Spy games, p.22
Spy Games, page 22
That was it! This was an area guarded from the general populace, but the wards weren't powerful enough to stop Necros from experiencing it at least in part if they were adept enough. And why bother? The insane amount of manpower needed on a regular basis to beef wards up enough to stop all Necros from entering would make it nigh on impossible to maintain such a considerable acreage.
"This isn't the place for you," said a swan as I floated by, no longer rowing.
I felt the instant connection via the Necroverse. This was no regular bird, but a special creature with intelligence beyond the norm, and the ability to communicate freely with anyone "blessed" with the gift of zoolinguism.
"Why not? It looks lovely."
The swan used its feet to turn, then glided over and trod water. "They don't like outsiders here. Can't you see the wards? What do you see?" he asked, squinting at me over his beak.
"I see the lush grass, the orchards, all the crops. This lake. Seems nice enough."
"It's paradise for them. And for me. The food here is the best. They leave us alone, us Necro creatures, and most of the others, but they aren't like those on the outside."
"How'd you mean? They heavily into the whispers, that kind of thing? Dark magic?"
The swan got as close as he could to the boat, then raised himself up, craned his neck forward, and stared at me hard with black, beady eyes. "They're cruel. They want to rise above, think they're better than everyone else. Stay away. Turn around. Go home. You won't find what you're looking for here."
"I'll find exactly what I'm looking for. Who I'm looking for. If I could heed your words, I would, but I have a job to do."
"Ah, you have a note," he said, lowering himself and settling his long neck deep into his body. "Then good luck to you. One less of them is a good thing. Don't let them fool you. There isn't a decent Necro amongst the lot of them. They work hard but they are rotten I tell you. Rotten."
The swan drifted off then was lost to the mist rising from the water as the temperature cooled. The sun was lost behind large trees lining the banks behind me.
Apprehensive, and wondering what the arrangement was here, beyond it clearly being a commune of sorts for Necros, I had no choice but to continue rowing until I came across a place to moor or figured it was best to go into stealth mode. I chuckled to myself at the thought, as I already felt the eyes on me and knew there was zero point in trying to hide. I was being watched, and had been for some time already.
The cooler air was refreshing, so it was with renewed vigor that I rowed upstream a little more before I could see smoke rising from either bonfires or people cooking in their homes. This was far enough by boat. I was a sitting duck out here, so time to stand on firm ground and get my balance back. With no suitable mooring in sight, I rowed to the right bank and just grabbed onto a low branch. It was a bad idea. As I gripped tight, so the boat decided to glide back out into the river, and I was left with my feet trapped under the bench and my grip failing. With a desperate heave, I managed to drag the boat under me and pushed off with my hands, slamming into the bench then almost toppling into the water.
This time, I took the rope like a sensible person and flung it over the branch, then maneuvered until I could grab the other end. Pulling on it, I got myself and the boat right up to the bank and stood shakily, rocking dangerously. I tied the rope in a simple knot, then got onto my hands and knees and gingerly reached over to the bank before half sliding, half crawling out of the damn contraption and on to beautiful, firm grass. There had to be a better way, but for the life of me I couldn't figure it out.
For several minutes I simply sat there, getting my sense of balance back, then lit up for a quick smoke and stood, trying to get the feel for the land. I swayed side to side like a drunken fool, but gradually my balance was restored and my nerves calmed.
Settled, I tapped out the ash, readied for battle, and clambered up the bank and onto the path. I felt the wards seek me out, wrap themselves around me, changing the landscape to one of deep overgrowth of nettles and brambles, making me want to hurry past and not linger, but I willed them to disperse, and the rich paradise was revealed once again. I believed the swan, heeded his words, but it seemed incongruous that this much beauty could be created by people who were anything but.
But then, some of the most evil men in history were snappy dressers, so what can you do?
Bone Slicer vibrated like he was about to burn through the thick leather holster, so I removed him and lifted the blade until it was in my line of sight. I flipped my arm so the tip pointed down and studied the strange runes that shone with intense orange lust, always a signal that blood was needed, craved, or soon to be had. What did the runes mean? I wondered if it would make a difference to our relationship if I could decipher them and decided that I would find out. Maybe the internet had the answer, or the Necroweb anyway. It was worth a shot, and I wondered why I'd never investigated before. Probably because I abhorred the elves and all they stood for, the smug bastards.
As if reading my thoughts, or, and I smiled at this, definitely reading my thoughts, the runes pulsed. I felt the beginnings of whispers of a very alien kind enveloping me, as if offering up protection from more sinister whispers in the immediate environ, so I reached out, and somehow simultaneously into the cracks between things until I found the connection with this strange being and I thanked him for his assistance.
Necrosoph is welcome.
I almost released the wooden handle as a voice in my head cut sharp like an incision, severing the last vestiges of a membrane between our understanding. With it came a flood of information dizzying and beautiful, abhorrent and terrifying, amusing and annoying.
"Is that you?"
There was no reply, not in words, and I sensed it was too much of a struggle for such a being to speak, even in my head. But there was an answer, and it came in the form of emotion and images, all jumbled and almost incoherent, because this was an inanimate object and not created to have a chat, but to serve a purpose. It told of a life lived over thirty millennia, of being owned and abused by numerous elves. Of being left in the dark for a thousand years until I came and brought salvation.
There was longing, and regret, and an even deeper apology than the one I'd received before for the device that had been forced upon him to convey my actions to the elves. Bone Slicer had no ties to them any longer. He was free, wanted that, and felt no sadness, no pity, no regret for the loss of those who gave him life.
But mostly underneath it all he wanted blood. A cold-blooded killer was his true, unapologetic nature, and he made that abundantly clear. He had seen so much, experienced so much, but what he craved, what was impossible to eradicate, was the need for blood.
"And you shall have it. Until it drips from your tip and our foe is dead before us."
Bone Slicer cried with anticipation into the void, the runes strobing, and I knew we would fuck these bastards up good and proper.
FINALLY
With the wards ineffective against my Necrosenses, I continued along the well-maintained path that led into the heart of this strange, beautiful place. Small buildings were dotted about the fields, but they appeared to be nothing but storage barns or animal shelters. Several horses were happily munching away in a paddock, I spied a family of pigs in another field, and one large area was solely for the raising of chickens.
What was very different to other similar communities I'd encountered over the years was the level of organization there appeared to be. Everything was just that little too neat, too orderly. Nature wasn't like that. It was wild, and you did your best to tame it, but without modern equipment it was impossible to work it like in the old days. Sure, most uberfarms had access to the new electric tractors and what have you, but the days of traditional post-war farming were in the past and had been for some time. Nowadays, most used horse power, or their very limited range of electric vehicles if they were lucky enough to be given a decent power quota or had solar.
This place was, granted, little more than a smallholding in reality, but the neatness wasn't right. The way the hedges were so straight, the lack of nettles or unruly hawthorn just wasn't how things should be. This group were obsessive bordering on psychotic. And if they had enough power to keep wards over it all, then that was a bad combination.
The smell of smoke grew stronger as I approached what I assumed would be a small community. I wasn't mistaken. As I followed the sweep of the track, I was confronted with a rather typical communal set up much like Peth's place and every other similar compound I'd visited. A large cleared area with chickens pecking about, dogs lazing in the shade, and a series of homes. They were basic, little more than huts as far as I could tell, made from scrap timber, reclaimed tin sheeting, and anything else they could scavenge. It was at odds with the neatness everywhere else, although, when I looked closer, even these simple structures had a precision, a beauty, and the builders had clearly gone to great lengths with their measurements and construction techniques to ensure everything lined up just so.
OCD in full effect was the only obvious conclusion. That, or whoever ran this, and somebody always did, no matter how many of these places called themselves communal and leader-free, was a tyrant and what he or she said was the law.
Speaking of which.
Dogs scattered, and I felt the fear ramp up in them, as my mark, the dog killer, strode cockily across the dead ground with five guys backing him up. They all had that smug, self-satisfied look on their faces, the one that was meant to intimidate, give them false confidence, and told me all I needed to know. They thought they were better than others. Believed their way was the best, would regale you with stories about how what they were doing was worthwhile and how everyone should live, and would never be swayed from their beliefs.
But it went deeper than that. It was clear they were outcasts for one reason or another. All were Necro, all were men, and all had issues. I hated the place, and them, instantly. It had felt wrong the moment I'd seen the state of the land, and their presence solidified the creeping feeling of dread. The swan was right. These were not nice people and I should never have come. But what was the alternative? There wasn't one I was willing to endure.
"I'm only here for him," I said, pointing at the sneering man who had dared hurt Woofer.
"If you're here for him, then you're here for all of us," snapped an elderly looking guy with a silver beard and long matching hair.
"It doesn't have to be that way. You know how this works. You've had hundreds of notes between you, so let's not play games. We get our mark, we deal with it. You're still alive so you do what you must, so leave us to it then I'll be on my way."
"How'd you get past the wards? How'd you enter?" asked a relatively young lad with a bad facial tic and jittery movements.
"I'm immune to that crap," I shrugged, not wanting to give anything away.
"I told you," said Mr. Ponytail, clearly the leader by the way the others stood either side and slightly behind him, "it's Necrosoph. He's got special gifts, isn't that right?" he asked, sounding like I had shit on my shoes and was walking on their newly fitted carpet.
"I'm just a guy."
"Ha, hear that? Just a guy," said the leader. "A Necro who can morph further than any man, who has that blade, is related to Peth through that bloody daughter of hers, knows Mawr, and has unicorns and dragons. Just a guy, eh?"
"Yep, just a guy. Don't want trouble but it finds me anyway. Same as with you guys by the looks of it. What, you hiding out? Boys club, is it? Lost your way in the world and now you're one big happy family?"
"We make order from the chaos," growled the leader. "We help each other out. We stick together and nobody fucks with us. We work hard."
There were murmurs of agreement from the others, and I wasn't about to argue. "It's obvious you work hard. You've done a lot to your land, but why are you here?"
"We don't want to be a part of that," said the old guy, waving his hand at the world at large. "They don't understand us, and we don't want to understand them. It's broken, so we're starting again. On our own terms. We were shunned, or misunderstood. Here we have a family, a place to call home."
"They are my family," agreed the leader, easing forward like I wouldn't notice.
"Ah, I get it. Things are clicking into place. You couldn't keep a family of your own because the Necro life was too appealing." I'd met many like them over the years. It wasn't always the person's fault, as our life was a hell of a lot to cope with.
"What would you know?" snapped the boss.
"I know you grew to love the killing. You couldn't handle regular life because it was just too mundane. You couldn't fit in because it all seemed so drab after the high of the chase, the anticipation, the adrenaline and bloodlust that took you over. Some soldiers have the same thing. PTSD sometimes, other times they just find it almost impossible to reconcile what they experienced in battle with how most people live. So you lost your families, or never had them, and immersed yourselves in the Necroverse. Kinda like witches, but without the closeness. I bet you don't even like each other," I laughed, knowing it would rankle them but not caring.
"Don't you get it, man," said the old guy. "We're free. Free to be the men we were born to be. Free to be who we are. We don't conform to society, and they don't give a fuck about us anyway. You talk about soldiers. That's exactly what we are. We're fucking warriors. They don't get it. We kill every year and what, we're supposed to go back to regular, boring ass lives? Don't think so. Anyone who says they can is a goddamn liar. I've been around for centuries, same as you, and I can tell you one thing. This life is freedom."
"Freedom? You do as you're told. Like sheep. Same as me, same as all Necros. Difference being, you lot enjoy the death and you can't accept the fact others don't."
"You gotta enjoy it, live for it, or you'll end up topping yourself."
"There are degrees of enjoyment. Maybe I like the chance to be free of thought, act on my instincts, become something primal. But I don't enjoy the killing. I don't live for it like you all obviously do."
"You love this shit, man."
"Enough!" ordered the leader.
"Okay boss. But Pitus, I was only saying what's true. Telling it like it is."
"I said, enough," growled Pitus.
"Yeah, you really love each other," I chuckled.
Pitus stepped forward again, not trying to hide it this time, and asked, "So what you going to do, eh? You want me to call more of your animals? See how you handle it when we slit the throats of some more of your oh-so-precious pets?"
"You what?" asked the youngster.
"Keep out if this, young one. This is my business."
"Thought you were in it together?" I asked, all joviality gone. "And let me promise you something. If you try that again, I'll make it slow. I won't enjoy it, but I'll do it."
"You've got some balls," admitted Pitus. "Right fellas?"
They murmured their agreement, nudging each other and signaling in a way I think they thought subtle. They spread out and began to circle me, believing they had the upper hand and would just rush me and it would all be over.
They were as dumb as they acted.
Whilst we'd been talking, I'd been communicating with the dogs, and at my mental signal they readied. Poor things were more than willing to do as I asked. Their life here was miserable, they had no love, no affection, were here simply to stop any unwanted intruders or to chase off foxes. If they performed well, they got fed. If not, they starved. It had taken all my strength to not show the deep sadness I felt when I heard their stories, and now I gave them permission to have their freedom. I promised all three of them a new home with a lovely lady named Pam, and her sister Mel. Pam had been on at me to find her some dogs, so this was an opportunity not to be wasted.
"Go," hissed Pitus, but he was already too late.
As the men closed in fast, the dogs who had been waiting for my signal tore into them with a ferocity born of years of abuse and neglect.
A German Shepherd with a bad hip brought on by repeated kicks to his already susceptible hindquarters snarled, then clamped down on the old guy's leg with incredible pressure. He tore a chunk from the calf, spat it out, then slashed a raggedy line across his thigh before going straight for the crotch. The old guy dropped before he even knew what happened. The dog pounced on him, taking full advantage of the prone position, and went rabid. The guy's face was in tatters in a heartbeat, nothing but a bloody mess as he screamed through a raggedy slit in his face, the lips gone.
I had no time to focus on this though, as the two other dogs had already launched and were snapping at whoever was closest, getting in some good bites, even tearing flesh from the young lad. But without the will that had been beaten out of them over years, they weren't going to win this fight, not unless they had some help.
Pitus had run for cover the moment the attack started, and the dogs had remained focused on the men nearest, so I chased after him before he managed to call any of the animals back home, if he knew their names. Did he? Could he?
Yes. Because I felt the whisper build incredibly fast, and before I had a chance to stop him, the space in front of me vanished, the atoms immediately replaced with a rather dull snap as Bernard entered the fray, not having morphed, but having done his rainbow dash and actually, maybe for the first time ever, bloody well come to the right place.
"You fucked up," I told Pitus.
"Really?" he asked, smiling. "You're the one who's fucked. Do anything and I execute the unicorn. You need to leave, and right now, before I do for the rest too."
"Is he really this dumb?" asked Bernard, who didn't seem confused, which was eerie.
"Yep. Oh, and hey."
"Hey. I got here fast, didn't I?"
"Sure did."
"But on the way, I realized it wasn't you. You'd never call me like that. You'd ask."
"Sure would."
