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Chapter 17: The Burden of Truth
🕑 Added 2024-12-28 09:19:31 +0000 UTCInside Murdock’s grand house, two naked bodies embraced each other. There were juices involved, sure, but this was decidedly not herbalism.
Jerry pulled his senses back to his own body and grabbed his head.
“Boney!” he shouted, opening his eyes. “They’re fucking!”
“They’re fucking what?” asked the skeleton, surprised at his master’s quick return.
“Each other! Melissa is having an affair with Murdock!”
“What? Oh, no!” Boney grabbed his skull.
“What do we do?! Poor Ashman will be devastated! He loves her so much!”
“He will be devastated!” repeated the skeleton, jumping up from his seat. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know!” Jerry jumped upright, too. “This is so bad!”
They stared at each other in panic.
“AHH!” screamed Jerry.
“AHH!” screamed Boney.
“AHH!” screamed Headless, who was also in the room, running around like a headless chicken. He didn’t know what was going on but was more than happy to participate.
“I don’t want to tell Ashman,” Jerry said, pointing at Boney. “You do it.”
“What? I don’t want to tell him either!” Boney’s jaw clacked, and Jerry would have sworn his eyes were filled with compassion. “He will be devastated. He might even cry!”
“Then I’m certainly not telling him. Headless, you do it.”
“AHH!” Headless screamed again, still running around the two. He was enjoying this.
“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Boney said. “There has to be some way to bring it up slowly.”
“Slowly? The man’s wife is banging another dude and has probably been at it for months! How do you bring that up slowly? ‘Hey Ashman, nice tea! By the way, Melissa is eloping with Murdock.’ I don’t think so!”
“Okay, you have a point.” Boney raised a finger, suddenly seeming calmer. “But you know what? Actually, maybe, we shouldn’t tell him.”
“That his wife is cheating? Why in the world would we hide that?”
“Calm down, Master. I know this sounds weird, but listen to me.” Boney leaned in, his gray cap giving him an air of wisdom. “Right now, things are not going great for Ashman, but his life is mostly on the rails. If he finds out about this, he will become miserable! Not to mention that, if you tell the mayor that his wife is cheating, there might be consequences for us. Maybe he will resent us for telling him the truth and destroying his life, or maybe Murdock will come here and burn us all in anger!”
“Boney,” Jerry said slowly, narrowing his eyes, “are you saying all this just to save our hides? I will not sacrifice another person for that.”
“I am, but consider how miserable he will be if he knows. It would totally rattle him to the bone!”
“But he will know the truth. Wouldn’t you want to know, Boney?”
“I have no such emotions anymore, Master. I know that Tom would have preferred not knowing if he—I—was still alive.”
“In any case, I don’t like that.” Jerry shook his head. “It might make him unhappy for now, but it’s way better in the long run. He should know the truth. Everyone should.”
“But, Master—”
“No. I’m not hiding this, and I do not enjoy you being selfish.”
“Can you at least ask him first?” Boney cried out in despair.
“Ask him what?”
“If he wants to know.”
“How do I ask him that without telling him?”
“Well, you can be indirect about it…” Boney leaned in again, bringing his skull closer to Jerry’s face. “You can ask him philosophically. For example, would he prefer a beautiful lie or an ugly truth?”
“That’s absurd.” Jerry snorted, crossing his arms. “He would never pick the lie. His mind is not that weak.”
“You never know…” Boney replied enigmatically. “In any case, why not ask him? You have nothing to lose. And, if his answer does not satisfy you, then you can simply tell him and be done with it.”
“But I…” The necromancer bit his lips. “I don’t want Ashman to be sad… And I don’t want him to be a fool either… Oh, Boney, what should I do?”
“What I just told you, Master,” the skeleton insisted. “Ask him indirectly. Then, you can make the call. It is the right way. Let him decide for himself before you claim to know what’s best for another.”
Jerry pouted. He was sad. Ashman was a good guy… Why did Melissa have to do that to him? Why was Murdock in on this? And, at the end of the day, why did the burden of revelation have to fall on Jerry, of all people?
As his initial panic wore off, he took a deep breath and calmed down. While cheating sucked, it was the truth. Ashman would be devastated, but bad things happen, and we get over them. It takes effort and pain, yet that’s the only way to truly live.
However, if Ashman chose to be left in the dark, would it be right for Jerry to make that decision himself, even if he knew it was the right one?
Probably not , he figured after some thought. Ashman was a grown person, and everyone had the right to be wrong.
Even if it sucked.
Ashman wouldn’t choose to remain in the dark… Would he?
“All right,” Jerry finally spoke. “I will do as you suggest, though I believe he will definitely make the right decision. And if he is unsure at all , then I will decide for him.”
“Excellent, Master.” Boney smiled. “When are you thinking to go?”
“Right now.”
He was not kidding. While Jerry was a laid-back person, he knew when something couldn’t wait. He had to get this over with or it would eat him from the inside. With any luck, he would arrive before Melissa returned to her tainted home.
Besides, the thoughts churned busily in his head, moving in circles. He’d already thought everything he had to; now, every moment spent waiting just tired him out for no reason. Jerry did not enjoy erratic thoughts.
However, it was still the beginning of winter outside. By the time Jerry had found his goatskin cloak and put it on, worn his sturdy boots, and mentally prepared himself for the cold, a few minutes had passed. Then, taking Axehand and Foxy along for protection—who knew what Murdock might do—he set off.
The noon December sun was a toothed one. It hung high in the sky, shining bright, and yet its presence did little to alleviate the biting cold. At least the winter was still young, and it wasn’t that bad yet. Jerry realized that maybe he didn’t even need his coat.
The hour-long walk evaporated under his feet. As always, time stretched at Jerry’s will, and the anxiety he felt did little to change that. Though his thoughts churned, his feet trudged on, and he felt he could walk an infinity before getting bored or tired—walking for two months had its perks, apparently.
It was only when the village’s first houses filled his vision that he stopped to give instructions to his two bodyguards. They would remain hidden in the woods under a dripping pine tree, unbothered by the cold and ready to run over when Jerry called.
Then, he approached the loose formation of houses, no more than a few dozens, all made of earthstone, wood, and dried, hard mud. Not many villagers were out and about this time of the year, preferring to either busy themselves with work or enjoy the warmth of their stoves; with this much wood around, Jerry doubted anyone would go cold. Hungry, maybe, but not cold. The chimneys smoked.
Incidentally, this was his first time in the village after the bandit incident. He caught eyes peering at him from the windows, some in fear, some in wonder, and some in distaste. They had made it clear that they didn’t like him, which made Jerry sad.
No wonder most necromancers are evil, he thought with a sigh. If they’re ostracized, why not fight back?
However, he was here for a reason. Jerry’s feet were steady, and his heart was heavy. He approached the mayor’s house, with its stone walls and bulging tower at the back, under which hid a small chapel. The house’s owner was also the village priest.
Just as Jerry approached, uninvited and bearing the truth as a cursed gift, the door creaked open, and a red-robed form stepped out.
Murdock.
The wizard’s eyes met Jerry’s, and both were equally surprised.
“Necromancer,” Murdock said with a frown. He was as Jerry remembered him; red robes, piercing eyes, and a thin mustache. This time, he also wore a thick woolen coat over his robes, the obligatory red feather barely sticking out; the man didn’t take too well to winter, apparently.
“Murdock,” Jerry replied coldly. While he usually avoided rudeness, this man had harmed one of Jerry’s friends. He deserved no pleasantries.
“I see you finally elected to show your face.” The wizard crossed his arms behind his back, wearing a haughty look. “I thought you’d just stay hidden forever, ashamed of the great gift you miscarry.”
“I was here just the other day, actually, and I met some bandits you were supposed to stop. I did your work for you. You’re welcome.”
Murdock’s eyes narrowed. Outwording your opponent was difficult when they’re armed with your own failures.
“One evil beats another,” he finally said, voice dripping venom. “Between the two, I don’t know which I would prefer; being humiliated after death might be even worse than death itself.”
Jerry raised a brow. Now, he was still as calm as ever, but he considered Murdock a bad guy, and bad guys needed to be served their dues.
“Death isn’t humiliating. On the other hand, the pitiful life you—”
“Gentlemen!” Ashman smashed the door open and ran outside, speaking before he could even catch his breath. “Please, calm down. We are all part of the same village; let’s coexist, please!”
Jerry looked at the mayor, and his irritation dissolved into many complex emotions. The man was still rotund as ever, his face reddened and his hands already shivering; in his haste to come out and stop them, he had not put on a coat.
“Okay,” he said simply.
Murdock directed a pointed look at the necromancer. “Very well,” he said haughtily. “I would suggest steering clear of evil influences, Ashman. Those who mess with the wolves get eaten.”
“Yes, yes, I will keep it in mind, Mother Manna be my witness,” replied the mayor. “Thank you both for heeding my words. Now, Jerry, would you mind coming inside? I’m freezing out here.”
With a snort and not another word, Murdock turned his back and walked away. Jerry spared him a look before stepping toward the door.
“You don’t take well to winter, do you, Mayor?” he asked.
“Hmm? I do, actually, why?” Ashman replied quickly, still tense from before. Jerry shrugged.
The door closed, the boots were cleaned, and soon, Jerry was resting on a soft chair, but not as soft as his. He felt a slight sense of achievement.
Melissa, who was in the kitchen, had only shouted a word of greeting instead of coming over. Jerry finally understood why she didn’t like him; she was sleeping with his enemy.
Ashman didn’t seem to mind, and he took a seat opposite the necromancer. He was wearing the shoes Jerry had made him; how nice. Seeing your work utilized was always a pleasure. It would have brought a smile to Jerry’s lips if not for the grim news he’d come to deliver. At least, Melissa wouldn’t hear them from the kitchen, not unless they shouted.
Jerry looked around, taking in the room with different eyes than last time. Having seen Murdock’s house, Melissa’s extravagant decorations made more sense; the two were alike.
“So,” Ashman began, fetching two glasses of milk—he seemed to prefer that over tea—”what brings you all the way out here?”
Jerry’s face was serious.
“Ashman,” he said, “I have a question for you.”
