Page 54 of The Rut in the Road

“Oh, that isfascinating,” the orc breathed as Sylvia reached out again, this time gently stroking her ghostly finger over Victor’s tiny head.

“It’s cuz he’s got a soul,”Archie whispered.

“But we all have souls,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you ain’t dead, sport,”the necromancer said, not looking at me. He was taking a turn petting Victor, running a translucent finger down the rat’s spine.“He is. So we can touch that part of him, I’m guessin’.”

“This is incredible,” Mason said again, then went to grab his glasses and a notebook, starting to scribble notes.

“You’re seriouslytaking notes?” Ward asked him, although there seemed to be fondness mixed in with the incredulity.

“None of what Fiona brought Rayn makes any mention of corruption-free necromancy,” Mason argued back. “As far as we know, this is unprecedented magic.”

Ward rolled his eyes. “Or it isn’t, it’s just that people who aren’t power-hungry assholes aren’t writing down all their great exploits in resurrecting the family cat.”

Mason glared at him, but his voice sounded almost affectionate when he spoke. “If nobody’s published on it, it will still break new ground, academically speaking.”

“You would care more about publishing an article than the fact that there’s an undead rat in Alma’s bed.” But Ward sounded amused rather than upset.

“Would anyone care to explain what ‘not having corruption’ means?” I asked, finally, since it didn’t seem like anybody was going to do that.

They all looked at me.

“Well, generally speaking, when the dead are raised with the spirit inside, the spirit is corrupted or damaged,” Mason replied, but he was speaking slowly, the way he did when he was thinking. “For example, when I raised my dog—also accidentally, by the way—he was… agitated and aggressive.” Mason regarded Victor. “This rat is very much not—now, he isn’t exactly acting like a normal rat, either,” he continued. “But I think that yourpresence or proximity is probably providing the reassurance he needs that he’s safe.” He shrugged.

“What Archie and I can see,” Ward added. “Is that there isn’t any darkness in the magic. With other instances of necromancy—or connected magic—the colors of the magic are literally tainted with black, like ink mixed in with paint.” He gestured toward Victor. “But the magic that’s wrapped around your little friend here is all red and gold—death magic, and also life magic.”

“Huh,” Mason said, suddenly.

“What?” Ward asked him.

“I should have thought about that,” Mason replied, a chagrined half-smile on his lips. “I didn’t think about the fact that Rayn might actually be able to weave life magic inwithdeath magic because he isn’t a traditional necromancer, he’s a death witch.”

“And witchcraft is about balance,” I said, softly, repeating something Mason had said to me many times over the past few years.

His smile widened, showing his upper fangs along with the lower ones. “Exactly,” he confirmed. “Which suggests that perhaps necromancers learned from witches, but lacked the ability to weave life-casting in with death magic, andthatis why necromancy always results in corrupted souls.”

“Then why didn’t the same thing happen with your dog?” I asked him.

Mason’s smile turned into a grimace. “Because I was grieving and desperate. My energy was negative—yours likely wasn’t.” He suddenly let out a barked laugh. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, then looked at me. “Or you’re not a death witch at all.”

Now everyone—not including Victor—turned to stare at Mason. “What?” Ward was the one who said it.

“What if he’s actually alife-caster, but the conditions of your life, Rayn,” he’d turned to me partway into the sentence,“shifted your magic so that you’re actually using life-casting to manipulate death magic?”

I blinked at him. “I have no idea what that means,” I admitted.

“I’m not sure any of us do, sunshine,”Sylvia said, floating over. Archie stayed near the floor, still gently stroking Victor.

Mason chuckled again. “It means,” he said, “that part of why you’ve been struggling so much with your death magic might be because you’re not a death witch at all. Death is the opposing force of life-casting, and, given where you… grew up”—I didn’t miss the pause in that sentence—“your magic ended up being twisted around so that you could defend yourself. You had no need for life-casting in Tranquil Brook, but death magic had potential defensive value. So that’s how it got channeled.” He looked over at Sylvia. “Kind of like how you always felt sensitive—and how every time something went wrong, it caught on fire—but until you started deliberately playing with fire, you couldn’t manipulate yours.”

Sylvia and Ward were both nodding. “He’s been trying to train the wrong kind of magic,” Ward said. He offered me a sardonic smile. “Believe me, I know what that’s like and how incredibly frustrating it is.”

“It would also explain,” Mason continued, “why someone so powerful doesn’t seem to be capable of all that much.” He glanced at me, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, Rayn. I should have noticed earlier. I suppose I just assumed that you were psychologically blocking yourself, not that you were being taught the wrong kind of magic.”

I blinked. “I’m not that powerful,” I replied.

Ward let out a loud laugh. “Rayn, believe me, yes, you are.”