THE SORCERER'S CORPSE - chapter 24
A BATTLE PUPPET
Kore wanders into the woods. Her clothes cling to her weakened body. She stares at her new arm, now dark and weak, shaking uncontrollably. She only hopes that the brightness returns to it.
She wanders into the black stench-filled wood. Can’t tell whether she is returning to the clearing or walking in circles. She’s got to get back to the Wound and find Manfrydd. She climbs an overgrown hill and stops at the top to rest her legs. Plants rustle nearby making her heart beat faster. Above, the disk of the Pallid Sun glows faint and mute. Kore wanders into the shadow of a tree to hide from its light.
Curb walks out of the bushes, his naked body glistening with blood. “Do not worry, Kore,” he says. “They are all dead.” A big smile brightens his face.
Kore’s insides get petrified. She’d probably tell him how wrong he was, was he not so horribly dangerous, so instead, she says, “Good job, Curb.” Her voice shakes slightly.
“Is everything alright?” Curb says, tilting his head to the side.
“It’s all fine, Curb,” Kore says, keeping her eyes on him. Cutlery knives glimmer in Curb’s hands. No, she doesn’t feel like losing any more limbs. “I know where Manfrydd has gone. Do you remember that hole in the ground?”
Curb nods. “You’ve been going in a wrong direction.” He gestures at a faint trail winding between the trees. “It’s that way.” He begins walking down the path, turning slightly to check on Kore.
She follows him. Without hesitation. She wishes, in a way, she was going there on her own. The last thing she wants is the murderous puppet to complicate things. After the recent experience, Curb could easily chop Manfrydd’s head off like he did Naur’s, and then who knows how long it would take Manfrydd to regenerate back and tell her about Ven. Rumour has it his regeneration takes years or even centuries, unlike that of Sun Court humans.
They reach the clearing and stop on the edge of the wound. It leads downward, a black whirlpool of rotten earth, transforming into what looks like a winding passage in the bottom of it. “I will go down,” Kore says. “You wait here and guard the entrance.” She hopes that Curb likes the prospect of being a guard, because taking him with her would only complicate things.
Curb crosses his arms and looks at Kore from under an angry forehead. “Something tells me that you fancy getting rid of me. Aren’t you happy with me saving your life?”
“Oh no, it’s not that, Curb, not at all,” Kore says, stumbling over words. She is terrible at concealing her feelings, isn’t she? “You may come with me if you like, but I do believe it would be better if you stayed here and kept watch.”
“I see no benefit in that,” Curb says. “If I follow you, I can protect you.” He twirls the knives in his hands. “You have brought me back from the dead and for that you have my eternal gratitude. I can understand you might feel bad exploiting me to serve you, but, trust me, that is the reason why I am here. It is my reason to live.” He bows with respect.
“Of course,” Kore says, and then braces herself. “I must say, however, that you’ve been quite violent. May I ask you to do a bit less killing? I thought you killing those puppets that I healed was a bit much.”
Curb stays silent for a moment, then speaks, “I am a battle puppet. I was made this way. And that was a necessary measure to protect you. Those puppets were going to kill you.”
Well, to kill is a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it? “Lyra said I am practically immortal. No need to worry, Curb.” Although, of course, there is no guarantee of that immortality being true, but it is a topic for another discussion.
“Immortal or not, I can’t let you be harmed.” Curb says this with such confidence and finality, that Kore can’t think of possibly arguing with him.
She descends into the Wound, her feet sliding over the slimy soil. Two trenches left by someone else’s pair of feet, wider and heavier scar the ground beside her. She can only hope that what the woman said was true, and that Manfrydd descended into the pit as well. Curb follows her every step, carrying with him the sickening stench of puppet blood.
Closer to the bottom, the walls of the pit become steeper. Kore holds onto roots sticking out of the walls to keep herself from sliding out of control. Curb seems to navigate the slope with ease, being much lighter and nimbler. Kore hesitates above a small round opening in the bottom of the pit, but then lowers her body down. Holding onto the edges with her hands, she swings her legs around in the darkness below, hoping to find purchase, but there is nothing she could possibly hold on to, only void. For a moment she looks at the Pallid Sun. The scratches on its surface form words, much like before, but now shaped as if written haphazardly by a shaking hand in a small font. “You will pay for what you’ve done Kore,” the words say.
“Let me go first,” Curb says. “We don’t know how deep it is.”
Kore looks away from the Sun and shakes her head. She is the one who is immortal after all. She could heal a couple of broken bones. She clenches her teeth and drops down. The drop was smaller than she expected. She splashes into what feels like a puddle of mud and manages to stay on her feet. The stench of rot down here overwhelms her. She pinches her nose and looks up at the opening—a bright circle with Curb’s pink face in the middle of it.
“Is it safe?” Curb says. “Kore? Are you hurt?”
Maybe it’s best not to tell him. Maybe if she just wanders off now, he will leave her alone. Maybe he will think she is dead, or decide not to jump due to the potential height. Surely, her not answering could be a good sign of danger for him. Slowly, she wanders off, trying to not splash her feet in the mud too much.
Splash. Kore holds her breath. No, please, don’t let this be Curb. A bright orange light illuminates the cavern, reflecting off black slick walls. Curb stands in the middle of it, holding an oversized—in comparison to his body—lamp. Curb’s grin gains a somewhat sinister aspect with the orange light dancing chaotically all over his face. “There you are,” he says. “I was terrified when I did not hear a response.”
“Where did you get that lamp?”
“I came prepared,” Curb turns around his axis, showcasing an enormous backpack.
Kore nods in appreciation. Yes, she has a murderous puppet following her around, but at least she can now see where to go. Several passages lead out of the chamber, all equally dark and narrow. Since they all look the same, it doesn’t matter where they go. Kore walks towards one of them.
“Wait,” Curb says, holding his lamp close to the floor. He points his finger at an elongated impression in the rotted ground. “A footprint,” he says. He wanders across the cavern lighting the ground. More footprints reveal themselves, trailing towards one of the passages—not the one Kore selected. Kore puts her foot next to one of the impressions. It’s big, almost twice as big as her own foot. It would make sense if it belonged to Manfrydd.
Carrying his lantern, Curb walks in the direction of the footprints. Kore has no choice but to follow him—not a desirable turn of events. On the other hand, she wouldn’t get this far without his help. He is a double edged sword, or should she say, a double-edged cutlery knife?
The passage winds downwards, and big footprints keep showing them the way. Good thing there are no forks in the road, only one path. They walk for what feels like minutes when the cave begins to widen. Pointy stalagmites hang from the ceiling, foul smelling water dripping from them. Feels like being inside a fanged beast’s mouth. A slightly iridescent shape the size of a large dog lays still beside one of the walls. It would look like a boulder, if it wasn’t for spiky appendages sticking out of it in broken angles. Curb leaps in to stand between the shape and Kore. “Be careful,” he says.
Curb shines the light on it, revealing a many-eyed face of a giant insect. It is completely still. Dead, probably, judging by a gash in its side with transparent ichor leaking out of it. Many footprints cluster around the still shape.
“Manfrydd killed it,” Curb says.
That’s a quick assumption to make. Not that Kore believes that Manfrydd would not be capable of killing this thing. “Have you even met Manfrydd?” she says.
Curb shrugs. “Lucia, the Golden Princess, she had no children during my past… life.”
It must be odd to have lived in two different timelines. Kore wonders what the time during which Curb’s been dead feels like to him.
“Let’s keep going,” Curb says. “If Manfrydd killed this thing, it could well be days ago. We need to hurry if we want to catch up.” He keeps walking, holding the lamp in front of him in his extended hand.
Kore follows, giving a last careful glance at the dead creature. She would not want to meet a thing like this in its living state.
They journey continues uneventful. The passage winds, narrows and widens. On the occasion Kore has to crouch under overhanging rocks to get through or climb over mounds of crushed stone, but, regardless of the obstacles it presents, the path keeps going consistently downwards. With the ground now being mostly stone, the footprints disappear.
“What if there is a dead end?” Kore wanders.
“There were no footprints leading back,” Curb says, making Kore feel a little dumb for asking. Or maybe it’s just the notion of this little man brought to life by her own hand having a better grasp on the world than herself.
“He could’ve made a Jester wish to go back. Or he could’ve died in the dead end,” Kore says. “But of course, he cannot truly die, unless by the Foetal Blade…”
“Where is the Foetal Blade?”
“The last time I saw it, it was precisely in the centre of what is now the Wound.”
Curb turns his head and casts a deadpan glance at Kore. “The Foetal Blade could kill you too, couldn’t it?”
A chill goes through her body. Why would Curb ask this? Images of him spinning through the air and chopping heads off flash before Kore’s eyes. She does her best to block them out. “Not really,” she says, for some reason. “Nothing can kill me. I am not like Manfrydd or the Golden Princess.” She doesn’t know whether what Lyra said is true, of course, but some little self-preservation mechanism makes her say it.
Curb doesn’t reply. He just keeps wandering in the darkness, a tiny man with a giant lamp in his hand, illuminating the dark cave ahead.
They come upon another dead insect. This one is smaller, maybe the size of a pig. It’s head is smashed flat by an ichor-coated rock lying nearby. Wet footprints mark the stone beside it. Kore breathes a sigh of relief—they are still on track. Another question, of course, is whether the footprints truly belong to Manfrydd, but, still, they are all they have left to work with.
Deeper in the cave, they find more bodies of dead insects. One, the largest in size so far makes Kore remember Manfrydd, and how probable it would be for him to kill this creature. It’s head lays separate, and at the place where it would be attached to the body there is a clean crosscut, revealing all of the internal tubes and jellies.
“Whoever did it,” Curb says, gesturing at the crosscut with his knife, “must have perfect edge alignment when they cut. Not easy to do to such a critter. I would like to fight the person who did it.”
“Fighting Manfrydd is precisely what I don’t want you to do,” Kore says. “I must talk to him. And yes, he might be dangerous. He might even attack me. But you must let me negotiate this. It is my personal matter. I want to know answers.”
Curb stares at Kore. She could see it in his eyes that he is processing what she said. Then a sound interrupts this moment. It’s a strangled moaning of pain. A human sound. Curb jumps at the it, lighting the darkness around him frantically. The sound comes again, fainter than before. It seems like it comes from the far end of the cave where their light doesn’t quite reach. In silence, Kore points her finger in that direction. Curb nods in cooperation and walks there, slowly and carefully.
“Remember what I said,” Kore whispers. “Let me sort it out.”
Curb doesn’t reply. The lamp being so bright doesn’t let Kore see the source until they get very close. Strands of sticky gunk hang all over the wall. When the light shines on it, multiple sets of human bones become visible floating inside the goo. Several skulls stare at Kore with their empty eye-sockets, their jaws open in a frozen scream. Beside them, encased in slime, hangs a man dressed like the puppets from the village. His head droops, his eyes stare into the nothingness, cheeks sunken, mouth half open, drooling all over his slimy prison. A pained moan comes out of him. Somehow, this man is still alive.
Kore reaches out with her puppet hand, digging through the sticky slime. “We must free him,” she says.
Curb sets his lantern on the ground and slices the slime around the figure of the man until Kore can pull him out. She lets her silver hand touch him, returning colour to his pale face. A minor task for her, and yet, with her dulled powers, it leaves her drained. She breathes harshly. Having recovered, the man lays on the ground unmoving, his face petrified in an expression of fright. Some wounds she cannot heal.
“The monsters,” the man says after a while in a torn voice. “They crawled out of the wound. They took us here. They feed on people.”
“You are safe now,” Kore says, casting a sidelong glance at Curb. Indeed, she hopes that Curb doesn’t slaughter this man at the slightest sign of aggression.
“I must be dead,” the man says. “This can’t be real.” He sits up and looks at his shaking hands. “At one point I was sure that I died. I saw a Demon.”
Kore doesn’t interrupt him and listens. Sometimes it’s best to let them talk.
“He came in, and he had that long polearm and a long knife of sorts. Extremely tall. Long black hair. He killed the monsters with ease, as if they were no obstacle to him at all. I cried for help, but he just looked at me and walked past. That’s when I knew I was dead already. A human would help me, but he was a Demon, and Demons only dwell in Hell.” The man’s jaw begins to shake so much he struggles to keep talking.
“That was Manfrydd,” Kore says, turning to Curb. “The description matches perfectly. It couldn’t’ve been anyone else.”
Curb raises the lamp, illuminating more of the cavern. “Do you remember where the Demon went?” Curb asks, looking around.
The man shakes his head. Can’t blame him for not remembering, bearing in mind the state in which he was found. “I want to get out of here,” the man says. “Do you know how to get out of here?”
“You’d need some light to navigate, and getting out of the Wound won’t be easy if you are on your own,” Kore says. She nods to Curb. “Curb, why don’t you escort him?”
Curb looks at Kore from under his eyebrows. “I know you are trying to get rid of me, Kore. But, once again, all I want is for you to be safe. So, whether you like it or not, you will have to endure my presence.”
Kore kneels before Curb and puts her hands on his shoulders. “Look. I am the last person that requires your protection. This man here, however, needs it. I brought you to life in the same way I restored him. Don’t you feel any kind of kinship to him?”
“No,” Curb says, casting a side eye at the man.
Distant voices resonate through the cavern. Kore stays silent, listening to them. Can’t tell what they are saying, but they sound calm, unlike the pained moans from before. She and the others present exchange glances.