There's plenty of sense in nonsense sometimes, if you wish to look for it. -- Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Angel

When she was a child Kiroshnoy had once captured a wild bird and brought it home. It had panicked and flown about wildly until it collapsed in exhaustion. She had wanted to keep it as a pet. Her mother had refused to allow this.

"It's wild," she said. "No one can make it a pet. It would fade away and die in captivity. Open the window and let it go free."

Kiroshnoy had opened the window. The bird had flown out and never returned. She still remembered how desperately it had struggled to escape before she released it.

Now, faced with this extraordinary winged spirit in her room, she could only think of that bird's terror.

The spirit had stopped panicking. Now it -- she? They? Did spirits even have genders? -- sat on the floor, their wings wrapped around them like a protective cocoon. Kiroshnoy wasn't sure if they were crying or sulking.

"Are you alright?" she asked, taking a step forward then thinking better of it.

The spirit made a noise like a choked giggle. When they spoke their voice was muffled by their long black feathers. "Alright? Do you realise I'm trapped here?"

Kiroshnoy didn't know much about spirits. Common sense said she should have researched as much as she could about them before meddling in spells. Yet she knew for a fact the spirit had been able to leave the last time this happened. "Why are you trapped?"

She got no answer but a despairing groan.

Hmm. Well, there had to be some explanation and solution for this. Perhaps it was the ritual. She hadn't thought to look at its side effects. She never worried about such trifling things when she had a goal to reach.

The spirit had the same idea. Their head popped out from under their wing. "What ritual did you use?"

Good question. She would have to check the book.

Kiroshnoy had discovered a very old, very faded book in the back of one of the libraries. "Miſterieſ off the Veyl and the Nekst Lyfe", its title declared, with atrocious spelling and barely-legible letters. Its leather-bound cover creaked as she opened it. The first twenty pages were yellowed and crumbling. Only one or two words were legible in every paragraph. But at the back of the book she found a section of much newer, much clearer pages. They were clearly not part of the original book. At some point in the fairly recent past someone had put those pages in the book and never taken them out again.

In those pages she found a list of spells and rituals. Some were essentially useless -- how to get rid of warts, and things like that. Others were more intriguing -- how to know what other people thought of you, or how to become the most beautiful woman alive. And then there was an entire section dedicated to contacting spirits.

Kiroshnoy had something in common with her oldest sister after all. They both shared a reckless disregard for consequences. She had plunged straight into the rituals without doing more than the bare minimum of research.

And now look where she was. In a sticky situation, with a spirit trapped in her room.

Oh well, she thought with an attempt at cheerfulness. It could be worse. It could be a malevolent spirit.

The princess's mind immediately went off on a tangent. How did she know this spirit wasn't malevolent? What if it was lulling her into a false sense of security?

She looked over at the spirit. They didn't look like someone who was about to attack her. They sat on the floor, hugging their knees to their chest, looking abjectly miserable. No, she didn't think it was likely they were lulling her into a false sense of security.

Kiroshnoy picked up the book and flicked through it until she found the right page. "Here's the ritual!"

The spirit looked up without much interest. "What does it say?"

She read aloud. "'For this ritual to be successful, one must draw the runes voda, rasherer, chy'rin and naizav in purple ink. The pen used must be made from a kovelua[1] feather. A prayer must be offered to Irkuzlalym[2] as each rune is drawn."

"Rubbish, all of it," the spirit said with a sigh. "It shouldn't have done anything. Something else happened here."

Kiroshnoy bit her fingernails, a habit her parents had tried and failed to make her break. "Maybe I drew one of the runes wrong?"

"It wouldn't have mattered even if you did. Those runes are nothing but scribbles. They have no power of their own." The spirit shook her head. "This is beyond me."

~~~~

Zinlau was not, it must be said, the cleverest of people. If she had been, she wouldn't have gone boating on a rainy day, when the lake was rough and everyone warned her a storm was coming. She had not lived to rue her folly on that memorable day. Nor had she gained much sense over the years since. But she knew when something was wrong. And she knew when she should do something about it.

Varan had been missing for over two hours now. No one had seen her in the Land of the Dead. She had finished her soul collecting for the day. She wasn't in Carann. So where could she possibly be?

Most people, when faced with a mystery like this, would go straight to the person they knew could solve it. But Zinlau shied away from asking Death. She thought of her queen in much the same way that a schoolgirl thinks of the headmistress after getting in trouble, needing help to get out of it, and yet not wanting anyone else to know what she's done. Death would inevitably ask questions about what they'd been doing, and where Varan had disappeared from, and why there were so many weapons cluttering up Zinlau's house.

Death might not disapprove. For all Zinlau knew, she might actually approve. She pretended to be disinterested in the events of the world, but everyone knew better. Especially when the events would have an impact on a certain mortal emperor. But still...

So she wandered around the Land of the Dead, wringing her hands and wondering what to do. And so she might as well have done nothing at all.

~~~~

Normally Jalakanavu went everywhere with a retinue of servants, She never allowed anyone into her private quarters unless she had her ladies-in-waiting and several guards present. Tonight she was making an exception. As soon as she retired to her rooms she dismissed her servants. She waited, silently and patiently, like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. The coldness of the night air and the thinness of her silk dress didn't bother her at all.

Finally she heard footsteps in the hall outside. Someone knocked the door twice in quick succession.

"Come in," she said.

Lalkasam, her chief lady-in-waiting and occasional spy, pushed the door open. She closed it quietly behind her and bowed to Jalakanavu.

"Your Majesty," she said, not standing up until the Iquisaal gestured for her to do so. "I believe we may have found some suitable, unobjectionable men for you to consider marrying. All of them are young, neither married nor betrothed, with no great prospects ahead of them, and not noted for being strong-willed or overly clever."

"Thank you," Jalakanavu said. "Arrange for them to be brought to the palace in a week."

Lalkasam bowed again and left as quietly as she'd come.

~~~~

Ngugelzi, the head of Death's Reapers, first realised something unusual was happening when Varan failed to report the completion of her duties the next day. On its own that was nothing unusual, but she couldn't remember seeing Varan for a surprisingly long time. Even when they didn't speak, Ngugelzi and Varan's paths usually crossed at least once a day. Now it was almost two days since she'd last seen her.

She shrugged and dismissed it as unimportant.

The day after that there was still no sign of Varan. Five hours into the fourth day, Ngugelzi began to suspect something was truly wrong. First she checked Gialma's house. Plenty of Reapers gossiping, advising their beleaguered host on how he should redecorate some rooms, trying their hand at washing the dishes... but not even a fleeting glimpse of Varan.

It was time to ask Death.

Death was in Zasordoth Palace, poring over a map with Kilan.

"Excuse me, your Majesty," the chief Reaper said, appearing in front of her queen. She noticed absently that the mortal didn't even flinch at her unexpected arrival. "Have you seen Varan lately?"

"I haven't," Kilan said. Ngugelzi realised she should have been more specific which of them she was talking to. "Not for... Oh, at least a week."

Death frowned. It was the frown she always wore when someone pointed out something she should have already known. Some of her servants had dubbed it her 'why did I have to be told that?' frown. "Now that I think of it, I haven't seen her either. Where is she?"

Oh no. This looked more and more serious.

"I don't know," Ngugelzi said. "I haven't seen her for days. You don't think she got trapped in the Void?"

There had been very few cases of that over the millennia. None of them would be soon forgotten by the people who had to suffer through it, or the people who had to rescue them.

Death's eyes glazed over as she searched for Varan. "No need to worry about that. She's in Nirne." She frowned. This was a different frown, the one that meant 'what under heaven is happening here?'. It was usually reserved for the not-nearly-rare-enough occasions when two or more groups of souls started a full-scale war. That did not bode well. "How very odd."

"What is?" Kilan and Ngugelzi asked in unison.

"There's something strange about her surroundings. It's as if she's in a sealed room that she can't escape." Death abruptly turned away from the map. "Let's go and see what's happening here."

~~~~

Varan had not had a pleasant three days. True, Kiroshnoy had gone to a lot of trouble to bring her food and to ensure no one would see her. But it was never pleasant to be stuck somewhere she couldn't leave. Nor was she entirely satisfied with the roommate fate -- hopefully not Fate -- had wished on her. Kiroshnoy was talkative. She rarely shut up and she kept asking questions. Some questions were understandable. But a hundred different questions in an hour, on topics as varied as "what sort of spirit are you?" and "are you actually speaking Nirnian or do I magically hear your words as Nirnian?", would leave anyone exhausted.

On the bright side, Kiroshnoy had duties to do, lessons to attend, and visits to make. Varan had a few hours of peace and quiet before the endless questions started again.

She was beginning to wonder if she would ever be rescued when finally, finally, someone came to find her.

Varan had never been so pleased to Death and Ngugelzi before.

"At last!" she exclaimed. "You won't believe what's happened. Get me out of here, please! Then I'll tell you."

Ngugelzi looked at her, then at her admittedly expensive, comfortable surroundings. "Truly, a dreadful prison. Why didn't you leave?"

"She can't," Death said grimly. "I don't know how you got into this fix, but it won't be easy to get you out of it. Tell me, how did you end up with your existence bound up to this room?"

If she had thrown a bomb at Varan she could hardly have shocked her more. "What?"

"My thoughts exactly," Death said with a cold, humourless smile. "Congratulations. You've managed to do something I thought was impossible. You've become part of this room -- or it's become part of you. Explain. Now."

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] kovelua = A bird native to Nirne, notable for its bright blue plumage and loud song.

[2] Irkuzlalym = God of secrets in Nirnian mythology. Though not a god of death, he is believed to guard the gate to the Underworld.