Chapter 20: Lord of Bones

V

Orlando's face was icy as he moved towards me with slow steps, he let the deer piled atop him fall to the wayside but the tension was so great that no one dared to pick up the meat they were clearly in need of. I backed up, waving my hands defensively.

“Is that not your name,” I tried, feigning ignorance. As his slow march did not abate I hit my head as if a realisation struck me. “Ah, no that was your father’s name - sorry like I said I’m a student of history. Sometimes I get the names mixed up.” I said, scrambling for an excuse, if whatever this was came to blows I wouldn’t stand a chance. I could flood the magical connection we had formed, that of servant and master, with mental mana and control him the same as Maniae had - but no. My back flattened against the rough stone wall, crumbling against my skin, particles of rack tumbling down my back in place of sweat. Perhaps I would have to, it would be so easy

- no, I shouldn’t…

why not?

He had been through enough.

How is that my problem?

It’s not.

It’s not?

That’s wrong.

Why?

How would I feel if I were in his position?

But you’re not, and besides, when have we ever cared for others?

I won’t do it.

What about Soul Manipulation, we’ve been dying to discover just what ghost buddies dose.

We?

We?

“Osseus?” Orlando asked, as if wanting me to pass the salt. His nose was less than an inch from our forehead.

When did he get so close? This isn’t safe. We should kill him.

“Yes?” I replied reflexively, my mind so muddled that I couldn’t think to lie.

Orland slammed the wall next to my head, blowing a hole clean through. An action that may have been due to anger, if not for the coldness that remained in his blue eyes - still sparking with the faint remnants of purple lightning.

The crowd was frozen.

Kill him, or at the very least take him under your control. He is dangerous!

“You lied to me.” Orlando stated calmly.

Something sizzled, and out of the corners of our eyes we could see that the irreverent dwarf was ignoring the scene and had begun to cook a leg of meat.

“Ahh” we shouted incoherently, my heads splitting in pain.

Spittle flecked the mans face but he didn’t flinch,

he won’t give us space - KILL HIM -

he simply looked long and hard into the eyes.

KILL HIM

“Kill it, him was do……………” I said starting with a shout but trailing off into a whisper as I doubled over in pain.

Darkness embraced me to the applauding sounds of shocked gasps.

☠☠☠

Before there was anything, there was nothing.

The first light was born, she thought to burn forever.

She is dark in death.

Death is patient.

Light brought new life:

What is life but death to be?

Animal’s fought to have the best of life,

Few came out on top.

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All died.

Death is equal.

Mortals grew from the best,

Races of all sorts.

They discovered magic,

The strongest of them grew no older.

They thought they could not die.

Death was stumped.

Mortals created war,

Balance was restored.

Death is inevitable.

The strongest of the magic mortals died,

A knife to the back,

And death was pleased.

A Lich rose from death to walk once more.

Death was confused.

This new undead did not die,

The lich was stabbed,

The lich was burned,

The lich was drowned,

But still the soul of the strongest mage lived.

Death was angry.

Mortals do not live long,

And death is patient.

Death saw the lich die over and again,

But, Death is not suffered lightly.

Death changed the soul that could not die.

The lich started to claim souls for death,

It would not stop.

Death is maddening.

The strongest mage was smart,

None had killed the immortal soul,

But the Lich knew how.

A plan was set in motion,

And the soul that could not die brought about its own death.

Death always wins.

☠☠☠

I awoke in the dark to screaming. Metal rang on stone and ceramic shattered. I got up with a start, or tried to, I was pinned to my bed by my chest. Flailing my arms, I strained to untangle myself from the covers. Except... there were covers, there was a bed! A new wave of pain rocked me, radiating out from the mushed remains of my head. I felt both light and airy, detached from reality, and periodically crushed back down into it by pain.

Where am I?....No….Who was screaming?

I looked around, finding myself in the ruined master bedroom. To my left, a hole looking out across an endless wind bent the forest. To my right, a beastwoman I didn’t recognise, standing - frozen in shock - looking at me like I was a ghost. At her feet, the remains of a tea set. No…wait…I did recognise her. She was the chicken beastkin that had lent me her shawl. I thought. My memory of the night before was hazy.

Why is she screaming?

“Why are you screaming?” I asked without inflection, my voice hoarse for some reason.

The woman was able to shut her beak but opening it again seemed beyond her, she simply pointed at me; her black eyes wide with fear.

Not understanding, I looked down at myself. There was a knife sticking out of my chest, straight through my heart. My blood ran as cold as the headmistress of a convent school. That knife. I wrapped a hand around the hilt, pulling it free with a squelch, black blood staining the already rotting and moth ridden blankets. A whimper came from the lady by the door and there followed a meaty thump upon the stone floor but I did not look over. My attention was transfixed by the weapon.

The intricate enchantment, designed to get through my own take on a personal ward, a ward that I had not the materials to construct nor had I ever made in this world. The profile, so stuck within my mind that if I were to close my eyes to sleep it’s shape would be there. My vision blurred as the events that succeeded my death replayed themselves. When I returned to the room there was nothing in my hand.

I found no wound in my chest as I frantically searched. I got up with a start, desperately forcing my thoughts to stay in their nice neat order and not float off on their own. I didn’t know what to do, I was panicking.

Am I going mad? I thought. Was this what the dragon had warned me of with her final words, or was this because of the souls I had consumed in a fit of induced rage? How could I even begin to know what was happening? Words rang through the chaos like a bell:

“When you don’t know what to do, do what you can,” it was my master's voice though I didn’t know from when it came. I looked about. On the floor, just inside the door was the bird lady’s fainted body. I moved to her side seeking to help her. Although the tea pot had cracked enough remained to contain a good mouthful of the divine liquid. I took, from the fallen tray, a mug that hadn’t shattered and poured the last of the brown fluid into it, ensuring there were no fragments of ceramic.

When the beastwoman began to stir seconds later I offered her the drink.

“Oh, thank you dear,” she said in a kind and motherly cluck, “I have no idea what came over me. I just got to the top of the stairs and fainted, I’m embarrassed to be so out of shape.”

“But the knife… you saw it… you were screaming.” I insisted not even sure myself. If I couldn’t trust my own mind, what could I trust?

“You must still be unwell,” she said, rising to her spurs and laying a feathered hand upon my brow. “Great eggs, you're as cold as death. Get back in bed, that gnome used some device to block the wind from entering the ruins before he left so you’ll be perfectly warm. And here, I think you need this tea more than me.” she ended, pressing the mug into my hand. Dizzily I complied.

I hadn’t even noticed the magical windbreak which surrounded the building, I had even taken note of the trees bowing in the gailing aftermath of last night’s storm.

Wait, how long have I been out?

“The gnome left? How long was I unconscious?” I asked, unable to hide the concerne from my voice. The kind woman took the time to tuck my childlike physique into bed, ensuring the out of date sheets were tight before answering.

“You only slept the night, after that fit overtook you. Rowland left with the others, trying to get them back to their homes.”

“But you're still here?” I asked, confused.

“I couldn’t leave you in that state, as much as Rowland seemed willing to; not that he would give me a reason mind. Besides, there's nothing back home for me.” She must have interpreted my look as one of pity as she continued, “I’m not here alone, Fettler, the dwarf, stayed behind, something about good stone. Rowland said he’d be back when he’s situated the survivors, I do hope he’s got his act together. Honestly leaving a child in that state, it’s hard to see how the others treat him as a hero.”

“No, it’s not his fault,” I tried to explain, the room spinning around me. She wasn’t having any of it however.

“Get some rest, that will make you feel better,” she reassured. The last words I heard before drifting fitfully into restless slumber.