The Ghosts of Broken Blades

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something. They probably had a funeral for you. I’m… sure it was very nice. I’m sure you were well honored.”
    “Everybody has a gift. How they use it is up to them.”
    The voice sighed in Roubris’s head. He wasn’t sure if it was wistful, sad, or just trying to take it all in. Then she began muttering to herself, for lack of a better term, although it was all in Roubris’s mind. He ran a hand through his curly brown hair and then across his unshaven jaw. It didn’t pay to spend too much time consoling the dead spirit at this point. He needed to get to business.
    Besides, the muttering was damned irritating.
    “Nivua, if I’m going to help you, I need something.”
    Her voice sharpened. “What?”
    “I need funds. Restoring you is a costly process.”
    “How can I… I can’t pay you. How can I provide you with money at a time like this? Shouldn’t a priest such as yourself help a… lost soul… simply to serve the will of the gods? How can you ask me for payment?”
    “I’m not a cleric. But I know one. My talent is that I can talk to you, Nivua. No one else can.”
    “But I have no money. Not like this. I have nothing.”
    Roubris spoke in a full, forceful voice. He was alone on the field. There was no one else to hear. “You must remember something of value, Nivua. Some spoils of war secreted away for a rainy day.”
    Again she sighed, then remained silent for a time. Roubris waited. Finally she said, “No. No, nothing.”
    Now Roubris sighed. He looked into the late afternoon sky, at the billowing clouds overhead, and then at the mountains in the distance. “Well,” he said, again in a whisper, “then we’re going to have to do this another way.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Nivua, you probably took some kind of secrets with you to the grave. Everyone does.”
    She didn’t reply.
    “You probably know something about someone that he or she wouldn’t want anyone to know. Some dark little secret. Everyone’s got them. Trust me. Everyone. Tell me something like that, and how to find the person in question. I’ll take care of the rest.”
    “What?” Nivua’s voice shouted in Roubris’s head. The small sword nearly shook out of his hand. “You want me to betray someone so that you can extort them for money?”
    “They won’t know it was you. They’d never suspect you. Obviously.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    “I know it’s hard, but you have to understand. The process for restoring you to your proper afterlife is costly, Nivua. I don’t like this any more than you do, but don’t you want your just reward? Don’t you want to see your loved ones again in eternity? I can’t help you if you don’t do this. To me, getting you to the paradise you deserve is more important than squeezing a few coins out of someone who’s likely not as deserving as you.”
    “Perhaps you could just go to my family. Ask them for money.”
    That never worked. “They wouldn’t believe me. They’d think I was a con artist. They can’t hear you, Nivua. Only I can. It’s my gift. You have to trust me. I’m the only one that can save you. And you have to do it my way. I’ve helped people like you before. I know what I’m doing.”
    Roubris was patient through the next long silence. Eventually, he felt the sword throb. “All right,” Nivua’s voice said quietly. “I can tell you something. Give you something you can use. It’s not someone’s secret. I won’t do that. It’s a hidden cache of gold my family keeps for emergencies.”
    “Good, good,” Roubris said aloud. “That will work fine. This is an emergency, after all. They’d be happy to know how it was spent if they truly understood.”
    “I still think that if you just went to them and explained—”
    “No, Nivua. They wouldn’t believe me, and they’d take the sword as a keepsake. You’d be trapped on the family mantle for who knows how long. You might spend eternity as a knick-knack. A keepsake they’d eventually forget

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