The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  Garrett was standing at the edge of the pit, staring down into the blackness below. Although he could remember their descent into the pit, try as he might, he could recall nothing of the tomb itself or of his return from it. What had happened down there?

  He started a little when Bargas moved to his side and crouched down beside him at the edge of the pit.

  “It ain’t easy lettin’ go, boy,” Bargas said, “I know that.”

  Garrett looked at the big ghoul but said nothing.

  “It’s different with ghouls o’ course,” Bargas sighed, “I mean, with you humans, when somebody goes away, you’re left with nothin’ but your memories, and that has to be enough.”

  Garrett still stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “I remember when we ate my dad,” Bargas said, “I cried for a week. Bawled like a pup, I did.”

  Garrett made a choking noise, uncertain that he’d actually heard Bargas correctly.

  “Oh,” Bargas said, noticing Garrett’s discomfort, “I guess maybe you ain’t never been to a ghoul funeral.”

  Garrett shook his head, feeling a little sick.

  Bargas smiled. “That’s how we say goodbye, ya see?” he said, “We all take a little piece of the one that we loved and make ‘em part of ourselves. That way they go on with us forever… on and on, in all their kin ‘till the end o’ time. My dad’s in me, and his dad before him, and so on, all the way back.”

  Garrett tried to force an understanding smile and a nod.

  “I know it sounds odd to ya, boy,” Bargas said, “but you’re a human, and you don’t taste things the way we do. When we ate my dad…” Bargas’s voice trailed off as a tear trickled down his furry cheek. “… well, I never knew how much he loved us ‘till then… Then, I knew.”

  Garrett smiled for real then. He nodded his head and took a seat beside Bargas on the edge of the pit.

  “Tinjin loves you, boy,” Bargas said, “I don’t want you thinkin’ that this is because he don’t.”

  “I know,” Garrett sighed.

  “I know you love him too,” Bargas said, “So do I. That’s why I’m doin’ my best to make it easy on him.”

  Garrett shook his head. “But I don’t know what I’m gonna do without him,” he said.

  Bargas looked away. “I was six years old when I lost my dad,” he said, “and you weren’t much older than that when we found you, lost and half-dead. We survived those things. We’ll survive this too.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said.

  Bargas looked at him again and gave him a twisted frown. “You know, boy,” he said, “When we found ya, I didn’t think you was gonna make it. I tol’ Tinjin to leave you lyin’ and get outta there.”

  Garrett chuckled. “That’s alright,” he said.

  “No, no it ain’t,” Bargas sighed, “I was wrong, and I’m sorry for it. I’m just glad that Tinjin had better sense than to listen to an old fool like me.”

  Garrett smiled at him.

  “You’re a good boy, Garrett,” Bargas said, “and you’re a good friend to my boy. I think of you as family, and I want you to think o’ me the same now.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said.

  “I ain’t askin’ you to call me uncle or nothin’, but you’re kin in my reckonin’.” Bargas said.

  Garrett nodded.

  “Don’t forget it now,” Bargas said, shifting his weight to bump his massive shoulder against Garrett’s

  “I won’t,” Garrett said. He thought for a moment before speaking again. “Mister Bargas… What did Uncle Tinjin mean when he said that he was ready to let the dead sleep in peace?”

  Bargas remained silent, his eyes falling. At last he sighed and answered, “Tinjin wasn’t always a necromancer, you know. He used to be some kinda wizard from away east, back before I met him. He never talked much about it to me… to anybody… but I worked some of it out from things he said… things he did.”

  “Did?” Garrett asked.

  Bargas pulled a rueful grin. “You ever seen your uncle really mad, boy?” he asked.

  “Yeah, all the time,” Garrett laughed.

  Bargas shook his head. “No… I mean really mad… scary mad. I only seen it once, and I don’t ever wanna see that again.”

  “What happened?” Garrett asked.

  Bargas looked thoughtful, as though he were trying to find the right words. “One time,” he said, “Tinjin and I were on the road… full moon, good travelin’ light, both of us in a high mood about somethin’ we’d done, when we hear somebody screamin’. We hurry on to see what it is and round a bend in the road to see this wagon pulled off to the side. Some folks travelin’ too late at night. Got caught by bandits.

  “Now bandits we dealt with before, no problem. If a little magic don’t scare ‘em off, a full-grown ghoul will do the trick, so I figure we’re just gonna run in and scare ‘em a bit, maybe knock a few heads around… only thing is, when we get close, me and Tinjin, we sees what these fellas is up to.

  “They got this fella all tied up on the ground, and he’s yellin’ and beggin’ ‘em to stop. The bandits, they’re all laughin’ and carryin’ on, loadin’ the man’s wife and kids, little kids, into the wagon and threatenin’ to put ‘em to the torch.”

  Bargas shrugged. “Now, for all I know,” he said, “maybe them bandits were just havin’ a bit a sport… just tryin’ to scare the man so they were sure he wasn’t holdin’ out on ‘em… I don’t know. I was just gonna run in an start on the beatin’s… but Tinjin…

  “Tinjin kicks his horse and goes tearin’ past me, screamin’ like a holy terror. What he done then weren’t no necromancer work. I never seen magic like that before or since.

  “The lucky ones was dead ‘fore they hit the ground… a couple of ‘em though, they dropped their torches and tried to run, but they couldn’t outrun Tinjin… What he did to them, well, let’s just say that a man can live for a lot longer than you’d think with his bones turned to jelly… not long, mind you, but longer than you’d think.”

  Garrett felt a bit queasy.

  “The funny thing about it, if there was anything funny about it,” Bargas sighed, “was that it was up to me to calm that family down and convince ‘em that they weren’t next on the list for getting’ turned inside out. The man and his wife wouldn’t stop screamin’ after what they just seen, but at least the kids was quiet… just sorta starin’ at Tinjin and at what he’d done to those men. I got ‘em all untied and sent on their way… They was glad to go, I can tell you… Then I looked after Tinjin.

  “He was just sittin’ there on the ground in the middle o’ this big black circle. The ground kinda crunched when I stepped on it, like he turned the dirt to glass or somethin’. He just sat there, starin’ at one of them dead fellas, then, all the sudden, he busts out cryin’ and won’t stop. I had to carry him out o’ there.

  “I figure it was somethin’ about seein’ that woman and her kids in danger that set him off. After that, I figured that he blamed himself for losin’ somebody important to him, but I never pushed him on it to find out for sure. I didn’t understand what could drive a good man to do that sort o’ thing… until I lost my Berda.”

  Garrett looked down into the depths of the pit and said nothing.

  “Well,” Bargas said, “whatever happened, I’m glad Tinjin is finally ready to walk away from it. The way I see it, we should be happy for him.”

  “I guess so,” Garrett said.

  “Anyway, boy,” Bargas said, “He ain’t dyin’… He’s just lettin’ the past die, and the past is the only thing a ghoul believes in buryin’!”

  Garrett and Bargas shared a laugh.

  “Thanks, Mister Bargas,” Garrett said.

  “Anytime, boy,” the ghoul said, “and remember what I said. You’re family. I ain’t gonna be around forever, and I gotta have somebody I trust to look after Warren when I’m gone.” He clapped Garrett hard on the back.

  Garrett smiled, recovering his breath from the blow.
“Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Good boy,” Bargas said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Garrett awoke the next morning to the familiar smell of scorched bacon and the unfamiliar sound of Uncle Tinjin cursing. Garrett jumped out of bed and ran downstairs in his nightshirt to find the old man dressed in a house robe, with his hand immersed in a bowl of water on the kitchen counter. A steady plume of gray smoke was rising from a pile of bacon, pinned hallway beneath the upended skillet atop the stove. As Garrett entered the kitchen, the grease burst into smoky orange flame.

  Tom the zombie looked on from his corner and groaned morosely.

  “What happened?” Garrett asked, “Are you all right?”

  Uncle Tinjin sighed heavily and lifted his burned hand from the bowl of water, pointing two fingers at the fire.

  “Kohrene Tahg,” Uncle Tinjin spoke, and the orange flames of the grease fire suddenly transformed into a bluish sand that collapsed into a crackling mound atop the ruined bacon.

  Garrett stared, wide-eyed at the pile of sand, which was even now sublimating into a heavy blue fog that rolled off the edge of the stove onto the floor. “You are a great wizard!” he exclaimed.

  “A great wizard, yes,” Uncle Tinjin said, wincing as he flexed his reddened fingers, “but a terrible cook.”

  “Why were you cooking breakfast anyway?” Garrett asked.

  Uncle Tinjin smiled, looking a bit embarrassed. “It’s been so long since I've had to prepare my own food,” he said, “I thought I’d better get back into the practice.”

  “Oh,” Garrett said.

  Uncle dried his hands and looked at the kitchen zombie. “Tom, is it?” he said, using the name that Garrett had given the zombie, “Perhaps you should prepare the bacon.”

  Tom the zombie moaned questioningly.

  “Cook our breakfast, Tom… please,” Uncle sighed.

  The zombie shambled out of his corner and began to slowly clean up the mess while Uncle Tinjin took his seat at the table.

  Garrett sat down across from him. He felt a little knot in his throat to realize that this might be one of the last times he would see his Uncle. He pushed the thought out of his mind before it could take hold and make him start crying again.

  “What kind of magic was that?” Garrett asked.

  “Hmn?” Uncle Tinjin said, looking up from his hand, “That? That was something I learned a long time ago and far away… before I ever learned that there was more than one kind of magic. My teacher didn’t bother giving it a name to differentiate it from other schools. It was simply… magic.”

  “But you didn’t use any essence,” Garrett said.

  Uncle Tinjin chuckled. “Oh, it uses essence,” he said, “the caster’s.”

  “Huh?”

  “I used my own life force to power that spell,” Tinjin said.

  “What do you mean?” Garrett asked, “You mean our blood works like the bug juice essence we use for other magic?”

  “It’s not in the blood,” Tinjin said, “If it was, you might not be as safe around the vampires as you think you are now. That kind of magic is powered by our souls.”

  “Souls? You mean like the ghost in us?” Garrett asked.

  Uncle Tinjin shook his head. “You have an odd way of putting things, son, but, yes, like the ghost inside us.”

  Garrett felt a sudden chill. “What happens if you use it all up?” he asked.

  “You definitely don’t want to do that,” Tinjin said, “It isn’t a pretty sight.”

  “How much do you have left?” Garrett asked, feeling suddenly afraid for his Uncle.

  “I’m not in any danger of using it up, Garrett,” Tinjin laughed, “Your soul isn’t a finite resource. It grows and shrinks over time. Some people have strong, healthy souls… others… well, certain people should not dabble in soul magic, if they want to avoid a terrible fate.”

  “Soul magic?”

  Tinjin shrugged. “As good a name for it as any, I suppose,” he said.

  “Can you teach me?” Garrett asked.

  Tinjin looked at him with a sad smile then shook his head. “I’d sooner hand a cobra to a child.”

  “What’s a cobra?” Garrett asked.

  Uncle Tinjin stared at him, blank-faced. “It seems that I am a terrible teacher of biology as well.”

  Garrett frowned. “Why won’t you teach me?” he asked, “Is it hard?”

  “Well, yes,” Uncle Tinjin said, “but that’s not the reason.”

  A wild thought suddenly occurred to Garrett. “If it takes time, I could go with you… I could help you, and you could teach me soul magic!”

  Tinjin sighed and shook his head. “No, boy… I won’t teach you this magic because it is too dangerous,” he said.

  “I’m not afraid!” Garrett said, “Really, I…”

  “I know you’re not afraid, Garrett,” Tinjin said, “That is precisely why I won’t teach it to you… because I would be afraid… afraid that I might come back to find you… used up. It would kill me to know that I was responsible for that Garrett.”

  Something in the old man’s expression warned Garrett not to pursue the matter further. He nodded and kept silent.

  “Please understand,” Tinjin said, “I love you far too much to teach you certain things.”

  “I understand,” Garrett said.

  Tinjin looked over to where Tom was piling a fresh heap of bacon into the skillet. “Magic won’t bring you happiness Garrett,” he sighed, then added under his breath, “quite the opposite, really.”

  Garrett shrugged. “It’s better than being powerless,” he said.

  Uncle regarded him coldly.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Garrett said, looking across the table and regarding Tinjin for the first time, not as his uncle and master, but as a fellow sorcerer, “I mean, it’s better than not being able to do anything when bad people try to hurt you.”

  Tinjin’s eyes fell. “Yes,” he said, “That is true.” He almost smiled, looking as though he would say something, but then the humor drained from his face and he simply sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Garrett asked.

  Tinjin shook his head. “What do you want me to say, Garrett?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Garrett chuckled, “I figured you would tell me I was wrong or something… that it was better to be a regular person without magic… that magic was some sort of burden that we had to be careful about using so we didn’t turn into bad guys or something.”

  “I’m not your teacher anymore,” Tinjin said.

  The words hit Garrett like a physical blow, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He looked across at Uncle Tinjin, feeling very small and afraid. “I’m sorry, Uncle,” he whispered.

  Tinjin smiled. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Garrett,” he said, “From the sound of it, you paid enough attention to what I was saying back when I was your teacher. You are your own man now, and someday, you will teach others as I have taught you.”

  “But I hardly know anything!” Garrett protested.

  “Then you know more than any sorcerer I have ever met,” Tinjin laughed.

  “What does that even mean?” Garrett demanded.

  “It means that you understand how little you understand,” Tinjin said.

  “That doesn’t really help,” Garrett sighed.

  “It means that you have sense enough to keep your eyes open and learn from the world around you,” Tinjin said, “As long as you are willing to keep an open mind and let life teach you new things, you are in no danger of corruption… You will find that the true bad guys in this world are the ones who think they have it all worked out.”

  The pan of bacon suddenly burst into flames once again, and Tom stepped back from the stove to pat sluggishly at the growing patch of flame on the front of his apron.

  “Get dressed, Garrett,” Uncle Tinjin sighed, “As soon as I’ve finished extinguishing the zombie, I think we’ll be going out for breakfast.”

 
*******

  Garrett shielded his face from the heat of an explosion of rainbow colored flame that left his eyes momentarily dazzled in the gloomy interior of the old mill.

  Crane whistled appreciatively, and Diggs let out a, “Whoa!”

  Mujah stood there, grinning, his eyes wide as he surveyed the smoldering remains of the old apple crate that had been his target.

  “Nice, job, Mujah!” Garrett said.

  Scupp clapped and cheered for the Lethian boy, and even Warren and Ymowyn seemed impressed from where they sat together in the corner, having grown bored with magic practice themselves.

  Mujah walked over and handed his flask to Garrett. It felt only slightly cool and still mostly full in Garrett’s hand.

  “I think maybe you were born to be a mage,” Garrett chuckled.

  “Really?” Mujah exclaimed.

  “I guess we’ll have to get you a fancier hat now,” Crane laughed.

  “I like my hat,” Mujah said, grasping the brim of his blue felt hat protectively.

  Garrett shook his head. “Your hat’s fine,” he laughed, “It doesn’t make a difference what you wear.”

  Mujah looked thoughtful. “But I could wear a Magi’s robes if I wanted to, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Garrett said, “I’m not sure what you have to do to be a Magi, but, if I had to guess, I’d say you’d make a pretty good one.”

  Mujah beamed.

  “My turn,” Crane said.

  Mujah moved back, letting the older boy take the center of the floor as Garrett dragged another empty crate over to the ashy pile beside the scorched millstone.

  Crane grasped his essence flask in his left hand and held it out low like a dagger as he took a fighting stance with his right hand held high behind him. He wiggled his fingers mystically and took on an expression of intense concentration.

  “You don’t really have to do that with your hand,” Mujah said.

  “Style is always important, Mujah,” Crane scoffed, “Never forget that.”

  Garrett hid his smile behind his glove as he rubbed his chin pensively.