//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 : Dead In The Water // Story: Abhorsen : Friendship is Free-Magic // by MerlosTheMad //------------------------------// “‘Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?’” - Sabriel Abhorsen Thunder clapped and boomed overhead. Amidst an amber fog billowing in on a baleful wind, forks of primordial lightning stretched from one horizon to the next. A score of cabalists chanted in a low drone, while other dark shapes mixed with the unnatural weather around them; the gathering formed an haunting atmosphere. Surrounding the crowd of perhaps two hundred, was blackened earth and the fallen bodies of long dead trees. Only a handful nearby still clung to roots, long since eaten away by carrion insects and maggots from beneath. In the middle of this procession of the unholy—amidst the monochrome horde—sat what was once a single, solitary stone, just taller than a man and now split in twain. It lay there simply being only what it appeared to be, a shattered monument, grey and lifeless. A ghastly and hollow voice called out over the din, which caused the chanting to silence itself in an instant. Somehow, the thunder itself also quieted to a low, distant rumble. The sky grew dark, and only the sudden light which now came from flames, flickering to life around them, provided illumination of any sort to the gathering. The voice had come from a lurching form in front of the stone, hunched and shrouded in torn black cloth. Still, it stood nearly three meters tall. Its hood looked out over the crowd, a faint red light glowing from within the shroud. With a deep, resonant voice it began to speak. "An age of freedom, is at hand!" Shouting answers, outcries and cheers rose from the front of those gathered. They jostled one another and shook fists out from under armor, travel stained surcoats, and black robes alike. Behind them, the more numerous shapes merely stood and swayed in the wind slightly. The unnaturally hollow voice continued through the throng of noises. "Fellow minded few of this world, you have been promised life ever lasting, power beyond measure!" The crowd's voices rose as the deep baritone of the speaker continued. "BUT!" The shrouded figure threw two bleached, skeletal hands into the air to quiet them quickly. Silenced, the voices of the men and women were quickly lost to the wind's howl. As the creature stood up straighter, it drew an ebony black blade from its tattered robes, then slowly drawled forward in its speech. "Fooor this, to become reality, there must be blood." The blade slowly rose up into the air before the speaker. "There must be death, before life. As the charter commands the unnatural laws of our world, so to must we obey. That, however, changes now!" With a screech the same weapon was slashed across the surface of the great stone. Maddened cheers and yells started up again from the display. After a moment, they sharply quieted again, the speaker raising his hand once more. "To that end we will therefore," he paused for dramatic effect. "Destroy the charter, and all those who willingly serve it." Again the crowd's shouts rose, acidic curses, promises of fealty and the destruction of all in the world that was of the light or of the charter cried out. Vows to end life itself were screamed out of from them, until finally, another form stepped forward. The newcomer calmly motioned for the frenzied cultists to quiet themselves, raising both of the small, human hands it possessed to do so. The crowd obeyed. This individual was of a drastically different form than the previous speaker. Where the other was a massive shadow of bare bone and sinew, shrouded in charred rags, its voice grating and deep... This speaker was slight, thin and finely dressed. He was a boy of perhaps ten from appearances, his head topped with brownish hair of a medium length, and a rounded hat. His voice, however, had the same hollow and echoing quality of the first, if none of their intimidating appearances. "My dear friends, how happy I am to see you all bravely standing here before me." The boy spoke happily, and concluded by flashing everyone a grin that was all teeth. Some of those in the crowd fell to a knee, or bowed deeply at the waist. "Now now, I want your undivided attention. There will be time for formalities later..." The child looked over those gathered before him, smiling warmly as they shakily stood again. "Good. Now, on to more pressing matters. Namely, killing everyone in our way." The new realm was a tumultuous, roaring, swirl of power. Rarity had felt unconsciousness take a hold of her mind forcefully. Her fight to remain awake despite the pain, was lost. Soon, her body and legs only kicked limply, still struggling despite their owner being knocked out. Unable to fight back, she was taken further and further away from Equestria. The river changed seamlessly from a swift, contained current and into an unstable waterfall without any warning. The journey through the fabrics of nothingness ended. The water and its passenger were in another place now, a place far from the unicorn's home; a place that wasn't a place at all. Here, all was grey and immaterial. Here, there were only dead things. Fog and mist rolled in every direction, and knee deep water pushed by some alien current flowed on into the darkness. All around in every direction, was now the realm of death, and its nine precincts... The alabaster colored body was unceremoniously deposited straight into the gate of the second precinct—sleuthing along with the tepid water that engulfed it. While no one was awares to observe this oddity, there it still was. Normally, the deceased only passed into death through the wellspring—at the mouth of the first precinct of this plane. Although nothing was cognizant of its origins, the body of the unicorn was certainly gaining attention. An unguarded, corporeal form was right there—filled with faint life and free for the taking as it floated listlessly alongside the spirits. All of the nearby dead could feel it now, strong and focused. That feeling was life itself, for it still flickered in the limp form—its pull was strong, the presence of it tantalizing. The onlooking dead's need for life force was overpowering to their minds. Still, others regarded the creature with curiosity, these more placid spirits were ones at peace with their passing. They—unlike the others—took the time to realize this was something that did not belong here, and was certainly not some prize to be had. Still, all of them kept their distance, for now. Such an occurrence didn't happen in death, not but once in a dozen of a dozen years—for those that could make sense of time any longer. The body continued floating through the second precinct, unapproached. However, as it went, more and more onlookers gathered. They began struggling against one another and more appeared, the newcomers were strong enough to fight the current. They pushed the restful dead aside, and shoved weaker spirits away. This wasn't a necromancer, they thought. It wasn't even The Abhorsen, either. Though few of those present new what that meant exactly; it was merely a name to be feared by those seeking life, passed from dead thing to dead thing in hushed whispers. The gate of the second precinct was fast approaching, and the current strengthened. One dead creature had finally had enough. A high pitched scream pierced through the dank air of the precinct. The howling monster reared out of the river, leaping towards the pale white shape. A squat, stumpy head that lacked a neck opened its shadowy maw wide, eager to latch onto its prize. Without a second to spare, the undead creature's twin shot up from the waves beneath it, cutting it off from reaching the unicorn's body. The newcomer hurled the squat shape into the air, squealing with an inhuman cry. Once-living humans and animals began to struggle all at once, fighting one another, fighting for the opportunity to drain the living creature's energy and magic. All of them were starving for that which they still longed after, and crashed towards the foreign life force. More than a few clawed at it, reaching out with half formed hands of shadow—lacking discernible digits in most cases. The frenzy, however, lasted too long without a resolution; the waterfall to the next precinct was upon the brawl. The current quickly became too strong for the lesser spirits. The water began dumping over an invisible cliff face, and with it, the body that the spirits all fought over. Dead things that were too weak or distracted, pitched unwilling into the third precinct. Others, stronger than their kin, fought back against the waves and away from the lip leading to the third precinct. The body escaped the grasp of those left. The dead creatures seethed and cursed, some able to form words from mouths of shadow. Most merely howled in anguish—for their prey had escaped them. The single horned body of a unicorn fell into the next waterfall's waves unmolested, except for a few scrapes. Here in the third precinct, the water was shallow; merely a human's ankle deep. A dead creature that had been unfortunate enough to fall after it, stumbled to stand unsteadily in the clear space. It immediately recognized the warm feeling that was close by. The life it sought was there just before it, unmoving and helpless. If it could have salivated it would have, The dead creature ceased thinking of claiming the odd life force though, as fear gripped its mind. The creature knew where it was; this was the third precinct of the nine. It began to scrabble in panic back up the cliff of flowing water. Around it, other spirits had begun to do the same. If they stayed here they would be dragged further into death—further away from life. The third precinct was only deceptively more peaceful than the second for a few moments, for here there were great crashing waves. No one and no thing could withstand the force of these powerful creations of the afterlife. The roaring came suddenly. A great wave swept out from the waterfall and carried them all away from their futile attempts to return above. The wave slammed into those that fought its coming and carried everything onwards. The fogs rolled with the wave and the water falls of the third gate embraced the forms that fell now into it's womb. Again, the body of the limp unicorn was carried farther beyond the gates, and through that of the third precinct into the fourth. The body slapped against the shallow water with a sickening noise as its journey ended once more. All around there were the stunned and formless shapes of the dead beaten into submission by the prior wave. The fourth precinct was clearer than the second and much like the first. Though the current was stronger here, it was predictable for those knowledgeable of death. Other, stronger and older creatures slept here as well . . . Many were taken off guard by the sudden presence, but they were few. The dead sensed the life and they immediately noted the lack of free magic—those familiar with it. This meant there was no risk of the bells—a necromancers tools to enslave them or send them to the ninth gate. This was too good to be true, an unguarded life—here in death, with them. Shapes small and large rose from the knee depth water. Lurchingly, they moved towards the form which floated slowly past them. The gathering crowd halted, cowed suddenly by two great presences. The two made themselves known immediately. They were immense amidst the lesser shadows, both standing as tall as two or three men. The first had the shape of a great feline, or perhaps a four legged bug—even it didn't remember what its life had been lived as. A prehensile shadow as long as it's body swirled in the air behind it, flicking dangerously. The name which it had given itself, was Falsimer. Hungrily, Falsimer looked first to the life force which was felt just yards away from it, and then to the other greater dead—which it had so long held a kinship with. It wasn't one of love or companionship, it was an alliance, cold and unassuming. Its eyes exploded open, wreathed in flame. Falsimer watched on as the other shape extended a long, scythe-like appendage towards the foreign creature that so curiously resembled . . . A tiny horse. Falsimer's mouth—a thing formed from shadow and unlife—sprang into being; then it spoke. "Helleruuumm" The voice hissed the name with a hate filled, coy tone. "What is that you now hold, Helleruuumm." The twitching fifth tail-like limb of Falsimer solidified and thickened in size—at its end formed a great spike. . . Hellerum's eyes, were also two great flaming craters of heat and pitch, but they burned far brighter than Falsimer's own, and with a faint purple hew tinging the red and yellow. Hellerum cradled the creature it now held delicately, almost caringly. Her long arms shortened as she clutched it more closely to herself, the life inside it was still strong. This creature wasn't dead, she realized breathily—that is, if she could breath. A vertical slit opened from what passed for the humanoid shape's head—a writhing column lacking even faint definition. Cautiously, she answered Falsimer. These were dangerous waters she now tread, she realized, but such an opportunity could not be wasted. Already, Hellerum knew what she was going to do, and she knew that Falsimer knew what she wanted to do. "I really am not sure what it is at all Falsimer. Would you be so kind as to explain to me, perhaps what you think it may be?" Her voice was pure, and soft like silk. It sounded as though it belonged right there amidst the gentle splashing of the water's current's, and no where else. As she spoke, she flowed slowly up the current of the fourth precinct, this little bundle of power was her ticket to life. Not only thanks to its strength, but its body. What it was didn't matter, it was a body somehow here in death, where shape and form itself was malleable. It would be hers. "Hellerum... Think careful of what you do now. Yes, you maaay just escape into life with that vessel, but will you escape the rest of usss for your betrayal? Could you escape Avahntus? Or Maywit?" The beast-like-shape's limbs clicked against one another, mandibles had spread out from its maw. The rest of Falsimer's form solidified into a menacing and powerful shape, hinting at a carapace. The fourth precinct was quiet for a number of minutes after this short trade of words—time held no meaning to beings that merely sat and waited in the dark. Hellerum continued to pause over her compatriot's threats, they were commendably honest. She thought with an old, tired mind over whether it was a trick. No, she thought, Falsy isn't tricky though, let alone clever. The other creature was known to be loyal, he would have taken this creature to the Necromancer himself—to Maywit. Even beleaguered by the weight of the risky choice—which Hellerum knew she was making—she spoke with her decision. "Well, once I'm free and in life, enjoying a fresh glass of milk or brandy... Oooh I hope they still make brandy—I'll let you know my answer." As though on cue, the great shape of the other dead creature shrieked and charged. Hellerum was ready for just such an action, half of her had even expected the other shadow being to attack during their talk's interim. Nevertheless, the other shadow leaped into the air above the water impressively and bore down on her. It was a predictable attack at best, if fierce. The thing had probably been a bug or some other stubborn spirit of old, she mused. From below her opponent the waves crashed up. Twin swords of black edged lethality soared into the grey air. Had there been any light here in death, they could have gleamed. The blades pierced deeply into the belly of the pouncing Falsimer. Its mouth gurgled and the head of shadow twisted, looking below itself. He was surprised by what had halted its attack, but that didn't stop his anger. "HELLERUUM! YOU WILL ONLY WISH YOU HAD PASSED THE NINTH GATE EONS AGO AFTER—" Quietly, the head of her former ally was shucked off by Hellerum's free arm; it fell screaming into the waves below. The body she held flailed with a ravening fervor, its great tail reaching around itself to strike at her blades and forward over the headless stump in an effort to reach her. Falsimer had been quite strong in his time, but was careless. Still, that wouldn't be his final rest, he was too stubborn for that end to find him with ease, certainly. Hellerum hummed thoughtfully. "Hmph, and here I had hoped you had some surprise for me as well. Never mind then, onwards and upwards into life!" The great shadow cheerily cast the deforming, though still powerful body of Falsimer aside. It was quickly fed on by stray spirits risking their own enslavement in an attempt to gather some loose strength. Hellerum, however, had dismissed her partner already and was crashing up and through the third precinct's gate. Her form turned misty and loose to flow up the gate's roiling waves. All the while, she paid close attention to those behind her. She felt other powers that had gathered to watch the melee, waiting would only reveal if they were part of her old alliance—and were therefore now her enemy for this betrayal. She doubted there were any others strong enough to defeat her now, but all of them at once... Hellerum solidified her limbs into great pillars of shadow quickly and her form shrank; she made herself lithe and swift—but still strong enough to carry her precious cargo. Passing through the third precinct was always tricky. Luckily, it was a small area, and the lack of a steady current made sprinting through its shallow waters easy for her. The second gate presented itself quickly and the mists and fog were pierced by Hellerum again growing to a substantial size. Her arms, for she had grown a third to help, cast out hurriedly into the crashing waves of the waterfalls. Through sheer force of will she pulled herself up. Flowing like oil rising to the surface of another liquid—she squirmed and toiled climbing higher. Lesser dead could never hope to achieve feats such as this, but she was Hellerum, a greater dead. One that had dwelled beyond the seventh gate. Soon, the second precinct and its darkened gloom made itself known around her. Only the presence of the lesser dead rested here, no fiery eyes, curious of what could have torn back towards life looked up at her. Only shadows. Hellerum was almost giddy with excitement and anticipation. The one thing she, necromancers or the dead themselves would never expect to find beyond the wellspring—and it was hers! Not just a living spirit, not just some foolish half trained necromancer too weak to sway her—but a corporeal body. Oh sure mordicants, free magic elementals and even objects could exist physically in death. It was just how the strange passage to the final rest worked. But living things could only be here in spirit—could only exist here in spirit. Even if damaging the soul of say, Abhorsen, could effect their real body back in life—that's all it was. Not real flesh and blood like what she now held. Another shocking discovery made itself known as Hellerum continued to force her way back through the river, towards life. Strangely, Hellerum's prize took this moment to begin glowing. Specifically, from the strange protrusion she now took note of on its head. After confirming it wasn't awake, she poked it with a curious shadow tendril. Just after she wrapped the spiraled horn's length up immediately. The strange thing on the horse's head was warm—blessedly warm. Her still formed shadow mouth had righted itself, and began grinning—or it would have been if it contained teeth. Instead, it was a ghastly red filled curve only barely displaying emotion. It turned to a frown suddenly as her stomping gait took her closer to the border—to where she was going to attempt something remarkable. She was having thoughts now—misgivings about her decision. Hellerum peered down at the strange living body again as she went. It was unlike anything she could ever remember seeing before. Was it even intelligent? She realized she may not have completely thought this through. Her undead spirit was strong enough to inhabit any body fully under normal circumstances of that she was certain. That wasn't true life though, that was hitching a ride, and killed the body eventually. But, could taking a body here be the trick to it? Or would trying to become the true owner of the body simply kill it outright? She knew nothing of taking a vessel like this. On and on her thoughts plagued her as she steeled her mass for its final obstacle, the first precinct gate way. Shadow flesh and limbs strengthened under her focus and cast themselves again out into the crashing waves that stood in her way. The gate roared defiance on her as they all did, but she was the stronger. The brighter air of the first precinct welcomed her. There were no waves of the third precinct of deep eddies like the second. Just the wall of white fog that led into life for those able to force their way in. But Hellerum wasn't just going into life this time to slowly waste her strength, as a creature not welcomed in that world would normally. No, she was going back alive. It had to work. Slowing down, she approached the wellspring that lead into life at the end of the first precinct more sedately. Her thoughts of the strange situation returned—what life would it even be as whatever this thing was? . . . To most any other spirit it wouldn't matter, life was life and death was anguish. Frankly though Hellerum had no clue what could happen—would she lose the power she had been accumulating over centuries? Could this even be done? Despite what stood to be gained she held misconceptions over the situation. She had come to a full stop she realized, standing at the border of life and death—some random location of the waking world just on the other side. Glancing back to confirm again she had no pursuers she turned the body over in her arms. It was strange to be sure, there was scarcely any color in the grey light that filled death, but she thought its hair was purple. How oddly appropriate, Hellerum thought. That was always my favorite color. Memory was fleeting in death, but some things would stick. It had strange markings adorning its fur as well. Hellerum reached down to stroke its hide. She had only some sense of touch, but the fur was soft under it. The desirable life energy it possessed pulsating just below its skin. Hellerum made her decision in that moment while scrutinizing the funny little animal. It didn't matter what kind of life she would be gaining! This was a once in an unlife's time chance, this shouldn't even be possible by all accounts. Death was a world of representation and imitation, not reality. NOT FLESH! Shadows and mist rolled off her body towards the still form. Slowly, her congealed mass softened and attempted to force its way into the body. It WOULD be hers. Come on dear, move over and make room. Sighing, Hellerum felt it, so clear and in focus. That feeling was being alive. For a moment she couldn't even believe that she had forgotten how wonderful it felt. The cold of the river was even different from life's perspective, pain that had plagued her for so longer abided. Strangely, a light began to burn brightly from underneath Hellerum's arm, and she felt something very hot burning her. Violet-tinged flaming coals widened in her eye sockets, then her limb slid off the now burning hot horn of the animal. As the limb let go, it revealed said horn to be blindingly bright, no longer contained by her shadowy appendage. Hellerum let out a shriek of surprise and reeled back from the light, trying to re-cover it. "What!?" She exclaimed, but her voice was drowned out. A piercing, song-like peel of a bell filled the air suddenly. All the while, the light grew with intensity. She felt herself forced away—prevented from entering the body by. . .something After a final howl of frustration, the light and sound rose to a crescendo, silencing Hellerum's cry of agony altogether. A moment later, the greater dead spirit was blasted away from the border of life screaming, to fall against the first gate. Even flailing, it engulfed her quickly. The unicorn's body fell into the current with a harsh splash. The burst of energy left the air as well, and death was once again still. The only oddity left in the river, was the alabaster body itself. . . As well as the sudden appearance of seven strange tendrils of light, streaming from the bright fog. They held onto the still shape. Preventing its descent back into death. Rarity's head breached a surface, finally. Her mane and tail were limp and disheveled, soaked with the dank water that surrounded her. She very much looked like a wet cat that had been used to clean laundry. Rarity cast her gaze everywhere choking and retching—water pouring from her lungs and stomach. Two pale white hooves sought out her own throat and massaged it, trying to quell the horrible experience. Her eyes took in the dreary surroundings slowly, she wasn't sure what she was looking at. "H-h-" Words that wanted to exclaim over everything failed to form, Rarity found she couldn't speak, and the effort devolved instead into another fit of coughing. All around the unicorn mare was a dim landscape of water and smog. Mist rose not far in the distance, the crash and echo of a waterfall filled her ears. The waters surrounding her held no warmth, and felt like no life giving river she had ever encountered in Equestria. Even the feral torrents of the Everfree's rivers, deltas and swamps were a contrasting force to what surrounded her now. Simply being abreast the waves felt as though a thousand shards of glass were burrowing into her skin. She shivered and flexed against the pain. There was reprieve to be had, however. Behind her were strange lassos of light holding her tail in the most inappropriate of ways. Even stranger, they did not unsettle her. They were calming in fact, warming—like an old friend's hoofshake. Rarity swallowed and stood up, shaking uncontrollably. The strange and still water around her was freezing, even if it wasn't the rapids that rushed around her solitary spot. The lack of current here must have been what stopped her, she thought. Is this some sort of underground cave? It must be. In front of her, the tendrils beckoned. Rarity could feel warmth coming from them, surely they intended her aid. There should be sun through the opening as well, she considered. She moved her legs forward slowly, feeling the current push her back. Before the current had a chance, the strange ethereal arms helped the flagging mare to keep moving.The thick fog and flowing water parted. What had at first been difficult going, was now strangely effortless. Soon, the tendrils and the warmth, became a true, motherly embrace—one which Rarity welcomed. http://i151.photobucket.com/albums/s147/VampiricLemur/L5bT3Hl.gif