The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

repeat the same arguments over and over, phrased a little differently, but accomplishing nothing.” She stomped her foot in frustration.
    Both ghosts paused and looked at her, acknowledging something outside their own bitterness for the first time.
    “You have both been trapped in this half-life, this nothingness, for three hundred years. You’ve accomplished nothing in that time, a true reflection of the nothing you accomplished in life.”
    Both opened insubstantial mouths to protest.
    “What did you achieve?” she asked Powwell.
    “I was the greatest healer of my time. I researched the healing arts and brought new techniques to ease the pain and suffering of many,” Powwell intoned. The little hedgehog perched on his palm bristled as if protesting the statement.
    “According to this journal, written in your own hand, Powwell, many of those techniques were borrowed from rogue and blood magic. All of them have been rejected by the Commune since then. Your legacy is forgotten.” She held up the little book.
    I taught many new magicians in the University while Nimbulan wandered aimlessly in search of something that eluded him all his life, Ackerly returned.
    “Our histories tell us that Nimbulan found dragon magic and brought an end to the Great Wars of Disruption. You died opposing him in the final battle of the war.” Vareena allowed the silence to stretch for another endless moment. “We remember Nimbulan with love and adulation. No one remembered either of you until Nimbulan’s journals were found.”
    Nimbulan found peace with his wife and family. He died at the age of ninety, content with his life and his death. I was there. I guided him to the void that final time. Powwell almost choked on this thought/words. His words and form faded to a mere echo inside Vareena’s mind. If he faded much more, she’d lose contact with him altogether. He was the greatest man of his time. More a father to me than you, Ackerly. He loved me, nurtured me, wept with me when Kalen died.
    “Then accept him as your father and seek a new existence. Continue his greatness by passing beyond your misery and seeking happiness and good in a new life.” Vareena sensed Powwell’s hesitation. His form wavered, strengthening and fading in his indecision.
    “And you, Ackerly. Give up your gold, give up this illusion of power. True power is in the kind of love Nimbulan gave his family, his apprentices, and his country. You are reviled as a traitor by those who do know of you. You can have the kind of power Nimbulan had in your next life if you only try. You can have a family to nurture and love next time. But you have to give up the gold.”
    Powwell reached out a hand to Ackerly. Join me, Father, in this new quest. Begin your healing alongside me.
    Ackerly lifted his hand as well.
    The solid iron of the staircase blocked them.
    Tears in her eyes, Vareena ran to the first step. She had to brush Ackerly’s ghostly robes. Chills racked her body at the unnatural touch. Just a small taste of what was to come, if she succeeded.
    She couldn’t turn back now. She had to succeed. She had to end this here and now.
    One at a time she mounted the steps until she stood halfway between the two ghosts. “Let me guide you both forward.” She held out a hand to each. Bare finger-lengths separated her hands from theirs. “You have to try harder. You have to reach beyond your fears, beyond the limitations of this existence.”
    Both ghosts leaned forward, bending around the iron barrier.
    Still they could not reach her.
    Then Powwell shifted his staff. He grasped the butt end and pushed the crystal-studded head down. It dropped on the second step.
    Ackerly couldn’t reach it without touching the deadly iron. Vareena grasped the crystal at the end of the staff. Ackerly held out the hilt of his knife for her questing hands. She clutched them both tightly.
    Light, power, love pulsed through the staff and the knife. They washed over Vareena in endless, daunting waves. The onslaught of emotions drained the strength from her knees. The intricate pattern of the iron stair pressed through her gown, bruising her mortal flesh. She fought to remain conscious, to keep the tunnel of light open for the two souls who must take the first steps toward their next existence.
    The magical tools burned her palms. The iron stairs seared her knees. Light pierced her eyes, until she knew she must close them or be blinded for life. Her aching need for freedom