“A bit of both. Each individual symbol has its own meaning, but the sum is greater than its parts, see?” Pal holds the stone in the palm of his hand, tipping it towards Clarke. In the darkness of the forest, the rust-brown symbols are difficult to read, barely smudges against grey rock, but he carefully points them out all the same. “That’s because the more complex it is, the more protection it provides. This,” he points at a corner of a symbol, one of the first he drew, “keeps people other than myself from passing the wards, while this,” he points at another shadowy symbol, “is meant to hold back unwanted revenants. That’s a bit tricky in these circumstances—I have to make it weak enough that I can force some ghosts through, but not so weak that they can come and go as they please. And this, “he points one more time, “is a sort of alert. A security alarm. So I know if something has gotten through, wanted or unwanted.”

“But what really matters is the material used to make the ward,” he adds. “Because it’s in my blood, I remain unaffected and in control. I’m the key to the lock, if you like. That power can be layered, too—if I had included your blood, for example, you would have been able to pass through the wards unaffected. Bone ash works, too, but bone wards are a bit easier to break.”