The next day, we met and Matthias told me that he had not been able to sleep all night – that he had actually gone to the library in the middle of the night and looked for anything on ghosts.  When I asked him, again, if he was ok, he said, “Yes, I’m fine, it’s my great grandfather.  Forrestor mentioned his Sargent was a shoe maker… Well, it reminded me of my grandfather telling me stories from his father fighting in the Formation Wars.  My grandfather always said that he had been so proud of the battles against Borden and Ferryport.  Since in those days there were no regulars, just militia, you were a soldier one day and then a shoe maker the next.  My grandfather, I think, was a bit bitter that now that things changed, he’d say the soldiers were all lazy bastards who refused to do anything but harass people when there was no fighting to be done.  But the thing about my great grandfather, he never talked about the elves.  My grandfather said that when anyone brought it up, his dad would get very quiet and refused to say anything at all.” Matthias paused for a second, thoughtful.  “Then I remembered one instance where someone, a stranger, came into the shop one day when I was very little and asked after my grandfather.  He said he was a historian of some sort; he had a plan to write a story about a general from the Formation Wars.  I guess, now, that they were talking about Forrestor.  Didn’t put it all together until I got back – and then I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“By God, I think you’re onto something,” I said, completely stunned. 

Then he said something that really surprised me, “The ghost, it’s like he’s stuck in a moment.  Like a cart in a mud rut.  If we are going to ask him anything meaningful, we are going to need to get him out of that rut.”

I was awestruck.  I had never even thought of it from the perspective of the ghost.  I hadn’t realized what Matthias had just intuitively struck upon – that if the ghost was not reliving his death, there must be some reason why he was stuck on that day, the day of the battle.  He thought there might be some way to get the ghost to understand that he was dead, which would, if nothing else, give us more time to talk to him to figure out how to help him.  Matthias would continue to impress me in the next few weeks. 

He had never been the scholarly sort, but I think the thought that he had a chance to talk to someone who knew one of his ancestors brought everything in focus for him.  We spent every night after supper pouring over anything we could find.  Unfortunately, the abbey didn’t have books of the sort that actually told you anything useful about ghosts.  We found fairy tales and legends of ghosts of ancient warriors mentioned as portions of a larger separate narrative, but the books only talked about how the heroes got rid of the ghosts.  And they usually involved something like evoking blessed water or holy sigils – one even suggested dipping a sword in water from the Lac Dyane and ‘running it through’ the ghost in order to ‘kill it’.  Eventually, we realized, we would have to ask the abbot.

Everyone knew Abbot Samuel to be a kind and patient man.  He grew up in the abbey and never knew his parents.  In the days of his youth, the wars had overcrowded the orphanages and they became awful, depressing places.  Rumors swirled that the people running the orphanages profited by forcing the children to work or, worse, selling them into slavery.  Presumably wanting baby Samuel to avoid such a fate, someone had left him at the steps of the abbey sometime in the night.  The brothers of the day didn’t have the heart to turn him over to anyone else.  Samuel had come to personify the abbey and it was the only home he had ever known.  He had a sense of calm and forthrightness at all times, no matter how dire, that I always admired and try to emulate now that I am abbot. 

When we went to him that day, he looked at us behind thin rimmed spectacles, short grey sprouts of hair framing a wise and wrinkled face.  He calmly walked over and shut the door after we told him we had seen a ghost.  He slowly and deliberately retrieved a large walking cane from beside the door and proceeded to beat us until we promised never to go back into the woods at night.  Then he said, with a smile in his eyes, “Giving up on Forrestor so quick?”

We were both speechless.  We hadn’t mentioned the ghost’s name to the abbot nor had we gotten a word into what we actually needed help for.  Matthias finally blurted out, “So you knew about the ghost the whole time?”

The old man sighed, then sat back down in his chair behind the large wooden desk.  He motioned for us to sit down as well, then began to talk, “Yes. You know, I was once young here too.  Even younger than both of you.  I explored every inch of that forest and stumbled upon Forrestor as well – of course it took me a while to figure out who he was.  I have been watching you stumble about in your experience.  And… Like me… Lucas, you have been stupid in every step you have taken, with the exception of bringing Matthias into your sphere.  The beating was… To ensure that you understood the severity and potential danger in your course of action.  Remember the pain you feel now should you ever think of doing something so rash and stupid.  You have responsibilities here and no ghost or adventure can ever supersede those holy duties.” He paused for a moment, looking at us severely until we both nodded.  “I can only assume that you coming here means that you actually intend to do something about him.  What do you want to do?  Banish him for eternity?  Release his soul from the bonds of this earth?  Solve whatever mystery is holding him to this place so that he may finally have peace?”

Matthias and I looked at each other, then I said, “Abbot, we… Well, we were hoping that you would know what to do.”

The Abbot’s eyes got wide, and he laughed, a guffaw followed by a few chuckles.  “I am sorry to disappoint you two but I am no master of the arcane.  I tried many things with the apparition of General Forrestor, but I could never break him out of his trance.  He always stayed in that one day-“

“The day of the Battle of Lor’Ath’Lun!”  I am ashamed to say that I could not help myself but to interrupt the abbot, but I felt so tense, my stomach was in knots and I could hardly breathe.  I had so much energy that I just wanted to burst. 

“Yes.  Lor’Ath’Lun.  The massacre of the elves.  The death of Robert, and the beginning of the empire.  So much changed that day.  When I was still young, I studied it intently, but once I became a brother I was,” The abbot paused for a second here, looked for the right word, “Steered away.  People felt differently about the Formation Wars in those days.  We all knew there were details that we would rather forget, and everyone wanted to move on.  I tried talking to my fellow brothers about the ghost and about the battle, but every time I brought it up everyone got very quiet.  One night, before I went out for a walk, a contingent of the older brothers stood in the doorway to the abbey and forced me to make a decision.  They said that if I wanted to remain at the abbey that I would have to stop going in to the woods at night, stop talking to ghosts and forget everything that I had seen.  It was either the abbey or the ghost.  And the abbey was everything to me.  I couldn’t let it go.  I had no choice.  But now that I am in their place, I think that time has allowed a different path to be right.  Just as I think that what they did to me that night was right at that time.”

The room got very quiet.  The sun streamed in from the one large window behind the abbot’s desk and reflected on all the dust that had been stirred up during our beating creating a radiant glow throughout the whole room.  Matthias and I held our breath and I swear you could hear a pin drop.  Finally, the abbot spoke again, “I think you should try to help Forrestor.  I’m not sure what you will be able to accomplish, but I hope you succeed.  In that regard, there is a shipment of our beer that is due at the capital.  I want the two of you to go and deliver it.” The abbot continued talking as he took out a piece of paper from a drawer in his desk and handed it across.  “After delivering the beer, should you still feel like continuing on your quest, find the famed mystic who goes by the name Voisper.  Voisper is known to be extremely knowledgeable in all manners of the arcane.  If anyone can help you, it’s Voisper.  These documents will serve as introduction and hopefully as a good indication to the mystic that you are genuine.  I will talk to the brothers and excuse your duties until next week. Good luck.  Now go, before I realize how much you’ve taken advantage of a foolish old man and change my mind.”

We grabbed the paper and rushed out of the abbot’s office as fast as we could.  We couldn’t believe it.  Not only did the abbot know what we had been up to this whole time, he had crafted a plan to help us, including the timing for a delivery the capital!  The man never ceased to astound me. 

Neither Matthias nor myself had been to the capital since being accepted on to the abbey as apprentices, but we knew it to be a two-day trip one way. That gave us three days in the city to get done what we needed to do.  We resolved to leave right away, as, it being only noon, we thought we could make Carakall, the halfway point, by night fall.  We tore through our belongings, throwing things into a combined sack and talked excitedly, planning our days ahead.  Needless to say, we forgot many things which would have been useful like food and water or a blanket, or extra clothes.  

Our plight became immediately apparent when, within hours of leaving the abbey in our one-horse cart, it started to rain and we frantically searched our shared sack for anything of use to keep us dry.  We found: a plate (with accompanying fork) from one of Matthias’ late night snacks that he never returned to the kitchen; five pairs of socks, two belts, two pouches filled with glass marbles (we had decided we needed to bring entertainment along in case we got stuck anywhere on the way), a carved wooden horn (which I had resolved to use as a drinking cup), an empty clay jar (Matthias had sworn there had been something useful inside at one point), two wool scarves, and a dull knife in a sheath. 

It was early spring so the rain, even though it was only moderately strong, brought with it the cold of winter.  For a while, we traded off using the plate to protect from the rain, but in the constant rain, we became so soaked that it quickly did not matter.  Then, Matthias’ belly started to growl and I had to endure complaint after complaint.  We were not meant for adventuring.  After another hour that felt like five days, we reached a large cottage that doubled as a tavern.  We pulled up our cart and went inside looking to get out of the rain and try to warm up. 

The tavern’s interior could only fit maybe 10 men standing around a few tall tables to eat and drink, but a decently sized fire warmed and lit the room, making it quite an improvement from the outside.  The tavern owner greeted us gruffly, “Afternoon gentlemen, welcome to the Goose and Starling.  Fine weather we are having today.” 

We were the only people in the tavern at the time, and Matthias and I looked at each other and just started laughing.  We looked miserable.  Matthias spoke first, “Yes sir.  Fine day indeed.  So fine, in fact, that we needed somewhere to hide from it.  I hope you do not mind our using your fire to dry off a bit.”

“Hm…  You’re from the abbey, aren’t you?”  I wondered what gave us away. “Well ok.  We butchered a pig yesterday so we have bacon and chops with beans warming.  Warm cider as well.”

“Oh,” Matthias was absolutely beside himself, drooling and patting his belly with the mention of delicious food, “Um…  Well, That all sounds delightful-“

“Unfortunately, sir, we do not have any way of paying…” I interrupted Matthias, giving him a severe look, “So we will have to abstain for now.  Thank you for your kindness.”

“Suit yourself. Where are you two off to?  The capital, I suspect?”

Matthias spoke up again, almost pouting, “Yes sir.  We are delivering some of our finest abbey ale to the king’s castle.  They demand a barrel a month as part of our royal dues.”

“Abbey ale huh…  That’s some mighty fine drink that is often hard to come by.”

Matthias’ eyes lit up, he had an idea that would prove the savior of our expedition.  “Well, good sir.  I might have an idea.  Would you be willing to barter?”

The tavern owner smiled.  I fully believe that he might have been trying to entice the very prospect from the beginning.  “Yes.  Well, I just happen to have received a barrel of the Bortling ale this morning that I have yet to tap.  It is an acceptable ale, and one of perhaps similar enough taste to the abbey ale.  I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with the king…  But I would be willing to exchange barrels and throw in a meal and …  I could arrange for lodging for you and your horse through the storm.”

I could see that Matthias was going to jump at the offer, so I had to step in to save the negotiation from going too far against us.  “Good sir, we are but simple monks, but do not take us for idiots.  The difference in quality of barrels, and the potential risk of royal disfavor should we be found out, are worth more than a night’s lodging and a meal… I would say 50 silver on top of the meal and lodging would be sufficient.”

The tavern owner smiled, narrowed his eyes, “20”

“35, or I’ll take the offer to the next tavern.”  I don’t know where my bravado came from, but it apparently was appreciated.

The tavern owner just looked at me, shook his head and started laughing.  Then he extended his hand and we shook to seal the deal.  I managed to hold my tongue until we had returned to the cart to exchange the barrel.  Matthias and I couldn’t help but laugh and punch each other in the shoulder.  What luck!  We had never seen 35 silver; we did not even know what one could buy for 35 silver.  I just hoped it would be enough to secure us lodging and feed Matthias’ exceptional appetite through the week.

The rest of the trip to Longaurdia went as planned, essentially.  We made good time to the city, somehow making it just before sundown the next day.  The delivery of the altered barrel went smoothly (we had to get creative with the markings in order to hide the true contents).  Though both of our hearts were pumping ten thousand beats a minute, the king’s quartermaster seemed so busy with other tasks to pay too much attention to two dirty monks.  We immediately were struck by how clean everything was.  The cobbled roads significantly decreased the amount of mud, but even the clothes the commoners wore seemed new and colorful compared to the villagers’ clothes near the abbey.  The shops and houses seemed to reflect this care for appearances.  Most buildings had freshly painted fronts and flowers hanging from windows.  Trees lined the roads and looked to be carefully pruned and cleaned up.  Spring leaves had sprouted and everywhere we walked the green of the leaves matched with purple and yellow flowers all backed by a clear blue sky creating a scene of unexplainable beauty.  You must see spring in the city, if you have not.  I would recommend it to anyone suffering from the interminable grey fog that so commonly surrounds our fair valley.

After dropping off the ale we found ourselves at a bit of a quandary, the abbot had not told us how to find Voisper, and we had no idea as to where to start.  I thought we could inquire with the royal monks but they were inside the castle and we did not want to be anywhere near there in case they discovered our plot.  Instead, we followed Matthias’ belly and found a place to eat. 

The restaurant we found doubled as an inn and I arranged for a room for us to share (only 5 silver a night which came with supper and breakfast, those were the days!).  No one I talked to had heard of any entity called Voisper, so we couldn’t do anything but settle into our meal and figure out what to do next. 

I am a bit ashamed to admit what happened then.  What started as a simple meal, turned into a rather epic drinking match.  A rowdy group of young lads showed up at the end of our supper and recognized us as monks.  Knowing that we brew beer, and are therefore known to be able to drink a few rounds, they challenged us to a local drinking game called “Drink the Waterfall” which involved rolling dice and chanting the Hymn to the Rain the rolled amount of times while a partner tries to drink beer throughout the chanting.  Long story short, we not only lost the game, but also lost our senses, somehow ending up wandering the streets of Longaurdia hours after last bell with nothing but our undergarments on while singing drinking songs at the top of our lungs.  I am not sure exactly how it happened, but we ended up back at the inn and woke up in our beds, hung over with half of our money missing.  We only avoided being completely broke because I had decided to leave 10 silver in a pouch in our gear prior to supper.

Upon walking downstairs, the inn’s owner a, up to this point at least, kindly portly widow of middle age, greeted us.  She stared down her nose at us and wagged her finger, “I didn’t put you fellows up so that you could cause a raucous!  Carryin’ on like you did all night long, you should be ashamed of yourselves…  Men of the cloth should be more discerning in who they befriend and should be an example to the hooligans you let take advantage of you.  I won’t have it in my home.  I want you out by the midday bells.”

I was crestfallen, but I also had such a splitting headache that, for the life of me, I could not focus on anything else other than how miserable I felt. Matthias, on the other hand, significantly more used to overindulging than I, managed to muster a reply, “Ma’am, we are incredibly sorry.  This is the first time we have been out of the abbey… Well, ever.  Please take pity on us and I promise we will make it up to you with our prayers.”

She squared herself up to Matthias, a few errant strands of curly brown hair escaped her tightly tied bun, making her look a bit like a medusa, “Why are you here monk?  Why come to the city and out of the castle?  Shouldn’t you be staying with your kind in there?  Perhaps, I should inquire with the High Priest.  I’m sure he would be very interested as to why two monks from Abrendale are spending the gods’ money on High street.”

I moaned and gagged, almost vomiting on the floor, Matthias slapped my shoulder.  Then, facing up to the taverness, he said, “We are on a holy quest to save a hero of the Formation Wars.  You’ll think us crazy if we tell you, but you have to believe us.  All we need to do is find Voisper and then we will be on our way.”

She laughed, mockingly, “A hero of the Formation Wars?  Anyone who fought in those battles has been dead for a century.  You’d be a little late to save one of them.  Like I told you yesterday, I haven’t ever heard of anyone named Voisper.  What kind of name is that anyway?  Is he some sort of barbarian Northerner?”

“Well, Ma’am, we were told he is a mystic of some renown.”

This time the laugh was incredulous and came out as a guffah and accompanied an exaggerated eye roll, “Mystics.  Charlatans one and all.  They’ll just take your money and tell you they’ve solved all your problems.  They’d chew you two up and spit you out for breakfast.  Save your money and go home.”

“So, you know where we could find a mystic?  Perhaps one of them would be able to lead us to Voisper.”

The inn keeper thought for a second, seeming to consider her options, “Ok.  You can stay one more night, but you pay double rate, with payment due up front – since I am not sure you will make it out of the mystics’ clutches with anything left.”

“Thank you, ma’am.  We have that right here,” Matthias dug our last silver out of my pocket as I leaned against the wall and tried to stop from falling.  “Please ma’am, this is the last of our money, if the mystics require any compensation, you will leave us without any ability to pay.”

“Fine.  8 silver for the night, but you will be out tomorrow before second bell.  The mystics all hole up in a building they call ‘The Conclave.’  Really it is just a haven for thieves and scammers   It is on the South side of town just below the outlander market.  Anyone on the way should be able to help you find it.” She looked at us again, and wagged her finger, “Out before second bell or I call the city guard to throw you out.”  She turned and stormed away.

The walk to The Conclave helped to clear a certain amount of my headache and when we walked into a colorful bazaar, I found myself being drawn in by the excitement of the outlander market.  Venders shouted across streets packed with people of all types wearing all sorts of exotic clothing.  Smells of delicious foods wafted to our noses and teased us.  I managed to stop Matthias from spending our last few silver on his belly and we made it through to a large dark building at the end of the road.  Blue banners with large runes written in golden thread hung from roof to street, mostly obscuring the windowless walls of the building.  The one huge dark brown door had ornate carvings of exotic and mythical animals, with the large knocker being a rhinoceros’ nose which functioned by pulling the nose away from the rhino’s nose and ‘knocking’ it back onto its head.

After operating the strange knocker, an even stranger man opened the door a sliver, just enough to see his face, painted white with exaggerated makeup on his lips, eyes and eyebrows.  “Yes?”  He spoke with a very high-pitched voice, elongating both the first and last sound of the one-word question.

I spoke up, trying to redeem myself for earlier, “We are here to see Voisper.”

The man’s eyes grew wide, put his finger to his lips to silence us as he opened the door wider and motioned us in. The door opened to a small dimly lit hallway that smelled of incense.  After we came in, the man closed the door quickly behind us, looked nervously to the left and right.  He twiddled his gloved hands nervously, smoothing his dark black full-length coat and pants.  Almost whispering, he said, “Where have you heard of Voisper, what do supplicants of the human god need with the esteemed Archmage?”

I looked at Matthias nervously, “Our abbot sent us for help with a ghost.”

“A simple ghost?  And you ask for the greatest wizard in all the land?”  The door man clicked his teeth disapprovingly.  “What an unexplainably expensive decision.  What do you want with this ghost?  Would you like to commune with the dead?  Would you like to divine how they died?  Are you looking to expel them to hell?  I have many specialists who would be more than willing to help you for a much smaller fee than Voisper demands.”

“I appreciate your concern, but our abbot was most insistent that we talk to Voisper,” I say trying to stand firm.

“Interesting.  Who is this ghost that you are trying to… Do whatever it is that you want to do?  Anyone important, a dead king, perhaps a reincarnation of a divine being?”

I try to look affronted, “I do not think that is any of your business.  Do you know where Voisper is or do we have to go looking ourselves?”

The man smiled, “Of course.  I will deliver you directly to Voisper.” 

Matthias and I looked at each other and sighed relief.  Turned as if to go and then looked back when we realized that the man had not taken a step but stood, board straight with his hand extended.   Obviously, he expected a tip to move past the door.  I nodded to Matthias and he put one silver into his hand.  Without looking into his hand, the door man sighed and rolled his eyes, refusing to move.  Matthias put the second silver in his hand, the last of our money.  The man’s hand closed, he quickly pocketed the money and walked off down the hall without another word.  Matthias and I followed along trying to keep pace with the amazingly agile doorman through a maze-like series of winding hallways, dizzyingly steep stairways and strange heavy doors.  Finally, we reached a door which the man stopped at and motioned for us to knock, then he turned and walked away.  The door did not look particularly ornate or interesting, certainly nothing befitting the treatment given by the doorman. 

Matthias looked at me and nodded, “Well, better get to it.”  He knocked.  A loud stern voice from inside commanded us to enter.  We walked into another dimly lit room.  Sparkling glass jars of various sizes and shapes littered cluttered desks that lined the side walls to the room.  Smoke from multiple sources swirled about the room, giving a convincing ambience of the arcane.  In the center of the room, behind a large desk, sat a man dressed in a dark blue robe adorned with stars.  He had long white hair and a long white beard all of which was carefully oiled and combed.  In the middle of the desk, a single glass ball perched on a wooden stand.  Grey clouds, marked with occasional flashes of colorful bolts swirled in the glass ball.

“I understand you have a problem with a ghost,” the mystic said.

“Yes, thank you sir, we have come from Abbey Abrendale on the orders of Abbot Samuel,” I quickly said, walking forward and presenting the sealed papers our abbot gave to us.

The mystic took the papers and set them aside without looking at them.  Instead, he chose to speak to me, “Come, approach the table.  Place your hand on the ball.”

I did so, furtively, still uncertain as something felt wrong about this strange place.  When I touched the ball, it felt cool and smooth, the clouds inside swirled faster and the flashes increased in frequency. 

The mystic stood, raised his hands and threw his head back dramatically, “Oh spirit who haunts these most holy of souls, come forth, come to this safe place and let us soothe your ancient wounds!”  Suddenly, it seemed as if lightning flashed through the room and a thunderous crash echoed immediately afterwards.  The mystic fell forward, spasming so hard that the table shook.  He looked at me, eyes full of intensity, “Keep your hand on the ball, whatever you do, keep your hand on the ball!”  Astonished, I did so, although I struggled as his spasming shook the desk around the room. 

I heard chimes ring and a wind picked up through the room.  The mystic looked up and rose his arms again, although the desk continued to vibrate.  “Great spirit, we hear your sorrow.  Find your peace and move on to the other side.  Your loved ones are calling you to the Shem.  Join your ancestors and stop tormenting the living with your unholy hauntings!”

Another flash and thunder clap.  More winds and chimes followed as the increasingly obvious theatrics continued.  I removed my hand the ball and struck the desk loudly, yelling, “Stop this nonsense.  Are you truly Voisper?”

The wind stopped, and the man in front of me dropped his gaze to me. “Interesting,” he said, smiling.  “Usually, people are impressed by this and they later claim that their hauntings are cured.  Likely because they are not haunted at all, except in their minds.”

“I demand our money returned or, I will go to the high priest and report you as the cheats you are.  I am sure they will have no problem shutting down this entire building.”  I was irate, never had I felt such pure wrath.  After all we had been through to get here.  This actor was the greatest wizard in the land??

“Oh, come boy,” the grey-haired man actually had the audacity to laugh. “Have you no sense of humor or appreciation of theater?  You didn’t think you would get to see the most powerful wizard in the land, just because you were sent by some lowly abbot, did you?  No, we always filter the guests of the master.  The master’s time is very valuable and we have to be certain that we cannot help those that seek him with a lower level of effort applied.  In that regard, tell me why you think you are haunted.”

I had had it.  The inn keeper’s assessment of these so-called mystics was confirmed and I no longer wanted any part of them.  “I will not speak to anyone until I see Voisper or until we are compensated our bribe that we paid to get this far.”

“Well, I know nothing of your supposed bribe and I am the gate keeper to Voisper.  If you want to see the master, you will talk to me.  If you do not want to talk to me, I will have you removed.  If you feel it necessary to discuss your experience with the high priest, I encourage you to do so.  You may find that they are less willing to interfere with the business of The Conclave than you would otherwise assume.  On the other hand, the same high priest may be very curious as to why a monk of the Abbey Abrendale is consorting with ghosts and wizards”

He had us.  And I knew it, and all I could do was bite my tongue.  Matthias put his hand on my shoulder and stepped forward.  He laid out the basics of our experience with Forrestor, again leaving out who we suspected the ghost to be.  The mystic nodded throughout, taking notes on parchment paper as Matthias told the story.  After the story, this secondary doorman nodded and scrunched up his nose.  “Thank you for your cooperation.  I will return shortly.  Stay here, don’t touch anything.”

The man opened and disappeared into secret door behind the desk.  He closed the door behind him and, even though I just watched him open it, I would not have had any idea how to find the door again, let alone open it, had I tried. Matthias and I waited anxiously.  The wait seemed to drag on forever.  Finally, the blue robed man returned and motioned for us to go through the hidden door.  

I grabbed the still sealed papers the abbot had given us and proceeded, with Matthias leading the way.  We walked into a room, quite different from everywhere else in the building we had seen so far.  Light streamed in from a large window at the back of a large, spacious room.  The walls were lined with bookcases, each completely lined with large bound volumes.  A single large neatly organized desk faced the one window, the one chair in the room occupied by a person hunched over the desk, writing with a quilled pen.  At the sound of the door closing, the person stood and turned, facing us.

I hate to use the pronoun ‘they’, especially in reference to a single person, but even after all this time, I do not know whether Voisper was male or female.  ‘They’ wore a very light robe colored like a rainbow which had been diffused behind mist so that the colors seemed to shimmer and shift as the fabric moved and reflected different light.  Long, curly golden hair spilled out the front of the hood Voisper wore up which resulted in the hair framing a face that looked both young and old at the same time. Voisper’s vibrant and baby smooth face ended at an angled jawline and pointed chin, all giving the appearance of a very young, almost cherubic person. The eyes though, belied a completely different age, impossibly deep green eyes peered out below very thin eyebrows seeming to pierce everything they came upon.  The mystic stood, and regarded us coolly.  “Who are you?” Voisper said in a stern voice that projected authority but still gave up nothing as to the gender of its speaker. 

Again, my impatience with this process got the best of me, and I burst out, “You know damn well who we are, I’m sure your man told you.  The real question is who are you?”

The mystic looked at me, a slight smile on their lips.  Voisper’s eyes fell on the sealed papers in my hand.  “You were given an introduction from your abbot.  I will have that.”  Voisper reached out one arm, a pale white, hairless and well-muscled arm revealed itself as the fabric of the robe receded to the elbow.  The mystic, broke the seal with a small silver dagger produced from a hidden pocket in the exotic robe and read the documents quickly.  Matthias and myself shuffled back and forth nervously, watching the mystic’s face for any sign of – anything.  But as the mystic read, their face betrayed nothing.

Without looking up from the paper, Voisper asked us very specific questions about our encounters with the ghost: the exact setting and days that we ran into the ghost, if there were multiple spirits or just one, if the ghost ever touched us or acted violently toward us or any other apparition, if the ghost remembered us between visitations, how long the ghost appeared for.  The examination went into details that I did not even consciously remember until asked.  The mystic’s extremely thorough and efficient questioning lasted no more than 10 minutes.  Finally, Voisper asked us who we thought the ghost was and where they were stuck.  When I responded with General Forrestor and the battle of Lor’Ath’Lun, the mystic had the smallest of twitches at the side of their mouth, only detectable because of how stoic they had been the rest of the conversation. 

“I am glad to meet someone who does their research before coming to me.  I appreciate your effort in this manner.  This meeting is concluded.  You will come back tomorrow to begin your training.  Your first lesson will be with Lawrence, the adept you met outside this room.  Payment will be due after the end of your lessons.”  Voisper then turned and resumed their attention to the papers on the desk.

The door opened and Lawrence stepped into the room.  I felt confused, unsure whether to be relieved or mad.  Were the mystics really going to train us in ghost handling or are we just facing another delaying tactic?  I said, “But you haven’t even asked us what we want to do?  Our abbot told us that you would help us.”

Without turning back to us, Voisper said, “The fact you are here as opposed to elsewhere shows your intent, and I am helping you.  I will not speak further on the matter until you have received the requisite training.  Begone, I am busy.”

The rest of the week went in a blur.  The Conclave arranged a room for us in a more modest group home that had been set up for the surprisingly numerous transient students of The Conclave.  We slept on cots in a dark, windowless room full of ten cots and no other furniture, making even our own abbey seem exotic in comparison.  The training, however, did not seem particularly useful.  The first day involved Lawrence standing in front of us and lecturing us on the history and technical details of what makes a ghost.  I have no idea how The Conclave came to know these “scientific” details and I certainly have no clue as to the actual veracity of the information presented to us.  After each lesson, we would be expected to stand and repeat the lessons key tenants verbatim.  Each time we failed to repeat the desired pieces of information, Lawrence would give us some menial task to complete before we could try again (which I think he may have wanted as he would go off and smoke his pipe with his feet up on his desk during these breaks).  Matthias and I eventually got very good at retaining enough of the information so that we could practice and perfect our recitations while we scrubbed floors or cleaned dishes.  By the second day, we never failed a second attempt, which greatly sped up the process of our lessons.

On the third day, Lawrence started again as normal, speaking on some obscure outlander tradition of retaining the liver of their dead in some form of alcohol in order to help them to deal with the dead who refused to stay dead.  I had had enough.  I stood up and demanded that we be given an audience with Voisper.  I said, “This has gone on long enough.  We will need to return to the abbey tomorrow and you have told us nothing that will help us with our particular ghost.”

“Well, if you had the liver of the ghost, this particular piece of information would be useful to you,” Lawrence intoned dryly.

I gritted my teeth, so mad that I ground them together as I spoke, “Do you know where I would find the liver of a man who has been dead for over one hundred years?  We do not even know where he is buried.”

“Really?”  Lawrence seemed to be genuinely surprised, “You do not know where the great General Forrestor is buried?  I would think that as studious as you have been, you might have that information by now.  Regardless, it is not the business of The Conclave to encourage grave robbing and therefore I must strongly encourage you to avoid doing anything which might get you thrown in jail by the authorities.”

Suddenly, I realized what The Conclave had been doing.  They could not directly tell us how to approach the ghost because doing so involved breaking the law and they wanted to be able to deny any involvement if we got caught.  The lessons did not really make sense if I thought of the literal words they told us.  Some were highly theoretical descriptions of the magical makeup of ghosts and their path through various dimensions of existence.  Sometimes the lessons focused on history and background information that seemed completely unrelated to the business of actually dealing with a ghost, instead focusing on demons or evil magicians that used the undead for their own evil purposes.  But, if I put together the themes of the lessons, a pattern emerged.  Ghosts, or their evil overlords, created chaos that led to various plagues visited upon the living.  In each case, holy priests invoked the power of their God to reverse plagues, and save their people.  The details given on the actual process of dealing with the ghost were always incredibly vague (and seemingly inapplicable to our situation) but those controlling the undead inevitably utilized the corpses of the dead in some way.

The details that we were made to memorize were, in a sort of code, the applications of the body parts or invocations of protection to avoid being swept up and destroyed by the power of the dead.  I opened my mouth, but realized I could not voice my realization in a way that Lawrence would be able to verify.  So, I closed my mouth and sat back down.  I said, meekly, “I am sorry sir, I will not interrupt you again, please continue instructing us as you see fit.”

Lawrence nodded.  “Excellent.  I am glad that your time here has improved your manners.   Now, if you will turn your attention to the depiction of Bal’Goth’Au…”  Lawrence picked up exactly where he left off and we resumed the lesson of the day.  The day ended and we were sent away, informed summarily that our payment would be expected with the next royal beer delivery (but not what, exactly, that payment should be). 

As we approached the big oak door to leave The Conclave, Voisper stepped out of the shadows and stopped us saying, “You have been given everything you need to do what needs to be done.  Do not expect any more assistance from The Conclave.  You must know that the road ahead is perilous for you.  Do not trust the spirit, as he may try to draw you into his energy rather than let you help him as you wish.  Some spirits cannot be reasoned with and will not give up their prison of their own volition.  Be careful.”

And so, it came to pass that your esteemed abbot and his best friend desecrated the grave of a hero of the Kingdom of Longaurdia.  In the end it was quite easy to do so.  Being a hero of the kingdom, the dead general had a well-known burial place – a fact we found out within minutes of asking a local guard.  Being a figure relegated to a somewhat awkward history that had passed long ago made it so no significant security guarded the grave.  Just one graveyard keeper wearily trudged through the grounds at approximately last bell, waking up a drunk who had wandered into the graveyard and passed out.  He did not see us come nor did he hear us quickly dig up the ancient grave, nor stash what was left of the bones of old Forrestor (and a good deal of dirt just in case) into a sack.  Before the first bell the next morning, we had excavated the bones and returned to our cart, which we had left under the care of the royal stable.  The stable boys had just woken up to go about their morning duties and, although they were surprised to see two dirty monks carrying a relatively empty looking canvas sack show up before sunrise, they were just as happy to let us take our cart and go without further questions.

We were so energized that we made the trip back to the abbey in the one day.  Even Matthias managed to put his appetite out of his mind and we did not stop a single time, though we had no money to pay for food anyway.  God shined his light on us and the road stayed dry and empty.  Upon our return, late enough so that most brothers had retired for the evening but early enough to still be able to get leftovers from supper.  Happily, for us, there was no fanfare nor royal inquisitors.  We passed the abbot in the hallway on our way to unpack our ‘baggage’ and he simply welcomed us back and retired without another word.

The next few weeks were tense.  The weather made a turn for the better and it seemed that the early spring wet season had settled into the beginnings of a dry summer.  Matthias and I returned to our normal duties and routines, but the time we had spent together had fostered a closeness to each other that would stay with us for the rest of our lives.  Matthias would often join me on my night walks and I would wake early to help Matthias in the kitchen in preparing breakfast.  Whenever alone, we talked constantly about what our next steps would be with Forrestor and strategized how to approach the next encounter. 

In a way we were lucky that we did not encounter a dark, foggy night again until late autumn as an event happened just before harvest that caused us to reevaluate our goals with Forrestor.  A local boy came down with a fever that sent him to bed for weeks.  The boy started occasionally screaming in the middle of the night and his parents thought him possessed by a demon.  The villagers called on the abbot to try to expel the dark energies which had obviously corrupted the boy.  Matthias and I asked if we could accompany the abbot and he assented.  On the way to the boy’s house, the abbot admitted that he did not know what help he could be to the child, he had no experience in dealing with demons – in fact he did not really believe in them, thinking them superstitions.  But he saw it as his holy duty to provide a bulwark to these people as a man of faith, to guide them through their difficult time, so he would do what he could. 

When we arrived, the boy immediately started to spasm and foam at the mouth.  The worried mother and father just cowered in the corner of the house, trying to calm their three other children.  The abbot came forward and recited the Anima Christi.  The child’s spasms stopped and he seemed to listen intently to the words spoken by the abbot.  The child’s parents called out as if a miracle had happened, but as soon as the abbot stopped reciting the prayer, the boy’s spasms returned, this time even stronger.  Next, the abbot tried singing the Agnus Dei, with the same result.

Suddenly, I remembered one of the lessons at The Conclave where a demon spirit called a Lilium ate the spirits of children by slowly suffocating them over weeks.  The demon would ‘hop’ from child to child in the same village until all the children suffered the same grueling fate.  The Lilium could be countered, however, by tricking the demon to jump into a young animal and then taking the animal far away and sacrificing it to the pagan god of death thereby returning the demon to its home.  If the demon could not be tricked, however, the child must be sacrificed instead, otherwise the Lilium would continue onto another child until consuming the whole village.  I asked the abbot to talk separately and, after hearing my idea, he agreed to give it a try.  The question, of course, became how to trick the demon into the young animal. 

First. we thought to make the boy’s body to be as inhospitable as possible to the demon.  Remembering the story of using the liver as a way of holding dark spirits at bay, we made a soup of chopped lamb liver boiled in broth made with chicken bones and rosemary (rosemary had been an herb which legend said repelled spiders and demons).  Then, we took him and a baby chicken, just hatched, to a hunting hut in the middle of the forest.  Feeding the boy the soup took a little bit of effort as he thrashed around a bit making it hard to pin down his mouth and if you did get anything in there, he would bite his tongue and spit up whatever made it into his mouth.  Matthias smartly remembered that the boy quieted during prayer and song and began singing the hymns of harvest.  This settled the boy enough to force the liver and broth down his throat and then we all joined in singing songs of prayer.

After a few minutes of calm, the boy stopped and sat up, looking completely calm as if nothing in the world was wrong.  He looked at me, saying in a voice far too deep to come from his lips, “I know what you have done boy.  Do not think your trespasses on my realm go unnoticed.  Let the remains lie or you and those you love will pay the price.”  The boy then laid down and went to sleep. 

His father, who had been the sole member of the family to come with us to the hut walked and touched his son’s hand.  “I haven’t seen him sleep, but in a fit for the last two weeks.”  Matthias and I stayed out there with the child for a few days to make sure the demon had left and the boy appeared to make a full recovery.  We sent the boy and his father home and, after waiting for hours for them to move beyond the requisite distance away, burned the chick in a fire pit while singing rituals of mourning.  Although the chicken showed no signs of possession, one can never be too careful.