Necromancy is inaccurately named.

  The practitioners of this school of magic often deal in corpses, ghosts, and icons of death, but that is not where our domain lies. A more accurate descriptor would be psychomancy, where ‘psycho’ is an elaborate word for soul.

  Necromancers, or psychomancers, deal with the various flavors of soul magic, commonly including reconnecting souls to bodies, an application favored by a soul’s slow rate of deterioration. This is correlation, not causality.

  Unfortunately, the term necromancy has become too widespread and cannot be changed. We would still advise all peers to keep the right term in mind, lest they miss the crux of their capabilities.

  - An excerpt of the Introduction to Necromancy by Akolateronim.

  Boney’s skeletal face was frozen. “How much?” he asked.

  “One full hundredth, Boney!” Jerry replied with a smile. “Imagine that! One hundredth of the world’s greatest treasure… Am I a great negotiator or what?”

  The skeleton’s eyes lit up with crimson flames, as did most of the other undead. They turned to look at Marcus.

  “Easy there, pals,” the treasure hunter said. “The price includes a thousand taels.”

  “One hundredth?” Boney repeated. “This is insulting. I demand a renegotiation.”

  Marcus raised a brow. Jerry laughed.

  “It’s fine, Boney. One hundredth of the world’s greatest treasure is already plenty—and besides, we shouldn’t go back on our word. Let’s just enjoy the ride. I’m sure it will be fun!”

  Axehand grunted in reluctant agreement, while the rest of the undead did not intervene. Boney, left without allies, sighed deeply.

  “From now on, never talk business without me, Master. Please.”

  “Okay,” Jerry promised. “It’s boring, anyway.”

  Marcus laughed, then resumed playing catch with Boboar. Boney sighed. This would be a long journey.

  ***

  The northern forests of Escarbot were full of hidden life.

  As the Funny Bone traveled along the rocky path, flickers of movement dominated the edges of their vision. Insects buzzed around the ground, a family of foxes peeked through a bush, and squirrels leaped from branch to branch overhead, heedless of the undead strolling beneath.

  One squirrel even tried to bury a nut in the middle of the path and was forced to stop when the circus approached. It angrily waved a little fist at them.

  “Escarbot isn’t grand or impressive, but I never get bored of it,” Marcus said, lounging over the colorful fabrics on the cart’s top. He raised a hand, blocking the sun that hit him through the foliage. “I have been to many places, you know. The Sea of Sands, Alabaster, Moonlight, the beginnings of the Jewel Archipelago…but none of them put my heart at such ease as this simple forest.” He released a tired sigh. “Still, a straight three-day trip is too much even for a traveler like me, Jerry. I admire your endurance.”

  “A perk of the job. I once walked for two months in a row.” Jerry laughed from the cart front, where he’d anchored his heavenly soft chair. “What were you doing in all those places, Marcus? Treasure hunting?”

  “Treasures are a hit-or-miss situation. I usually fail a dozen times before succeeding once, so most of my excursions could be called vacations.”

  “And do you often take advantage of naive locals?” Boney asked.

  “Not that much. I usually take advantage of over-talkative, sarcastic skeletons.”

  “Very humerus. And then what? You sacrifice them to the ancient spirits of gold?”

  “Yes,” Marcus replied seriously, and Boney would have raised a brow if he had one.

  “I still don’t like this, Master.” He turned to Jerry. “Please, please, can we please renegotiate?” To his horror, however, the necromancer only laughed.

  “That ship has sailed, Boney. You win some, you lose some. Let’s just enjoy the ride.”

  Headless grabbed his head and moved it up and down, nodding in agreement, while Boboar oinked happily from up ahead. The four Billies also nodded in perfect synchronization.

  “See, Boney?” Marcus glowered from above the cart. “Everyone is with me, and do you know why? Because I have the high ground—morally and literally.”

  “Bah.”

  “Look, even Birb is perching on my shoulder. It likes me! Right, Birb?”

  “Now you’re just lying.” Jerry laughed. “Birb is scouting up ahead.”

  “No, it’s on my shoulder.”

  Jerry turned to look.

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s certainly something, but it isn’t Birb.”

  “Crap!”

  Marcus slapped at his shoulder, making the bird fly off. It was dark-feathered and about a palm in size, similar to Birb—but its eyes were black, and as it landed on the cart’s edge, it stood with the unnerving stillness and numbness of a newly-risen undead.

  “By Manna…” Marcus grabbed his chest. “Why did you have to scare me like that, Jerry?”

  “It wasn’t me, my friend.” Jerry stopped the carriage, climbing to its top to squint at the bird. “You are not one of mine,” he said.

  “I am not,” the bird replied, “but you can become one of mine .”

  “Pardon?” Jerry said.

  “Pardon?” Marcus said.

  “AEIAOHA!” Headless said, throwing his head at the bird with enough force to send it off the carriage and onto the ground below. Jerry raised a brow at the enthusiastic zombie.

  “That wasn’t very polite, Headless. I’ll admit the bird was shocking, but that’s no reason to be rude.”

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  The zombie’s shoulders hunched, and somewhere beyond Jerry’s field of vision, its head pouted.

  “That was an insult. I demand an apology,” the black-feathered bird ordered from the ground. Its voice was a man’s, crisp and young-sounding—but when the bird spoke, its mouth did not move. Though one of its wings was clearly broken, it did not seem to mind.

  “Sorry, Headless is just overeager. He loses his head like that sometimes, but it’s part of his charm.”

  “Hmph. Do you take me for an ignorant mundane?” the bird spoke with derision. “Your undead are under your complete control. Have them behave properly, not like rabid dogs.”

  Jerry frowned. He disliked this bird. In fact, of all the birds in the world, this particular one was his least favorite.

  “That was a very rude comment. Who are you?” he asked, jumping off the cart to approach.

  “Careful, Master!” Boney leaped in front of him, arms spread wide. “It may explode!”

  “It’s a bird, Boney. They don’t explode.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Marcus said. “The Jewel Archipelago has a kind that violently self-detonates to defend itself.”

  “Really? That sounds counterintuitive.”

  “Well, it dies, obviously, but it deters predators from hunting others of its species. It’s a group defense.”

  Jerry turned back to the bird. “Are you going to explode as well? We weren’t planning to approach your friends anyway.”

  The bird did not reply. For a moment, it simply stared at Jerry so blankly, so emptily, that he thought it had died again.

  “My name is Maccain Darkson, Herald of the Wizard Order,” it finally said, its voice gravely.

  Marcus raised both brows. Jerry noticed.

  “Nice to meet you,” he replied. “I’m Jerry, and I do believe we got off on the wrong foot. Speaking of feet, how about I make you a nice pair of bird shoes as an apology? I’m a shoemaker, too!”

  For some reason, it didn’t seem very pleased with the offer.

  “One of my undead informed me about you,” the bird continued. “It told me you’re stupid, an embarrassment to our kind, that you should be put down for everyone’s sake. I did not believe it, but I see now that I was wrong. Recruiting you would be the height of idiocy.”

  “Your undead sounds terribly prejudiced. Why would it say those things?” Jerry frowned. “Besides that, what do you mean by our kind? I’m not a bird.”

  “Jerry,” Markus said slowly, “you need to listen to me very carefully. That is not a bird. It is—”

  “Of course it’s a bird. Look, it has wings and a beak. What else could it be?”

  “Maybe a chicken, Master,” Boney replied. “I believe they are not birds.”

  “Really? That sounds unfair.”

  “I think it’s because they can’t fly.”

  “Listen to me!” Marcus snapped, and everyone turned to him in shock. “Herald Maccain is a two-feather necromancer and a high-ranking member of the Wizard Order. Stop messing around.”

  He turned to the bird. “Sorry about that, sir. We had no idea.”

  “Since when do mundanes speak amongst wizards?” The voice snorted. “Control your underling, necromancer.”

  Jerry had to admit he was intrigued. It was the first time he ever met another necromancer! There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, to share…but this person seemed unlikeable. Jerry crossed his arms.

  “Marcus is not my underling. He’s my friend.”

  Marcus coughed in his hand. “That’s maybe taking it a bit too far. We’re business partners.”

  The bird was having none of it.

  “Disgraceful!” it thundered. A hint of crimson appeared deep in its black eyes, and the mood instantly shifted. Jerry’s undead gathered around him, suddenly sensing something, while Axehand straight up stepped on the bird to keep it on the ground.

  “Can we all calm down, please?” Marcus shouted, but he could not command the undead.

  “Fine, fine!” The voice laughed. “A mentally challenged wizard associating with mundanes… I should have known. Watching you pains me, Jerry Shoeson. You are a disgrace to our kind, and still you dare to repeatedly insult me.”

  “You sure spout a lot of bullshit for a bird,” Jerry said.

  The bird’s face warped into a scowl. “Fine! I was planning to recruit you into the Order, but you are not worthy. Enjoy your last days of freedom, Jerry Shoeson. For insulting me, I will kill you and force you to serve me forever—and for daring to speak amongst us, I will do the same to your mundane pet.”

  “But we are humans, while you are an angry feather ball. We just don’t fit. How about you raise a few more birds, form your own flock, and migrate north to cool off instead?”

  The bird cawed as its feathers glowed red. Axehand’s bone foot instantly smashed into its side, launching it high into the sky, where it exploded in a small red cloud.

  Everyone was left staring mutedly.

  “Told you it could explode,” Boney said.

  “You were right. I can see the deterrence factor, too; maybe it’s from the Jewel Archipelago.”

  “Can we acknowledge the fact that we just received a death threat from a Herald?” Marcus asked.

  “Well, in our defense, that bird had it coming.”

  Marcus met Jerry’s gaze, then sighed. “That’s great treasure hunting right there. We haven’t even gotten started, and we’re already hunted by a Herald.” He rubbed his nose. “I don’t want to spoil your fun, Jerry, but that guy is crazy strong. Let’s try to come up with a plan, okay?”

  “Exactly how crazy strong are we talking about? I’ve heard legends about the Wizard Order before, but nothing about a Herald.”

  “Rumors? Bah! The Order is very real, Jerry. They're a shady organization that preaches wizard supremacy over us normal people—mundanes, they call us. Its existence is a secret, supposedly, but it’s so powerful and influential that everyone important knows. They command thousands of wizards and only seven Herald, so any one of them should be enough to completely obliterate our group unless you can make another dozen Axehands. They’re all two-feather wizards, and not weak ones, either.”

  “Oh. Okay, but it’s not like he would seriously come after us, right? Important people ought to be busy, not running around hunting circuses for little reason.”

  “Probably…but you never know. Let’s keep him in mind, just in case.”

  “All right. A plan would be good to have, then. How about this? We get to the Dead Lands quickly, and then the Wizard Order can’t reach us. They may have fingers everywhere, but not there —I hope.”

  “You’d be surprised. But yes, that’s a reasonable idea.” Marcus nodded. “Getting past the Wall is not so easy though. We’re close to Edge Town, but it’s said to be terribly disciplined, and crossing the wall involves lengthy bureaucracy. Could take a few days—even with bribes.”

  “But even if that Herald catches up, he won’t try to kill us in the town, right?”

  “I hope so. The law is only as strong as the people enforcing it.”

  “In that case, we should get going.”

  “Yes. If we hurry, we can probably get there by evening.”

  “Great!” Jerry leaped onto the carriage. “Onward, Boboar! To Edge Town!”

  Marcus laughed as he, too, jumped onboard, and Boboar oinked happily as he accelerated, pulling the cart along. Undead didn’t get tired or bored; Boboar enjoyed helping.

  “By the way,” Marcus said as the cart trudged along, once again bobbing with the path’s holes and bumps, “you know that wasn’t really a bird, right? There was a person speaking through the bird.”

  “Of course, but I had no idea necromancers could do that. I will copy him. Birb is needed for scouting, but…come, Foxy!”

  Foxy jumped on the cart, coiling up by Jerry’s side, who placed a hand on her back. He laughed.

  “Let’s see; can I become a ventriloquist?”