Umbral Rune: Chapter 2 - Comes Life

  Silhouetted blood sprang from Oliver's shoulder. The hunter staggered to the ground as I realized: the bolt drove through my ribcage unhindered and struck him dead-on.

  "Oliver!" I hunched over him. Under the brim of my hood I saw eyes knit shut, his breaths erratic and racing and excruciating.

  A shadow loomed over me. I didn't care. Straying from Oliver's side felt like betrayal. That, or maybe I just couldn't part with the one person who made me forget I was a monster.

  "Abyss!" Velora cursed. "Stupid kid - you did right to stay back last time. Now you've gone and got yourself hit. Just keep still; I'll make sure those dolts back there don't finish yo-"

  She backstepped inches away from a skeletal fist.

  "Don't pretend like you care!" I hissed. "You did this!"

  "He's still standing!?" asked Stocky. "But the bolt ran 'im clean through!"

  "M-maybe his body hasn't realized yet?" Ponytail speculated.

  "Don't matter!" Velora bared teeth. "Think ye've the right to point fingers? What do ye know? Of this village - of any of us? And of ye, what do we know? Nothing. You're no one. But a little sheep trying to look big under your rags and gutless threats." She tightened her bandana. "Step. Aside."

  Anger wasn't enough to stop my legs from shaking. But they locked in place all the same. "I know enough. I know Oliver and I know Ansel. And I know who hurt them."

  A distance behind Velora, Ponytail nocked another bolt and Stocky hoisted his axe. Even if my 'survival' was a miracle, they were as sure as sin that it wouldn't happen twice.

  But without turning, Velora threw up a fist. "Stand down. I want this one."

  Crossing arms, she released a cruel screech with the unsheathing of her dual blades. The noise crept into my bones and refused to crawl back out. Sealed in as tight as my fate. She was lightning-quick, more muscular than I'd ever be, and carried two deadly swords whose silhouettes rushed for my neckbone. On paper, an effortless beheading.

  If not for Velora's own near-decapitation.

  Over my shoulder flew a spinning hand-axe that Velora leapt away from just in time to keep her head. The edge sunk deep into the grass at her feet with an earthy thump.

  Her startled eyes sharpened into slits, looking past me. "About time!"

  A-Ansel!? I turned.

  The old man's silhouette darkened his doorstep. I couldn't believe he was there - or that he saved me. But the sense of relief I should've felt never came.

  Ansel slumped over his remaining axe. It wobbled in the dirt - a makeshift cane that barely kept him upright.

  "This is our target?" questioned Ponytail.

  Velora nodded. "Long as he's here, our pockets stay empty. Oh, but the poor geezer's all pale and faint. How's my going-away gift treatin' you?"

  "Skell…" Ansel ignored her, muttering like thorns coated each word on the way out, "get Oliver to safety."

  My eyes flicked between the two. Danger urged me to reach down and pull Oliver along the grass. Closest thing to "safety" was his home. And it wasn't far.

  "Velora…" Ansel half-chided, half-searched for his balance, "you've done plenty of nasty deeds over the years. But this? This is a mistake like no other. Look what you've done to my boy…"

  "He'll live. Can't say the same for you. Or that meddler. Shoot him," Velora demanded, "and don't hit the kid this time."

  "Don't order me around…" Ponytail grumbled, lining up her shot.

  Ansel stiffened. So did I. Dragging Oliver was taking too long on account of my weak body. I'd reached the doorway. That just gave Ponytail the perfect framing for a shot. A grim trap. Moving would endanger Oliver, but stopping still ensured the bolt would hit. And this time she aimed for my skull.

  "You better not haunt me from the grave…" uttered Ponytail.

  She fired. Faster than I could ever react to.

  But slower than the dark blur flitting to my side. A metallic twang echoed out as the bolt bounced off the hand-axe and whirled off into the grass. Somehow, Ansel intervened again. Yet I couldn't stop to marvel.

  I fought fear and awe to carry Oliver into the house, slamming the door behind us as Ponytail and Stocky seemed to rethink their choice of target.

  Shade, shade, shade! That was almost it! I almost… I continued pulling Oliver, almost unconsciously. My sense of the present was fading. Surroundings blurred. Lungs would've breathed themselves raw if I had a pair.

  But I looked down to Oliver. Blood streamed down his arm and tears cascaded along his cheeks.

  …Hurry.

  I got him to the living room's couch. Right as the cushions caught him I ran to throw open the same cabinet Oliver opened for Ansel. I expected to see a collection of stalberries inside after raising my hood.

  There wasn't a single one.

  Where are- no, move to the next thing! Bandages, and something to clean!

  I rummaged through the cabinet past nameless herbs and multi-colored berries 'til my fingers snatched up a roll of linen, a pouch of salt, and a jar of water. I rushed back to Oliver. First, salt water dabbed onto the wound. He gasped loudly and I quickly stopped.

  "It's… okay," his uttered through clamped teeth. "Keep… going."

  My eyes hardened as I cleaned the rest. But the bolt was still inside.

  …Pull that out, and he might die. Abyss! We need a professional! I unclenched a fist. It'll have to stay for now…

  I unrolled more linen. Bundles wrapped tight around his bloody shoulder. Though my attempt to detach it was cut off by a man's howling.

  In a flash I was at the window, peering under the shutters.

  On the other side of the glass hunched Ansel. Red clouds stained the side of his tunic. Sweat drenched every ridge of his pallid face - washing away any sense of his old joviality. Velora just watched. She drank in his pain like aged wine.

  Moving so fast… it must've reopened his injury…

  Yet Ansel didn't fall. No. The opposite, in fact. He stood taller than ever. Iron will? A second wind? Thoughts of his grandson? I don't know what fueled him to keep standing when age and injury and exhaustion should've crushed him.

  But on the hand-axe, his wrinkled grip tightened. Fearlessly he trudged ahead. Staring down his village's invaders.

  How is he-

  "Skell…" Oliver croaked.

  I shot back and hurried to his side. "What do you need? Water?"

  Weakly he shook his head. "Not me. Grandpa. Please… please help him."

  "H-help him? Oliver, you need help too."

  "I know… it's a lot to ask. But please. I can't lose him."

  "I…" my eyes drifted. "I don't know if I can. I'm no one, Oliver. Nothing. Nothing more than some confused monster. What good can I do?"

  "A monster?" Oliver shifted to get a better look at me. "I reckon… you're a little scary. But you tried to save me. You took care of me. No monster would do that."

  Were those words to come from anyone else, I would've thought them manipulation. Pretty-sounding platitudes to convince me to die fighting for what they really cared about.

  Oliver, though? He believed them. Believed in me. Faith filled his eyes. In them, I was no monster. I was as human as him. And that somehow, someway, I could save his grandfather. Was he being naive? Obviously. But even if I didn't believe I could do it, he did.

  And maybe… that was enough.

  I dropped my hood and turned to the door.

  "Y-you'll save him?" he lifted his head, watching me leave.

  Bony fingers wrapped around the knob. "Get some rest. And… thanks."

  Desperate shadows warred outside the door.

  Velora and Stocky pursued Ansel like hungry hounds as he neared a house to my right. Suddenly he stopped and spun into a cleave. Stocky's shield barely came up in time and even when behind it, he still staggered back from the force.

  Advancing past him, Velora threw herself into a savage series of slashes.

  All precisely deflected. Ansel exploited a split-second gap in the rampage and countered. Crimson surged from Velora's cheek, gashed by his blade.

  "Now!" she backstepped, gnawing down her pain. Her and Stocky ducked aside, giving Ponytail a perfect line-of-sight. Ansel buckled against the nearby house to keep standing. This one wouldn't be so easily deflected.

  She fired. Though the bolt plunked into the side of the house; not Ansel. I'm sure it would've hit. Had the crash of shattered glass not jolted her aim off-center.

  Ponytail's eyes dropped to the broken jar by her boots, the salt-water inside seeping into the grass.

  Abyss! This close to clocking her in the head!

  Every pair of eyes flicked to me.

  "D-did you just…? Ponytail lowered her crossbow. "Do you have a deathwish!?"

  Velora stomped. "You two - don't take yer eyes off the geezer! I'm sick of distractions." She stormed toward me. "This time, no one's coming to save your skin."

  What was my plan this time? I didn't have one. I burst outside with nothing but a jar and a dream. But reality set in. Maybe I did keep Ansel alive. For just a bit longer.

  And all it took was laying my head under the guillotine.

  "Stop, Velora!" Ansel slumped to his knees, extending an unsteady hand.

  The scarred woman came to a begrudging stop ahead of me. But she didn't turn to Ansel.

  "If… you must satisfy your bloodlust…" he let his axe fall to the grass, "slay me. Don't drag others into this."

  "Bloodlust?" asked Velora. "That idiot dragged himself into this. But he's irrelevant. You, old man, just can't help yerself. Always hafta play the hero! Shut him up already!"

  Stocky nodded and walked up to Ansel - who barely held himself upright. The hefty man lifted a merciless arm. I had to do something, quick. Something very, very stupid.

  While I was no fighter, one weapon still hid up my sleeves. I couldn't imagine it making the situation anything but worse... but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

  I lifted my gloves. Grimaced. And threw back my hood to show my face to the world.

  The reaction was exactly what I'd dreaded.

  Terror. Disbelief. Revulsion. Stocky, Ponytail, and even Velora spent what felt like an eternity of eternities staring back with these emotions strangling their faces. Only Ansel lacked the energy to show surprise.

  Muffled gasps and screams came from others. Unblinking eyes were more glassy than the village windows they stared through. No one, not me, the thugs, or the villagers locked in their homes knew what'd come next.

  Except Velora.

  Silently clenching her blades, the woman cautiously approached me. "The Templars were fools to overlook me. Soon as I leave the capital I find an undead play-acting as a human. Fate would almost be funny, if it weren't so cruel." She turned to Ansel while keeping eyes on me. "Geezer, I'll do you one last favor and rid this disgusting monster from your sad excuse for a village!"

  The piercing stares cut into my core. Her words ripped deeper.

  Monster… No, I need to move! I gotta do something!

  Bravely, I turned and ran. Scarf's unconscious body wasn't far. I snatched up one of his daggers.

  ...Not that I knew how to use it. The second I faced Velora again she was right on top of me. I threw something resembling an attack at her. The thug effortlessly disarmed me with one blade and impaled me with the other.

  Velora hadn't seemed to realize the flaw in goring a skeleton; her sword stabbed between where my heart should've been. I was mostly unharmed, but my struggling quickly gave that away. She lifted me clear off the ground with one brawny arm and reared her other back to sever my neck.

  I dangled awkwardly off her sword. There was no reaching her. No escape.

  "Don't!" Ansel rebuked, lying weakly in the grass.

  "What!?" Velora turned. "Yer really defending this monster?"

  Unnerved, Stocky stomped hard on Ansel's back. The poor man choked in agony.

  "Stop!" I uttered. "He's done nothing wrong!"

  Another ruthless stomp. Another nauseating pop.

  "And you!" Velora continued, "Undead filth. Monster of the lowest breed. Why - no - how can you care? About anything? Your kin are mindless puppets. Killing tools. None of you even deserve to exist!"

  My response? Nothing was worth saying. Everything had gone up in flames. What's more, she clearly knew me better than I knew myself.

  Undead? That's what I am? There's more of me? And, all they do is kill? If that's true, then… then maybe I should stop struggling. Even if I do survive, what's sort of cold, hollow, despised "life" is there for something like me?

  And to think, when I was alone, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could live again. Go back to my past life with all my old memories. Escape the clutches of death. I… don't know if that's even possible. But my mind wandered to that dream anyway.

  My skeletal face cracked the closest approximation to a bitter smile.

  A stupid, stupid drea-

  "Skell!"

  Startled, I followed the voice to Ansel. He was motionless. Broken. But not out.

  Stocky stomped again. Something cracked.

  That didn't stop him. "Don't give in! Fight back! You're not a monster, Skell, you're n-"

  One final lumbering stamp on Ansel's head and he was down.

  But his words remained.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  You're not a monster.

  For some reason, those words - those exact words - rang familiar. I hadn't heard them before. Not from that day. Still, they felt linked to me. Like I could almost feel the faintest echo of them in the furthest corner of my mind. Like they'd been spoken from across an endless sea, yet also through the thinnest glass. Like they were an assurance…

  From this world, and the last.

  Strange flashes flooded my mind: an ebony alley, a lone man, a prowler, an incantation, and… bloody murder. Sorrow. Pain. Sudden love. Then Darkness. Deeper than any other.

  Clarity faded the further along they went. But among muddled memories was something I couldn't possibly forget. That art. It's name - its incantation.

  "Hand Of Decay!" an involuntary roar emerged from my mouth, grief and sorrow sparking into my left hand. My glove fragmented into dust and whisked into the breeze.

  Velora had eyes locked on Ansel. Her gaze darted back at my incantation. By then it was too late.

  With my macabre left hand - glowing a sickly green - I clutched the base of the sword. Some part of me knew exactly what'd happen. For a second, nothing. Velora watched, puzzled, but I felt it. The sturdy metal of her blade was softening. Silver droplets trickled between my fingers like hot butter. Another moment and even that liquid flaked into dust.

  I landed on the grass, the rest of the blade sliding out of my ribcage. Velora staggered back, staring dumbstruck at the useless hilt she carried.

  Though this wasn't a victory. She still held another functioning sword, and even a surprise like that wouldn't throw her for long. Instincts thrust me at her - left hand extended - to end this.

  But Velora was too quick. Barely she managed to weave around my hand. Glinting in the setting sun was the unbroken blade at her side. A hasty counterattack.

  I wanted to shirk away from it. Yet seconds were scarce. Run and I'd lose this chance - my only chance. So I pressed the advantage.

  And raised my right arm over my neck.

  Normally she'd have sliced clean through both. But Velora was flustered and too close to put momentum behind her blade. Meaning it barely bit into my forearm.

  Fierce pain still thundered through my bones. I could barely keep from letting it seize my mind. But I held strong. Her pain would be so much worse.

  Velora's arm lied between us. My grip snapped onto it. And her menacing exterior crumbled just as fast as her flesh.

  Tears mixed with spittle from a shrieking mouth as the woman watched her arm rot. Skin and muscle and bone morphed into a nightmarish union of liquid and solid, which then grayed and turned to dust in the wind. Desperately she pried out her sword for another slash. But the weapon slipped pitifully from her dying fingers.

  When all was done, dusty viscera puddled under her stump of a shoulder. Center of the puddle was what remained of her dismembered limb, starting its journey to become as cold and grey as the fallen sword beside it.

  Vile; no word better matched how I felt. That sickening scene, the pounding pain, the fear of sudden nonexistence, all of it became… too much. What else could I do but stand there? Gaze into the ether? Lose myself?

  Ponytail's screams? Stocky frantically hauling away Velora and Scarf's motionless bodies? Both barely registered. Like they happened in an entirely separate world.

  A world I was snatched back to when a rock struck the back of my skull.

  "Freak! Get out of our home!" demanded a man - part of a growing crowd that warily left their homes.

  I turned right as another rock bashed me in the face. That one really hurt. Because it was thrown by a kid.

  "Go away! Go!" The little girl barked as more pebbles flew.

  Scattered rocks turned to a rain of stones that beat against my shielding arm. Almost everyone in the village pitched in. Some hoisted pitchforks and torches, even, threatening to burn me to ashes or break what remained of my "sorry corpse".

  I'd known all along. Oliver was wrong. No one wanted to understand. To them, I was - and would only ever be - a monster.

  Aimlessly I stumbled away from the village. Velora's group was probably long gone, but even if I ran into them… I couldn't find the energy to care.

  Though as the trees thickened and the forest called, part of me wanted to turn. To know if Ansel was okay. Or if I might see Oliver one last time.

  But I couldn't do it.

  I just couldn't.

  Soft dirt shifted under my weight.

  I tired of walking pretty fast. When a wide riverbank cut off my path, I took that as a sign to sit at its side.

  One glance told me I was at the night forest's edge. Trees were sparse, mostly replaced by uneven land and scattered flatstones. Some large enough to lay on, others small enough to juggle. There was the occasional tree stump too, amputated near its base. And a nearby fallen log. Long dead. Inside of several rotting holes spilled little wriggling larvae. Maggots.

  "Agh!" I threw hands over my face. Between fingers, I caught my reflection in the waters.

  Ansel was wrong… Even when I try the right thing, where does it get me? What does it prove? That I can decay and destroy? It's… exactly what Velora said was my nature.

  The magic I remembered - Hand of Decay - its purpose and mine were one and the same: to ruin. But it didn't have to be that way. A killing tool… could be turned against itself, couldn't it?

  I closed my eyes. It was like a sixth sense I remembered alongside the art: the ability to feel my remaining mana. I had more than enough to cast again.

  And it'd just take a few short seconds to-

  Don't be stupid, I scolded myself.

  Existence might've been cold, and lonely, and painful. But ending it? I couldn't. That'd be giving in. And giving a cruel world what it wanted.

  I stood up. No, this isn't the answer. I don't know what is, and I don't know what comes next. But if I end things now, it'll forever be a mystery. Maybe… maybe there's a chance. For something better.

  Throwing on my hood, I picked a direction to walk. Regardless of what lied ahead.

  I barely put a foot to the dirt before getting stopped in my tracks.

  "Skell. Skeeeeeell!"

  Wait. Is that-

  Despite all odds, a bruised and elderly man came shambling from behind a large rock.

  "Ansel!? How are you still…" I shook my head. "You need to be taken care of-"

  "Apologies," Ansel caught his breath, "but there's precious little time for conversation. Let's make this brief - and remove that hood, would you? I may be old, but I haven't forgotten what's under there."

  Nervously, I lifted it, awaiting scorn and disgust. Ansel was amazingly unamazed.

  "You wonder how I still stand," Ansel's sharp eyes contrasted his battered posture - somehow seeing curiosity on a stiff skull. "Stalberries. I downed our entire stock before facing Velora and her cronies."

  "Every single one?" So that's why the cabinet had none. "But hold on, how many did you eat?"

  "Two is generally the most one can safely consume. I believe I took upwards of twenty."

  "What!? D-does that mean…"

  "Skell, we both knew I wouldn't survive such dire straits, stalberries or not. Truthfully, that old wound from Velora numbered my days before any of this. Her knife tore my lung, you see? And I'm not the hardy young lad I once was."

  Shade, this can't really be it for him... Unless-

  "Sienna's gotta have a healer or two, right?"

  "We boast a single herbalist. Good for scrapes. Bad for a state as sorry as mine. True healers could be found in a faraway town. By the time I traveled to one and located a suitable healer, however - or had a kind soul bid one to visit me - I would have been… unsalvageable."

  Several solutions came to mind. Just to be immediately shot down by cold reality. If there was another way, Ansel would've thought it up with the time he had. I hated to think it, but he really had no options. All this time, he hadn't been recovering. He'd been slowly dying.

  My eyes dug into the ground. "…What about Oliver?"

  "He packs as we speak so that he may leave with you."

  "With me!? Why? I'm a mon… undead. And it's not like I have a destination."

  "But he does. We discussed him traveling to the capital. There he'll purchase a shipment of equipment for the village. Without us, it's defenseless. With arms at the very least, my folk can protect themselves. Given Oliver's youth and aptitude for survival, he's easily the best candidate." A proud laugh slipped through tired lips. "He really has learned a great deal, come to think of it."

  "Preparing them in case those thugs come back?"

  "Certainly not," said Ansel. "Velora's stubborn, but to return here after losing an arm? She shan't dream of it. Same with those youngsters. More likely, I suspect, they'll disband after such a colossal failure."

  He thinks Velora's still alive? Actually, my magic didn't leave any open wounds, did it? Which means… I might not be a killer after all.

  "Other threats may emerge of course, but what I truly want is for Oliver to leave our village. He should see the greater world as I did in my youth. Sanctuary is a sprawling, wonderful world. The best one can do is explore it, learn from it, and come to understand its myriad phenomena."

  He smiled. "I've scarcely scratched the surface, and doing so has constituted the finest years of my life. Oliver possesses that same wanderlust - I know it. And I cannot imagine a better time for the cub to leave its den."

  "That's a nice sentiment. Really. But where do- will you slot into this?" A strained silence answered my question. "He doesn't know, does he?"

  Ansel stared back unflinchingly. "If Oliver discovers my fate now, he'll want to take my place. Lead Sienna village. My grandson shan't ever leave, then. That is my greatest fear."

  Hiding his death from Oliver was something I never expected. But his reasons. I could understand them.

  The dying man settled into a calm smile. "Also, I can offer you two incentives. First, there's a town not far off the road to the capital: Belza Hill. There lives an old friend of mine. A skilled practitioner of glamour magic - the talent of altering one's appearance. Convince her, and she can make you at least appear human for as long as you'd like."

  "R-really? You think she could pull that off?" I asked, barely believing his nod.

  Can't say I've heard of this glamour magic before, but making me resemble a living person? That's incredible! I could ditch this conspicuous cloak and fit in like everyone else!

  "Second, when you reach Selem - the capital - I'd like you to unite Oliver with his sister. Inform them of my passing. Once they know, you may go your separate ways. As for you, Selem spearheads the countries' research into undead. I'm confident that knowledge will benefit you."

  Ansel yawned so wide he had to force shut his jaws. "You likely have questions. But I didn't leave much before Oliver. And… it's getting harder to keep open my eyes."

  He was right; there was so much to ask. But his clock neared midnight, and most my questions were either too unimportant or begged too long a reply. Eventually I decided on just two.

  "You don't seem surprised about my identity. Why?"

  "Oliver never had a good indoor voice," he laughed. "The berries were tiring, but not enough to force my slumber, and I was very curious as to who you were. I'd be a poor guardian not to investigate, you see."

  "But you were snoring. Was that-?"

  "A ruse?" He smirked shrewdly. "Verifying you weren't a threat to Oliver and our village, well, let's say it was worth listening out for. I admit, hearing you were undead was quite the whammy. But I don't particularly share the same beliefs as those native to this country. I shan't pretend an undead in my home didn't alarm me. But listening to your conversations with Oliver? To the humanity in your words? Well, I could rest easy."

  So when he told me I wasn't a monster… he really meant it?

  "T-thanks. For saying that. But… that sorta leads to my last question: why trust me? Sure, maybe I don't seem so bad, but we barely know each other, and…" I glanced at my skeletal hand, "you know the destruction I can cause."

  "…I'm old as dirt, as you've surely gathered," Ansel chuckled weakly. "I've met many over my years. Those worth trusting. Those who don't deserve an inch. We've hardly gotten acquainted, as you've noted. Yet it doesn't take long to see the good in another. Another who risks a rather poor reception to help the elderly home. Another who rushes to rescue an injured youth."

  "How'd you know about that?"

  "Those bandages didn't wrap themselves around his arm. But to the point, I mean to say this: regardless of your deathly exterior - I believe you've a strong heart. Figuratively," he winked.

  "But you trusted Velora. And she…"

  Ansel nodded. "No one's judgement is always on the mark. That doesn't scare me from trusting again."

  I rubbed at the back of my skull. "Ansel, I appreciate what you're saying, but let's just think. This is all a bunch of 'probably's' and 'I think so's'. That's really all you're basing this on?"

  "Why wouldn't I?" he laughed. "My gut tells me to have faith in you. So I will."

  "Your… gut?" I repeated incredulously.

  For a moment, I waited for a "real" answer. When I realized it'd never come - despite all the weight on my mind - I laughed right along with him.

  "You really are Oliver's pops," I complimented. "All right then. It's a promise: we'll stop by Belza Hill, meet your friend, then head to Selem. I'll… tell your grandkids about you. Then we'll part ways."

  A wave of calm followed my words. For the first time I finally had direction. Abyss, a lifeline. And if all went to plan, I wouldn't be the only one to benefit.

  Ansel looked me up and down. "Good, good, your posture's improved. They say slouching kills the bones, you know?"

  I didn't find his joke the slightest bit funny; he seemed to take my permanent skeletal smile as shared amusement.

  "Jests aside," he raised a weary hand, "I'm not sure how, but this ordeal, existing as an undead, I know you can overcome. Call me an old fool, but I've always believed anything's possible."

  "Anything?" I wondered. A certain dream resurfaced, and I spoke it before my mind could scold me for saying something so stupid. "Even… living again?"

  Ansel regarded me with complete sincerity. "Even that."

  I was at a loss for words. By the time I finally formed something, the sound of crunching leaves came from behind Ansel. "Whew! I made it!" Oliver's jog stopped at Ansel's side. "Thanks Skell. You're amazing at leaving behind obvious footprints!"

  "I'll… take that as a compliment?" My gaze drifted to his injured shoulder, the bolt missing and the bandaging looking way more competent than I remembered. "Nevermind that, how are you holding up?"

  "Not awful, actually. It hurts something fierce, but Esme - um, our herbalist - checked the wound and said it didn't hit anything super important. And… that it could've been a lot worse if it weren't cleaned so soon. Thank you kindly, for that. And for a lot of other things too."

  My neck almost snapped with how fast I looked away. "Oh, um, it was no big deal. We were just lucky everything we needed was tucked away in that cabinet."

  "Ah, there he goes again!" chuckled Ansel. "Knew I could trust my ol' gut!"

  "Your gut?" Oliver asked. "Were you guys talking about something?"

  Ansel shrugged. "Nothing of note. Just that I was certain you'd be back on your feet in the blink of an eye!"

  "Well, I reckon I do take after you." Oliver crossed his arms. "At least in all the good ways."

  "So you say-" A sudden yawn cut Ansel short. "Ah, well, you two are here, and there's a long road ahead. I won't slow you. About time I get on home, anyhow."

  He walked to Oliver and pulled him into a long hug. "I'll be taking a long-overdue rest. Skell, take good care of him. Oliver, be safe, but more importantly: have fun! And, next we meet… tell me of your travels."

  "Of course, grandpa, I'll tell every little detail. Now catch up on your rest, quick. I know you said your bleeding stopped, but I don't want so much as a toe out of bed until your wound closes for good! I'll be back soon. I swear."

  Ansel soaked in every solitary moment. Then let go of Oliver. He smiled at him one last time before turning away. Judging by his direction, Ansel headed toward the village - his frame gradually obscuring by moonlit greenery.

  He'd never finish the trip.

  "Hey, Skell?"

  "H-huh?" I almost jumped - suddenly glad my fleshless face couldn't display emotion. "Oh, er, what is it?"

  "We should prepare to leave and all," he scratched at his unruly hair, "but I wanted to say… I'm sorry. The village - I heard how they treated you. I… I promise they're all good folk. I just never thought they'd…"

  "Oliver? Don't worry. I believe you."

  "You do? But they threw rocks at you - th-they treated you like… like a disease!"

  Bad memories came rushing back. "Yeah… I'd be lying if part of me wasn't angry. Angry and…" I shook my head. "But I get why things happened the way they did. Look at me; after dealing with money-grubbing thugs, who'd expect this mug to be any better? I'll just have to sure no one sees it again. Besides you, I mean."

  "Either way," I continued, "you and Ansel might be right. Maybe I'm this undead… thing, by definition. But I'm no shading monster. Even if I've got a face only a mother could love. If others don't get that, then… I can't say it doesn't hurt. But not everyone thinks the same. I've got you around. You know what I really am." I made my best attempt at a grin. "So things can't be all bad."

  Oliver did the same. "I hoped you wouldn't hate them… Or yourself."

  "I don't hate anyone."

  Except for Velora. And those thugs.

  "Though I am curious how they felt about you leaving," I admitted. "After all that happened, the villagers probably lost it after hearing you'd travel the country."

  "Um, they kind of… don't?"

  "Don't what? Know? You feed them a lie or something?"

  "N-no way! I told them I would check on grandpa. Which is the truth. It's just…" he shrugged innocently, "I won't be coming back. Not until after we get to the capital. Grandpa said he'll explain everything once he gets back to the village. This was all his idea, if you didn't already hear it from him."

  "Oh, right… He did say something like that. But moving on, you know we're stopping at that Belza Hill town first, right? Any plans on how to get there? I don't exactly know where we are in relation to," I glanced around, "anything, really."

  My gaze returned to Oliver, who held up a finger. Somehow it took until then for me to notice his hefty brown backpack. Sliding it off his good shoulder and onto the ground, he sorted through the main compartment.

  Inside I saw rope, clothes, food, at least a dozen small sacks, bottles, torches, blankets, a rusty axe, a spare rusty axe, a quiver, soap, a journal, yarn, bandages, and a million other things up to and including toilet paper.

  "Forget to pack anything?" I asked.

  "Actually, grandpa packed this - it's his backpack," he rummaged busily. "We use it for long trips in the forest, but I guess this ain't much diff- oh, here it is!"

  Soaring out of the bag was a map of the country, dotted with numerous locations and bold letters at the top spelling "Lumerit."

  We examined the unfamiliar map. According to the wisdom of Oliver's finger, we stood near Lumerit's southeast border: in Sienna Woods.

  "Seems we're really in the outskirts," I noted. "Hmm. Hey, look at this bendy road. We take that and it's a straight shot to Belza Hill!"

  "Skell?" Oliver gave me a concerned glance. "That's a river. And that's not Belza Hill. That's the edge of the world."

  "…Oh. Um, I should probably leave navigation to you."

  "Here's a road. See? We'll keep north until we find it. Then all we have to do is follow until it takes us to town. I reckon it should be about a three-day trip."

  "Three days!? Abyss, the gap between Belza Hill and Selem's even wider."

  "Ain't it exciting!?" Oliver grinned. "Imagine what we'll see our journey! I've always wondered what there is outside the woods."

  "Yeah, exciting…"

  Are these bones built to trek the countryside? Really hope my past life drank their fair share of milk…

  "Oh, and if you need to stop, we can." Oliver pointed to his back. "Or I can carry you in the backpack."

  I laughed. "And come out looking like balled-up paper? No thanks. But," I stretched, "we're both in need of some decent rest, I think. We've got a lot of walking to do."

  "If that ain't right, I don't know what is." From out of his backpack came a sleeping bag, which he carefully laid on the grass. "Want one? There's a second in here."

  "Thanks, but I doubt I'll be getting much in the way of shuteye. I'll sit instead. And I think I see just the spot."

  Ahead was a flat rock, unshaded by nearby treetops. Serene moonlight bathed it in contemplative light. A perfect place to pick my skull.

  I hopped atop it, feeling a spark of hope for the first time since I awakened. Finally I had something in my corner. A plan, a friend, and the resolve to make my desire real.

  Above rose an ocean of stars, reigned by the moon and divided by the massive ring surrounding our world. That high above the present, my mind soared with questions of my murky past. And to the future I'd brighten at any cost.

  My memories. My life. Nothing's gonna stop me from getting them back.

  Not even death.

  —————————————————————————————————

  Excerpt From Oliver's Travelogue:

  …Cities of eternal radiance, eldritch tunnels beneath the earth, airborne islands and workshops of steam and even places I dare not mention in these pages - all of them I find impossibly fascinating. And yet, Sienna Village will forever hold wonder in my heart.

  Because it was home, partially. The way it molded me for the wider world, I reckon I'll forever cherish. But the forests, how they seemed to stretch endlessly in my youth. And the people. Amara. Grandpa. Velora. Esme and Alfred and all the rest.

  Them, and my old friend. Who taught me so much.

  A part of them all will rest within me until my final days and, I pray, even beyond.

  Despite what folk may call me, I pen this travelogue as a lowly author. For future generations, mainly, but also for myself. Because with these events, recorded forevermore…

  I can always appreciate the blessing called life.