The sheep were scattered about the hillside, grazing contently, glad to be eating the tender green grass after the stale hay on which they’d subsisted during the cold months. Spring meant shearing time and lambing and then Rhys would be busy. But, for the moment, all was peaceful.
Atta lay by his side. She had a scar on her flank where her fur would not grow, but otherwise she had recovered from her injuries, as Rhys had recovered from his. Atta’s gaze was now divided between the sheep (always a worry) and her new litter of pups. Only a few months old, the pups were already showing a strong interest in herding, and Rhys had started training them. He and the pups had worked all morning, and the exhausted pups were now sleeping in a furry black and white heap, pink noses twitching, Rhys had marked one already—the boldest and most adventuresome—-to give to Mistress Jenna.
Rhys sat at his ease, his emmide resting in the crook of his arms. He was wrapped in a thick cloak, for though the sun shone, the wind still nipped with winter’s teeth. His mind floated free among the high, feathery clouds, touching lightly on many things and passing on to others; in all things honoring Majere.
Rhys was alone on the hillside, for the sheep were his care and his responsibility, and he was therefore startled to be lured from his reverie by a voice.
“Hullo, Rhys! I’ll bet you’re surprised to see me!”
Rhys had to admit he was surprised. Surprised was hardly the word, in fact, for sitting calmly by his side was Nightshade.
The kender grinned gleefully at Rhys’ shock. “I’m a ghost, Rhys! That’s why I look washed out and wobbly. Isn’t it exciting? I’m haunting you.”
Nightshade grew suddenly concerned. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“No,” Rhys said, though it took him a moment to find his voice.
Hearing her master speak, Atta lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder to see if she was wanted.
“Hi, Atta!” Nightshade waved. “Your puppies are beautiful. They look just like you.”
Atta’s eyes narrowed. She sniffed the air, sniffed again, thought things over, then, dismissing what she did not understand, rested her head on her paws and went back to watching her charges.
“I’m glad I didn’t scare you,” Nightshade continued. “I keep forgetting I’m dead and I have an unfortunate tendency to drop in on people suddenly. Poor Gerard.” The ghost heaved a sigh. “I thought he was going to have an apologetic fit.”
“Apoplectic,” Rhys corrected, smiling.
“That, too,” said Nightshade solemnly. “He went extremely white and started wheezing, and then he vowed he would never touch another drop of dwarf spirits as long as he lived. When I tried to cheer him up by assuring him I wasn’t a hallu—a halluci—that he wasn’t seeing things and that I was real live ghost, he began to wheeze even harder.”
“Did he recover?” Rhys asked.
“I think so,” Nightshade said cautiously. “Gerard scolded me soundly after that. He told me I’d taken ten years off his life and then he said he had enough trouble with living kender and he wasn’t about to be plagued by a dead one and I was to go back to the Abyss or wherever it was I’d come from. I told him I wasn’t in the Abyss. I’d been on a world tour, and that I understood his feelings perfectly, and I’d just stopped in to say ‘thank you’ for all the kind things he said about me at my funeral.
“I was there, by the way. It was really lovely. So many important people came! Mistress Jenna and the Abbot of Majere and the Walking God and the elves and Galdar and a minotaur delegation. I especially enjoyed the fight in the bar afterward, though I guess that wasn’t really part of the funeral. And I like having my ashes scattered underneath the Inn. Makes me feel that part of me will never leave. Sometimes I think I can smell the spiced potatoes, which is odd, since ghosts can’t smell. Why do you suppose that is?”
Rhys had to admit he didn’t know.
Nightshade gave a shrug, then frowned. “Where was I?”
“You were talking about Gerard—”
“Oh, yes, I told him I’d come to good-bye before I started on the next stage of my journey, which, by the way, is going to be extremely exciting. I’ll tell you why in a minute. It has to do with my grasshopper. Anyway, Gerard wished me luck and escorted me to the door and opened it to let me out. I said he didn’t need to open the door because I can whisk right through doors and walls and even ceilings. He told me I wasn’t to go whisking through his door or his wall. He was quite stern about it, so I didn’t. And I don’t think he was serious when he said he going to swear off dwarf spirits, because after I left I saw him grab the jug and take a big swig.”
“Did you say good-bye to anyone else?” Rhys asked, considerably alarmed at the thought.
Nightshade nodded. “I went to visit Laura. After what happened with Gerard, I thought I’d sneak up on Laura gradually—you know, give her time to get used to me.” The ghost sighed. “But that didn’t make any difference. She screamed and threw her apron over her head and broke a whole stack of dirty dishes when she fell into the wash basin. So I thought it would be best if I didn’t stick around. Now I’m here with you, and you’re my last stop, and then I’m off for good.”
“I am glad to see you, my friend,” said Rhys. “I have missed you very much.”
“I know,” said Nightshade. “I felt you missing me. It was a good feeling, but you mustn’t be sad. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here. Time doesn’t have much meaning for me anymore and there were so many places to visit and so much to see. Do you know there’s a whole ’nother continent! It’s called Taladas and it’s a very interesting place, though that’s not where I’m going on my soul’s journey—Oh, that reminds me. I have to tell you about Chemosh.
“The ghosts I talked to when I was a Nightstalker told me how when you die your soul goes before the Lord of Death to be judged. I was looking forward to that part and it was very exciting. I stood in line with a whole bunch of other souls: goblins and draconians, kender and humans, elves and gnomes and ogres and more. Each soul goes up before the Lord of Death, who sits on an enormous throne—very impressive. Sometimes he tries to tempt them to stay with him. Or sometimes they’re already sworn to follow him or some other god, like Morgion, who is not a nice person, let me tell you! And sometimes other gods come to tell Chemosh that he’s to keep his hands off. Reorx did that for a dwarf.
“So I was standing there in the back of the line, thinking it was going to take me a long, long time to reach the front, when suddenly the Lord of Death bolts up from his throne. He walks down the line and comes to stand in front of me! He glares at me quite fiercely and looks very angry and tells me I can go. I said I didn’t mind staying; I was visiting with some friends, and that was true. I’d run into some dead kender and we were talking about how interesting it was being dead, and we described how each of us had died and they all agreed that none of them could top me since I’d been killed by a god.
“I started to explain this Chemosh, but he snarled and said he wasn’t interested. My soul had already been judged, and I was free to go. I looked around, and there was the White Lady and Majere and Zeboim and all three moon gods, and Kiri-Jolith in his shining armor and some other gods I didn’t recognize and even Sargonnas! I wondered what they were all doing there, but the White Lady said they’d come to honor me, though Zeboim said she’d come just to make sure I was really dead. The gods all shook my hand, and when I came to Majere, he touched the grasshopper that was still pinned to my shirt, and he said that it would let me jump forward to see where I was going and then jump back to say goodbye. And I was just telling Mishakal how much I liked her gingerbread and I was about ready to leave when who do you think came to see me?”