Some say that after death the soul will begin to wander. That it will travel back to all the places that defined its creation: The Great Whirlpool of Gralos, a torrent of water in the middle of a city; a field of corn, lush and ready for harvest; a cellar, walls covered in ancient weapons… a small bedroom that smelled of minty herbs…

A pale, delicate hand held his own. He looked up into the dark recesses of a skull, a thin layer of skin covered the bone, stray strands of hair, curled and reedy, fell haphazardly across the face. Its body was a patchwork of flesh, with what looked like dog hair protruding across it painfully.

‘Are you happy to be alive?’ the creature asked, its voice a tapestry of horror. He couldn’t answer the question; his voice did not follow him into death. The hand clutched tightly to his own, refusing to let him leave. Vaskir strained against the hand’s grip but succeeded only in breaking the arm from the creature’s shoulder. He fell backward, toppling the chair he was sitting on. The creature lurched upwards and turned to look at Vaskir. He could feel something pulling him towards the creature, it was the arm, dragging him closer, seeking to return to the thing it had been torn from. Vaskir scrambled to his feet and turned to run but found himself at the edge of the Great Whirlpool. Tabbathy came up beside him.

‘They say you can see all those who jumped in if you jump in yourself. I wonder what you see if you're pushed?’ Tabbathy asked, then gave a gentle shove. Vaskir stumbled and Tabbathy immediately grabbed his hand, pulling him back. Tabbathy’s face was a mixture of shock and relief. ‘Sorry, bad joke. I won’t ever let you fall, bud,’ he said, grinning. Vaskir tried to respond but the creature’s arm lurched him towards the whirlpool. Tabbathy held on tight as Vaskir dangled half off the edge, Tabbathy’s grip the only thing keeping him from falling. ‘I won’t ever let you fall, bud.’ Vaskir looked at Tabbathy… then let go. He quickly hit the outer layer of the whirlpool and began to spin, spin, spin.

‘Spin on a half-queen, boy!’ Moloch shouted, watching from the sidelines. The man was always eating something, this time it was a pale white fruit that smelled like honey. Vaskir’s stomach growled. He fought off the pangs of hunger and pirouetted again. ‘Good, good! You need to be limber if you want to be a swordsman,’ he patted his own fat stomach, almost in a strange counterargument to the point. He took one of the knives off the walls and started picking his teeth. Vaskir shook his head and carefully balanced himself on one foot, then spun. This time his balance was off and he fell, tumbling…

into a happy sprawl, laughing.

‘What do you think will happen when this is all over?’ Rory asked, playing with his hair. Vaskir sighed happily and stretched out onto his back. The hill was at a perfect angle for him to look out over the wheat field. He frowned, he didn’t know if he wanted to stay or leave anymore. There was so much keeping him here, but also a world of wonder pulling him away. Still, he knew what Rory wanted to hear. He turned onto his side to answer and came face-to-face with the creature. He kicked it away and stood up. He could hear the creature weeping silently, curled onto its side, cradling its stomach where Vaskir had kicked it. He couldn’t look at it anymore and turned around. Night had fallen and the field was on fire. Vaskir fell to his knees. He had no choice now.

Vaskir opened his eyes and was greeted with an image of a tent's roof. Relief flooded him; he was alive. After a second, sensation returned to his body, followed by a low warmth. There was no pain, which unnerved Vaskir.

‘It’s the Trauma Pill,’ a female voice said. ‘It’s blocking the pain, fixing you right up, too.’ Vaskir shuffled up into a sitting position. He was in a private tent, in front of him a young woman sat cross-legged. Vaskir couldn’t tell what was keeping him warmer, the pill, the blanket, or the bandages.

‘Thank you,’ Vaskir said, and the woman passed him a waterskin. He took a deep drink and handed it back. ‘What’s a Trauma Pill?’

‘A reward for surviving,’ she answered. Now that Vaskir had gotten his bearings he focused on the person in front of him. She had a sharp face and brown hair. She was wearing cloth under-armour with a thick iron breastplate over the top, as well as greaves. There was no armour on her joints and Vaskir spotted a small wooden shield and a shortsword in the corner of the room.

‘What happened?’ he asked. A thought struck him. ‘Where’s Pravin?’

‘The big man is safe,’ she said. ‘He took a lot less punishment than you. He’s with the others in the medical tent.’

‘Thank mortal luck,’ Vaskir said, slumping down. The fight had been brutal. Vaskir shook his head. He had come to terms with his death after Bowood kicked him onto his back. He almost felt cheated—but living was far better than the alternative.

‘Are you happy to be alive?’ the woman asked. Vaskir flinched. She seemed to realise that the question had deeply affected him and she looked away, giving him space. He thought back on the fight, at how closely death brushed up against him, then of the dream or vision he suffered after. Both were a chilling experience, and memories Vaskir knew he would be coming back to, day after day.

‘Have we broken through the barrier yet?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Monver is still slamming his troops against it, poor bastards… But that doesn’t matter, does it?’ Vaskir remembered the box and what this was all for. The red robe, folded neatly atop, would not go unnoticed, and if anyone checked inside… Still, it was better to play dumb, just in case.

‘What do you mean?’ Vaskir said, frowning. His acting was aided by the bandages covering his face. It didn’t seem to matter. The woman stood up and walked over to her sword and shield, after picking them up Vaskir recognised what they had been leaning against. She picked up a small box and returned to her cross-legged position at the foot of Vaskir’s mattress. She flipped the middle latch open and took out a small white book. She turned it around, the title read:

The Accumulated Knowledge of Saint Vinnow the Gentle.

‘Third-class,’ she said. ‘Monver’s gonna be mighty disappointed when he can’t find this little beauty.’ She placed it back into the box.

‘Who are you?’ Vaskir asked.

‘Marshall Covens,’ she said. ‘Everyone just calls me Covens.’

‘What do you want?’ he asked. Covens frowned and looked down, somehow the question had taken her off guard.

‘I want to believe that a fight like yours shouldn’t go unrewarded. I want to fuck over Monver and walk away from this so rich my future is secure. But mostly,’ she looked into Vaskir’s eyes, reinforcing her next point, ‘I want to survive the coming shitstorm.’ Vaskir sympathised.

‘And how do you plan to do all that?’ Vaskir asked.

‘Carefully,’ she answered. ‘Alright listen. I’ve got a plan, and I need your help, but I can tell you need more rest,’ her demeanour softened. ‘Monver is going to crack that barrier in 3 days. He probably would have cracked it sometime today if it wasn’t for your friend Cradow.’ Vaskir made a mental note to thank Cradow for the knife the next time he saw him, the crazy bastard would probably get a kick out of knowing it was his weapon that killed an Ascendant. ‘After you wake up I want to talk to you, Pravin, and Cradow about what their future holds, and how we’re getting out of this expedition.’ Covens stood up and walked over to the tent flap, before leaving she turned and looked at Vaskir. ‘Oh, and don’t spout off about killing an Ascendant, the men already have a high opinion of you after learning about everything you did on the south flank. We can’t have more attention on us than we already do.’ She left.

Vaskir slumped back and rested his head on the pillow. A thousand questions sprung up in his mind, each one more pressing than the last. And yet, the comforting warmth of the blanket and pill lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

‘And then I sort of just fell on him, aiming for that nasty wound Pravin left on the back of his head,’ Vaskir said. ‘After that, he managed to break my arm by kind of just,’ he gripped the air in front of him. ‘Oh! But I did mutter into his ear, “life’s unfair,” before he died.’

‘Nice,’ Pravin said. Cradow leaned back, nodding contentedly.

‘That’s the way to go,’ Cradow said, sounding satisfied. Pravin looked at him with disgust.

‘With a knife in your brain and a callback in your ear?’ Pravin asked.

‘No!’ Cradow said. ‘With a passionate enemy killing me after I’ve taken him to the edge of his sanity and willpower.’

‘Don’t lie,’ Covens piped up for the first time, ‘you just want to die in a mud field with a burly guy on top of you after he’s taken you to the edge of your sanity and willpower.’ Everyone laughed, Pravin especially. Vaskir choked on his spit and Covens passed him her waterskin so he wouldn’t die on them again. Cradow just shook his head and took it in stride.

‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘So, what’s the plan now?’ Vaskir wiped his mouth and looked to Covens. He was interested to hear their next step too. She looked down, gathering her thoughts. They were sitting in a circle, Vaskir on a thin mattress and Covens sitting on the wooden box containing the manual.

‘We need to get the manual out of the camp before Monver breaks the barrier and finds that it's not in the command tent.’

‘Do we?’ Cradow asked. Everyone turned to look at him. ‘I mean, what happens when he doesn’t find the manual in the command tent?’ Covens frowned at him.

‘You’re an Ascendant, right?’ She said and Cradow nodded. ‘And you don’t feel it? That profound energy leaking out of the cracks of the barrier? It feels like a 3rd class artifact. Even I would have been fooled by it had the scout who found Vaskir not handed me the box.’ Cradow just shrugged.

‘So he’ll know that he’s been fooled when we break through and there’s no manual?’ Vaskir asked.

‘Yes,’ Covens said. ‘The box that’s holding the manual is enchanted to hide its aura. But Monver’s first course of action will be to search the whole camp—and a normal Ascendant,’ Covens shot a look at Cradow, ‘focusing their senses, will be able to feel traces of the manual through the box. If they’re particularly sensitive they might even be able to feel leftover residue and track it through that.’ Vaskir didn’t know any of this before agreeing to the plan of stealing the manual. He realised that he would have been sorely out of his depth had the plan succeeded and they not met Covens.

‘Wait,’ Pravin said. ‘What’s leaking the energy from inside the barrier if we have the manual?’ Covens nodded.

‘I’ve been wondering the same thing. There’s probably an Ascendant inside that’s amplifying the aura of his weapon,’ she said.

‘We saw Bowood give a few soldiers a piece of paper and send them in the direction of the command tent,’ Vaskir said, looking to Pravin who nodded in agreement.

‘I guess it could have been a ripped-out page of the manual…’ Covens said, suddenly worried.

‘That won’t affect the price, will it?’ Pravin asked.

‘I was more worried about a priceless piece of art being damaged because some dog-ridden clan wanted to get away with a grand prize, not caring about the consequences,’ she said. ‘Still, I hope it’s just a piece of paper they kept near the manual as they travelled. It would have absorbed the manuals aura and turned into a part of it’

‘Those fucking things can do that?’ Cradow asked.

‘Third-class ones can,’ she said.

‘Sweet Ascendant’s tits…’ Cradow murmured. ‘What can 1st and 2nd class do then?’

‘The differences in power between 3rd, 2nd, and 1st are negligible at best. There are only 2 real differences and… listen, this isn’t a classroom. We know what Monver’s move will be and we need to abuse that fact.’ The rest nodded. Vaskir was beginning to warm up to Covens, although her saving his life probably played a big role in that.

‘Why not just open up the manual and see if a page is missing?’ Cradow asked. Covens looked uncomfortable, then frowned and stared at the three men.

‘I can understand the two mortals not knowing a thing about Ascended knowledge but you?’ she looked pointedly at Cradow. He sniffed, looking like he couldn’t care less about Covens' accusation. Covens shook her head in disbelief. ‘How you have managed to create a workable foundation I will never know.’ She turned to the two others and began explaining. ‘Manuals, especially ones above tier 6, are infamously… finicky.’

‘What do ya mean?’ Cradow asked, surprisingly interested.

‘At tier 6 they’re often created by a single Ascendant, or transcribed by someone with excellent knowledge of the Ascendant who hired them. It isn’t rare for a powerful third-tier master to kidnap some poor scholar and force them to write their life story. Those books take on the aura of the master that wrote them and can reject those it deems unworthy.’

‘The book’s alive?’ Vaskir asked, looking at the box that Covens is sitting on and wondering if the book inside knows that it's being treated like a stool.

‘No… well, at least, probably not. Think of it more like a password. Your base aura needs to match that of the master that created the book.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’ Pravin asked.

‘99% of the time, nothing. You just can’t understand the book.’ All three men leaned in.

‘And the 1%?’ Vaskir asked.

‘Your brain dribbles out of your ear as the book consumes your soul for energy.’

‘Awesome,’ Cradow muttered. ‘I didn’t know learning could be this much fun.’

‘So opening the book is a no-go,’ Pravin said. Covens nodded.

‘Unless one of you wants to take the risk…’ They didn’t. ‘So, back to the Monver problem. We need him to dismiss us sometime tomorrow. That way we’ll have an entire day's head start on him once the barrier goes down.’ Cradow perked up.

‘You want us to get kicked out?’ he asked. ‘Want me to ram more men into the barrier?’ he chortled happily. ‘I loved the way they started twitching once they hit the dirt.’ Covens shook her head.

‘No. Also, I’ve never seen a lieutenant strip someone of rank so fast,’ she said. ‘Still, it was a good move that slowed Monver down. Good thinking,’ she nodded at Cradow who laughed uncomfortably and looked away. Vaskir shook his head.

‘I doubt he’ll agree to a supply run,’ Vaskir said. ‘Monver thinks he’ll have the goods in two days. He won’t let two of his Ascendants go for that.’ Covens nodded.

‘Agreed. What I was thinking was a little more… violent.’

‘Alright!’ Cradow shouted. ‘Who do I need to beat up?’ Covens sucked on her teeth and looked pityingly at Cradow. Cradow’s grin faded. ‘Dammit,’ he muttered. ‘Alright, but what about our two mortals?’

‘I was thinking of killing two birds with one stone,’ she said. ‘As far as everyone is aware Vaskir is on the brink of death and I’m nursing him back to health. Most mortals won’t know what a Trauma Pill is and Monver probably won’t look too closely at you. Especially under all those bandages.’ Vaskir nodded.

‘You’re thinking of getting Monver to sign off on moving all the injured early,’ Vaskir said, guessing at the plan. Covens nodded and tapped her nose. ‘That just leaves Pravin. He’s practically uninjured.’ All three turned to look at him. Cradow smiled sweetly.

‘You and I are going to have oodles of fun,’ Cradow said in a hushed tone. Pravin stared at the three madmen before him.

‘Tomorrow is gonna be a rough day,’ he thought, defeated.