Death After Death
Chapter 257: Dark Secrets

In the week that followed, as they slowly made their way back to Schwarzenbruck, but in all that time, Simon’s mind was never far from the things he read in the slender tome he’d stolen away. Whether he was helping to push their cart up a hill or helping to mediate the fair way to divide their loot, he couldn’t stop thinking about zombies. In particular, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way that Vaustin’s methodology had evolved so quickly over only a few years, according to his writings.

The book didn’t say how he’d discovered the words Eszloum Dnarth. That would forever remain a mystery unless Simon returned to the man’s corpse when all this was done and raised his soul for a little sit-down.

He was undecided on that front. He very well might do that once he’d resolved things with this journey. Still, that spell had been the key that unlocked all sorts of forbidden knowledge.

After that, he visited places far and wide where evil men were reputed to be buried and then robbed their graves of a bone or two. Apparently, that was all it took to form a magic link. After that, he could use a summoning circle that wasn’t so different from a demonic circle, decorated with the words of soul connection and the name of his target, and he could draw them forth from the world after and spend a few minutes talking to them.

Simon’s first use of the spell wasn’t even on a necromancer but on a prospector who’d died under mysterious circumstances before he could exploit a claim he’d bragged about. It really had been money that had set everything else in motion, and that disgusted Simon as much as anything. The limitless pursuit of dark knowledge he could understand, even if he couldn’t accept, but money? It was a waste.

According to Vaustin’s records, the dead seemed to be in pain, though he didn’t really care. He would use that pain as leverage to get them to tell him their secrets, and often, they would comply. That was how he first learned to raise the dead with the words of death to life, Gelthic Meiren.

The first version was simple, and apparently, he didn’t even have full control over what he’d created. There was also no evidence that he understood what it had cost him at first or that he had any idea that the lesser or greater modifiers existed.

After a few experiments and a visit to another grave, he modified the spell to “Dnarth Gelthic Meiren,” or commanded death to life. This had given him complete control over his zombies and allowed for early work on the mine, but he made little progress untiladditional experimentation led to “Aufvarum Dnarth Gelthic Meiren.” That was essentially the same spell but given contagious properties.

By that point, Vaustian had wasted decades of his life. Despite looking a little older than Simon, he’d apparently only been twenty when all this had started, and with no access to draining the lives of others directly, he’d switch to human sacrifice to power his spells.

In the final version, the magic was carved into the flesh of a living victim, and then, when they bled out, it activated. That was gruesome enough, but the fact that it had been intentionally created to repeat itself on all future victims was what was truly evil.

Simon thought about how the drive to efficiency is what often brought out the worst in men, even after they arrived at their destination, and he helped the local blacksmith set up a small gravity-powered mint. It was ironic, of course, since he was about to help the same sort as that the necromancer he’d just killed had, but then, his was going to involve fire, weight, and gravity. No one’s soul was getting sucked out.

He hadn’t even forced everyone to go along with it. It had been the solution he proposed, and eventually, everyone agreed. All of the survivors got a full share, the dead men’s heirs got two shares, and the lords that had chartered the mission in the first place got ten.

Simon wasn’t pleased with that particular idea, but he didn’t care too much and had accepted the compromise that the Thane of Schwarzenbruck get shares equal to the lords of Brin since it was an independent city-state. That had spread the wealth nicely.

At this point, no matter what happened, they were going to cause some massive inflation somewhere. They had three hundred pounds of gold. Even if they split it fifty ways, that was more wealth than anyone needed.

When the city’s Lord, Thane Hrovgard, heard the news, his first instinct had been to declare a large tax to confiscate the wealth. He apparently thought he deserved more than about a sixth of the massive haul, even after he’d had no hand in the expedition or their triumph. However, after a shouting match that almost came to bloodshed, he’d seen reason when Simon had offered to show him where the mine was so he could use the funds he’d received to hire the men needed to dig up even more.

It was a neat solution that wrapped itself up so nicely in a bow that townspeople had held a celebration, but Simon hadn’t attended. Instead, he helped the blacksmith convert an old cracked anvil into a hundred-and-fifty-pound drop hammer and developed the gearing for it to be raised. Then, while the construction was taking place, he carved the dies. That was the only part of the whole thing he used magic on.

As much as Simon would have loved to carve such a thing by hand, he lacked the tools or skills for etching, and it was far easier to simply take the illustrations he’d made and force the metal ripple into those shapes by burning a month of his life.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

One side showed the large stone bridge for which the town was made, and the other showed the prick that ruled over it. It wasn’t the best likeness, but then, the arrogant son of a bitch wasn’t the best person, and as much as Simon loved beautiful art, he might have just done that on purpose.

Still, a couple of weeks later, when they started turning half-ounce chunks of gold into lustrous coins, no one complained. It was a minor miracle, really. Every minute or so, the hammer was released, and it fell, crushing the gold into shape. Then, a pair of men spent another minute winching the thing back to the top of the arms before repeating the process.

Once they started, the hammer rose and fell in a constant rhythm that could be heard throughout the city. It worked day and night, and in only a few days, all the coins were completed. Refining the metal further had reduced the quantity of gold by a third, but Simon had warned everyone to expect that, and the complaints weren’t too fierce.

Really, Simon appreciated the feedback more than the treasure itself; gold was ephemeral, and he’d lose it at the end of every life. Recognition for a job well done was much more precious to him. Sir Branaugh said, “Truly, this might be the finest coin in the region. Certainly finer than any of those I’ve seen from Brin.”

The man offered to bring him back to the capital and make some introductions for him at the treasury. “I don’t know what you’re doing in this backwater, but the King could use men like you.”

Simon shook his head, though, and declined the offer. Instead, he helped the Thane set up an expedition with men and mules, and then spent another week of his life escorting them to the spot. It was the least he could do, considering he felt a little guilty about entombing those zombies forever, with no chance to free themselves from their cursed existence.

He spent that first day helping them set up camp and keeping a keen eye out for more of the walking dead. After that, in a stroll around the area where the necromancer's ragtag shack had been, he noticed the ruined remains of Vaustin. They weren't right where he left them. They'd been dragged down a slope by scavengers, but there was no mistaking the rags of the robes he wore. Simon inspected the body, then helped himself to the man’s skeletal hand in case he wanted to talk to him later.

Simon didn’t stay long enough to help them reopen the collapsed passage, but he did give everyone a long lecture on the best ways to kill a zombie before he left. He was also very clear about the fate of those who were bitten. “If one bites you or claws you, you will die. Maybe not right then, but in a few hours or a day, you will be done for. Worse, you will rise back up and try to inflict the same fate on your friends and colleagues. So, if that happens to someone, you must strike them down without mercy.”

You know it’s entirely possible this could happen all over again, his brain tried to tell him as he rode south for the third time in a month. It could happen, and all of this would have been for naught…

Simon couldn’t refute that, but he did find it incredibly unlikely. Still, as much as he dismissed it, it nagged at him all day, and even when he made a small campfire once he reached the main road, so near the site of the previous massacre, he couldn’t escape it.

He tried. He thought about how nice it would be to go back to Hepollyon and see everyone again except for Zoa. He thought about checking in on Freya and Brena to make sure they were going to turn out okay. He even thought about hunting down Kell and killing him just so he couldn’t find a way to fuck all of this up.

All of those thoughts vanished when a stranger came out of the darkness, though. He walked with slow, crunching steps that betrayed his presence long before the firelight revealed him, but that was intentional. Simon was sure of that when he saw the man come out of the dark with his hands raised. It wasn’t until he heard the words “Gervuul Uuvellum” that he sprang to his feet.

Greater nullification… that can only be the Unspoken or… Simon’s second option was proven right, as his doppelgänger walked out of the shadows without a care in the world.

“Relax, Simon,” the man said, appearing amused. “I come in peace, and the word should keep magic away for an hour or so so we can talk about something. You did good work here, but there’s one—”

Simon didn’t wait for him to finish. Instead, he leaped across the fire and used his momentum to feed into a wide swing. He wasn’t sure what good killing this prick would do and if his evil twin would come back the same way that he could, but at this moment, he wanted this guy dead. He was an anathema to everything Simon was trying to accomplish, and he was appearing with frightening regularity these days.

That can’t be by chance, he told himself as the other Simon parried his blow with a sword that seemed to be the duplicate of the one he wielded.

He thought about following that up with a shoulder check since he didn’t have a shield, but before he did that, his doppelgänger kicked out, tripping him up to buy himself some breathing room. That’s a pretty common move of mine, he realized as he followed up with a feint to try to test him.

“Listen, Simon, I didn’t come here to fight,” his evil twin said, not even bothering to parry a blow that he knew was never meant to land. “If I wanted to assassinate you, I would have used distant lightning or worse. Maybe even some of that black stuff you got to try out so recently.”

That memory made Simon hesitant for a handful of heartbeats as he remembered how badly the black lightning burned. That gave evil Simon just enough time to lash out with a series of blows. Fortunately, those were just as easy for him to read as his had been for his doppelgänger.

Simon tried to switch it up. He made unconventional counters that were clumsier for the fact that they were rarely used, but they did little better. They traded blows and words for several minutes, but even after all that, nothing came of it. That was when he realized the point he was making.

It really is pointless, isn’t it? He asked himself. I’m going to have to think of something entirely unpredictable the next time I run into this monster.

“Fine,” Simon sighed, backing away as his chest heaved. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”