Diran had read about similar rituals during his years at Emon Gorsedd's academy, when-at Emon's encouragement-he'd read widely about all manner of subjects, including the supernatural. But to how those rites were carried out specifically, Diran had no idea. But that didn't stop him from giving it a try.
He knelt down and wedged the light gem into a small crack in the floorboard near his foot. He then straightened and, still gripping the silver dagger in one hand, he reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew an arrowhead. Leontis had once asked Diran why he chose to keep the symbol of his new faith hidden when it was the custom among the Purified to carry their arrowheads in plain sight. Diran had responded that it was a practical decision. Just as with smiling in the moonlight, displaying a piece of silver where light might glint off of it wasn't conducive to approaching an enemy without being noticed. Leontis had seemed less than satisfied with this explanation, but he'd never challenged Diran on it again.
Diran planted his feet apart, raised his hands into the air, and spoke in what he hoped was a commanding voice.
'Spirits that inhabit this place, in the holy name of the Silver Flame, we beseech you to reveal yourselves!'
Diran thought he could almost feel the mill tremble in response to his voice, but no unearthly voices answered, and no undead creatures came charging toward them out the shadows. After several moments passed without anything happening, Diran lowered his arms and looked to Leontis.
'Beseech?' Leontis asked with a raised eyebrow.
Diran shrugged.
Despite the failure of Diran's exhortation, Leontis continued to hold his bow steady. Just because nothing had responding to Diran's summons didn't mean nothing was present. After all, they could both still sense the evil permeating the mill.
'So what do we do next?' Leontis asked. 'Tear the place apart looking for hidden chambers? Rip up the floorboards to see if any bodies are hidden beneath?'
Diran thought for a moment. 'I say we burn the mill down.'
Leontis looked at Diran as if he'd taken leave of his senses. 'Are you possessed?'
Diran smiled. 'I hope not. If the evil will not come forward to confront us, then it must be because for whatever reason it's hiding from us. So the best way to flush it out is to take away its hiding place.'
Leontis mulled over his fellow acolyte's suggestion. 'It's worth a try. Given how old this place is, we shouldn't have any trouble getting a good fire going in short order. And who knows? Perhaps by destroying the mill we'll also destroy the evil presence that inhabits it. I'll keep watch while you start the fire.'
Diran nodded. He slipped his dagger back into its sheath, then reached into his tunic for his flint and striker. He knew a way to release the fire elemental from the light gem if necessary, but he didn't want to waste the little flame spirit if he didn't have to. But as he brought out the flint, he felt a sudden chill gust of wind waft through the mill and enfold him in its icy grasp.
No…
It sounded like the mournful wail of a distant wind, but Diran knew he was hearing a voice. The coldness surrounding him intensified, and he thought he could feel delicate fingers gripping the wrist of the hand that held the flint. But when he looked down, he saw nothing but his own flesh.
'Diran, what is it?'
Diran tried to answer his friend, but his lips felt sluggish and numb, as if he'd been outside in winter cold for too long, and his voice refused to come. He felt his strength begin to ebb, and he knew that the unseen creature holding onto him was stealing his life essence.
'Use your arrowhead, Diran! Thrust it toward the creature!'
Excellent advice. Unfortunately, Diran couldn't move. Whatever foul power the invisible creature possessed, it had rendered him immobile. But then again, perhaps not entirely. He tried to wiggle the fingers of his right hand-the hand holding the flint-and though his fingers were too numb for him to tell whether or not he succeeded, Diran was rewarded with the sound of the flint hitting the floor. Marshalling all the strength remaining to him, Diran concentrated on speaking a single word.
'F… fffff… Fire…'
Leontis understood. He dropped his bow and ran forward to snatch up Diran's flint. He moved quickly away from Diran lest he be caught by whatever force had taken hold of his companion and then drew a fresh arrow from the quiver slung over his shoulder. Holding the arrow near the metal tip, Leontis knelt down close the floor and began using his makeshift striker on Diran's flint. Sparks leapt forth from the flint, arcing into the air and landing on the mill's wooden floor, only to fizzle out in the layer of dust covering the planks.
Diran felt vertigo wash over him, and his vision was starting to go gray. As consciousness began to desert him, he prayed that Leontis would be able to get a fire started before their unseen attacker finished draining the rest of his lifeforce. If not… well, then Diran would just have to experience his reunion with the Silver Flame a bit earlier than he'd expected, wouldn't he?
Diran heard the spectral voice whisper mournfully once more.
No… fire…
And then the voice spoke a word that startled the young acolyte.
Please…
A spark hit the floor and ignited into flame, causing Leontis to let out a shout of triumph. The flame grew quickly, and Diran knew that within moments the mill would be beyond saving.
Though he had virtually no strength remaining, Diran somehow managed to speak three more words. 'Put… it… out…'
They were little more than whispered exhalations, and Diran wasn't sure that Leontis had even heard them, let alone that he would understand and heed them. But the other acolyte looked at Diran for a long moment before finally rising to his feet and stomping out the fire he'd just made. It took several tries, but Leontis managed to extinguish the flames.
'I sure hope you know what you're doing, Diran Bastiaan.'
Diran wanted to say, So do I, but he couldn't force out any more words. If he'd guessed wrong, he was dead, and perhaps Leontis was too. But if he'd guessed right…
Diran felt the icy fingers let go of his wrist, and the cold that gripped his body began to recede. He was weak as a newborn, but he no longer felt dizzy and in danger of passing out. He looked to Leontis and gave his friend a reassuring, if somewhat shaky, smile.
Before either acolyte could speak again, the air between them began to shimmer as strands of white mist appeared. The strands grew thicker, joined together, and coalesced into the ghostly apparition of a young woman in her late teens. She appeared solid enough, but her flesh and clothing-a simple dress with an apron tied over it, a cloth wrapped around her head to keep her hair in place-were both marble-white.
She looked at the two acolytes and gave them what was unmistakably a grateful smile.
'I take it we're looking at a ghost,' Leontis said. He sounded oddly calm, given that a specter had just manifested before them, but then the priesthood did run in his family, and he'd been training with Tusya for a while now-long enough for strange sights not to seem so strange anymore.
'That would be my guess,' Diran said. 'I've seen a few in my time.' Caused more than a few as well, he thought wryly.
'And she evidently would prefer that we don't burn down the mill,' Leontis added.
My mill… the ghost's voice sounded clearer and more distinct now, though still very ethereal. But when she spoke, the movements of her lips lagged behind the sound of the words themselves, adding to the unearthly effect.
Keeping his gaze firmly on the ghost-girl, Leontis tucked Diran's flint into one of his pockets then retrieved his bow and silverburn-coated arrow. The spectral girl watched him, but made no move to stop him. Why would she? Diran thought. Silver had no effect on ghosts.
'Why do you think she's haunting this place?' Leontis asked, his arrow trained on the ghost-girl's heart-or rather, where her heart used to be. Diran was certain Leontis knew the arrow would prove little more than an annoyance to the girl, but he supposed his friend felt a need to do something other than just stand there while they talked.
The girl shook her head emphatically, the motion making her ghostly features blur a bit. Home… she
