Rapid bangs on his door were followed by a loud “Wake up!”

Roge Lifebane turned on his cot and opened one eye, looking around. It was still dark, too early for the work to begin. No pilgrims would be arriving before mid-morning.

“Roge, wake up! Edmur Eyser wants you!” came the voice of one of the children. He thought it was Stephye Mortguard.

“I’m up,” he yelled, coughing up the night phlegm and rubbing his eyes with the bases of his palms.

Getting out of bed, he quickly dressed and made it out of the building, seeing other doors in the corridor slightly ajar and eyes peering out to see what the commotion was about. A fox had probably made it into one of the dallen cages. Walking out of the dormitories, he gauged it to be well past midnight by the position of the sliver moon in the sky.

Edmur Eyser Necroshield was speaking with two pilgrims while the rest of their group was resting on the ground nearby. The pilgrims appeared well dressed, and a shrouded body lay on one of the carts the acolytes kept in the courtyard for such occasions. Were these the ones I saw in the distance yesterday evening? How had they arrived tonight?

He walked over to Edmur Eyser, looking at the two pilgrims. One was young, though he seemed to be in charge. The other was older, about Edmur Eyser’s age. A baron’s son, as the master of acolytes predicted?

“There is Roge. We will set up right now,” said Edmur Eyser upon seeing him.

“Set up?” asked Roge. “Do we need rooms for the party to rest?”

“No,” said the young lordling, staring directly at Roge. “I must speak to my father immediately—” he pointed at the body on the cart.

“At night?” asked Roge.

“We have already had this conversation,” said Edmur Eyser. “Please bring a ceremonial meal up to the building. I will help the men carry up the body.”

Shaking his head in wonderment, Roge walked past the dallen coops toward the kitchen. The dallens were all asleep, huddled together against the cold, their combined form looking like a large pelt in the low light of the stars.

The door to one of the coops stood ajar. Roge detoured toward it and secured the coop, looking around to make sure no dallen had slipped out. This was the responsibility of the younger orphans. He would have to speak to them about it in the morning.

The small storage hut stood by the kitchen. It contained smoked dallen meat to be preserved for the use of the acolytes or the pilgrims when there was no time to kill and cook a proper meal.

The practice, while not strictly required for the miracle to occur, had been observed since the time of Sait Ja’Alan. Before speaking, the living would eat to separate themselves from the dead. The monastery would offer a simple meal, partly to strengthen the pilgrims after the arduous climb and partly to encourage donations for the upkeep of the monastery.

Grabbing a few plates and some smoked dallen, Roge made his way to the central building. In the dim light, he could see the two men and Edmur Eyser carrying the body into the building at the top of the inner hill, the rest of the group following.

For a moment, he thought he saw something else move by their feet, but the light was too dim and the distance too great, and he quickly dismissed it as remnants of his evaporated night’s dreams.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

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Roge entered the inner building, following the sounds to the chamber that the master of acolytes had selected for the ceremony. Someone had lit a couple of torches, making it easier to see the way, though after so many years here, he could have walked this building with his eyes closed.

The group of pilgrims was milling outside the chamber while voices came from inside. He walked up, juggling the plates and meat, and pushed his way through and into the room.

“Roge,” said Edmur Eyser, “set up the meal in the next chamber. The Duke will eat, but his companions might also partake.”

So, a Duke, not a Baron. And the dead body a Duke as well.

“I will,” said Roge, stepping out of the room and once more through the group blocking the entrance. The men were playing with something, though Roge was focused on his load and couldn’t see what it was.

Managing to open the door to the next room without dropping his burden, he quickly set up a table for the men, laying out the provisions and the stack of plates. He lit a couple of torches and added a pitcher of water from a cistern that was always kept on hand. That done, he stepped back out and into the room where the two Dukes, one alive and one dead, were preparing to have a conversation.

“The meal is ready,” he said.

“Your Grace, why don’t you go and prepare yourself? We will finish setting things up here,” said Edmund Eyser.

The young looked at the shrouded form. “No one else is to talk to him,” he said.

“He will only return to talk when one person is in the room and the door is closed, your grace,” said Edmund Eyser, “and even then, only once. After that, there will be no more conversations with him.”

“Very well.”

“How do you want him? Lying down or upright?”

“Upright. He will have his dignity,” said the young man, the older one nodding. With that, they both stepped out of the room.

The power of the rock at the center of the D’ell had been used for thousands of years, though no one knew how it did what it did. Even the gods, when they deigned to mention it, did not know who placed the rock here.

Whenever a dead body and a live person were placed in isolation near the rock, the dead would temporarily be granted reprieve in order to talk to the living. They would only speak the truth and would then return to their everlasting rest. They would only do so once and only speak to one person.

Before the building had been built, only one pair of living and dead could converse at any one time. The living would carry the dead to the rock, and when they were close enough, the power of the rock would take place, and the dead would awaken and speak. Later, it was understood that isolation was what mattered; hence, the building and chambers were built. Each chamber created its own isolation, and once the door was closed on one living and one dead, the magic would take its course.

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The gaggle of men followed the Duke to the next room, all most likely famished and tired from the climb. Edmund Eyser and Roge were left alone.

“Why tonight?” asked Roge.

“I don’t know,” said Edmund Eyser, “but I’ve seen such requests in the past, and I’ve seen desperation. There is something beneath the skin here I would not like to scratch.”

Together, they removed the shroud from the body. It had not been dead for long, just beginning to smell. It had traveled with these men up the mountain, and most such bodies arrived in a much worse condition. It had, at least, been cleaned and washed before being unceremoniously put on a horse, the odor of which rose up from the shroud.

They took the body off the cart and wrestled it onto a sitting position in the place of honor by the wall closest to the inner courtyard, where the rock resided. The body was stiff, rigor mortis having set in but not yet relinquished the body. They could not bend it to make it sit, but they could lash the chest in a standing position. That complete, they placed a chair in front of the body in case the young Duke needed it or fainted.

Just then, the sound of a door slamming came from the other room. There were urgent knocks, and the pilgrims yelled for their Duke.

Edmund Eyser said, “Keep watch while I check what has happened and bring the young Duke back.”

Roge walked over to a counter next to the door, where another pitcher of water was prepared in case those having the last conversation needed it. He checked that it was full, then turned around to regard the dead Duke and what was about to happen here. Despite all his years at the monastery, he had never talked to the dead.

The noises from the corridor kept coming, something about a door. Roge wasn’t paying attention until a head, one of the Duke’s retinue, stuck itself into the room and regarded the Duke. Not noticing Roge was in the room, the head retreated, pulling the door shut with him.

Roge was alone with the dead Duke.