Maric had betrayed him. The dark urges pulsed, demanding its death, calling up an image of him throwing the skeleton to the floor and stomping on its skull until it was broken splinters, then tearing its Soul apart. His hands twitched, wanting to reach out.
No. He grit his teeth, pressing the urge down. It was foolish to kill the skeleton. He needed more information, on everything, and he’d found Kleos increasingly limited in that regard. Kleos’ understanding of things was spotty. Maric knew a great deal, perhaps it knew things which Kleos did not. Kleos had been of great use to Nicolai in telling him about Cultivation and wider, common-knowledge matters. But the head knew nothing about the goings-on in the castle and had little to offer him in terms of what, exactly, could be happening with the dark and the hole and the cage inside of Nicolai. He needed to know what was happening.
The darkness writhed within him, pressing at the cage. Snarling, Nicolai held it back. He saw Maric take another cautious step backwards.
Increasingly, he was finding himself against the darkness because it was simply obvious to him that its desire to kill was pointless and wasteful.
The darkness was full of hate and rage. But Nicolai reminded himself that he was not the darkness. It had its uses, at times. He was convinced that there were moments where it had aided him, warned him, and even allowed him to fight better. There was something he did not understand about it. It was more than it seemed, and he was determined to wrest any value he could from it.
But it was not wise. Why should he care about Maric’s betrayal? Why should he allow emotion to overwhelm him? It was illogical and unnecessary. In truth, or at least thinking in a way that felt true to him, Nicolai knew that he cared little about Maric’s betrayal.
Betrayal was always to be expected. Why should Maric feel any compulsion to work honestly with Nicolai? Nicolai certainly felt no such compulsion toward Maric. He had always been working with Maric for his own benefit. It was only natural that Maric had been working with him for selfish reasons, too.
However, though the bulk of Nicolai cared little about the betrayal, he knew that it was important to act otherwise.
Maric needed to be punished. If Nicolai simply let him off, Maric would be encouraged to betray him again. He would feel that there was nothing to fear, that he could make as many attempts as he wished and still be treated softly in response.
Nicolai had decided to recruit Maric, who would be returning to the safe place and joining the others. This would lead to a vulnerability. Maric was obviously not trustworthy and would need to be contained, controlled, and watched carefully. An expenditure of resources.
Nicolai decided he needed to make it possible for him to rely upon Maric again, to make it trustworthy, at least in a way. To Nicolai’s mind, making Maric “trustworthy” was less about winning Maric’s trust, and more about simply ensuring that a subsequent act of betrayal would seem to be an extremely bad idea to the undead, and that it would be best served by doing as Nicolai bid. Or even, making such an act of betrayal impossible or as close to impossible as possible.
In short, what Nicolai needed was some kind of powerful leverage that would force Maric to do as he wished, alongside working out what the undead wanted and dangling that thing in front of Maric.
Immediately, he hit upon a solution. He had observed that the skull where the blue light could be found was the most important part of any undead. So long as the skull was unbroken, the undead’s Soul wisp would remain within. The rest of the body, however, could be freely smashed.
‘You betrayed me Maric. I wanted to work with you but now I cannot trust you.’ He spoke in solemn tones.
‘No, no, we certainly can work together—‘ Maric began, but Nicolai didn’t wait to hear what else it would say. It didn’t matter.
He lunged forward and Maric was far too slow and weak to keep him away as Nicolai drew a combat knife and slashed out. The heavy blow crunched through the vertebrae’s of Maric’s upper-spine, its neck, and the skull came free from the rest of its body, Maric letting out a wail of shock and horror.
As its body collapsed to the ground, Nicolai sheathed the knife and caught the skull before it could fall and crack. He reached in and took his sticky grenade out, as it was no longer needed.
‘There we are,’ he said, smiling down at the skull, turning it to face him. ‘Now we can work together.
‘What have you done!’ howled Maric, its Soul wisp writhing inside its skull, its jaw clacking madly. ‘My body, you severed me from my body!’
‘No, Maric,’ said Nicolai, his tone and expression sad and regretful, shaking his head. ‘You are the one who did that. Don’t you understand? This is all because you betrayed me. If you had simply worked with me, you would still be whole. In fact, what I have done here is a kindness.’
‘A kindness?!’ screeched the furious undead.
‘A kindness.’ Nicolai nodded solemnly. ‘You see, after your betrayal, I would have had no choice but to kill you out of fear of a second betrayal. But now, you are not capable of enacting any evil misdeeds, because you have no arms and legs with which to fashion them. Now, I no longer have to kill you. Now, we can work together.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t you see, Maric? This is a great day!’ He jiggled the head up and down. ‘You get to live, Maric! You get to live!’
He played his Soul Sense tendrils carefully over the skull, investigating as closely as he could what Maric was feeling. The head was furious and terrified all at once, mostly at Nicolai, but there was a bit of self-recrimination, there, too.
Perfect. ‘It’s a shame about your body. Perhaps we can put you back together, in time.’ He angled an eyebrow at the skull. ‘If you prove yourself trustworthy, that is.’
‘Yes! Please!’ said Maric. ‘Bring my body with us, don’t leave it here!’
‘You will need to pay me back, Maric, for your betrayal,’ said Nicolai. ‘You will have to do as I ask. Not forever, but for a time. Before I think about taking your body back with me, we need to discuss this. Are you willing to do what I tell you?’
‘Of course, of course! It is no problem. I… deeply regret that I made the mistake of betraying you.’ The blue light in its eyes flickered. ‘It was a… foolish thing to do.’
Nicolai’s Soul Sense pressed tight around the skull, reading all that he could. Maric did regret what had happened, though only because of how badly it had ended for the undead. It was indeed thinking that it should have done things differently, though perhaps that would have simply involved being smart enough to avoid getting stuck with bombs. Even so, it was a good sign. The stick had proved effective. Now, the carrot.
‘What you say about wanting to free yourself from your state of undeath is not something I am against, either. If you will work with me, then I am happy to provide any help you need in achieving this aim,’ he told the undead. ‘In fact, there is another with me, another undead. It, too, seeks to be reborn, to gain a living body, and I am helping it to do so.’
Maric’s eyes flared. ‘Really?’
‘If you are willing to work with me,’ said Nicolai, smiling.
‘I am willing, I am! Yes, simply ask whatever questions you wish of me, I will provide any information you need. I will… I will prove that I can be trusted.’
From the head, now, Nicolai did feel a desire to prove itself, to gain his trust. Still, it was fuelled mostly by its selfish desires, but that was fine. In fact, if Nicolai were to feel any selflessness from the undead, he would not be reassured. He would instead be more wary, fearing that perhaps it had recognised how he was observing its mental state and that it had learned to deceive him.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
They had come to something of an understanding. Nicolai had what he wanted.
‘You’ll go in here, for now,’ he told the skull, stuffing it in a bag.
‘Wait!’ cried Maric. ‘Get my bones, the rest of my body! Don’t leave them here!’
‘I will. Relax and be quiet,’ Nicolai told the skull, zipping the bag closed. After a moment, which he spent imagining the skull calling out at a bad moment, he unzipped it. ‘Consider this your first test,’ he told the skull. ‘Stay quiet… if you want to prove you are trustworthy.’
‘Of course, yes, I will be,’ whispered Maric as he zipped it back up. ‘Wait!’ the skull cried at the last moment.
Nicolai frowned down at it. ‘What?’
‘Uh, actually, I think I should say something. You know I said it’s not a big deal, the Soul rot, that you could chop it out later? Actually, you should probably chop it out now. Sooner is better.’
From Maric’s vague emotions Nicolai sensed significant worry. He judged the undead was telling the truth. He found this deeply concerning, because he’d also judged it to be telling the truth when it had told him the Soul rot was something he could worry about later.
Maric had lied to him, and he hadn’t realised.
He unzipped the bag and pulled the skull free.
‘You lied to me.’ He stared expressionlessly at the undead.
‘I might have.’
‘What were you thinking, at the time?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘What were you thinking, when you lied to me? Your state of mind?’
It stared at him, confused. ‘I don’t know? I just didn’t want you to spend time cutting the Soul rot out. I wanted to get to the books.’
‘So you were in a rush? You simply didn’t care about the Soul rot, and brushed over the matter?’
‘I… yes?’
Nicolai nodded, considering. That made some sense. At the time, he had sensed dismissiveness from the undead. He had incorrectly identified this as meaning the undead was telling the truth, and didn’t consider the Soul rot a big deal. But it was simply that Maric had cared nothing for his health, thus the dismissiveness.
It was a reminder that even with his abilities at reading the emotions and thoughts of others, even with his skill at discerning the truth from those readings, he was still fallible. He could make mistakes, if he wasn’t paying enough attention.
‘So I should excise the Soul rot immediately?’ he asked Maric.
‘Yes. The longer you leave it, the worse it will get.’
Nicolai nodded then shoved the skull back into the bag. He carefully considered what Maric had told him and the emotions and feelings he felt from the undead, performing an unusually thorough check for any untruths.
He settled onto the ground, crossed his legs, and moved his focus inwards, preparing.
‘Hey,’ came a voice, and his eyes opened. Beth was staring at him. ‘I got all the books I could, but the rest of them are chained down.’
‘Here,’ he tugged the disc-cutter free from where it was attached to the side of the bag, handing it up to her.
Beth nodded, turning away.
Nicolai’s focus moved inwards once more. In moments the shrill whine of a disc-cutter rang out, shattering the quiet ambience of the library. It didn’t bother Nicolai. Rather the sound calmed him.
His awareness floated around the black rot infecting his Soul’s arm. The infection was quite far up the arm of his Soul. Already he could see how it had spread strands through the entirety of his Soul’s arm, just in the time he’d not been looking. It seemed that in some way it had known he was observing it earlier, and it had been less active as a result. Then, when his attention turned away, it resumed spreading. Those strands were trying to push up towards his shoulder, but were held back by the constant rush of Oma seeking to mend his Soul.
Nicolai focused on the sound of the disc-cutter. Brutal technology turned to destruction. The sound moved into him, through him, and he took it.
He focused his mind. As the whine of the cutter rang through the library, it found an echo in Nicolai’s Soul, as he used the stuff of his Soul, his Soul Sense, his mind, and turned it to his Soul’s arm. He imagined himself a disc cutter. His Soul twisted at the shoulder, turning sharp, turning against. Nicolai began to cut the infected arm of his Soul away.
The pain was instant and immense. His teeth grit tight. Streaks of red-hot pain were shooting up and down his arm, through his Soul, through all of him, continuous and seeming only to rise.
But once started he would not stop. The disc-cutter’s whine juddered into him and through him, and he cut and tore.
All of a sudden the pain was gone. He cut the last strand of his Soul’s infected arm away. With an effort of will he vented the infected piece of Soul from his body. Opening his eyes he saw it, floating beside him. White in the shape of the arm carved with angry black. It was bubbling, the Aura of the world grinding against it. He watched patiently as his Soul’s tainted arm was reduced to nothing.
As it went, he was taking Oma crystals, one after another. His Node was working at maximum speed as it sent Oma to restore his Soul, but immediately he saw that this would not be a quick process.
A strand of white Soul was already reaching into his arm, a root that was spreading. It would take time to grow, but he didn’t think it would be overly long. Fortunately, it was his left arm where he’d been touched, whereas the temporary hand Node he used the Grasping Finger with was in his right. He imagined that if he lost his Soul in that arm, it would prove a significant interference.
In the meantime, he found that his Soul Sense had shrunk a little. Nicolai understood why. His Soul Sense was an extension of his Soul. The weaker his Soul, the weaker his Soul Sense. When his Soul recovered, his Soul Sense should likewise recover. For now, this meant that his range was reduced and he would have a slightly harder time if he got into any Soul Sense fights.
Unfortunately he couldn’t allow his Soul to continue sucking up such a large amount of Oma from his Node. At the current rate it would drain it dry in only minutes. He needed to keep it topped up, because the passive requirement of his still-forming Lung Nodes had to be maintained, lest they lose stability and blow two holes in his chest; not to mention he’d need to use Oma on the way out of the Library and back to the safe place. He hadn’t brought infinite crystals with him. The bulk were back there. Once he got to safety, he could focus on restoring his Soul.
After a moments focus he was able to stem the flow of Oma heading toward his shoulder, cutting it dry. His Soul protested, a pulse of pain, but it didn’t seem to cause any issues. It simply meant his Soul had ceased restoring itself.
He flexed his arm. It felt a little odd, but it responded easily to him, and moved without pain. Removing the black stain had gotten rid of any lingering stiffness, though the lack of a Soul in his arm made it feel oddly out of sync with the rest of him. It was a minor enough difference that he didn’t see it causing any real problems, just a little irritating and odd to experience.
Glancing around, he saw Beth had finished the job and was now sitting by Jo at the door, the books and disc-cutter beside them. They were relaxed, chatting easily. He was pleased to see that Jo was keeping her eyes aimed at the exit. They didn’t notice his gaze and for a moment he simply watched. Whatever the girls were talking about was something that had brought smiles to their faces. Reminiscing about the past, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. His Mask crept over his face and Nicolai was briefly caught in the moment, simply observing, happy that they were happy. He could trust them. He was glad they were with him.
An odd tingle ran through him, striking him. Shaking his head and blinking, Nicolai rose, refocusing. Busy, busy. He retrieved his sticky grenade as he gathered up Maric’s bones and stuffed them in a separate bag.
He headed over to the girls, who saw him coming and paused their conversation. He ignored them, moving to the books and hunting through them.
Most of the books appeared to have degraded in some way. Only three were functional, and they shone to his Cultivator’s eyes and gave off a powerful Aura signature, pulsing with a kind of spiritual heartbeat as though alive. That life, that magic, was missing from the others. He opened a few of those ones and found the words within had become a tangle of ink, one that his Mark made no effort to translate. It was like looking at an old webpage where the formatting had been removed, everything turned into a mess of broken code.
Beth peered over. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ she asked.
Nicolai shrugged. ‘Magic’s ran out, I suppose.’
As to the three still intact, opening them to the first page led them to reach out for him with something similar to Soul Sense, latching onto his eyes, drawing him in. Nicolai was forced to wrench himself away from the first when it attempted this, closing it with a snap and shoving it into a bag. He and Beth collected the other ones, too, just in case they could be repaired or if there was something he was missing about them.
His final task took him to the book in the centre. This one was bound far more tightly to the podium it was on, and not by chains. Some kind of magic held it there, as when he tried to take it too far it simply would not come. The disc cutter couldn’t help with that, and prying at it with his Soul Sense accomplished nothing. Nicolai felt that breaking the stone column it rested on away from the ground might work, but he opted against that, worried that doing so might break whatever spell was set upon the book, a spell that was needed if he was to complete Kleos’ Contract.
He’d hoped to steal it as well but with no other choice, he simply did as Kleos had bade him.
Kleos Bel-Evedurn. As he wrote the words he formed his Soul Sense into an impression of Kleos’ broken Soul, pressing that impression into the written words. He did this with care and attention, a task Kleos had made him practice, as if he got this wrong Kleos wouldn’t gain the freedom it needed. As he lifted his hand away from the page the words shimmered and seemed to firm, sinking deeper into the page, moving as though alive.
After watching it with interest a moment longer to see if it would do anything else, and seeing nothing, he gathered up with Jo and Beth, preparing to leave.