A Different Kind of Deadly

by Nicole Martinsen

  I swore under my breath, not caring that I was half naked in my eagerness to get out of the damn room. It was a wonder what depression could do to a man, to not make him care about his surroundings.

  It was my first time in the hall, a badly sloping thing that prompted me to lean sharply to my right to keep from falling over. The quaint decor, (and by that I mean cobwebs and all kinds of nasty), continued from my rooms down the stairs.

  A startled scream lodged in my throat as my foot fell through the final step, only to kick at something with the consistency of an animal carcass. My knee shot up so fast I nearly tumbled backwards at the sudden shift, and I proceeded to violently stomp the floorboards, as though that would rid me of the gross sensation.

  The room, which had been filled with noise, fell completely quiet. I realized we were in an inn of some kind, and this was a tavern floor. A human figure leaned over the edge of a bar; his many stitches indicating a zombie nature.

  "The hell kind of dance is that?"

  "Uhh..."

  "Yeeeess, Masster?"

  I saw Uhh's head peeking from behind a broken window. The zombie bartender picked up the head of a broken broom and waved it menacingly at the golem.

  "Don't even think about coming in here! I just fixed these floors!"

  "Just stay there for now, Uhh," I told him.

  "Unnderstood."

  Sounds of activity gradually returned after that. I glanced at a skeletal bandstand in the corner. One played a harp, another had a mandolin, and three were bent backwards while the sixth, and final skeleton ran up and down the line with femur-mallets, playing the deathly xylophone.

  "Marvin, over here!" Leo shouted, waving me over to the far end of the bar.

  The zombie paused from shining his glasses, squinting at Diana.

  "He's with you?"

  "He's my Contractor."

  The bartender sputtered, and his jaundiced flesh moved in a very unnatural way.

  The zombie shook his head, looked me up and down, and finally met my eyes.

  "Do you always parade around respectable establishments half naked?"

  Already, I was getting annoyed.

  "Exactly what part of this establishment is respectable?"

  "Lookie here, Rook," said the zombie, waving a mismatched finger at me. "You'd be hard pressed to run any sort of place with the resources we've got down here. If it's not trying to kill you, then it's damn hard to find."

  I considered what I'd seen so far in the Moor of Souls, and nodded.

  "You're right. Sorry."

  He looked as though I'd just spontaneously combusted. Finally, he smiled. It was a broken thing, just like everything else around us, but it was the first friendly native face I'd seen.

  Already, my perception of the world was changing drastically.

  It had to, I justified to myself, if I wanted to survive.

  The zombie extended a hand.

  "The name's Duck."

  "Duck?" I asked.

  "Don't ask."

  "I'm Marvin." I reached out and shook his hand, dismayed when his finger dislodged from his palm. He roared with laughter as I wilted.

  "Pulled my finger, eh?" He grabbed his twitching digit while I was frozen in disgust, attaching it with a flick of the wrist. "You're a good sport, Marvin. Have a seat. How about some fresh grub?"

  "As long as they're not actual grubs."

  Leo elbowed me under the table.

  "A little respect, Marv."

  Duck laughed. "Unlike building material, fresh meat isn't that hard to find. It's not human," he added, catching my alarmed look. "Canine, I think. If it's good enough for topsiders, it's good enough for us."

  Whatever he was cooking, it smelled a lot better than it looked.

  My stomach growled vehemently. I probably would've eaten it even if it had grubs.

  I turned to Diana, who was applying oil to her joint sockets.

  She looked quite grim. Something about her was scarier than the rest of the room.

  "So..." I began casually. "What's the plan?"

  She threw a shirt at me. It wasn't the finest thing, but I had no doubts that it was a lot better than most fabrics in Krisenburg.

  "Cover yourself, eat, and then stay out of trouble while I run errands."

  "Errands? You've been out all day, Diana. What's going on?"

  "I need to earn money for supplies."

  "How?" I asked. Her curtness was starting to piss me off. "We're bound, together, till death do us part. Do you think this is reassuring? Because it's not."

  She sighed the length of the room.

  "There are fighting pits, Marvin. It's a form of entertainment in Krisenburg."

  "And who are you entering? Uhh?"

  "Uhh and myself," she answered. "And before you start breathing down my neck about it, I can hold my own in a fight."

  Breathing down her neck?

  Leo saw that I was near boiling point after that comment. He put a hand on my shoulder and forced me to remain seated.

  "Let it go, Marvin. Dolls are made for fighting. Diana'll be fine."

  "Her being fine is besides the point, Leo," I argued. "We get into a Doll Contract and she suddenly turns to ice. Yeah, I'm incompetent. I'm a coward, and I'm weak, but if she wanted to hate me for these things she could've done it years ago. Why now?"

  Duck set a plate of steaming meat in front of me. I calmed down, still upset, but willing to let it go while I ate.

  "Thanks, Duck."

  "No problem."

  "...there's a reason I'm keeping you in the dark, Marvin," Diana said.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "You know, Diana. I'm getting sick of this. I may be a coward, but at least I have the nerve to look at what I'm afraid of."

  Leo shifted nervously between us, like a child caught between his warring parents.

  Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around me, cupping my pecs.

  I stopped chewing and furrowed my brow.

  "Leo, what are you doing?"

  "Defending your honor."

  "What?"

  "Duck's been staring at your naked chest funny."

  Diana, Leo and I all looked at the zombie, who shrugged.

  "You've got some good definition there."

  I immediately pulled on my shirt.

  "I don't swing that way, Duck."

  "You don't?" Leo and Diana asked together, genuinely surprised. I was caught at a crossroad between amusement and offense.

  "I like women, thanks."

  "I'm part woman," Duck said, pointing to his forearms. "See how dainty the wrists are?"

  "Sorry," I smirked. "Only the natural kind for me."

  Duck shrugged. "I tried. Hard to find good men around here. They're either taken or got one foot in the grave."

  Oh the irony.

  "Topic of sexuality of aside, when are you going to tell me about the Eyes of the Leviathan? What's a universal soul?"

  Diana stared at the bar top for a long minute.

  "The Eyes of the Leviathan are the heart of the Moor. They keep the undead here from decaying much longer than they would otherwise."

  I looked around at the tavern.

  "So does that make everyone our enemy?"

  "On the contrary," Duck interrupted. "This isn't any kind of life we wanted. Most of us never had a say in getting revived. Waiting around until you rot isn't exactly the most glamorous aspiration in the world."

  "You want to die?" I asked.

  "We want freedom from death." Duck smiled crookedly. "Or the undeath, if you prefer. Sad thing is, we're all mortal on the inside. We're too scared to hack ourselves off, else we would've done it a long time ago."

  "So what supplies do we need?" I turned to Diana.

  "Fire retardants."

  "Fire..." My voice trailed off.

  "Fun thing, that," Duck explained. "The Eyes are in a part of the Moor we call the Salamander Nest. Lots of lava. Wear fireproof clothing or nothing at all. If you choos
e the latter, lemme know; I wanna see."

  He winked.

  I rocked my face in the palms of my hands.

  "I see why the Crone wants it."

  The Eyes of the Leviathan were a power reservoir.

  Being underground wasn't enough to store bodies properly. There were oils and other techniques involved, but none quite as effective as temperatures below freezing.

  Necromancers earned their living by going topside and healing important officials in tribal communities, and farther west in the High City of Isoviel. Our fees were hefty due to our skill, but they were almost nothing once we took out a monthly fee for cooling costs from Thermal mages.

  We've really got to stop outsourcing this shit.

  But of course, the Crone goes for the convoluted path of sending me and Diana to get this power source. If we die, she gets rid of a mass-murdering Doll, and if we don't, then she gets a brand, spanking new tax deduction.

  On the one hand, I could appreciate the pragmatism behind her reason.

  On the other: why me?

  13: The Harpy Den

  Diana left once she'd finished applying the oil. Uhh followed after her just as silently, leaving me and Leo alone at the bar.

  Angrily, I shoved the last morsel of dinner into my mouth, swallowed, and faced Duck, the zombie inn keep, as forcefully as I dared.

  "Where are the fighting pits?"

  He didn't look up at me, but he did raise an eyebrow as he took my empty plate.

  "Diana wouldn't be happy if I told you."

  "Who says Diana has to find out?"

  "You any good at sneaking, Rook?" he asked, leaning across the table. "Dolls have sharp senses, you know."

  I thought about the years I'd spent avoiding necromancers and their minions through the servant tunnels in Nethermount. My paranoia was a hard-earned skill, one that I'd practiced religiously to mitigate the times anyone saw me. Diana may have superhuman senses, but she wasn't an exception to the rule.

  "Just tell me where the pits are," I said, confident in my lack of presence.

  Duck smirked. "I'll do you a favor, Rook." He reached under the counter and brought out a dark coat. "Those pits have a name: The Harpy Den. If you don't want to be mistaken for monster kibble, you'll need to act like a local."

  "The Harpy Den," I repeated, freezing a bit on the inside. "Anything else?"

  "Just follow the road to the left once you walk out the door," said Duck. "All streets in Krisenburg lead there. The place is neutral ground for us undead, but don't make the mistake of thinking your life isn't in danger once you step foot outside. Got it?"

  "Yeah." I pulled the coat off the table, slipped it on, and was startled by how cool it felt against my skin. Duck winked.

  "Spent a small fortune to get that imbued. Consider it my bet that you'll live long enough to return it to me."

  "You've got it." I turned to Leo. "You coming along?"

  "Always." He polished off whatever he'd been drinking, and headed to the door.

  I looked to my immediate left, as Duck suggested, and laughed a bit at the sign hanging from the wall of his establishment.

  The inn was aptly named The Dead Man's Tale.

  The streets closely resembled snake skin, or burnt snake skin if I was being specific. The charred earth formed a natural pavement, and the buildings seemed to be formed from the same substance at a glance.

  I caught sight of a skeletal laborer dipping one of these flat stones into a limy, acidic canal, one that branched into numerous smaller veins across the side roads. He proceeded to slap it onto the side of the building in front of him, and I realized that he was using it to sculpt the stone, melting portions to shape it.

  Zombies, golems, more skeletons, and undead animals moved through Krisenburg as naturally as the barbarians did on the surface. Those without the ability to speak often had companions that could; others used a frantic sign language I'd never seen.

  Death mimicked life in a very peculiar way.

  This town, which was more of a city now that I saw it, was dark, crooked, dirty, dangerous... and filled with more life in a busy afternoon than I'd seen in my entire twenty six years on this earth. The thought saddened me, but I maintained my smile, because I felt a sense of admiration I didn't know existed.

  Were necromancers really so different from the creatures we raised?

  "In a way..." I said slowly, as Leo and I walked down the street. "I think I'm starting to get why we do what we do."

  "Do what?"

  "The whole necromancy thing." I waved my hand at the subject. "It's... in a really, seriously disturbing way, kind of beautiful."

  Leo looked as though I'd just swallowed an insect. A broad grin spread across his face.

  "I thought this would've scared you."

  "It does," I admitted. "It terrifies me. I think, if it's possible, a part of me fainted the minute I walked downstairs. But..."

  "But?" asked Leo.

  "I have to adapt to the Moor of Souls if I want to live long enough to find a way out of it. Diana said this to me not that long ago: I'm not afraid of dead things, just things that look dead."

  "There's a difference?"

  I motioned the world in front of us, at risen bodies pushing carts, sweeping, and shopping.

  "Everything in Nethermount was so regimented. Necromancers kept their servants on a leash. If they weren't being used, then they just sat around on display. If these people had some skin on them, then they'd be just like you and me." I reconsidered what I'd said. "They already are just like you and me."

  Leo slapped me on the back. I tripped forward.

  "You're weird, Marvin."

  I made a face.

  "But I like weird."

  It didn't take long for us to spot the Harpy Den. As the name suggested, it held a statue of two harpies, the monstrous, bird-women locked in combat. One sneered upon her opponent, pinning her to the blackened platform. Curiously, the second wasn't frightened, nor was she enraged. The sculptor, for whatever reason, had chosen to portray an expression that went beyond the obvious; serene, even... merciful.

  All my life, I'd thought that nothing good could come of the cold earth, and to an extent, I was correct. There were many terrible things about the Moor of Souls, but in between its seeming cruelty, is archaic kill-or-be-killed nature, there were snippets of wonder.

  I felt embarrassed at my own short sightedness, being more like most necromancers than I'd realized. Undead, to us, were tools, slaves, unfeeling and disposable... and I'd bought into it without question.

  Leo grabbed me by the wrist and walked over to a stone board, where an undead dwarf was chiseling. We weren't the only ones there; it was clear by the clinking sounds and passing satchels that there was some gambling going on.

  "Look, Marvin," Leo said, pointing. "Diana's name is up there."

  "What about Uhh?"

  We skimmed the board, finally discovering Uhh was set for two matches in an entirely different bracket. My stomach churned with anxiety. I knew Uhh was good in a fight, and I knew Diana was stronger than she let on, but I would've been much happier if they were together. As it stood, it would take six rounds of fighting before they would tag together for dual matches.

  It wasn't long after we registered this information that the crowd was soon hustled through the arch leading into the Harpy Den. Leo served as a bulwark to prevent me from getting crushed. Everyone found seats immediately, leaving us staring like doe-eyed infants.

  "Act like locals," Leo reminded me of Duck's advice.

  "Well do you see any seats?" I asked back, snappish.

  The tiers were packed; to call this entertainment was an understatement. Judging by the expressions around us, fights at the Harpy Den were a religion.

  "Pardon?"

  We turned around to spot a normal looking man.

  Well, not normal, exactly, more like... out of place.

  He was the definition of handsome by surface standards, with strong, mascu
line features, blonde hair, and a glow that suggested he just stepped in from a soak in the sun.

  "Are... you talking to us?" I asked.

  "Yes." His smile was dazzling in its whiteness. "You see, I was wondering whether you'd join me in my viewing box. It isn't often that I see live necromancers in Krisenburg."

  Leo and I exchanged questioning looks.

  "It's up to you, Marv," he said.

  I turned to this beautiful stranger, so ill-suited to the surrounding area.

  "We'll take you up on that offer."

  "Wonderful!" He swept his arm as he turned, sending the purple robes flying.

  Purple was notoriously difficult to find where dyes were concerned. The color was a bit of an oddity when it did show up in Nethermount, often in the plumes of exotic birds or the occasional nightshade flower. Once, or so the story went, there was a body in the Pit, dressed in purple vestments. We later learned that she was one of the leading matriarchs of Isoviel.

  In short, to be dripping in this color said a lot about this man's station, especially that he was willing to make such a blatant statement without a shred of concern for his surroundings. One look at Leo told me that we were on the same page; this was not a man to trifle with.

  The viewing box was luxurious by Krisenburg standards. There was room to stretch, for starters, and the seats had cushions. Our host sat in the largest chair, flicking his wrist at a pitcher. It immediately tipped and neatly filled a golden goblet with a sweet smelling liquid.

  "You're a mage," Leo said dumbly.

  Our benefactor's eyes twinkled a bit at the statement. "Oh... I wouldn't go as far as saying that."

  "But what you did takes an incredible amount of control!"

  "What? This?" He repeated the procedure for two more cups, floating them to the arm rests of our seats. "Parlor tricks, that's all."

  Something wasn't right.

  He was too perfect.

  And this sweet smell... I knew it.

  A horn blew from somewhere in the stadium below, bringing all conversation to a halt. A hulking mass, stitched to form a giant human male, stepped out into the arena.

  "For our first match," his voice thundered across the stone. "We have a face that has not appeared since the Era of Inval! The Doll, Diana Galatea, now under a new Contractor!"