Spellwright

This time Tulki’s response came quickly. “Then I will not ask why it is chasing you. You may share that when you are ready. However, I must know how this construct is tracking you?”

Nicodemus touched the back of his neck. “There is a curse laid upon me that broadly casts a signal text.”

The ghost smiled again. “Then we can help. In this place lies our most powerful living tome. Translating its name was difficult. The term the legionaries chose was ‘Bestiary.’ It is a great book that hides these ruins with a visual subtext, which you surely already saw. The Bestiary also fills this place with an ancient metaspell that deconstructs any magical literature attempting to leave. So your curse’s signaling spell will not escape this resting place.”

Nicodemus took a deep breath in relief.

Tulki nodded vigorously as he presented another paragraph. “What’s more, any non-Wrixlan construct will rapidly deconstruct if it enters here. Likely this golem would suffer the same if it came here. Your night terrors understood how dangerous this place is for constructs; that is why they inscribed themselves on your skin as soon as you arrived. Parts of them are Wrixlan, but mostly they consist of Pithan-our language that affects the mundane world, like your Magnus. If you replenish our spectral codex, we shall happily allow you to stay in this sanctuary.”

Nicodemus nodded. “Then we have an agreement.”

The ghost glowed brighter as he smiled. “Most wonderful. What shall I call you?”

“Nicodemus Weal.”

“Nicodemus Weal, you might find it agreeable to dwell with us for a long time. We have much to teach. Would you like to learn about our people?”

When Nicodemus said he would, the ghost straightened with professorial pride. “Then follow me as I explain,” Tulki wrote and then began to lope further into the ruins on all three limbs, pausing only briefly to cast another paragraph: “I’ll start with the Heaven Tree; it does exist deep in the mountains. There was a bridge that led to it. But our metaspells and the blueskin constructs have since blocked the way. No human may reach the Heaven Tree Valley now.”

Nicodemus had difficulty reading while walking among the stones. The Chthonic, however, had no trouble writing and navigating the rubble. The ghost moved easily with his thin right arm acting as a third leg.

“Did you lose your left arm in the war against the Neosolar Empire?” Nicodemus asked tentatively.

Tulki stood and looked back with an amused expression. “No, no,” the ghost wrote. “All our people have only one ‘arm,’ as you call it. Indeed, that was a chief reason why our peoples went to war.”

“But how could such a-” His voice died.

The ghost had unbuttoned his tunic where the garment covered his left shoulder. A long, ashen limb unfolded. A membrane of skin stretched from shoulder to wrist. The four fingers hung two or three feet long, and between them grew the same membranous skin.

Tulki formed a sentence in this sail of skin. Then the ghost peeled the text off and cast the spell to Nicodemus. It read, “Translating our word for this ‘arm’ is difficult. Your closest word might be ‘palette.’”