Thorne Mire's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

Thorne knelt beside the skeletal horse and ran her fingers along its jaw bone. The creature stood silent, waiting for her command. She needed to learn control before raising more guardians. One word could make the dead walk. The wrong word could make them fall apart. She stood and wiped the mud from her hands. The mansion had given her a place to practice, but she needed more than empty rooms. She needed knowledge. Real knowledge about death magic and how to control it. Through the morning fog, she spotted something new. A small cottage sat between two twisted oak trees, its brick walls crumbling at the edges. Stone tablets leaned against the windows, blocking most of the light inside. Thorne approached slowly, her boots squelching in the wet ground. The door hung crooked on its hinges. She pushed it open and stepped inside. Dust covered everything, but shelves lined every wall. Books sat stacked in piles. Scrolls filled wooden crates. Her chest tightened with excitement. This was what she needed. Ancient texts about raising the dead. Instructions for controlling dark magic. She pulled a leather-bound book from the nearest shelf and opened it. The pages showed diagrams of bones and symbols she didn't recognize yet. She would learn them. She would study every word until the magic became part of her. With this cottage and these books, she could finally build her army of guardians. Thorne spent the day reading until the light faded from the windows. The symbols began to make sense. Bones needed specific words. Each type of creature required different bindings. She marked pages with strips of torn cloth and stacked the most useful books by the door. As darkness fell, she knew she couldn't stop now. She searched the cottage until she found a glass jar filled with glowing insects. Their light pulsed behind the cork stopper, bright enough to read by. She carried the jar outside and set it on the ground near the skeletal horse. The fireflies lit the area in soft bursts. She opened the first book and read the words aloud, testing them on her tongue. The skeletal horse shifted, responding to her voice. She read again, clearer this time. The creature took three steps forward, then stopped. Control. She was learning control. With these books and this light, she could practice all night. She needed a proper place to work. The ground was too uneven for spreading out components. Thorne walked around the cottage until she found a wooden workbench behind a tangle of vines. She dragged it into the open and wiped away the moss. The raised edges would keep small bones from rolling away. She placed the jar of fireflies on one corner and opened three books across the surface. Now she could prepare materials properly. She arranged the horse's spare bones in rows, studying how they connected. The diagrams in the books showed her where each piece belonged. She practiced the binding words while touching different bones. Each word made her throat burn, but the pain was becoming familiar. By dawn, she had memorized five complete rituals. Her first real lesson was complete. The swamp would have its guardians soon.