Book of The Dead

“I have three more for you today,” Tyron announced as he walked into the room abruptly.

Cerry flinched at the sudden disruption, but Tyron didn’t pause, placing down three stones upon the table in the middle of the room. Flynn eyed them, looking vaguely ill, though he chose not to say anything.

“This makes ten souls over the last few days,” Cerry murmured, half to herself. “Just how many have died recently?”

She didn’t expect to get an answer, in truth she was only partially aware that she’d even spoken aloud, but she had, and Tyron addressed her query.

“Not enough,” he said.

In shock, Cerry looked up at him and almost immediately looked away. His eyes were ice cold, as were his tone and entire demeanour. It was almost impossible to reconcile this man, this Tyron Steelarm, with the Lukas Almsfield who had run Almsfield Enchantments. Were they really the same person? It seemed impossible, yet she knew it was true, had seen him transform his face with her own eyes.

There was a pause, then a sigh. Tyron walked around the table and sat, close to Cerry, but not so close that she would feel uncomfortable. At least, that was his aim; judging by her reaction, he hadn’t been successful.

“Cerry, you don’t have to like or approve of what I’m doing. In truth, I wouldn’t expect you to. I don’t ask that you pretend to be comfortable around me, or that you pretend not to see what I’m doing.” He gestured to the three stones on the table. “These are the souls of people I killed recently, just as the others I gave you were. I’ve judged that they have nothing to answer for, and thus would like you to use your abilities to put them to rest, but you don’t have to. If you refuse to help me, you are still welcome to stay here, and I will still protect you and Flynn as best as I can.”

He was being sincere, she knew that, but it was still difficult to accept what he said. At times, she felt like he wasn’t even human, as if he were some kind of monster with a human skin, putting on an act, being just human enough that others wouldn’t notice what he really was.

It wasn’t fair to think of him this way, Cerry knew that, after everything he’d done for her, and for Flynn. She’d be dead, or worse, if Tyron hadn’t protected them. Even so…She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“It’s alright. I-I’m happy to use my abilities. Letting the dead go on to rest is… is a good thing. Are any of these… are any of these children?”

Tyron shook his head.

“No children, not this time.”

“O-oh.”

She almost hadn’t been able to breathe when she’d called out the spirit trapped in a stone and a young boy had emerged, cold and afraid, crying for his…

No, best not think about it. She shook her head to chase the memory away. That soul was at rest now, she’d done what she could.

“I know it’s distasteful,” Tyron said evenly, “but it’s necessary.”

She didn’t want to reply, Divines knew, she didn’t want to, but the words slipped out against her will anyway.

“How can it be necessary?” she demanded, hot tears burning in her eyes as she looked up to glare at her former employer. At the killer. “They’re children.”

“They aren’t just children,” Tyron replied, looking back at her, his eyes devoid of sympathy, “they have the blessing of the Divines. Of all the people in the Empire, they are the only ones who can inherit the Noble Class. Do you have any idea how powerful that is? The things they can do?

“If a Noble were to ask you to cut Flynn’s throat and then gut yourself, you would. If they asked you to smother your newborn in its crib and eat it, you would. They are the Voice of the Divines, and they have absolute power over everyone who lives here. I’ve learned things over the past years that would make your spirit weep were you to hear them, things that Nobles do to commoners, to Slayers, to anyone. They don’t even think you’re the same species as them, Cerry. Try to imagine what that justifies in their minds.”

His voice neither rose nor fell as he spoke. This was no impassioned plea, merely a statement of fact and an appeal to reason, but now, a real spark of anger ignited within him as he continued.

“But that doesn’t really matter. Not to me. I’m going to exterminate every Noble line in the Empire because vengeance demands it. When I’m done, none of them will remain.”

“It’s madness,” Cerry told him, tears running down her face. “Just because they can inherit the Class doesn’t mean they deserve to be killed! They haven’t committed any crime. They weren’t the ones who killed your family.”

“I’m not going to discuss this any further,” Tyron said, his eyes growing cold once more. “If you don’t object, I’d like to watch you work with the first of the souls. Would that be alright?”

She didn’t reply immediately, and Flynn, bless his timid heart, sensed her distress and came around the table to fold her in a gentle embrace. He didn’t like conflict, and was particularly reticent around his former Master, but he was always there for her when she needed him the most.

“Fine,” she said after calming down. “Just the first one… please.”

“As I said,” Tyron nodded, withdrawing a small notebook from a pocket and flicking it to the appropriate page. In moments, he’d produced pen and ink and sat, waiting for her to begin.

Somehow, he seemed more alive in these moments than any others. There was something about the study of things he didn’t understand that made him seem… more like Master Almsfield. Her Class continued to be a fascination to him, and its connection to the Realm of the Dead was of immense interest. Thankfully, he didn’t push her more than she was comfortable, though he could force her to use her abilities if he truly wanted to.

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In the end, it wasn’t so bad, because Cerry liked using her abilities. At first, the Class had seemed grim and unpleasant, but guiding souls toward the afterlife, or at least bringing some level of comfort to them in their suffering was… good. It felt like she was helping.

When she felt ready, she gave Flynn a little nod and he returned the gesture with a slight squeeze on her shoulder before moving away to give her space. Cerry focused on the closest of the three stones and reached within herself, activating the primary ability of her Class: Spirit Speech.

Come out and talk to me, she said.

“It’s fascinating everytime I hear it,” Tyron muttered, scribbling furiously in his notebook. “It’s completely unintelligible, but I can speak with ghosts using a ritual and perfectly normal speech.”

The ghost within was feeling resentful, and somewhat stubborn; Cerry could tell they weren’t willing to come out immediately. Another benefit of her Class. As soon as she communicated with a spirit, a… bond was established, giving her insight into the spirit’s emotional state.

It helped her speak to them, but it wasn’t always pleasant. Every ghost she’d talked to had been angry, despairing, filled with grudges or worse.

It’s safe out here, and I can help you, Cerry said. If you come out, you can talk to me. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.

No! The spirit rasped back. I’m dead. Leave me be!

No matter how many times she heard it, the voice of the spirits always sent a shiver running down her spine. A rasp and wail, a scream and a whisper, it sounded like it was right next to her ear and from far, far away, all at once. Eerie and unsettling were wholly insufficient words to describe it.

There must be something you’d like to speak about, Cerry weedled, do you have any grandchildren you want me to pass a message on to?

This was definitely the spirit of an older person. They were often most interested in their surviving family, although not always in a good way.

My family is dead. I want to tell the bastard responsible to burn in the hells forever, and that’s it!

Hearing that, Cerry winced. Of course, this would have to have been someone who had their whole family working on the Estate. Many of the servants had been that way, loyal families who’d worked for the Jorlins over multiple generations.

You can tell him yourself if you want. He’s here.

The spectre hesitated, caught between terror and rage. As was often the case with the ghosts, rage won out, and the spirit billowed forth from the stone screaming in anger.

Beast! Vile Fiend! Evil, cursed shit-prick! Die for my children! Die! Die! DIEEEEEE!

Despite the shrieking and wailing that, to Cerry, was almost ear splitting, neither Flynn nor Tyron reacted to the ghost at all, because neither of them could see or hear it. This was another thing the Necromancer found interesting. Whereas he needed a ritual to substantiate the ghost, she didn’t, allowing her to speak to them in their natural state.

The ghost swiped angrily at Tyron, and at Flynn, also at Cerry a few times. It was difficult for them to perceive the living. As far as she could tell, it was almost impossible for the dead to tell the living apart in any meaningful sense.

Of course, without the influence of Magick, the ghost was completely harmless and unable to interact with the material world in any way.

I could tell you which one is the right one, Cerry suggested, getting a little irritated at being attacked.

She told herself to be patient, this person had suffered a very traumatic death.

You will lie! Came the screeched reply as the spirit continued to twist and circle around the room swiping and screaming at everything and everyone.

I have no reason to lie, she said, trying not to get exasperated.

She had no idea why ghosts tended to be so… unpleasant. It was as if a part of their compassion or humanity was severed the moment they were no longer living.

Of course, trying to be calm in the presence of the person who killed you was asking for a lot.

I won’t ask you to believe me right away, but I want you to know that I can help you. With my help, you can pass on much quicker than you otherwise would. I can’t force you to agree, but it’s something you can consider.

Another quirk of her Class. Cerry couldn’t force a spirit to serve, it had to be voluntary. Only then was she in a position to do anything for them.

Sadly, the spirit was too busy screaming and cursing to be sure that she’d even been heard. Cerry sighed and hesitated a moment before she gave Tyron a gesture. He raised a brow at her.

“Already?” he asked.

“This particular person isn’t… all that happy with you? They’re too upset to speak with me at the moment.”

“You didn’t have to tell them I was here…”

“It was the only way I could get them out of the rock.”

With a few gestures and words, Tyron seized control of the spirit and banished it back into the stone, where it would remain until she awoke it or he summoned it out once again.

“Well that wasn’t very successful,” Cerry sighed, rubbing at her temples.

“Why is it that your Class shows such a divergence from every other that deals with the dead?” Tyron mused aloud. “Necromancy is about binding and commanding the dead, whereas you are actively required to seek their cooperation. Forging a relationship of mutual benefit. It’s…”

“Nice?” she suggested, a little tartly.

“Different,” he said. “It’s very different.”

“How many more of these do you have, Master… Steelarm?” Cerry finally sighed, feeling exhausted. “Dealing with regular spirits who died without violence is difficult, but those who were killed are extremely hard to persuade. They hold onto those grudges with a… uh…”

“With a death grip?” Tryon finished her sentence. “Not that many more. No, I can’t give you an accurate count. I need to vet them before I bring them to you, and I’m not finished going through them all.”

He capped his pen and put away his ink before snapping the book shut and slipping it back into his pocket. Standing from the table, he looked down at Cerry and Flynn for a moment before he sighed.

“I want you both to consider my earlier offer to leave the city very carefully. It’s much more dangerous to be here now than it was before. Besides, if you were to stay much longer, then I’m worried for Cerry.”

“What? Why?” she asked.

Tyron tilted his head a little to the side before he straightened again.

“Because it won’t be long until this place is overrun with angry spirits,” he told her flatly.

“You didn’t mention this before,” Flynn said, coming to Cerry’s side once more.

“I wasn’t sure of it before. Unlike Cerry, I can’t see them normally. Right now, Kenmor is overflowing with very angry ghosts, and I do mean overflowing. They’re starting to spill out into Shadetown. If they find out there’s a Spirit Speaker here, they may come in droves.”

The city… was filled with ghosts?

Seeing her look of confusion, Tyron chuckled to himself.

“You think I’ve been a monster? When ten thousand little ones slaughtered in the purge descend on you, will you be able to think of me as in the same class as them?”

Leaving his question hanging in the air, Tyron gave the two of them a nod, and walked out of the room.