Book of The Dead

“That friend of yours is awful pretty.”

“I’m trying to work here, Dove.”

“I get that, I get that. I’m just saying… that she’s pretty.”

“Elsbeth is pretty. Congratulations for noticing the bleeding obvious. What’s next? Water is wet? The sky is blue? Yor is impossibly sexy?”

“That’s quite the compliment. I’m pleased to hear my appearance elicits the desired effect.”

Oh, shit.

“Fucking hell, Dove,” Tyron growled. “You knew she was there.”

“I knew no such thing,” the skull said smugly.

Despite his burning embarrassment, Tyron didn’t stop moving his hands. It’d taken long hours of work to butcher the bodies and now he was in the process of preparing the bones. That meant painstakingly examining them with magick, cleaning them until they were spotless, kickstarting their infusion with Death Magick and doing his best to plug any leaks.

He’d already finished working on the skulls, which were sitting in neat rows on a bed upstairs. He had twenty five bandit bodies to work with in the end, more than enough to satisfy his needs. He wasn’t sure if he would take his numbers back to the twenty he’d had when he was attacked.

Perhaps he’d be able to have more after he advanced his Class.

Right now, he was working on a huge pile of finger bones. The most tedious part of the entire process. If he had to restart, he’d probably slam his head into a wall. He wouldn’t stop for anything.

“I’d almost started to think I was having no effect on you. Nice to see that despite your many gifts, you are still human.”

Something about the way the Vampire spoke felt so intimate. Despite standing across the room, he felt as if she were whispering in his ear. It was more than a little distracting.

“Stop it, Yor,” he said, “I’m trying to focus.”

The Vampire pouted.

“I thought you’d be a little more grateful, considering what I had to do for you.”

That’s true.

“I am grateful,” he stated. “Though I do wonder if there may be a cost associated with said help.”

Yor unleashed a throaty chuckle.

“A Vampire’s help is never free. It’s good that you have begun to recognise this.”

“Didn’t you already help him?” Dove pointed out. “What are you going to do if he doesn’t pay you back, un-help him?”

“We would simply refuse to help him again in the future.”

“Which would leave me ankle deep in the shit the next time the Old Gods decided to drop me in it.”

“It’s nice to see you understand your predicament,” Yor smiled.

Dove was silent for a moment before he spoke up again.

“Kid, I know I haven’t asked too much about it, but can we talk about the weird stuff that’s happening with you? You have a ritual to communicate with the Abyss, you managed to summon sexy-legs over there, and now you’re talking about Old Gods? Whatever the hell those are. I’m a little confused.”

Tyron continued to work, but flicked his eyes towards Yor, who shrugged slightly.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. This was forced on me, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, but it looks like I don’t have a choice but to confront the matter.”

“I assume we aren’t talking about your Necromancer class.”

“No, we’re talking about the Anathema sub-class that I received during my Awakening.”

“During? You got a sub-class immediately?”

Tyron nodded grimly.

“Yes. Three patrons bestowed the Class on me. The Abyss. The Scarlet Court. The Dark Ones. My first choices were to obtain a ritual that allowed me to contact them, which they pressured me to do every time I used the Status ritual.”

“Which explains the shitshow in Woodsedge.”

“I nearly died that night,” Tyron recalled. “I could feel them scratching at my mind.” He shuddered. “Not something I was keen to repeat.”

“I can imagine,” Yor drawled.

“It’s not like talking to the Court was much more pleasant. I had to drain half the blood out of my body to get that to work.”

“There’s nothing that says it has to be your blood.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll just sacrifice a virgin next time, shall I?”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary at all,” Yor chided him, “unless you are trying to contact the truly old ones. They are a little more traditional than the rest of us.”

“Well that’s… just great.”

“That’s a lot to take in,” Dove said. “So if I’m reading the situation right, you are currently beholden to three ancient powers that have an equal claim on you, and some of them are getting impatient. Am I right?”

“Basically, yes.”

“You’re fucked.”

Tyron winced.

“Thanks, Dove. I think I worked that much out for myself. Any chance you can find a way for me to un-fuck myself?”

“First, that’s a disturbing image. Second, not really. I don’t know anything about the Court other than what I’ve learned from closely observing our Vampiric friend over there…”

Yor pulled her shawl a little tighter around herself.

“... and I’ve never heard of any ‘Dark Ones’. I mean, I can assume a fair bit, given the name, but I have no clue what they might want or how to appease them.”

“I notice you didn’t mention the Abyss,” Tyron’s brows rose.

The skull hesitated to speak.

“I’m more familiar with that place… it’s true. But…. What happened when you contacted them? You’ve done it once?”

“Twice.”

“Fuck me, kid. How are you alive?”

“Luck, mostly. The first time was… rough. I had to draw the circle in some dust, didn’t have a focus, and the ritual wasn’t well executed. There were several sigils where….”

“Kid, you’re shit hot at casting, we get it. Move on.”

“Ah, ok. Basically it felt as if a thousand voices were trying to drill into my head, babbling some sort of nonsense speech I couldn’t understand. When I managed to force them out and regain control of myself, I saw a mass of black tentacles forcing their way through the rift.”

“Abyssal…”

“I presume so. I ended the ritual and that was that. The second time I was much better prepared. I could even interpret the language a little. It felt as if they were communicating in images, flashes of scenes that were difficult to picture or understand. Eventually, I had to force the voices away and end the ritual before anything got through the rift.”

“By Selene’s sweet supplicants, that is dangerous magick, kid. You’re lucky you weren’t driven insane or eaten.”

“Communicating with the Abyss is always such a trial,” Yor sniffed, “no elegance or decorum at all. It’s obvious which of the three is more pleasurable to work with.”

“Putting that aside…. Look, I’m no expert, but what do you actually know about the Abyss?”

“Pretty much nothing,” Tyron admitted. “Other than the Abyssal entry in my parents’ Slayer manuals, I’ve never read anything about it.”

“Right, well… actually, am I alright to tell him this stuff?”

“What do you mean?” Tyron frowned.

“I’m talking to the Vampire, kid. Are you going to interfere if I educate him about one of your rivals?”

“Not at all,” Yor said. “We aren’t afraid of healthy competition.”

“Alright then. Let me get into a lecturing frame of mind. Just imagine me with a pipe and a drinking problem.”

“Got it.”

“So, the Abyss. So the rifts connect this realm to a bunch of other ones right? Realms that have been overrun with wild magick and turned into monster-making factories, intent on spreading the love. With me so far?”

“Everyone knows that much.”

“We always start from the fundamentals. Now, the Abyss itself is not a realm, it’s not even a place, as such. It’s kind of like negative-space.”

Tyron frowned as he continued to weave his magick.

“I’ll need help with that one, Dove. Negative-space?”

“I’m no expert, like I said. The best way I can frame it is to say that in the places where no realms exist, that’s where the Abyss is. It’s not a realm, or dimension in the sense that we understand them. It’s what exists where those things don’t.”

“Sounds… weird.”

“We are only getting started. Inside the Abyss are a host of entities, each of them terrifying in their own little way. Most of them can’t physically exist on this side of the Veil, which is why Abyssals are so nasty.”

“Because they can.”

“Exactly. And they are a fucking nightmare to kill. But even Abyssals are only a medium-sized fish in the nightmare ocean that is the Abyss. If you go a little deeper, push out a little further, you can talk to the big boys, the sharks and whales.”

“They’re more powerful than Abyssals?”

“Heck yes they are. Extremely powerful, and absurdly dangerous. From what I know, not only can they not exist on this side, they can’t even speak to anything on this side.”

“Meaning….”

“If you want to talk to them, you have to go in.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. And there endeth my knowledge. Every Mage who has anything to do with dimension magick learns this much, so we know what to look for in case someone is fucking with forbidden rituals. We are specifically not taught more than that so we don’t start fucking with forbidden rituals.”

This helps explain why the Old Gods backed off when the Court threatened to tattle on them. They must have a pact with one of these whales in the Abyss. Something so powerful even the gods had to check themselves.

If he could forge an alliance with something like that….

“The issue is, what do you have to offer to an entity like that?” Yor said. “You need something to bargain with, something they have need of, otherwise you will simply be devoured.”

“And I suppose you know what that is?”

“I do, I’m even willing to share it, if Tyron is happy to acknowledge the favour he owes us. That is all I ask.”

“Done,” he said decisively.

He could already negotiate with the Court through Yor, and he could possibly do the same for the Gods through Elsbeth or Munhilde, but he had to be able to communicate with all three if he wanted a chance of preserving himself.

Yor’s lips peeled back to reveal a fang-filled grin.

“Souls,” she said. “They love souls.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tyron sat at the table and buried his head in his hands. It was well past midnight now, the flickering candlelight the only thing illuminating the empty dining room. That and Dove’s eyes.

He was getting faster at every aspect of minion creation, including the butchering, but it was still a time-consuming process, especially if he wanted to do it right. These bones were his last chance to improve and refine his skills before he committed to the status ritual and advanced his Class. Everything had to be perfect.

“You don’t have a lot of time, kid,” Dove reminded him. “This place is going to get hot soon. And I don’t mean in a sexy way.”

The weary Necromancer lifted his head and rubbed vigorously at his eyes, trying to wipe away the sandy feeling he got every time he blinked.

“I know. I should be leaving tomorrow morning, if I want to be safe. The Slayers can’t be far away.”

“Or the marshals. Heading up to the mountains and laying low for a while is your best bet. Only problem being….”

“I won’t have access to the materials I need. Unless I make the most out of what I have here, I can’t advance my Class with confidence.’

“Bingo. It might be worth holding off for a day in order to make preparations. Something to think about.”

“Just what I needed.”

His body cried out for rest. He still hadn’t fully recovered, despite whatever healing Munhilde had done, and he was bone weary on top. He had to sleep. With the bones properly prepared and in the process of saturating upstairs, all he could do was wait anyway.

“I’m heading to bed,” he said as he stood, then paused. “Any idea where Yor went?”

“Why? You thinking of inviting her to your boudoir?”

“I still want to live, thanks. I was just curious.”

“I have no idea. It’s not easy for me to keep track of stuff in my current condition.”

“Fair enough,” Tyron yawned. “See you in the morning.”

He raised his palm and created a globe of a light before blowing out the candles about the room. He wouldn’t have many more nights in a proper bed, he had to enjoy them while he could.

A gentle tapping sounded from the door.

“Tyron? Are you awake?”

He turned to the door, surprised. Normally nobody bothered him in this house. The widows and children were happy to give the Necromancer his space.

“Elsbeth?” he called. “Is that you?”

“Are you going to let me in or leave me on the doorstep in the dark?” she replied.

The chair clattered to the floor as he stood in a hurry and made his way to the door with haste.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he saw her standing in the dark. “Usually no one drops in on me when I’m working.”

The Priestess hesitated for a moment as she entered the building, before firming her resolve and stepping through. Thankfully, she didn’t see any evidence of Tyron’s ‘work’ in the room. She’d been afraid that she’d find… in truth her imagination hadn’t been sure where to go. Would she find Tyron wrist deep in cadavers, covered in blood and gore? She’d envisioned him grinding bones to powder and doing gods knows what with it.

“Looking for the bloodstains?” he asked as he noticed her glancing about.

“Oh! Ah… a bit, yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tyron shrugged. “I don’t like it, but this is what I have to do if I want to continue in my class. It’s disgusting, and I threw up the first few times I did it. Turns out you can get used to just about anything.”

“We buried what you brought us,” she told him, “or at least, what your skeletons brought us. I presume that was all the… the….”

“The flesh?” He chuckled. “Yes. I kept the bones and put them upstairs. There is a… process that they will go through before I can raise them as minions.”

He invited her to sit at the table and summoned a few light globes to illuminate the room. Thankfully, he’d packed away his butchering tools and cleaned up. The room had looked far more macabre a few hours ago. He’d learned quickly that you needed to be thorough in these things. The stench of rotting flesh wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed.

“It’s hard for me to imagine that this is your life now,” Elsbeth admitted, “chopping up corpses, using magick on human bones.”

“It’s not exactly what I envisioned for myself, either,” he wearily smiled, “but it is what it is. This is the class I was given, so I’m going to make the best of it. I can help people as a Necromancer, just like I helped the survivors here. I can fight in the rifts, kill monsters, save lives. If I get strong enough, do enough good, then they’ll have to accept me.”

He spoke with such confidence that Elsbeth almost believed him, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t forget the reason she had been rejected by the Divines.

It was Tyron.

The Messenger had told her point blank that he was the cause, though she had no idea why. The Five had turned her life upside down simply because she was his friend. What would they do to Tyron to make sure he was never able to succeed?

“I hope that comes true,” she said. “You’ve done so much already. The women here, they suffered terribly. If you hadn’t come… well, I’m glad you did.”

He nodded.

“Me too,” he said.

The two fell into a companionable silence for a few minutes. For a short while, it felt like old times, spending time together without a purpose in mind, as good friends did. It was pleasant. Elsbeth was the one person Tyron felt comfortable enough around to let his guard down and he’d missed being able to properly relax in the presence of another person.

“I wanted to apologise,” Elsbeth spoke up. “I didn’t mean to attack you over the bodies of the bandits. I was just shocked, I suppose. I knew intellectually what being a Necromancer meant, but being confronted with the reality of it took me by surprise. I’m sorry.”

She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke and he could see she meant it. He brushed a hand through his hair and felt mildly embarrassed.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped at you the way I did. As I said, I had a hard time adjusting to it when I was starting, there’s no reason why you should be any different.”

Elsbeth smiled, pleased to see her friend had returned.

“What do you plan to do now? Are you going to stay a bit longer and help protect these people?”

He shook his head.

“I wish I could,” he said regretfully. “The Slayers will be clearing out the kin who came through the area after the break and the marshals will be shortly behind them. I might be doing my best to help people, but I’m still illegal. If they catch up to me, I’ll be dead.”

What a terrible way to live, Elsbeth thought, and her sense of injustice rose. He hasn’t harmed anyone, only the class is illegal. And who decides what makes a class illegal anyway? What someone does with what they’ve been given is the only thing that should matter.

“Do you…” she hesitated, “want me to come with you? I could help.”

“That… wouldn’t be right. You need to stick with your teacher and advance your class. You won’t be able to do that with me. What do you have to do to advance as Priestess of… them, anyway?”

Elsbeth sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Tend to the faithful and perform miracles of your gods,” she quoted, “whatever that means.”

“Miracles? Do you have any spells?”

“I had a choice of a few minor things at level two, cantrips I suppose you can call them.”

“What did you pick?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not going to laugh!”

“I have a spell that helps preserve food….”

“That’s useful!”

“Is it?”

“Of course.”

They continued to joke back and forth, and for just a moment, they were able to forget all that had changed.