* * *
Her name, I've learned, is Reilanan. She is—I guess—young (though I can be no judge of age), a slender woman, hair and eyes dark. But these things are hardly worth the note. For magic hangs about her like a shimmering in the air. For the first time in so long, I dare to nope. (And that Other stirs as well, whispering, magic, at last, magic, that Other hopes as well.)
I think Reilanan is content here, at least for now. But I...I fight an endless battle with the Other, fight to let Reilanan hear me, only me, see only me, know only me. But how does one hire a wizard? A woman? I can only guess. Yet of course I try, by touch and whisper, hope and dream.
Was I haunted? Was there the occasional touch, softer than a wisp of wind, on my arm, the faintest, less-than-a-shadow sense of someone beside me? Wizard I am, ghost-sensitive I never was, and with my Powers still so weary and my nerves so shaken, I couldn't be sure that what I felt wasn't mere fancy. After all, a true ghost, or so all the stories agreed, could never be more than a hint of mist or chill air. It could never reach, no matter how slightly, through into the tangible world.
And yet, and yet... I am woman as well as wizard, and even though wizards aren't likely to fall to temptation, I'd had my share of flirtations. Now... if my not-quite-ghost was doing anything, it was courting me.
Ach, nonsense. What I should do was find myself one of the stocky, good-looking village men and have some good, physical, no-thinking-about-it fun.
No. The wizard-kind don't swear vows of celibacy, but we all know how games of the flesh can weaken magical focus. The last thing I wanted to lose was what only now was returning to full strength.
Ah well.
What use is all this effort? Not even a wizard's skill, I realize now, can hear or see one barely on the mortal plane. Yes, she might raise her head with a frown or turn suddenly as though almost feeling a touch on her arm. She knows someone, something, courts her, I think. But more than this, I can not do, nor can the Other best me; we can give her no clue as to who or what her secret shadow is.
This was growing very strange. But when I tried what spells of banishment would work for me, the not-quite shadow remained. When I tried those spells intended to force a spirit into speech, I found I still didn't have sufficient strength. Instead, trying my best to be casual, I asked the villagers about my predecessor.
"What was he like?"
Sashan had mentioned remote, even cold. The others backed him up on that. Tiern had healed their wounds, cast spells to protect them, but he'd seemed to begrudge them the time away from his studies. He'd never befriended anyone.
In short, I thought, Tiern must have been a thoroughly obnoxious fellow, as totally obsessed a wizard as ever was warned by his elders. Warnings he plainly hadn't heeded.
Was Tiern haunting me? I tried calling to him, mentally and aloud, but felt not even the slightest stirring of air.
And the springtime passed into summer.
And the summer turns implacably towards Lammas Night, most magical of the year—most perilous to me. The Other and I both haunt Reilanan now more desperately than before, I at the same time too well aware of how the Other would gladly banish me to the endless dark. I own no hatred towards that one, though; I wish only to be free, one way or another. We stir close-by Reilanan's side at every dawn, brush at her dreams every night.
To no effect. I watch the days slip by, another gone, another. Driven by a pure frenzy of panicked will, I remember one small shard of lore, a simple thing—for one of flesh and blood. How can I work it?
Desperation drives me to a strength that seems impossible: yes, yes, I reach for one small moment from non-life to life. Aching with strain, I break a rose from the twig, leave it for Reilanan—a rose with my will encircling it. In the next moment, I fall back into emptiness, so drained that if the Other had the strength to act, I would be dead in truth.
* * *
I woke with a start—and found myself clutching a rose. It was real, no dream, and I heard myself say foolishly, "He's here."
Bah, foolish, indeed. How else could the rose have gotten into this sealed room without a touch of Otherness?
"Impressive, ghost." Thinking my way through the weirdness, I continued, "But you must be pretty desperate by now, Tiern, or whoever you are. You didn't get a chance to cast whatever spell killed you, and so the unfinished thing is binding you here."
My hand stung. I looked down to see that the thorny stem of the rose was stained with my blood. I threw the thing from me with a gasp, but of course it was already too late. "Clever!" I snapped. "You've bound me, as well! Can you hear me, wizard?" To my disgust, my voice was trembling slightly. "Do you realize what you've done?"
Oh yes, the ghost knew. I heard, or thought I heard, the softest, softest whisper telling me, Be not afraid. I need your help, I beg for it. Let me be free. One way or another, let me be free! And the Other? I wondered. If the ghost was real, was the Other real as well? Did it beg, too?
I'd gone through the War. Nothing as small as a ghost, even a wizard's ghost, could frighten me. Besides, I am no more free of curiosity than any other wizard. Tiern's magical library must hold the clue, I told myself, and poured over all the scrolls, all the books he'd left behind.