had no trouble writing and navigating the rubble. The ghost moved easily with his thin right arm acting as a third leg.
“Did you lose your left arm in the war against the Neosolar Empire?” Nicodemus asked tentatively.
Tulki stood and looked back with an amused expression. “No, no,” the ghost wrote. “All our people have only one ‘arm,’ as you call it. Indeed, that was a chief reason why our peoples went to war.”
“But how could such a—” His voice died.
The ghost had unbuttoned his tunic where the garment covered his left shoulder. A long, ashen limb unfolded. A membrane of skin stretched from shoulder to wrist. The four fingers hung two or three feet long, and between them grew the same membranous skin.
Tulki formed a sentence in this sail of skin. Then the ghost peeled the text off and cast the spell to Nicodemus. It read, “Translating our word for this ‘arm’ is difficult. Your closest word might be ‘palette.’”
Tulki formed another paragraph within the membranous skin and then cast it to Nicodemus. “Appreciate that more skin gives a Wrixlan author more writing space. You black-robes carry books to hold more text. But our bodies are our texts. Long ago, our ancestors dwelled under the mountains with the greenskins and blueskins. Then the first Chthonic tribe created our dialects. It was then that the goddess Chimera helped shape our bodies to escape the brutal underworld of the blueskins.”
“Blueskins?”
Tulki took a moment to compose a reply. “Your word for them is ‘kobolds,’, and for greenskins, ‘goblins.’ They too write on their bodies. But their hides are tough, their dialects savage. They brand themselves. Our dialects require elegance. Our goddess used the First Language to adapt our bodies to our words. Our skin became soft and amenable to Pithan and Wrixlan; we wrote more and more on our left arms, and so we needed more and more skin.”
The ghost nodded to his palette before casting the next paragraph. “Through Chimera’s First Language, our left arms grew into palettes. You see why our ancestors thought each other monstrous. A Chthonic born with two arms would be like a human born with three.”
Nicodemus could only nod.
Tulki looked to the sky and then tossed out two quick sentences: “Dawn is not far. We must go underground.” With that, he hurried further into the rubble.
Following as quickly as he could, Nicodemus asked, “But what ofWrixlan being eugraphic? Can it cure my cacography in the wizardly languages?”
Without slowing, Tulki threw a reply over one shoulder. “No, but I don’t see what there is to ‘cure,’ as you say.”
By the time Nicodemus had finished reading this, Tulki had ducked inside an ancient building that still had much of its roof. Nicodemus followed and discovered that inside the hovel a set of narrow stairs led down into darkness.
The ghost’s body began to shed a soft, indigo light. “Mind your big feet,” he warned with a quick spell and then descended the stairs. “We hope you will stay with us and replenish our codex many times over the years. To remain hidden from the construct, you must stay underground during the day.”
“Why?” Nicodemus asked while negotiating the tiny steps.
“Because bright light, especially sunlight, deconstructs Wrixlan. Your ancestors used this to slaughter us. By night, we possessed spells as powerful as any human text. But by day, we were defenseless. How we used to dread the dawn when the blood-hungry legionaries would come.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and now stood in a rectangular cellar with a low ceiling and blank stone walls. “You must loathe me,” Nicodemus whispered.
Tulki smiled. “On the contrary, Nicodemus Weal, if you replenish our text, you will become one of the few humans I have ever truly liked.”
CHAPTER
Thirty-five
The ghost pointed to a small stone vault and then tossed Nicodemus a sentence. “Our spectral codex is stored in there.”
Nicodemus lifted the vault’s lid and found a book, nearly the Index’s twin, lying at the bottom.
A glowing note from Tulki appeared next to Nicodemus’s hand. It read, “You need only place a hand on an open page. It might have a disorienting effect. Several hours may pass without your noticing. You might see flashes from our past—the codex also contains a history of our people.”
Nicodemus looked up at the ghost. “Will it make me sick?” When the ghost raised his eyebrows, he explained how touching the Index for the first time made him vomit.
The ghost shook his head. “That was because the Index forced Wrixlan into your