A Man Half Missing
The hidden path remained beneath the surface.
Bright green lines stretched through the lake from Verne's feet, tracing a crooked road of submerged stones toward the chapel.
The ferryman stared at it.
Verne stared at him.
A smug silence passed between them.
Verne enjoyed it immensely.
"You were saying something about your boat being the only way?"
The ferryman's eyes remained fixed on the path.
"I said it was the only crossing."
"That looks remarkably crossable."
"It shouldn't exist."
"Yet it does."
"It didn't yesterday."
That took a little wind out of the victory.
Verne looked back toward the glowing path.
"...Your lake is very poorly organized."
"It isn't my lake."
"You seem awfully committed to it."
The ferryman ignored that.
He stepped closer to the shore and studied the stones beneath the black water.
Most were barely visible without Verne's spell. Flat slabs of old gray stone twisted between reeds and drowned ruins, some sitting inches beneath the surface, others completely submerged.
"The pilgrim road," the ferryman muttered.
Verne glanced at him.
"Oh, so now it has a name."
"It disappeared before Mire's End was built."
"And naturally you neglected to mention it."
"I thought it was gone."
Verne folded his glove hands.
"Sounds like somebody should have used better magic."
The ferryman slowly looked at him.
Verne smiled.
Victory.
The ferryman turned back toward the water.
"The road once led to the chapel before the basin swallowed it. Pilgrims walked it when the chapel still stood above water."
"Wonderful."
"It was also inside the old boundary."
Less wonderful.
Verne's smile faded.
"So I still have to cross."
"Yes."
"But without accepting your crossing."
The ferryman considered that.
"Technically."
Verne brightened.
"Excellent."
"I wouldn't celebrate yet."
Verne immediately stopped brightening.
The ferryman crouched beside the first submerged stone.
"The road may let you pass without entering under the law of my skiff. But once you step beyond the marker stones, you are still inside the chapel's boundary."
He pointed into the fog.
Several ancient pillars rose from the lake halfway between Mire's End and the distant chapel.
"The rules change there."
"What rules?"
The ferryman stood.
"I don't know."
Verne stared at him.
"You don't know?"
"I know this lake better than anyone alive."
"That was not what I asked."
"And I know enough to tell you that whatever happens beyond those stones no longer obeys the rules I know."
That was...
actually concerning.
The ferryman stepped toward his skiff.
"I can follow alongside you until the markers."
Verne's eyes narrowed.
"In the cursed legal boat."
"In the cursed legal boat."
"And I don't get in."
"You don't get in."
"And therefore I accept nothing."
"Correct."
Verne thought about it.
"Fine."
The ferryman pushed the skiff into the water.
Verne floated over the first stone.
His boots hovered just above the black surface.
The green light from his spell pulsed beneath him, revealing the next stone.
Then the next.
The ferryman rowed beside him.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Which Verne considered the most pleasant conversation they had shared so far.
Fog curled around them.
The village disappeared almost immediately.
Soon there was nothing behind them but gray mist and the distant glow of marsh lanterns.
Ahead...
only black water.
Verne followed the path one glowing stone at a time.
Every so often, something moved beneath it.
Long shapes.
Slow shapes.
Shapes that seemed to notice when Verne noticed them.
He stopped looking.
The ferryman noticed.
"Good instinct."
"I wasn't afraid."
"I didn't say you were."
"Good."
They continued.
BONG.
The bell rang beneath them.
The sound vibrated through the stones.
Verne felt it travel through his body.
His spellbook trembled.
The ferryman looked toward the fog ahead.
"We're close."
Shapes emerged.
The marker stones.
Broken pillars jutted from the water in a wide circle, each covered in ancient carvings worn nearly smooth.
The green path passed directly between them.
The ferryman stopped at the marker stones.
Verne did not.
He floated past the first broken pillar and crossed the boundary.
Immediately, the glowing path beneath him disappeared.
Not faded.
Not dimmed.
Gone.
There was no road.
No submerged stones.
No convenient ancient pilgrim route.
Nothing.
Just black water.
Verne stopped.
He looked down.
Then back at the ferryman.
“You neglected to mention that.”
“I told you the rules change beyond the markers.”
“You could have been more specific!”
Verne cautiously floated farther out.
It was strange.
Levitation over solid ground had always been easy.
Levitation over water...
less so.
He sank an inch.
Corrected himself.
Sank another inch.
Corrected himself again.
There was absolutely no magical reason for this that Verne could identify.
Obviously, therefore, it was science.
Something about water.
Buoyancy.
Atmospheric displacement.
Moisture-based levitational resistance.
Science.
Very complicated.
No need to investigate further.
He floated onward.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
The chapel was still some distance ahead, barely visible through the fog.
Behind him, the ferryman remained beside the marker stones.
His skiff rocked gently against the boundary.
“You really cannot come any farther?” Verne called.
“I can.”
Verne turned.
The ferryman's expression had become noticeably less irritating.
“But I should not.”
That was different.
Verne looked at the water separating them.
“And what exactly happens if you do?”
The ferryman stared past him toward the chapel.
“For me?”
“Yes. That is generally what I mean when asking what happens to you.”
The ferryman gripped his pole.
“I stop belonging entirely to this side.”
Verne frowned.
“That was annoyingly poetic.”
“It was also accurate.”
Verne waited.
The ferryman sighed.
“If I cross without completing a lawful passage, the boundary takes payment.”
“What kind of payment?”
“Enough.”
Terrible answer.
Before Verne could demand a better one—
something moved beneath him.
Verne froze.
Something moved across the water.
Not beneath it.
Across it.
Verne stopped.
Twenty feet ahead, a girl stood on the lake.
Barefoot.
Young.
Maybe twelve.
Maybe thirteen.
Her pale chapel robes hung soaking wet around her body, though no water dripped from them. A length of black bell rope curled around one arm.
Her hair covered most of her face.
And beneath it...
nothing.
Not darkness.
Not shadow cast across features.
Nothing.
A person-shaped absence where a face should have been.
Verne stared.
The girl tilted her head.
“No.”
She took one step.
The black water did not ripple beneath her foot.
Verne floated backward.
“No, thank you.”
Another step.
“I have been remarkably accommodating tonight, and I believe I have reached my limit on horrifying lake nonsense.”
She disappeared.
Verne's eyes widened.
His body moved before his brain caught up.
He twisted sideways.
A black hand sliced through the exact place his throat had been.
The girl appeared beside him.
Verne shot backward.
“WOAH!”
She vanished again.
“Okay!”
Verne dropped low.
Too low.
His boot skimmed the water.
He immediately jerked back upward.
Again.
Water.
Levitation was simply harder over it.
Why?
Science.
Probably.
Very complicated science.
The girl appeared above him.
Verne rolled sideways in the air as both her hands snapped shut where his head had been.
He recovered several feet away.
“All right.”
His spellbook flipped open.
“You are fast.”
The girl vanished.
Verne's glove hands flared green.
“CELERITAS REACTORUM!”
Green light flashed through his body.
The world slowed.
Not actually.
Probably.
Verne was reasonably certain he had not just altered the fundamental flow of time.
Instead, everything suddenly became clearer.
Rain separated into individual droplets.
The flutter of his robe became strangely easy to follow.
The ripple of fog around the girl betrayed her position before she even appeared.
There.
Verne moved.
Her hand missed his face by inches.
There.
He ducked another strike.
There.
Spin.
Drop.
Rise.
The girl flickered around him like a living shadow, but now Verne was keeping up.
Barely.
Still counts.
She rushed from his right.
Verne slipped left.
She appeared behind him.
He folded forward, letting both hands pass over his hat.
Then he spun around and fired.
“VERDANTORUM BLAST!”
A bolt of green magic struck her directly in the chest.
It passed straight through.
The girl kept coming.
“Oh.”
Verne dodged.
“Fine.”
He fired again.
Three green bolts.
Chest.
Head.
Leg.
All through.
No effect.
“That is cheating.”
The girl lunged.
Verne shot upward.
Much harder over water.
Science.
He corrected his balance and opened his spellbook wider.
Fine.
Direct magic did not work.
He had other options.
Many options.
Some of them were even tested.
“APIARUM ASSAULTIA!”
Green light burst outward.
Then—
BZZZZZZZZZZZ.
A swarm of spectral bees exploded into existence around him.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
They descended upon the shadow girl.
Or tried to.
The first bee passed directly through her forehead.
The second flew through her chest.
The third circled around once as though reconsidering its career choices.
The entire swarm became deeply confused.
Verne watched them orbit the girl uselessly.
“Attack her!”
The bees tried again.
Straight through.
One bee stopped in midair and looked at Verne.
“Don't give me that look!”
The girl appeared beside him.
Verne ducked.
Her arm swept through the swarm.
The bees scattered.
Verne zipped backward.
“Fine! New strategy!”
The spectral bees vanished.
The spellbook flipped pages rapidly.
Verne's eyes scanned.
Explosion.
No.
Transformation.
Probably no.
Bee-related explosion.
Tempting.
Mind alteration.
Perfect.
Verne thrust both hands forward.
“BENEVOLENTIA CEREBRUM!”
A soft green pulse washed over the girl.
“BECOMETH NICER!”
Nothing.
She kept walking.
Verne frowned.
He cast it again.
“FRIENDLORUM!”
Nothing.
“EMPATHIA!”
Nothing.
“PLEASETH STOP TRYING TO MURDER ME!”
Still nothing.
Verne lowered his hands.
Then realized the problem.
“Oh.”
He looked at the empty space where her face should have been.
“Right.”
No visible head contents.
Possibly no brain.
Verne had just attempted mind magic on something that may not possess a mind.
This felt like an understandable oversight.
The shadow girl disappeared.
Verne saw the fog move.
Left.
He darted right.
She appeared.
Missed.
Behind.
He dropped.
Missed.
Above.
Verne twisted and shot forward.
Missed again.
For several seconds, the two moved across the lake in a blur.
Black shadow.
Green light.
Verne's robe whipped behind him.
His floating gloves snapped through spell gestures almost faster than he could think of them.
He could not hurt her.
But she could not catch him either.
And that was beginning to annoy her.
Good.
Verne smiled.
“Not so terrifying when your victim possesses exceptional magical reflexes, are you?”
Behind the marker stones, the ferryman shouted:
“DON'T TAUNT IT!”
“I HAVE THIS UNDER CONTROL!”
The shadow girl vanished.
Verne watched the fog.
Nothing.
He watched the water.
Nothing.
His smile faded slightly.
“Mostly.”
A ripple moved behind him.
Verne spun.
Nothing.
Another to his left.
He fired.
Nothing.
Then right.
Nothing.
The ferryman's voice sharpened.
“Verne.”
“I see it!”
He did not see it.
The lake beneath him became perfectly still.
Verne slowly looked down.
There was no reflection beneath him.
That seemed bad.
The shadow girl erupted upward.
Verne reacted instantly.
He launched backward—
exactly as she wanted.
She disappeared again.
Verne's enhanced senses caught the movement behind him.
He turned.
Too late.
Both hands locked around his throat.
Verne's eyes widened.
The girl stood firmly on the black water.
Verne did not.
That distinction suddenly became extremely important.
She pulled.
His levitation broke.
His boots hit the lake.
Then his knees.
Verne's glove hands grabbed her wrists.
Passed straight through.
“Oh, come—”
Her fingers tightened.
The sentence died.
She shoved him downward.
Verne fought upward.
Nothing.
His feet had no ground.
Hers somehow did.
She had leverage.
He had...
science.
Bad science.
The water reached his waist.
Verne kicked backward, trying to generate distance.
The girl simply walked forward.
Water climbed to his chest.
Verne threw one glove hand toward her face.
Green fire erupted.
Straight through.
Another spell.
Nothing.
A burst of spectral bees.
They flew through her.
“Mmgh—!”
This was becoming unreasonable.
The water reached his shoulders.
The girl tightened her grip.
Then shoved him completely under.
The lake swallowed him.
Cold.
Instantly.
Violently.
Verne's robe ballooned around him.
His hat remained attached through sheer magical stubbornness.
The girl's hands stayed around his throat.
Her feet remained planted on the surface above him as though she were standing on solid stone.
Verne kicked.
Twisted.
Tried to levitate.
He rose perhaps two inches before she forced him back down.
Green light erupted from his gloves.
Nothing.
He tried another spell.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
Even the reflex enchantment was fading now.
His chest burned.
The edges of his vision began turning black.
This...
was not how Verne died.
Obviously.
There were going to be stories about him.
Books.
Songs.
Perhaps tasteful statues.
Nobody was going to tell heroic tales about the legendary wizard who was put into a throat grab by a little girl and drowned in a swamp.
That was an appalling ending.
Completely unusable.
Verne tried to cast again.
His glove barely moved.
Darkness crept farther inward.
He could hear the bell.
Not through his ears.
Inside him.
BONG.
His thoughts started becoming difficult to hold.
Tallbarrow.
Marra.
Morrowax.
The crown.
A golden bee circling his hat.
His map.
His spellbook.
His hat.
Very good hat.
Actually...
exceptional hat.
Perhaps—
Something hit the shadow girl like a runaway wagon.
Her hands vanished from Verne's throat.
The girl flew sideways across the surface.
Verne sank.
For one horrible second, he continued downward.
Then instinct took over.
His levitation caught.
Barely.
Verne shot upward.
His head broke the surface.
“HHHAAAAAAGH!”
Air.
Air was fantastic.
Verne coughed violently and dragged himself several feet above the lake.
His robe poured water.
His hat sagged sideways.
His dignity was somewhere at the bottom of Blackreed Basin.
He blinked water from his eyes.
Then looked toward whatever had hit her.
The ferryman stood on the lake.
Not in his boat.
On it.
Verne stopped coughing.
Half of the man no longer existed.
His right side had become pitch-black absence.
Half his face.
Half his chest.
His entire right arm.
His right leg.
The darkness ended in ragged drifting edges where flesh should have continued.
And yet that missing foot rested perfectly atop the black water.
On his remaining side, the sole of his normal boot had begun changing too.
Blackness spread upward around its edge.
Slowly.
Steadily.
The ferryman looked down at himself.
Then at the shadow girl.
“Wonderful.”
She stood.
The ferryman cracked his neck.
Verne stared.
“You can walk on the water?”
The shadow girl rushed him.
“Apparently.”
She tried to sprint past.
The ferryman turned.
One movement.
His non-physical arm hooked around her middle.
He lifted her completely off the lake.
And threw her twenty feet in the opposite direction.
Verne blinked.
The girl hit the water.
Skidded.
Stopped.
The ferryman looked at Verne.
“Move.”
Verne remained exactly where he was.
“What happened to you?”
“Verne.”
“What is happening to your leg?”
“Move.”
The girl rushed them again.
The ferryman turned back toward her.
She feinted right.
Then darted left toward Verne.
The ferryman took one step.
Caught her by the back of the robe with a single hand.
Stopped all of her momentum instantly.
Lifted her off the water.
And tossed her away again.
Verne stared.
Okay.
That was annoyingly impressive.
The ferryman watched her land.
“Crossing the boundary without completing passage changes me.”
The blackness around his remaining boot reached his ankle.
Verne pointed.
“It appears to be continuing.”
“It will.”
“How far?”
“All the way.”
The girl attacked again.
The ferryman stepped directly into her route.
She tried to slip around him.
He shifted.
Blocked.
She reversed.
He reversed.
Every move she made toward Verne ended with the ferryman simply being there.
No dramatic spells.
No frantic movement.
No wasted effort.
She vanished into shadow.
The ferryman watched the water.
She appeared behind him.
His nonexistent arm snapped backward and caught her by the throat.
Verne's eyes widened.
The ferryman did not even turn around.
He lifted her.
Then threw her back into the fog.
Verne slowly lowered his pointing hand.
“Okay.”
The ferryman glanced at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were about to say something.”
“I was not.”
The shadow girl came running back.
The ferryman sighed.
“You need to get to the chapel.”
Verne finally started backing away.
“What happens when that reaches the rest of you?”
The ferryman's expression hardened.
“I stop being what I was.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It wasn't intended to be.”
He caught another charge.
Turned.
Threw.
The darkness had reached halfway up his calf.
Verne's expression changed.
“How do we stop it?”
The ferryman looked toward the chapel.
“You set the chapel free.”
Verne stopped.
Behind him, the crooked building waited in the fog.
The ferryman kept his eyes on the shadow girl.
“Whatever is happening down there is holding the boundary wrong.”
She rushed him.
He caught her.
Again.
“Things that should have been released are still here.”
Throw.
“And now—”
The darkness climbed another inch.
“—so am I.”
Verne stared at him.
“So if I don't fix the chapel...”
The ferryman finally looked over.
“You don't fix me.”
The shadow girl sprinted toward Verne again.
The ferryman moved.
Grabbed.
Turned.
Threw.
Then pointed at the chapel.
“So yes.”
His shadow half flickered.
“You owe me one.”
Verne's glove hands spread.
“You almost tricked me into accepting a cursed boat contract!”
“I PULLED YOU OUT OF A LAKE!”
“THOSE EVENTS MAY CANCEL EACH OTHER OUT!”
“They absolutely do not!”
The shadow girl charged again.
The ferryman intercepted her with a shoulder so hard she disappeared back into the mist.
“You can argue about it after I still exist!”
That...
was difficult to dispute.
Verne turned toward the chapel.
Behind him, the ferryman called:
“And Verne?”
He looked back.
The ferryman stood between him and the shadow girl.
Half man.
Half absence.
Slowly disappearing.
Still completely unwilling to give her a single inch.
“Move.”
Verne did.
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