THE SAGA OF BOY: BOOK ONE
Chapter 14: Fire of Life
"We should have killed him the moment we laid eyes on him."
"Truly? Having raised no hand against you?"
"But he would."
"While the deaths of hundreds are against him, yours may not be. For unlike the slaughtered tribe, in your case he could be considered justified."
"Justified? Does the reason I attacked him matter not at all?"
"We are neither a court of law, Nathanial Holt, nor one of justification. It will be weighed. Everything will be weighed. Shall we continue?"
"Yes...wait. Is it possible to peek ahead? I want to know if the others manage to finish off the murdering wretch."
"That story is no longer yours, even if it becomes your past. You are the one on judgment here. Shall we continue?"
"Yes, let's. For eternal beings, you are pretty impatient."
"But...why? Why would anyone steal a body?" Nathanial asked with some bewilderment. Marcus knelt briefly by the imprint in the dust where Whisper's corpse had been laid. Nathanial saw his brow furrow with anger as he silently traced the Dwarf's footsteps with his eyes. Marcus went to the backpack discarded by the dwarf as too cumbersome for full-out flight, and drew a folded piece of parchment from within. He glanced at it quickly before handing it and the pack to the others before setting out in a determined stride.
Nathanial read aloud from the parchment Leto handed back to him as he hurried after his brother.
"Reward of gold in the sum of 50,000 for the return of woman depicted below, or her identifiable corpse..." He paused in his reading to scan the photo and description. "It's definitely her. Where did she get this?"
"Markettown, I believe. I saw something similar in another bar. Apparently so did Boris."
"That flea-bitten, half-pint thieven whelp of a pig!" exclaimed Ta'arnkap, "If anyone's goin'ta turn a profit from tha beech's body, it should b' us!"
Leto poked the Halfling hard in the small of the back, earning additional curses.
"Not that you're not being your usual practical self, shortstuff," the monk hissed, "But it's not so much about profiting from her death, as it is preventing someone else from doing so."
"I don't think that's what Marcus has in mind either," puffed Nathanial as he dropped back to keep pace with the other two. He was watching the set of his brother's jaw, and wondered if he blamed himself for bringing the dwarf amongst them.
"She was a warrior," Marcus replied easily as he ran. The three conspirators jumped guiltily, unaware they'd been overheard. "No matter what I thought of her personally. She died a warrior's death, and deserves respect for it. Respect does not entail allowing her to be dragged across the land by a bounty hunter."
Nathanial looked at him pointedly. He knew, somehow, that Marcus was not telling them everything. He also knew that despite his focus on the trail in front of him, his brother could see his expectant look from the corner of his eye. With some exasperation (but no shortage of breath, despite their speed), Marcus continued.
"And yes, I have a hunch that something very bad will result if she is returned to her father, alive or dead. I have heard rumors of necromancy, and worse. The hunch tells me that the world might just be safer if he is left wondering and searching for as long as possible. I wasn't going to mention it, since the first reason should be enough for any of you."
The last was said in such a sarcastic tone that Nathanial withered slightly and dropped back to his companions. They came as close to sprinting as they could, encumbered by their gear and the short stride of the Halfling. They did not encounter Boris before reaching the entrance to the keep, and so they began to search for signs of his passage. While the newcomer floated nonchalantly to the surface of the cave-in they'd first descended through, Marcus hunted the ground around the entrance for tracks. Nathanial shifted the two packs to a more comfortable position on his shoulders, wondering if there was time to combine them into one and get rid of unnecessary weight. He watched Marcus for signs of halting, and when his brother stopped by the horses and began to unload his own gear, Nathanial went over in hopes of news.
"Boris didn't come out this way, he may be holed up somewhere inside the castle, waiting to sneak out after us. I'm going back in alone, as I can move faster."
"I can run! Let me come with you!"
Marcus looked at him with a ghost of a smile. "I know you can, Nathanial, I know." He removed his pack and all but one waterskin, and tied them onto his saddlebags. He spoke quietly to his horse in a language Nathanial couldn't quite catch, then glanced suspiciously at the others.
"Nathanial, I need fighters up here in case he comes this way..."
"But Leto and Ta'arnkap..."
"I know they can fight. What I don't know is if I can trust them to wait here for me afterwards, and keep Whisper's body safe instead of running off to claim the reward themselves."
Frustration over being balked warred with pride over Marcus's trust. Nathanial searched his brothers' face for signs that he was being mislead in order to keep him there. Marcus seemed to sense it, and some of his gruffness left him. When he was about to tie an ornate sword to the saddle he hesitated, then turned and handed it to Nathanial.
"Here, hold onto this for me. When I return, I'll teach you to use it."
He also handed over the items Ramses had given him for safe-keeping. Nathanial held the sword gingerly by the scabbard. A tingle went up his arms and stirred the hairs at the nape of his neck.
"What is it?" he asked with some awe.
Marcus strapped the last dagger onto his boot and raised an eyebrow at his brother.
"It's a sword."
Nathanial thought he saw a glint of humor lurking in his eyes, but when he blinked it was gone, and Marcus had turned away to begin the chase through the ruins of the keep. He sprinted after him, and finally caught up at the edge of the cave-in. Marcus turned a final time and gripped his forearm in a warrior's greeting.
"Take care of that sword, its something of a family legacy. If I haven't returned by the morning of the second day, don't come looking for me. Continue the way we've been going. It will take you towards Madresar, past the Lansharian Plateau. I'll find you."
"But..." Nathanial protested the idea of leaving his brother behind in unknown danger.
Marcus smiled slightly and shook his head, "I'll find you. Just continue east."
With that he stepped deliberately over the edge of the gap and was gone. Nathanial felt a keen sense of loss, and hoped that he wouldn't have to make the choice between disobeying his brother's orders, and leaving him behind. He retrieved his crossbow from the pack and loaded it, settling himself within a clear line of sight of the cave-in. He propped the crossbow on his knee, and hoped to see the Dwarf's head within range.
One hand rested on the scabbard of the sword at his side.
There was no sight of Boris or Marcus by dawn of the first day. Leto and Ta'arnkap took turns spelling Nathanial on watch over the only known entrance into the lower levels, while Lira and Yadros talked to those off-duty, trying to keep their spirits up. Nathanial told them about Marcus's orders, and Lira brightened at the mention of Madresar.
"I dare say it's been years since I've visited that charming little kingdom."
Nathanial quirked a grin at her, as she'd shared stories of some of her more risky ventures, "Long enough to avoid prosecution?"
"Why, Boy, I'm offended that you would simply assume, based on a few isolated incidents in my sordid youth, that my life consisted, until now, of running amuck of the law."
"Hasn't it?"
"I'll have you know that I'm considered an upstanding citizen in many cities of this continent, and my skills as a bard are legendary as far away as Lhansovar."
"Ah've never heard of ye," Ta'arnkap chimed in from where he'd sat and closed his eyes after his shift on watch, "but ah've sure heard enough out of ye today, as I'm tryin' te sleep."
Lira flipped a rude gesture to the corner.
Yadros was brooding, his face as down as they'd seen it.
"Madresar," he asked tentatively, "is that not the country where magic has been corrupted?"
"I don't know about corrupted, really, but I know better than to buy anything enchanted from there. The wizards are pretty bloody useless. Saw a bloke who bought a healing potion once, and he ended up growing a third arm. Not that it wasn't useful, come to think about it..."
Nathanial managed a mental image of the man and began to laugh. He remembered some stories he'd picked up in taverns throughout his travels.
"I heard about a man who couldn't afford a regular love potion, but he had just enough for a Madresarian one. He was desperate enough to buy it, and it worked, at first. But even though she fell head over heels for him, the fact that the potion turned her into a man was a bit of a strain on their relationship!"
The stories and laughter didn't keep him from worrying, but they did distract him enough to prevent him from being overcome by his fears. When Ta'arnkap awoke and relieved Leto at his post, Nathanial took the opportunity to try and sleep. It felt like a long time before he drifted off, but as the conversation drifted over him, scattered with musical laughter, he was comforted. The darkness of dreams reached up and enfolded him.
Leto was the only one awake in the outer keep when the stranger approached. To all the world he looked asleep, but in his meditative state he was aware of the world around him to an extent that would surprise anyone who knew. Of course, it was often advantageous to appear oblivious, so he kept this secret to himself.
Now he watched the stranger approach. He kept his senses attuned in hopes of some clue to his intentions, but could smell no trace of the acrid tang hostility left on the skin of an attacker. In fact, he didn't even sense a weapon. This was worrisome, as those with weapons were prone to relying exclusively on them, and were easier to assess.
A bird landed on the man's shoulder, reeking of carrion.
"Sir," it said in a gravelly, but intelligible voice that nearly startled Leto into movement, "there's a person, is that who you're looking for?"
"No, Hugin, but then he may be traveling with him. Let us say hello."
"Really, sir, are you sure he's awake, or even alive?"
There was the flapping sound of wings, and Leto felt a sudden weight on his shoulder as the Raven landed and peered at him curiously. The bird tapped gently on the side of his head.
"Wake up, sleepy! My master wishes to speak to you."
Leto's senses were extended, so he felt the passing air of the object coming towards him. It gave him time to duck to one side, and the dagger nearly parted the bird's feathers before striking the wall. The bird let out a frightened squawk only inches from Leto's ear, leaving him half-deafened for a moment.
"What te feck ye duck fer? Ah nearly had te mangy crow fer supper!" Ta'arnkap spit.
A remarkable struggle passed over the Raven's body as it seemed to choke. Losing the struggle, it let out a strangled "FECK!" before drooping in despair. Shooting a sincerely dirty look at the Halfling, Hugin returned to his master's shoulder and received a mild rebuke.
"Yes sir, sorry sir," he muttered in reply, before giving Ta'arnkap another accusing stare. "As for you, I am hardly mangy, nor a common crow!"
"Feck off ye flyin' dustrag, I wann't talking te ye."
A pained look crossed the crow's face as the choking struggle began. This time it lasted nearly ten seconds before the word burst from him in a squawk.
"FECK!"
The bird shook himself and neatened a few feathers with his beak, as if he felt suddenly unclean.
"Sorry, master, you know I try..."
The man nodded gravely, "It is good that you try, but I expect you to make progress in your self-discipline."
"Yes Sir."
Leto, having choked back laughter at the bird's antics, unfolded himself from the intricate fold of legs he'd assumed for meditation and stood, leaning nonchalantly against the stone wall.
"So, stranger, who might you be?" he drawled, tensing for an attack without moving from his lazy slouch.
"I am Gamaliel, and I do not mean to disturb you. I am looking for someone you may have seen..."
The stranger broke off and his eyes snapped to a point behind Ta'arnkap. The Halfling saw the movement of shadow behind him and turned quickly, reaching for his daggers. He relaxed only slightly when he saw the new Wizard, Yadros behind him.
Yadros spoke excitedly to the newcomer in a strange, silvery language which none of the others understood. The stranger answered in the same language before the two embraced.
"Yadros," Lira spoke up as she emerged sleepily from within the keep, "what the hell is going on, and who the hell is that?"
Caught off guard, the bird on Gamaliel's shoulder had no chance to fight back the word erupting from him.
"HELL!"
All eyes turned to the creature, who looked distinctly embarrassed. His master looked stern and ordered the bird away. Hugin flew to a perch at the top of a crumbling wall and turned his back pointedly on the individuals below. Gamaliel regarded him gravely for a moment, then turned to Lira with a slight bow.
"I am Gamaliel, and something of a cousin to Yadros. I have been drawn here without knowing why, but I now have some idea. Yadros tells me that a messenger of the Gods has fallen amongst you?"
Nathanial woke with a start, shocked that he'd drifted off on duty. His crossbow was still resting on his knee, pointed at the opening in the floor. He had no way of knowing how long he'd dozed. He heard voices drifting in from the outer room of the keep, one of them unknown. He was weighing the dangers in leaving his post to investigate when Ta'arnkap came stomping in. Nathanial did his best to look awake and alert, but the Halfling wasn't really paying attention.
"Dinna know why they'd want te bring te bitch back te life. Awl this mumba jumba looks t'me like necri'mancy..."
Nathanial cleared his throat, wondering if he'd heard correctly.
"What's going on?"
Ta'arnkap sighed as he flopped down against a wall, drawing a throwing dagger and aiming readily at the opening in the floor where they still expected Boris to try and sneak out from.
"Ye got me Boy, but tha' southern pansy in the robes is talkin' bout people comin' back from te dead, an if'n I han't seen te body with me own eyes ah'd swear he was bloo'y daft, but there she is, breathin' like she never was dead..."
"Who? Who's breathing?"
"Ye deef Boy? Ah'm talkin' bout Whisper!"
Nathanial pressed the tips of his fingers in the hollows at his temples, in hopes of staving off the dull ache that was forming there.
"Ta'arnkap, What about Whisper?"
"Eh, not listenin' t'a word ah say! Go'in see fer yeself then, an'quit pesterin me!"
Nathanial rolled to his feet and hurried out into the outer room of the keep, where his friends clustered to one side in hushed, worried conversation. Near the entrance a man knelt in an attitude of intense prayer. Before him, suspended in mid-air, was Whisper's corpse.
"Not a corpse?" Nathanial half-wondered to himself, looking around for signs that Marcus had returned. The body had no injuries upon it, and while it was unmoving, he caught the slight rise and fall of the chest as she breathed. He stumbled over to Yadros, where he stood watching with a satisfied smile.
"What is going on?" he choked out. Yadros looked up from where he'd just made a notation in his book.
"hrmm? Oh, hello there boy. It's going well indeed. I was afraid Gamaliel did not have the spell compliment for a full resurrection, but he has successfully sought intervention from his deity to accomplish the task."
"Is...is that HER?"
Yadros looked from Nathanial to the floating body with some confusion, "Yes, of course. We had a bit of her blood, you see, at least enough to focus the effect. She will be unconscious for some time yet, but will awaken with all memory and personality intact."
Nathanial's temper snapped under the strain of bewilderment and outrage. He grabbed the front of Yadros' robes and shoved him back against the wall. The Wizard's book and pen dropped from his hands and clattered to the floor.
"What," Nathanial snarled, "did you DO to her, Necromancer?"
Yadros looked startled for the first time since they'd known him, but his face quickly settled into more serene lines. He said a quick incantation and touched one finger to Nathanial's chest, throwing him suddenly backwards across the room in a shower of sparks. Nathanial coughed painfully and struggled to sit up. He rubbed his chest, which felt as if it had suddenly been filled with angry wasps. Yadros was smiling sympathetically at him.
There was the sound of steel on leather as Lira drew a dagger, measuring Yadros with evil intent. Leto gripped his quarterstaff loosely at the ready, and a low growl came from Hooch. Yadros held up one hand to forestall them, the smile still on his face.
"I am not a Necromancer Boy, nor have I harmed Whisper in any way. I have judged by your reaction that your priests do not have the ability to reverse the effects of death when the Gods find worth in the deceased. A pity. But a great blessing for you that we are here. Gamaliel has asked his Gods to bring her back, and they have bestowed their benevolence upon her. The result is not undead, but truly alive and unchanged from what she was before."
"But how," Nathanial protested, "how is this possible?"
"Through the gift of the Gods, who give us life, Boy." The stranger answered from where he knelt. A golden glow enveloped the floating body, and she gasped before settling into the steady breathing of sleep. "She is sleeping peacefully now, and will do so until late this evening."
Yadros nodded and flicked his hand, sending her floating across the room and onto a waiting bedroll. When she had settled gently down, he turned back to his cousin and began chatting in their own language. The group gathered away from them, but where they could see Whisper's sleeping form.
"Really, I've seen some odd things, and heard rumors," Lira began, "of priests who performed such miracles. I even ran into a soldier who claimed he'd been dead and brought back. Of course he was quite a bit into a bottle when he told the story..."
"I don't know, but I somehow don't like it," Nathanial responded warily, "It seems like something evil to do, but then how can it be evil if it accomplishes good?"
"All we can really do," answered Leto, "Is wait for her to wake. If she acts strangely, we can discuss what to do. If not, well then like it or not we're present at a miracle."
"And how do you propose we judge what 'strange' behaviour is, in Whisper's case? If she wakes up acting nice to everyone and able to take a joke, we know we should kill her immediately?"
She managed to elicit a ghost of a smile from Nathanial, and an outright chuckle from the monk. She noticed the boy was nervously clutching a scabbard at his side, and recognized it as Marcus's.
"We wait," Nathanial decided, wondering suddenly why the others seemed to listen to him in times like these. It wasn't as if he had any special insight on what to do. "We wait for her to wake up, or for Marcus to return. Tomorrow morning we'll decide whether to keep waiting for Marcus, or to follow his instructions a day late and continue towards Madresar."
"Ok, then we wait," Leto agreed. Their eyes turned to the sleeping body in the corner, as they settled into a subdued silence.
"Like a vigil for the dead," Nathanial thought to himself, "Except who expected the dead to rise?"
Authors' Notes:
Sorry about the whole dead-one-chapter, alive-the-next thing, I'm afraid Resurrections were allowed in the game, and Whisper's an important enough character to keep alive, while this incident has a major bearing later in the story. I tried to make it as believable as possible for the characters who would not have had knowledge of such a possibility, especially Nathanial who has yet to shake a certain country-boy superstition where death is concerned.
Authors' notes: Sorry about the updating gap. I had a falling out with the people who played many of these characters, and didn't feel much like re-visiting them. On the other hand, Boy was, and always will be mine, and I'd like to see him through to the end.
heeeeere's Hugin! This poor, turret's-stricken bird has been a favorite NPC since its introduction. You have no idea how much fun it is to have an NPC around who has to roll a will save every time it hears a curse word to avoid repeating it. We must have killed several hours of game time torturing the poor thing, and the general language of the gaming group got considerably worse after Hugin's introduction! Of course, this also means that, starting with this chapter, the offensive language may actually be spelled out on occasion. However once I get the point across I'll look for ways around gratuitous cursing from the bird.