[Kale Grayhand]

First of all, this is not a full story, just a snippet of one I've been working on and it has nothing whatsoever to do with Pirates of the Caribbean. I just want to know what you guys think. This scene basically describes what it feels like to summon a ghost using necromancy and is written from Serenade's point of view.

An Excerpt from Chapter Four

“We gather to summon the spirit of Emily Malone,” Mere began, his voice soft and hollow in the vast silence. Whatever accent he had was now thicker than it had been back at the hut. “She has been on her way for a few times past. Serenade Orpheus can lead her back.”

“Right,” said the younger man with the strangely black eyes. “The item.”

I placed the photograph in the center of the circle, facing upwards. He made no comment about it, seeing as how photography did not exist in this reality. He merely glanced at it and understood. In order to bring back someone’s spirit, you had to have something that they cherished in life. I hadn’t thought about it before, but that was the reason all people had one item that served no purpose other than to be there. The crude carving I had seen in Mere’s hut could have been made by a close family member or a dear friend. Emily cherished her family, so I knew the photograph would be the ideal item for this strange ceremony.

The man then brought something out of a pocket and held it up. It was a perfectly rounded stone, as pale as Earth’s moon, but empty of light. He placed it right beside the photograph. “You wish to speak with her first?” His voice was light, matching Mere’s tone, but his accent was barely even there.

I thought that was an odd question. Why else would I want to see her? “Yes,” I said.

“Then you will speak to her,” he said. “But first, I must ask you a question. Was she content with her life?”

I paused to think. I recalled Leslie’s words. She was always happy. Even when she was dying…She had cancer…She seemed okay with that, as if she’d already accepted it.

“Yes,” I replied. “She was happy.”

“Then we, too, must be happy,” he said, though his tone of voice was calm and patient, allowing no room for other emotions. “We must feel what she felt, feel the warmth she had in life. And Serenade,” he added, looking at me with those unblinking black eyes. “Prepare to accept her soul.”

I gulped. I’d never done this before. But it was too late to back down now. All I could do was wait and watch and go with whatever happened.

“We accept her voice, that she might always be heard,” the man uttered, closing his eyes.

Next to him, the woman with the cropped hair said, “We accept her eyes, that she might always see.”

“We accept her ears, that she might always hear,” said the older man with the missing finger.

“We accept her body, that she might always feel,” said the short man, closing his eyes in his turn.

“We accept her mind, that she might always know,” said Mere, the next in line.

The woman with the curly hair closed her eyes and said, “We accept her heart, that she might always love.”

I felt the light crackle in the air, the slight breeze that ruffled the edges of my hair. I felt the anticipation in the gazes of the moons and in the skittering leaves and in the soft breathing of all those around me. The words came unbidden to my lips. “I accept her soul,” I said, gently closing my own eyes so that I might feel the electric chill all the more strongly. “So that she may never be forgotten.”

All at once, I felt a warmth flow through me and suddenly I was bursting with energy. It didn’t matter that I had had a long and trying day. The energy flowed through me, crackling at my fingertips and raising the hairs on the back of my neck. It was as if I had been charged by the power of the sun. Not a noonday sun, which saps your strength, or the setting sun which signals the time of rest. It was the energy of the rising sun, filling me up until rest was the last thing on my mind. I felt as if I had the strength to run a hundred miles, to climb to the very top of the highest tower in the city and I would never be tired.

I felt myself smiling and realized that I was happy though I did not know the reason. I glimpsed flashes of my life through a stranger’s eyes. Grandfather ruffling my hair and saying something funny, the words of which have been entirely forgotten. The smell of lemon cakes and toffee. The even earlier memory of a voice, a female voice that sounded familiar but was at the same time unknown to me.

And finally I saw the laughing woman and her husband and their child and realized that Emily’s happiness had affected me and had become my happiness too.

I opened my eyes and there before me, the round stone was glowing softly, like the light of a silver moon. I thought I caught a flicker of movement but it was just a thin layer of fog, which had rolled in while I’d had my eyes closed. I felt its stickiness against my skin, inhaled warm beads of moisture that coated my throat and felt thick and like rain, settling in my lungs. But I did not choke on it.

Then I saw it again, the movement, just a shiver, but it was there. I heard laughter that only I could hear, saw a spark in the mist that only I could see. The fog above the photograph and the gently glowing stone was taking on form. It was wonderful and scary at the same time.