain was more intense than a thousand knives cutting into me at once. Fortunately, the sensation of being skinned alive faded quickly. I was disoriented for a moment, but soon found myself face to face with the spirit of the same man I had seen earlier. I laughed.

Thought you had me, didn't you? I said. I floated in the spirit realm for a few moments, relishing the freedom. Without the anchor of my body, it was an amazing experience. I basked in the feeling, knowing that, in a few moments, my spirit would dissipate and return to the elements. That didn't worry me so much anymore. For the moment, I was happy.

Moments passed, turning into seconds, then minutes. I paused, and doubt entered my mind. It didn't usually take this long for a person spirit to dissipate. I glanced at the other man's spirit, who was still there, watching me.

You bound me? I asked.

Yes.

Why? Binding was a way of preventing spirits from leaving the spirit realm. It involved attaching the spirit to a physical object, much the same way it is attached to a body. It lasted until the object was destroyed, and was the origin of more than one ghost story. You're not going to get me back into my body, what's the point of trying to trap me here? As soon as you leave, I'm going to release myself. It was easily enough done by a Necromancer. As a test, I pulled against the bond, hoping to snap it. Unfortunately, without my body, I had nothing to pull against. But when the other man left, the bond would weaken and I'd be able to free myself.

Probably.

Only for a moment more, the Necromancer said, glancing down at my body.

Curious, I turned and looked down at the floor. My body, no longer living, should have looked much clearer to me than the woman kneeling over it.

It was not.

I turned back to the man's spirit. You brought a Healer!

He nodded. I know the struggles we face, and I suspected this was a possibility. When she finishes Healing your body, she'll administer a potion to keep you asleep for several days. Then I will return your spirit to your body, and when you wake up, you will be in the Asylum.

How could you? I growled. How could you betray a fellow Necromancer?

He sighed. Betrayal was not my intention. If I thought it was best, I would have let your spirit dissipate. But you are strong, and have skill. With training, you could be one of the best. The Asylum will train you.

And chain me to a Qui, like you! I spat. If you truly want what's best-

No, the Necromancer cut me off. You are only Joined to a Qui if you choose to be. If you wish, you may remain at the Asylum indefinitely, training, teaching, or just reading at the library. They will not force you into anything.

My eyes lit up - or they would have if I had eyes. Library? I said. I had devoured the few books that I could find in the village, and hungered for more.

One of the best in the world, the man confirmed. He glanced back to the body on the floor. It was now as faded as the other people in the room. It's almost time, he said. While it will make no difference in the end, my conscience would be better satisfied if I knew you were coming willingly.

I hesitated. This village held nothing for me. I had no friends, few acquaintances, and only the study of my alchemy to keep me occupied. The Asylum had a library where I could study and read to my heart's content. They wouldn't force me to submit to a Qui, I could remain free to learn and experiment.

I looked back at my body, now Healed. I would be chained back to the world of the living. But I could visit the spirit realm whenever I wanted. The decision was made, whether I liked it or not.

I nodded briefly before the magic returned my spirit to my body.

***

Sasha

The first few moments of my life were spent in terror. Shortly after that followed shame, then guilt. At least, that's how I imagine I should have felt. From my very first breath, I was a murderer. But my mother was just the first.

Twelve years later, I claimed my second.

My father, uncle Kollen and I were deep in the Attarnon woods, following a small deer path. We had camped in a clearing a small distance from the trail. After the third day of watching, my uncle finally turned to my father.

Nothing, Nell, he said. Not so much as a rabbit has come down this trail. I think it's abandoned.

My father stood and stretched. Perhaps, but there were fresh tracks when we got here. We just need to be patient.

What do you think, Sasha? Kollen asked, flashing me a smile. I paused in cleaning up my tent and blinked in surprise. After a moment, I returned the smile.

Actually, I said. I agree with both of you. The tracks were fresh, no doubt. But from what I saw, they were confused. I pondered for a moment. The part of the trail we've been watching, I continued, Well, it's difficult to make out through all the prints, but it seems as though these animals were in a great hurry. Tracks break away from the trail at odd and seemingly random locations, and from the distance between the tracks, they were moving fast. I think something spooked them good. And I doubt they'll be coming back this way any time soon.

As I finished reciting my observations, I realized both men were staring at me. I blushed and bent back to cleaning. It's just what I think, I muttered.

Kollen laughed. I do imagine you're right! he said. Don't know how we missed that.

My father just frowned. Why didn't you mention it earlier?

I didn't answer.

Could have saved us a lot of time, Sasha, he continued.

I thought you knew. I kept my eyes focused on what I was doing.

We finished cleaning up the camp in silence. Only when we were done did Kollen speak. What do we do now? he asked.

Unless anyone has any better ideas, my father said, I say we follow the path for a ways. Even if we don't flush out any deer, they probably came back to the path at some point. When we start finding tracks again, we can decide what to do then. He slung a pack over his shoulder, along with his quiver. Kollen and I did the same.

Kollen nodded. Okay, he said. You can drive any deer in the woods to the path, and Sash and I will-

No, my father said flatly, his eyes hardening. The two men glared at each other for a few moments.

Fine, Kollen said. It might be better if we all split up anyway, and get one person on each side of the trail. So I'll go left, Sasha can go right, and you can take the path.

My father hesitated. No, he said finally, Sasha goes left, I go right, you stay on the path.

Kollen shrugged. Fine with me. He winked at me when my father turned his back and I got the feeling that this is what he wanted all along. I couldn't help smiling back at him.

Even then, more than two years after the fire, the faint scent of char and smoke still hung in the air. Unfortunately, it had been just long enough that the forest had begun to regrow, but not long enough for the trees to choke out the underbrush. As I struggled to make my way through the thick vegetation, I began to realize why Kollen had wanted to take the path.

Here and there among the plant life I saw evidence of the flight of the deer. A broken branch, a track in the dirt. Something had scared them, though I saw no evidence of it. As I walked, thoughts ran through my head, each more horrible - and unlikely - than the last. Was it a bear? A wolf? A Madman on the run from the Asylum? A... a dragon?

I started to look more over my shoulder than at the ground. A stray gust of wind caught at my hair and I jumped at the movement. No matter how much I tried to convince myself that there was nothing out here that could hurt me, my imagination wouldn’t let me relax. I clenched my bow and drew a fresh arrow. Just to be safe.

A shout floated through the forest, followed by a sickening gurgle. I was on my way towards it before I thought better, fitting the arrow to the string as I ran. I passed the path and glanced both ways. No sign of Kollen. Moving more carefully, I kept my bow half drawn as I crept through the brush.

I nearly dropped the bow when I saw my father. He was lying on the ground among the brush, on his back. His face was pale, nearly white. I spent a few moments standing in shock before I noticed the arrows. One shaft propped up his shoulder, a pillar from the earth to his shoulder blade. The other was buried in his