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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Peiris seems confused by the question. “It was at the beginning of the scroll for the fifteenth to thirtieth centuries,” they say. “How did you not see it?”

“At the beginning of the what?” I’ll admit to not being a strong prophetic scholar, but I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. The fifteenth century?

We stare at each other.

“Are you really from the Baswich Empire?” Arimen pipes up suddenly from where he’s been stirring the stew.

Peiris gives me another one of those “is he seriously saying that right now?” looks. “I am.”

“Oh.” He looks at me. “The Empire has different prophecies from us.”

“What?”

“We do?”

Arimen’s eyes go wide at the sheer volume of our responses, and Jaimin steps in, asking gently, “How do you know that, Arimen?”

“Th-Th-Th S-Some of the priests… at the Sanctuary…”

“You’re not in trouble,” I assure him, trying not to sound impatient. “Did someone at the Sanctuary tell you about it?”

He shakes his head, then nods. “Y-Yes, but… There’s a copy of the Baswich Prophecies at the Sanctuary. All seventy-three scrolls. Some of the priests make their career in studying them.”

At first I’m confused—why would priests be dedicating themselves to the prophecies of an Empire that has its own gods?—and then understanding crashes in on me.

There’s something in those prophecies that’s driving the temples to take the stone from us. Something so valuable to them that they would willingly stand against the City of Knowledge and the combined nations of the continent.

“Have you seen the scrolls?” Jaimin asks, and there’s no gentleness in his voice now. He’s had the same realization as me.

“No. I wasn’t up to that part of my studies.”

“Okay.” Jaimin nods, then looks to me. It’s time for me to step into my leadership role.

“Could your leadership role include asking me to go burn the Sanctuary to ashes?” Leicht asks. “I’d do it, stop for a short rest, and be back before tomorrow afternoon.”

“Please don’t distract me right now. This is why Tia died. I need to concentrate.”

The wordless support he sends back is more comforting than I expected.

“Let’s eat,” I say abruptly. “We have a lot to talk about. Peiris, why don’t we tell you our story, and then you can tell us yours. At the end, we can ask any questions we haven’t already answered.”

There’s a slightly troubled expression on that almost-delicate face. “This is a wise plan.”

Coryn helps Arimen dish up the food, and then as we eat in the glow of the fire and scattered magelights, I cast my mind back to the beginning, only a few months ago, and begin to talk.

Peiris isn’t surprised by how the stone was found. Nor by the fact that it can communicate with us. They are surprised by how little we know about the zombie wars, and that we have no idea who we’re even looking for.

Surprise turns to anger when they learn that our temples are trying to take the stone, and then sympathy when I speak of Tia’s death. Shock comes when I explain that the stone has allowed me to communicate with Leicht; I can only imagine how much more shocked they would be if they knew the truth.

By the time I wind down the story, we’ve finished eating and their body language is much more open and receptive. The stone sends an approving pulse through me—obviously I’ve done the right thing.

Peiris sighs. “The small amount of information you have access to is deeply concerning,” they confess. “Without the wellspring, you would be in the dark. Yet it also is far less forthcoming than it could be.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” I say darkly. “That’s a conversation I’ve had with it many times before.”

“Does that mean you have more information?” Arimen asks. “Was it in your prophecies?”

Nodding, Peiris says, “In our prophecies and our histories. My people did not erase the knowledge gained during the Undead Uprising.”

Even as excitement races through me, I take a moment to appreciate the alliteration of “Undead Uprising.” I always thought “Zombie Wars” was a simple but effective name for it, but clearly our ancestors were second-best to those in the Empire for multiple reasons.

“Please, tell us your story,” Jaimin invites.

Leaning back on one hand, Peiris begins, “When I was a child, I was given the same education as many of my peers, and that included a basic understanding of the prophecies and histories. But once I reached my pubescent years, it became apparent that I was to play a larger role than anyone had expected.” They pause. “It’s a long tangent, and I don’t believe it’s entirely relevant. Perhaps we could save that for another time?”

I’m not about to delay the information I’ve wanted for months. “Whatever you think best.”

“Once I and everyone knew that I would be necessary to what came, I began a deeper study of the prophecies.” They pull a face. “Unfortunately, the prophecies, no matter how well they are studied, have a trick of not becoming clear until the moment of necessity. It was a key point of frustration for me.”

I make a mental note of that phrase. “Key point of frustration” sounds so much more refined than “completely fucked-up.” Peiris is going to be a great role model for me.

“It wasn’t until several months ago—I would need to check, but I believe it may have been only weeks before the wellspring revealed itself—that we in the Empire were made aware that the danger that came was the undead. I had been an indifferent student of that era, but I immediately sought counsel with expert scholars. The two most important things I learned are how the undead die—which you already know—and that it is vital at any battle to locate and kill the necromancers as quickly as possible… if it’s possible.”

“I definitely planned on doing that anyway,” Coryn assures them earnestly, but Peiris shakes their head.

“No, you don’t understand. Necromancers do not die easily. Many—not all, but many—are like the zombies they raise and can survive even the most fatal of blows. They are no longer human and do not die like humans.”

Well, turds. I exchange a look with Jaimin.

“How can I kill them then?” Coryn asks intently. Peiris shrugs helplessly.

“The ones that can be killed will die through regular means. The others… they don’t die. Not without the intervention of the gods.”

Arimen perks up. “The gods?”

“That’s how the Undead Uprising was ended—the gods intervened directly.”

Pain stabs behind my eye. “The gods did. Great. Okay.” I take a breath. “Let’s hope the champion has some ideas on how to contact them, then. In the meantime… why is it so important to kill the necromancers first at any battle?”

Peiris doesn’t look all that happy about my comments, but obligingly answers the question anyway. “It takes a great deal of energy for a necromancer to raise even one undead, and they can only raise one at a time.”

I nod. “Yes, we knew that much.”

“But so long as its necromancer lives, the undead can scratch or bite the living, then slay them, and they will immediately rise and join the ranks of the enemy.”

The crackle of the fire is the only thing that breaks the silence, until finally Jaimin clears his throat. “I want to be certain I understand this. Theoretically, if the zombie that injured Talon today had scratched him first, then succeeded in killing him—Talon would have become a zombie?”

“Yes. If the necromancer who raised that undead is alive, yes.”

That finally answers the question of how there can be so many zombies so quickly, and why all the people from attacked villages are missing. There might be far fewer necromancers involved than we feared… although this alternative option isn’t really better.

The babble of voices fades as horrific memory rises. A hand, reaching toward me amidst the flash of swords…

Leicht’s scream echoes through the city, and conversation cuts off.

“What’s wrong?” Jaimin demands. Coryn’s on his feet already, looking toward the door.

I shake my head. Telling them won’t help anything. “He’s just surprised.” “Stop. I’m fine. We know what to watch out for now.”

His fury doesn’t dim, but the screams stop. Coryn retakes his seat, and though Jaimin studies me for a moment longer, I can see when he decides to take my words at face value.

“Is it some kind of poison?” he muses. “Or magic? A link from their creator to the newly dead? But you said the slain would immediately rise. If it’s the necromancer raising them, wouldn’t it take time and effort, the same as when they first raise their zombies?”

“The undead are highly contagious,” Peiris explains. “There is a theory that merely living in close proximity to them for a prolonged time could cause infection. If they break the skin of the living, it is certain to transfer. There are several theories as to why the necromancer must be alive, but I was unable to find a definitive answer.”

Jaimin’s face becomes intent. “A virus of some kind? Viruses can be cured—or run their course. What happens if someone is scratched or bitten but the zombie doesn’t kill them? Was anyone ever successfully cured? Or did they rise after dying for other reasons, even years later?”

“And does the zombie that scratched them have to still be al—around, when the person does die?” Coryn adds. “What if a zombie had scratched someone today, then a mage or dragon killed the zombie before it could kill any of us? Would the person who got scratched still become a zombie when they die?”

“Before we get too far into the details,” I interrupt, “can we confirm that nobody got scratched or bitten today? Or any other time we’ve been attacked? I didn’t.” My heart is beating so fast, I feel dizzy. I can’t lose anyone else—I just can’t.

“Not me,” Coryn declares, and Jaimin shakes his head.

“Me either.”

“Nor I,” Peiris adds.

“My back got scratched,” Arimen volunteers, and my heart stops beating. No . “But it was when you shoved me along the wall. Those stones are rough .”

I suck in a harsh breath. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how fond I’ve gotten of him.

Jaimin has a hand pressed to his throat. “Next time,” he says faintly, “please start with that information. I’ll heal you before bed.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “Okay. I want to talk more about the zombies later, but first, tell us how you knew to come here—and where we’re supposed to go next.”

“The prophecies said to come to here,” they explain, then recite from memory, “They will travel to the place that died and come upon the companions of the wellspring. With the companions will they find the godsborn and journey to the birthplace.”

I fucking hate prophecies. “How… concise.”

Jaimin coughs. “?The place that died’ is here, and our presence as ‘companions of the wellspring’ is proof of that. Though, I’ll be interested in how you reasoned it out. I’m guessing ‘the birthplace’ is where we’re going next?”

“After we find the godsborn,” Peiris reminds us.

“Godsborn,” I mutter. “Why does that sound familiar?” I feel like I’ve heard it recently. Maybe?—

“A real godsborn?” Arimen breathes, his face alight with excitement. “Did the prophecy say who? This is so exciting!”

I exchange a glance with Jaimin. It’s becoming rapidly apparent that Arimen is here to be our religious interpreter.

“Remind me, what’s a godsborn?” I can live with sounding ignorant if I have to; there’s no time to waste trying to finesse the information I need.

Arimen heaves a huge sigh. “Talon! We were talking about this just the other week, remember?”

“We… were?” He talks a lot, but I don’t usually zone out when he’s talking to me . Well, not often, anyway.

“Yes! When we stayed at the cottage and found the storybook? I read you the tale of Dreyda!”

Like a runaway carriage, the memory hits. Not just of that night—when, to be fair, I had a lot more on my mind than Arimen’s stories—but also of my nanny telling us the same stories when I was a child. “Godsborn?” I repeat, shocked. “You mean… gods born into mortal bodies? I thought that was a fairy tale!”

“So did I,” Jaimin murmurs, but Peiris shakes their head.

“They are acknowledged to exist,” they explain. “We’ve had several documented incarnations of our gods.”

“I thought they were just stories too,” Arimen confesses, “but at the Sanctuary they taught us that they’re real.” His grin is wide. “It makes the stories so much better.”

My head is spinning with this new information. “The champion,” I say. “Peiris, what was the prophecy, again? The bit you said about the godsborn.”

“With the companions will they find the godsborn and journey to the birthplace,” they recite again.

I look around the group. “I’m not the only one thinking it, am I? This godsborn has to be the stone’s champion we’ve been looking for.” And a god, which, in light of Peiris’s revelation that only gods can kill necromancers, is a huge relief.

“That does make sense,” Peiris agrees.

“So is the ‘birthplace’ it refers to the birthplace of the godsborn or the necromancer behind all this?” Jaimin asks.

“Or the zombies,” Coryn adds.

“Probably not the zombies,” I explain as kindly as I can. “People would notice if someone was bringing a lot of dead bodies to one place. It’s more likely the necromancer travels to the bodies and raises them there. If they’re even still raising them at all, instead of letting the zombies do the legwork.”

“Unless they’re the caretaker of a graveyard,” Arimen points out excitedly. “Oh! Or maybe they run a mortuary.”

Another stab behind my left eye. Why? Why am I the one who has to deal with excitable young adults? First at the academy and now with Arimen.

Thankfully, Jaimin is here. “Those are all options we can consider when we’re looking for the necromancer,” he says diplomatically. “For now, let’s focus on where we’ll find the godsborn.” He turns expectantly to Peiris.

Who looks just as expectantly back.

My stomach sinks. “The stone said you knew where we’re going next,” I prompt.

“Yes.” Peiris nods. “To the birthplace—of the godsborn, by the way. That was explained in another part of the prophecy. It hasn’t been made clear yet why we have to go there, but I always assumed it had something to do with the godsborn connecting with their full power.”

“Wait.” Coryn scratches his head. “I’m confused. Somebody needs to explain this to me.”

“It’s simple enough,” I say through gritted teeth. “The stone is a hunk of stupid rock that likes to play games with us.”

“Talon!” Arimen scolds.

Coryn shakes his head. “That’s not nice, Talon. The stone is trying its hardest to help us. Have you been petting it? Maybe it needs some pets.”

Jaimin’s hand squeezing my leg stops me from saying anything I’ll regret later. “The stone told us that Peiris would know where we’re going next—and they do. We need to go to the birthplace of the godsborn. Unfortunately, we don’t know where that is, where the godsborn is, or who the godsborn is. So…” He spreads his hands.

“So we know nothing,” Coryn finishes in dawning awareness.

“That’s not true! We know we’re going to get to meet a godsborn!” Arimen chirps. “Do you think they’ll like me? Will I get to talk to them? I need a haircut!”

Peiris blinks. “Why?”

“I’m sure you’ll get to talk to them and they’ll like you,” Jaimin says before Arimen can speak again. “And I’ll cut your hair if you want me to, but the longer length suits you.” His face is absolutely straight, and I wonder if he’s just good at maintaining his composure or if he’s really thought about hairstyles that suit Arimen. I study our young friend’s face, trying to remember if it looked better or worse when his hair was shorter, then give up.

It's not like I’m the best judge when it comes to hairstyles, anyway. I should ask Jaimin to cut my hair, too, if I want to keep the promise I made to Tia. And I can’t believe I’m thinking about hair at a time like this.

“Let’s ask the stone what it thinks,” I say abruptly. “Maybe it can give us more information now that we’ve met Peiris.”

~No~

My jaw drops. “I didn’t even ask yet!” How rude.

Peiris, on the other hand, has that awestruck look people tend to get when the stone speaks to them for the first time. “That was the wellspring. The wellspring let me hear its voice,” they murmur.

Delightful.

“Why don’t you update your master?” Jaimin suggests, his mouth quirking like it always does when he wants to laugh at me. I’ll make him pay for that later.

I leave him explaining to Peiris that I’m a telepath and have been updating my master—and thus the academies—as we’ve traveled, and go to sit on my bedroll so I’m not distracted by their chatter. Master immediately responds to my telepathic knock.

“Talon? Has something happened? I only spoke to you this afternoon.”

Was it only a few hours ago? Eons have passed since then.

“We’re all okay,” I begin, and his mental concern ratchets up to alarm. “There was another zombie attack. More of them, this time.”

His vicious expletive gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. “How do they keep finding you? If there was anywhere I’d have thought you safe, it would have been Caimae.”

I pause. I hadn’t thought about that, but how did they know to come here? If they’d been following us through the fields before we reached the hills, we would have noticed—it’s not like there were a lot of places to hide. There’s nobody here who could have sent word of where we are; and anyway, we only just arrived. Even coming upriver in a good boat, they would have needed to be close already.

There’s really only one way.

“I think I might know,” I say slowly. “Let me tell you the rest first.” I quickly explain how Peiris saved me and Arimen and that the stone confirmed they’re coming with us, then launch into a rundown of what they’ve told us.

I’m barely finished when Master says, “Someone with a copy of the Baswich prophecies is in league with the necromancer behind this all.”

“It seems that way,” I agree. “Perhaps even the necromancer themselves. But I heard a line or two, and even if their prophecies have more information than ours, they’re still not a simple list of instructions. This is someone educated who’s had time to study and interpret the documents. Or it’s someone in the Baswich Empire—but the zombies have been finding us almost from the beginning, and from what Peiris has said, I don’t think anyone could have traveled here faster than them.”

“There is the possibility that we have a leak here,” Master concedes grimly. “We already know someone leaked news of the stone to the temples. It’s possible they were more highly placed than we thought.”

“A councilor?” I wish the idea was more shocking to me, but it’s really not. “Let’s not borrow trouble. But… maybe don’t share everything I’ve told you tonight. Wait and see who already seems to know we’re looking for a godsborn.”

There’s a sharp little pause as we both ponder how fantastical that is. “A godsborn,” Master echoes. “I thought them children’s stories.”

“So did I. It’s concerning, since apparently they’re accepted reality in the Empire. Has there been an effort to prevent us from knowing the truth? Or do our gods just not spend much time with us here?” I’m not sure which option is worse.

“I’ll do some research and see what I can find out—quietly. What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m hesitant to leave here without knowing what direction to go—and truthfully, I think we could all use a break before we tackle the hills again. But we’ve had very low supplies for a while now, and the stone said we’d be able to resupply soon, which we obviously can’t here. Leicht suggested I ride him to a town and bring back what we need. That might be the best idea—it would give the others a day or so to rest and let us stock up again before we face whatever’s next.”

“Hm, that does sound wise. It also gives me time to find something that might help you. The stone wants you to succeed, so I imagine there are clues for us somewhere.”

“Let’s just hope we find them before it’s too late.”