“At our borders, the world falls to chaos. Beyond there are only ruins and savages.”

Pieron Gerong, Gurngamosi historian.

The discussion of where to go didn’t start right away. Esen needed to raise our zombie and couldn’t be distracted. Maarken stood glaring until I told him to find something better to do and he mumbled something about seeing if any supplies had survived the attack. I stayed with Esen and watched her work.

She didn’t seem to be doing much of anything. She simply knelt there by the dead man’s side, eyes closed. I was beginning to get bored when her eyes shot open. They looked like pools of pure mercury, silver all the way through.

I could sense her looking around, eyes roaming until they suddenly affixed on a space just to my left. I glanced that way, but all I saw was the forest around us. I moved my ears about to test the air, but I didn’t hear anything either. What was Esen seeing? I looked back to her and saw her touching the corpse’s face, pointing out the blood she had left on his forehead.

Then for an instant, I saw it. The flicking outline of a hand, grey and insubstantial. It touched the blood, and the blood began to clear away. As it did, the shade became more visible. It was human sized and shaped, but vague, blurry. The hand I had seen had only four fingers, like me, instead of the five humans had, and no nails or claws. Its outline smeared like paint every time it moved, like it was not quite fully separate from its surroundings. I couldn’t make out anything resembling a face, just a shaking blurr.

Esen gently took a misty hand and for a moment, it seemed solid. Slowly, she led it down, placing it on the body. A sigh, carried on a sudden gust of wind, stirred past me as the creature faded into mist. There was a single second of silence before the dead mercenary sat up.

“That was incredible! What was that!?” I asked as Esen helped her creation get to its feet.

“A lemure. The soul of a dead man who no longer remembers himself. All souls want to become flesh again so that they may feel. Blood allows them to manifest, but only briefly. So they are very willing to be bound to a body, and have lost enough of themselves to be controlled.” She pointed and the zombie stumbled over to pick up the chest I was sitting on. I giggled and teetered atop it.

“Well if the soul who was here is gone, and the new one doesn’t know his name… Hugred! That was my dog’s name when I lived at home.” I grabbed Hugred’s shoulder and vaulted up to sit piggyback. Hugred was a bit short and stocky, so together they were like one regular-sized human.

“Don’t get attached. This is a temporary contract. Sooner rather than later, his connection to this body will break. A zombie is one of the most unstable forms of undead.” Esen responded.

“Then make him into another one! Like, uh, a ghoul!” I heard the clatter of dropped objects and wasn’t able to turn before I was yanked off my zombie by the back of my jacket.

“Do not make light of those things. Or even this one.” Maarken held me like a cat. My ears drooped and he dropped me on the ground. “Tonight, we hold a vigil for the rest of the dead. Have you ever done this?”

“Once. Nothing happened, though.” I remained seated where I was. I didn’t like thinking about that.

“Do we really have time for that? How much food do we have?” Esen frowned.

“I already let you raise one corpse. The rest get a vigil. It’s the right thing to do. Pargrym, you’ll help me.” Maarken pulled a sword from his belt and handed it down to me. For a human, it was a short sword, but I held it comfortably in both hands. It was the sort of single-edged, sturdy blade that travelers often used for both utility and self-defense.

I didn’t know much about weapons, but it seemed like your average mass-produced sword. The only signs of customization were crudely carved prayers of protection on the handle. I tentatively waved it around. Ugh. I could feel all that iron even without it directly touching me. But…

“Maarken is right. The bodies here were murdered and looted, first by the beastfolk, now by us. We need to watch over them and make sure they stay at rest.” I reluctantly agreed. “We can’t even burn them in the morning. We owe them this much.”

“You don’t have to participate, necromancer, but if you try to interfere, I will smash you and your zombie into pieces. Is that understood?” Maarken looked over his shoulder at Esen.

“I would be more likely to go along with what you want if you would stop threatening me. I plan on sleeping tonight, thank you very much.” She scoffed back.

“Hmph. I will gather the bodies.” Maarken growled, turning and stomping into the woods.

“What is his problem, really? Did ghouls eat his arm?” Esen rolled her eyes.

“Uh, no? He was born that way. He’s a fomorian.” I said. She stared at me blankly. “They’re kinda like ogres, I guess. Humans born special. Part of them is missing, but then everything else is bigger and stronger. My teacher called it an exchange, and said that the more they’re missing, the stronger they are.”

“...hah! Oh, I nearly believed you! Humans, without a touch of fae, having such poetic births? I’m going to bed, Pargrym. I hope your vigil goes well.” She walked away to set up some shelter.

My ears folded back in irritation. It was hardly my fault she didn’t know anything! Were pure humans truly so rare in her lands? I wondered what that was like. Were elves really so different? Did their empire own their goblins? Or were we different there, not living contradictions, slaves who held more power than the free? And if the later, what did that mean? Sadly, I doubt it meant everybody got along. Elves were still human, after all, at least according to my previous employer.