The morning of the test day saw Yacob, Wali, Reg, Deacon Marcellus, the knights Serg and Lynn, and a trio of priests from neighboring churches all heading out of the low gate into the woods beyond the killing field. Deacon Marcellus had summoned the trio of priests to serve as witnesses to the Iron Fence as the new tool was being called. Should the fence test succeed, then the way that the interminable war with the Imperial Throne was fought would change forever.
They walked straight down the road away from the walls along the packed earth. They were all quiet. Serg and Lynn flanked the line of black-robed priests, and Reg took the lead in his black armor. Wali and Yacob followed the magical litter behind Deacon Marcellus. This time his litter was far heavier duty, an armored walking easy chair.
The Iron Fence was attached to the back of the litter because it was too heavy to be carried easily. Once they were out of sight of the walls and several miles into the Imperial Throne lands, they stepped off to the side of the road and began to prepare. One of the priests marked out the circle of salt, then Serg and Lynn rolled out the Iron Fence.
Carefully driving the first anchor spike into the ground was difficult. Wali had thought of this and had designed a pair of tools for the purpose. He had stolen the idea of post-pounders from his old world for the design. The triangular iron post was driven five feet deep with magically enhanced strength. The chain limited how far the following post was and went much faster as it only needed to be a foot deep. Serg drove that one in with a single push by hand. The chain was detached and used to mark the following location. Once the fence was set up, they waited for noon.
The three priests took their notes and asked many questions. The morning sun had driven off a slight chill and thin fog, making the atmosphere almost pleasant. Having not much to do, Yacob and Lynn kept watch and circled the site. Wali conversated with Marcellus about the “War Lounger,” as he jokingly referred to it. It was an antique relic from the cellars of the church. Marcellus had found it years ago and rededicated it for personal use. It had once been a walking litter for a corpulent necromancer before the fall of the Imperial Throne. At that point, Belge was already a citadel, and the city’s catacombs were a vast structure unto themselves. Few knew about the catacombs, however. They were a dangerous place where magic behaved erratically. It would be too easy to get lost and die down there. The freed slaves had sacked them during the fall, but some treasures remained buried in the depths. These days they had been largely blocked off by the governor's thick reinforced brick walls.
As the sun climbed towards its zenith, the priest stepped into his circle of salt. The others took up station inside the ring of black iron posts. The priest began a chant, and Wali could hear Reg and the two other priests chanting along. Their chants did not carry the power of the first priest in the circle but were like singing along out of habit. The priest’s medallion began to shine, and the first anchor post lit up. A line of silver glyphs lit up with glowing white light, mirroring that of the medallion. Then the next in the chain, and the next. Each cast a ring of light as bright as the glyph-worked spears had, only larger. The circles were overlapping too much, and Wali called a halt quickly. Seeing the time was short, he had Yacob start pulling the intermediate posts and had Serg plant them at new intervals. In minutes it was done, and Wali signaled the priest to begin again.
The fence shone in ten little circles of light, but they were little candles next to a spotlight. The Death mana was thin after the past week of cleansing in the area but still present. It poured into the ritual, and on came the zombies. There were fewer than previous attempts but more than enough to prove the effectiveness of the Iron Fence. Reg and the two knights worked seamlessly together, taking breaks and alternating kills. Wali and Yacob observed and pushed zombies that had gotten caught in the spaces between the light circles free. The other two priests and Deacon Marcellus were busy taking notes and chanting for the hour. Wali could not have asked for a better prototype run of the Iron Fence than this.
At one point, Wali did see a lone horseman on the road, but at a far distance. The figure did not approach but sat on his horse, watching for a moment before turning back and galloping away. Wali noted the scout to the Deacon, who shrugged and said, “If they come, they come. We have five warriors, three skilled priests, and me. Unless they send a whole company of soldiers and several skilled necromancers, I doubt we will be threatened.”
The ritual came to a close, the presence of the divine fell away, and a pile of desiccated corpses lay at the feet of Serg and Lynn. The two warriors argued briefly over who would buy drinks that night with the payout from the Hunter’s Society before Marcellus snapped at them and had them pull up the iron stakes. One of the other priests poured a silvery liquid on the corpses, a drop for each that consumed the bodies with the same white fire. Reg muttered, “Show off.” and shared a smile with the other priest. They were friends joking about work. The Iron Fence was quickly packed up, and the nine folks trooped back to the gatehouse in a jubilant mood. Never before had the church successfully cleaned such a vast area in such a short amount of time with so few people.
Early evening saw them sitting in the conference room back in the Church of Demise. Dinner was being served, and it was a feast. Three other priests had arrived in the city by the time the nine of them returned to the church. They received the report of the successful testing of the Iron Fence and the corroborating evidence the other three priests shared. As they sat, chatted, and ate, many congratulatory back slaps for Wali, Yacob, and Reg. A servant slipped in and whispered to the Deacon, who spat out his mouthful of wine. “She’s here! The bishop is coming.” He wiped his face, as did all the other church folk. Each stood and straightened their robes and patted hair gone astray. Wali and Yacob looked at each other quizzically.
Inside Wali’s head, Trickster laughed, “You’ve done it now. Gone and got the attention of a real god. Well, one not as magnificent as me but one of the important ones. The god Demise here is widely worshiped in many forms on thousands of worlds. The passing between life and death is a moment of power and mystery. Demise is as good a name as any, though I know them as the Changer.”
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Wali paled a bit, and he really didn’t want the attention of any more gods. Any god’s attention was more than he wanted. But here he was, helping a church do church things, and now the Bishop comes. It couldn’t be helped.
The door opened, and a tall figure entered. Wali assumed this was the bishop. She was thin, almost skeletal, with dark brown skin, her white hair pulled back in a tight bun. She bore a silver tiara or crown-like device that perfectly matched the sun on Demise’s holy symbol. To further the effect, she wore a golden skull mask, marking her as the face and voice of Demise wherever she went. Her black robes were simple but very finely made silken material, unadorned by stitches or other markings. They seemed to pull at the eyes and drink in the light. She paused in the doorway, taking in the assembled priesthood. Her golden visage hid her expression.
The mask panned across the room, pausing on Wali and Yacob for far longer than any others. The priests made quick gestures with their left hand before bowing to her. Wali and Yacob stood and made small bows, wanting to show respect but not knowing the rituals of this church.
Deacon Marcellus, the first to raise his head, said, “Welcome, Bishop Flo’rel. The Belge Chapel of Demise is honored by your presence.” he said reverently.
She stepped in and seemed to glare at the servants, whom all scurried away from the dread gaze of the Bishop. Once they were gone and the doors closed behind her, she whipped off the mask and loosed the bun. An astonishing cascade of flowing white hair fairly exploded as she released the crown from her scalp. The woman was in late middle age and smiled at Marcellus with shining white teeth. “Oh, knock that crap off, old man. I hear you have some news for me.” her voice was happy, almost joyous. The skin on her face was tight to the bones; simultaneously, she looked emaciated and yet healthy.
Marcellus furrowed his brows, then smiled. “Ahh, Flora, it is good to see you too. Yes, we do have some news. Ginos, care to show our Bishop the results of the day?” The bishop moved over to Marcellus, and introductions were made around the room. It seemed that no one but the Deacon had ever met the Bishop, who by reputation was a stark and serene figure of few words but a fair disposition. That was the face of the Bishop, the one with the mask. Flora was the person behind the mask, and Deacon Marcellus had once been her mentor as he was to Reg now. Ginos was one of the trio of priests that had accompanied them during the test of the Iron Fence. He fiddled with a small medal he had worn on his breast; Wali had seen it during the demonstration but had thought nothing of it. After a moment, he placed it faced up in the center of the table and channeled some mana into it.
It was like some sci-fi holo display. A slowly turning three-dimensional image sprang forth from the badge. It showed the set-up, ritual, and results of the cleansing they had done earlier that day. It was a perfect recording, including sound. However, the light from the central priest’s shining medallion was muted. Everything moved quickly, summarizing the hour-long event into a five-minute presentation. Bishop Flo’rel poured herself a cup of wine and pulled a plate of food over as she watched. She turned a critical eye on Marcellus, “You can do that again?”
“I can duplicate that as many times as we have priests and duplicates of the Iron Fence to match them. Thanks to these two.” Deacon Marcellus waved a hand to Wali and Yacob. Who pinked up at the praise and recognition. Marcellus was not one to take credit when it wasn’t his to take. Wali found even more respect for the older man.
Once again, Wali and Yacob found themselves under the calculating eye of the Bishop. This time she smiled and laughed. “These two boys, no, I’m sorry, young men put together something like this? How come we didn’t think of this before? Isn’t this an obvious solution?” She said, looking around, critical of her priests yet congratulatory of the young men.
“Flora, we’ve tried something like this before, but not quite like this. Also, the key that young master Wali brought was the spacing and the use of glyphs, not Imperial rune scripts.” Marcellus challenged her.
Her face scrunched up, somewhat confused. “Old simple glyphs? Aren’t those basically obsolete? And what do you mean by spacing?”
“Wali, would you care to reiterate in your own words how this works?” Marcellus passed the baton to Wali. Over the next hour, as he had done so many times in the past few days, he broke down how the fence idea worked. She sat there almost dumbfounded. The ideas were not above her understanding nor new. Wali had just pieced the concept together in a way no one had thought. Using several low-powered barriers to undeath to create a portable wall, powered with the mana converted from Death energy by the ritual itself. Once he was done explaining, her face broke into a wide smile.
“Amazing, absolutely amazing. You young man will go far in this world if you keep doing things like this.” She wiped her mouth; her gaunt figure was not from an eating disorder. Wali was sure of that. “I do not have much time to spare. The politics of the capital are happening around the clock. It is so good to sit, eat, and take off the mask. I wish I could linger.” She said, almost wistful.
Then she stood and slid the tiara and mask back on. Her mane of snowy hair curled back up by itself, back into a severe bun. Her voice deepened and took on a tone of authority as the golden skull gazed around the room. “None of you will speak of our conversation here. Wali and Yacob’s contribution will be kept secret to protect them from others that would coerce something like this from them.” Her words were law within the church, and that was that. She continued, “Deacon Marcellus, “ She said using his title for once, “Draw the funds for twenty Iron Fences from the Cathedral’s treasury on my authority. The rest of you will take three sets each and spread them among our clergy. “
Her voice softened as she turned to Wali and Yacob, “You two will change the world someday. I already see the Mark of Passage on your persons and the Tear. As Bishop, I too will personally reward you for your services.” She reached her left hand into her right sleeve cuff, pulling a knot of silver strings. A pair of black pouches hung from the string knot. Each was as black and dark as her robe, and the accompanying priests took a breath at seeing them. “These are Void pouches, extra-dimensional storage spaces. When I heard of what was being done out here, I had them prepared. They are much larger on the inside.” Each was the size of a small coin purse; she separated the knotted strings and handed one each to Wali and Yacob.
“I must depart. Thank you, everyone. And my personal thanks to you, Reg and Marcellus, for finding these two and securing this Iron Fence for our church.” Without another word, she dropped into the pooled black robe as if a trapdoor had opened beneath her. Gone from the church and back to whence she came.
Laughing now, Marcellus broke the serious mood. “Well then. Seems like a good time to get drunk.”