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Chapter 7: Fierce Experimenting
🕑 Added 2024-12-24 18:48:01 +0000 UTCAs dictated by the laws of magic, every power has a drawback. For pyromancers, it is their fire’s voracious need for energy. For necromancers, it is the strain we must endure to sustain our undead.
When we control an undead, we not only need to maintain the bonds between its body and soul, but also provide enough energy to constantly wrestle the soul under submission and force it to obey us. Otherwise, the undead collapse or rebel, running off and causing mayhem. It is this second requirement, the constant suppression of the soul, which imposes the greatest strain.
And great it is. The creation of wild undead is another subject, but even the most ancient of liches cannot directly control more than a hundred undead at a time. In the first years of a novice necromancer, controlling even three is an achievement. If we could somehow permanently place the soul under our control, that would increase our powers exponentially. Unfortunately, despite the combined efforts of many two-feather necromancers over the years, despite what torture, blackmail, and hypnotism we tried, we have still not found a way to make the soul submit.
- From Introduction to Necromancy by Akolateronim
“I said, certainly, Master.”
Jerry threw the skeleton an incredulous gaze.
“You can talk?!”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Boney’s voice was a bit hoarse and raspy, but otherwise resembled the voice of a healthy man made up of more than just bones. The largest difference was that his jaw clacked as he spoke, making funny noises.
“You lack vocal cords, for starters. And a throat. And a mouth. And lungs.”
“Hmm, that I do.” Boney looked over himself. “Now that you mention it, Master, it does seem odd.”
Jerry placed his hands on his hips.
“Why didn’t you tell me you could speak?”
“Because you never asked,” the skeleton replied matter-of-factly. “I assumed you knew.”
“But I—Bah, never mind. At least I know now.” Jerry turned to the other skeleton. “Can you speak as well?”
Shorty looked on.
“Yeah. I guess I did remove your torso. If you can speak, just do a hand gesture or something.”
The skeleton somehow managed to look confused, even without a face.
“Okay, I guess you don’t.” Jerry turned back to Boney. “But you can. Why?”
“I don’t know, Master. I am not the necromancer here.”
Ouch.
“Hey, I’m new to the job. Still working on the basics.”
“Same here.”
Jerry regarded Boney carefully. Having a talking, thinking skeleton sounded convenient. Now, Jerry could have some company, and Boney could also take on more complicated tasks than ‘chop wood’ or ‘wipe the floor.’
Jerry thought for a moment and concluded that, indeed, he liked talking skeletons. He nodded to himself and crossed his arms.
“All right, then, Boney. I have to admit you’re interesting. Tell me about yourself.”
“I was a bandit, Master, I remember that much, until I was slain by the hellish beast you call Boboar. I had a name, too, Tom, though Boney suits me better now.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Jerry nodded, happy that his new friend appreciated his excellent naming sense. “So, you’re one of the bandits I, uh, gently put down?”
“Violently murdered, Master. But yes. I was Tom, or at least I think I was. I know the things he knew. Does that make me him?”
“That’s a deep thought for a guy who probably can’t count to ten.”
“On the contrary, Master.” Boney proudly raised his head. “I can count up to a hundred!”
That wasn’t too bad. In a world where education was reserved for the noble or rich, and where a villager would rarely if ever need to use a number above twenty, counting to a hundred was an achievement.
In fact, Jerry himself could only count to a hundred, too.
“Then, did Tom’s soul somehow remain intact inside you? Why just you, though? What was different compared to the others? Perhaps because they were severely deformed?”
“I do not know, Master.”
“But you remember everything?”
“Mostly,” Boney said. “I remember all about Tom’s family, his friends, his fears, his dreams, his bitter disappointment with himself and the following need to run away and become a worm-eating bandit. Nothing too important. The fact that I used to be someone so plain chills me to the bone. Thank Manna you came, Master— actually, wait, we can’t believe in her anymore, can we? Who’s our patron now? Desistos, the God of Death?”
Jerry blinked. Those were many words, and had the skeleton snuck in a bone pun? Jerry was uncertain. Maybe it was accidental.
However, words and bones aside, there was one thing every proper necromancer needed. Boney fit the bill perfectly; he could even count!
“Boney,” he said with pride, “you have just been promoted to my undead butler. Congratulations!”
“A meaningless promotion? Yay!” Boney’s jaw clacked excitedly. Jerry wasn’t sure whether he was being made fun of. “Everything will be as you wish, Master. I will work myself to the bone for you.”
Okay, this one was definitely on purpose.
“I have the feeling most necromancers don’t have to deal with this kind of thing.” Jerry grabbed his face and sighed. “By the way, your name was also promoted. You are now Tom Boney. I like the sound of it.”
“Very well, Master. I will not disappoint you.” Tom Boney stood at attention. “What should I do, though?”
“Well, you can start by building a fence around the property. Have Headless help you out. I’m thinking maybe fifteen feet from the walls. I technically own everything around here, but let’s start small.”
“Actually, Master, the king owns everything around here. Technically.”
Jerry raised a brow.
“An easy problem. Tom Boney, from this moment forth, we rebel, and we are founding our own kingdom where I am king and you are the…vice-king. From now on, this tower belongs to the Kingdom of Shoemakery and Undeathly Shenanigans.”
“Ah yes, a name fit for a proper Kingdom.”
“It’s descriptive. Why would someone name their Kingdom something nonsensical, like Escarbot? I believe it means ‘beetle’ in some ancient language, but does it really matter if nobody knows? Anyway, our land includes this tower and fifteen feet around it, with plans of future expansion. See any army here to stop us? No? Then, I declare the rebellion a success, and you can proceed with building a wall.”
Jerry stared at the skeleton, squashing any other retort before it even appeared, or at least he tried.
“First butler, then vice-king. I do love empty job titles. This is the happiest day of my unlife,” Boney replied flatly.
“If only I can find a way to develop non-sarcastic undead, life will be perfect.” Jerry sighed, though he was secretly proud of his undead army’s newest addition. “Now, Boney, get to work while I head downstairs with Shorty. There is a fence to build, and much knowledge to be found!”
“As you command, Master.” Boney nodded and immediately took off toward the forest, where Headless was mindlessly chopping wood.
Jerry watched him leave. This was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. If only he could fix the humor…
Shaking his head, Jerry grabbed Shorty’s shoulder and led the poor sod inside, talking all the while. The skeleton couldn’t respond, of course, but Jerry liked thinking out loud.
“These are the rooms for you”—he pointed at the many doors down the hallway—”though you don’t actually need to sleep. Still, having a room is basic propriety. That one, the big one, is mine. Say, Shorty, what should we do with you? You are pretty short, which is bound to be useful, somehow, but how indeed? Hmm.”
Jerry kept speaking as they descended the stone staircase, entering the tower’s dark bowels.
“Say, Shorty, I forgot to ask Boney, but you don’t feel pain, right?”
The skeleton nodded.
“That’s great! You’re my undead, but also my friends. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
He then set Shorty on the rough wooden bench and proceeded to hurt him.
Of course, he did temporarily de-animate Shorty before he began. Pain aside, this simply felt better.
Jerry had big plans for this guy. Well, not originally, but some interesting thoughts came as he played around.
Jerry was very self-conscious about his place in the world. He wasn’t stupid. Many people despised necromancers, and if he stayed in the same place for a long time, trouble was bound to come. He needed the strength to protect himself, which meant he needed an undead army—even a small one.
Murdock’s hostility and power had driven that point home. Jerry didn’t fear death, of course, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t play the game of life.
So, back to Shorty’s business. Due to being mostly limbs, Shorty was very agile. He was also fast, as his body was lighter than expected while maintaining most of the strength of a whole man. How exactly that worked was still a mystery, though Jerry would unpack it with time.
Due to his agility, Shorty was perfectly built for being a stealthy, deadly skeleton; Jerry’s protector in the shadows. Therefore, banking on that deadliness, Jerry experimented with bone shaping. He used a sharp knife—thank Desistos for Derek’s cart of tools—to sharpen the tips of Shorty’s digits, turning his hands into collections of blades. If he could also make the fingers glisten, Shorty would become an extremely intimidating shorty. He also noticed that Shorty’s teeth were jagged enough to be sharp, which was convenient.
When the deed was done, the necromancer stepped back and admired his creation.
If enemies appeared, Shorty would spread terror in their ranks like a knife spreading butter on bread and, if that didn’t work, oh well, at least he’d had his fun. Experimenting gave Jerry profound amounts of joy, and he was unsure whether this was an innate property of necromancy or if he was simply built for it.
He just had to remember not to take this skeleton to the village.
Done with this part of the work and tired already, Jerry reanimated Shorty and had him walk around. He couldn’t be sure, but the skeleton somehow felt a bit more bloodthirsty, and not just in appearance. Were undead influenced by their bodies? An interesting theory, and it would explain why Headless seemed slow even by undead standards.
To test this, Jerry de-animated and reanimated Shorty a few times. Nothing changed. The soul obviously remained the same, so he wasn’t “killing” him every time.
He then decided to test the limits of Shorty’s understanding. He ordered the skeleton to perform several tasks, increasing the complexity as he kept succeeding. As it turned out, undead—or at least Shorty—could guard a place, hunt cockroaches, and do any other simple task.
However, if any sort of initiative was required, they failed. For example, Shorty couldn’t for the love of him open the door until Jerry demonstrated how to use the doorknob. It took some time, but when the skeleton got the concept, he could then open the door without specific instructions. This proved that skeletons could learn, which was extremely important.
Then, Jerry de-animated and reanimated Shorty. The doorknob once again became his mortal enemy. Apparently, undead lost their memories when de-animated, the same way they did when the bodies originally died. Except Boney. Jerry had to remember not to de-animate any of his more important, self-aware undead.
This brought into question the subject of souls. Were memories not part of the soul? And what was the soul, really? So far, Jerry had been too engrossed in the magic bonds holding everything together to pay it much attention. That would change now. It was knowledge time.
Therefore, Jerry cupped his chin and got to thinking. What happened when someone died?
He had killed things a few times using necromancy. He could use his magic to forcefully sever body and soul in small forest creatures. What happened was that the infinite tiny bonds connecting the soul to the body—the natural bonds, ones much more intricate than what he could create—were dissolved in the face of his magic. If the soul suddenly lost its connection to the body, it was natural for the latter to simply slump down and die, but what happened to the soul itself?
Jerry had no idea, but as much as he tried, he simply couldn’t inspect a soul. To his magic senses, it was an impenetrable ball of light in the core of every living creature.
However, he wondered why the natural bonds between body and soul were so much more intricate than his, which seemed just good enough for the job. He soon reached a conclusion.
What he was doing was stringing a body and a soul together. He added rough tethers from the soul to important joints and from every bone to the next, creating an operational vessel for the soul to drive.
What the natural bonds did was intertwine body and soul on such a deep level that they practically became one entity. The two methods were leagues apart, and while Jerry wasn’t certain of the natural way’s benefits, there had to be some, and they ought to be massive.
After a few minutes, he decided to experiment with his killing ability, the one he decided to name Soul Severing. After all, if the body’s natural bonds were better than his own, maybe he could maintain some of them while killing a creature, saving himself time and energy later.
Unfortunately, after experimenting on a few nearby ants, that turned out to be impossible. The natural bonds were so perfect that they all crumbled together or not at all.
Jerry wasn’t discouraged. Theories and ideas kept darting around in his mind as if he’d been opened to a whole new world of knowledge. In the end, even though he didn’t make headway on the grandest questions he had, he did discover a few things.
The first was that souls got stronger the larger their body was—a nearby cockroach helped him compare against the ants. And, the stronger the soul, the harder it was to break the bonds and kill it through Soul Severing—which, incidentally, only had a range of a few feet.
The second piece of knowledge was that souls were somehow connected to the bodies on a different, much deeper level than what he could access. He knew this because he’d moved the bandit corpses here before reanimating them; the soul had obviously come along, and therefore had been stuck inside the body even though the bonds had been broken on death. It couldn’t be as simple as a fleshy prison. After all, souls were immaterial.
The third piece of knowledge was that, when he learned a lot of things at once, he needed some time to cool off.
Time for a break.
Standing up, Jerry stretched, suddenly finding himself sore.
He had no idea how long he’d spent experimenting, but it had to have been hours. He was mentally exhausted, so he decided to call it a day.
Exiting the tower alongside a significantly confused Shorty, Jerry saw that the moon had risen. Sharpening those bones had taken longer than he thought. No wonder he felt exhausted.
He would eat some fox meat and go to sleep, but there was one important thing to take care of first. Boney and Headless had been tasked with building a fence and, apparently…
Wait a moment. That’s not a fence.
