Book of The Dead

Elsbeth was marching down the corridor of Woodsedge Keep with apparent confidence. Internally, she was very stressed, but it wouldn’t do any good to show that on the surface.

“What do I know about managing Slayers?” she muttered to herself. “I’m a Priestess, I’m supposed to help people connect with their gods, not order human death machines about.”

“You need to be a little more careful what you say around us ‘human death machines’,” a voice said wryly from around the corner, followed a moment later by the form of Rurin Wilkin. The Gold ranked Slayer smiled, a little sadly as she continued: “We tend to have excellent hearing, even the non-scouts. After enough time in the rifts, moving quietly and listening carefully are something that everyone cultivates. If they survive long enough.”

Elsbeth flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Ms Wilkin–”

“Don’t call me that, for the love of life. Call me Rurin, please.”

Elsbeth took a breath to steady herself.

“I apologise, Rurin. I didn’t mean to cause offence… I just…”

“It’s fine. I understand what you wanted to say. Come, walk with me.”

Feeling abashed, the Priestess fell into step alongside the older woman as they strode down the hall together. Night was falling and the shadows had lengthened as the sun sank below the horizon. Not twenty minutes ago, the light had dyed everything she saw a bright, russet red, but already it was fading and the darkness was creeping in.

It was at this time that Raven was said to be at his strongest, when day gave way to night. The origin of this belief supposedly came from ancient legends, before the time of the Five Divines, before even the rifts, and magick and the Unseen.

They said the coming of night was merely Raven’s flock taking flight and covering the sky, putting the entire world under his gaze.

Elsbeth shivered despite herself. She had felt the touch of the god’s mind, and it had been alien, strange, and so, so overwhelming. It wasn’t something she ever wanted to repeat.

“Are you cold?” Rurin asked. “I sometimes forget you are more vulnerable to the cold than we are. Unless you are a higher Level than I’m guessing?”

“Ah, no,” Elsbeth shook her head, a little embarrassed. “I’m almost a Silver. It won’t be long until I reach Level forty.”

“Oh? Congratulations are in order, then,” Rurin smiled. “I’m not exactly sure what’s involved when a Priestess advances in her Class, is it much different than it is for us Slayers?”

It was a genuine question, and Elsbeth could see the curiosity in the other woman, so she decided to answer.

“I don’t know what it’s like for Priests of the Five. For us, we are offered a blessing, a gift, from the Three. Depending on whose gift you take, the changes to your Class can change to better suit the god you favoured.”

“This means you already accepted a blessing? When you reached level twenty?”

Elsbeth nodded.

“Nothing major,” she hastened to say. “The blessings get stronger the more levels you achieve.”

“Hmm,” Rurin hummed as she processed this information.

For a short time, they walked in silence. The Woodsedge Keep certainly wasn’t the largest in the province, but it wasn’t the smallest either. These days, it was a hive of activity. Raising new, unbranded Slayers wasn’t an easy task, and everyone had their own opinion on the best way to get it done.

If it weren’t for Rurin and Timothy, Elsbeth, Munhilde and the other clergy would have had no hope at all of getting the unruly Slayers to work together.

“I’m sorry… for what I said before. That’s not how I think of you. Or the others.”

Rurin looked at her with a brow raised, then scoffed.

“I know you don’t. Of all the people I’ve met, you have more sympathy for Slayers than most. Probably something to do with the folk you grew up with. We all get frustrated sometimes. I’ve said plenty of things I didn’t mean, and that’s the truth.”

“It can’t have been that bad,” Elsbeth smiled, “you always seem so in control of yourself.”

“Hah! Let me tell you a little secret. Behind every well put together old timer is a snotty brat who somehow lived long enough to learn from their mistakes. Experience teaches everyone to mind their tongue, eventually.”

They both came to a stop outside a plain wooden door.

“Thank you for walking with me,” Elsbeth said. “I came to speak to Munhilde, so I hope you’ll excuse me.”

Rurin’s eyes twinkled.

“I’m here to speak to her as well. I didn’t ask you to walk with me just for the lecture, we were going to the same place.”

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How many times was Elsbeth going to embarrass herself in front of this woman in the same day? In the same hour!

Refusing to let it show on her face, she gestured to the door and stepped back.

“After you, then.”

Not believing it, Rurin chuckled audibly, causing Elsbeth to blush, then knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Munhilde, much as she had been for the last few weeks, was seated behind a desk, going through seemingly endless lists. Everytime a team went out to the rifts, they were required to file paperwork upon their return. This was always the case, but now the clergy were handling those documents, rather than the Magisters, and for quite a different reason.

“Good evening, Munhilde,” Rurin said, “mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all.”

The Gold ranked Slayer pulled a spare chair over and plonked herself down in it as the older Priestess continued to sift through the stack of papers.

“How goes our fledgling army? Any progress?”

Munhilde scoffed.

“Army? Rabble, more like.” She put down the pages with a huff and looked the rebel leader in the eye. “There’s progress, of course. Every time a kin is killed, we make progress. The problem is, it isn’t fast enough. We don’t have enough fighters, and they aren’t high enough Level. Considering what’s going to be brought against us, we need to move faster.”

“The more we push them, the more of them will die,” Rurin explained patiently. “A dead rebel is a fuck ton less useful than a live one.”

It was a conversation they’d had many times before, and would continue to have in the future. In truth, the Slayers and their unbranded recruits were pushing hard, harder than they should. As a result, there had been accidents, casualties. Inevitable losses when dealing with a rift, but every dead Slayer hurt them that much more when they were trying to fight the Empire.

“Well, I can finally shed some light on our situation. I received two messages via ro’klaw this morning. Would you like the good news, or the bad news?”

Rurin leaned back in her chair, surprised.

“News, finally? Let’s start with the good news.”

“We’ve heard from Brom. Skyice rebelled a little after you did, and have agreed to work together.”

This was incredible news, and Elsbeth could see the fire roar to life in the Slayer’s eyes.

“Thank fuck!” she exclaimed, filled with relief. “That’s going to help a ton. Is Brom coming back?”

“He’s already on his way,” Munhilde nodded.

“The bad news must be absolutely tragic if it's going to balance this out,” Rurin observed, not bothering to smother the grin on her face.

Elsbeth was much in the same mind. The only chance the Slayers had of achieving anything at all was if they banded together, and this was a major first step.

“On to the bad news, then,” Munhilde stated dryly. “Our source in the city has been in touch.”

Tyron. Elsbeth was sure it was him.

“The Magisters have sounded the alarm about the rebellion. Someone over there finally woke up and started doing their job, realised there were dozens of the bastards that had died out in the far reaches. The Duke has already started mobilising.”

“Well,” Rurin said, “that is bad news.”

Munhilde shrugged.

“We had more time to prepare than we should have gotten. It was nothing but dumb luck that kept them ignorant for this long.”

“When will they be able to reach us?” Elsbeth wondered. “Will they come straight for the Keeps?”

Rurin frowned as she considered the question.

“They might,” she said eventually. “If they take away the rifts, they make it harder for us to get stronger. At the same time, they tie up a heap of people who need to stay in place and kill kin.”

“You can stay in the Keep and try to fight them here, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Munhilde said as she started picking through the papers on her desk again. “It would be wiser to abandon the Keeps and head into the countryside. Meet up with the Slayers from the other rifts.”

Elsbeth might not have been a fighter, but she could see the wisdom in what Munhilde was saying. Holed up in the Keeps, the rebels were easy to track down. Once they were found, it was only a matter of time until the Empire brought enough soldiers to bring them down. However, she also knew of the odd sense of responsibility that bound the Slayers together.

“We won’t abandon the Keep until the last possible second,” Rurin said as she shook her head. “I don’t even need to talk to my people to figure that out. We can’t just abandon the rift and allow the kin to run wild. The last thing the people of the Western Province need is another break.”

“That’s dangerous. It won’t be easy to just slip out and go into hiding when the Duke's forces are right on the doorstep,” Munhilde pointed out. “If you want to achieve this, you need to start planning now, and whatever ideas you have, they’d better be good.”

A feeling of sadness welled up in Elsbeth. She thought she’d resigned herself to the conflict that was coming, but now that it was so close, she found herself unexpectedly morose. The people of the Western Province were supposed to work together. The whole empire was supposed to work together, to try and keep their world in one piece and hold off the rifts. However, in a few short weeks, they’d be killing each other. Outright fighting would break out across the province and many would die.

“Elsbeth,” Munhilde’s voice broke into her thoughts. “They’ve been killing us for weeks now. The bodies are piling up in the cities, entire families get vanished, never to be heard from again. Even devout believers of The Five are living in terror.”

“I know that,” Elsbeth replied, trying to firm her resolve. “The people need to be protected.”

“No. They need to rise up and protect themselves,” Munhilde disagreed.

Rurin watched the exchange and shrugged.

“Much of a muchness, really. If someone is stepping up to defend their neighbour, they’re protecting another, and themselves at the same time.”

With a sigh, the old Slayer rose from her seat and stretched out her back.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, my lady Priestesses, but I suppose I’d better go and start kicking a few Slayers right in the arse. We need to pick up the pace and plan our withdrawal. Good evening to you both.”

With a wink and wave, Rurin was off, closing the door behind her and leaving Munhilde and Elsbeth alone.

“You can’t hold it off any more,” Munhilde said to her former pupil. “I know you’ve reached the required level. It’s time to deepen your relationship with the gods and Advance your Class.”

Elsbeth drew in a shuddering breath.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replied. “I just…”

“Am afraid of what blessings they may offer,” Munhilde nodded. “I know. There are some which can change you in a fundamental way, but those aren’t likely to appear at your level.

“Besides, putting it off any longer is going to be dangerous. You need all the strength you can get for what’s to come. We all do.”

“I know,” Elsbeth nodded sadly. “I know.”

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