Page 50 of Requiem of Silence

Her wariness is warranted but still vexing to you. However, you comply. It is the only way forward at present.

She walks you through the spell, indicating that she will perform the blood magic portions herself. Working together to do magic usually requires linking, but since the Physicks have no inborn Song, they have devised another method using the blood. Ingenious really.

When she gives you leave, you speak the commands to control the Songs of the Wailers. Not being able to feel the rush of Earthsong flowing through you is difficult. The delightful sensation of the power at your command was yours for so long, its lack is a vast canyon of emptiness within you.

The many complaints of the people from whom you liberated the power filter to your consciousness, released from the stronghold of memory, but you brush them aside. Their petty quibbles are of no import. They never were.

Now you must satisfy yourself with witnessing the Wailers as they look to the sky, eyes clouded over with control. Your control, wielded as deftly as ever.

You describe to them what must be done, how they must tap into the source energy of all life and pull it into themselves, then focus it on the bit of withered, dead flesh. Nikora says that the hand is not entirely dead. The flesh of their goddess lives on in some small way that can be felt with Earthsong.

The Wailers do not speak, but they obey. They pour their combined Songs into the meat inside the jar, making the glow brighter. Before your eyes the muscle regains some rejuvenation, some small part of itself. What is this madness?

Nikora stands holding onto her medallion, chanting. The language of blood magic falls from her lips in unfamiliar ways. Youtake note, try to commit to memory all that she is saying, though she speaks quickly and softly. She thinks it’s too soft for you to hear, but she doesn’t know you as well as she thinks she does.

In her other hand, she holds a red stone—a caldera filled with Nethersong from these unseen slaves. She jerks her head, and Cayro grabs your arm, wrenches your sleeve up, and slices you again. You falter in your commands to the Wailers, and Nikora glares at you.

Maintaining control of the Wailers requires talking them through each step, without ceasing, even if that means repeating the same command over and over again. “Steady,” you repeat as more of their power flows into the desiccated flesh, now plump and whole again. “Steady.”

Your blood now collected from the fresh wound in a small sponge, Cayro squeezes it onto the caldera Nikora holds. With reverence, she places the bloody stone into the jar with the remains of her goddess’s hand.

Light continues to bleed from the flesh. It soon becomes blinding. The jar shines even brighter, until it is a blade, sharp as steel, piercing your eyes. You shut them, but the pain persists. It claws its way into your head, tearing at your flesh as it burrows.

Then it is gone.

You open your eyes and when they adjust to the normal light of day, the air high above the jar is shimmering. Nikora’s voice cuts through the haze in your mind left from the pain. “The portal is opening. We must say the words together to control it.”

She repeats them to you. This spell, in the language of the blood, reminds you of something, but you’re not sure what. Even as you bristle at the thought, you obediently recite the words in time with Nikora.

The shimmer becomes a golden light, and you wince, just beforeit tears a hole in the sky. Columns of dark shadow flow through eagerly, like a nest of snakes chasing their prey.

Nikora’s chant changes; you clumsily hurry to follow suit. These are the words to close the portal. More spirits slip through before the tear slams shut. You count at least six that have gotten through to the Living World. They whip over your head like a dark wind.

One darts for you, but Nikora lifts her hand and a sizzle of lightning-like energy shoots from her palm, repelling the shadow. The spirit changes direction and heads toward the Wailers.

“Protect them!” she cries, and even as you instruct the Wailer to defend himself, he is entered by the spirit. His skin changes color, body changes shape until he is someone entirely different—a bald man of middle years with a blocky tattoo marring his head, like that of the other servants.

You are agape. Your sister had relayed this fantastical story, but to see the possession in person leaves you awestruck.

The other spirits have found hosts in Nikora’s guards, though she remains untouched. The transformed Wailer snaps his chains with no apparent effort and roars. A half-dozen men and women in red robes run up to the platform from inside the castle. Their quick arrival indicates they must have been waiting just out of sight for this very thing to happen.

Cayro joins them, barking orders. They all raise their arms and shoot bolts of sizzling energy toward the creatures, who have taken on the bodies of bald, tattooed guards. Your sister theorized these are the dead who have been mistreated, the blood slaves and others. But the wraiths are not without their defenses. One leaps out of the way, jumping higher than any human should be able to. Another avoids the shot of energy by twisting unnaturally, bending back at the knee until his body is parallel to the ground. A third lifts an arm and, with a flick of his wrist, tosses one of thePhysicks racing toward him into the air and right off the roof. Another wraith is hit by the blast, and stunned momentarily, but does not go down.

You command the remaining Wailers to freeze the feet of the wraiths, sinking them into the stone to hold them in place. To bind their arms with tight bands of air to keep them at their sides.

But it only works temporarily. Their incredible strength and whatever magic they possess allow them to break free.

Amazingly, Nikora is attempting to speak with them, even as her fellow Physicks battle them. “We seek only knowledge,” she says, holding her hands up as in supplication. “Secrets of the World After. We have brought you here, not to fight with you, but to learn.” She raises her voice to be heard over the din.

While she has proven herself to be an opponent deserving a modicum of respect, her plan is foolishness. Appealing to the better natures of vengeful spirits is getting her nowhere. More Physicks make their way onto the platform to defend her as her companions fall due to injury or death.

The Wailers attack with ice, rocks, wind, fire—it does no more than slow the wraiths for brief moments. What is fueling their power? Certainly not Earthsong or blood magic. Which leaves only Nethersong—fitting as they are creatures returned from the world of death.

“The Nether, can you manipulate it directly?” you ask Nikora. “Can you blast them with Nethersong instead of Earthsong?”

She holds her medallion again and shoots out another blast of energy, a purplish stream of power that seems to absorb all light. The wraith she hits, rears back, howling. Until now, they’ve done no more than emit animal-like grunts and growls, but this sound of pain brings you great joy.

She continues pummeling the wraith. It jerks and shakes anddisappears inside a cloud of dust. The body crumples to the ground and the black smoke-like form shoots into the air.

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