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essence out onto the fleece around the body. It must form an unbroken outline, and you must be certain that you have enough left over at the end to complete the outline. Do you understand?"
    Garrett nodded, "Yes, sir."
    "Good, begin."
    Garrett lifted the heavy flask, tipping the mouth of it over the shimmering wool of the fleece at the spot nearest the young man's shoulder. He poured out an unbroken, if slightly unsteady, stream of liquid essence onto the sparkling wool .
    He walked slowly around the table as he poured. He marveled at the size of the shimmerfleece stretched beneath the corpse. The creature that it came from must have been larger than a man. Garrett wondered how he had been able to carry the fleece at all. It must be far lighter than it looked .
    "Careful," Uncle said.
    Garrett had to reverse the trail of the poured essence, looping it back to cover a small gap. He was careful not to repeat his mistake .
    By the time he had circled the table and returned to his starting point, the essence had soaked almost completely into the fleece, the spot where the trail began now barely visible. Garrett upended the bottle, pouring the last of the satyr essence into the fleece .
    Uncle took the cold, empty bottle from Garrett's hands. "Well done."
    Garrett allowed himself to breathe again and stepped back from the table .
    Uncle picked up an old hide-bound book from the workbench and cracked it open before handing it to Garrett. The book's spine bore a deep crease, and the binding had begun to fray apart at this particular page .
    " The Calling of the Dead ," Garrett read the heading aloud. The title and the incantation below were written in Gloaran .
    "You seem puzzled," Uncle noted .
    "I just thought magic would be written in some strange language," Garrett said .
    Uncle smiled. "It isn't the words you use that matter but the will and the intent behind them. You must mean what you say, and the essence will answer. Do you understand?"
    Garrett nodded, not at all certain that he did .
    "Of course I have the same spell written in Old Draconic, if you want to sound more impressive while you're casting it," he said, setting his finger on the spine of an enormous black book .
    "No, this is fine!"
    "Good, now face the table and form in your mind an image of the essence inside the fleece."
    Garrett closed his eyes and imagined the glowing liquid seeping through the white curls of the wool .
    "Now read aloud the words written in the book."
    Garrett opened his eyes and read from the page, "Fallen ones, I bid you rise. Spirit and Flesh undone now mend..."
    "Stop!" Uncle said, "Don't speak to the book. Don't speak to me. Speak to the essence, and speak with a voice that cannot be ignored... not even by the dead."
    Garrett hesitated. "What do you mean?" he asked .
    Uncle Tinjin strode forward, his long fingers tapping the skull medallion on Garrett's chest. "Your voice has to come from your heart. You have to mean the words. The essence has no choice but to obey, for you are a necromancer, and the dead answer your call."
    Garrett's mouth had gone dry. He licked his lips and turned his attention back to the corpse on the table .
    He spoke again, his voice louder, insistent, "Fallen ones, I bid you rise. Spirit and Flesh undone now mend. To the Spirit a body given. To the Flesh a quickening gift."
    As he spoke, his words hardened, losing their uncertain tone and reverberating with the timbre of command .
    "Join as one, oh wisp and bone. Join in strength and know new life. Fallen ones, now one, arise. I give you life to serve my call."
    Garrett's skin tingled with the rush of power. He could feel the spirit that stirred upon the slab, not quite alive, but no longer dead. It writhed and recoiled from the cold strange flesh of the pallid corpse. It did not wish to obey .
    "Again, boy!" Uncle shouted .
    Garrett held the book open with one hand, clutching his gold medallion with the other. It's comforting weight grew warm in his grasp as he