Necromancy is inaccurately named.

The practitioners of that magic school often deal in corpses, ghosts, and icons of death, but this is not where their domain lies. A more accurate descriptor would be psychomancy, where ‘psycho’ is an elaborate word for soul.

Necromancers, or psychomancers, deal with the various flavors of soul magic, commonly including reconnecting souls to bodies, an application favored by a soul’s slow rate of deterioration. This is correlation, not causality.

Unfortunately, the name of necromancy has become too widespread in recent years and cannot be changed. We would still advise all peers to keep the right term in mind, lest we mistake the crux of the issue.

- An excerpt of the Introduction to Magic by Eladron the Letterless.

Boney’s skeletal face was frozen. “How much?” he asked.

“One full hundredth, Boney!” Jerry replied with a smile. “Imagine that! One hundredth of the world’t greatest treasure… am I a great negotiator or what?”

The skeleton’s eyes lit up with crimson flames, as did most of the undeads’. They all turned to look at Marcus.

“Easy there, pals,” said the treasure hunter. “The price includes a thousand taels.”

“One hundredth?” repeated Boney. “This is insulting. I demand a renegotiation.”

Marcus raised a brow. Jerry laughed.

“It’s fine, Boney. One-hundredth of the world’s greatest treasure is already plenty—and besides, we shouldn’t casually go back on our word. Let’s just enjoy the ride. I’m sure it will be fun!”

Axehand grunted in agreement, while the rest of the undead did not intervene. Boney, left without allies, sighed deeply.

“From now on, never talk business without me, Master… please.”

“Sure,” replied Jerry. “It’s boring anyway.”

Marcus laughed, then resumed playing catch with Boboar. Boney sighed. This would be a long journey.

***

The northern forests of Escarbot were full of hidden life.

As the Funny Bone advanced through the rocky path, flickers of movement dominated the edges of their vision. Insects buzzed just outside their way, a family of foxes peeked through a bush, and squirrels leaped from branch to branch overhead, heedless of the undead strolling underneath.

One squirrel even tried to bury a nut in the middle of the path and was forced to stop when the circus approached. It angrily waved a little fist at them.

“Escarbot isn’t grand or impressive, but I never get bored of it,” said Marcus, lounging over many colorful fabrics on the cart’s top. He raised a hand, blocking the sun that met him through the foliage. “I have been to many places, you know. The Sea of Sands, Alabaster, Moonlight, the beginnings of the Jewel Archipelago… but none of them put my heart at such ease as this simple forest.” He let out a tired sigh. “Still, a straight three-day trip is too much even for a traveler like me, Jerry. I admire your endurance.”

“A perk of the job. I once walked for three months in a row.” Jerry laughed from the cart front, where he sat. “What were you doing in all those places, Marcus? Treasure hunting?”

“Treasures are a hit-or-miss situation. I usually fail a dozen times before succeeding once, so most of my excursions could be called vacations.”

“And do you often take advantage of naive locals?” asked Boney.

“Not that much. I usually take advantage of over-talkative, sarcastic skeletons.”

“Very humerus. And then what? You sacrifice them to the ancient spirits of gold?”

“Yes,” replied Marcus seriously, and Boney would have raised a brow—if he had one.

“I still don’t like this, Master,” he turned to Jerry. “Please, please, can we please renegotiate?” To his horror, however, the necromancer only laughed.

“That ship has sailed, Boney. You win some, you lose some. Let’s just enjoy the ride.”

Headless grabbed his head and moved it up and down, nodding in agreement, while Boboar oinked happily from up ahead. The four Billies also nodded in perfect synchronization.

“See, Boney?” Marcus glowered from above the cart. “Everyone is with me, and do you know why? Because I have the high ground—morally.”

“Bah.”

“Look, even Birb is perching on my shoulder. It likes me! Right, Birb?”

“Now you’re just lying.” Jerry laughed. “Birb is scouting up ahead.”

“No, it’s definitely on my shoulder.”

Jerry turned to look.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s certainly something, but it isn’t Birb.”

“Crap!”

Marcus slapped at his shoulder, making the bird fly off. It was dark-feathered and about a palm in size, so similar to Birb—but its eyes were black, and as it landed on the cart’s edge, it stood with the unnerving stillness and numbness of a newly-risen undead.

“By Manna…” Marcus grabbed his chest. “Why did you have to scare me like that, Jerry?”

“Not on purpose, my friend.” Jerry stopped the carriage, climbing to its top to squint at the bird. “You are not one of mine,” he said.

“I am not,” replied the bird, “but you can become one of mine.”

“Pardon?” said Jerry.

“Pardon?” said Marcus.

“AEIAOHA,” said Headless, throwing his head at the bird with enough force to send it off the carriage and onto the ground below. Jerry raised a brow at the enthusiastic zombie.

“That wasn’t very polite, Headless. I’ll admit the bird was shocking, but that’s no reason to be rude.”

The zombie’s shoulders hunched, and somewhere beyond Jerry’s field of vision, its head pouted.

“That was an insult. Apologize immediately,” the black-feathered bird said from the ground. Its voice was a man’s, crisp and young-sounding—but when the bird spoke, its mouth did not move. Though one of its wings was clearly broken, it did not seem to mind.

“Sorry, sorry, Headless is just overeager. He loses his head like that sometimes, but it’s part of his charm.”

“Do you take me for an ignorant mundane?” the bird spat with derision. “Your undead are under your complete control. Have them behave properly, not like rabid dogs.”

Jerry frowned. He already disliked this bird. How dare it speak about Headless like that? In fact, of all the birds in the world, this particular one was his least favorite, even if it was a necromancer.

“That was a very rude comment. Who are you?” he asked, jumping off the cart to approach.

“Careful, Master!” Boney leaped in front of him, arms spread wide. “It may explode!”

“It’s a bird, Boney. They don’t explode.”

“You’d be surprised,” added Marcus. “The Jewel Archipelago has a kind that violently self-detonates to defend itself.”

“Really? That sounds counterintuitive.”

“Well, it dies, obviously, but it deters predators from hunting others of its species. It’s a group defense.”

“Interesting!” replied Jerry, turning back to the bird. “Are you going to explode as well? I assure you we weren’t planning to hunt any oddly talkative birds.”

The bird did not reply. For a moment, it simply stared at Jerry so blankly, so emptily, that he thought it had died again.

“I am Sakalai Maccain of the Wizard Order,” it finally said, its voice gravely.

Marcus raised both brows. Jerry noticed.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied. “I’m Jerry, and I do believe we got off on the wrong foot. Speaking of feet, how about I make you a nice pair of bird shoes as an apology? I’m a shoemaker too!”

For some reason, it didn’t seem very pleased at the offer.

“One of my underlings informed me about you…” the bird continued. “They told me you’re retarded, an embarassment to our kind, that you should be put down for everyone’s good. I did not believe them… but I see now that I was wrong. Recruiting you would be idiocy.”

“Our kind?” Jerry frowned. “But I’m not a bird.”

“Jerry,” Markus said slowly, “you need to listen to me very carefully. That is not a bird. It is—”

“Of course it’s a bird,” he replied. “Look, it has wings and a beak. What else could it be?”

“Maybe a chicken, Master,” Boney replied. “I believe they are not birds.”

“Really? That seems so unfair!”

“I think it’s because they can’t fly.”

“Listen to me!” snapped Marcus, and everyone turned to him in shock. “Sakalai Maccain is one of the strongest necromancers alive and a high-ranking member of the Wizard Order. Stop messing around.”

He turned to the bird. “Sorry about that, sir. We had no idea.”

“Since when do mundanes speak amongst wizards?” The voice snorted. “Control your underling, necromancer.”

Jerry had to admit he was intrigued. Another necromancer? It was the first time he ever met one! There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, to share… but this particular person seemed unlikeable. Jerry crossed his arms.

“Marcus is not my underling. He is my friend.”

Marcus laughed. “Well, that’s maybe taking it a bit too far. We’re business associates.”

However, the bird was having none of it.

“Disgraceful!” it thundered. A hint of crimson appeared deep in its black eyes, and the mood instantly shifted. Jerry’s undead gathered around him, suddenly sensing something, while Axehand straight up stepped on the bird to keep it on the ground.

“Can we all calm down, please?” shouted Marcus, but he could not command the undead.

“Fine, fine!” the voice laughed. “A retarded wizard associating with mundanes… I should have known. Watching you pains me, necromancer. You are a disgraceful embarrassment to our kind, and still you dare to repeatedly insult me.”

“You sure say a lot of bullshit for a bird.”

The bird’s face warped into a scowl. “Fine! I was planning to recruit you into the Order, but you are not worthy. Enjoy your last days of freedom, Jerry Shoeson. For insulting me, I will kill you and force you to serve me forever—and for daring to speak amongst us, I will do the same to your mundate pet.”

“But we are humans, while you are an angry feather ball. We just don’t fit. How about you raise a few more birds, form your own flock, and migrate north to cool off instead?”

The bird let out a caw as its feathers glowed red. Axehand’s bone foot instantly smashed into its side, launching it high into the sky, where it exploded in a small red cloud.

Everyone was left staring mutedly.

“Told you it could explode,” said Boney.

“You were right. I can see the deterrence factor too, maybe it’s from the Jewel Archipelago.”

“Can we acknowledge the fact that we just received a death threat from a Sakalai?” asked Marcus.

Jerry nodded. “Well, in my defense, that bird had it coming.”

Marcus met Jerry’s gaze, then sighed. “That’s great treasure hunting right there. We haven’t even gotten started and we’re already hunted by a Sakalai.” He rubbed his nose. “I don’t want to spoil your fun, Jerry, but that guy is crazy strong. Let’s try to come up with a plan, okay?”

“Exactly how crazy strong are we talking about? I’ve heard rumors about the Wizard Order before, but nothing about a Sakalai.”

“Rumors? Bah! The Order is very real, Jerry. They're a shady organization that preaches wizard supremacy over us normal people—mundanes, they call us. Its existence is a secret, supposedly, but it’s so terrifyingly large that everyone important knows. They command thousands of wizards and only seven Sakalai, so any one of them should be enough to completely obliterate our group unless you can make another dozen Axehands.”

“Oh. Okay, a plan would be good to have then. How about this? We get to the Dead Lands quickly, and then the Wizard Order can’t reach us. I know they have fingers everywhere, but not there—I hope.”

“You’d be surprised… but yes, that sounds like a good idea.” Marcus nodded. “Getting past the Wall is not so easy though… We’re close to Edge Town but it’s said to be terribly bureaucratic. Could take a few days.”

“But even if that Sakalai catches up, he won’t try to kill us in the town, right?”

“I hope so, though the Wizard Order is not famous for obeying the law.”

“So we should get going.”

“Yes. If we hurry, we can probably get there by evening.”

“Great!” Jerry leaped on the carriage. “Onward, Boboar! To Edge Town!”

Marcus laughed as he, too, jumped onboard, and Boboar oinked happily as he accelerated, pulling the cart along. Undead didn’t get tired or bored; Boboar enjoyed helping.

“By the way,” said Marcus as the cart trudged along, once again bobbing with the path’s holes and bumps, “you know that wasn’t really a bird, right? There was a person speaking through the bird.”

“Of course.” Jerry winked. “Though I had no idea necromancers could do that. I will copy him. Birb is needed for scouting, but… come, Foxy!”

Foxy jumped on the cart, coiling up by Jerry’s side, who placed a hand on her back. He laughed.

“Time to become a ventriloquist!”