Book of The Dead

“I had no idea it was going to be so cold up here,” Timothy shivered.

Rurin eyed her fellow rebel leader with disbelief.

“You didn’t think it was going to be cold? In the Barrier Mountain range? These things scrape the fucking sky and you can see them from Woodsedge on a clear day. Are you out of your mind?”

The Mage glowered at her, which didn’t appear all that fearsome since he tugged his cloak tighter about his shoulders at the same time.

“I said I had no idea it would be this cold, not that it would be cold,” he corrected her.

“Oh, this is nothing,” Georg assured them from nearby, “it’s going to get a heck of a lot colder than this.”

The young man was striding along, covering the rocky and uneven terrain with ease while wearing a short sleeve shirt and a pair of rough trousers. This was essentially what he always wore, come rain or shine.

“How much colder?” Timothy asked, eyeing Georg carefully.

“Much. Up on Cragwhistle, the locals recommend you never piss at night if you can help it.”

“It freezes.”

“After you’re done… right?”

Georg just stared at him.

“I cannot believe a gold ranked Slayer is whining about the cold,” Rurin said, shaking her head. “Compared to an unawakened person, you’re practically immune to the cold! I don’t even feel it.”

“I’m not a brute with a constitution measured in the hundreds,” Timothy pointed out, “and for the last time, it isn’t that I’m incapable of enduring the cold, I simply don’t like it. It can’t be so surprising that someone prefers to be warm.”

He looked around and then pointed at Munhilde, who also wore a thick cloak, along with a shawl.

“See, I’m not the only one, the Priestess clearly prefers warmth over this,” he waved a hand irritably through the air, “chilly nonsense.”

Munhilde glared at him, unhappy at being singled out.

“The cold is bad for my joints,” she snapped.

“You sound like my mother,” Rurin chuckled, “but she’s like… eighty.”

Walking beside her fellow Priestess, Elsbeth blanched and quickly looked away, not wanting to be drawn in. Munhilde was… prickly… when it came to her age.

“For some of us, eighty years is still considered quite young,” Munhilde said flatly, pulling her shawl a little tighter about herself.

Rurin absorbed this in silence, then nodded.

“Fair enough. I will say no more.”

Elsbeth breathed a sigh of relief and looked back over her shoulder. They were only in the foothills of the Barrier Mountains, but already they were able to look out over the flatter land laid out before them like a tapestry of farms and woodland. For the Slayers, it wasn’t so difficult to cover the rough terrain, they walked up and down the hills all day long without trouble, but it was a bit more difficult for her and the other Priests and Priestesses to keep up.

Which was probably why they hadn’t been asked to carry any of the supplies.

“Are they really going to be able to defend against the rift with the things we left them?” she asked, not for the first time.

“What things?” Rurin laughed. “We cleaned that place out!”

It was Timothy, as usual, who answered her.

“We aren’t convinced they’re going to police the rift at all. The Duke doesn’t care about protecting the people, and the Magisters certainly don’t. Rather than dedicate resources to it, they may simply ignore Woodsedge and hope they can deal with us before another break occurs. Even left completely unattended, it will take months for the rift to build up to that point.”

She could only shake her head. Deep down, Elsbeth didn’t want to believe they would be so callous. Sure, there wouldn’t be a break any time soon, but without Slayers killing the kin who emerged, there was only one place for the monsters to go: further into the province.

Many families had only just begun to resettle the homes they’d abandoned because of the break, or only just finished burying their dead. The people who lived in the far west couldn’t afford to absorb another tragedy.

By her side, Munhilde could read her thoughts.

“If they protect the people or not is up to them to decide,” she stated, “it isn’t our responsibility to govern properly. This rebellion wouldn’t even be happening if they could be trusted to work in the best interests of the citizens. Even The Three haven’t turned away so thoroughly.”

That statement brought a frown to Elsbeth’s face. Before she could say anything, Munhilde cut her off.

“It’s undeniable that Raven, Rot and Crone turned their backs on us to some extent, girl. Not even they would argue about that. At least now, they’re paying attention again.”

“They’re doing a bit more than that,” Elsbeth muttered.

It was difficult sometimes for Elsbeth to fully understand where the others who served the Old Gods were coming from. In her experience, The Three were very present and engaged, moving their believers and shaping events with an active hand. She had heard them speak, in some cases, directly to her!

For the others, this simply wasn’t the case. They could remember decades where prayers went unanswered, where the Gods were silent. Their followers had been praying to be liberated from the Empire and the false divines for thousands of years, and not once had The Three bothered to intervene. To say their experiences differed was an understatement.

“Oh, did I tell you, Elsbeth?” Rurin called over her shoulder from her place at the head of the procession. “Worthy Steelarm and his wife are going to meet us at Cragwhistle. He sent word just before we left.”

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That had been days ago…. The absent-minded nature of the rebel leader had struck again. Still, the news was too exciting for her to be mad about it.

“That’s great news,” she beamed, genuinely happy to hear it. Worthy and Meg had been Tyron’s aunt and uncle, but they’d all but been the same for her as well. When she’d finally left her parents’ house and her father’s judgement, Worthy and Meg had taken her in. She couldn’t wait to see them again.

“Do they know… about Tyron?” she asked hesitantly.

Rurin snorted. “Hell if I know, but probably. Be a bit difficult for our people not to talk about it with him.”

Elsbeth felt saddened. Doubtless, both Tyron’s Aunt and Uncle had been deeply hurt by the fact their nephew was still alive and had chosen not to let them know. Knowing Worthy, she wouldn’t want to be in Tyron’s shoes when they finally met each other again.

“So how far is it to Cragwhistle?” Rurin asked, again.

“A long way,” Timothy replied, frustrated. “We only left Woodsedge four days ago. It’ll be at least another week before we get there.”

“Even at this pace?” Rurin asked, surprised.

They were setting a good pace, with the higher ranked Slayers carrying the supplies. These weren’t exactly normal humans, for the most part, and they were able to move faster, and for longer, than most.

“These mountains really are enormous,” Rurin muttered, staring up at the towering peaks of the Barrier Mountain range. They were colossal, literally scraping the sky, as she had said earlier, a wall of jagged cliffs, ice and snow. “Wait… is someone waving to us from over there?” she asked, and pointed.

Elsbeth and the others turned to look as well, but couldn’t make out what she was seeing. Not surprising, given that their eyes weren’t as good as hers. Whatever she saw seemed to be coming their way, however, and a few minutes later, Timothy was able to pick them out.

“I see them,” he confirmed. “Looks like someone… wearing a robe or cloak. They’re definitely waving. And they’re definitely on the thin side. Have they been ranging around up here since the break? They must be starving.”

“Not sure about that?” Rurin refuted. “Whoever this is, they seem full of beans. Look at them hop about.”

“Should we stop and wait for them?” Elsbeth asked.

“Of course not! We don’t stop for random vagabonds. The march goes on!”

And it did, but the cloaked figure continued to approach, hopping down the treacherous slope, stumbling frequently and drawing ever closer.

Eventually they were close enough to call out.

“Hey!” a thin voice reached them. “Wait a fucking minute!”

“Rude,” Rurin huffed, not bothering to turn around.

“Oh, fuck you,” the figure called again when they saw the group hadn’t slowed.

Angry now, the figure doubled its efforts to reach them, running dangerously across the slope as Elsbeth watched, heart in mouth.

“I think they might really hurt themself,” she said, worried.

“Sounds like their problem,” Rurin shrugged, still looking ahead. “We’ve got a rebellion to fight and I’m not slowing down because of some vagabond. When they catch up, we can talk.”

“If they can keep up,” Elsbeth pointed out.

“If they can keep up,” Rurin agreed with a wolfish grin.

For the next twenty minutes, the Priestess couldn’t stop herself from turning her head to look at the distant stranger as they continued to risk life and limb in their headlong rush down the cliff. Every now and again, she saw they were about to fall, crashing face first into a rock and splitting their skull, or breaking a limb. She was on edge, expecting to hear a shout or scream at any moment, but that moment never came.

Whoever they were, this person was shockingly light on their feet. Perhaps not especially graceful… or coordinated… but they were able to correct their balance and continue the plunge from almost any situation, no matter how dire it appeared.

It was honestly impressive.

Finally, the robed figure arrived just a few dozen metres away. They stood, shrouded by tattered cloth, with the hood pulled low to cover their features. It was a mysterious, vaguely threatening scene, which had the tension drained out of it the moment they spoke.

“Rurin, you gods-cursed bitch. I should have known!”

Even now, the Slayer didn’t break stride, walking past the mystery person with nothing more than a roll of her eyes.

“I recognise that voice,” she called over her shoulder, “I wish I didn’t, but I do. Keep up if you want to talk, otherwise go jump off a cliff.”

Somewhat deflated, the mystery figure slumped for a moment, then straightened and sprinted to get ahead of them again, posing dramatically atop a rock.

“You might know who I am, but were you aware of this?!”

With a dramatic flourish, the figure threw off their robe, revealing a completely black skeleton wearing simple yet battered armour formed of bones. Spreading bony legs wide, the stranger struck a pose that seemed to emphasise the… modifications they had made to the armour covering the pelvis.

Again, Rurin marched past with barely a blink.

“Dove,” she said, “did you really attach a snake skeleton to act as a pretend dick?”

“I did!” he declared, full of pride. “My python has never been healthier! In a certain sense.”

Many of those gathered had never met this person before, but to Elsbeth’s surprise, quite a few of the Slayers did. There were calls from behind her, some of greeting, some curses and insults. Dove gave all of them a rude gesture then waggled his snake bones at them suggestively.

“For some reason, I’m not surprised being dead has only made you worse,” Rurin noted with a wry grin. “Tyron told me a little of your story.”

“He left out the best bits, I don’t doubt,” the skeleton declared, rushing to catch up to Rurin so he could walk alongside her. “Elsbeth, how are you?”

“I’m well,” she replied.

“Still looking ravishing. Gods I wish I’d had blonde hair like that. Yours looks like golden silk while mine looked like mouse piss.”

“You never washed it,” Timothy noted, sounding weary.

“Tim, you fucking pansy. I’m shocked to see you’re still alive! How’s things?”

“Better a few moments ago.”

“Well, that’s life. Or unlife.”

“I was wondering if you were going to show up,” Rurin said. “Tyron said you parted ways in Cragwhistle. Have you just been hanging around there this whole time? Doing what? Levelling your new Class?”

“He even told you about that, did he?” Dove mused, rubbing at his chin. “I was there for a while, but then I got bored and desired a greater challenge! I’ve been up there,” he gestured to their right.

They all turned, but there was nothing up there except the forbidding mountains.

“Up where?” Timothy asked.

“Up there! In the fucking mountains! Where did you think I was pointing?” Dove demanded waving his skeletal arms in the air.

“Why would you go there?” Rurin asked. “As far as I know, there’s nothing, hardly even any kin. Did you want some time to yourself?”

“Of course not,” Dove retorted, somehow managing to look offended. “I would never deprive others of my presence without good reason. No, I was interested in finding something that nobody else had ever found.”

“Your dignity?” Tim asked.

“A way through to Granin,” Dove declared.

He emphasised the statement by grabbing the dangling snake skeleton and throwing it around his neck like a scarf, even though it was still attached to his pelvis.

“Did you actually find one?” Munhilde asked, sounding interested.

“Don’t you want to hear about my tales of adventure? My daring acts of bravery and skill? The incredible highs. The terrifying lows? It’s incredibly good shit!”

“Not really,” Rurin shrugged, “but I’d love to know if you managed to get through.”

“There’s no way he did,” Timothy groaned. “Dove is just wasting our time.”

“Hey, did I shit in your breakfast or something, Tim? Don’t be so negative,” Dove huffed.

“Well?” Rurin asked, somehow remaining unruffled. “Did you find a way?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Dove threw his arms up once again. “Behold me! The first sort-of person to lay eyes on the fallen kingdom of Granin in five hundred years!”

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