by M B Reid
“Oh shit” Azoth mumbled as another thought hit him. The priestess had been murdered. If a ratkin had found out that she’d had it, there could be a ratkin out there with the amulet right now. “How long would it take?”
“What?” Trent looked concerned as he spoke.
“How long would it take for the amulet to make a new king?”
“I dunno, a day or two maybe?”
“Shit. We need to get back to the church, now.” Azoth said. His voice was ringing with alarm.
“What’s going on?” Logan asked, looking between Trent and Azoth like they were speaking another language.
“The priestess” Azoth said.
“Could someone have -” Trent began to ask, his face whitening.
“I don’t know.” Azoth replied.
The two of them started running back toward the entrance they’d come through.
“Logan, come on. I need you.” Azoth shouted over his shoulder.
Logan glanced from his fleeing friend to his collection of minions and sighed.
“It’s always what you want, isn’t it?” He grumbled before he started to chase them.
Running from the ritual room had been a very optimistic move. By Azoth’s guess they only ran halfway to the surface before stopping to catch their breath. Even though he and Logan were undead, and didn’t need to breathe, their fitness left something to be desired.
“So, what were you doing down there anyway?” Azoth asked. Trent had continued ahead of them somewhat, either out of impatience or a surprisingly empathetic desire to give them time alone.
“I was resurrecting those minions” Logan said, anger apparent in his voice.
“I just - I hadn’t expected you to go down there.” Azoth said.
“And I wouldn’t have. But I can’t hide in that dungeon forever. I figured if I could raise an army of minions, maybe we could stop having to worry about safety.”
“So you went after the mountain of corpses? Smart.” Azoth said. He meant it. Logan had been so terrified of risking his life since they’d come into this world. Azoth couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to delve into those tunnels, alone, not knowing what was buried down there.
“I would have come with you.” He added.
“I know. But I had all of my minions with me, and you’d said it was empty down there.” Logan was looking at his feet as he spoke.
“It seemed safe enough, you know.” He finished.
Azoth nodded, and glanced over his shoulder. The deep shadows were closing in behind them like the maw of some impossibly ravenous beast. Even though he’d just been there, and knew there was nothing but corpses and a few of Logan’s minions left behind, it unnerved him.
“I’m sorry about the minions.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Logan said - almost spat - at his feet. It was true, they both knew that, but it didn’t really change anything.
“But still. You put a lot of effort into that plan, and I brought a hunter down and ruined it all.”
“What’s his deal anyway?”
The duo looked ahead to see Trent carrying his torch far ahead of them. Empty darkness stretched between them.
“Honestly, I have no idea. But he’s not going anywhere, not until we give him the amulet.” Azoth intentionally used we, rather than I, in that sentence. He was doing his best to remind Logan that they were a team, despite how it might feel right now.
“Do you ever feel like you’re in over your head?” Logan asked. Finally making eye contact. Or, as close as the two could come to eye contact with their hoods drawn over their undead faces.
“Honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever got things under control.” Azoth confessed.
With that, the two hurried to catch up to Trent. There was an amulet to be found.
“I’m afraid I cannot let you through.” The priestess announced. The trio had made record time coming through the tunnels, and now they were being held up by this priestess. Azoth’s blood boiled.
He hadn’t met this woman before, and he didn’t much like what he saw. She wore blood red robes of her station, and hid every inch of her undoubtedly undead body from sight. Unlike the other priestess, whose robes had been trimmed with gold, this woman's robe was laced with dark blue silk. Azoth assumed it meant she was of a lower rank. She was the one he’d seen preventing the guards from examining the body. To his knowledge she was the only other priestess in Whiteridge.
“The priestess was holding an item for me, something that I desperately need.” Azoth pleaded. Trent looked about ready to knock the woman aside, and Logan was staring around the hallway with wonder. It was clear he hadn’t strayed far from the dungeon, excluding his trip into the bowels of the earth. Azoth was going to have to ask him about that. There were too many questions swirling around in his head now.
“I can search for it tomorrow. I have too many things tonight, and frankly I think you’re being quite rude.” The priestess huffed.
“I understand that this isn’t the best time, but it really is important.”
“No, I said no. I would like you to leave now. The church is closed tonight.” The priestess gestured down the hallway toward the entrance, making it abundantly clear that the trio was no longer welcome.
“Bruv -” Trent started
“Relax” Azoth told him. He stepped in closer to the priestess. She recoiled impulsively, and Azoth felt a pang of guilt. Still he persisted, leaning in close enough to whisper so that only the priestess could hear.
“It was in the secret room. The one only our kind knows about.” He intoned. The priestess gasped. She jumped back so quickly she bumped against the wall behind her. Both Logan and Trent were staring at Azoth like he’d just groped her.
“I - I didn’t realise. You two will have to wait here.” She nodded to Trent and Logan, then grabbed Azoth by the wrist and led him down the hall. She waited until she was sure Trent and Logan weren’t going to move before unlocking the door to the priestesses chamber. Azoth and the priestess stepped inside. The woman locked the door behind them, and then paused.
“Take off your hood”
Azoth complied, lowering his hood to reveal his dead flesh. The priestess stared at him in silence for so long he started to wallow in self-consciousness.
“The room, please” He said finally. The priestess shook her head as if snapping out of a dream.
“Yes, of course.” She mumbled as she found the book that served as a secret lever. She swung the bookcase away from the wall, revealing the secret room. It was in pristine condition, as orderly as always. Azoth crossed to the desk, where the amulet had been.
It was empty.
“Did you take an amulet from here?” He asked, whirling on the priestess.
“No. I haven’t been in here, not since - not since sister Charlotte was killed.” Charlotte? That had been the priestesses name? Azoth felt a pang of guilt for not having known that. He felt like he’d just been using her, and truthfully he had. But now wasn’t the time to reflect on his own shortcomings.
He gave the room a cursory search, but the sinking feeling in his stomach was adamant that he already knew the answer. Someone had taken the amulet. And murdered the priestess. Unfortunately he had no idea who that someone could be.
“Do you think she was killed because of -”
“Yeah, I think so. I’m sorry.” Azoth said.
“She uh - she mentioned she was working on something important, but she wouldn’t say any more. Did you make her keep it a secret?”
“Yes. I didn’t want anyone I didn’t know looking into it.”
“Maybe if I’d been helping her, we, I mean she… This would never have happened!” The priestess took on an accusing tone.
“You got her killed. You and that stupid amulet, whatever it was. She didn’t deserve that.” The priestesses words cut Azoth like knives. They were the truth. Azoth had wanted to keep the amulet a secret, and it had cost the priestess her life. He felt the sudden u
rge to vomit. He’d never wanted anyone to get hurt, he just wanted to understand what the amulet was. What it could do.
“Get out. Take your friends and get away from here.” The priestess roared, grief filling her voice now. Though Azoth couldn’t see her face through her hood he was certain she was crying. He felt another pang of guilt as he realised what he had to ask.
“Could I just - I need her books” He pointed at the stack next to the desk. The book on top was open. One page held a picture of some sort but he couldn’t quite decipher it before the priestess shoved him out of the secret room.
“Out!” She roared. The intensity of it surprised Azoth. He realised he was dealing with a grieving sister, not a priestess in a house of God.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled as he fled. The key was still in the door to the hallway and Azoth used it to let himself out, pausing only long enough to pull his hood back into place. He pressed the door firmly shut behind him, leaving the priestess to her grief in her dead sibling’s room. Azoth took three long breaths to steady himself, then made his way toward the main hall to meet the others. The priestesses death wasn’t on his hands - there was a murderer to blame for that, and Azoth swore he was going to find them.
Trent was looking at him expectantly.
“It’s gone.” He announced as he reached the others. Logan cursed under his breath. Trent kicked a boot against a pew and swore aloud.
“What the hell do we do now?” Logan asked. Azoth was glad his friend had breached the silence. Trent looked ready to take a swing at him.
“We talk to the old man. You’ve unleashed a real barrel of worms here bruv. We need to find that amulet, and soon.”
You’re telling me Azoth thought to himself. He took a moment to peer at the altar at the end of the room, and uttered a silent prayer to Animasto. The god may be cursing his name, but the prayer made Azoth feel better.
“Alright. Lead the way.” He gestured towards the door. Trent made for it immediately. Logan glanced to the door, and back to Azoth.
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” He asked, quiet enough that Trent wouldn’t hear him. In all the craziness Azoth had forgotten this would be Logan’s first steps into the town.
“I’m sure. But even if I wasn’t, it's too late to back out now.” Azoth said, pushing Logan ahead of him.
Chapter Nine
“No!” The Bearer screamed.
It brought on another coughing fit, and he gagged as he sputtered gobbets of blood and blackness over the walls. There was light here, as there had been when he’d first found this place. The bonfire burned dimly now, it hungered for new wood, but it still illuminated a chunk of the room.
The firelight revealed the atrocities that stood unmoving, unbreathing, unliving.
“No. No. No!” The Bearer repeated. He fell to his knees, smacking his fists against the hard-packed dirt floor. This wasn’t right. They weren’t supposed to be defiled like this. This room was supposed to be untouched.
Use. Use it. The newest voice whispered in the back of his mind. It had taken up a permanent residence there. Ever since he’d taken the amulet it had been whispering those words over and over. The Bearer didn’t know what they meant. He didn’t know how to use the amulet. He didn’t even know what the amulet was, only that the whispers had wanted it. They’d spoken about it for so long that he had wanted it too.
Now everything was ruined. These abominable corpses stood where nothing should stand. The room was supposed to be filled with death, not these undying freaks. The Bearer sobbed, and the sobs brought on more coughing. He expelled a coagulated chunk of blood and other less identifiable things. The ground was slick with sickness now.
Use it. The other whispers said, one after the other. They were joining the new whisperer now, coming around to its way of thinking. The Bearer tried to ignore them. He clamped his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to stop the voices that were already in his head.
Use it. Use it. Use it.
He struggled to his feet, scratching his right arm. Perhaps he should listen to their suggestions. Perhaps he could use the amulet. He withdrew it from his tunic, where he’d been keeping it warm against his skin. He ran one filthy finger over the intricate knot emblazoned on its surface. The disk thrummed at his touch, a pulse of energy far more powerful than anything he’d felt before.
“How?” He croaked. Tears were in his eyes, but the Bearer had no idea why he was crying.
“How do I use it?” He whined. The voices were so insistent, but they weren’t helpful. They never explained anything.
USE IT. They screeched in unison.
The Bearer ran his gnarled finger over the knot once more. The disk felt warmer now, and the vibration at his touch was more powerful. He did it a third time and the thing quivered with anticipation.
Use it. USE IT. USE. IT. The whisperers insisted. Their voices were twisting around each other now, as if a hurricane was kicking off inside the Bearers skull. Their words were pulled this way and that, torn asunder and smashed back together. It was a maddening vortex of demands, enough to drive any man to action. The Bearer pressed his index finger hard against the knot. He pushed until his knuckles felt like it was going to crack. Like he might burst a hole through the centre of the disk.
USE IT
“I’m trying” He screamed, in a futile attempt to silence the whispers that had become banshees in his mind.
USE IT.
USE IT!
The Bearer withdrew his finger and stuck the edge of the disk into his mouth. He bit down on it with rotted teeth. One splintered, causing a stream of blood to pour into his scraggly beard. The Bearer didn’t notice the pain. He had no room in his mind for anything other than the insistent screaming of the whispers. The disk vibrated in his mouth, rattling his skull. It did not pulse this time, but it was glowing warmer.
He withdrew the disk and slapped it onto the ground amongst the gore he had coughed up. He pressed both palms against the centre of the disk. The Bearer pushed with all his might. It was vibrating furiously now. The Bearers teeth chattered from holding it down. He wasn’t sure if it were a trick of the light, or whether he truly saw it, but the disk seemed to absorb the gore it was bathed in. It was growing, expanding as it consumed more filth.
USE IT the voices in his head screamed.
The Bearer shifted his palms to the outer edges of the disk. He slammed his face down, pounding his forehead against the knot in its centre.
An enormous pulse of energy threw the Bearer backwards across the room. He cracked against the hard packed earth and the world went black.
The first rays of the morning sun were just beginning to touch the wall of Voria’s room but she hadn’t slept a wink all night. She was wrapped in an exquisite silk sheet, sweating and shivering. Her skin was burning. She’d thrown the blankets off in a fit of rage, and now she could barely keep her teeth from chattering. Her scratched arm felt alternately numb and as if it were on fire.
Whatever that shadow creature had been, its scratch had infected her with something bad. The vile green icon burned in the corner of her Heads Up Display. No matter how she inspected the icon, all it would tell her was that she was Diseased.
She was convinced it was going to kill her. Voria knew the mayor had a physician in his employ, the old man had a room in this very manor. But Voria couldn’t call on him for help. She’d heard the rumours about him, that young woman refused his service even at the worst of times. Whatever she suffered from now was probably beyond the medical skills of anyone in this world anyway. If it could be treated she was sure the icon would have said so.
She felt like death.
What was left of the rational part of Voria’s mind was trying to come up with a plan. She prayed that dying in game was an escape, not true death. She wanted to believe that’s what had happened to Darius, but she wasn’t brave enough to risk her life on a hope. No, she needed to make a deal with the priestess. She should never have put it off.
She’d foolishly believed she’d be safe within the walls of Whiteridge.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
That shadow creature had attacked her on the street, in broad daylight. She’d been stupid, infuriatingly so. If she’d had the energy she would have thrown things around the room. Her curiosity had brought this accursed sickness onto her, and she hated herself for it! She should have run the moment she’d seen that handle turning. Better still, she should have attacked with violent fury the moment that thing had emerged. She should have channelled the miasma of anger that surrounded her in every waking moment. She should have cut that thing to ribbons, torn him to pieces before he could have touched her.
But she hadn’t.
Voria tried to unscramble her thoughts, to pull them out of the spiral of despair. She needed a plan. There was a cost associated with a resurrection deal - otherwise everyone would have one. Her feverish mind couldn’t recall what the cost was meant to be. She scratched at her raw arm, giving her a brief respite from the near constant itching. It didn’t matter what the cost was, she needed to get a resurrection deal in place.
She needed to do it now.
With glacial movements Voria freed herself of the sheet. It was soaked through with sweat, and she felt grimy - as if she’d spent the last week marching through a desert. A bath would have to wait, if she let herself relax into nice hot water she might never get out. She dressed slowly, pulling on a loose fitting full length dress. The long sleeves hid the scratch on her arm, which helped her keep her hands off it.
She took the time to splash water on her face, then decided to spend a few minutes longer applying a touch of makeup. It made her look like less of a corpse. She didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to herself, not in this state. She took an empty knapsack from beside the door, swung it over one shoulder and stepped unsteadily into the hallway.