Rituals, Regrets, and Really Dumb People

Chapter 8: Abominations, Realizations, and Baby Aliens, Part 4

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No more evil, no more fighting wars against Sanctuary. We're stopping Ishmael and Typhous and we're doing no more harm to others."

He sighed.

"Err, and you all get free doctoring and your insurance back."

The traitor-cultists all looked around when I said that, talked to themselves, and the one who'd been talking to me stood up immediately. "Sign me up then."

"You all don't mind not being evil anymore?"

"Pfft, no." I heard come from a multitude of the cultists.

"Most of us don't even worship She," the female cultist from the pens said. "Hel, Tommy worships a tree."

I guess it was Tommy who leaned out and showed us a wooden amulet that had been painted green and was cut to look like a pine tree. "Full on pagan, sir."

My lip curled in disgust; pagans and their religion were trash, but I guess I shouldn't complain since my cultists willing to follow me along.

"We just really want to survive, sir," the cultist who stood up told me. "We have families, we have unity here. Be it evil or good, we just really need the work and benefits. Most these people are family to me."

"You put a big chunk of them in the pens to be eaten."

"Well, I mean, sometimes you argue with your family..."

"Okay, enough," I barked and waved my hands. "It is a deal then. Mangler is rehired, you all have your policy as soon as I can get a'hold of those scoundrel-devils again, and if not, your families will be taken care of. I will see to it, under my guiding hand. We won't have families or insurance or medicine if Typhous and his 'advisor' succeed though. We head to Sanctuary's necropolis. Unbind the men."

"Are you sure?" one of the knights asked me.

"Yeah. If they betray me again, I'll make an example of them first and foremost. No more betraying, no more wrongs."

The knight began freeing the cultists, and as they rose up, tension built. At first. It was soon apparent that these men were not going to backstab us, at least for now, my fractured army re-uniting and apologizing to one another.

"Bring me my morning star," I yelled out. I had a servant bring me my weapon, and I lifted it from his hands. "We go now."

And we did go. All of us, including Lil, Jo, John Wesley, Jason, the cultists and the knights met with Geraldine, Tom, and Thimble outside. Lil even took Keith with us. I left Mangler here in charge with a contingent of both my cultists, and with Geraldine's permission, some of Sanctuary's knights. We took the rest, including the Kin and the Penitent, and left the castle bare-bones. Down the mountain, through the village, and right on the road towards Sanctuary.

We got there after a day, me, my crew (including Thimble and Keith,) and around two hundred men and women made of knights, cultists, and Jason's Kin. We didn't go into Sanctuary, however, veering off to the north and towards its expansive graveyard called the Necropolis. It was a city of the dead, truly, a place lingering along the burrows and small hills, covered in mausoleums, grave markers, and statues of angels that never came down to humanity. Sanctuary had paid big for my sins, and I wore it heavy on my heart now.

What struck me as curious of the necropolis, however, was the fact that I could see the aftermath of Typhous's little raid to gather bodies for his undead horde. It didn't shock me that he'd done this; he'd told me beforehand. Geraldine had mentioned it to a lesser extent as well. What truly baffled me was the fact that he'd only profaned a few of the graves.

Only a few bodies had been dug up, not even enough to call it an army. Of course, the zombies or undead, or whatever you'd wanna call what he'd brought at the temple, were few in number and they weren't really involved in the attack. It made me question Typhous and Ishmael's tactical prowess; there was so much untapped potential here, why not take all the bodies you could?

Regardless of that thought, I left the army standing outside the gates as me and a few of the notables walked inside. She was waiting for us outside one of the burrows, the one in the center of the necropolis, standing idly by and waiting.

"I'm glad you've made it," She said. "The one who can help us is here, and he's already accepted to help."

"Did Sanctuary have someone that knew of the Ancients?"

"Not necessarily, but that person is buried here. Do you remember anything of necromancy? Not raising the dead, but divining the spirits?"

"Vaguely," I said.

"You aren't going to tamper with the dead, are you?" Geraldine asked She.

"No. This person wants to talk to Mathias, and there is someone who wishes to speak to you, Geraldine, dear."

Geraldine bit her lip and fell into reservation, but I was more prepared and ready.

"I see," I said. "Did I kill this person?"

"Both of these spirits, yes. But you need to talk to them."

I looked down on the ground, something of shame taking me, but I was reminded of the kid and of Dimitri. I raised my glare and looked back to She. "I'm ready, take me to this place."

The Darkness turned to the burrow's door and pushed it in, stepping inside. Me, Geraldine, John Wesley, Lil, and Keith went inside. We went down into the earth, past the narrow earthen walls and the cairns for the multitude of the dead. We went right down through the floors, further and further into the cold earth, lighting the lanterns and sconces, keeping quiet as not to stir any wraiths.

It led us to the bottom, right where a couple of cairns were laying with the graves of the dead. She stopped here, and so did we, amongst the grave soil.

"Divine here, Mathias," she said, pointing down to the grave at the left most end of the row of graves. "This is the person we need."

I stepped to it and I pulled out my red-and-gold grimoire. I flipped to the page of divining the dead and I slowly sat down on my knees in front of the grave. I looked at the ritual and I sat the book down, burning incense that the grievers had left long ago. The smoke surrounded me in thin wafts of white plumes, the beginning of the ritual as I called on the dead to speak to me.

My hands waved and I offered the command aloud, shouting it to the grave. "Peaceful sleeper, hear my call! I need your aid, your venerable wisdom!"

"Do you now?" asked a voice from the grave. It'd worked, and this voice was familiar to boot.

Sounded like he he'd been mouth washing with broken glass and swallowing sand, but I knew this voice. I knew it well.

"She," I said. "Who is this person we're calling to?"

She didn't have time to answer. Hands of rot dug through the grave soil, pushing it apart and forcing the body of the long dead to sit up in his bed. He was covered in dirt, his skin mummified and leathery, cheeks thin and eyes hollowed out. He wore a long moustache that, amazingly, still lingered on his upper lip, and long hair that'd gone grey even before he'd died. Scholarly he once was, now he was a worm's meal.

"Hello, boy," he said, laying his arms on his lap. "Anyone got a pipe? I sure could use some fresh tobacco."

"Dad?" I uttered to him. This corpse was Reinhardt.

"Dad!?" said another person. It was Geraldine talking to another corpse that had risen.

She was talking to a fellow of infinite mirth, and one without a head. There was some vague vestigial green ghost in place of the missing head, a man whose decapitated body was as pallid and grey and leathery as Reinhardt's, though built stouter. He would have been blond of hair and beard if he had his real head, but I'd taken that a few years ago. This one was Leo Valormane.

He looked up at Geraldine and offered his wide hands to her. "Ah, help me up, little one."

It seems I may have raised some of the ghosts of my, and Geraldine's, past.