23

Revenants and Bindings

The members of the Ancestors Own scattered to their various jobs, and Candle pattered over to the lookout rock besides Jory, wrapped tightly in her blanket. There wasn't much to see as clouds had descended on the mountaintop. The air was chilly and damp.

"What a morning," said Jory, looking down at her with a crooked smile, "but let's move on to the things that really matter! So - you are officially a wight killer, Lady Enys. Congratulations! You've made the world a better place."

"Please don't call me that," said Candle, embarrassed.

"As you wish, my Lady," he grinned at her expression. "I'm kidding, young one. It's just I've never had an aetheling student before. Are you sure you still want to embark on this journey as a violent and uncouth killer of the undead? Yes? Good. I wish more of the ruling class were so practically minded."

He gazed out into the clouds and Candle could have a good look at him without being rude. His hair was dark and sleek, tied back by a strip of leather. His short beard was shot through with the beginnings of grey. His eyes were so dark as to be almost black, and the corners of his eyes creased with lines. She liked Jory. He seemed such a good man, and he was so patient. She wondered how he had ended up with the Ancestor's Own. Was he a violent criminal? Had he killed someone? People with life sentences in the Own were usually killers; she knew that. Punching someone at a festival after a few drinks would get you months or a year of service. She knew Jory had been around for a long time. It was a hard thought to reconcile.

"Mmm...so how much do you know about the creatures of the Night Nation?" he said, breaking into her thoughts. "I imagine it's not a topic covered by your tutors at the manse."

Her heart jumped in anticipation.

"No it's not," she said. "I know a little." She suspected she knew more than most but didn't want to sound arrogant.

"In the Ancestor's Own," said Jory, scratching lines in the damp soil with a stick, "we separate the undead into five classifications, based on how difficult they are to kill. Class one are shades. Mostly harmless, rarely seen. Mostly an issue at midnight and noon, and during the turning of the year. They can be slippery and malicious - however, they usually disappear with the twilight. Those that hang around can be persuaded to leave with cold iron, water or salt. Do you want to write this down?"

He tossed her a parchment, and she wrote hurriedly. Her body was tense with anticipation.

"Class two are commonly known as wights," he said. "A little trickier to kill, as you can personally attest."

"Wights are only class two?" she asked, aghast, "and it goes up to five?"

He nodded.

"What in the Night is a class five?"

"Demon," he said, shortly. Candle gripped the rock ledge so hard she thought her fingers might break.

"How do you kill a demon?" she said, trying to sound casual - as if she was merely interested from an academic point of view.

"You don't," said Jory. "You run, and you pray. But we are getting ahead of ourselves... Fire and-"

"Have you ever seen a demon?" she interrupted disappointment flooding through her veins. If there was no way to kill a demon, there was no hope for her. For any of them.

"No," said Jory, "thank the Ancestors. And if I had, I doubt I would be standing here before you now. I believe Pasco has, but let him tell you the tale in his own time. As you know, he has a turbulent past and has experienced many unpleasant things."

With that, she had to be satisfied. However, her disappointment was soon replaced by her interest in the topic at hand.

"Wights, as you know can be sent back to the Night Nation with a belly full of iron. Fire and water slows them but doesn't kill them. They arrive through unsecured doorways, from under bridges not properly lined with iron, windows without shutters during twilight - that sort of thing. I once saw a wight crawl out from the deep shadow of a tree that was growing at a crossroad."

Candle scribbled in her book, nodding intently.

"Class three," continued Jory, "Skinwalker. Extremely unpleasant. Difficult to kill."

"I've never heard of a Skinwalker," said Candle, softly. She shivered as the mist of the high clouds swirled around them, raking her cheek with cold fingers.

"Be grateful for your sheltered life," he said, seriously. "Skinwalkers are what happens when a body is not properly sent to join the Ancestors in the flames. If a shade or more usually a wight comes across a corpse they will take the skin for their own. The fresher the better. The resulting creature belongs both to this world and the Night and so is particularly difficult to return. Sending them to the Night Nation requires a specific ritual. The heart must be cut out and burned and words spoken to send the soul home."

He looked at Candle seriously.

"Pray you never have to deal with one of these," he said. "They retain some of the knowledge of their host, as well as the viciousness of the undead. They are fast and calculating where wights are lumbering and stupid. They are almost impossible to kill if you are alone. It takes a team, and then there is still a risk. Discretion is the better part of valour and all that. Do not attempt to kill one alone. Ever."

He sucked in a tense breath of air and paused in his lecture and stared out into the misty chasm for a while. Candle wondered what he saw in the whirl of clouds. She didn't ask him if he had killed one; the answer was plain to see the lines of his body. He drew a deep breath and continued.

"To send one to the Night their mouth must be filled with salt, and then their body must be pierced with iron. Then they must be set alight in that order. The heart must then be cut out and burned to a crisp. Or the creature might rise again. Iron alone is not enough. That's why we all carry salt. Got that?"

He stopped to give her a chance to write, and she did so diligently.

"Again, I want to impress upon you, do not attempt to kill one of these creatures alone. They are wily and strong, and it will not end well. It is always better to run if you come across one in the fell."

"How will I know?" she asked, pausing in her notes, "if I meet one?"

"The eyes," he said, and she shuddered. No wonder people ran when they saw her, she thought sadly. She shared the colour with the most terrifying of monsters. When it was a matter of life or death why take the chance? She would run if she saw someone like her coming down the path.

"Blue?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

"The unholiest blue," he agreed. "Also, the smell is also a giveaway. Otherwise, they may appear as a normal person, especially if the corpse is fresh. If you look closely, you might also see details that are wrong."

"Details?"

"Hands on backwards," he said, with a grimace, "twisted necks. It depends on how the host died, and why they weren't burned in a proper leaving ceremony. For instance, when I was new to the Ancestor's Own, a shepherd went missing in the Reaches. We were called out to find him as his family feared for the worst. They were right to worry for a Skinwalker was wearing his body. We met him, wandering by his home, several days after he had died. He had fallen off a cliff. " He shuddered. "His neck was broken. No person could walk around with that sort of injury."

Candle's hands went to her neck, and she cringed.

"Five times," Jory said, "five times I have killed Skin Walkers. Twice I have lost teammates in the process. Friends gone forever. It is not a task to be taken lightly, and I hope it is not one I ever have to send you out to do."

He was silent for a while, watching the play of light on the mist. After a few minutes, he shook his head as if to clear his mind and continued.

"Class four," he said. "Class four is a Revenant. Basically a low-level demon."

"A Revenant?" She wrote it down. She had heard the word before, but didn't really know what it meant. "So how do you kill a Revenant?" she asked.

"You don't," he said, shortly. "They cannot be killed - at least not by the likes of you and me. They can only be bound. There are rituals, which I will teach you. Once again, pray to your Ancestors that you never have cause to use what you will learn."

"And what do they look like?" she asked, with a creeping feeling of dread curling in the pit of her stomach.

"Truly, I don't know," said Jory. "I've never seen a Revenant - at least not that I know of. It is said that they can pass as human, hiding their true nature. Some say they are hideous creatures with great scaly wings, and claws instead of fingers and toes. Some say they are deformed monsters, half human, half undead. I don't know where Revenants come from and fortunately, they are not common in Havi. I know that some of our compatriots on the Teurek border have fought and bound several, at great personal cost as has the Mester. So the knowledge is not theoretical only. None of them will talk about it other than to say they are lucky to survive the experience and that Revenants speak with silver tongue and can be incredibly charming if they so chose."

Candle pondered his words.

"But that means anyone could be a Revenant," she said, at last. "I mean how would you know?"

He shrugged.

"Beware of strangers," he said. "Especially those who will not tell you their Ancestors. But don't be too worried. It is highly unlikely that you will ever meet a demon or a Revenant."

Candle didn't trust herself to reply.

After a while, it began to rain softly. Jory started talking about bindings and drawing various patterns in the soil, expounding the virtues and flaws of each in turn. Candle listened closely, marking them down on her parchment. After a while, he switched to more mundane subjects and spoke at length about various herbs and how they could be used in the field.

"It's always handy to know some basic healing," he said, and Candle agreed, although she was finding it hard to focus.

She felt a little faint, her stomach tense. She couldn't get the memory out of her head. The memory of that black cavern, with its concentric rings of salt. What had she done? What had she loosed on the world? For she was now fairly certain, she had met a Revenant. Why else had Jotham been chained and bound in the darkness under the mountain?