Ourselves Lie Within
A Story of Segrus the Necromancer
The triangular tent was staked far from the small town in a sheltered cove near the lake water’s edge. It stood tall; tall enough the snowy pines nearby were the only greater size in comparison. Although the lake was a source of life for Hono, with its plentiful supply of fish, it became clear to Segrus as he approached this dwelling place that life was far from the occupant’s minds. There were no boats, fishing gear, or caught fish which would be present for anybody who planned to survive the mountainous winter.
The tent’s one sentry was a younger man carrying a heavy spear whose serious look and drab clothing indicated some state of mourning. He was not carrying the look of somebody downcast, merely kept a sincere reverence of a boy dedicated to his duty. Segrus gestured a wordless greeting, but did not yet move to enter the tent.
He was expected by those within, but made it clear when he sent a messenger ahead that a full day’s rest was needed. The summons Segrus carried with him over the mountains was given to him by a local authority in Na’al. They had worked together shortly when Segrus passed through, and afterwards the sheriff asked a final favor of him. To meet with his relations further north and act as spiritual guide.
Segrus did not lie to the sheriff that he was nobody’s guide, but he could not refuse when he saw an underlying pain the man held at bay.
As he warmed himself by a fire a few paces away from his destination, Segrus admired the tent’s structure. It appeared to be constructed of at least a dozen strong poles of shaved trees, strung together firmly at the top, and then the poles wrapped several times around with thick animal hides sewn together. A small flap in the animal hide bad been cut to let out the smoke from another fire which blazed inside. Along the bottom edge, mud and snow was packed up to proved a seal against the elements and retained the precious heat. Big enough around for maybe six people, it looked to Segrus that it would make an effective space for living in this nature.
When he could no longer stand to delay himself from making his presence known, he waved politely to the sentry and announced his intentions. A weighted flap was then opened for him, and Segrus climbed inside.
The brightness outside blinded him temporarily, but he quickly made out the shapes of three people on the dried dirt floor. Two of them, men, had heavy beards and wore more of the animal skins he was beginning to be familiar with seeing. The jackets were tanned and treated to some degree though, and Segrus guessed it was more comfortable to wear than the canvas of this tent. The last was as far away from the tent’s opening as possible and barely discernible with how they were lying down.
One of the men, who had a longer face between the two, beckoned Segrus in to sit.
“I apologize for taking time in getting to you today,” Segrus began. “My home country is far south from here, and I am unused to this cold.”
The man who had not moved up to this point gave Segrus a gruff look and grunted in exasperation. As the light from the low fire allowed his eyes to adjust, Segrus could tell more of the details which separated the two men. This one was more haggard, weary. His eyes were of a man who had not slept. On the man who greeted him, Segrus saw hooked to the belt a small hatchet and carving knife. Segrus guessed only one of them was regularly leaving this tent. Perhaps he left and returned to bring food.
“My name is Segrus. Dorth had asked for me serve you for a short time, though he regrettably did not discuss the details of what assistance you needed. I am not acquainted with any spiritualism, as my talent lies in understanding the dead as they are. What need do you have of me?”
“Dorth,” the first said with a chuckle, “Stick’in himself into everything. I can’t stay, Arren, we’re pulling what’s left east of Olfo’s property.” Without saying more, Dorth’s companion stood and left to go on his business.
Left alone, Segrus focused his attention on the two left. They were not on the dirt ground directly, but instead stayed with some level of comfort using intricately woven fabric. Despite much open space, there was little else inside. No unworn clothes folded and stored for another day, and there were no trinkets or treasures. Clearly they lived elsewhere in the town yet here they remained.
“Am I cursed?” a woman’s trepid voice asked.
Before Segrus could react, Arren twisted in his seated position to lay a hand on the other figure behind him.
“Am I…?” The voice stirred with the woman as she raised herself up from the floor.
“Marris, please…” Arren started gently. His voice had no rebuke, at least none Segrus could identify. His words were formed with a certain shared grief and sought to condole her. “Just rest now…”
She was not quieted though, and continued to speak without regard to Segrus being a stranger to her, “I need to know what we’re supposed to do Arren. I’m so...upset, and tired…”
With effort she was sitting to face Segrus now, but her long, matted black hair told him enough to finish an image in his mind of what this tent represented. There had been an intensely personal loss here.
“I go to sleep and still feel him. I wake up and there’s nothing. It’s worse at night, an evilness attacking me, as with my grandmother’s time. Why does T’ykllw wish for our pain?”
Her words and eyes were directed at Arren. She paid Segrus’ presence no regard. The tent contained what had become their suffered world, a response Segrus observed as a consequence of the paths he chose.
Arren would not answer her. Segrus watched him struggle to tell her any sufficient answer to what had no answer. Instead he straightened back to Segrus and faced whatever was in front of him.
“How is life given back to what’s already gone? This is dead and over now.”
After pausing, Arren cleared his throat and attempted to clarify, “I ask to protect us. We don’t know you, nor does anybody here in town. You’ve just got the word of my brother that you’ll help us and your own word that you believe in nothing.”
Arren turned his eyes to Segrus with patience, the patience of someone who would willingly wait out disastrous winter and had many, many times. The same patience which he used to wait for something good to occur from this period of his life. It was the last shred of sanity he clung to for survival, that love was no mistake.
From the corner of his eye Segrus saw Marris give the same look. She repeated her previous question, her soft voice trembled more than before, and it was now asked of him, “Are we cursed?”
Segrus could feel the weight of her question, its full weight, and the deeper insinuation of their distant future, not only this present state. They needed to know more than the simple answer of possession. He could see the boulder of life they carried as it rolled over on his person—his ability, strength, and name.
“Forgive me, I have been impolite and improperly delayed introducing myself to you,” Segrus said suddenly. Arren’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“I am Segrus the Necromancer, and it is within my service to show you that which has clung to you and your thoughts. If there is an enemy, we will show their face and dispel it forever. If there is...something else—a loved one, perhaps—let us have their image soothe your fears. All which needs done is to take my hand and we will see if any curse lingers.”
Carefully, with such deliberately slow movement to express sincerity, Segrus put himself within arm’s reach of Arren and Marris and then kept before them. He pulled down his hood to let them see his face without any obstruction, and then offered to grasp their hands.
In time the couple gave their trust. They saw an earnestness in the one sent by their kin, Dorth. A stranger who acted as someone who understood, and they needed to feel the same.
Outstretched hands met and Segrus pushed his power to show them the spirits of the dead. Such was not a power he had been taught, but one he made for himself through necessity. Their connection revealed a glow softer than a single candle. It fluttered in a wind beyond life, small and precious, on the woman’s stomach.
Marris gasped, and began to weep.
“I do not believe you are cursed,” Segrus whispered to them. “I believe this loss has brought you to this pain, and in time you will find your way through again. I am sorry I can do so little. Maybe this will be enough.”
