Not quite, said Sir Bearach. It was as if he reached into my very soul, gripping it with his filthy hands.
Fionn gasped. “You... you can read my thoughts?”
I can see everything, said Sir Bearach. I know more about you now than I ever cared to. I see your memories, of a lonely boy raised by old wizards. Of a recurring dream, of a child drowning in blood.
“Get out!” cried Fionn. He began walking briskly back towards the road. “Get out of my head!”
Your first crush was a girl named Síle Ní Mháirtín. You were twelve years old, and she was twelve years your senior. You asked her to marry you in front of her friends, and they laughed. But none laughed as loud as she did.
“Why are you doing this?” said Fionn, pushing his way through the trees out onto the road. “What have you to gain?”
I want to learn more about the Necromancer that trapped me here.
“Yarlaith? I don’t know much about him, he—”
No, you fool. You!
Fionn stopped abruptly.
“Me?” he whimpered. “But I didn’t do it. It was all him!”
The healer tore me down from heaven, yes. But my soul was still free, even when he stuffed it into your body. Every aspect of my being had a voice, and I understood myself more than I ever could before. We observed you for a time, like an audience, until we felt the touch of dark magic again.
“No,” said Fionn. “You don’t mean….”
You used the same magic as the Necromancer. You bound each part of my soul to yours. Now I am one with your being, just as my arm is part of your body. And I am here to stay.
“I… I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
But deep down, Fionn knew that he had done something when he had quelled each of the voices. He invoked his flame, the power of his soul, and manipulated something that wasn’t flesh, or fire, or any other aspects of Nature.
He used his power to manipulate another man’s soul.
Ah, the copper drops! jeered Sir Bearach. You’ve read about those practising Necromancy. The Church hunted them down, burned them, hanged them, erased their memories from history. Will you be next?
“I’m not like them,” said Fionn. “The Druids of Rosca Umhír were graverobbers. Callaghan the Black was a murderer. We’re not the same.”
How can you be sure? Everyone has to start somewhere. Whether you mean it or not, you deprived me of paradise, and I’ll never forgive you for it.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Fionn. “Maybe I can undo it. I’ll find a way.”
Would you kill yourself to save me? said Sir Bearach. The only way I’m going to Tierna Meall now is if we go together. Would you be willing to make that sacrifice?
“No!” cried Fionn. “I won’t.”
“Halt! State your business, in the name of the King!”
Fionn turned to face a dozen soldiers. He had barely heard them approach. They stood before him, clad in grey, weathered armour, with spears raised to the sky. The one who spoke stepped forward. His armour was identical to that of the others, but a spotless white cloak draped over his shoulders set him apart.
“As captain of the Point Grey City Watch, I suggest you find your tongue, boy.”
Go on¸ taunted Sir Bearach. Tell them that you’re a Necromancer now. Tell them that you’ve stolen a soul from the shores of paradise.
“My name is Fionn the Red. I come travelling from Cruachan to Penance.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve strayed far from your route, then. What brings you to this part of the Clifflands?”
Ha! roared Sir Bearach. Tell them about how you burned the airship from the sky, killing most of its crew and stranding the rest in the Glenn. That’ll make for a fine tale.
“I… I…,” stuttered Fionn. He quickly considered his options. Was it wise to tell the truth, about the ship? Or perhaps there was another way.
The captain raised a gauntleted fist, and with a clatter of chains and armour, the rest of the guards lowered their spears, points dangerously close to Fionn’s face.
Gods, prayed Fionn. What am I supposed to say?
Tell them you’re running an errand for the Church, whispered Sir Bearach. He spoke with more urgency than before, the sarcasm absent from his voice. Mention High-Cardinal Maeleachlainn Ó’Brían of Ard Sidh and say no more. They won’t question you further.
Fionn took a breath. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He chose his words carefully.
“My business is of a precious nature,” he began, speaking slowly. “The Church has advised me to keep the details to myself. If you must know more, feel free to contact His Holiness Ó’Brían of Ard Sidh.”
The captain’s expression changed. For a second, Fionn was sure he saw a flash of fear in the man’s eyes. The captain gestured to his men again, and a dozen spears were raised back safely over shoulders.
“My apologies,” said the captain. “We have had a report of bandits in this area. Have you seen anything of note on the road so far?”
Fionn scanned his memory. He couldn’t remember much after leaving Roseán. After all, he was far too distracted to notice anything other than the voices.
“No,” he said. “I saw nothing.” The mage considered his position with the guards. “Is there anything I should know?”
