Necrophobia by Mark Devaney

laugh escaped Claire that surprised her. “I have the opposite problem. I don’t remember her at all — I was too young.”
    The silence within the now empty library was deafening. The pause dragged on for a while and the sorcerer seemed at a loss for words, his eyes twinkled in the candlelight.
    “What was she like?”
    “Like you. Driven, clever, set her eyes on a goal and threw herself at it. It made her an excellent Inquisitor and a brilliant magus too, capable of truly fantastic spell-work. Many impressive victories during her career, rogue sorcerers, high profile traitors — you name it. That’s how she met your father, each hunters in their own way. She put aside the dangerous work when she had you.”
    “I have tried to learn magic, it’s just every time I try I get distracted and it reminds me of her. It’s difficult to concentrate then.” Without realising it her hand clutched the silver ring on her left hand.
    Razakel smiled. “I understand.” He stroked his chin as he watched the snowflakes drift past the window, as the storm calmed. The moons shining through the thick greying clouds in the night. “There’s a way I could show you some of my memories. I could show you what I remember of Eleanor, but I can’t do it here. Not in Caelholm. Perhaps some time in the future.”
    “I’d like that. You’ll be leaving soon I imagine, chasing the dragon and the Inquisitor.”
    “I’m afraid so. I’ve been chasing him across the continent, he’s a slippery snake I’ll give him that.” He waved a hand at some of the open books. Leaning forward she could see all sorts of symbols: most of them were eyes, some spiked eyelids others recurring motives of eyes watching, one seemed to be an owl’s face with a third eye.
    “What’s that one mean?” She asked pointing at the latter.
    “It’s a symbol he keeps using between the different cults he creates and stirs towards his goals. The three-eyed owl. It’s been common in different forms for over twenty years.” The venerable sorcerer rubbed his weary eyes and stifled another yawn.
    “Any idea what it means?”
    He handed her the book allowing her a closer look, the third eye raised and in the centre of the owl’s facial disc. “Owls are often symbols of death and omens of the afterlife in many cultures, messengers of the gods, sometimes said to deliver souls. Often a lot of spectral sightings I’ve investigated are simply the common barn owl. Brilliant, beautiful creatures. They’re also believed to embody wisdom and knowledge. That seems to be the Inquisitor’s goal so far; he’s interested in collecting knowledge and lore rather than destruction.”
    “Knowledge on what?” Claire said as she leafed through the tome. Pages upon pages of cult symbology and common recurring beliefs.
    “Death. The dying, the undead, vampirism, the soul, the afterlife. Like Morveil I suspect he’s acquired some form of immortality, but how I do not know.”
    “They hated each other. Why work together?” She tapped the mahogany desk idly with her finger, her brow furrowed. “Didn’t he mention a master of some sort? Perhaps they were forced to work together.”
    “Very possible. This attack today wasn’t like any of his others, whomever Haures claims to work for seems to have different goals to the Inquisitor himself. When left to his own devices the Inquisitor is far more devious, far more subtle in his pursuit of forbidden lore.”
    “Interesting. What does the third eye symbolise? Seeing what others cannot seems too obvious.”
    The man shrugged and rubbed at his tired eyes once more. “Sometimes the simplest solution is the best. For all their secrecy and codes, most cults aren’t as subtle as they think they are.” He rose up and gathered some of the books and wrapped his cloak around him. “I must retire to my quarters, the day has taken quite a lot out of me I’m afraid.”
    “You look rougher than I feel.”
    He smiled. “And please,