Born a Monster

Chapter 145: Servant of the Axe, 45 – Wrathful Spirits

Servant of the Axe

Chapter 45

Wrathful Spirits

“Rhishi, am I supposed to feel cold?”

“No, the Necromantic Ward alone isn’t strong enough to protect us.”

Miss Turner pursed her lips. “Old graves. Old spirits. Be on your guard, disturb nothing.”

“I thought the whole reason we were here was to see if something was worth taking.” Narces said.

.....

“What part of disturb nothing is unclear? We look first, and take only what we can.” She sighed. “That may be nothing.”

The first cavern we came to looked like a battlefield, some seven skeletons, judging by the skulls, worth of bones. I called Mystic Sight using Death mana.

“No spirits linger in this room.” I said. “This happened recently, no more than two decades ago.”

Their weapons and pieces of armor had gone to rust, leather and clothing rotted away to dust.

Miss Turner found a ring of brass, inscribed with a jackal’s head, and slipped it into one of her jacket pockets.

“Well, left hand rule.” Miss Turner said, at our first intersection.

“Shouldn’t someone keep a map?” Kismet asked.

“We won’t be returning to this cave, and we don’t want to encourage others to seek it out, either.”

The left rapidly became a crawlspace.

“What is THAT smell?” Narces asked.

“Ghoul.” I said. “I don’t like our chances against one or more of them in that tiny of a space.”

“All right, let’s get back to the crossroads.”

There was only one way to go. It opened into a cavern of pillars, tightly wedged, with visible ghosts drifting around among them. They were figures of blurred moonbeam, with voids for their eyes and mouth, and sometimes other parts.

“I’ve seen these before.” Miss Turner said. “Mournful dead. Just don’t step on their remains or focus on them for too long, and they won’t even be aware of you.”

“And if they do?” Narces asked.

“I’ll try to put them to rest before they tear your emotions apart.” I said.

“Right, no staring at the – awaugh!” said Kismet, suddenly confronted by one of them.

But it didn’t attack her.

it asked.





It wandered off.

Kismet’s fur was fluffed out more than normal for the entire time we were in that cave network.

“Left hand rule.” Miss Turner said, pointing out an exit I’d missed.

We passed a ledge where a skull with an eyepatch rested.
“What ho?” it asked, in an elder dialect of Manoran, “Who comes to pay Happy Jack his toll?”

I placed the two coppers that Miss Turner had asked for and not collected onto the ledge.

“What’s this, then? Not enough for five, I’d reckon.”

“Two coppers is the cost for a ride across the river Styx. More than enough for us, with no river.” I said.



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He chuckled, “Oh, aye, aye, you’ve got Happy Jack there, you have. Be about your business, then.”

Happy Jack was the last peaceful spirit we came across.

#

“Is that ... Lavender?” Kismet asked.

“I smell it as well.” I said.

We emerged into a cavern with a bamboo dresser, cunningly made to present flat surfaces. The three skeletal women were already looking our way, dressed in ornate funerary gowns.

“Happy Jack! Traitor!” hissed one.

“You’ll not take my comb!” hissed another.

“I smell... mortal blood.”

“Wait, ghosts can do that?” Gamilla asked.

They moved to swarm her. I threw myself into their path. “Taunt! Ladies, please do your hair again. It looks simply horrifying.”

“The nerve!”

“The uncouthness!”

“The blood...” said the third, going around me.

The ghost women struck at me, as though playing a harp. I Eat Stress activated, and was overcome.

“Slumber!” I shouted.

“I... I remember sleep.” Said the one, but it was only dazed a moment.

I spun to the right, to present their sides to the people behind me.

Honestly, it was easy to be scared. I didn’t have the spells to harm them with, or even to defend myself. But off to my left, the bloodseeker let loose a shriek of frustration, fading into nothing. Her skull clattered to the floor.

Her skull! I struck at the skull of the one to the right, and missed.

In the end, I had to be saved by my comrades, having only 2/20 serenity remaining.

“Soothing Water.” I chanted, and had a drink. My recovery timer shortened from a day to twelve hours. Not the best of healing spells, but it was what I had available.

“Ooh.” Kismet said. “This is a really nice comb.”

The women descended upon the furniture as they might have upon a treasure chest. As expected, it was a small cache of jewelry and pins, and broaches. The bottom three drawers each held a set of women’s bones, complete save for the skulls.

“What was the pirate’s name, again?” I asked.

Miss Turner shrugged. “One of Coldblood’s crews, no clue as to which captain.”

“Attend, vanquished spirits, as we place you to rest inside these drawers where you kept your mortal remains. Be at peace, and proceed onward to your eternal rewards. We know not your names, and my apologies if your skulls are ending up in the wrong drawers. Funeral prayer!”





I sent, rapidly swapping the skulls.



“Kismet, give the woman back her comb.”

“But... pearl inlay! This is a NICE comb.”

“Kismet, help put the dead to rest.”

She stroked the comb lovingly, but placed it in the drawer.

I slowly, respectfully, closed each drawer in turn, with the care a parent exercises when tucking their children into bed at night.

“Good night, ladies.” I said. And to the others, “Let’s not disturb them further.”

Miss Turner pointed her torch. “Left hand rule.”

#

Remember when I said that the scales on the back of my neck would sometimes stand straight out? I may have been exaggerating, but it was more than halfway there.

“Whatever is ahead has power.” I said. “We need to be ready.”

“Indeed.” His voice came from ahead. “Be ready. I’ll not have it said that I took unfair advantage.”

“Excuse me.” Miss Turner said. “We know ye be among the Captains of Clan Coldblood, but for posterity, might I know which one?”

.....

“I be Jacob Coldblood, once pressed into service as Fish-Bait. But I climbed the ranks, and learned my trade, and did my scrapping with the best of them. And now, it is a captain that ye face, full armed and ready.”

I was reminded of the bluster Rakkal used. Or maybe it’s not bluster if you actually have the power to back it up.

I called Death mana to my eyes, and took a quick peek. “We want no part of that. His blade is tainted, and his treasure has one of the most powerful death-curses I’ve ever seen.”

“Aye, of course there’s a death curse upon my sea-chest. Loyal as knaves can be, my crew were, but if I’d not done so, they’d have laid my body here and left me with NOTHING. Greed and Envy and Lust did I cultivate in my life, and many powers have I gained in return. All of them secure my chest, even should you defeat me.”

“I don’t think that likely.” I said. “Your cavern is too small for us to come at you more than two at a time.”

“Indeed. I’ve defended my grave well, and added much from those who sought to despoil it.”

“We should fall back to the parlor of the three maids.” Narces said.

“What, those harlots? Take them with you, you’ll gain no leverage with me by holding them hostage.”

“I concur.” Miss Turner said, “We have trinkets enough from this expedition, let us away with our lives and our sanity intact.

“Well, you ARE right to be scared...” He droned on as we retreated. He realized we were serious about the time we were halfway back to the parlor.

A whistle not unlike a bosun’s swept through the caves.

“Not good.” Narces said. “Time to go.”

And we went quickly, amid the cusses and unquotable things pirates say when woken from their slumber.

Four Hounds were awaiting us at the entrance.

“Well, crap.” Narces said. “Boss, can you ward the entrance?”

“Just look at him in the light.” Gamilla said. “Of course, he can’t.”

“Well, then, it was good knowing each of you.” Miss Turner said.

“Kismet.” I said. “Salt.”

“Oh right. Salt.” She lay down a barrier of salt, thicker and wider than it needed to be.

“Those scuppering pirates have salted the entrance!” howled the first ghost to appear.

“Salt, salt.” The cries echoed through the caves.

But none of them actually tested that barrier, and so we survived.

#