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Chapter 16: Birds and Herbs
🕑 Added 2024-12-28 09:18:51 +0000 UTCWhen the rain was past, Jerry ran outside to the moist forest. Water droplets hung from the edge of leaves and the air was filled with the scent of petrichor, one he particularly enjoyed. All through the forest, the animals hiding from the rain were now resurfacing, bringing life back to the wet green.
Jerry walked past the thick trees and sparse foliage, stepping on patches of grass as he made his way inwards. He could have asked Foxy to perform this task but doing it himself felt better.
Finally, after half an hour of wandering, he found it; a dead bird lying in a puddle on the ground. Perhaps it had been injured and died of blood loss, or it had been killed by an animal that didn’t stop to eat it. In any case, it fit Jerry’s criteria.
This bird was a soft little thing; red, with its beak and the ends of its feathers colored a bright black. It was barely the size of Jerry’s palm, a tender existence trapped in a harsh world, just like Jerry himself.
Kneeling next to the body, he spared it a soft look before filling it with magic. The soul trapped inside shivered, shuddering with joy. Magical tethers reconnected it to the body, flashing with power, and the bird twitched. It moved a wing, then another before turning to look at Jerry.
Its head tilted; it did not understand what was going on, only that it was alive, or unalive, and that was enough.
“Hello, my little friend.” Jerry smiled warmly, extending a finger to pet the bird zombie’s head. It accepted his touch, rubbing against it. “From now on, you are one of us. In joy and in sadness, we shall walk together, for we are bound. And your name shall be…”
He paused for a moment, thinking. “…Birb. And you will be the world’s greatest scout.”
The bird ruffled its wings, satisfied with the name—or so Jerry assumed—before flying in a circle above Jerry. It perched on a branch and stared at him in the unnerving way birds have to stare at people, though Jerry could only sense warmth from its soul.
It was a weird thing, its soul; so small and weak and perpetually scared. The thoughts and feelings flowed outrageously fast in there, as if the world and Jerry with it moved in slow motion.
Are all small animals like this? he mused, remembering how flies always seemed to dodge a human’s swats impossibly quickly. He set the thought aside. Gazing at his newest undead creation, another burning question appeared in his mind.
“Tell me, Birb, can you still poop?” he asked it, eager. If he could weaponize bird poop, then even Jericho the Green would go off running.
The bird looked at him in confusion, only the link between their souls managing to confer the meaning of Jerry’s words. It concentrated for a moment, and then, with a soft ‘plop’, a small, white stain was left on the ground below.
“Muahaha!” Jerry raised his arms in the air, laughing at the sky. “It works! We are unstoppable!”
Birb titled its head, and the necromancer chuckled.
“Come, Birb,” he said, motioning for it to sit on his shoulder. “It’s time for you to meet our friends.”
They walked back, and Jerry introduced Bird to the other undead one by one. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but he did it anyway, as Shorty’s passing had hammered in the fact that these were his long-term companions. He wanted to forge a strong relationship between them so they could be a proper team.
Birb took especially well to Headless, on whose shoulders it liked to perch. Whether this happened due to both being zombies or because Headless’s shoulders happened to be his highest vantage point, that was unknown. Birb also tried to perch on Boney’s gray cap, but the skeleton defended his only piece of clothing fiercely, clutching it in his hands and shooing Birb away. It tweeted in annoyance. Jerry laughed.
With the introductions said and done, Birb took to the skies, eager to complete its duties; survey the land for threats and guests. Jerry wasn’t at all worried about Birb’s safety. As he had come to know, animals possessed an uncanny ability to sense whether one of them was a zombie, as well as a tendency to shit bricks and run the opposite way whenever they met one.
At worst, it would increase the frequency of Jerry’s land being pooped on.
Then, deciding to reward himself for his great ideas, the necromancer grabbed Boney and had some tea.
“This really is some wonderful tea,” he said, sipping from the cup. “It’s a shame the others can’t enjoy it.”
“They can, Master,” Boney replied, pouring a few drops of tea down his throat and onto the floor below. “They just don’t enjoy the aftermath.”
“Ah yes, the dreaded aftermath. Do you think there are other kinds of herbs nearby, Boney? Maybe a variety of these ones which doesn’t cause spontaneous bowel evacuation?”
The skeleton looked up, his empty eyes staring blankly, his nonexistent brain calculating.
“Perhaps, Master. As a matter of fact, I believe we should make searching for herbs our priority. We might bury our bones here, come spring, but at least our living friends will have drunk some good tea.”
“Amusing as always. Alright, I get it. Let’s leave the tea discussion for later. Jericho is more important.”
“Indeed. What do you think we should do, Master?”
“Wait for the Billies to return, I think.” Jerry laid back in his heavenly soft chair, enjoying how his buttocks had regained their right to sit on it. “They said they’d be back soon. Let’s hope they make it before the snow falls.”
“Who are the Billies?”
“Oh, the soldiers. You know, because they look like such hillbillies.”
The skeleton, despite his lack of eyes, threw Jerry a glance emptier than usual.
“In any case”—the necromancer coughed in his hand—”if they can help us against the bandits, that would be great.”
Boney cupped his chin.
“I don’t think they will,” he said. “I used to belong to Jericho’s group, and they’ve been here for a while. Killed many soldiers, even. If the Royal Guard intended to do something about them, it would have happened already. Not to mention that opposing Jericho is impossible—the man is invincible.”
“Is he really?”
“Very much so. When I was still alive, I once saw him wrestle a bear into submission with his bare hands. He didn’t even use magic. Another time, he, by himself, annihilated an opposing bandit group that consisted of dozens of men, and he emerged unscathed. You saw him down a cup of steaming tea without batting an eye . He’s invincible.”
“Well, that greatly limits our options,” Jerry complained. “We must find some other way to save ourselves, then. One that doesn’t involve suicide by Jericho.”
“Escape is still impossible, as you would simply freeze to death. Maybe the soldiers will agree to help, after all. A necromancer’s favor is valuable; it might convince them to send their own strong people against Jericho, maybe some two-feather wizards, though they would be just as likely to annihilate us as well.”
Jerry frowned in thought. Two-feathered wizards were extraordinarily strong and equally rare. They wouldn’t move easily, but if they did, even Jericho would have to take them seriously.
As a novice, Jerry was a one-feather wizard. It sounded close, but there was a massive gulf between him and the next rank.
“Maybe we can feed him tea until his heart slips out his intestines?” Boney said.
“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”
“I was jesting, Master. Earth spirits are resistant to diseases of the earth.”
“Resistant?” Jerry raised a brow. “Not immune?”
Boney frowned. “Not immune, no. Indeed! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yes! We dress up as bandits and offer him the leaves as breakfast every day for the entire winter.” Jerry nodded. “Brilliant!”
The skeleton looked on blankly.
“As delightful as that sounds, Master, I had another idea in mind. The forest contains many herbs. If we can get Foxy to collect enough of them, maybe we can concoct a poison strong enough to incapacitate him.”
“That’s a great idea, too!” Jerry’s eyes shone. “How exactly do we do that though?”
“There are herbalists in the village. We could ask them.”
“Let me see.” Jerry began extending fingers for each person. “There is Murdock, who wanted to kill me. Then there is Melissa, who despises me, for some reason. Finally, there is Holly, who might be willing to help but is as new to the trade as they come and deathly afraid of me.”
He stopped counting. “Boney, I am out of fingers.”
“That is unfortunate, Master.” The skeleton cupped his chin. “None of them are likely to help us. Holly might, but she knows little. She just collects some herbs occasionally, from what I’ve gathered. If we told Murdock or Melissa about the encroaching bandit camp, they might be willing to put their prejudice aside.”
“I’d hate to ask a favor of those two. Is there another way?”
“Hmm…” Boney trailed off in thought. His bone jaw clacked absent-mindedly, while his gray cap somehow made him seem more intellectual. “If they will not help willingly, and you don’t want to ask for favors, there is a third way—not the violent kind, don’t worry. Murdock is giving out lessons to Melissa every week, according to the mayor. I presume they will continue throughout the winter. If we could somehow spy on them for a few months, then perhaps…”
“Boney, you are a genius!” Jerry smacked a fist on his open palm. “This is perfect! By eavesdropping on another’s lessons, we will become master herbalists within three months and then use random forest herbs to concoct a poison capable of felling an earth spirit!”
“It does sound a bit hopeless when you say it, Master, but I think it’s worth a shot. If it doesn’t work out, you can always put your pride aside and ask them.”
“That’s right. As for the spying plan, I have just the right person for the job!”
A moment later, Birb sat perched on the window’s case.
“My little Birb, it is time for your first mission!” Jerry said, and the bird proudly ruffled its feathers. “Every Sunday, the village wizard teaches herbalism in his house. That’s tomorrow. You must go there and spy on the lesson!”
Birb chirped determinedly.
A few days ago, Jerry had discovered that he could borrow his undead’s senses and watch the world through them, if he really focused. He just hadn’t found a use for it until now.
Additionally, when Derek and Ashman had come over, Jerry had asked where Murdock’s house was, out of curiosity. It was apparently a bit outside the village, hidden behind a short hill.
And so went the terribly ambitious plan. Come dawn of the next day, Birb set off on its journey. Despite its small size and the strong winds, it was determined; its master’s plan would succeed. For the man who had given it a new lease of unlife, it could not fail.
Following the winds, Birb flew over trees and rocky ground, turned left at the village, and passed over the short hill. There, right below it, was a big house, just as the Master had said.
It was made of rocks and bricks, stacked together and supported by wooden beams. There were two distinct buildings, one having a second floor and the other being a shack of sorts, while a stone courtyard extended in front of the house.
If anyone who wasn’t a bird saw this, they would not think it to be a house in a tiny village, but rather a mansion in a town’s suburbs. It would become clear that Murdock, for all his power and despite his decision to live in Pilpen, still harbored yearnings of grandeur.
However, Birb was a bird, and these thoughts flew over its head just as it flew over the house. The wizard was outside, sitting on a rocking chair and studying a book in his palm, but nobody would take notice of a bird among many. Therefore, Birb waited.
A few hours later, Melissa appeared, dressed in a green sleeveless gown with two keychains hanging from her shoulders. She approached, greeted Murdock politely, and they both headed inside. At that point, Birb rose from the far-off tree it was perched on and moved to a branch close to the window, giving it a full view of the house’s insides. It also sent a mental ripple to its master, requesting that he share in its senses.
All the way back to his tower, Jerry obliged, lying down and temporarily foregoing his own senses. Watching through a bird’s eye was very disorienting, even if Birb did its best to stay still, but he eventually got used to it.
When he did, he saw the house’s grand exterior and sharp interior, radiating power and authority and devotion to herbalism. Jars and books on shelves decorated the walls while several ingredients lay on a long workbench, filling the house with the strong smell of honey and strong, aromatic spices.
He also saw Murdock and Melissa busying themselves, but… If he could, he would have rubbed his eyes. That was definitely not herbalism.
Oh, no.
