Simply put, he had vision enough to see another human soul before him,
and courage enough not to turn away. For such was the spirit of his
kind.
Twelve
She had found what she sought: a chant to raise the spirits of the
dead. In terror at her own resolve, yet no more able to restrain
herself than to stop her heart from beating, she put the book beneath
her arm, wrapped a thick cloak about her, then lit and lifted the
torch that she had found.
The night was still and cold as she stole from the hut, with traces of
ghostly mist already forming in the hollows. The moon shone full and
hard, dimming the surrounding stars with its halo of pale white.
She made for the Standing Stone, as dry as bone, where the power was
strongest, older than the hills themselves. She felt that she moved
not of her own accord, but as a puppet upon the strings of some higher
(or lower) being. The reading of those dark, soul-splitting words had
done its work on her. She moved as if entranced---eyes wide, mind dark
and dulled. Only very deep, in the roots of her being, did the heart
remain intact; and she realized that no matter how strange the
vehicle, or how terrible the consequences, this was a thing which must
be done.
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