The strange door in the mines intrigued Jeremy. Sebas thought it was a prison. He didn’t doubt his butler’s assessment — especially with the spatial maze that came with it.
He was eager to investigate the place, but Sebas advised caution. They had no idea of what could be lurking inside — and the maze was a testament to its maker’s ingenuity and knowledge of magic.
Waiting another week or two wasn’t a problem. The door wasn’t a pressing issue and whatever was held inside wasn’t about to break out any time soon. They would wait for reinforcement, and his mantle should be finished before they set off.
He should probably do something about his arms. Monsters ripping them off or biting them was a problem. Of course, the simple solution was to use his staff. He did put a lot of work on the thing and it was a shame to leave it when he was going about risking his life.
Shelby probably wouldn’t mind being away from her toy now and again. She had grown attached to the golem, even pretending to mentor it in human niceties. It was her strange way of connecting with humans — or softies, as she refers to them.
He might not even need to convince Shelby to part with his staff. The investigation of the prison would start in a week or two. By then, the novelty of Staffany might have faded — or so he hoped.
Jeremy left the house hoping to talk to Shelby and found a visitor sitting on his porch — a girl, one of his
“Ehem,” Jeremy coughed. “What are you doing on my porch?”
The girl was startled, quickly standing up and making a ridiculous effort to bow properly. He should probably institute a formal gesture of obeisance among his followers. Lying prostrate on the ground or kneeling wouldn’t do — especially with all the dirt and jerms they would amass.
“Master Scourge, sir,” she started. “I—“
Jeremy held up a hand, silencing the girl. “It’s either Master, Scourge, or Sir. Pick one.”
“Scourge,” the girl bowed. “I implore you for your time. I need your assistance.”
Her words made him pause. They were a bit too formal for his liking, but there was sincerity and a hint of desperation hidden within.
“What was your name again? Djinn? Jinx? Jind—“
“Jinea,” she answered. “My name is Jinea.”
She looked downcast, something about her name being forgotten. Her shoulders visibly slumped and disappointment was written on her face. Truth be told, he never learned their names. Even if he did, the cacophony of voices in his head would foul them up in no time.
There was Warden, but he had such a strange name it was hard not to remember. He paused to think about the boy that came with him to Shallowpoint. What was his name again? Then again, he didn’t seem to remember asking for it the whole trip.
“Why are you here, Jinea?” he asked. “You can read, you know your numbers, and you’re old enough to live on your own. Surely, you can get a job in some shop or work as a scribe. So back to my question — why are you here?”
“Miss Min and the others,” she answered. “I was one of her first charges. The rest left long ago. I chose to stay and help.”
Jeremy frowned. The girl was averse to risk and preferred the familiar. She was more akin to his butler than himself. He thought about sending the girl away, but her look of desperation struck a discordant chord that intrigued him.
“You addressed me as Scourge — not master or sir,” he spoke in a hushed tone. “I assume you want the Scourge to train you — not you kindly master of magic or benevolent lord.”
“Yes, Scourge,” she kneeled on the ground and bowed low, her head touching his porch.
He shuddered. She was touching so much dirt. People from all over the place trod on those floors. Who knew what kind of disgusting jerms they brought with them. He appreciated the gesture for all that it meant — but he would not have his people dirtying themselves to show obeisance.
“Stand up,” he commanded. “There will be no kneeling on the ground from now on. If you want to be my mini— erm, disciple, you need to keep yourself clean.
Jinea stood up and dusted herself, seemingly satisfied that her knees and hand seemed free of dirt — but Jeremy knew otherwise.
“Why the Scourge? What do you think he is?”
“The Scourge roots out evil wherever it is,” she answered. “He punishes the wicked and humbles the mighty. Those who dare oppose him are degraded and made to see their insignificance. He would destroy the lives of the few to save the many. He could burn hellfire itself.”
Jeremy’s eyes kept twitching as the girl recited a litany of absurdities. Roots out evil wherever it is? He doesn’t even know where to find it! And what was that about degrading his enemies? That was something that Dylan-thing did!
“I used to have horns,” he reminisced. “Nice ones, I liked them. My father said they distracted from the message. I could be a demon or I could be death — but not both. He gave me a skull mask instead.”
He slipped the skull mask on his head to his face and stared at the girl intensely. “Do you understand what the Scourge is now?”
“Death,” she whispered, traces of fear in her voice.
“What? How did you get that?” Jeremy slipped back the skull mask in frustration. “You missed the entire point. The Scourge is a perception. A facade of sorts to cultivate mystery and menace. It’s a character that was slapped to me by the people of bountiful and fortified by my father’s aesthetic musings.”
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“I— I see.”
“Since you asked the Scourge for help, and not plain old Jeremy — you’ll need a brand, a character to play that people would remember. Do you have one?”
The girl hesitated. He imagined her running thoughts through her mind, desperate to find an answer to his question.
“I have one,” Jinea lifted her eyes, a determined look on her face.
“Fire right? Or was it ice?” Jeremy guessed. “Whatever it is, you should move away from my porch before doing anything.
Jinea nodded, moving away from the porch and standing in his yard. She checked what was around her before crossing her hands in front of her then sweeping them to her sides. Blue flames formed around her body, coalescing into the shape of some sort of bird with its wings spread out.
Jeremy stared at the fiery bird, flabbergasted at the sight. “You’re a flaming chicken?”
The fires died down as the girl lost her composure at his words. “It’s a phoenix,” she protested.
“I’m pretty sure that was a chicken,” he scoffed. “Even if it was a phoenix— it was just the image of it, not its substance. Would you rise up from the ashes of your flames? If I cut you into four pieces, would you miraculously resurrect the following morning?”
“No,” Jinea answered. “But you said—“
“I’ve seen a few phoenixes,” Jeremy mused. “There was one here just two days ago, and then there’s — forget it. The point is, you are no phoenix — nor do you want to be one.”
The girl was confused and disappointed. Her display of power was impressive for a beginner. It was certainly bright — what more if it was cloudy or deep into the night. It had potential.
“How long can you keep your flames up?”
The girl crossed her hands once more before spreading them, invoking the image of the flaming bird.
“Keep the flames as close to your body as possible. No need to be all showy and stuff.”
Jinea grit her teeth in determination. The form of the flaming bird slowly shrank, transforming into some kind of fiery membrane that encapsulated her body.
Jeremy examined the flames, holding out a hand to feel the heat. “Too hot,” he complained. “You’ll be setting things on fire by accident. Try manipulating air and entwining it to your summoned flame.”
The girl narrowed her eyes and manipulated her flames. It took half an hour before she could find a flame that was satisfactory.
“Now, how long can you keep that up?” he asked.
“A few hours. Maybe half a day if my pendant was full,” she answered. “Longer if you would allow me to draw mana from the air.”
Jeremy shook his head. The mana in the air would corrupt his potential minion. If anything was to corrupt his minions — it would be him.
“That’s a no on drawing mana,” he warned. “Stick to your pendant. I have a few more lying around somewhere, You can use one to keep up your flames when you’re awake.”
“Constantly keeping up the spell would drain a full pendant in two or three days,” Jinea noted.
“Then I’ll just fill it up again,” Jeremy assured her. He turned to her with a serious look on his face. “You’ll need your fire skin if you want to win the war against jerms. Those things are vicious, and you can’t even see them coming.”
“Jerms?”
“They’re everywhere, I tell you,” his eyes took on a glazed appearance. “They are legion and they have taken over the world. If you want to be my minion disciple, then you need to join the fight against jerms.”
“I will,” Jinea nodded, though there was still a bit of confusion on her face.
“I’m thinking of ways to circumvent the pendants,” Jeremy mused. “Pretty soon you and your barn friends should be able to draw clean mana without needing the pendants.”
“I look forward to it,” Jinea bowed.
“Now go wash yourself or take a bath.” he urged. “Just return at dawn and wait for me — and wear something clean.”
The girl turned to leave, attempting and failing at another series of bows and curtsies before heading back to the barn.
Jeremy watched her leave. Perhaps he should issue some kind of anti-jerm mandate to his minions followers.
He grinned at the idea as he made his way to Shelby. His connection to the snail guided him to the field where the farmhands played their little game. They were chasing around after a ball while Shelby’s golem chased after them. Even the three smaller snails were there, creating walls or pits that the boys needed to avoid or overcome. It was a strange game, but they seemed to be enjoying it.
“Hello, Shelby. How is the game?” he sat down beside the snail. He saw the boy who accompanied him to Shallowpoint sitting at her other side.
Shelby became animated, starting to click and chirp in excitement.
“You have something for me?” he asked. He was beginning to understand her words and gestures. It could be their psychic bond — but Shelby seemed to prefer speaking in her snail speech rather than telepathically.
She took out a pair of snake skeletons and urged him to try them on. They seemed strange for skeletons. Jeremy felt the distinct feel of metal, getting an idea of what they were for.
“These are for my protection? You bribed Siege to make them? But you killed the snakes on your own.?”
Shelby happily swayed her flails, happy that he understood.
He placed one of the snake skeletons on his forearm. The ribs opened and closed, making it easy to put on. The skeletal vambrace covered the length of his forearm and the snake’s head extended to the pack of his hand. Its fangs were barely grazing his skin.
Jeremy grabbed the bone head, driving the fangs into his skin — securing the strange vambrace. It was a work of genius. Not Siege’s — all he did was coat the thing with metal. It fit his image perfectly — and even his father would have approved.
He wore the other set of bones to Shelby’s visible delight. They would need to be enchanted and fortified. He would have to be meticulous since these were gifts from his beloved companion.
His eyes darted to the field drawn by the sudden screaming. The red golem seemed to have caught one of the boys and Boot was trying his best to pry it off the struggling farmhand.
It dawned on him. Was the snake vambraces a trade for the staff? It didn’t seem so. Perhaps it was just Shelby’s way of telling him he didn’t need to take the staff to be safe.