TG One

In which Euthan wanders into Tibur and meets Isabey.

The sun slipped toward the horizon. Its heat gradually became… well, not gentle. Just less punishing. Regardless, he was glad for it. He’d done a lot of walking that day. He did a lot of walking every day… but some days more than others.
Some days were easier than others, too. The weather, naturally, made a big difference, and whether or not he was going anywhere in particular. It also mattered whether anything or anyone was currently after him.
To Euthan’s knowledge, there was no one who knew his name or cared if he lived or died within at least two or three hundred kilometers, and that suited him just fine. So his pace had been leisurely enough. But though the season had advanced into autumn and the nights were growing chilly, the days still burned, as if summer were putting up a last stand against the encroaching cold. 

Valiant. Or stubborn. Euthan wasn’t sure.
Either way, he was getting tired of it. Of course, slogging through snow was no fun either, and from what Euthan had read about this region, the snow would surely come once the stifling heat gave way. Euthan missed the temperate, easygoing climate of his home. Thinking about home made his step heavier and slower, though, as nostalgia soured to melancholy. 

So he sighed and turned his mind back to the present.
The dead grass alongside the unpaved road rustled in the dusty breeze. Euthan welcomed the refreshing breath of coolness, dust or no dust, and lifted his face to it, eyes closing for a moment. At least the terrain was gentle through this section of Ibari. The old dirt road wound around the rolling hills, curving gently back and forth. Euthan’s tired mind spun the road into a lazy brown snake, dozing in the late afternoon sun. 

He shook his head, dispelling the mental image. Instead, he began to think about looking for a patch of shade to settle down in. The plains of Ibari didn’t offer much of that, but there were some scattered live oaks - or trees that reminded him of live oaks, anyhow. Even occasional little patches of forest nestled in the lee of a large hill, where some moisture might accumulate in these otherwise arid prairies. The thought of cool, green shade was enticing after kilometers of scorching sun. He felt as withered as the sea of dead grass.
It was beautiful, though. The grassy sea. When the wind came, it raced over the golden stalks, and they swayed and rolled in intricate patterns that caught Euthan’s eye. More than once he’d stopped walking to stare at the windblown grass, transfixed. He’d like to be around in the springtime when the rains came. According to his guidebook, the hills would come alive with color as blossoms of every sort grew and thrived while the grass surged verdant and lush… for a few short weeks.
Then would come the summer, and the stubborn, valiant sun would bake the life out of the landscape once more.
Euthan sighed. I should definitely look for somewhere to rest. I’m getting morbid again.
It was a bit early to be thinking of making camp; there were still a few solid hours of daylight left. The enervating heat had sapped him early, though. And, after all, he didn’t have any kind of schedule to keep. He might as well quit whenever he felt like it.
On the other hand, the faster he traveled, the sooner he’d be home again.
If, that is, he was walking in the right direction. There was no way to be sure of that. If he knew he was on the same continent, at least… but there was no way to be sure of that, either.
Euthan decided not to think about it.

The traveler pulled his mind back to the present, seizing on the mental image that had occurred to him earlier as a way to distract himself from the uncomfortable thoughts. That would do. His hazel eyes skated over the serpentine road, taking a dragonfly’s path - darting about, alighting on this or that, but never staying long.
The road-snake’s dirt hide was dry and worn, pitted with potholes and rocky sections like patches of scales showing through the dust, scarred by cart-trails and the footprints of humans and beasts alike, marred by the occasional pile of dung. Euthan’s dragonfly eye noted these details with distant weariness as he passed them.
His mood lifted, though, when he heard livestock lowing and the general sounds of rural people going about their daily lives. Automatically he began to walk faster. 

With any luck, he thought, there’ll be an inn or at least a room I can let for a couple-few days. Even if not, surely I can get something good to eat. Euthan was a good enough cook, but what was the point of traveling through foreign countries if you didn’t try the local cuisine? He saw to his own needs most of the time, but when his path happened to pass through settled places, he took full advantage of whatever amenities he found there. Such as he could afford or barter for, that is.
Euthan did his best to pretend he was on a fun little excursion rather than hopelessly lost. It made things easier on a day-to-day basis, even if he couldn’t quite ignore the gnawing anxiety that nested like a harpy in the pit of his belly.
Some days were easier than others.
It helped that he sincerely did enjoy exploring new places, though, as did the fact that he could choose his own pace of travel. He was free to stay in any given place as long or as briefly as he liked, all else being equal.
In fact, he thought, mentally totting up his dwindling supply of currency, I should probably look for work while I’m there. It’s about time to refill the ol’ coinsack. Come to think of it - damn, what currency do they use here? Where are those coins from? Euthan strove to remember when he’d last taken a job for hire, whether he’d been in Ibari yet or not... but he was too weary to bother. He’d worry about it later.
The sleepy road wound its way around a large hill. As Euthan passed around it, a village came into view, step by step. One might almost call it a small town. Almost. On the outskirts were smaller buildings - mostly farmers’ huts with thatched roofs. These were widely spaced as each was surrounded by cropland and orchards or fenced-off pastures for livestock. Within the loose ring of farmhouses, with their crops and pastureland, was a cluster of larger wooden buildings with sharply pitched roofs of unglazed terra-cotta tiles. This made up the town center, such as it was.
The traveler frowned to himself. It was a smaller place than he’d hoped. There might be an inn, either in town or shortly outside it, but not likely more than one. If that one didn’t like his currency or just his face, he’d be out of luck.
As for work, he’d have to cross his fingers. There wasn’t much need for a traveling necromancer in places like these in his experience. He almost hoped someone had been hurt recently so there’d be call for healing. Then he felt guilty for the thought and pushed it away. I’m just tired and cranky, he told himself. I’ll figure something out. I always do.
Euthan passed others on the road several times as he trudged toward the village. Earthen-hued folk, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with colorful home-stitched clothing, walking or riding or in carts and wagons. Locals, he assumed.
He tensed slightly the first few times, but nothing happened. Everyone ignored him, or seemed to. It did seem as if no one knew who he was. Nor did his appearance bring any outcry. Either his skills were not taboo here, or his profession was not obvious to the locals by his looks. (Both of which he'd learned, through unhappy experience, were not true everywhere.) There were a few curious glances - as one might peer at a stranger in a place where strangers are uncommon but not unheard of - but that was all.
Gradually, Euthan relaxed and began to enjoy himself. Another new place to get to know! He was sincerely looking forward to spending some time here. The fact that he would probably never return didn’t matter. If anything, Euthan was all the more inclined to savor his time here. He wanted to build strong memories.
Wonder what the name of the village is. Or if they think of it as a town. Ah, someone will tell me at some point.
By the time he was past the outskirts and within a hundred paces of the village proper, the traveling necromancer was feeling quite cheerful. His weariness, and the fact that it had been at least two weeks since the last village, made the prospect of a hot meal (cooked by someone else!) and a proper bed seem like extravagant luxuries. And he was quite ready for some luxury, oh yes indeed.

As Euthan followed the road into town, though, he picked up a soft, subtle sound of someone weeping. A girl or young woman in tears. Euthan wasn’t sure how he could tell, but he knew in his gut that she was grieving; this was someone privately mourning a recent death. Necromancer’s instinct, he supposed. He knew death’s influence when he heard it.
Had the sound been coming from one of the nearby buildings, he would have minded his own business… but it was outside, somewhere nearby, and Euthan found his boots turning toward the sound before he’d made any kind of conscious decision about what to do. He went with the impulse, allowing his feet to carry him toward the crying woman.
He walked toward one of the nearby houses, relatively large for a farmhouse but still a humble dwelling overall. Sheds, pens, and sties nearby showed that this was the home of a pig farmer, though Euthan noticed only one sow as he approached. A few fruit trees grew in the yard. There was a small kitchen garden, too. The crying was coming from the far side of the house - the one that faced the grassy sea, away from the other nearby farmhouses, the road into town, and the town itself. Caution and curiosity warred. His mind spun an increasingly creative series of dark, weird what-ifs. Euthan paused, then edged around the corner, bracing himself.
But the sound was only what it had seemed to be. There was a young woman there behind the house. Her complexion was a deep clay-brown, earthy and rich like that of everyone he’d seen so far in Ibari. She crouched beside a simple handmade wooden coffin, weeping, her long hair falling over her shoulders in unkempt strands and locks, as if she hadn’t had time yet to brush it today. Euthan might have taken her hair for black, but its rusty sheen in the sun revealed it to be coffee-colored instead.
Though Euthan moved in near-silence out of habit, she looked up and met his eyes as soon as he turned the corner. The woman’s eyes were light brown, almost orange in the sunlight (a color Euthan thought of as amber), and they were bloodshot from crying. Still, her gaze was sharp and direct. The traveler wasn’t sure if the hint of anger and condemnation he perceived was really there or just a projection of his own sudden awkwardness. He blinked owlishly, embarrassed.
Self-conscious, Euthan brushed back the lock of hair that always seemed to hang in his face. He’d clearly intruded where he wasn’t wanted. Okay, well, that’s all right, he thought, swallowing. He’d just backpedal as gracefully as possible. Automatically, he removed his hat, holding it in both hands over his chest, as men back home did in this sort of situation. He wasn’t sure if that was customary here, but he didn’t want to compound his rudeness and that was the only way he could think of to show he meant no disrespect by his intrusion. It felt like the right thing to do, anyhow. He hoped it was.
Luckily, the translation spell woven into the hat would work regardless. It would be very inconvenient if he could never take the thing off. But, of course, Byrash had thought of that. Byrash thought of everything.
In the back of his mind, as he opened his mouth to speak, he wondered what his old friend was doing now.
“Er.” He’d forgotten what he’d planned to say.
Damn. Come on, Euthan, get your s**t together.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry about that. I heard you crying, and, um.” The woman was still staring at him in stony silence. “Nevermind. You’re obviously - ah - well. I’ll leave you alone. Very sorry,” Euthan stammered, turning his hat in his hands without realizing he was doing it. He took a step back to retreat around the corner. The woman’s expression softened ever so slightly.
“No,” she sighed, wiping at her eyes. “It’s… it’s fine. Don’t go. I guess I should’ve known someone would hear.” After a moment, she gave a bitter chuckle. “Guess I’d rather it be a stranger if it had to be someone.” Her breath hitched in her throat. She paused, swallowed, then continued. “My brother…” The woman trailed off as she visibly strove to keep herself together. Her face crumpled. It was a battle she was just as clearly losing. Sympathy tightened Euthan’s throat. The grieving woman saw Euthan’s expression and lowered her face into her hands as she began to weep once more.
“It doesn’t make sense,” the woman sobbed. “He couldn’t have. They lied. But why? Why would they lie?”
Euthan blinked again, hoping he didn’t look as bewildered as he felt.
“Hey, hey, back up a bit,” he said. “Who couldn’t have what? Who lied?” As Euthan spoke, he glanced around the area, checking the sky, the ground, the branches of the fruit trees. 

Where’s Pintsize? Damn that little rodent. Euthan’s familiar liked to explore on his own, but he never went too far, so the necromancer knew the rat-like creature had to be around here someplace. The tiny beast could be difficult to spot at times. Especially when Euthan particularly wanted to find him.
Fortunately, the woman didn’t notice Euthan’s distraction, or didn’t care if she did. She scrubbed at her face, then lowered her hands, though she continued to stare at the ground. There was a pile of firewood against the wall, and a chopping stump. Euthan sat on the stump, putting his hat back on with a tired sigh. It felt good to sit and rest. He didn’t mind waiting.
After a minute or two, she began to speak. 

“Jayver was a soldier. One of the King’s personal guards. When on leave, he comes… came home to visit me. He came to visit yesterday. Then last night…” 

Her breath caught. Euthan waited patiently. 

“Last night, they came for him. Ten or twelve men, at least.” 

Euthan winced sympathetically. Showing no sign that she was aware of his reaction, the woman went on, talking to herself as much as to the stranger sitting on her chopping stump.
“They said… but they lied! They must have lied,” the woman said, a note of desperation entering her voice. “Why?” She shook her head, bewildered and overwhelmed. “They said he’d - he’d killed the king!” The woman’s voice was hushed, as if she was appalled by the very idea, much less that her own brother might do such a thing. 

“They executed him! Executed him! And left him here!” She began to weep again. Euthan wasn’t sure what to do. Only one idea occurred to him, the same one he’d had before. But he didn’t see his familiar anywhere.
Hey, where are you, Pinty? C’mere. I need you.
Immediately, Euthan heard movement on the roof of the farmhouse. A moment later, a furry white face peered over the edge of the roof, looking quizzically down at the humans below. 

Oh. Of course he’s on the roof. Euthan was a bit disgusted with himself for not thinking of the roof. But he whistled softly, and his best friend fluttered down to his outstretched hands. The young woman glanced dully at the sound of gentle wingbeats - then did a double-take, her initially disinterested expression shifting to one of surprise. 

“Is that a… a flying rat?”
“Not quite,” Euthan replied with a chuckle, stroking the rodent-like creature. Pintsize began to brux happily, enjoying the attention.
“... Forgive me,” the woman said slowly, though her tone suggested she wasn’t all that concerned if she was being rude or not. “But those appear to be bird’s wings. On a rat. If it isn’t a flying rat, what is it?”
“He’s a musogriff,” Euthan explained.
“Musogriff,” the woman echoed, eyeing Euthan skeptically.
“Yep!” Euthan confirmed, smiling. “I get it, though. He does look kinda like a rat. His name is Pintsize. He’s my… friend,” Euthan said awkwardly. He’d almost said ‘familiar’, but decided not to get into that subject just then and corrected himself quickly. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice.
“Say hello, Pinty,” Euthan encouraged his familiar. The little white musogriff glanced up at Euthan’s face for confirmation. When the traveler gave a small nod, Pintsize looked back toward the young woman, his beady black eyes glittering in the afternoon sun, and chirped an ersatz but surprisingly clear ratty version of the word “hello”. 

He even used the proper Ibarian greeting rather than relying on magic to translate from Kahlish. The rodent-like creature had learned that word within a day of their crossing the border into Ibari and Euthan knew Pintsize had been waiting for a chance to use his new word. Show-off, Euthan thought with fond indulgence as he gazed down at his clever companion.
The young woman blinked. Pintsize repeated his "hello" and she burst into surprised laughter which quickly transitioned into wracking sobs. Pintsize wriggled out of Euthan’s hands and glided over to the woman. Landing on her shoulder, he leaned against her cheek, emitting little burbling sounds. After a few moments, the woman allowed Pintsize to crawl down to her chest. She held him close while she cried. Euthan looked away, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.
Finally, the young woman’s tears dwindled to soft sniffles. “Thank you,” she murmured soggily, still hugging Pintsize. She was looking down at the rat-like creature, but Euthan could tell she was addressing him. Pretending to be unaware of this, Pintsize cheeped in a tone that unmistakably meant, “No problem!”
This wrung another little giggle out of the woman, somehow both sad and delighted at the same time. Pintsize nuzzled the woman’s face, then hopped down to the ground. The musogriff toddled over to Euthan, his gait almost bouncy because of his short legs and chubby body. Pintsize sat down near the man’s booted feet, flipped his wings to his back neatly, and began to groom himself, paying special attention to his tail plumes and the fur along his flanks. The woman watched him, smiling almost in spite of herself. Euthan smiled too. She still looked sad beneath the smile, but Pintsize had cheered her up a little, he hoped. Pintsize was good at that.
After a moment, the woman ventured a hesitant question. “So… so he can talk?”
Euthan gladly took the opportunity to change the subject for a while. He knew she’d have to process her brother’s death sometime, but she seemed to want a distraction right now, and he was happy to provide it. Everyone dealt with grief differently.
“No,” the traveler said, then shrugged. “Well, sorta. Those ratty little mouths don’t allow for real human speech. But musos are clever and they love to imitate sounds. Wild ones can be real pests, mimicking all kinds of noises. Whatever takes their fancy,” Euthan explained with a jocular raised eyebrow. “The ones that spend a lot of time with people usually learn at least a few words, though, and some are very good at it. Like a parrot,” Euthan added, hoping to clarify. The woman blinked at him.
“A parrot?”
“Huh? Oh. You don’t know about parrots? Are there none around here? Damn. It’s a kind of bird that - you know what, nevermind,” Euthan said, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt. The woman just stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled slightly and said, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I’m not,” Euthan admitted with a shrug and a playful ‘you got me’ grin. “I’ve been traveling,” he continued. “My name is Euthan.”
The woman nodded and said, “Isabey,” leaning forward in a sort of seated bow. Euthan was puzzled until he remembered that a bow was how people greeted each other in Ibari. He’d started to hold his hand out, but quickly returned it to his side. She didn’t notice, or paid no attention to the gesture if she did.
“Euthan,” Isabey repeated as she straightened, as if testing the pronunciation. “A strange name.” She peered at the traveler with open curiosity. Euthan shrugged with one shoulder, glancing to the side. 

“Home is a long ways off,” he replied by way of explanation. She studied him, mouth pulled to one side, and he couldn’t tell if the expression was skeptical or amused. Maybe a bit of both. Then she said, “How long have you been in Ibari?” Euthan frowned, pushing his tired brain to remember. How long had it been? The kilometers and the days blurred together crossing the grassy sea.
“Uh. Hmm. Maybe ten days? Half a moon? Something like that,” he answered after a moment. Then he nodded. “Yeah, the moon was in its waxing half when we - Pinty and I, I mean - crossed the border. So it’s been about fourteen days, thereabouts. Why?”
She was definitely giving him a skeptical look now, though she didn’t seem angry, just disbelieving. “You speak Ibari very well. You don’t even have an accent.”
Euthan pulled at the brim of his hat. “Magic hat,” he winked with a lopsided smile. It was, of course, the truth, but his manner implied a joke, and most people took it that way. Isabey laughed. When the laughter trailed off, though, her gaze drifted downward. Isabey wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest, and sighed, looking at the ground. Pintsize, who had been smoothing the fur on his belly, stopped doing this and hopped up to Isabey’s shoulder instead with a single flap of his white wings. He began to groom her hair, nibbling gently at the strands, pulling at them with his agile little claws.
“He’s pretty good at tangles if you let him,” Euthan noted, wryly brushing a rogue lock of his long red hair out of his face. Isabey nodded, but she was still looking at the ground, and he could tell she was only half-listening. A tear slipped down the side of her face. Euthan rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward, sighing. After a few minutes, Pintsize fluttered back to Euthan, settling on his lap.
“So, ah, tell me if I have any of this wrong,” he began. “Recently, the king of Ibari was killed. Not a battle or a duel; murdered. For some reason, unknown to you, your brother was blamed. Instead of a trial by the nobility, or the judiciary, or whatever method you folks use around here, a mob of his fellow soldiers just came to your house, called him a traitor, dragged him out and executed him on the spot. All that correct?”
“Y-yes,” Isabey whimpered, wiping at her tearful eyes with the back of her arm.
Euthan bit his lip. The rational part of his mind told him he should comfort her, then move on. Mind his own damn business.
Euthan was not good at minding his own business. Not good at all.
“Say... Um.” He paused, feeling awkward and anxious again. “I think… I think I might be able to help you.” Isabey’s dark eyes glanced in his direction. For no reason he could have articulated, he felt pinned to the spot by her gaze. He stammered through the rest anyway. “But… I’m going to have to ask some questions, and do some things. It’s going to seem weird. Okay, it is weird. But… if you trust me, I can help. I think. Please. Okay?”
That skeptical look was in her eyes again, and this time there was no amusement in it, only wariness and disbelief. But what she said was, “Go on.”
Euthan took a deep breath, worried about her reaction to his next words. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. But he was having one of those urges again. Those troublesome damned urges to fix things that have gone wrong. He was certain Isabey was telling the truth as she knew it... but there was something off about the story. There was more to be known, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, some task behind it that needed doing, some problem that needed fixing. He wanted to know what that something was. And then to fix it if he could.
Besides, she looked so sad. He had to at least try.
“Okay. So,” he went on, swallowing. “If I’ve got the story right… then the first thing we need to do is talk to your brother.”
Isabey lifted her head from her knees and gave him a piercing stare. “He’s dead,” she said flatly.
Damn, he thought, unsurprised but still a bit dismayed. She’s questioning my sanity. Welp. Here goes nothing… Euthan let out a deep, tired sigh. “… I know.” He paused, looking at the rolling hills in the distance. The traveler scratched at the back of his neck, feeling awkward. Then he sighed again. 

“I know,” he repeated, then looked into her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see hate in them after he admitted his profession. “I’m a necromancer.”
Isabey sat up and looked at him sharply. “What!? You’re - you - you’re what? You control dead things?” she snapped; her tone sounded as angry as it did afraid. Her eyes darted around, scanning their surroundings frantically.
“Er. Among other things, yes. What… um. What are you looking for?” Euthan gave her a puzzled frown, then realized what she was doing. His sigh had a note of exasperation in it, and he flicked his fingers dismissively. “Oh. No, no, stop. There’s nothing to see right now. I don’t just go around with corpses following me about for no good reason, you know.”
Isabey stared at him, speechless with shock and disgust. Euthan couldn’t help grimacing as he looked away from her accusing gaze. He’d encountered this kind of reaction often enough on his impromptu journey, but it still stung. He wasn’t used to being seen this way.
Among other things, one subject that a lot of people in the wider world outside Kahli seemed to have very strong opinions about was necromancy. To his dismay, those strong opinions trended negative. Very negative.
Euthan swallowed the mild (but real) hurt and tried again.
“Hey, Isabey,” he said beseechingly, holding his hands out palms up at his sides. “It’s just me. Same person you’ve been talking to. The guy with the cute rat. Remember?” He offered what he hoped was a friendly, endearing smile. He knew from unhappy past experience that it might come across as creepy and manipulative instead, but he didn’t know what else to do. He was sincere, after all. He could only hope it showed.
Isabey fixed him with a long, hard stare. Then she sat up, back straight, and crossed her arms across her chest. 

“Prove it,” she said.
“Prove what?”
“That you’re… that you can do this. You said you can resurrect my brother.”
Euthan screwed up his face dubiously. 

“I didn’t exactly say that. I mean… I could, sorta-kinda, but not the way you’re thinking. I could make him into a zombie. If I were a real a*s, I could force his soul back into his body. That’d make sort of a better, smarter zombie. If you don’t mind condemning the soul to the torment of half-existence inside their own corpse, that is - which I do mind, thank you very much,” Euthan added defensively as Isabey started to protest. She shut her mouth, but she was still glaring at him. Euthan tried to ignore the glare as he spoke. 

“But I never said I could bring him back to life. I can’t. No one can, at least not that I know. It’s been one of the greatest unsolved problems of necromancy for… I don’t know. Centuries.” The necromancer gave another of his lazy one-shouldered shrugs, as if to say, “That’s life, what can you do?”
Isabey’s glare was as incredulous as angry at this point. She was still frowning, but there was a look in her eyes that gave Euthan the impression that her mind was racing through the information she’d just learned and trying to figure out how to react to it at the same time. There were still fresh tear marks on her face, but her gaze was sharp and clear. Euthan shifted on the chopping stump as if resettling himself on its hard surface, avoiding her eyes; his discomfort, though real, was more social than physical.
“So… what? You could bring him back as… as a puppet?”
“I could. I’m not gonna, because that would be a dick move. But I could.” Isabey gave him an odd frown, and Euthan realized that the idiom didn’t translate well. “That is, it’d be mean. And there’s no good reason to do it. So I’m not going to. Not even if you asked me to, because it’d be cruel to him, and it’d do you no good,” Euthan said seriously, returning her stare with a candid gaze of his own. She blinked, taking this in, and her expression softened fractionally. Still, he could tell he wasn’t doing a good job of this.
“Anyway,” he continued, in a slightly rushed, nervous tone. “That’s not what I was referring to earlier. I don’t want or need to animate his body. I just want to talk to his soul. Get the truth. Or at least his side of the story. You know. From him. Directly.”
Isabey’s expression remained dubious, but Euthan thought she was considering it. At the least, she was listening. After a long moment, she looked up into his eyes, as if searching them for a lie or a trick.
“And what do you want in return for this, necromancer?” She asked him in a low, suspicious tone. He shrugged, nonchalant, as if the question was of little importance. He’d learned a long time ago it was futile to try to explain the curiosities and impulses that drove him... whether to strangers or otherwise.
“Directions to the nearest inn?” Euthan took another shot at his best charming ‘I’m-totally-harmless’ grin. The woman folded her arms over her chest and shot him an unconvinced side-eye, frowning.
“Sure,” she replied in a sardonic deadpan. Then she added, looking him hard in the eyes, “How do I know I can trust you?”
Oof. There it is, the king’s-ransom question, Euthan thought. He chewed on his lower lip. He squirmed internally under her searching stare - but forced himself to hold still physically. He could only hope she’d see his sincerity and believe him. If not… at least he’d tried. He could do no more. The traveler petted Pintsize to settle his nerves, looking down at the white musogriff for a moment. Then he looked up, meeting Isabey’s stare.
“You don’t,” he answered honestly. Then he shrugged. 

“There’s nothing in this for me. I’m a stranger here. I could pat you on the back, say I’m sorry for your loss, and keep walking. In fact, part of me thinks I should do exactly that,” he sighed. “But…” Euthan paused, swallowed, looking for words. “Look, even if you agree to try… we don’t know what we’ll find out. We don’t know what that knowledge might lead to. This might get dangerous,” he explained, gesturing broadly to try to convey his urgency. The movement unsettled Pintsize in Euthan’s lap, who chirped a mild reprimand before curling up again. “In fact, it probably will get dangerous. But… but I want to help. Let me help. Please?” Euthan finished lamely, his voice breaking a bit on the last word. He realized he’d gotten a bit teary himself.
Damn, he thought. My dignity is officially forfeit.
He hoped Isabey didn’t think he was putting on an act. Euthan was surprised at the depth of his own feeling at first. But had to admit to himself that he’d been bottling a lot of emotions up for a long time. He supposed it was no surprise the ‘bottle’ was starting to leak.
“I’m not a bad person,” he found himself saying. “All I ever wanted was to help people, and learn everything I can. That’s all.” He paused, then added, a bit hastily, “I mean. I know some of the things I do are… you know, kinda dubious. Sometimes. But I’m not, you know, I’m not a monster,” he finished, hating the whiny note in his voice but unable to erase it. He glanced down at Pintsize, then looked back to Isabey, giving her a beseeching look.
Isabey’s shoulders sank as she sighed, the tension going out of her. She closed her eyes for a moment, and Euthan got the unavoidable impression that she was gathering her patience. When she opened her eyes again and looked at Euthan once more, her gaze was as sharp as the tip of a spear. 

“All right,” she said, her voice like steel. “But I swear on my mother’s grave, if - if you’re lying to me, if this is some kind of trick or a sick joke, for your sake you’d better have the ability to raise yourself from your own damn grave.”
The woman was shorter than him by at least three inches, if not six - but the growl in her voice was so aggressive that Euthan found himself sitting up straighter, eyes widening in mild but genuine alarm.
“Erm,” the necromancer said.
Note to self, Euthan thought. Do not cross Isabey. Ever. In fact, Pintsize, remind me. No crossing Isabey.
'Kay, the familiar agreed sleepily, his mind-voice full of tolerant amusement.
Euthan rubbed the back of his neck, swallowed to clear his throat, then said, “Yes. Well. I’ll… remember that.” Moving on, he looked around, scanning the area. “Uh. So. We need to find a quiet place. I mean total privacy.”
Isabey shot him a suspicious look, eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? How do you think people are going to react if I start just, you know, doing necromancy in the middle of the village?”
“We’re not in the middle of the village,” she pointed out. He frowned.
“Fine, outskirts, whatever. Close enough. Way too close. Remember, I heard you crying back here, and you weren’t, you know, loud. What’ll happen if people walk in on this?” A broad arm-gesture both took in the coffin and implied unsavory necromantic doings. “Oh, and it’ll be at the worst moment; it’s always at the worst moment.” Isabey eyed him, appearing unimpressed by his complaints.
“You got angry just because I told you,” Euthan reminded her, trying not to sound whiny or accusatory, knowing he did anyway. Trying to lighten the moment with humor, he added, “I can’t do my thing when people are trying to stab me with pitchforks.”
Isabey scowled at Euthan for a moment, refusing to match his smile. Then her expression broke and she chuckled in spite of herself. “S**t. All right, you have a point.” She frowned, thinking. “I’m guessing inside the house isn’t good enough, then.”
“Yeah, not the best idea,” Euthan agreed. “For a lot of reasons.”
Isabey gave the necromancer a curious glance but didn’t say whatever she’d been thinking. After a moment, though, she spoke up. 

“There’s the Witch’s Chapel.”
“Oof. That’s not an ominous name or anything,” Euthan commented dubiously. Isabey smiled, though her eyes were sad. “It’s just a wood,” Isabey explained. “People like to tell stories about it when we’re all snowed in over the winter, but it’s just to pass the time. Still, it’s not the closest forest to town, so people don’t go there often. It should be private enough for… whatever you have in mind,” Isabey added, eyeing Euthan mistrustfully. He avoided her gaze and scratched at his chin, feeling awkward. It was itchy. He needed to shave. Later, he told himself.
“Okay, well. Then we just need to get Jayver,” he said, indicating the coffin with a sideways tilt of his head, “out there without anyone seeing.”
Isabey nodded, her face hard with a mixture of grief and anger. Euthan wasn’t sure how, but he could tell her anger was no longer directed at him - at least not at that moment. If he had to place a bet, he’d say she was thinking about the men who’d killed her brother. Then she unfolded her arms and stood.
“That’s not a problem,” she sighed as she rose. “Help me load him into my wagon. I’ve still got one good carthorse,” she added, and Euthan thought of the solitary sow in the otherwise-empty pens and sties on the other side of the house. This family has seen better times. After a beat, she continued. 

“If we pass anyone, they’ll think we’re taking him to the old churchyard to bury him. Everyone knows what happened. Everyone.” 

Her voice was bitter and cold.

Author's Note

Please don't try to spare my feelings. I can't improve if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Thank you.

Reviews

[James Watts]

I couldn't really find areas to truly nitpick. This is a rather interesting start to your story that pulls me in to read more, to learn the reasons behind Jayver's murder. Nicely done, I might add. We have a similar writing style, another thing I viewed as a plus. I will be reading your other entries this weekend when I have more time to read. I can say now, however, that this appears to be an epic tale in the making.