Tris had done his best to prepare himself during the long ride. Candles would be difficult with the autumn wind, so Tris decided upon a token element instead to set the wardings, with handfire as a focus.
The soldiers drew back to permit Tris to pass among them. He directed the guards to make a small pile of rocks. On this rough altar, Tris set out honey cakes and a flask of ale to honor the Goddess. When Tris reached the edge of the field, he drew his sword as an athame and made the sign of the Lady.
Tris felt power gathering around him as the wardings rose. He set a warding over the soldiers and the audience, and called a second warding around himself. When the wardings were in place, Tris called hand fire and focused on the pure, cold, blue flame that rested in his palm. He closed his eyes. As his concentration grew deeper, he extended his mage sense, inviting the spirits of the dead to come from their exile and join him. Tris could feel their energy all around him. As they began to manifest, the intensity of their feelings grew.
Tris opened his eyes. At least two hundred ghosts stood before him. He had expected a village, perhaps thirty or forty. But this! The dead were of every age-elders, young children, men, and women. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching him, waiting. It was clear that while some had been hanged, most had perished by the sword.
"I can't restore to you the life that was taken," Tris said to the spirits. "The usurper is dead. On my soul, no one will harm the villagers of Margolan while I live. You have the word of the king."
"We would make our peace with those who live," said the spirit of an old man.
"Have I your word that you'll harm no one?" Tris asked. The spirits nodded.
Tris expended more magic, enough to assure that the families of the Scirranish who huddled together on the outskirts of the field could see the revenants. A collective gasp told Tris he had been successful. He watched as the spirits moved among the living. The families cried out in recognition, sagging to the ground in grief or clinging to each other sobbing. Some of the soldiers stepped forward to greet loved ones, unashamed of the tears they shed. "Would you go to your rest now?" Many of these spirits had. rallied to Tris's summons during the rebellion. Drawing on Tris's magic, they made themselves visible to Jared's soldiers, attacking the marauding troops. Now, their vengeance complete, the ghosts' anger was spent.
When he had the spirits' agreement, Tris stretched out his hands toward the ghosts and spoke the words of power. The image of the Lover impressed itself in his mind, arms stretched forth in welcome, offering healing and succor. As the spirits began to wane, Tris felt them make the passage over. When the last had passed, he closed the energy behind them. Soterius had a cup ready for him and pressed it into his hands. Tris's hands shook as he accepted the brandy and downed it in one swallow. The Scirranish gathered around them.