Power? That sounded so crude. He wanted magic. Magic was glorious. Magic was wondrous. Magic was… magic.
“For protection,” Finley answered. “The Leviathan have invaded my world and… and I need a way to protect myself. I need magic. And this is the only magic that humans can wield.”
“H-humans?” The creature tilted its head the other way.
“Ah… mortals,” he clarified, realizing that this thing had likely never heard of Earth or humanity. It was a being of the Under Dark.
“Mortal, too,” the creature nodded and pointed to itself.
“Oh, but you… you live in the Under Dark and in Illithor, but you’re mortal? I suppose that makes sense that–”
“Mortal,” it repeated with a touch of disgust. “Weak.”
Finley swallowed. The image of the Leviathan hawking over him came back. How he had cringed before it. Closed his eyes and waited for death. That was weak. Mortal. Magicless.
“Is that why you took the book?” Finley asked. “To protect yourself.”
“Strong. Strongest,” the creature told him with a fleshless grin.
Finley blinked. “Stronger than the elves’ magic?”
He couldn’t believe that. After all, they lived for ages mastering their power and training themselves for–
“Much stronger,” the creature grinned wider. “Nothing stands before death.”
Finley considered this. The elves were immortal. But even they could die. Weapons and magic could kill them. And while there were plenty of old elves around, the ancients he expected weren’t really there. Where had they gone? Did they choose death in the end? He’d never had the courage to ask. Could eternal life become unbearable? Maybe he would ask Vex.
“I see. But…” And here, he grimaced, “you’re stuck in this room. Seemingly. You haven’t left and used that… power.”
The creature regarded him. “Ran out of… time.”
“But time is all you have–”
“Time.” It looked down at its withered and wasted body.
Finley blinked. “Oh…”
He looked down at the ground by the creature’s feet. Were there dried curls of flesh? He looked at the being’s body more carefully? Was all the missing flesh and organs from natural decay? Really, though, what was natural about any of this?! Yet, when he looked closely, he saw that parts had been cut away. Perhaps organs had been carved out of the body.
Not worthy, his old professor’s voice whispered in his mind. Almost in a tutting tone. Not a worthy scholar.
“You read the book. It taught you. But not enough,” Finley guessed. “Not in time.”
Not before the creature’s body had deteriorated to the point where maybe the magic didn’t work. Maybe there was only enough to keep it “alive” in this state but not to leave. It needed more blood? More flesh?
Careless. Reckless. Not worthy, his professor murmured again.
Was it really him? Or was it just his own mind conjuring those words? Those thoughts?
“Life,” the creature breathed.
Finley compared his living, supple skin against the creature’s. The creature was looking down at his long, elegant hands. His father said he had a surgeon’s hands or a fine pianist’s. He had liked the idea of both things though he had sought to be neither. Now those hands that he had hardly thought about in years looked so alive. So filled with blood. So covered in flesh.
“Need… more,” the creature whispered. “Life.”
Finley needed to step back. He really needed to step back. His eyes caught sight of the blade in the creature’s hand. It had not lowered. Had it moved? Closer? A few inches? Yes, it had. The thing was careful to stay within the confines of the half moon of blood. It had the book and the dagger. He guessed that if either of them or the creature moved beyond that line of blood, the skeletons would be reanimated once more.
So to be safe, I need to be on this side of the line, he thought
