Last Words chapter 68 (Patreon)

I left on my own. After we’d done the recon, after we’d double checked the routes, after I’d made sure there was nothing nearby to hurt me…I’d decided to go alone.

Part of me felt stupid. I had friends with me, had backup, and I could have just waited for them to follow and been safe. I didn’t, though. Because I could feel that something more was going on. Something under the surface was waiting for me to dig it up, and assuming it wasn’t a corpse, I wanted to know what it was. So I followed my instincts, trusted my gut, and arranged my friends to go and cordon off the shard while I headed for probably the last place I should go. To talk to the bone monster.

It wasn’t as crazy as it sounded, really. I’d felt some kind of resonance with it since the Lich mentioned it. It just kept popping into my head. Maybe it was the opportunity for holy patterns, or the possibility that it was a fallen hero, or something entirely different, but I KNEW without a shred of a doubt that I needed to speak to that thing. The closer I got, the more sure I was, though I had no idea where my surety came from.

My boots crunched through the gravel of the city streets as I walked, steady and unsettlingly loud in the eerie silence, like the report of a rifle firing with every step. I tried not to dwell on the obvious symbolism as I fired my own little twenty one gun salute, I had enough problems without making up more out of thin air. Eventually though, I came to the area that had been circled on the map.

I took note of the air as I entered the zone, feeling a wicked chill on the wind that was as different to the previous spiritual cold as a match was to a bonfire. It was jarring to the extreme, and all I could process when it hit was pain. Pain to the depths of my cells as my body drank in the freezing air like a hungry sponge soaking up liquid nitrogen. I grit my teeth, reaching for my power, and immediately purchased something I thought would help. Bloodfire Mushrooms.

I bought two of the things, popping them both into my mouth, and I almost groaned in relief as an explosion of fiery blood energy roared through my body, the thundering torrent of my burning blood blowing away the cobwebs of frost like a hurricane.

With the chill battled and my body raring to go, I stepped forward to continue into the circle to find the bone monster…and stopped.

I wasn’t alone. I didn’t even notice when it had happened, but an armored figure stood in the middle of the road, blank faceplate aimed right at me, a golden glow emanating from the eyes behind the visor slit as they pinned me in place. “What did you just do?” rasped a hollow voice.

It sounded unsteady, like it hadn’t been used for a very long time. I shifted, hand clutching my nine tightly. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said airily. “Just some magic.”

“No,” he said bluntly. “Not magic. You used no mana. No pattern. You created those things from nothing. How? What are you?” The voice was gaining steam, picking up momentum and getting louder and more steady. It was building to something, like he knew where this was going and was excited to get there.

I debated what to do. This thing…was stronger than me. Markedly, notably stronger. I had tried using analysis, and it had failed, but the blaze of value sense wasn’t letting me down. Whatever was in that armor was not a person, and it was worth a LOT of money. More money than I had ever seen in my life. But that value came from power, I was sure of it, and that meant this thing was WAY out of my league.

It also obviously knew something about me. So my ultimate choice here was binary. Admit the truth, assuming it knew the whole story and that confirming that story might endear me to it, or lie, and play it safe.

Honestly, if not for the instinct pulling me to this place, I’d have done the latter without hesitation. Confiding in random suits of non human armor was a level of stupid that was normally reserved for people who had recently been struck in the head with a lead pipe. But this situation…something was happening. I didn’t know what, but this thing was part of it. The armored figure felt…familiar. Like I knew it somehow. Not personally though. A friend of a friend?

I weighed my options, considering, and eventually, I decided to trust my gut. “My name is Gus Macneill,” I said slowly. “I’m a speaker.”

The suit staggered back as if struck. Then it vanished, appearing in front of me, hands clamped over my shoulders so tight it hurt. “You speak truly?” it hissed into my face, the golden glow brightening. In the light of the blazing eyes, through the slit of the helmet, I could see no eyeballs. No flesh. Just bleached white bone. As expected. “Your word, boy. What is your WORD?”

I blinked at that, caught off guard. “I…” I felt like the answer was dragged out of me, as if someone had reached in and pried it loose. Except that wasn’t right. It was more like the opposite. Like it had been forced free. “Transaction,” I answered, in a voice so rough and grinding it was barely mine.

Falling to his knees, the skeleton reached up and gripped his helm, removing it slowly, reverently. “Galen Croftborn greets the master.”

“I…what?” I sputtered, staring down at him. “I’m not your master. I don’t know who you are. Well, I do, because I heard a story, and I guess I feel some connection, but I’m not whoever it is you seem to think I am.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said after a slight hesitation. “Not my master. But something similar. A relative, perhaps. Of a sort.” His head sagged. “I suppose at this point it doesn’t matter. My master is most likely long dead. The connection you feel is most likely the bond of wordsworn to word. The contract I made all those centuries ago. I swore that fealty to the man, not the word, but I suppose you’re the closest I’ll ever get again.” Sighing, he stood and turned, gesturing me to follow. “Come than, young Wordlord. There are things you must know. It is not safe in these depths, especially not for you.”

My head was reeling, but I didn’t hesitate. Something about what he said felt right, and I had this odd sense that I could trust him.

I followed him into a large, ominous building built of dark stone. The inside was destroyed, as if someone had taken a rasp or file to every inch. I raised an eyebrow at the mindless destruction that must have taken decades to do by hand but ignored it, staring after Galen. He walked down a long aisle, sitting at what could only really be described as a pew. In front of him, an altar, defaced by gouges forming a special symbol.

Following him, I sat down, waiting for him to begin. “You seem to have heard the story,” he said quietly. “Of my life and death. Or some version of it. Of my rise to power. But you have not, I think, heard of the reason for that rise.”

“Yeah, I don’t know much about it,” I admitted. “Just that you came out of nowhere and stopped Vastwhalen in its tracks after Istvan showed up.”

“I did not,” he said sharply. “Could not. For Istvan was beyond me. The power of a Wordlord is not to be underestimated. He came with horrible inevitability. Like a great storm that could not be weathered. His liches were terrible, his monsters legion. We would have drowned in that sea of death. For that was his first word, and his nature. Death.”

My blood went cold. That was…I couldn’t imagine that. Death? His word was fucking DEATH? Speakers were bullshit. They could do almost anything related to their word. I could summon fucking FAIRIES. What could someone do with the word Death?

“How did you stop him?” I asked, my voice rough. “You said first word, he was what? Iron? Copper? How the fuck could you possible have survived? How could anyone?”

“Because we were not alone,” he said fiercely. “My master arrived in the dark of night, when the invasion first began. He came with purpose, and with hope. He offered to arm us, to give us power, to help us resist. He was not alone, he traveled with a retinue, an army of my brothers and sisters in service. A legion of wordsworn one thousand strong.”

I could feel the truth between his words. Like I knew the sun would rise. “Transaction,” I said slowly. “That was his word. Or one of them. The same as mine. That’s why I feel connected to you. Is that…did I inherit his word? Is that how it works?”

“I do not know,” he shrugged. “My master was a private person. He never confided the secrets of his people. When asked, he simply told us that some things were better left unknown. I only know that he was not from this world. Nor was Istvan. They were travelers from distant lands, as, I suspect, are you.”

That made sense. His master wouldn’t have been the speaker who created this world, the timelines didn’t match up. That meant that they’d been part of a previous selection, one that hadn’t had anything to do with earth. Which confirmed that there were other worlds involved here. Other speakers sharing these wordworlds with us even now. I’d already surmised as much from the Tennies presence, but having it confirmed wasn’t exactly comforting.

“So…where do we go from here?” I asked lamely. “Do you swear to me now? Follow me out?”

He shook his head. “I cannot. I was blinded by emotion earlier, but with more time to study you, I see the truth. You are still weak. Your contract skill could not bind me. And without a new contract the power that sustains me will soon run dry. My essence was injured in my battle with the lich. Even holding on until now has been a struggle. Soon there will be nothing left, and these bones will fall to dust.”

I swallowed. What kind of contract could last that long? How high was the skill that he was still bound centuries later after the speaker who bound him was probably long dead. After HE was long dead?

Speaking of which. “Why are you still alive?” I asked slowly. “Not just because of Istvan, but like…in general. Why didn’t you die when you…you know, died?”

He let out a rough, dusty sound that I identified after a moment as a chuckle. “A precaution by my master,” he said sadly. “As the front line in his war against Istvan, he bound my soul into servitude to protect me against the monster. In life I was a wordsworn man, and in death, a wordsworn ghost. My only vows of service were to my master and to my goddess. When my watch ends this night, my soul will finally be free to move on, to kneel at the feet of Aradnia after all this time.”

“Does that mean there were others bound the same way?” I asked with interest. “More members of the Wordsworn Legion?”

“Perhaps some,” he allowed. “But not most. You see, the legion in its entirety was not left to combat Istvan. Just a few of us. My master waged war on many fronts. The Wordlord’s presence in this world goes far deeper than you know.” He paused, clearly considering how to broach the topic. “Very well, I suppose I have time for one more story before I go. Attend, young lord, and hear the truth of what transpired all those years ago.”