Book of The Dead

Chapter 51: Deals Done

"You can't see? Such a shame."

Soft and musical, the voice that reached Tyron's ears was playful, feminine, and on a primal, instinctual level, terrifying.

"Dove?" Tyron called, his disquiet leaking into his tone, "what's going on?"

Unable to see what was happening, he tried to maintain his balance and make sure he didn't move from the protective circle he had created. He'd learned his lesson from his attempts to contact the Abyss and woven in as many layers of protection as he could. With Dove's help, he'd been confident that the failsafes they'd built in would be sufficient to protect him from whatever may happen, but he hadn't anticipated losing this much blood.

He felt dizzy, lightheaded and sluggish.

"What's happening is almost assuredly dangerous, kid," the somewhat hollow voice of his mentor rang out, "but at the same time it's fucking sexy."

"Dove," Tyron groaned as he clutched the wound on his arm before he removed the bandages he'd prepared and began to bind it.

His vision was returning, but slowly. Some light crept in around the edges, but all he had was the impression of red.

"You know, my sense of self-preservation is probably all out of whack given that I'm dead. In future, probably don't rely on me for an accurate assessment of how much trouble you're in."

"Not. Helping," the Necromancer forced out between gritted teeth.

"My, my. You boys do love to talk. I'm right here, why don't you speak to me directly? I have so much to say."

Tyron tracked the voice as it seemed to shift position and came to a horrifying realisation. A shiver ran down his spine.

"Dove…" he choked, "is she in the room?"

A sharp crack and a flare of light tickled the edges of Tyron's eyes.

"Talk to me," that voice hissed and the sound was like nails being driven straight into his brain.

"I'm sorry!" he pleaded and the pressure eased. "I didn't realise what was happening. I haven't cast this ritual before."

"Oh we know. We were beginning to feel… neglected."

The voice, so sultry and smooth, yet with an underlying tone that promised something he knew he didn't want. He listened carefully as he heard steps begin to circle him. He didn't dare turn, lest he lose his position within his protective circle. The bright light had been her slamming into the wards, he was sure. If he hadn't included them… he shuddered.

"The Court has watched you, young one. Such a specimen. So much promise. We were disappointed when you chose the Abyss. What can they offer you but madness and gibberish? Nothing. What we can do for you, and what you can do for us… is so much more."

Like fingers trailing along his back, her words teased and tantalised. Tyron paused to think, tried to delay to give his vision longer to return.

"I had no idea what would happen if I used any of the three rituals," he excused himself, making an effort to be polite. "Or what I could exchange with them. There were no materials I could use to learn about your Court."

"The Court," she corrected him as if chiding a wayward youth. "Your ignorance is no excuse. As a practitioner of death, you should have been drawn to us, like a child seeking for its parent."

The Necromancer frowned.

"I have parents. Fine ones at that."

Perhaps it was a stretch to call Magnin and Beory 'good parents', they certainly meant well, but were absent more often than not. He found it hard to hold it against them, knowing their nature as he did, but still felt resentful at times.

He could see a little better now, and could make the vaguely shifting shape of whomever he was speaking to as she walked in front of him. He kept his head still, not wanting to risk growing dizzy and falling.

The figure continued to circle him slowly, her hands reaching out to play against the protective circle occasionally. When the light began to form, indicating the barrier held, she would withdraw, casually, as if nothing had happened at all.

"Now your error has been corrected," she said, "and at last we can set you upon your proper path. Now, offer your supplication, beg the intercession of the Court, then we shall settle on the price."

She sounded so pleased, so delighted that things had come to this point, but all Tyron could do was blink in confusion.

Supplicant? Intercession? I have no idea what she's talking about. But if I say that, will she get offended? What if she attacks me again?

He glanced down at his feet.

The ward should hold, she shouldn't be able to harm me. Even so, best to play safe.

"I apologise," he said carefully, "but as I said, I don't know anything about the Court, what you can offer, or what you might seek in return. If it isn't too rude of me to ask, could you teach me? Perhaps you could start by telling me your name? I'm Tyron Steelarm, by the way."

Her giggle sounded like dripping blood.

"I know your name. My Mistress has watched you for some time, after all. I must say, it is rare for the Court to receive a supplicant that doesn't know what it is they're asking for. How delicious. Perhaps our reach in your realm is not as deep as we might like. It is no matter, I will be pleased to inform you."

The blurry form began to move around him once again and Tyron tried to keep himself steady as his vision improved by small increments. He could make out a little more of her now, but she remained little more than a blurry smear of white in his eyes. Some sort of dress? The cold that had seized his limbs had slowly begun to recede as the bleeding stopped. Before his Awakening, this much blood loss would have undoubtedly killed him, but now he was already recovering. The power a Class and levels gave was nothing to sneeze at, and he only had his foot in the door.

"Make sure you listen," her voice pierced him once more, as if she sensed his wandering thoughts before it relaxed again. "It wouldn't do to make me repeat myself, would it?"

"I mean, if it keeps you around longer…" Dove called from the side.

"Silence."

All pretence gone, in that moment she sounded like an enraged beast.

"There are no protections around you. Speak again and I will consume your soul."

A pause.

"I apologise for my outburst. Let me fill those unfortunate gaps in your knowledge."

Cold sweat slid down Tyron's forehead as he nodded. He didn't know what he had called into the realm this time, but it was clearly just as dangerous as anything the Abyss had sent.

"The Court is, how should I phrase it, a gathering of higher beings. Creatures of perfection."

"You believe you have achieved perfection? Are you gods?" Tyron asked.

"We are nothing so crude, nor am I so arrogant as to say we are perfect. Perfection is the state we move infinitely closer to with the passage of time. It is our destination, our passion and our pursuit. Beyond life, beyond death, the Court exists to reflect the desires of its members, and what we desire is something beyond mortal ken."

"You're a gathering of powerful beings," Tyron frowned, "but you are beyond life and death? Does this mean you are Undead?"

"Of course," the voice tittered, "as I said, it is only normal that you extend your hand to us. In all the realms, there are no Undead who stand above the Court. A fledgling Necromancer, you are playing in the dirt of our castle. What we offer is to reach down and pull you up."

Tyron's mind worked furiously. She had confirmed that she was Undead and he'd read as much as he could on every type known within the province. She was clearly no Zombie or Skeleton, she retained her intelligence and ability to communicate far beyond any basic creation. Was she some form of advanced spirit? A Revenant? A Wight? A Spectre? Each of those required the remains of a sapient race to create and were extremely rare in his understanding. There weren't many places with the raw Death Magick required to create a natural Revenant, let alone a Spectre.

He wanted to directly ask what she was, but he hesitated. He didn't want to cause offence to this messenger of the Court. Whatever they were, they were powerful. On par with whatever it was that lived in the Abyss, their name alongside the Dark Ones also. They were not to be trifled with.

And to tell the truth, he was drawn to the prospect of more powerful minions. The 'perfect' Undead? Was that something he could hope to command? He had to learn more.

"Pull me up in what way?" Tyron asked reasonably. "Do you have spells and rituals that I could learn? Or resources I could use to create more powerful Undead? Each of those would be desirable for me, though I'm not sure what I have that you may be interested in as payment."

The figure passed in front of him again and Tyron caught a glimpse of a pair of crimson eyes that burned with an unnatural light. There was an energy to that gaze that bordered on manic. It unnerved him more than he could say.

"Rituals and spells?" she laughed, her throaty tone vibrating in the air. "Is that all you would seek from us? My Mistress is prepared to offer so much more. And the price? Let us not discuss that just yet. Not until you understand the weight of what it is you are offered."

She drifted out of his gaze again as Tyron kept his eyes focused resolutely forward, though he listened intently.

"The Court has existed for millennia, its age extends beyond the entire history of your empire. Before the rifts had reached this world, the Court had already ruled for time immemorial. Our oldest members can trace their history back to the founding itself, a time of blood and glory in the dark origins of our realm. And…"

She paused for dramatic effect.

"… those same members continue to exist to this day. Do I surprise you? Unageing, those same beings survive indefinitely. Undead? Undying. To be raised by the Court is to be offered life everlasting. You will be among august company should you choose to take the hand that is offered. The most powerful mages in existence, who have perfected their craft over tens of thousands of years, would become your peers. Imagine what you could learn. The power you could achieve."

Ancient Mages? Everlasting life? Magick that had existed before the rifts had even found this world? Tyron swallowed thickly. That was a tempting offer. It was far too good to believe.

"Despite your words," he said, "I have no evidence that your claims are true. I do not mean to cause offence, but it would be foolish of me to accept a deal without learning more. I would like to establish greater trust and rapport between us before we come to an agreement."

The ritual was sure to end soon. As long as he could avoid putting the Court against him and run down the clock without being pushed into an agreement, then he could chalk it up as a win.

These stupid rituals were way more trouble than they were worth. Power was offered, sure, but there were so many hurdles to overcome it was practically worthless. The Abyss offered knowledge? Sure it did, but you risked madness if you tried to listen to them. The Court apparently held immortality in their hands, but there was a seemingly terrible price to pay. At least, he assumed it was terrible, since this creature refused to tell him what it was.

"I've just remembered that you didn't tell me your name," he said.

"Indeed I did not. You must think me rude. You may call me… Yor."

Obviously a false name. She didn't even bother to hide it.

"And I fear you do not quite understand the gravity of my offer, young Necromancer."

She walked in front of him once more and this time his eyes were mostly clear. When he met her gaze for the first time, her eyes widened in pleasure and a slight smile curled the edge of her lip. More clearly than before, those blood red eyes burned with power and life, but also something darker and more frenetic. After a moment, his vision widened and he was able to take in the rest of her.

Ghostly white flesh met his eyes. He hadn't seen her dress; she was completely naked. Perfectly formed, her body was exposed before him. Straight hair as black as night cascaded down her delicate shoulders before it ended half-way down her back. Unabashed, she paused artfully in front of him, that same smile on her lips. Tyron blushed and tried to turn away, but caught himself at the last moment. He didn't want to shift his feet or position lest he risk stepping out of the protection. He compromised by looking up as he cursed Dove within his mind.

That idiot! He completely drops his wariness just because she's naked?

"W-… ahem. Why aren't you wearing clothes?" he choked out as he tried to regain his equilibrium.

"I have stepped from one realm to another. Bringing clothing along is… difficult, and often unnecessary," she teased.

She stepped forward.

"Now that you can see me, I find it quite insulting that you avert your gaze. Look at me," she demanded.

Once again those nails stabbed into his brain until he dragged his eyes down and placed them on hers once more. The moment he did so, the pain faded and he drew a shuddering breath. What was this magick that she could inflict such pain with her voice alone? Where were his protections?

Seeing the flicker of panic in his eyes, Yor's smile widened until it became a feral grin, revealing pointed fangs. The wild light in her eyes intensified until he felt certain that he wasn't standing in front of a woman, no matter the evidence of his eyes. This was a beast in human skin.

"What… what are you?"

She stepped closer still, until her body was pressed against the wards that shielded him, mere inches away. Her hands came up to caress the light that flared beside his face as she stared deeply into his eyes.

"I… am a beautiful way to die."