Casket of Souls

having his customary meal in the kitchen under the fond eye of the cook. “They’re hollerin’ for quarantine louder every day ’cause folk are staying away from the merchants nearest there.”
    “Then we’d better hurry,” said Seregil.
    Alec and Seregil rode to the temple and found it ringed with angry people shouting at the priests and trembling acolytes.
    “You know we can’t turn away the sick,” the head priest cried. “Maker’s Mercy, good people, let them at least die in peace.”
    They shouldered their way through the crowd and into the temple. Once inside, Alec shook his head, looking at all the sightless sleepers lined up against the walls. The boy he’d gotten the stone from lay on a pallet near the door.
    Alec hunted out the drysian in charge. “Could I borrow two of your acolytes, please, Brother? I need to send some messages.”
    The two boys were quickly sent off, one with a message for Valerius, the other for Thero.
    While they waited he and Seregil made use of their time examining the stricken people, looking for marks of any sort, or anything else out of the ordinary.
    “Here’s something,” said Alec, kneeling by one of the little girls. “Look, someone’s cut a lock of her hair in the back. I saw that on another of the little ones over there, too.” He turned to the drysian woman. “Have you noticed that with any of the others who’ve come through here?”
    “No. But we deal in illness, not hair.”
    “Alec, look!” Seregil pointed to a child on the far side of the room.
    It was the little golden-haired washerwoman’s daughter and her mother. The child still lived.
    “That’s a few days longer than we expected,” Alec pointed out hopefully.
    “We can’t take anything for granted,” Seregil warned.
    The wizard and drysian arrived within the hour. The crowd had swelled but parted respectfully for Valerius.
    Thero’s robe was rumpled and he looked rather hollow-eyed. He took in the room at a glance. “Your messenger told us a bit about what’s going on, but this? Look at all the little ones!”
    “I’ve been talking with the priests,” said Seregil. “At least half of them were seen making trades with the ravens. I think this may be magic, rather than a simple illness. Or magic that causes the illness, at least.”
    Thero nodded. “I’ll see what I can discover.”
    The wizard moved among the sick, touching them, brushing their minds—or trying to. There seemed to be no mind to touch. The bodies were mere empty, breathing husks. All the same, there was the faintest hint of something else, something that made him vaguely uncomfortable, like a bad smell. He took his time at it, and when he finished he washed his hands.
    “Did you find anything?” asked Valerius.
    “I’m not sure. It’s not like anything has been laid on them, but rather something taken away, leaving just the faintest echo in its wake.”
    “I sensed something similar,” Valerius told him.
    “Taken.” Alec touched a little girl’s hand. “Like their
khi
?”
    “Their soul, you mean?” Valerius shook his head. “They’d be dead if that were the case.”
    “Only if the soul is the same thing as life,” said Thero. “Philosophers have been debating that for centuries.” He tapped his chin, thinking. “There is one last thing I’d like totry, though. Help me move this older boy over to that clear place by the wall.”
    Seregil and Alec carried the boy to the spot he’d indicated and then stood back with Valerius as Thero took out his chalk and began drawing an elaborate pattern of symbols around the stricken one. When he was done there was a solid circle around the boy, with room enough for Thero to sit inside with him on the floor.
    He rested his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and sat in concentration for over an hour before giving up. At last he stood up, scuffed the chalk circle, and walked over to where Alec and the others were waiting.
    “Anything?” asked Seregil.
    “Just a headache.”
    “Didn’t you sense
any
magic?” Valerius asked impatiently.
    “No, nothing that I recognize as such.”
    “Could it be some form of necromancy?” Alec suggested.
    Thero gave him an affronted look. “I’m well versed in the various arts, Alec, as you very well know. That sort of magic always leaves traces and marks. If there is any magic to this, it’s too clean for necromancy. Nysander’s friend Teleus would have been the man to talk to about this, but he was killed