The Half-Ghosts: A Spirit Prince

Ch. 7: Blade

Aether backed up, and Hemmett saw spectricity crackle through her small body. He half felt the urge to expel his bident, but the man didn't seem particularly threatening now. Besides, a haunting ghost bore no threat to them. His range was limited to something he was haunting around here--they could easily outpace him, escape. Even the knife he held could do nothing. Hemmett and Aether would rejoin from knife wounds almost immediately. He--Blade--must just be carrying the knife as a remembrance or a favored item, and not as a weapon.

"Back down," he told Aether. Blade saw the spectricity but didn't move. He bowed his head to take what was coming to him. Hemmett held out a hand to Aether, and she paused, but kept up her shield. Her hands worked to build a charge between them--spectricity bolts if she needed them.

"Get up, please," said Hemmett, although he rather liked being bowed to. "Is this true? You really are a haunting ghost? And our cousin?"

Aether gritted her teeth.

"The histories don't mention your death," she said. "I assume it was recent."

"No," he said, moving easily into a standing position. "Not so recent. I've been haunting here about twelve years now, by my estimation."

"Your death has not been much regarded," observed Aether. She let the spectricity drain out of her and approached him. Blade continued spinning his knife. Hemmett tried to sense him--if he was really dead, what did that mean for him, as a half-ghost? What was death, for a half-ghost?

"I suppose you want to hear about it," said Blade. "The whole long, sordid tale. Please, have a seat, such as they are. My gravesite is over here, if you'd like to accompany me."

The stone contained the words "Blade Doctorman, 1995-2024." Hemmett scraped some of the moss away to read the epitaph. "In death, heal the wounds of time." --A.M. He pointed to it, and Aether bent down to inspect it.

"I think it's grandmother's words," she said. "I heard that she took Blade as a protégé for awhile. Look, this stone isn't of mortal origin." She scraped at it, and Hemmett watched the thin trails of mist rise up from its surface. Ectoplasmic.

"Yes, Aletheia Mysterium took me in and tried to provide me with some measure of peace. Spiritually, it was quite successful. My mortal self, though . . . " He held up his hands, then ran his fingers against his thumbs as if something was disintegrating out of them.

"Is this the terminus of your mortal self?" Aether pointed to the stone. "Your point of haunt?"

"It is," said Blade. "Have you two never seen a gravesite?"

Hemmett moved in closer to see this curiosity.

"We have stones like this in one of our gardens, at home," he said. "You've seen them, Aether. They have names on them, and dates."

"Mortal bodies lie under these stones," explained Blade. His face stayed patient, but Hemmett though he detected a hint of exasperation. Blade had been a genius, after all, and probably still was.

"I apologize for my ignorance," said Hemmett. "Aether and I are on a spirit tour to learn about the mortal world. We have been . . . sheltered."

Blade raised his eyebrows, and leaned back against his gravestone.

"So it would seem," he said, his voice dark. "You could do with a good mortal education. I, on the other hand, could have benefited from a more balanced spiritual education." He shook his index finger at them. "Your parents aren't doing you any favors by hiding things from you. Mine did me no favors by hiding nothing from me."