Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Walking beside a primeval forest so dense absolute darkness filled the spaces between the tree trunks, Muriel found that her attention was arrested by a breathy voice that called her name from the midst of the wildwood. Turning her back on the well-tended fields of produce and the low stone walls that divided the rolling lanscape into manageable parcels, she reached out and probed the darkness with her Powers of Intuition.

  I sense no evil, Muriel surmised as she examined her emotions. But a feeling of alarm assails me like something terrible is about to happen to the one who called my name in such an imploring way.

  "Who goes there?" Muriel sent her voice racing off into the darkness that languished beneath the heavy canopy of deep-green leaves the ancient arbors held aloft. "Who called my name?"

  A spark of light appeared inside the forest, far enough away that Muriel wondered how its light got past the inky black that sat between her and the tiny flame.

  "Muriel," the strange voice implored, "come to me."

  Apprehension filled Muriel's reply. "If I do, will you keep your flame lit, for if it goes out, I fear I will be lost in the darkness."

  "The light will not go out. And as you soon will discover, it is more than a flame."

  Since she had felt no evil, Muriel walked into the ancient forest whose darkness quickly enveloped her, blotting out the sight of the well-ordered fields and the sunshine that bathed them in its warmth. Only the flickering flame remained, summoning her with its welcoming light. Nothing else could be seen: neither the tree trunks, nor the canopy leaves she knew must still be above her.

  Concerned with how deep the darkness was, Muriel continued on. To do otherwise was unthinkable, since she was convinced she would be quickly lost in a forest she felt had no end to it.

  In time, she came to small clearing that had a comparably small campfire burning inside a ring of stones that sat at its center. The clearing was no more than five strides across. The campfire was not much larger than a bunch of flowers held behind the back of a young man gone courting. It's dull light, for the black back drop had made it seem brighter than it was, barely reflected off of the tree bark that covered the rigid sentinels standing guard over the flickering flames.

  "Thank you for coming." The voice whispered in her ear.

  When Muriel turned to see who had spoken, no one was there, at least not nearby. Scanning the barely visible tree trunks that surrounded her, Muriel caught sight of a pillar of mist she first thought was one of the arbor's trunks. After settling her eyes on the mist, she decided it wasn't a pillar at all. Instead, it was a mass of human-shaped vapor.

  "Are you a Forest Spirit?" Not ignorant of the Ethereal Realm, Muriel's interest was piqued by the the demure nymph that was hiding in the forest's darkness. "Have you come to ask a boon of me? Perhaps you would like me to sing a song for you?"

  "Come now Muriel, surely you can see that I'm not a sprite or any such thing?"

  Taking a moment to call on her Powers of Intuition again, Muriel exclaimed, "You're a wraith!”

  Not at all put off by the discovery since she was no stranger to such beings, Muriel added, “I've never had your kind visit my dreams before. Why are you here? Does the darkness you shroud yourself in speak of how lost you feel? Have you come to ask me to assist you on your journey to the Warl of the Dead? If so, I can help you."

  Ever since Ab'Don forced Muriel to go to the Warl of Dead and meet the Evil One who tried to twist her soul into an instrument the foul entity could use to unleash its will in the Warl of the Living, the Prophetess found that she had an affinity with the spirits of the deceased that enabled her to help them along on the final journey. Many were too confused to begin the fateful trek due to the unexpected changes their deaths had foisted on them.

  "I’m not ready to take that journey yet." Once again, the wraiths voice sounded like a whisper in her ear. "I have unfinished business in Ar Warl to attend to."

  Muriel frowned at the calm resolve she heard in the wraith's words. There was no confusion or bewilderment present as was common with the recently departed. This meant the wraith was different from others of its kind. It felt it still had a right to stand among the living. Was this one of the Lorn Fast Wraiths that have been troubling the warl? The absence of an evil ambiance suggested that this was not the case.

  "What might that business be," Muriel asked.

  "My brother needs a Healer," the voice whispered. "He is as lost as you would be if I snuffed out the campfire that stands between us. He can't see the path that has been set before him. And unless he does, both the Ar and the Nyeg are doomed."

  "Who is your brother?" To say that the wraith's kin was as important as stated was troubling if true. There was only one person Muriel knew about that could have such a thing said about them: her husband.

  "My brother is Jeaf Wyldestone."

  "Are you talking about Jeaf Oakenfel?"

  "Oakenfel no more," the whispering voice was louder than before, "he is now a Fane J'Shrym"

  "And who might you be?" Muriel knew this was no ordinary dream and the woman was no ordinary wraith.

  "My name is Pearl Wyldestone. I too am a Fane J'Shrym." The wraith's features came into focus as she stepped into the campfire's flickering light. And true to her word, she had a resemblance to Jeaf, though her face was a touch narrower. "Have you heard of the one named Mar'Gul? I am she."

  Then the wraith giggled like she was a maiden hiding a secret as she said, "Geetings Sister."

  "My husband has talked at length about you." Muriel frowned as she tried to make sense of things. "You should know... Sister, he holds you in high regard. Why have you chosen to appear to me as a spirit?"

  "Sadly, this is a choice that was made for me, for I died in the Battle of Chylgroyd's Keep. I thought the griffin would have told you this." Pearl's voice was no longer a whisper, neither did it have the echoing quality it did when she spoke in the conscious warl. "Enough of that for now. You need to wake up and give me a proper greeting, since I'm standing at the foot of your cot looking down on you as you sleep. I thought you would be less startled if I introduced myself to you in your dreams.

  "Please wake the others up who are sleeping in the tent with you. But be as discrete as you can to keep attention from being drawn to our meeting." Pearl was refering to Muriel's mother-in-law, Elamor, and the Master Candle Warrior, Dolfon, who were there to ensure the Prophetess' well-being.

  "Look behind you," Pearl added. Muriel turned and saw light coming from the direction of the sunlit fields she had been walking beside earlier in her dream. "Once you leave the forest and come beneath the sun's watchful eye, you'll re-enter your own dream and your time of rest will end."

  "This," Muriel swept her arm around to indicate the ancient forest she and Pearl were standing in, "is not part of my dream?"

  "No, it's a construct I willed into existence. I guess you could say it's a dream standing beside a dream. I couldn't enter your sleep without being invited. So, I put the forest in your path to give you a way to ask me to come to you. I made it dark and foreboding to make certain you had to exercise your will to enter it. Once you did, your actions became an invitation I accepted."

  "So, I'm inside your dream now?"

  "By entering the forest, the dreams intertwined to a point that they are now one." Pearl laughed as the light from the fields intensified and washed away the details of her features. "We can discuss the magic I used later. It's time for you to wake up."

  With that said, Muriel turned and walked between the massive boles that held the heavy canopy of leaves aloft until she stood beside the forest's outermost tree. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the campfire had disappeared and that a dense mist sat where it once was. Pearl, is that you, she wondered. Then she stepped into the sunlight.

  Opening her eyes while she lay on her cot, Muriel nodded at the shadowy wraith who stood just inside the closed tent flap. Sitting up she said, "Elamor, Dolfon, wake up. We have a visitor."


  Seeing the tent was filled with darkness, Elamor spoke a Word of Power and lit one of her Candle Maker candles as she swung her legs over the side of her cot and sat up. Before her feettouched the rugs that covered the floor, Dolfon was already on her feet with a dagger in hand. Sensing no distress in Muriel's voice, the Master Candle Warrior didn't take time to draw out one of her candles.

  "Jeaf's sister has come to see me," the Prophetess explained as she sat on her cot facing her mother-in-law.

  "Pearl's here?" Elamor lifted her candle, and as she did, the light it cast expanded until the tent was filled with its glow.

  With the wraiths misty form refecting the light Elamor had conjured up, Dolfon spoke a Word of Power and brought a candle to life that she had slipped out of the sleeve of the tunic she wore to sleep in. "Be warned," she said the ethereal personage, "mischevious spirits will be harshly dealt with."

  Pearl's amused chuckling sounded like it passed through a long, stone hallway before it reached the women's ears. "Ab'Don might consider me a mischevious spirit, and I hope to prove him right on that account, but none who are friends of the Hammer Bearer will find me so inclined."

  "Dolfon," Muriel rose from her cot, "put away your candle. This is no Lorn Fast Wraith. This is Jeaf's sister."

  Not ready to comply with a request made by someone who had just awakened, Dolfon tried to get clarification on the situation. "Have you dislodged your spirit from your body and sent it out as a messenger? I've heard of arcane magic that once could do such things. Is that what is happening here?"

  "You are right when you suspect that my spirit has been dislodged from my body; but it wasn't my magic that did it. I died in the battle that was fought to set my brother free from his imprisonemnt in Chylgroyd's Keep."

  Pearl sighed as she answered the question she guessed Dolfon would ask next. "The magic Andara poured into me when I became Mar'Gul tethers me to the Warl of the Living until I can transfer the wizard’s power to another vessel made of flesh and blood. Since Andara has already chosen my successor, my time here is limited. Though I will soon be freed from the anchor that prevents me from setting sail for the Warl of the Dead, I hope to help my friends and loved ones as much as I can before that journey begins. That's why I've come to talk to Muriel."

  A warrior to the core of her being, Dolfon was not going to let her guard drop so easily. "The only spirits I've met in Ar Warl have had ill-intentions. I assume the evil that saturates this foul place controls the phantoms. How is it that you've escaped its influence?"

  "You assume everything in Ar Warl is evil."

  "I don't think everything is bad to the core. But the taint of evil is usually enough to create problems I'd rather not make room for."

  "Are you asking if I'm tainted with evil since I lived my life in Ar Warl?" Pearl looked like she was taking time to ponder this before she spoke again. "Like everything in the place where the Sorcerer rules, I haven’t been left unscathed by the darkness he so loves. But that doesn't mean I'm evil like he is; nor does the winters Muriel spent in the Cave of Forgetfulness make her foul. Good and evil are never far apart, and the victory one has over the other is never absolute. Still, we can learn from evil's touch, if we are willing: we can learn what to eschew and what to cling to. As a warrior, you should knoow this."

  "It may be as you say," Dolfon admitted, "But for now, I'll keep my candle lit."

  Comforted that Dolfon held her ground in spite of her request to do otherwise, Muriel set aside further efforts to disarm her friend before she spoke to Pearl again. "You say Jeaf needs my help. Please explain."

  "Jeaf is in trouble?" Elamor came to stand by Muriel's side.

  "It's his mind." Pearl's voice sounded like it came from farther away than unusual. "Jeaf is different than he was before he was taken to Chylgroyd's Keep. He’s given to doubts that will affect his ability to fight the Sorcerer once they meet; and meet they will. Suffering from nightmares that he has a hard time shaking off once he awakens, Jeaf says there are times when he has difficulties knowing what is real and what isn’t."

  Pearl went on to explain what happened at the Battle in the Pasture, how the Hag used his nightmares to draw him into a trap. "Bacchanor believes that Hag spells have taken root in Jeaf in a way that Vlad’War’s Magic can’t dislodge, nor can Andara's healing power entirely uproot the dark magic. Something more is required. That’s why I'm here.

  "The Prophetess needs to sing the Song of Breaking over the Hammer Bearer, the song she learned to sing in a place as dark as the torture chamber where evil's curse gained purchase in Jeaf's soul, a song that broke Ab'Don's spell off of the Nyeg. Muriel must come with me if Jeaf is to regain full control of his mind."

  Ignoring the others, Pearl spoke directly to Muriel. "Your husband needs you."

  The ring that Muriels' father had given her on the day she was born, the one that never had to be resized since it grew as she did, began vibrating on her finger as Pearl spoke. When she said: Your husband needs you, the crystal sitting on top of the ring began to emit light.

  "If she agrees to go to Jeaf," Dolfon was not unaware of the significance of Muriel's ring, "how will she reach him?" Logistics ensuring the Prophetess' safety would be left to Dolfon.

  "Earlier you asked if arcane magic had brought me here," Pearl replied as she lifted the tent flap a hand's width and glanced outside. "Indeed, it has. But not in the way you thought. I used the Magic of Flying to get here."

  "The kind of Flying Jeaf told us about?" Dolfon shook her head at the thought. "Isn't that dangerous?"

  "Yes, it is." Pearl intoned as she stepped away from the flap and closer to the women. "That's why its use was discontinued. Too many disappeared while employing it. But this is why Flying will be the safest way to get Muriel past Ab'Don, and those he has commanded to keep track of supernatural activity in the Ar, so she can reach Jeaf in a timely manner. Passing through the populated lowlands would be much more dangerous; and winding our way through seldom used trails in the mountain heights would take far too long. Even the griffin couldn't get Muriel to Jeaf quickly enough, given the distances they would have to fly to avoid detection. With the unique magical signature their presence exudes and the high state of alert the Sorcerer's followers are on, I dare say, the griffin would have to get past most of the cretchym found in Ar Warl to reach the Hammer Bearer."

  Hearing the griffin that were sleeping outside of Muriel's tent stirring, the flapping of massive wings that usually followed a time of respite being the chiefest expression, Pearl added, "Speaking of griffin, my husband has arrived."

  Grour Blood's huge paw drew the tent flap aside to give his massive head room to poke through the opening. Taking time to note Pearl's presence, Muriel's guardian turned to Muriel and said, "Little Sister, a winged-lion approaches who is not a griffin."

  "Be at ease," Pearl's ethereal voice intoned. "It's the shape-shifter, Bacchanor. Warn your kin that a cretchym is accompanying him so that they don't attack her off hand. Bala is the Hammer Bearer's friend."

  "If the cretchym is Bala, I would guess that you are Mar'Gul, since I've been told the two are inseparable. Is she a wraith too?" Sensing evil was not at hand, Grour Blood seemed to be accepting of the facts as they appeared before him.

  "Fortunately, Bala escaped my fate at the Battle of Chygroyd's Keep."

  "How are you still in the Warl of the Living?"

  "I have a place among the living as long as I'm still Mar'Gul. Once Andara selects my replacement, I will move on to the Warl of the Dead and the Mountain of Song that calls to me."

  "Welcome to the Prophetess' camp;" Grour Blood lowered his head to greet the intriguing spirit, "though I'm at a loss to explain how you were able to get past Candle Maker, elven, and griffin magic that protects her."

  "As I said, I'm Mar'Gul. As such, I am the steward of Andara's Magic that is most notably found in the tears that were used to heal Muriel during the Battle of the Oak Tree, a healing so profound that Andara's power now reside
s in her being in a way that allows me to bypass any ward set against Muriel's enemies and come to her as need dictates."

  "Ahhhh," Grour Blood nodded his head as the sound rumbled up his throat and out of his mouth. "It's good to know my powers aren't slipping. I don't know what I'd do if something regrettable happened to the Prophetess that I should have been able to stop."

  Muriel smiled at the huge griffin who had seldom left her side since the day he saved her from the river-children who were trying to bring her back to Schmar, the fiend who kept her imprisoned in his odious subterranean warl for fifteen long, cruel winters.

  She loved Grour Blood and the rest of the griffin as much as she did her husband and children. It was the Community of Blood that undid much of the damage done to her in the Cave of Fogetfulness, by showing her what it meant to be part of a family. As a result of Muriel's willingness to accept the winged-lions' tutelage, and because a prophetic event had brought her to the Island of Stromane where they lived, Muriel was given the privilege of passing through the Rites of Adoption where she was given the name Muriel Blood, Griffin-Woman.

  "Let's move the meeting outside. I want my family to hear everything Pearl has to say." Muriel trusted the Community of Blood, as the griffin called themselves, with her life; and, as she said, they were family all. As such, they deserved to hear salient information regarding her, her husband, and their children, especially since the outcome of the ensuing war depended so much on what the Oakenfels’ did and on the things that happened to them.

  "Grour Blood, have our brothers and sisters form a ring to guard against any unwanted ears overhearing us."

  "I'll have a few of the griffin patrol the skies as we speak." Looking at Pearl, Grour Blood added, "Give me a moment or two before you step outside. I need to prepare the Blood for your appearance."

  When Grour Blood returned and said, "Please follow me," three women exited the tent, followed by the Mar'Gul's spirit. When they stepped outside, the women saw that the pride had lifted their wings, angling them in a way that formed a massive wall of overlapping feathers that would surround them as they spoke.