Death After Death

Chapter 397 - Soulbound Wretch

Simon took one of the ugly, burnt-out glass jars in hand and took it outside so he could examine it in the light without harming any of the other artifacts with light. Soul magic. He’d only brushed up against it a couple of other times, and it was not a pleasant experience on any occasion. He would have much preferred a nice haunting like he’d been promised, or another true anomaly like he’d found in the desert.

As he stepped over the body of his captured warlock, though, Simon wasn’t so wrapped up in the cursed, ward covered jar that he failed to notice the small crowd gathering outside; some of the men even had tools and farming implements they were holding as weapons, though they didn’t seem to know who it is they were supposed to be fighting.

“A monster in human skin has killed the widow that lived here and taken her place with vile magics,” Simon told them, choosing to prey on their emotions immediately before someone else did. He held the strange-looking jar up, making those closest move back. “Can you not feel it? The harm they’ve done in the months and years they’ve been burrowing away at the very heart of Talrinth.”

There were questions then. Who had done this? Where had the real widow Odell gone? Should they be afraid?

Simon had few answers. He didn’t even try to quell their fear; instead, he tried to use it. “Come to the tavern tonight, and I will share my findings. Think well on the last year, and try to think of anything unusual that might come to mind, for once I question our warlock, I will have questions and answers both, in great supply.”

He stayed in the street long enough to study the jar and issue a few more commands. Mostly, he demanded candles, so that he could study the place in darkness, along with a sturdy table and chair for questioning his captured mage; this could well devolve into torture, and though Simon didn’t like the thought, he couldn’t think of a better candidate in recent memory.

Maybe I should just carve the word of nullification into his flesh and be done with it, Simon thought. It was unspeakably cruel, but it would be the most effective way to interrogate him. Unless he has a self-destruct switch or countermeasure of his own, he considered.

That was entirely possible, of course. This mage knew some advanced words, and the jar in his hand was roughly blown glass, which was too thick in places. That made it a custom job, but the black lines that had been scribed into it told him everything he needed to know about its function. It was a soul battery. Well, it was two things. It was a circuit that captured and bound a soul, and another that used that soul as a power source. It was an ugly thing that was nearly as bad as a witch mark, and when all of Simon’s demands were met, and his prisoner had been searched thoroughly for ornaments and tattoos, he was lashed to an oaken table and chair so that Simon could finally confront him directly.

“This, I believe, is your handiwork,” he told the man, setting the jar down in front of him. His arms were tied to the table so tightly that he couldn’t have knocked it to the floor if he wanted to. When the man showed no reaction, Simon continued. “You think I cannot read this foul script? That I have no eyes to see? You are binding the souls of the living and using them to power your abominable experiments!”

That got the warlock’s attention. He clearly didn’t expect Simon to know anything, so surprise was the first reaction he showed rather than fear. Still, he didn’t nod or smile around the gag. He did nothing to confirm Simon’s statement.

“I’m certain I can find your grimoire, and it, along with your little experiments, will tell me everything I need to know,” Simon said. “Normally, that would be enough, but you are obviously a very advanced, malignant case. So, there are a few blanks I want you to fill in.”

This made the man smirk, and even when Simon took out his dagger and slammed it into the table between them, and gave him a short speech about how they could do this “the easy way or the hard way,” that detached smugness never really wavered.

“There are worse things than death for a man like you, you know,” Simon said, willing himself not to seem frustrated by the warlock’s resolute nature. “Torture is an easy one, but I wonder how you’d feel if I stole your magic from you forever?”

That intensified his sneer, but brought fear to his eyes. “Do you know this symbol?” Simon asked, tracing the symbol of nullification broadly on the table. There wasn’t enough dust to leave an actual mark that might activate, but the motions were enough to make his captured warlock nod for the first time. “And what do you suppose the effect would be if I carved that mark into the flesh of your back, or branded you with it?”

That made the mage flinch for the first time, as the dawning horror made him realize what Simon could very easily do to him. This was no longer about death, but something more. Does that mean he has a way of escaping death? Simon wondered, or is that just the natural revulsion of losing something he’s sacrificed so much for?

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

It didn’t matter for the moment, and Simon filed that idea away. For now, since the man had decided to cooperate, he asked questions about the jars, using head nods and shakes to answer increasingly specific yes or no questions.

“Were these souls used to power your spells?” Yes.

“Was one soul worth a hundred greater words?” No.

“Fifty?” No.

“Ten?” Yes.

“Did you kill those involved?” No. That one was a surprise. It took a dozen questions before Simon worked out the technique. The warlock tried to keep as low a profile as possible, so he set what amounted to spirit traps, so that when people in the village died, he claimed their souls for his own.

That was interesting, but it only led to more questions. “You’ve lived here for a long time, haven’t you?” Simon asked. Yes.

“Years?” Yes.

He couldn’t answer why, not without undoing the gag and at the very least carving a mark of greater nullification into the table, but if Simon did that, and he was questioned by his superiors, he’d have an awfully hard time explaining that away. So, for now, he stuck to simpler topics.

The warlock revealed the hiding spot where he kept his tome, underneath a bookshelf. He also admitted to using words of command and alteration to change the minds of the visitors. That’s what Simon had detected in their confusion and hesitation. Whenever he had to go outside, he wore the disguise of a familiar, harmless woman, and whenever he got caught in that lie, he made them forget.

He claimed not to have been scrying on Simon, though, which made him wonder. Still, it wasn’t a main concern. Instead, Simon pursued the most important thread.

“You’re much too young to have used so much magic,” he said. It was his first statement in a white that wasn’t a question. “I’ll bet there’s an interesting story behind that.”

That was enough to make the warlock freeze with fear, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t tell Simon his story, of course, but he was obviously getting close to something.

“You’re using magic to make yourself young,” Simon said. When he didn’t nod or shake his head, Simon changed his mind. “No, that would be too simple. This isn’t your first body, is it?”

That made the warlock pale. For the first time in over an hour, he struggled against his bonds and gag, trying to speak, but Simon ignored that and leafed through their grimoire.

“It’s the only answer that makes sense,” he said finally. “You’re a necromancer, but a different sort than what I’m used to. You burn other people’s souls for power, and you send your soul to fresh bodies when you wear yours out.”

The warlock didn’t confirm any of that, but then, he didn’t need to. Simon could read it in the fear that flickered across his face and the surface of his murky aura. So far, studying the warlock’s aura hadn’t been much help because the colors were all dimmed by the darkness. As the fear blossomed more though, those colors became much easier to read. Simon found that he could use it almost like a lie detector when certain words in his sentences made those yellows flare to violent li fe, and he could read them like a pulse.

Slowly, one insight at a time, Simon realized that the man who sat before him had been learning and practicing his dark arts for decades. He lived in such a small out-of-the-way place specifically to avoid people like Simon. That was enough to make him glad he hadn’t poked around anymore already. While the warlock denied it, Simon could see the lie in his aura; there were traps here.

Eventually, that was what decided it for Simon, and he started carving a rune of greater nullification into the table between them. That made his captive take notice, and he started to struggle like his life depended on it. The warlock raged against his bonds, but Simon didn’t let that distract him.

“Listen,” he said as he very carefully continued to carve away at the flowing symbol. “I need answers that you can’t give me without speaking, so for now we’re going to try things the easy way, and put the mark on the table. You keep it up, and I’ll carve it into your flesh instead.”

That did no good, but Simon supposed he couldn’t blame the guy completely. What Simon was doing would ripple out for dozens of feet. If there were any sensitive experiments, he would be shutting them all down. He might be pulling the plug on years of research. While those were probably interesting, they weren’t as interesting as getting some words out of this prick. He’d lived for nearly a century, across a dozen bodies. There were any number of things Simon could learn from him, and he was burning with questions.

How did you learn all this? Where did you start? Was it the demons? As he got closer and closer to activating the rune, the man practically foamed at the mouth. There was something important that Simon was about to break, and Simon paused before activating it with life force to ask, “If I fetch ink and quill, would you explain why you’re about to have a seizure?”

The warlock only glared at Simon, so he activated the magic. He was hesitant, but he’d promised the villagers a meeting, and there was no way he was leaving this man alone with magic, even if he was restrained.

Instantly, the man went limp. That made him chuckle, but even as he undid the gag, the joke was wearing thin. It was no joke, though, even after Simon slapped him around a bit and pricked him with the tip of his dagger, he was completely insensible. He still had a pulse, but effectively he was in a coma.

“Well, isn’t that just fucking great,” he growled, annoyed he hadn’t seen this coming. If the man could jump between bodies, then that was powered by magic.

Does that mean that there’s some artifact hidden here that powered his body snatching? Simon wondered. He didn’t know, but he was going to tear this place apart until he found it.