6

The tunnel was narrow, just wide enough for them to walk one behind the other. Without the torch and dead lights, the darkness would be absolute, so unnerving he'd scream just to be certain he was alive. Thankfully, it was a short tunnel, and after just a couple of minutes widened slightly at the end into a small round chamber about the size of his bedroom. In the very center of the room was a small pool of water, and in the center of that was a large, flat rock with moss growing on it, save for a patch in a perfect rectangle that was untouched.

"The box is gone?" Olaf asked. "Why in the world would they move it?"

"Compulsion, probably," Korbinian said as he crouched in front of the pool and trailed his fingers through the water. "This was holy water at some point. Something broke the sanctity of it, and after that the Lich itself, sleeping but still dangerous, compelled the box be moved. Later it sensed Ulli, and likely compelled him to open the box." He sighed and rose. "Whoever hid the box here did their very best, but they didn't have the necessary knowledge to truly seal the Lich away for good. Still, it worked for at least several generations. That's not nothing." He stood and stepped around the pool to explore the back of the cave, trailing his fingers along the stone.

Olaf kept out his way, hanging in the entryway to give Korbinian as much space as he could. He held his torch aloft to offer more light—and stilled as he caught sight of something. "What's that?"

Korbinian turned, then followed to where he pointed and crouched beside a scattered array of broken bits that were a whitish-brown in color. "Skull." He looked up at the wall and pulled out the remains of a crude nail. "There was a skull here. It must have finally collapsed from age and bits of it fell into the pool. That's what destroyed the sanctity of it. Hmm…" He slowly and carefully gathered up the bits of skull, placing them in a kerchief and bundling them together, fastening the improvised sack to his belt.

He then returned to the bit of wall he'd been examining before, trailing his fingers along something Olaf couldn't see. "Something was carved here. A prayer, I think, and possibly names. I don't know the language though, just one or two of the words from their descendants in our language." He rifled through his pouches and came up with a small notebook and pencil.

When he was done meticulously copying the mystery words, he rejoined Olaf at the entrance. "Stand back a few steps." After Olaf had done so, Korbinian crouched on the ground just clear of the entryway. From one of the many pouches on his person, Korbinian drew two containers, both of which proved to be filled with white substances that he poured out one after the other, in zigzagging patterns that together formed a chain across the doorway.

"What is that?"

"Salt and bone dust," Korbinian said as he tucked the containers away. Holding his left hand over the chain, he bowed his head, as though in prayer. One of the rings on his fingers shimmered, glowed, and then light poured from the ring like water from a cup, spilling along the chain and making it glow with green-blue fire.

For a moment, Olaf swore he heard someone whispering.

As Korbinian rose, the chain and the light seemed to fade, then vanish, as though none of it had ever been there. "There. I've set a guard. If anyone else comes this far, enters the chamber, I'll know."

Olaf had roughly a thousand questions, but he put them aside and simply led the way back through the caverns to the temple, more than happy to leave the dark and damp behind. "I'm going to poke around, see if there's anything useful. It seems wrong to take from the dead, but…" He shrugged.

"Waste not, want not," Korbinian said. "It's an important credo in necromancy. The dead no longer require the objects of the living, so the living may as well use them, especially in circumstances like this, where you must start over in a new place. Even if we fix all of this, the taint of death magic will infect Rochdale for decades. It's no longer a safe, healthy place to live. The best I can do is keep it from becoming like the Broken Hills, and even that will be a monumental task."

"Opening one stupid box shouldn't be so upending," Olaf replied bitterly, then strode through the nearest door, which proved to be Pauline's bedroom.

There wasn't much. Priests took vows to eschew most worldly goods, taking only essentials and those items that contributed to a wholesome life, like books and music. Traditionally, priests took no money for their work, only accepted offerings of food, household goods, and the like, but these days they would accept money, if that was the easiest way for someone to pay or donate, and used the money to help the town, village, or city borough they'd been assigned to. Traveling priests like Senta would use the money to help people along the way, or assist with their travels, if necessary, like buying food stores or weather-vital equipment.

So Olaf definitely had not expected to find a small strongbox in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe that contained coin enough, in large, rare crowns, to rebuild the whole Five-damned village. Ten of them in total, more money than he had ever seen in one place. A village emergency fund, it had to be.

He closed the box and stuffed it into a satchel he found in the wardrobe, heart pounding that he was carrying a fortune around like it was junk to sell at market. He took the quilt from the bed, folding it carefully before tucking it into the satchel as well, then took the lantern on the desk and head off for the next room.

By the time he was done exploring the temple, he had the gold, a purse of coppers with a few silver, and plenty of other goods, including some costly books, that he piled into a cart he pulled from the temple's stable yard. "Should have brought some extra horses to haul all of this."

Korbinian cast him an amused look. "I assumed you were leaving that to me."

"You're going to have the whole of Whitebridge in fits," Olaf replied, laughing despite himself. "Have it your way, then, as I was a dumbass and forgot to bring living horses. What did you call them?"

"Animated Dead."

"Puppets on fancy strings. Should I look for furniture for your new home?"

Korbinian pursed his lips. "A large worktable, if we can find one. Some chairs, maybe some rugs, I didn't really have any worth keeping at the cabin, and it's a good deal colder here, even though you'd think it would be colder up in the Hills."

"The Broken Hills are nothing if not strange. I'll see to it." He knew just whose house to visit for the table, and Korbinian could have his choice of rugs and chairs. "What are you going to do?"

"The box wasn't in the temple, which troubles me," Korbinian said. "I'm going to find it. Have a care as you explore, please. I'd prefer to stay in pairs, but there's simply too much ground to cover. Don't go to your house, though, before we reunite. Given it's just outside of town, I'm concerned some of the Risen Dead may have retreated there."

"Right." Olaf shuddered at the idea of those things taking over his house, but said nothing further, only headed off to start going through the village.

It was a grisly task, as he had to pick his way past rotting corpses the whole while, and the insides of most houses were even worse than the streets. He threw up twice, and completely lost it when he came across dead children, including a babe, in Lara's house. She'd given birth to her third right before he'd left for Achterberg. Bianka and Traudl had bought her gifts. Had Traudl known Bianka was pregnant? Probably. Those two had been as close as Olaf and Achim.

When he finally stopped crying, Olaf covered the dead children with a blanket and went to explore elsewhere, unable to stomach staying in that house a moment longer, he didn't care if there was secret pirate gold in the cellar.

Eventually, as morning turned to afternoon and the sun shown down with searing brightness, he had one cart loaded with furniture and other household goods, and another filled with foodstuffs. He'd also gone to Traudl's house to gather all that he could for Ulli, including her jewelry box for him to keep as inheritance and memory.

All that remained was his home.

Olaf leaned against the wheel of one of the wagons and ate a lunch of bread, cheese, jerky, and dried fruit, chasing it with water while wishing for a good beer. He'd just finished when familiar voices reached him, and he stood just as Bianka and the others came around the wagon piled with furniture.

"I see you've been hard at work," Bianka said. "So have we, and not a single one of us thought to bring extra horses."

Rolf sighed. "I'm so annoyed. I was even in the stables to get my own horse, stared right at my father's plow horses, and what did I do? Walked right out with just my own."

Quirin laughed. "Clearly not a one of us can be trusted. I thought for certain there must be at least a few horses left around here." His laughter faded. "There's nothing, though. Nothing at all. Just maggots and flies."

Olaf gripped his shoulder in comfort. "Guess even insects known better than to mess with the Risen Dead and what they leave behind. Don't worry about the horses, though, Korbinian has that covered."

Rolf's brows rose. "Oh? Is he going to do like what he warned us about at the bridge? Having a hard time believing it."

"You'll certainly believe when you see, because yes, that's exactly what he'll do. Have you seen him? We parted ways a few hours ago; he was looking for the box that held the Lich bones. We didn't find it in the temple, which seems odd."

"May have taken it to Gunter's house," Bianka said. "That officious oaf would have loved to be the one 'protecting' some mysterious old box attached to creepy legends."

"I should have thought of that," Olaf said, rolling his eyes. "Well, if Korbinian hasn't already found it, we'll let him know when we cross paths again. He's got to be around here somewhere; Rochdale isn't that big."

"Just look for the largest, grisliest pile of bodies," Senta said. "There he'll be."

"Oh, shut up," Korbinian said, making them all startle and jerk around to where he was standing in the corner formed by the two carts. "Do you want horses or not? Because I've found ten so far that are suitable."

"That sounds perfect," Bianka said. "Olaf has two here carts, and we've got two and a half at the edge of the village where we came in. Is there anywhere left to explore?"

"My house," Olaf said softly. "I suppose I've put it off as long as I can. I don't know why I'm dreading it so much."

Bianka slung an arm across his shoulders in an awkward half-hug. "Probably because you're going to bawl your eyes out like I did at mine."

"Already did that when I found Lara's children," Olaf replied, pinching his eyes shut against the sting of fresh tears.

"Yeah, we found Hector's. Come on, let's get this done, so we can leave this place for good. I loved Rochdale with all my heart, but right now I fucking hate it, and the kindest thing the Five can do is see it's burned to the ground."

"I'm not the Five, but I'll do my best," Korbinian replied dryly. "I still have not found the damned box. I've searched everywhere, starting with that gaudy red house in the square and working my way out. I can feel it's here somewhere, but past that, it's cloaked somehow."

Senta frowned, brow cutting deep furrows in her temple. "That's… strange."

Olaf grimaced and headed off, because he most definitely did not want to know about this latest problem. He'd get the few things he needed from his house, say goodbye, and then they could focus on the box.

Heading east, they climbed the slight rise and then headed down the much sharper decline on the other side, down into the long, sweeping valley where his cabin was located beneath oak trees that must be hundreds of years old.

Olaf's heart hurt looking at it, the cabin he and his friends had built, the enormous shed he'd added later, the stable, the well, the acres of hemp he tended with the help of older children in the village every year, the long stretches of the ropewalks. Even now his hands twitched reflexively to set to work, spinning and twisting and braiding, creating rope that would last, would not break even under great stress. He was the third generation of his line to take up the craft, and though he was immensely proud of the work he did, he'd always secretly hoped that Lukas would pursue something bigger, greater, go on to live a life Olaf could only dream of. Probably with Ulli right by his side.

Now, though… especially if Ulli was going to be a necromancer someday… Olaf shuddered and pushed the thoughts away, focusing on his home. His house, because it wasn't really a home anymore. Not now. Especially not once the few personal possessions he cared about were packed up.

Sighing, he led the way across the valley, the only sounds those made by their horses. "Should we have brought a cart?" Senta asked.

"No, I can carry everything I want to take, or load it on our horses to take back to the carts," Olaf said. "Everything else I can either replace myself or purchase." Especially with the ridiculous fortune in the satchel he still carried. He couldn't wait to show the others, share the wealth around, give all of them one less problem to deal with.

Normally reaching his cabin brought a warm glow, a bone-deep satisfaction that nothing else inspired. Now, though, all Olaf felt was cold and strangely anxious. Not the fear of what he might find, either, just a low level clawing panic that he couldn't explain.

"Does anyone else want to scream for no reason?" Bianka asked.

"Yes," Olaf said.

"I'm definitely on edge, more than I was in Rochdale," Senta said.

Korbinian added, "I believe we might have found where the box was stashed."

"Why in the world would anyone put the box out here?" Olaf asked, and pushed the front door open, stepping into the familiar smell of woodsmoke and herbs, the lemon water he used to keep everything clean, the sharp tang of blood—

He stopped short. "Why does it smell like fresh blood in here?" Even as he asked, though, he saw the answer: a wooden box occupied the middle of his table, the wood stained the reddish-brown of old blood, with strange gold markings along all the edges, and a large, heavy iron lock right in the middle of the front. "That's it. You were right. But why here? Why in the cabin of the village ropemaker?"

"Because you weren't here, probably," Senta said as they all huddled around the table to stare. "Your son could go stay with Ulli, leaving the house completely empty and easily guarded, as no one could enter the valley without being seen and wouldn't be able to get past the guards into the house if they did make it this far. Smart, really."

"Except they forgot that Ulli and Lukas have a knack for going where they shouldn't," Olaf said with a sigh. "Why couldn't those boys just do as they were told for once in their life? Why does this thing look like it was soaked in blood?"

"Because it more or less was," Korbinian said. "Whoever did all this—made the box, hid it in that cavern, surrounded by holy water… They had a rough idea of what was needed, or made highly educated guesses, but they didn't get it quite right. There's a strange mishmash of holy magic and attempts at necromancy. Fascinating, really."

Bianka's skin had taken on an ashen, yellow-ish tone that said she was in danger of throwing up again. "For the love of the Five, why?"

"Primitive necromancy," Korbinian replied. "To properly seal a Lich requires a vessel made of rowan bathed in the blood of the dying that is wrapped in chains of blessed silver and buried under stone and earth on holy ground. There's more to it, but those are the key parts to keeping it imprisoned. They clearly puzzled out some of that, through chance, or trial and error, or both. They were close, so close. The blood is from someone who was too young, though, and I've seen no evidence of chains. If not for the ring of holy water they placed it in, and the fact it was deep, deep underground, this Lich would have escaped far sooner. All told, the work is impressive. It just wasn't enough."

Korbinian ran his hand along the top of the box, and a faded design flared to life: a rose and thorny vines, spreading across the top of the box like destructive ivy, causing Olaf to jerk back before he caught himself. "Interesting."

"What is that?" Bianka asked.

It was Senta who replied, a faint tremble in her voice. "That's an old crest, one of the founding noble houses. Their line didn't survive the Great Plague, though, and they're not from this area."

"House of Thorns," Quirin said. "The name is actually longer, more ornate, but everyone just called them the House of Thorns. Why would their crest be all the way out here? We're hundreds of miles northwest of their old seat."

Korbinian withdrew his hand. "I don't know. That family had no necromancers, either, but the way the crest was laid, it only reveals under power of necromancy. Our mystery grows and grows. I'll deal with this. Gather your things and let's get moving, I want to be well away from Rochdale before the sun starts setting."

Olaf obeyed without comment, moving across the room to the door beside the fireplace that led to his bedroom, where he gathered up all the clothes, his and Lukas's, that he could carry into a sack, along with a couple of Lukas's favorite toys, the money he'd stowed in a secret hollow in the floor, the couple pieces of jewelry he owned, and finally the small, square chest he'd carved himself over many nights, working on it whenever he had the free time and energy to spare. Inside were the only mementos that really mattered to him: the swaddling cloth Lukas had been wrapped in after he was born, the blanket his mother had knitted for Lukas's naming ceremony, a little tin that held his milk teeth, the deed for the land he'd bought, and a letter addressed to Lukas, received years ago with the request that it not be given to him until he was fifteen.

Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Olaf carried the chest back into the main room, where the others waited. "We gathered up your food and some other basics worth taking," Bianka said. "Anything else we need to grab?"

"No," Olaf said. "It's time to go." Hopefully the house would stand for some years yet, and maybe someday when the village was habitable again, someone would find this place and decide it was perfect for them.

Outside, clouds had begun to trickle in, shadowing the later afternoon sun, like a mocking promise of the darkness that was on its heels, the terrors that darkness would bring.

"We need to hurry," Korbinian said, his thoughts clearly much the same. "Get all the carts ready; I'll join you with the horses."

Olaf nodded, as did the others, and together the group returned with all haste to the village proper. Once there, Olaf handed his things off to Bianka and Senta before he and Rolf focused on the carts Olaf had filled.

Several minutes later, Korbinian returned, ten horse skeletons rattling and clacking behind him.

"Merciful Five," Rolf said, making the sign across his chest as he stared, wide eyed and pale, at the horses. "How…"

"Puppets on strings," Olaf said, gripping his shoulder and shaking him lightly. "I know they're intimidating—frightening—but they really are just puppets on strings at the end of the day. Trust me, our necromancer there lectured me soundly on it."

"I just want the world to go back to normal," Rolf said shakily.

"This is normal," Korbinian replied as he got four of the horses in place in front of the wagons and secured them. "All over the world, people see this and worse every day. You were just blessed to live in a secluded place for a time. Reality always finds its way in eventually, though. Come on." He snapped his fingers, and the horses moved, the four harnessed pulling the carts with them, slowly at first, but with steadily increasing strength.

Several minutes later they rejoined the others, where Bianka and Quirin reacted about as well as Rolf.

"Abominations!" Quirin howled.

Senta rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, how is using the bones any different than using the skin and flesh and every other part of horses, and other animals, that we use? Even bones get used in other ways. Why not this way?"

Korbinian sighed and simply set to work getting the remaining horses harnessed. By the time he'd finished, Quirin had calmed down, or at least quieted. "Shall we get going?" he asked, swinging up into the saddle of his own horse. "Those clouds grow heavier, and the presence of Risen Dead is growing stronger. They'll come tonight to finish eating what's left of the village. We don't want to be anywhere near here when that happens."

The set of Quirin's mouth said he was growing tired of being ordered around by an outsider, but for the present at least, he had the sense to hold his tongue and obey. Mounted up, the group headed off, and Olaf couldn't help a few tears as he said farewell to the place he'd called home his entire life.

"We were almost home," Bianka said, coming to ride alongside him. "If we'd pressed on that night…"

"We'd probably be dead, or worse," Olaf replied, voice going flat. "It's a miracle Lukas and Ulli survived, especially since they were the ones to open the box."

Bianka frowned. "I've been wondering about that."

"Nothing to wonder about, not really," Korbinian replied from behind them. Olaf and Bianka slowed slightly and made room for him between them. "I still need to speak with them to hear the whole of the tale, but I would imagine they opened the box, saw a bunch of strange bones, were disappointed there was no big spooky skeleton just jumping out on them, and went on their way. After being dormant for so long, it would have taken the Lich a bit of time to fully rise. The first ones it turned would have been whoever was guarding the box, and from there everything spread quickly."

Quirin looked over his shoulder at them. "Where is this so-called Lich you keep going on about? I've heard a great deal of talking from you, and now those creepy horses, that skull you affixed to the front of a perfectly respectable house—"

"The Lich is recovering it's strength, much like any person would need to after being severely sick or wounded for several months. You don't just feel completely better one day, do you? Neither does the Lich. It has lain dormant and trapped for probably hundreds of years. It likely used what little strength it had to create the first Ravenous, and left them to do the rest of the work. From them, he takes sips and bites, restoring his strength a piece at a time. Soon he'll be strong enough for bigger bites. Pray we stop him before that happens."

"You lack manners."

"You lack gratitude."

Quirin puffed up like an angry cat, but before he could speak, Rolf said, "I hear thunder."

Even as he spoke, the faint rumble Olaf hadn't really noticed turned into a booming crash, shaking the whole world, sending birds and other creatures scattering, making their horses restless.

"Olaf, play," Korbinian said. "The rest of you, move to ride in front of the wagons. If I tell you to run, do it."

Quirin scowled. "What do you think—"

"I don't have time for your posturing. Unless you want to become a Risen Dead, shut your damned mouth and do as you're told."

"How dare you—"

"How dare you!" Korbinian snarled back. "Lives are in danger. Your entire fucking town is in danger, and you're more obsessed with your fucking pride. Choke on it, old man, and throw a tantrum at me later, but for right now do as I tell you."

Quirin did indeed look like he was choking—on a lot of choice words he'd enjoy spitting in Korbinian's face later. But at Rolf's urging, he did as told, riding next to Rolf in front of the carriages but behind Senta and Bianka.

Bianka had drawn her sword, face set in grim lines, and beside her Senta called up several orbs of magic light to beat back the darkness brought on with the sudden storm. High above, the gray clouds were black, flashing here and there with lightning, and over all the thunder boomed so loud and hard the world quaked.

In the next breath, the rain came, pelting so hard it stung Olaf's skin through his layers of clothes. He played on anyway, using his cloak to improvise cover enough the rain couldn't land on the pipes, though the rain was so deafening, he might as well have not played at all.

He hadn't been told to stop, though, and Five damn him for a fool, Olaf for some strange reason did not want to disappoint Korbinian.

"What in the Five is that?" Bianka asked, voice quavering in that way Olaf had never heard before this nightmare descended on them.

Not that he could or would blame her, because 'that' was fucking terrifying.

It was actually five things, all of them glowing, floating, like ghosts from a spook tale but somehow worse. One was a bright, lurid red, like blood splashed across sun-struck glass; the other four, gathered around the red one like it was their leader, were the same blue as Korbinian's left eye.

What was it Korbinian had said? Blue is the color of the most basic Risen Dead…Red signifies the next level.

Movement caught his eye, and Olaf watched as Korbinian raced ahead of all of them, drawing one of his swords, his other hand cupped to hold a green flame. Thunder crashed, boomed, ached in Olaf's chest. Lightning pierced the darkness in painfully bright bursts. Rain cut down in sheets, making it nearly impossible to see Korbinian amongst the glowing Dead he was fighting, save for that apple-green glow Olaf would always associate with him, even fifty years from now.

He kept playing, hunched over to protect the bone pipes, pouring everything he had into the music, praying to the Five that it would somehow help, closing his eyes against the rest of the world so there was only him and the pipes, only the music fighting to be heard over the storm, desperately struggling to help the man who'd come down from the mountains to fight for the lives of people he didn't know.

A scream cut the night, but Olaf didn't stop to find the source. Korbinian had told him to play, and so that was what he'd do, until Korbinian told him to stop, or something made him.