As it turned out, the ghost led us directly back to the room with stones which stopped glowing when spooked.

Attart immediately fixated on the armour in the room, even over the strange rocks. She was a very small woman despite her forceful presence, smaller even than Gunhild. The armour would fit her perfectly.

I held up an arm to bar her path, “Don’t try it on. Don’t even touch it. It drowns whoever tries to wear it. And yet once you have it on you’ll never want to take it off.”

Attart took a step back, “Terrifying. I am glad to have one of the wise identifying things for me. If I had not been captured by the book four—eight—years ago perhaps I would have drowned right here and you would have found nothing but bones.”

I pulled the runed bones out of my pouch, “Funny you should say that.”

I began arrange the bones around the room while Attart watched.

“What do those do?” she asked.

I pointed to the broken doorway we’d just entered through, “Try leaving that way. Slowly.”

Attart took hesitant steps toward the door. Her head was tilted slightly forward, like a bird on the lookout. Her caution worked against her as she reached doorway. Her nose and chest squashed against the barrier simultaneously. If she’d been going any faster she might have hurt herself.

She bounced back and fell on her rear with a squeal, limbs akimbo. She quickly spun about into a sitting position with her ankles and knees pressed firmly together and folded in front of her. Her fan appeared in hand and covered her mouth.

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Seeing her going from a demure and strict governess to a bewildered damsel and back again in less than five seconds was simply to ridiculous to resist.

Attart snapped her fan together and pointed it at me threateningly, “It is impolite to laugh at another’s misfortune. Especially a young lady’s.”

I turned my back while placing the next bone so she couldn’t see me continue to chuckle.

“I can see you laughing there! Your whole back is shaking.”

I rotated the bone into position and turned back to her. She wasn’t even looking at me. She had crawled back to the barrier and was now kneeling in front of it with her hands pressed against it.

“You found this here?” Attart asked in wonder. Her ‘anger’ was already forgotten.

“Along with everything else. There was a piece of bread too, perfectly preserved, but I ate that.”

Attart’s face twisted in disgust. Her ghost’s lantern lit the expression from below, exaggerating it even further.

“You ate a piece of bread directly off the floor the dungeon?”

“I was hungry,” I said defensively, “And nothing bad happened. But that’s beside the point. The glowing stone, the perfect armour, the runed bones, the untouched bread; this is a room of wonders.”

Attart shook her head in disbelief, “‘I was hungry.’ Clearly you did not spend enough time in the etiquette lessons. I have my work cut out for me.”

“I ain’t care what you seen in that book. I’d eat the bread again.”

Attart’s ghost shifted his light so I could clearly see her roll her eyes.

“Why didn’t you use the barrier in the corridor? It would have been easier there.”

I placed the final bone and made my way over to sit beside her. I leaned against the invisible wall, “Two reasons mostly. One, it is almost always better to have an escape route than a defensive position, and the wall takes a while to take down. Two,” I rubbed my neck, “I forgot I had the bones. I just found them earlier today.”

Attart laughed like a ringing bell. The sound tugged at some part of my memory, but I couldn’t place it. It reminded me of autumn somehow; crisp air and crunching leaves, a bright and clear sky.

“What of the other objects in this room of wonders? Are the stones safe? The pouches and keys?”

The tugging sensation still hadn’t gone away. It pulled most strongly toward the armour, but also faintly toward the stones.

“We can use the pouches as pillows if you don’t mind the smell of calabash. Everything else is safe, but let me check out the stones.”

I approached the nearest stone carefully. Once I was out of range of Attart I activated my ring with as many senses as I could think of.

Twenty feet.

Fifteen. A step further and I could see inside the stones.

They were full of gold.

Strange, but not strange enough to throw away caution. If anything I was more cautious of them. Those with gold tended to guard it.

And sure enough, once I got close enough the visions started. A man, scraggly enough to be another escaped prisoner (the warlocks needed to work on security) touched the stone curiously. All at once his glove was torn from his hand and the stone fled beneath the ground, sinking into the flagstone like they were water.

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A second vision followed. The same man, even more scraggly, returned with a pick-axe. His glove peeked out of the flagstones just enough to reveal the glow-stone’s hiding spot. He struck at the floor with his pick, slowly chipping away the rock. Then a cloud of gas rose from the spot and the man was sent reeling all at once. He collapsed seconds later.

I stepped back from the stone.

“Your ghost friend said this room was safe?”

Attart had circled wide around the stone to study the whip, “He said it was the safest place of which he knew.”

“Maybe he died before the stones were put here. Or maybe they killed him and he wants company. Did he happen to be missing a glove from his left hand?”

“He wore no gloves whatsoever. If he was untrustworthy he did not reveal it.”

“I’m going to move the bones so the stones are on the outside. Take what you need from the treasures—except for the armour—while you can. And don’t touch the stones. They release poisonous gas.”

Attart raised her hand and a woman rose out of the floor after it. The woman grabbed the whip and sunk back down.

“Do you think it safe to grant a ghost the armour?” she asked.

“As long as they don’t mind their lungs filling with water and the sense that everything is trying to kill them and only the armour will keep them safe.”

Attart smiled and spun her pinky in a quick circle, “Those are two things I think a ghost wouldn’t mind at all.”

A second woman, smaller than the first rose to accept the splint.

When the woman vanished the armour remained. The ghosts she granted weapons and armour to didn’t take them, yet they clearly donned them and took them up. It was so convincing I’d only just noticed. Perhaps she was binding the ghosts to the essence of the items, or the other way around.

That sounded like a long a fascinating conversation. One I’d save for a later time when I wasn’t so tired and still had a spell to write.

I finished the new barrier and joined Attart in the centre of the third of the room we had left to us. She’d taken everything but the armour; whip, pouches, keys, and oil.

“What now?” she asked.

I pointed at the floor, “Now you find the softest flagstone you can, shutter your lantern, and get some sleep. I’ve got another spell to write, and then I’ll join you.”

She flushed, “Be cautious with your tongue!”

Her fan rose to cover her face.

I laughed, “That wasn’t what I meant. I’m too tired to speak straight.”

She giggled and lowered her fan, “Goodnight then.”

“Moon and stars watch over you.”

Attart settled down onto her back and put her head on one of the calabash pouches, “The floor is a little cool.”

I blinked the Push rune memory away. I was starting to lose my ability to ignore it.

“You should try the other levels of the dungeon. This is the warmest I’ve been to yet,” I thought about it for a moment, “besides the volcano.”

I could see her clothes rustle as she prepared to rise, “I really must write now. Goodnight.”

She settled back, “What was it you said?” she asked softly, “Stars and moon watch over you.”

Her ghost’s lantern winked out, leaving me in the bubble of senses provided by my ring.

I smiled. Close enough.

***

The question of which spell to write was obvious. I wanted another push spell to guarantee its effectiveness against the beetles. The question of where to write it was more difficult. Losing my ring and my spellbook when I’d fallen through the portal had been a reminder. Everything could be taken from me, and then I’d only be left with what I had. At the moment that amounted to a rune carved in my mind, two tattoos, and a faint scar. Neither tattoos nor scar had been removed by my healing spells. Magic could be convenient like that at times.

I didn’t have the proper knowledge to do another tattoo which would be any different from a scar, so a cut of some sort would be the ideal way to do the spell. The problem there was that I didn’t want to cut myself. And even if I did, my skin was unreasonably tough.

After thinking about it for a little bit I decided on my upper right thigh. It was a large surface and I could brace it against the ground, which meant I could more easily control the force I applied. I choose the upper portion so that even if I lost my leg I probably wouldn’t lose the scar. I’d also considered my stomach to keep the scar even safer and more hidden, but then I’d run into the controlled force problem. I didn’t want to split my gut open accidentally.

Shame I didn’t have a spell for pain.

I retrieved my dagger and I turned away from Attart to pull down my trousers. It was dark, but there was a proper order to things. And it wasn’t about to be dark for long.

Fireball

I held the dagger in the flames until my gloves started becoming to hot to handle, then I ended the spell. I had healing magic of course, and I’d teleported around with the dagger countless times, but I wasn’t going to risk infection when I didn’t have to. My books remained stained in the ogre’s blood after a teleport after all. There was no saying whether all ill humours were removed or not.

I extinguished the fireball so Attart could sleep.

I gave the dagger a minute to cool, but no more. If I didn’t start now, I’d never start.

I began to write.

Push VI. Push VII. Push IIII. I chose the floor outside our safe circle for my target this time. I didn’t want to introduce any spy holes for monsters looking for a midnight snack. The flagstone cracked like ice on a spring pond. Attart leapt up from her resting spot and summoned her ghost and his lantern. I was turned away and out of the range of my ring. I could only hope she didn’t see me carving with my trousers around my ankles. That would take too much explaining.

Something must have assured her, for the lantern winked out a moment later and I could hear her settling back down to rest. Whispers crawled from the darkness. They promised me beautiful things. Terrible things. My heart’s desire. My deepest fears. Both wrapped inextricably. The power to take what I wanted, to live as I needed. Fog Prison. I let the spell wash over me. Let it worm its way into my being, but I was not distracted from my own creation.

Push VIII: Push an object with 7700lbs of force for up to half an hour.

Heal IIII

The spell wouldn’t quite fully heal the wound, but the slower pace would let me see if it was scarring, and if it wasn’t I could—I didn’t want to do it, but I could reopen he edges or rub some ashes in. I gently tugged and prodded at the healing injury for half an hour until I was confident it would scar.

I could sleep. Finally.

I was unconscious before I remembered putting down my head.