Callan stared up at the gate in front of him, pen and parchment in his hands. He’d tried time and time again to freehand the runes he could see on the inside of the archway, but they never turned out good enough for him to do anything useful. Maybe he should try doing another rubbing…

A few students passed through the gate, one of them unmistakable elven with a height far exceeding the others and long white hair. Callan didn’t bother with them as they gave him quizzical looks. They always did that. Far more than he cared to think about. He’d been at this for a few semesters now, trying to research and unravel the secret of the gates. And he’d still gotten nowhere. Nothing solid enough to write an essay for getting professional support.

Callan pressed his parchment to the gate and scratched his pen across the surface. From the disjointed lines, he could make out the rune at eye level, though he could only get half of each one from this side of the gate. He went over the half-rune again with his pen before stepping through the gate and letting the cool breeze of the forest turn icy cold as snow-banks appeared around him. Seriously, who wanted a campus like Frostflake? No point in freezing while trying to learn. It just made you think slower. But he had to get the other half of that rune. He ignored the encroaching cold and held up the parchment, scratching over the visible side of the rune. The two pieces seemed to fit together vaguely, but he couldn’t really tell. He’d need an artist to really get these down well, preferably a full-fledged Swirlpath student. But still, this was more than he’d gotten in a few weeks. Maybe if he worked his way around to all the runes and then tried to connect them all… A familiar shiver of excitement ran down his spine, the same as the one he’d gotten when he’d first seen the gates at work.

He stepped back through the gate and headed to his room. The Wizard’s paper on number theory still needed some work before he turned in for the night. Especially the conclusion…

Callan sat back in his seat, eyelids fluttering. He had to get this done tonight. But his mind refused to work like it should. He leaned his head back, staring around the room. Pieces of parchment and various drawings covered the walls, each one pasted over another as theories were rendered obsolete and phased out. The rough tracings from today were off to the side, trying their best not to block out anything else. And one solitary bed against the far wall, unaccompanied by others. No one wanted to share a room with a crazy Fractalforge student. He didn’t blame them. But even crazy students still got lonely on occasion.

He forced himself back to the desk and the unfinished essay. Just a few more sentences, and then I can write the final draft and be done. He felt himself falling, but part of him didn’t want to interrupt the feeling…

Something rushed around him, something powerful. But why did everything feel so slow? Callan’s head felt heavy. He lifted it up and blinked his eyes. His right hand still held an upright pen, the end covered in fresh ink. The rushing feeling had started to fade…

The parchment in front of him no longer held any legible words. The language had been inked out, covered in curving lines. The essay, the margins, even parts of the table itself. Covered in fractals, lines that curved and mirrored away into infinity, symmetric in some way that only Death could tell. A shiver ran down his spine, very different from the one he’d gotten from the gates. What’s wrong with me?

He dropped the pen onto the parchment and pushed himself away from the desk, excess ink dripping onto some of the fractals. Those little designs scared him more than he cared to say. The Wizard had said they would begin drawing them later in the semester, but that would only be small ones, easily harnessed and controlled. They weren’t scary then. But this… Callan shuddered to think what would’ve happened if he’d finished drawing before waking up. Would he still be here? And what did ‘finish’ mean when the fractals went on forever and ever? Shaking, he tore his eyes from the fractals and made his way over to his bed. He didn’t bother to change his clothes or wipe the ink-stains off his hand. Plenty of time for that in the morning, when things made more sense and fractals weren’t invading his reality. Callan pulled the blankets over himself and willed his mind to stop, to close down and go back to the state it had been in only moments before. Just go back to sleep…

He lay awake for a very long time before Death had pity on him and let him sleep.

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“Is she awake yet? I have some questions for her!”

“Patience, Henrikson. It’s your fault she’s out in the first place.”

“That’s a low blow from a living guy.” Emmalene raised a hand to her face, trying to clear away the dried bits from the edges of her eyes. Why did her head hurt so much? Had she fallen?

Her vision gradually cleared, revealing a wooden wall with tables and benches set up in front of it. Had she fallen asleep in a corner of Calliope’s again? No, this looked different. “Welcome back, Emmalene.” Rindolph knelt down next to her, jacket pooling around him. She pushed herself up into a more comfortable position against the bar, turning her head and testing out the sore spot in the back. Yep, that would take a few days to go away.

“Hi?” There was something glowing over Rindolph’s shoulder. As her vision cleared even more, the thing took shape: a face, sharp and angular. It looked like it was frowning, but she could see straight through it to the far wall of the tavern. A cold shiver washed over her. “Rindolph! Behind you!”

“I know. Emmalene, this is Hendrikson. He’s not necessarily the most polite of the revenants, but he’s also far from the worst.”

“Hey! Name one person more eloquent than me!”

“The Captain certainly is. And Minho can beat you most days.” The revenant huffed but didn’t reply. Rindolph turned back to Emmalene. “This is the real reason no one comes here anymore. Too many souls who haven’t quite finished what they came to this world to do.” He smiled, although it looked more sad than anything. “But Death seems to have given me some good fortune. You might be able to help us.”

Emmalene’s mind raced at a thousand miles a second. Nothing made sense. “Me? Help you?”

“Yes. You might be one of the few that can.”

She shook her head slightly, trying to keep the pain in check. “Sorry, I don’t follow.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, after a scare like that. Hendrikson, go keep the others company. I’ll call for someone when I need them.”

“Rindolph, I…”

“Not now. Go.” The revenant walked off, up the stairs to the second floor. Rindolph held out a hand. “Let’s get you into an actual chair. If you’re going to stay and hear the whole story, it’ll be better that way.”

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“You mean I can just leave?” Emmalene took his hand and pulled herself to her feet.

“Absolutely. I’m not keeping you here. Neither can they.”

Emmalene made it halfway to the door again before stopping. She looked back at Rindolph, with his slicked black hair and worn leather coat. He looked… defeated. She looked at the door once again before sighing and walking away from it. She set her things on a table and took a seat next to him. I’m going to regret this. “Alright, what’s this story of yours?”

Rindolph sat down at the same table and leaned his elbows on it. “Have you ever wondered what happens to people after they die?”

That was an… unsettling way to start a conversation. “Not really. I’ve had enough to worry about with school.”

“An acceptable answer. Not many do at your age. But it is a topic of no small import among older folk.” His eyes grew a little distant. “Do you continue on your journey, with Death as a guide, or do you end on Death’s curved blade, soul sliced forever into a million pieces?”

“What does this have to do with the ghost?”

“Revenant, actually. And I’m getting there. When you die, if you have a reason, you can stay behind. Most can’t find a sufficiently powerful reason, or else they just don’t want to prolong their departure. That is fine. But those who do stay behind gradually lose whatever sanity they have left. They wander the streets wailing silently, bemoaning the fact that life continues and nothing they do can fix what needs fixing.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Except here. In certain places, revenants don’t go mad. They retain their sanity and clear memories, waiting in hopes that someone living will come along and help them finish what they couldn’t in life.”

“Wow. Okay, that’s a lot.” Emmalene sat back in her chair, once again trying and failing to process what she’d heard. “So what does this have to do with me?”

“Some of these revenants have been around here for generations. I don’t know why they haven’t surrendered to oblivion and madness, but somehow they’ve held on. The people or things they meant to fix are long dead and gone. But they need someone to tell their stories, to make sure other people don’t make the same mistakes. And of each and every single person you know, which type is most qualified to do that?”

“An Inkspire.” Emmalene almost whispered the words, letting them echo inside her head and throughout the tavern. “But then why haven’t you written them down yet? You said you were an Inkspire as well.”

Rindolph shook his head. “I was. I never finished my training. And I left writing behind a long time ago. These revenants have come to see their stories as the last thing they have. It’s what makes them who they are, even in death. They won’t let just anyone write it.” He looked her dead in the eye. “It has to be someone qualified. Someone like you.”

“How many are there?”

Rindolph scratched at his sideburns. “It’s been a while since I asked. If I had to guess, no more than fifty. But don’t quote me on that.”

Fifty dead people. Each with a story to tell. How was she going to find the time?

Rindolph smiled. “Oh, and I suspect you’ll like this part. Some of them, like Hendrikson, you might be very interested in talking to yourself. Do you recognize his name?”

It seemed very familiar, though she couldn’t quite match it with something. “Maybe?”

“He was one of the Founders of the Silverleaf Academy.”

A tiny spark, a miniature flame of hope ignited in Emmalene’s chest. After all her research, this could finally be the thing that helped her complete her manuscript. “How many of them are here? How many of the Founders?”

“Not very many. Certainly no more than five. But each one has a story to tell, maybe multiple. They rehearse them silently. I’ve never heard any of them. Just little bits and pieces that they mutter from time to time.” He looked at her. “I take it you want to help us?”

Emmalene offered her hand. “Absolutely. Count me in.”

Rindolph reached for her hand, then hesitated. “I’m not actually in charge here.” He turned and looked up towards the second-story balcony. “Captain? Would you come down here?”

A white-grey figure appeared at the balcony, hurtling over the railing and floating down slower than Emmalene would have thought possible. Something flapped behind the figure, swaying like the feathers in the large tri-pointed hat. The woman touched down and walked over to the table where the two were sitting, bowing deeply. She had on a navy uniform, tassels and epaulettes accenting the utilitarian designs underneath. Her short hair reached her chin, cut sharply. She reached out and shook Emmalene’s outstretched hand. A wave of cold shot up Emmalene’s arm, but she didn’t pull away.

“My name is Captain Stringham. I’m at your service.”

“Emmalene of Silverleaf. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

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“Shut the hatch. We don’t need anyone else down here.” Loren’s voice sounded back through the tunnel. Maiken pulled at the ropes around her wrists, trying to find some way to get out of the chair she’d been in for a good hour. Somewhere under Springwood, no doubt. She’d had a hood on when they’d pulled her through the gate, but the route checked out in her mind. Two gates in about the right places.

Loren came walking back into the room, his usual swagger back. “You’re not getting out of that, trust me.”

“What do you know?” Maiken tried to make herself sound firm, but it only half worked.

Loren pulled a knife from his belt, flashing it in the light from the hanging lanterns. “I know that a former sailor tied those knots. And I know that even if, by some miracle of Death, you got out of them, there are several guys around here with knives sharper than this one.” He dragged the tip of the knife along her collarbone and shoulder, leaving the faintest trail of blood. “And I’ve told them to do whatever they want with you short of ending your pitiful life early. I still need you for that.”

“They’ll come looking for me, you know. They’ll know I’m missing.”

Loren threw back his head and laughed. “They? Who are you talking about? Your darling roommate left you and ran off into town. She won’t be back for a long time. And who else saw us?”

“But the parties! I’m always there. Someone’s bound to notice and ask questions.” Maiken smiled inwardly at her cleverness. Let him answer that one.

His smile broadened, wiping the happiness from inside her. “Oh, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. See, it’s no secret you’re normally out when you should be in. And half the time you’re ‘out’ at a guy’s place. You’ve been around the campuses with a guy or two. It’s not too much of a stretch in anybody’s mind if you didn’t show up one night because you found a guy and were… otherwise occupied.” He winked at her. “Don’t you think?”

Maiken felt sick. “That’s disgusting! They’d never fall for it.”

“They already have. I’ve got witnesses. With the right ears listening, they could topple a reputation in one night.” Loren looked at his pocket-watch. “Just give it a few hours. The party tonight is at Brightmoon’s, right?”

Maiken stayed silent, eyes wide. She was stuck here for who knew how long. No one would bother coming to find her, and nobody would care. Not even her professors.

“I’ll let you think on all of that. I have a class I need to get to.” He motioned to the girl on the left, the one with the severe haircut and the yellow earring. “You’re in charge here. Stay sharp.” He disappeared out the doorway.

The girl grinned and pulled up a chair next to Maiken, sitting down and putting her feet up on the attached desk. She removed a knife from her belt and began to file at her nails. “Looks like it’s the two of us, sweet.” She stopped filing her nails and twisted her head a little to the side. “I wonder what you would look like with a shorter haircut. Maybe I’ll work on that in a little bit.” She chuckled and went back to her nails.

Maiken closed her eyes and let herself lean forward as far as possible. Could today get much worse? At least Emmalene had gotten away. Hopefully she’d find a way to help.