Pall Reader

Anna swallowed hard. Whatever she asked now was something her previous self did not want her to know. Knowledge is power. But it also can be dangerous.

She continued to hold the stylus, despite the cold, hoping deep down that he could feel some kind of comfort from it.

“You said I used death magic on myself? How so?”

“By selectively killing parts of your brain so you would forget.”

“What did I want to forget?”

“How you were spiraling after attempting to defeat The Great Undeath but failed. How you were considering a mass kill of the nobility. How they made you the most hunted witch in the realm because they realized they could no longer manipulate you into cleaning up their mess.” He paused to let it soak in. “Does any of this sound slightly familiar?”

Anna made a face. “No. None of it.”

“Wow, your magic really is potent,” he chuckled, impressed. “You used a ‘Dementia’ script to kill only the brain cells that held your memories since you arrived. How you managed to do that without affecting anything else is truly amazing.”

“Why did I come to find you in the catacombs?”

“Because you were told that I would somehow boost your death magic even more. The perfect stylus, scribing the perfect words.” He paused to roll his eyes. “You wonder who comes up with this fluff.”

“Is that the truth? Can you?”

He shrugged, either uninterested or unconvinced. “No idea. Not that it matters. The Great Undeath cannot be defeated.”

“The nobility certainly think so. Otherwise why keep summoning people.”

“Because they are stupid.” He emphasized the last word with disgust.

“How do you know it can’t be defeated?”

“Because it told me it can’t.”

Anna blinked repeatedly, taken aback. “C-come again?”

“The Great Undeath is intelligent. It is not undead, either. People just think it is because it inhabits the remains of the dead.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Best guess? Some kind of fungal hive mind.”

“Why didn’t you tell the nobility this?”

“What for? So they would hatch yet another terrible plan and summon another stooge to throw themselves at it? No. I told them it could not be defeated and nothing else, hoping they would finally stop wasting lives on the impossible.”

He gestured to Anna. “Clearly they are stupid and tried again.”

“But won’t The Great Undeath destroy the realm?”

“Only if they keep using magic. If they were to stop, it would remain as is and not continue to worsen. But magic is addictive. Once you start using it, it’s hard to stop. Since they refuse to, eventually The Great Undeath will grow so great it will spill out of the deep valley it's confined within and wreak havoc on the realm.”

“Hmmm.” Anna stood and began to pace, thinking carefully on how to fill in the gaps. “And since it cannot be defeated, Old Anna was thinking of killing anyone who was literate to stop the use of magic? Preventing it from worsening?”

“Correct.” His eyebrows lifted and a small stifled smile followed. “You’re actually being smart for once.”

“But that’s mass murder!”

He raised both hands in a helpless shrug. “Like I said, she was spiraling. And she said she was only debating it. But the nobility caught wind and put out a call for her head. Since she didn’t want to kill anyone she went on the run.”

“Stylus, I need your help. The witch hunters are going to catch up soon. I need some kind of plan.”

“That’s easy. Kill them. Then live a quiet life. You are the most powerful witch, ever. No one can harm you unless you let them.”

“But that’s murder.”

“It’s justifiable self-defense.”

“You said Old Anna was smart. And she didn’t kill them. So why should I?”

He frowned at the reasonable logic. “Why do you make everything so difficult?”

“Why do you enjoy killing so much?”

The apparition waved a hand in the air dismissively. “We operate under different rules. You still want to be a hero. I couldn’t care less.”

“I disagree. You must care because you are helping me.”

“I only want peace. If answering your questions makes you shut up sooner, then it’s worth it.”

Anna tapped the stylus in her palm, thinking. The nobles must have summoned someone capable of being a hero. However hurt and jaded, deep down the stylus could still be that sort of person.

“You’ve gone silent. I find that… concerning.”

“Why do I only have death magic?”

“The pall says so.”

Anna stopped the tapping, pausing in place to turn to look at it. The funeral cloth had been with her since the beginning. Clearly it had an important role. Unfortunately the silver embroidery was just elegant looping strokes and sharp intersections to her. She knew it was words but she needed a translator.

“Sorry, but I’m not fluent in funeral pall.”

The spirit simply grinned. 

Anna stuck out her tongue while pulling down a lower eyelid.

“Let the dead guy have his simple pleasures.”

Standing, the spirit turned and held out his hand, running his slender fingers along the pall’s edge, reading aloud. “To give her the greatest death magic, she can use no other kind.”

Anna stepped closer. “Go on.”

The glowing pale blue fingers skipped a section then resumed following along the perimeter of the pall. “The greatest undead force of all can only be defeated by the most powerful necromancer of all.”

The spirit dropped his reading hand to his side. “Well pffft. They have that all wrong.”

“Maybe it wants you to believe it cannot be defeated so everyone gives up.”

“Doubtful. I spent years honing my wordcraft and schooling apprentices. If all of us together could not stop it, it cannot be stopped.”

‘No point in arguing further on that.’ “What else does it say?”

“In summary? It says everyone else failed. So the nobles gathered and summoned a miracle to save the world from The Great Undeath. They debated the careful script over days of diligence, seeking the purest heart.” The apparition stuck out his tongue. “Bleh. Gag me.”

“Does my being the most powerful necromancer of all explain why I can only create death magic?

“Everyone has limits. The wider the breadth of your abilities, the more shallow they will become.” He gestured to a section of script read aloud earlier. “I suspect their carefully written miracle was such that when you were summoned it locked you out of every other kind of magic so your potential would be entirely focused on death magic.”

“Anything more?”

He looked back down, fingers not following the script this time. “Care instructions. Hand wash only. Hang to air-dry.”

“Really?” Anna leaned closer, knitting her eyebrows together.

“No.”

Anna groaned with a sigh. “You’re the worst.”

The spirit clapped his hands together tightly. “Finally. You acknowledge it.”

She gave him a disapproving look. “After everything we’ve gone through, why is the pall still pristine?”

“Death magic can get pretty nasty at times. Because it often affects a wide area, accidental self-harm is a real risk. Wearing it shields you from that.”

“Could it shield me from The Great Undeath as well?”

“With a miracle, anything is possible. If your duty is to save the world from the greatest killing force and you are a mere mortal – rather than undead – having an invulnerable cover protecting you seems a necessity.”

Anna held up the stylus. “May I ask, who did this to you?”

“No clue.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they cast a ‘Dementia’ on me. Poorly written I must say, because I still remember enough. Maybe if I saw their faces again I might remember more.”

“Do you want revenge?”

“What good would that do?”

“Would you like to go home?”

He shook his head, periwinkle bob swaying. “I’ve been away so long that home wouldn’t be ‘home’ any more for me. So no.” The spirit narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing.”

Anna pulled back the covers and slid into bed. She had asked enough questions for now. “If I don’t try to get some sleep we'll both be the walking dead.”

He shrugged and floated over to stare out the window.

“Prove me wrong,” he murmured to himself.