Daniel sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes locked onto Mark’s own. “Fuck. Yes, that’s it. Helpless. I felt so helpless. And now I’m still helpless, but also invisible. If Riordan hadn’t needed me, hadn’t been there for me, I couldn’t have stayed, existing on the edge of life but unable to engage.”

Mark echoed that sentiment to his core, though he doubted that he felt it as keenly as Daniel did. Being a ghost was a lonely existence. Ghosts weren’t meant to linger. Most moved on as soon as possible. Some stayed, tied to places or people or regrets. Others left impressions behind, knots of strong emotion tied to echoes of their lives or selves.

Lingering too long, no longer fed from the well of life in the world of matter, caused a decay of self. Humanity wasn’t meant to be unchanging or eternal. And the human mind did not cope well with such absolute isolation. Mark was surprised that any ghost who lingered too long could manage to not become vengeful, stuffed full of the envy of life that drove the hungry dead at the Veil between life and death.

“What would make you feel less helpless?” Mark probed, finding Daniel’s issues easier to contemplate than his own. He wanted to solve things for Daniel, bring him happiness. Doing so would be right and proper for a shaman.

“Part of me wants to be like Zeren,” Daniel ran a hand through his mop of hair with a small self-deprecating laugh, “but that’s impossible for several reasons.”

Mark thought of Zeren. The strange ghost consisted for some unknown number of individual ghosts stitched and layered together to create an entity of surprising density for a ghost, able to interact with the physical world at need. They were also a truly creepy entity. Mark had seen Zeren shed the facsimile of human appearance, revealing the maw of hungry ghosts within. He shuddered in memory.

“Not too like Zeren, I hope,” Mark muttered.

“No, only in that Zeren can actually do things that are useful to Quinn. They don’t even need Quinn to cast anything to do it, just give orders. And the orders bit is only because of the way they were created, I think.”

“So it’s the ability to interact with the physical world? Can Riordan empower you enough for that?”

Daniel shook his head. “Riordan can barely do anything right now. His magic… The tree spirit ripped him in half and stitched him up again the way it pleased. I doubt Riordan will be a reliable caster for some time yet, if I understand how things work.”

Mark knew what had happened to Riordan, but hearing such a blunt summary made him wince. Even the exercises to naturally expand his well and vessels could hurt badly if overdone, which most young and enthusiastic casters did at some point. The agony of changing a core in any way… Mark shivered in sympathy.

“He would still try to help if you told him,” Mark said. “Riordan wants to do right by you.”

“I know,” Daniel didn’t meet Mark’s eyes. He reached out a hand and let the strange water of the pond filter through his fingers. “He’s a good friend, even if he doesn’t see it in himself. I don’t want to be another burden or responsibility to him, even if he’d never complain.”

The sadness in Daniel’s voice mingled with Mark’s own fears and with his memories of that same form, crumbled in death. Mark blurted out, “There are other ways to gain power.”

Daniel whipped his gaze around to stare at Mark. “What?”

Mark blushed fiercely, his freckles standing out dark against his burning pink face. “Nothing… It’s just-- There are fast ways to gain strength. The best way is building up your foundations and experience slowly, making conscious decisions on how you want to develop. It takes time. Sometimes you don’t have time. For shaman and spirit mages, the fastest way to gain a power boost is some sort of spirit pact. Maybe that works for ghosts too.”

Daniel hadn’t stopped staring. “Spirit pact?”

“A spirit pact,” Mark explained, his voice taking on the practiced cadence of reciting an answer, “is a magical contract between a shaman and a spirit. Unlike spells, where each use of a spirit’s power is negotiated in that moment, a pact persists as long as the shaman fulfills their end of the contract and typically provides a constant well of power for their spells or other effects, such as having a spirit familiar.”

“And what is the shaman’s end of the contract?” Daniel asked.

“Ah,” Mark smiled wryly, “You’ve hit on the difficult part. That depends on the spirit and how well you can negotiate. Even speaking with spirits is dangerous if you are drastically different in power level. There are reasons most people don’t use this method.”

“Are there other quick ways to power?” Daniel’s curiosity grew, a morbidly fascinated expression on his face.

“Sure. People invent all sorts of things out of desperation and greed, given enough time. There’s death magic, of course, but I’ve heard stories of people stealing powers from other mages, of mythical potions and artifacts that grant great power, of spirits choosing to intervene and perform miracles if provoked.” Mark waved a hand in the air. “The trick is dividing the stories from the facts and also realizing that most methods for quick power involve either hard to reproduce events, really risky experiments, or stealing from someone else.”

“I suppose if it was easy, everyone would do it,” Daniel said, grimacing. “I certainly don’t want to steal power from anyone.”

“That’s because you are a good person,” Mark replied softly.

“And you aren’t?”

Mark paused to think about that and about what it would be like to take power from someone else. It wouldn’t even have to be death magic, receiving power from their lost blood or life. He could steal a magic weapon, for example, or join some sort of pack that focused on rituals or magic sharing. And yet, Mark couldn’t see himself doing any of that.

“No, I am. I just wish…”

“Wish that sometimes you could be as greedy as the bad people in the world, so that you could be just as strong or stronger? To be lucky enough to have a miracle happen?”

Mark laughed. “Basically.”

The pair lapsed into silence, letting the quiet burble of the tiny waterfall fill the space. Mark could feel some of the burden of trauma he’d been carrying ease here. None of it went away, but the memories and emotions pressed on him less. He wanted to bottle that feeling of peace to take with him out into the real world.

He knew that he couldn’t stay here forever though. Not even for that long. His body was just sitting around in the middle of the woods, which was hardly ideal. Nonetheless, Mark still wanted to stop hurting all the time inside.

Daniel broke the silence. “Do you think the tree spirit would help me if I asked?”

Mark blinked, surprised. “Maybe? It would be risky. You aren’t a spirit mage, so I’m not sure how you would even negotiate with it. It seems to like you, given you are one of only two people given free access to this place.”

“Would it help you if you asked?” Daniel continued, that curious tone back, accompanied by an odd intensity.

“No, and I should be asking Mother Bear if I’m trying to make a pact with a greater spirit anyway,” Mark said. He sat up and shook his head, trying to think clearly again after letting himself relax so much. “Mother Bear might help me since I have worked around it so long, assuming I can even get its attention, but the tree has no reason to care about me at all. Riordan says it just wants to be left alone.”

“Mostly alone,” Daniel corrected. “It doesn’t mind peaceful company. And it doesn’t sit by when someone is causing pain around it anymore. I think it’s more picky than isolationist now.”

Mark snorted. “I guess picky isn’t a bad trait for a greater spirit.”

“Do you think it would help me if you translated for me?” Daniel asked. “Since I don’t have a good way of talking directly?”

“That would be…” Reckless. Dangerous. A horrible idea in every way. “...ill advised,” Mark said cautiously. “Riordan would be a better choice to ask on your behalf since it likes him.”

“Riordan doesn’t want to talk to it, I don’t think.”

Smart choice. Mark shrugged. “I can’t even get here without Riordan’s help, so it’s a moot point anyway.”

Why were they still discussing this? It was a horrible idea. Mark knew better than to mess with greater spirits. Even greater spirits that made him feel a bit less terrible inside. Even if being asked by a friend who was in even worse straits after trauma.

“If you could talk to the tree spirit for me, would you?” Daniel pushed.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. His bangs flopped right back down over his forehead. “I am just an apprentice. I wouldn’t be able to negotiate well.”

“But it wouldn’t be as dangerous for you as me, right?”

“Definitely, but that’s a low bar. It’s still dangerous.”

“Is the risk worth the reward?”

Mark didn’t know what to say to that. He felt so weak. Which meant his risk was higher, but so was the potential reward. There were reasons, very good reasons, that the agents worried about death mages trying to use the tree spirit to further their goals. Greater spirits were the closest most people got to demigods and miracles. Death mages usually were either greedy or desperate. Why wouldn’t they go looking for a miracle that fed their greed?

Intellectually, Mark knew the right choice was to take things slow. He would keep building his magic on solid foundations which would serve him throughout his long life. Frankie could counsel him or help Mark get therapy if needed. Perhaps she’d even assign him a guard or teach him some tricks until he started feeling safe again.

This corner of the world was normally peaceful and quiet. If Mark could last through the rest of this investigation and the cleanup, he’d have all the time to do things right. Unless disaster struck twice somehow and another atypical event cropped up. Or if this greater spirit on their doorstep began attracting trouble to their territory. Monitoring it would already be part of their new routine, once they were able to form one.

Even in that serene future Mark contemplated, potential danger lurked everywhere. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the world would never be safe again. Maybe it never had been safe.

“Maybe,” Mark whispered, afraid to voice the sentiment aloud but not willing to lie to Daniel either. “If it could make me-- make us feel safe again, then yes, the risk is worth the reward.”

Daniel met Mark’s eyes, his ghostly coloring never letting Mark forget all the man had lost, and nodded.