The ghost had unbuttoned his tunic where the garment covered his left shoulder. A long, ashen limb unfolded. A membrane of skin stretched from shoulder to wrist. The four fingers hung two or three feet long, and between them grew the same membranous skin.
Tulki formed a sentence in this sail of skin. Then the ghost peeled the text off and cast the spell to Nicodemus. It read, “Translating our word for this ‘arm’ is difficult. Your closest word might be ‘palette.’”
Tulki formed another paragraph within the membranous skin and then cast it to Nicodemus. “Appreciate that more skin gives a Wrixlan author more writing space. You black-robes carry books to hold more text. But our bodies are our texts. Long ago, our ancestors dwelled under the mountains with the greenskins and blueskins. Then the first Chthonic tribe created our dialects. It was then that the goddess Chimera helped shape our bodies to escape the brutal underworld of the blueskins.”
“Blueskins?”
Tulki took a moment to compose a reply. “Your word for them is ‘kobolds,’ and for greenskins, ‘goblins.’ They too write on their bodies. But their hides are tough, their dialects savage. They brand themselves. Our dialects require elegance. Our goddess used the First Language to adapt our bodies to our words. Our skin became soft and amenable to Pithan and Wrixlan; we wrote more and more on our left arms, and so we needed more and more skin.”
The ghost nodded to his palette before casting the next paragraph. “Through Chimera’s First Language, our left arms grew into palettes. You see why our ancestors thought each other monstrous. A Chthonic born with two arms would be like a human born with three.”
Nicodemus could only nod.
Tulki looked to the sky and then tossed out two quick sentences: “Dawn is not far. We must go underground.” With that, he hurried further into the rubble.
Following as quickly as he could, Nicodemus asked, “But what of Wrixlan being eugraphic? Can it cure my cacography in the wizardly languages?”
Without slowing, Tulki threw a reply over one shoulder. “No, but I don’t see what there is to ‘cure,’ as you say.”
By the time Nicodemus had finished reading this, Tulki had ducked inside an ancient building that still had much of its roof. Nicodemus followed and discovered that inside the hovel a set of narrow stairs led down into darkness.
The ghost’s body began to shed a soft, indigo light. “Mind your big feet,” he warned with a quick spell and then descended the stairs. “We hope you will stay with us and replenish our codex many times over the years. To remain hidden from the construct, you must stay underground during the day.”
“Why?” Nicodemus asked while negotiating the tiny steps.
“Because bright light, especially sunlight, deconstructs Wrixlan. Your ancestors used this to slaughter us. By night, we possessed spells as powerful as any human text. But by day, we were defenseless. How we used to dread the dawn when the blood-hungry legionaries would come.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and now stood in a rectangular cellar with a low ceiling and blank stone walls. “You must loathe me,” Nicodemus whispered.
Tulki smiled. “On the contrary, Nicodemus Weal, if you replenish our text, you will become one of the few humans I have ever truly liked.”
CHAPTER Thirty-five
The ghost pointed to a small stone vault and then tossed Nicodemus a sentence. “Our spectral codex is stored in there.”
Nicodemus lifted the vault’s lid and found a book, nearly the Index’s twin, lying at the bottom.
A glowing note from Tulki appeared next to Nicodemus’s hand. It read, “You need only place a hand on an open page. It might have a disorienting effect. Several hours may pass without your noticing. You might see flashes from our past-the codex also contains a history of our people.”
Nicodemus looked up at the ghost. “Will it make me sick?” When the ghost raised his eyebrows, he explained how touching the Index for the first time made him vomit.
The ghost shook his head. “That was because the Index forced Wrixlan into your mind. That will not be the case here. The Index is a tome; this book is a simple codex. However, when the sky lightens I must return to its pages. We Wrixlan ghosts never express ourselves outside of a manuscript during the day. The risk of exposure is too great.”
Nicodemus thought for a moment. “Before I begin, perhaps you could explain one more thing: you mentioned something called the First Language.”
Tulki wrote several sentences but then scratched his chin and began editing.
Nicodemus tried not to fidget as he waited.
When the response was finished, Tulki held it out while looking Nicodemus in the eye. It read, “The other eugrapher from long ago also asked about this. But I can’t satisfy much of your curiosity. I know the First Language changed our ancestors’ bodies. I know First Language prose keeps our living books alive. But that is all I know. Only by engaging a Bestiary could one learn the First Language. And only high priests were allowed to read a Bestiary in life. We ghosts won’t violate the old ways; none of us will engage our Bestiary.”
Nicodemus thought about this and then asked, “And why call it a Bestiary? Does the book describe animals?”
The ghost shook his head and wrote, “I don’t think so. I think it was a problem of translation. The Bestiary contains knowledge of the First Language. In fact, the center of any Chthonic colony is a Bestiary. It has to be that way, because a Bestiary helped us change to survive in a new realm.”
“And so these ruins were to be a new colony? That’s how you came here?”
Tulki wrote for a moment and then handed Nicodemus two paragraphs. “Not quite. This place was only a town, destroyed during the first siege. We ghosts were stranded here when Starhaven finally fell. When the legionaries breached the walls, several Chthonic warriors took our Bestiary and dashed southward. They hoped to reach the Iron Wood or the Grysome Mountains and establish a new colony. They brought with them two spectral codices. One was filled with artistic and priestly ghosts, the other with political and scholarly ghosts. I was stored in the latter.
“But the humans caught the escape party at dawn. The ensuing battle destroyed the codex holding the priestly ghosts. The living Chthonics who survived the human attack brought the Bestiary and the remaining spectral codex here to these ruins. After helping the Bestiary to write the protecting subtexts and metaspells, the living ran for the mountains and the Heaven Tree… they never made it.”
Nicodemus paused for a respectful moment before speaking. “And is your First Language related to Language Prime?”
The text gave him a quizzical look.
Nicodemus tried to explain. “Language Prime is the Creator’s language, the language of the first words, the source of all magic.”
The ghost frowned and held out a few sentences. “As I said, I am no priest. But I do remember the Neosolar Empire labeled the First Language as blasphemous. They said we were trying to alter the Creator’s text or some nonsense. They used the idea that we were distorting holy language to justify their bloodlust.”
Nicodemus read this and then said, “I must learn whatever I can about Language Prime. Your First Language might be similar to it. Is the Bestiary nearby?”
The ghost licked his lips before nodding.
“Am I capable of reading it?”
Tulki wrote a response and hesitantly held it out. “Yes… one needs only fluency in Wrixlan to engage the tome… but I fear I cannot let you do so.”
“Your religion forbids it? Is it dangerous?”