Jeremiah was on his fourth day of slogging through the nastiest swath of swampland he had ever seen. His boots had long since soaked through as he trudged through fetid pools filled with crocodiles, venomous snakes, and quicksand. The cloud of mosquitos was so constant that he had given up swatting them. His shoulders throbbed under the straps of his pack, which held as much fresh water as he could carry, in addition to his normal supplies, and each step sank that much deeper into the muck because of it. But Jeremiah face was plastered with an unassailable grin through every boot-sucking step, for his goal was finally in sight.

　　Out of the swamp rose a wide, dark mesa. A massive castle squatted atop it. The black stone structure was slick with slime, and chunks of the stone architecture had fallen away, leaving the impression of a rotting, worm-eaten fruit.

　　A footpath rose from the muck, creating a narrow avenue of dry land that sloped upwards to meet the castle`s gate. Sheer cliffs on either side of the path dropped away into a moat of sorts, a sea of smooth black water, bereft of trees, amid the vibrant life of the surrounding swamp.

　　Jeremiah stepped onto the footpath gratefully, the only dry land he had seen in days. It was time to learn if his miserable journey had been worth it. After so many failures under the tutelage of mages renowned and obscure, this derelict castle in the heart of the Throatlock Swamp was his last hope.

　　It was only his last teacher`s pity that gave him this chance. "Your focus is too fractured," the wiry transmutation master had told him. "You`ll never wield more than the most rudimentary of spells." Jeremiah had thrown himself onto his knees in a shameless display, begging for another chance, another hope. The decision to follow this dream had cost him his home and family; if he couldn`t become a mage, it would have all been for naught.

　　Jeremiah centered himself on the memory of the night he left home. It had been a provincial life, but a safe one, and his parents had never understood why he was so desperate to escape it. When he explained his desire to make a difference, to help people, they had scoffed and accused him of self-aggrandizing heroics. The discussion had become heated, as it always had. But this time, as he was finally of age, his father had defied him to leave. Jeremiah had thrown himself out, his parents wishing him a suitably humbling return, and that had been that.

　　As the footpath began its ascent toward the castle gates, Jeremiah happened to glance into the moat. From a distance, the dark water had seemed fathomless, but now Jeremiah spotted something just beneath the surface. He crouched lower to take a closer look.

　　Grinning up at him was a human skull, picked clean to a pristine white. Jeremiah recoiled in shock and stepped off the opposite edge of the walkway. He fell backwards into the moat, flailing for purchase as his pack dragged him beneath the surface. His fingers grasped a series of smooth, slender curves—a ribcage. With a cry smothered by water, he shoved the bones away. He kicked off against something hard below him—he did not dare wonder what—and fought his way back to the surface.

　　Jeremiah pulled himself back onto the path. His heart was pounding, but he couldn`t hear it over the voice in his head screaming at him to run, to flee this place while he still could. Instead, Jeremiah forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. He had one final chance to find a teacher, and he damn well wasn`t about to waste it on being scared.

　　Jeremiah stood and stared straight at the front gate of the castle, not letting his eyes or mind wander to what filled the lagoon around him. One step at a time, he told himself. Behind those doors is the key to becoming a mage. He only needed to be brave enough to reach it.

　　The gate loomed before him, its jet-black wood studded with iron rivets. It was in pristine condition, standing in stark contrast to the decaying mortar that ran through the castle walls. The gate was adorned with two life-size bronze skulls, each with a large iron ring piercing the bone between their empty orbits. As strange as it felt to follow common courtesy in a place like this, there was a comfort in it as well. Jeremiah raised one of the iron rings and struck once it against the wood.

　　There was a single muted thud. It sounded no louder than if Jeremiah had pounded on the gate with his fist. But he waited, imagining a servant or guard lurking just within the entryway, and a few moments later the gate cracked open, projecting a spike of sunlight into the castle. Hidden hinges groaned ominously as the gate swung to admit him. As the sound echoed through the entrance hall, it occurred to Jeremiah that this all seemed a tad overdramatic. He stepped into the hall cautiously, looking for whomever had opened the door for him.

　　As outside light flooded the entryway, it revealed a room that had once been a sight to behold. A wide staircase flowed like a waterfall from an ornate set of bronze doors set high against the back wall. Tall windows of stained glass had been darkened by ages of dirt and dust, and a fireplace large enough to roast an ox stood cold against one wall. Distant ceilings disappeared in darkness, and countless empty torch sconces lined the walls. Jeremiah could imagine this place as a warm and inviting refuge to travelers through the Throatlock Swamp, but the room was cold now. Dark and dry, like a tomb.

　　There was nobody else in the entryway. "Hello?" Jeremiah called. "My name is Jeremiah Thorn. I came here because I`m looking for a teacher of magic. I want to be a mage." His own words echoing back to him was the only response.

　　"I-I`ve already learned some of the basics and I&hello? Is someone there?"

　　A chill rolled across his skin like a wind had blown through the room, but the air was still. He knew he was being watched from somewhere, judged from somewhere. This was it. He stood up tall and spoke with conviction.

　　"I am prepared to work hard and be a student you can be proud of! I am smart and capable, and I`m willing to work off any debt for the privilege of accepting you as my master!" He stood stiff, waiting for a response.

　　A hissing whisper emanated from the shadows far above, like how he imagined a spider would talk. "You are a special kind of stupid, aren`t you, kid?"

　　Jeremiah gasped. That wasn`t the response he was expecting. Well, he expected to be tested or mocked, just not&in that tone.

　　The voice continued, moving above him from shadow to shadow. "We haven`t even met and you`re willing to accept me as your master, to work off any debt`. That`s how people get stuck in slave contracts."

　　Jeremiah drew himself taller and delivered his planned reply. "I am that serious about becoming a mage. I want you to kn-"

　　"You`d think living in a swamp with a moat of bones would be enough of a No Trespassing` sign," the voice said. "Yet here you are. How did you even hear about this place?"

　　This wasn`t going the way Jeremiah had envisioned. "The mage who taught me the basics of magic told me to come here. He said there was a teacher here who could make use of my talents."

　　The room was quiet again. Jeremiah waited for the response from above, goosebumps still prickling his skin.

　　"Did&did he tell you anything about me?" the voice asked.

　　"No sir," said Jeremiah.

　　Another long silence. Then, "Did you mouth off to him or something? Did he hate you? He actually told you nothing? No teensy little details you might just be forgetting?"

　　Jeremiah pulse quickened. He wracked his brain for some detail that he could have missed, some hint he could extrapolate, but he found nothing. "No sir?"

　　The front gate behind Jeremiah started to swing close, drawing out that same ominous groan until it slammed shut with a frightening finality. Jeremiah was plunged into darkness, save for the dim glow from the blackened windows. As his eyes adjusted, Jeremiah became aware that a figure stood at the top of the stairs. It was human sized, but he couldn`t make out any details. Jeremiah continued to stand at attention as the figure began descending the stairs.

　　"You afraid to die, kid?" asked the voice.

　　"No sir!" Jeremiah lied.

　　Jeremiah became aware of a feeling he couldn`t identify, yet felt innately familiar. It felt like fear, but on an entirely different level. It was as if a sense he never knew he had was stirring to warn him of a danger he didn`t understand. The feeling started growing stronger, but he held his ground and tried not to tremble.

　　"Weird answer," said the figure growing closer. "Most people are afraid to die. The ones that aren`t are usually psychos. You a psycho, kid?"

　　"No sir!" The strange new feeling kept growing in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. Jeremiah`s eyes darted about in the darkness, his heart threatening to explode from his chest.

　　"Something wrong?" asked the voice knowingly. "You`re sweating and shivering."

　　"I&I don`t&yes," said Jeremiah, "Something feels&wrong."

　　"Oooh, something is wrong, child," the voice said with sick delight. "What you`re feeling now is your soul. It senses a predator."

　　It was oblivion. That was the source of this primal panic building in him. It was a threat to more than just his body—his immortal existence was crying out in terror. Whatever eternity that awaited him beyond death was in jeopardy.

　　Jeremiah wavered on his feet as the figure continued its approach. The horror in his heart was rising to a fever pitch. He felt sick, unable to hear what was being said to him. He gripped the sides of his pants with tightly balled fists to keep from fleeing. "I-I want to learn magic."

　　"Why!?" The figure suddenly swooped toward him. "To strike down your enemies? Do you seek revenge against those that have wronged you? Do you desire power? Riches? The secrets of the universe?"The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

　　The figure was now directly in front of him, still shrouded by darkness. Jeremiah couldn`t bring himself to look at it. He panted, his mouth dry as dust, his bladder threatened to release. "No&yes&I—I just want to be important!"

　　His voice rang out in the austere hall, the stark truth echoing his own selfishness back to him somehow worse than everything that came before.

　　The figure remained inches from Jeremiah`s nose. When it spoke again, it was in a more inquisitive tone. "Still here, huh? Good for you, figured you would have run for your life by now. Well, no worries, we`ll get you figured out. But first, let`s grab some dinner&"

　　The figure reached toward him. Jeremiah`s heart pounded so hard he was sure he was about to die. In the dim light, he watched the figure raise a skeletal finger, felt it press against his forehead, then everything went truly black.

　　Jeremiah awoke in a room that was the polar opposite of the last. He was lying in a large, soft bed, atop sheets with an old, but clean, smell. Torches lined the walls and a few logs burned in a small fireplace. Warm light filled every corner of the room.

　　Jeremiah sat up to recollect his thoughts. He was wearing the same clothes, but they were dry and clean. His pack was propped in a corner, and similarly cleaned. Jeremiah remembered what had happened in the castle entryway like a fading dream. He recalled the fear he`d felt, but couldn`t quite place where inside him it had come from.

　　He had a sinking feeling that he had squandered his chance with this teacher by panicking. It must have been some sort of test, to see if he could handle some minor magical stress, and he had obviously failed. His mood continued to sour as he imagined all the things he should have done, all the confident words he could have said. He fell back onto the bed and pressing his hands into his eyes with a groan, then proceeded to torture himself with hindsight for several minutes.

　　After a while, he decided that despairing wasn`t going to help. He took several deep breaths and tried to clear his mind. I`m still here. He didn`t kick me out or kill me. There`s still a chance. I just need to prove I`m still serious, Jeremiah thought.

　　There was a trio of knocks at the door. A chillingly familiar voice called to him, but softly, like a parent waking a child, or rather someone mocking that situation. "Heeey, you awake in there? You feelin` okay, buddy?"

　　Jeremiah leapt off the bed, and marched to the door, his face growing stern with determination. The first meeting could have gone better, but now he was rested and prepared to make a good impression. He threw open the door and immediately began talking. "Sir! I apo—"

　　Standing before him, Jeremiah saw the most horrid thing he had ever seen in his life. Terror welled up inside him as his mind took in every detail of what he was looking at.

　　It was a skeleton, wearing an ornate red tunic that revealed boney arms and shoulders. Every individual bone was wrapped in human skin from several different people, complete with freckles, moles, and scars. The only bare bones were the sharp, skeletal fingers and the teeth set in the skull. But worst of all were the eyes—two human eyeballs were suspended in the skull`s empty sockets by sewing cord, which threaded through the eyeballs before looping back through the skin of the sockets. The effect amounted to a skeleton made of flesh, with floating eyes that were somehow conveying surprise.

　　Jeremiah screamed.

　　"Nooope!" the horror said, and in a flash touched a boney finger to Jeremiah`s forehead yet again. Everything went black.

　　Jeremiah woke up in the same bed in the same room, but this time with a start, sitting up quickly and panting in fear.

　　"A nightmare!" he said. "Just some horrid nightmare, thank the gods."

　　There was a trio of knocks at the door. A chillingly familiar voice called to him, but softly, like a parent waking a child, or rather someone mocking that situation. "Heeey, you awake in there? You feelin` okay, buddy?"

　　Jeremiah froze. It was too similar, the memory was too strong. Jeremiah arose slowly and went to the door. He swallowed and reluctantly pulled it open.

　　Standing on the far side of a hallway was the same figure wearing the same ornate robe, but now with long baggy sleeves and leather gloves. On its face, it wore a plaster mask fashioned after a smiling cherubim with rosy cheeks and wide innocent eyes. The effect unsteadied Jeremiah. He thought he knew what was behind that mask and under those robes, but he prayed that had just been a dream.

　　"There we are!" it said, voice still dripping with sweet sarcasm. "Feeling better?"

　　Jeremiah paused before answering. "Yes, I`m feeling fine. Thank you."

　　"Oh good!" the thing said, popping up on one foot and raising its hands like an excited child. "Why don`t you join me for dinner then? You must be starving, and I haven`t had dinner guests in quite some time! Right this way!"

　　Jeremiah followed, acutely aware that his host made no noise as it walked.

　　They arrived at a warm and inviting dining room. A great fire crackled softly along one side. Thin rugs covered the floor, extending into the hallway. A long table occupied the center of the room, bare except for two places set at either end. Each had a jug, glass, and silver-domed serving dish. A spicy aroma stirred Jeremiah`s hunger, despite his reservations.

　　His host pulled out Jeremiah`s chair for him and then pranced to its own place at the far end, sitting delicately.

　　"Now then," it said in the same sweet tone, "ask anything you like!"

　　There was only one question on Jeremiah`s mind right now. "Was what I saw before real? Are you a&a skeleton?"

　　The thing folded its gloved hands. "Something like one. I normally try to ease people into my appearance, but I didn`t expect you to open the door. Now that I`m a good distance away and you know what to expect, I`d like to take off this mask. Are you going to shriek like a child again?"

　　Jeremiah`s blood chilled at the thought, but something told him it was necessary if he was to become a student of his host. He gripped the sides of his chair to steady himself. "You can take it off. I won`t scream."

　　"Finally! I hate this thing." The thing whipped the mask off unceremoniously, revealing the same grotesque face.

　　Jeremiah`s adrenaline surged and his grip tightened at seeing the horror again, but the second viewing from further away wasn`t as intense.

　　The skeleton waited a moment to see if Jeremiah would react, those floating eyes on flesh-colored bones twitching back and forth on its cords. "Alright! We`re getting somewhere." It gestured to the silver-domed platter in front of it. "Don`t be shy, get to eating. There`s wine in the jug, help yourself."

　　Jeremiah lifted the cover, half expecting to reveal some new monstrosity beneath. To his relief, he found a small roasted fowl. It was surrounded by boiled potatoes and carrots and smelled delicious. He began eating with gusto. The warmth and flavor of the food made him feel almost normal.

　　"Not bad, eh?" asked the skeleton, shattering the illusion. "Took me three tries to get it right. Haven`t cooked in ages."

　　Jeremiah noticed the skeleton was also eating the meal in front of it. The question spilled out before he could wonder if it was rude. "Do you actually need to eat?"

　　The skeleton took a drink of wine, pouring it toward the back of his throat before responding. "Nope."

　　"Then why are you doing it now?"

　　"`Cause it would be weird to just sit here and stare at you while you eat."

　　Jeremiah had to agree, though it would have been far down on his tally of the evening`s weirdness.

　　As Jeremiah finished his food, he felt an urge to somehow return the kindness of the meal. He took another deep breath and forced himself looked directly at his host, doing his best to quiet the alarm in his mind. "What`s your name?"

　　The skeleton straightened up a bit under his direct gaze. "Lookit you! Color me impressed, I thought that would take longer. You can call me Flusoh."

　　"I`m Jeremiah."

　　"Indeed you are, and word is you`re looking for a teacher in magic."

　　"Yes. But to be honest, I don`t know what sort of magic you do, or even, forgive me, what you are. Are you an undead?"

　　"I," Flusoh stood and gave a little bow, "am a lich, and the magic I do is necromancy. I used to be a human, and learned enough necromancy to transfer my consciousness into the vessel you see before you."

　　Jeremiah had never met a necromancer before. All the stories he had heard involved zombies devouring innocent people, undead abominations wreaking havoc, and monsters rising from in ancient crypts. But this one had just washed his clothes and fed him dinner.

　　"I take it you didn`t come here wanting to be a necromancer," said Flusoh. "You just want someone to teach you magic, any kind at all, am I right?"

　　Jeremiah`s cheeks reddened. "I just haven`t found the school of magic that suits me yet, sir."

　　Flusoh pushed food around his plate absentmindedly. "The person that sent you here, did they say why you should come see me? Assuming it wasn`t to have you killed."

　　Jeremiah thought back on his previous teacher`s criticism. "He said I have a fractured focus. Strong but fractured,` he said."

　　Flusoh stopped pushing food around. "Reeeaaally! That`s a rare quality. Usually you either have a strong singular focus or a weak fractured focus. But a strong fractured focus&you might indeed make a good necromancer."

　　Elation rushed through Jeremiah. He`d never been told he was good at anything, even hypothetically. The feeling was quickly overcome by dread. "Mr. Flusoh, I don`t mean to offend, but I don`t know if that`s true. I`m not evil."

　　Flusoh`s eyes rolled and Jeremiah`s stomach churned. "Evil is such an abused word. Look, bones and bodies are bones and bodies—not people. I know it`s creepy, but that doesn`t change the facts. There`s no one in there."

　　Jeremiah thought hard, trying to remember everything he had heard about necromancy. "What about&souls? Necromancers do something with souls, right?"

　　Flusoh shook his head. "Hell no! We don`t mess with people`s souls. Souls, in a vague cosmological sense, belong to gods. Any god, from the most righteous, stick up their ass, holy avenger to the most scheming small-minded evil cretin—" Jeremiah noted the disdain with which Flusoh spoke of gods "—won`t tolerate you taking their stuff. Messing with souls is how you get crusades on your doorstep, cause they followed a star that appeared over your lair!"

　　Jeremiah found Flusoh`s explanation somewhat reassuring, but he couldn`t shake the stories he`d heard. "Okay, so no souls. But necromancy is still unnatural magic, isn`t it? Making the dead walk and all that?"

　　"Psh, unnatural! Anything shaped by hand of mortals is unnatural. You think fighters pluck their swords from trees? Or this table," Flusoh rapped a bony knuckle against the wood, "you think this table would just spontaneously slap itself together of its own accord? People make up words like evil` and unnatural` to beat you into submission, to control you."

　　"Wait, so you`re saying evil isn`t real?"

　　Flusoh tilted his head noncommittally. "Eeeh, didn`t say that. Look Evil, with a capital E, is a natural force of the universe. Demons, devils—there`s all sorts of things out there that are actually Evil. But mortals? It takes a special kind of mortal to actually reach Evil and not just be stuck at conniving, greedy prick. Most that manage it are being helped by those actual Evil things. I promise, Jebediah, Evil works on a whole different mindset.

　　"It`s Jeremiah. So, you`re not&Evil?"

　　"I could hear the big E, good job." Flusoh drew himself up taller. "I am a moral relativist. Some people may see me as evil, others may not. I submit to you that evil exists from the standpoint of the observer only. When dealing with things that aren`t Evil, anyways."

　　Jeremiah considered this claim. It seemed too convenient, but it was still exciting to be discussing it with a lich. And he wanted it to be true, that he could learn necromancy without becoming the villain in a bedtime story.

　　Flusoh clacked his fingerbones on the table. "I`ll admit, necromancers haven`t done a great job from a public perception angle. They tend to be a misanthropic, power-hungry bunch, and the whole dead bodies thing doesn`t help. But, like anything, it`s what you decide to make of it. Necromancy is no different than any other school of magic, except that you might actually be good at it."

　　Jeremiah turned this new perspective over in his mind. "So, I could use necromancy to help people?"

　　"Sure! Why not? Defend the innocent, fight the good fight, dig a damn ditch for all I care." He tented his fingers and looked Jeremiah in the eye. "You wanna learn some magic? It`s gonna be hard, and I`m gonna make you redo your basics. We start with fundamental biology, and we stay on that for a long time!"

　　"You`re really willing to be my master?" Jeremiah was both shocked and elated.

　　"Nope! Your teacher. I want a pupil, not a pet. I also reserve the right to revoke that status and kill you for my own entertainment." He added at a whisper, "Almost never happens."

　　Jeremiah`s relief and excitement threatened to overwhelm him. He could make this work. He would be different from those dark and sinister mages who lurked in the shadows. He would show the world what he was capable of.

　　Jeremiah`s face broke into a grin, his first smile in quite a long time. "Alright, I`ll be your student. Teach me to be a necromancer!"