The Nekromancer - 73. Chapter 73

He stared at the phylactery, his mind filled with revulsion and curiosity in near equal measure. Jeremy had always heard rumors of people who trapped their souls in objects, to deny Pharasma access to their life force. As far as he knew, it was never permanent, and the Lady of Graves had a way of getting even with those who thought they could cheat her.

Jakun was stupid to think this would work, and Jeremy couldn’t let the catfolk be deluded. He had to free Jakun’s soul.

The amurrun had teleported out of the city the previous night, not wasting any time with his vendetta. He believed himself powerful enough, but Jeremy knew it was a false power. Jakun had told the cleric to stay away from him, for his own good. The words echoed in the man’s mind like a threat more than a warning. And Jeremy had never done well with threats.

Nor had he done well with the deconstruction of cursed items. He supposed it wouldn’t be as simple as breaking the box open, but then there wouldn’t be any harm in trying either.

Lifting his mug, the cleric conjured frothy ale, kneeling in the centre of the room to bless the ale with Cayden Cailean’s will. He drank the holy ale, feeling the god’s blessing course through his body. Reaching for the phylactery, Jeremy took a fortifying breath before picking up the box.

“Mommy! Look what I made with the rock!”

The cleric startled, a young amurrun appearing before his eyes. That was Jakun… as a kitten? Where did he come from? This wasn’t real, the catfolk was on his way to Mechitar.

“That’s lovely sweetie,” a female catfolk smiled, setting up a line of thin clothing.

Jeremy couldn’t tell where he was. One moment, the room around him looked normal, the next, he was in a circular hut reminiscent of some of the Gebbite hamlets they had passed. The hut was near barren, a single straw mat the only furniture. A stack of rocks in the shape of a tiny golem sat beside a door, the tiny Jakun sitting next to it with a face filled with pride. A hole in the floor seemed like it was filled with nuts and plants, a bit of water making for a poor stew. Was… was this Jakun’s childhood?

He didn’t want to see this. It was a trap. Jakun had to have put a spell on the box, forcing anyone touching it to live out his life. Jeremy was already having a hard enough time doing what needed to be done. He couldn’t let Jakun’s past guilt him into keeping the phylactery.

“Wipe your hands, kitten. It’s almost time for dinner,” the older amurrun said.

“Okay Mommy…”

The scene blurred, the room growing warm as sweat poured down Jeremy’s neck. He could see Jakun standing in a yoke, the eight year old grunting as he strained at a plow. Tears of effort flowed from his eyes, the catfolk stumbling forward along a line of weeds. There was no way he could pull that weight.

Dropping to his knees, Jakun bowed his head, body quaking as he tried to gather what was left of his strength.

“You need someone bigger.”

Anya’s voice filled the air around them, both Jakun and Jeremy looking around in wonder.

“That rock. Pick it up,” the werewolf said, still hidden from sight.

The amurrun did as he was told, an obedience bred of years of listening to his mom and his master in the fields. He scraped it over the ground, cutting a necromantic symbol into the dirt. At Anya’s next request though, the young catfolk hesitated.

“Cut your wrist,” Anya urged. “You need to spill your blood so I can help you.”

Taking a breath, the amurrun brought the rock down, scraping his wrist until blood welled up and dripped into the centre of the arcane sigil. Anya appeared beside him, Jakun letting out a fearful yelp as the undead werewolf knelt beside him, Her hand closed over his wrist, healing energy passing between the two, and the catfolk looked at his wrist in amazement.

“Okay, now let’s get this field plowed properly…”

The two faded away, as Loran’s voice sounded. Jeremy shuddered at the venom in the necromancer’s voice, even though he knew it wasn’t real.

"The scroll. I want the scroll."

Jakun was hanging from the wall, iron chains cutting into his flesh. Jeremy could see components of necromantic spells around the room, Loran holding a needle and an eyeball in his hand.

"Clearly pain isn't working. I will have to try something different," Loran said, nodding toward the corner of the room.

A shambling corpse rose and left the room, returning with Jakun’s mother in its clutches. Jeremy felt sick. He knew where this had to be going, but he was being held by the spell, the illusion playing out in his mind as Jakun was struck by an enchantment.

The young catfolk stared blindly at his mother, a claw extended. A swift slice cut off a scream, and the amurrun fell on his mother, forced to desecrate her body by his master.

And finally the spell was over, Jeremy dropping to his knees as he nearly threw the phylactery away from himself. He heard the door open, boots stepping up behind him as a hand fell on his shoulder.

“I… I can’t do it…” the cleric whimpered, tears streaming from his eyes. “I can’t take her memory from him.

“I know,” Amnor Sen said quietly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You knew about it?”

“I saw a vision of his mother as I carried it. I had the feeling there was more, but Shelyn spared me from most of it,” the elf admitted. “I would have destroyed it too, if not for that vision. Jakun trapped his soul well, I have to admit. The fact that it was a nonlethal trap speaks to his values. We owe it to him to allow his fight against Loran to continue.”