The Undead King: The Saga of Jai Lin: Book One

by Rinaldi, Jared

  He had taken refuge in the old clock-tower at the center of the ghost town. He had always loved clocks, was fascinated with how they worked, so it seemed like a logical place for him to stay. He cleared out a space underneath some rusted sprockets in the topmost part of the tower where he laid out his bedroll. He found a dusty wooden table and set it up with the glassware he found in the ruins of the shops. The days filled with the making of explosives and alchemical potions; Jompers hoped that the focus required for the work would quiet the voices of the townsfolk that still echoed around in his head.

  It didn’t, not even a week later, and now there were three travelers walking cautiously through the overgrown city streets. Mercenaries, by their look, and no doubt looking for him. Had traders come to Young Poe’s Keep by way of the Axe Man or the Mountain Road and found what he had done? Had they hired a group of sellswords to gather him up and make him answer for his crimes?

  “I did what I had to do…” Jompers whispered. He tapped his fingers on his thigh and clicked his teeth. The shattered ball of lightning churned around in his gut.

  He looked away then, into the reflective glass of the large clock face, where he saw a skeleton with stringy, matted hair and wild eyes staring back at him. The tattoos of formulas that went from his finger tips to his shoulders were covered in a viscous coating of dirt and grime, as were his leather slacks and sleeveless tunic. The oil he used to keep his blunderbuss rifle in tip-top shape had a way of making the dirt and dust stick to his skin.

  Jompers brought the binoculars up to his eyes again so he could see the travelers more closely. The biggest among them wore an ornate uniform, a series of patches on his chest and shoulders. This man wasn’t a mercenary at all, Jompers realized, but a soldier from the Fort at Kingston.

  “A high ranking one, at that,” the cosmologist whispered to himself. “Word must have already spread to the western cities. They’ll want me to stand trial before the Table of Polaris, to explain why I condemned a whole town to die. Oh dear, oh dear…” He debated with himself on whether he should trigger the explosives he had buried in the road or go down and try to explain himself.

  “What would you do, Rory?” He asked the great horned owl that watched the cosmologist from atop its perch, his constant companion in all his wanderings. “Would you go down to plead your case?” The owl emitted a quiet screech, and Jompers seemed satisfied with its answer.

  “You’re right, you’re right. I did what had to be done, any dunce could see that. I’ll state my case. Worst that happens, I’ll blow myself sky-high and take the lot of them with me.” Jompers patted the vials of purple powder strapped to his chest. “Yes, yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

  The cosmologist put his arms through his dark blue trench coat and picked up his blunderbuss from its place against the wall. He was on his way to the ladder down to the street when the bark from the travelers’ dog stopped him. Jompers looked up to Rory, his eyebrows, like tiny black worms after a lab explosion in his youth singed them away, furrowed in disapproval.

  “The dog must have heard you, Rory. Nice going. Now we don’t have the element of surprise on our side.”

  The cosmologist was right: Leo had heard the owl’s quiet screech. The pit bull ran barking towards the clock tower, causing the three companions to look up from their search. Brook was the first to notice movement behind the clock face. “Look!” She said, pointing. “There’s someone up there!”

  Mercer drew Jai Lin, while Solloway cocked his pistol with his one free hand, the axe in his other. “Take cover in the shops,” he rasped. “Whoever it is may be armed.”

  They did as they were told. Brook reached out to Leo with their mind link and was able to bring him back to her side, despite the dog’s excitement over hearing the owl. She was getting better with the mind link, their connection growing stronger. They waited, though not sure for what, each of them so tense and focused on the door to the clock tower that they missed seeing the horned owl alight upon the bent gutter above their heads. Solloway jumped at the owl’s screech and fell on his back.

  “By the bloody Fist!” He floundered around, aiming and firing his pistol at the owl before he even knew what it was. Fortunately for Rory, the old soldier was piss-drunk and the bullet sailed wide, flying into the clouds. The owl flew back to the tower doorway, where Jompers stood like a scarecrow.

  “Please friends, we mean you no harm,” Jompers said as Rory touched down on his outstretched arm. In the other, he held a small black device, from which a thin wire trailed into the high grass. “As long as you intend to move along, then you have my word that you shall not be hurt.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Solloway was back on his feet. His cheeks were flush, his eyes trembling flames in a couple of gas lamps.

  “My name is Jedediah Jompers. I’m a cosmologist by way of Ithaca, given writ by the Table of Polaris to wander the Green Lands and teach those with the propensity to learn. Now please, sir, would you be so kind as to put away your pistol? I’ll have you know that not only are the buildings around you loaded with explosives that I can trigger at any moment, but on my person are vials of an even more volatile mixture. If you shoot at me and miss, I’ll trigger the explosives in the buildings, and you shall be blown apart by shrapnel and flame. If, however, your shot is true, the bullet will set off enough explosive power that the entirely of Old Poe’s Keep will be nothing more than a steaming crater. I trust you’ll make the wisest decision in this situation, friend.”

  Solloway hocked and spit into the grass, not taking his pistol off the cosmologist. “He’s bluffing,” Solloway said. “Cosmologist tricks.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Mercer said. His father had been a wandering cosmologist in his younger days, before taking up sword and armor in the War for the Green Lands. Willis Crane had told his son of the wondrous things the learned men were capable of. Mercer didn’t doubt that this strange man, who spoke with a cadence befitting a cosmologist from the western cities, was being true to his word. “I think it’s best to put your gun down, Solloway. Let’s just be on our way.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Solloway huffed, but lowered his pistol.

  “Thank you kindly,” Jompers said. “I see you are a soldier, from the Fort at Kingston. I can tell by your uniform. You are far from home. What brings you this way?”

  There was a nervousness in Jompers’ voice, a skittish trepidation that they all perceived. Leo emitted a low growl from his place by Brook’s side. She took the cosmologist in, his appearance as alien to her as a Black Wing in bright colors. His eyes were as round as his pet owl’s, bulging from his skull-like head. The skin that was exposed on his neck and hands was slightly jaundiced, and inked into it were formulas in a delicate penmanship.

  “We’re heading east,” Solloway said. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “Hm.” The cosmologist’s eyes fluttered and he licked his thin lips. “You came to Old Poe’s Keep over the winding road, from Young Poe. Did you run into any trouble along the way?”

  “If you’re asking if we ran into any undead, then yes, we damn well did. I lost a good horse to them, one I raised from a foal, and very nearly lost my life too. I’ve been at this game long enough to know when someone is trying to cover something up, and you, my friend, are doing one of the poorest jobs I’ve seen. What part did you have to play in what happened in Young Poe?”

  Brook didn’t think it was possible, but the strange man’s eyes grew even wider, and he started mouthing quiet words to himself that none of them could hear. Without warning, Jompers raised the device high into the sky. The owl flapped its great wings and took to the air.

  “Not any closer!” Jompers said, his gaze rapidly moving between the three travelers. “I’m not going back to the Fort! You’ll go on your way or I’ll blow you all to bits! I’m… I’m innocent! Innocent, I tell you! I did what I could! Oh dear, oh dear...”

  Mercer could hear Solloway grinding his teeth to sand. “Let’s g
o, Solloway. I think he means it.”

  “When I get my hands on his skinny little neck…” Solloway nearly spat the words out. “Fine, let’s go. I have bigger things to worry about than this lunatic_ watch out!” Despite his drunkenness, the old sergeant was still the first to see the corpse shambling out from the alleyway behind the cosmologist. It was but a few paces from Jompers, but the cosmologist was so focused on Mercer and the others that he failed to hear it coming up behind him. Mercer knew he had to act, and quick. His mind calmed as he remembered the technique his father had taught him.

  “As swift as a hawk, as unfettered as a stream,” he whispered. His feet moved under him as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings, as silent as a spring breeze. Jompers had by then heard the shuffling pile of rotted flesh and bone. He was on his knees, his skinny arms over his face, cries for mercy on his lips. The corpse was the same shape and bruised color of a plum, corpulent and naked save for a frayed hemp noose around its neck. Its hands grasped onto Jompers’ leg and it opened its foul maw wide to take its first bite.

  Fortunately for the cosmologist, Jai Lin’s blade found the corpse’s head before it could. A geyser of fetid blood and loose teeth spewed into the air. Jompers thought it was his, gave a soft yelp and then roundly fainted.

  Solloway and Brook ran up to their companion, their weapons drawn and ready. Solloway took one look at Jompers’ limp body, the comatose man spattered with droplets of black blood, and scoffed. He tested the weight of his axe and then moved to put its blade between the cosmologist’s eyes.

  “Wait!” Mercer yelled, stopping Solloway mid-swing. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m doing the fool a courtesy. If he was bit, he’s going to turn. Nothing can be done for it.”

  “He wasn’t bit,” Mercer said. “I killed the dead man in time.”

  “Oh.” Solloway sounded disappointed. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “What was that?” Brook said, eyeing Mercer. “You ran faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  “Hawk-stream style,” Solloway said, mirth in his voice. “You really learned every little trick from your old man, didn’t you? That technique was how he took Godwin by surprise, before he ran the maniac through with the Sword of Jai Lin and ended the war.”

  Mercer nodded, pleased with himself and the impression he had made with Brook. But when he looked in her face and saw consternation where he had expected to see awe, he was puzzled. He could feel her questioning him, silently asking why he had chosen now to use hawk-stream style and not before, when Crow had been taken by the slavers.

  “It would have been suicide,” Mercer whispered, just as much to himself as to Brook.

  “What?” Solloway asked.

  “Nothing,” Mercer said quickly, not wanting to look at Brook, at what her eyes were telling him. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “Leave him here, I guess.”

  “We can’t leave him,” Brook said. “That can’t be the only killim around here. What if more find him while he’s passed out?”

  “Then that’s his fate,” Solloway said. “He chose to act the fool, he’ll have to live with the consequences. Come on, it’s getting late, and it’s not safe here. We need to find some supplies and be moving. I’d like to be on the Mountain Road by evening.” Solloway started to backtrack from Jompers and the others, but Brook was a stone.

  “What is it?” Solloway asked. “The slavers are already well along the Kill Fish and getting further away from us every minute. Do you want to rescue your brother? If we don’t make haste, there’s a good chance Dusty Yen will already be marching on the western cities by the time we get to the Rip, and we’ll have missed our chance to stop all-out war.”

  “I… I can’t just leave someone to die. Let’s at least bring him back to the clock tower. Please? He has no one.” Solloway grumbled something, but knew he wasn’t going to win. Despite all his years spent as an axe man, no matter the hardness of his spirit, his will was no match for Brook’s gentleness. Seeing Brook care so much about the cosmologist’s well-being made him think of the woman who had been his wife once, his Ramona. She had been so good, the only star bright enough to pierce the dark firmament of violence he occupied with its light. He had eventually overwhelmed and suffocated Ramona with the heaviness of his being, with the warrior’s weight he carried like a chain around his neck. It had been inevitable, time had taught him that, but even in his advanced age he regretted having blotted out the brightest light that had ever shone in his sixty long years. He had made a wordless vow that he’d never do it again, that he’d do everything in his power to keep the light burning as brightly as possible. In Brook, he saw a chance to fulfill that vow.

  “Fine, let’s make this quick. Mercer, help me with this idiot.” Solloway reached down with his tree-trunk arms and lifted Jompers as though the man was made of feathers. Mercer went to help as instructed but the grizzled sergeant was handling things just fine.

  “Careful for any traps,” Solloway said as they made their way towards the clock tower. “Tripwires, foot-switches, even lasers. This guy said he had the place rigged to explode, and last thing I need tonight is to be blown to a million pieces.”

  Jompers came to in the darkness. Had he died? Was he now a disembodied soul floating in the void? His eyes began to adjust, and he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the moon reflected in the glass of the clock’s face and his table of vials and powders. He was back in his room, but how did he get there? The last thing he remembered was the fat corpse that had snuck up behind him, its teeth mere inches from his shin, its rotted hand wrapped around his leg. How had he gotten away?

  “The travelers…” He whispered, his throat as dry as dust. They must have saved him, must have cut the zombie down before it could bite him. “Before it could do to me what I allowed to happen to all those in Young Poe’s Keep.”

  His eyes welled up and he gritted his teeth. Why had he been saved? Had fate cursed him to wander the earth endlessly, ostracized from the rest of humanity but unable to be killed? Had he on his head what the Church of the Bleeding Christ called the Mark of Cain?

  Suddenly, and with enough power to stem the flow of his tears, an alarm went off in his head like a nitrate explosive: why had they left him here? Was he not to be brought back to the Fort at Kingston or Ithaca to answer for his crimes?

  “The soldier said they were headed east,” Jompers said, getting up to his feet. He was at once hit with such a wave of dizziness that he almost fell back down. He stumbled over to his work table and steadied himself as the realization seized him: they hadn’t come to seize him after all. They were on a journey to somewhere else, were just passing through. He had jumped to such an extreme conclusion that he had almost turned the ruins of this old mercantile town into dust. Gods, was he ever a fool.

  It was then that Jompers’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no…” He had taken great pains to secure his position in Old Poe, and had therefore set a trap further down the winding road, a tripwire less than an eye-span from where the dirt path met the Mountain Road. Stepping through it would trigger several hoses hidden in the trees to spew out a noxious gas, the inhalation of which would cause delirium and hallucinations in its subjects that could last for several days. The gas was analogous to lysergic acid, and was a compound he had synthesized countless times; the batch hooked to the hoses was of an exceptionally high potency. He had to stop the three travelers before they tripped it, especially if there were undead wandering about. They had kept him safe, after all, and he was obliged to do the same for them.

  “To me, Rory!” Jompers called up into the rafters. The horned owl fluttered down and landed atop his master’s woven sleeve. Hastily grabbing what he could, including his blunderbuss, pack and as many vials as would fit in his pockets, Jompers was down the ladder and out the door before the clock tower could have moved its minute hand, had it still functioned.

  He ran
quickly, heading east towards the Mountain Road, doing a sort of jig over the parts of the path where he remembered, always at the last moment, that there was a jutting rock or sharp piece of metal. He had no idea how long he’d been knocked out, or how long it had been since the travelers had left him in the tower. All he knew was that it was full night, and that every moment that passed was one where the unsuspecting travelers could have tripped his trap. Perhaps they were already wandering around the forest in a drugged haze…

  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”

  Then he heard the unmistakable, raspy voice of the soldier from the Fort at Kingston from further down the path and Jompers breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Hello! Hello, wait! Don’t go any further!” The cosmologist called to them. He was struggling for breath; running was not his strong suit. The sort of exercise Jompers excelled at involved at most his brain, his eyes and his hands, as they worked in conjunction to pore over the formulas from old texts and apply them to the manufacture of potions and tools. Still, he ran on, not willing to stop until he saw them before him. His head was pounding with each step, and his eyes cloudy as they searched the path for the travelers.

  He missed seeing the root that stuck out from the road. His pack being so heavy and his hands encumbered with the owl and his gun, Jompers went down hard after his toe caught it, sliding several feet along the path before he came to a stop at Sergeant Roderick Solloway’s feet.

  “What in the…” Solloway said, but his spat of curses was cut off by a muffled explosion from under Jomper’s prostrate body, followed by fingers of smoke that snaked out from the cosmologist’s belly and glowed orange in the moonlight.

  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…” Jompers said, rolling around on the ground, smacking the flames that were wildly dancing across his chest. Brook took her cloak off and draped it over the smoldering man. The flames went out, and Jompers lay staring up at the stars, breathing heavily.