Chapter 24: Market Basing

I

It was a crisp and clear winter morning. My sharp, leather shoes crunched into yesterday's snow, cracking through the icy outer crust. The footwear, along with a skull styled belt, the only quality clothing I still possessed. I wore a burlap shirt and baggy trousers made by a kind, if confused, chicken lady.

Shaking off the snow which had been deposited from brushing past branches, I finally exited the Wilds. Thanks to my deathly disposition the white fluff hadn’t melted and was easily removed.

Looking up from my clothes to the walled town - across a 100 foot section of cleared forest - I felt nostalgic. I have been doing that a lot lately, not ‘feeling nostalgic’ but feeling in general. Since my soul had slowly begun pulling itself in two, parts of me were being taken by each pole. The me that was presently in charge of my body had inherited more of the emotional aspects of myself whilst the other had been taking the more logical. It wasn’t 100% either way, I could still be reasonable, only about 10% of my total soul stuff had been completely taken to either one side or the other but it was enough to notice an increase in what I was emotional intensity.

It was a phenomena I would love to, nay, need to study further if I intended to keep who I was intact. I would have done so in the hidden lab in Fort Far-Reach, built as part of the settlement's resurrection, if time wasn’t so pressing. I knew nothing of the study of the soul, it was banned in my home world after the Undead War. Starting in a new field from scratch was a long and laborious process, thus I needed to find an expert on the topic in this world. The best place to do that would be the only institute for magical learning I had heard of - Woden’s School for the Magical Arts. I was headed there in the hopes of finding such a person, or at the very least begin the search.

Before departing from the treeline I checked all my Spells - intended to maintain the body I possessed. That of a 15 year old wannabe Wizard named Hal (Henry Price) who had black bowl-cut hair and circular rimmed silver glasses.

Minor Finesse allowed me the manoeuvrability to operate the Zombie vessel without appearing jerky and uncoordinated.

Sunscreen protected me from the effects of sunlight on undead flesh - that being the loss of animation - basically stopping me from falling unmoving to the ground until nightfall.

Preserve Meat prevented the flesh that housed me from slowly rotting away and, as such, I was forced to overlap instances of the Spell. About a month ago I had been unable to do that as I had fallen unconscious for three days. This had caused my skin to become rather gaunt and leathery, making me look older than my age. I would, at some point, have to return to my original bones.

Finally, I was employing a partial Illusionary Skin to make my left hand appear normal when it was, in fact, anything but. My other self, seeing the old left hand as useless - the mana network burned out from when I flooded Howard Phillips’ body with mental mana to release him from the control of an evil Wizard - replaced it with my original, or its bones, that Orlando had given to me before he knew who I truly was.

With my four necessary Spells cast and set to last for 24 hours or so, I began across the clearing to the town I had visited so long ago.

As I walked across the tree stumps of the cleared section of woodland, I wondered why I had felt nostalgic upon seeing this place. It didn’t at all look as I remembered. Where before, the town was small and lightly walled, with barely a gate, now the place was positively sprawling - the central section stoutly walled and subsequent rings having shorter, sometimes wooden defences. The place was on its way to being a city, and a martial one at that. Fitting for being on the new frontier - the blockade of civilization. The only thing I recognised was the spire of the church - though even that had changed. Before, it was a great white spire, narrowing to a point, atop which was skewered a yellow effigy of the sun - about the size of a man. Though the structure still stood, the top had been knocked off leaving a sharp obelisk stabbing up, no longer painted and showing the bear shaped stone beneath. No doubt it was consecrated to a new god if it were used at all. Orlando, my new Paladin, had alluded to the fact that the Goddess of Light - who used to be most worshipped in these lands - had fallen but neither me nor myself much cared for ecclesiastical matters.

“Stop,” a commanding, if tired, voice resounded from a rippling secretion of space just before me. I halted, raising my hands and coming still in the centre of the clearing. I followed the thin strand of mana which came from the distortion back to another hovering in front of a decorated armsman atop the wall. The Spell was being maintained by a rather sickly looking young mage who stood beside him in fluffy white robes - holding aloft her staff, more to show she was working than to aid with the working.

“State your name and intention,” the voice stated, in a flat tone - as if there were business as usual. For once, I thought before opening my mouth, would my name be known? I doubted so, I had used it several times and no one recognised it. Unfortunately the silence was more telling.

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“Name and intentions,” the man repeated, annoyance undercutting his professional tone. It was still the early morning so I could hardly hold it against him greatly.

“Osseus, I seek to enter the town and resupply before heading to Wiccawick,” I answered truthfully, knowing from Orlando that there were Skills which could detect falsehood. It may have been a slight bending of facts as, being undead, the only supplies I required were one's for writing as Orlando and Fettler combined - along with my short lived diary - had used the last of my parchment. I worried, for a moment, that my tone had been too self assured for a teenager wandering around in burlap rags - well made but nonetheless.

“Why are you coming from the Wilds?” he asked, returning to the this is just my job neutrality. That question was a difficult one to answer honestly, thinking not so long this time I replied:

“I was transported 3 days into the Wilds by a Spell.”

“3 days?” he asked with a tinge of respect. Before I could wonder if the question was rhetorical the officer asked another - proving it was. As he was saying the last he was also unfurling a scroll which the magi had handed him, clearly reading from it he called:

“Are you: intending any form of harm to the citizens of the town of Market Basing or the greater kingdom, in service to any of the fallen gods, or finally, a vampire,” the man listed in a bored tone. The boredom of bureaucracy must have been contagious as I was forced to stifle a yawn before replying:

“No, to all of the above.”

“Alright then,” he said sharply, rolling up the scroll and thrusting it back at the Witch, “You may proceed to the gate - so long as no contraband is discovered to be in your possession - the town of Market Basing, first of the frontier, welcomes you.” And with that he snapped his heels together, turned ninety degrees and marched off up the wall leaving the magic user to dismiss her Spell. She appeared quite drained from the effort - visibly slouching when the magic was released. The commanding man stamped a foot before coming to a stop. Without turning he shouted something, clearly intended for the woman as she quickly stood erect, I couldn’t hear what exactly from this distance without the Spell active. The commander then stamped his right foot again and continued marching as if a stick had been shoved up his arse.

I was surprised by the seriousness with which they took security here, I hadn’t seen any monsters when making my way through the forest. Lowering my hands slowly I continued across the cleared land and towards the shut portcullis. There might have been a queue in front of the other gates but it appeared the one which abutted the Wilds was rarely used.

Rust showered down on me in flakes as I waited for the great metal construction to be heaved up. Upon entering I was searched, they didn’t try very hard however - likely because of my poor clothing. They found nothing on me, one of the guards, clearly pitying me, threw me a single silver just before I left the checkpoint, only to receive a slap round the ear from his colleague. I had all I owned in a black velvet spatial bag, which I had found through happenstance. It was tied between the bones of my left arm, disguised by Illusionary Skin - the gatesmen didn’t even check for magic.

“Thanks!” I called back earnestly to the generous man as I raised a hand to my mouth forced to stifle another yawn. I had already started down the mostly empty morning-street by this time so he was forced to shout back.

“That’s fine, if you need a place to sleep - check out the Leading Jenny. It’s cheap and clean. If you need winter clothes the owner's daughter is who you wanna meet,” he added as I finally made it out of earshot - waving back all the while. I chuckled to myself:

What do I need with an inn, I don’t sleep nor eat, I thought - rubbing my tired eyes.

Wait… panicking at the sudden drowsiness that was quickly overcoming me, I wrenched myself into an alley and out of public view. The last time I had thought to take a short nap I had been taken over by my alter self and he did not relinquish control; it had to be struck from him.

Watching my hand opening and closing, my fingers thick and heavy, I had to force myself to calm. Panic yet another emotion that seemed to have a tighter grip upon me than normal.

Using Soul Manipulation, I looked inward to my core, where my soul was taking residence. The process of polarisation was accelerating and I could see pieces of me torn from the conglomerative centre and to each side. A memory one way, an instant death spell the other. More and more of what made me me was being separated into two new souls. Desperate, eyes blinking slowly - heavy with sleep, I resolved to try something stupid. I swallowed, steeling my nerve, before imbuing my left hand with Soul Manipulation as I slumped to the ground - against the wall.

I shoved my hand into my own chest, planning to fix the damage later. The Skill made the immaterial tangible and I grasped my own soul, then I shook it as hard as I could. That was perhaps the worst idea I had ever had. It did appear to stop the process of separation, sending the parts of me tumbling around like a globe filled with the snow which was beginning to silently fall.

It felt as though someone had stabbed me in my heart again, but at all moments of my life simultaneously - not only metaphorically but physically. It hurt. I was confused.

The last thought before I collapsed:

Why did I never examine that gnome's wind blocking contraption!