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Chapter 45: An Army Of Little Ones
🕑 Added 2022-04-23 13:50:38 +0000 UTCThe Wall of the Damned stretches for one thousand miles, coast to coast, completely cutting off the Dead Lands from the Three Kingdoms. It measures an average width of six feet and an average height of nine, with the most important sections being appropriately strengthened.
It is undoubtedly the world’s greatest monument, a massive, herculean task that was completed over the course of a single year by the combined and complete efforts of the Three Kingdoms. If anyone ever doubts the limits of human capability, the Wall of the Damned will be there to refute them in perpetuity.
May it hold forever.
- An excerpt from the Atlas of Homerus, Second Edition, found on an unnamed corpse.
Night.
The moon hung high in the sky, dying the world silver, and the stars shone like sparkles in an endless void.
In Edge Town, in a cyan room of the Count’s manor, two children slept in cradles. Toys surrounded them, along with a little dog that rested in a corner. The wind whooshed outside the shut window, making the shutters rattle in their cases, but the wool attached to the wall muffled the sounds.
Carefully placed on a table were two wooden horses, expertly crafted, left there by the maidservants for the children to find in the morning.
Suddenly, the night’s silence was broken by a small, almost inaudible crack. Then another, and another. A yellow eye peeked through the splintered wood, looking out of the horse’s belly and into the room beyond. It waited.
A few moments later, tiny scratches came from inside the horses, and wooden flakes landed on the table as the holes were ever so minutely widened. Little by little, they enlarged, until the scratches stopped and two fluffy, tailed forms stepped into the moonlight that pouted in from a high window.
Their noses twitched, their eyes flickered, and the mice's minds were instantly filled with a plethora of impressions.
Humans. Dog. Fear. Hide. Shadows. Water. Food.
Squeaks almost escaped their little snouts before the Master’s will clamped on their minds like an iron vise. They remained silent.
Master. Love. Respect. Obey.
Their snouts wiggled as they thought. Their minds were small—as were their bodies—and parsing apart the Master’s intentions took time. Thankfully, the Master was patient, and he loved them as they loved him.
So, the mice waited. A few moments later, a new concept surfaced in their minds, one that was foreign and more complex than anything they had ever considered before.
Plan…?
Images swept through their minds—doors and keys, and humans that had to be dealt with in very specific and unnatural ways—and all these names, that they only knew because their Master told them.
They could not understand.
Must. Try. Master!
Before their little minds could fry themselves, the Master’s will transformed. They could feel it change and shift, morphing from puzzlement to good-natured love. The Master understood—he did not blame them. He would help.
One of the mice felt a hint of a presence in its mind, a presence so abysmally humongous that even this fragment of its attention was almost enough to overwhelm the little creature. It was Master—a God—and to host him in its mind was an honor the little mouse could never have hoped for.
Endless pride filled its tiny, rapid heart, and the other mouse did not feel envy, for how could it dare judge the Master?
Through the mouse, the Master was with them, and the orders changed. They saw the tall block of wood before them, and they saw themselves quietly slipping underneath it.
Yes. That, they could do.
The mice scampered down the long wooden legs and reached the floor below, and as soon as they looked at the table again, their little hearts seized in their chests.
Dog. Run. Run.
Their bodies froze—but the Master, in his infinite wisdom, told them not to worry, and so they went against every fiber of their being because the Master was far more important than they could ever be.
Eight feet tapped against the floor as the mice circled the dog from afar, eventually reaching the door behind it. Contrary to their expectations, the dog did not wake up by their smell. The Master had been right—not that they had ever doubted him.
How could they know that this dog, domesticated and coddled as it was, had long abandoned standing guard?
The mice ducked and slipped under the tall wood, finding themselves in the large empty that was inside; the Master informed them it was called a ‘corridor.’ More smells invaded their noses.
Humans. Many. Danger. Food. Bad.
The Master’s will beckoned them forward again, disregarding these thoughts, and they would ever follow it. Instinct told them to stick to the walls, and so they did. They walked.
Suddenly, more mice appeared from under another door. They were many, and they smelled of the Master’s will as well.
Friends. Safe. Follow. Eat.
Explore.
The Master’s will filled their thoughts, once again speaking of a concept larger than they could understand. They tightened their paws in pain. The Master recoiled, worried of hurting them. He did not want that. He said he was wrong; but how could Gods be wrong?
Food, he commanded, and this time, they understood. Many food.
The mice split up, following the walls to different endless paths, but some remained, for they had received a different order. The Master’s will beckoned again, and they followed it down a specific trail until even more smells reached their noses.
Green. Safe. Tickle.
They slipped under a door and into the open world they called home, finding the silver light that called to them from above—not as much as the Master’s will, of course. It made them want to eat, not sleep.
The Master was closer now, they could feel it. His will touched them again, imprinting an image into their eyes—two humans, sleeping. The mice advanced. The Master was close now, just behind another door, and the mice shivered in anticipation at finally meeting their life’s purpose.
But the Master did not command them to go to him. His will filled their minds and their eyes, and they saw something on the sleeping humans shine. They grabbed the ring—Cold. Hard. Bad.—and pulled, but they could not move it.
Their little hearts were filled with sadness. The Master had commanded, but they could not follow. They had betrayed the Master.
From the Master’s will, new emotions blew through them.
Happy. Full.
The mice recovered; their Master, in all his infinite wisdom, understood that they were small, and he would be patient. He accepted them as they were—and for that, their hearts were full as if they’d eaten much cheese.
More instructions came, slowly, and small parts of the ring began to glow in the mice’s eyes. They did not understand the Master’s intentions, but for him, they would try their best until the end of time.
The two mice nibbled on the ring and the glowing objects, biting where the Master told them and pulling when the Master told them. It was difficult, and they did not understand. Still, they tried. The silver light moved as time went by but the mice did not mind.
Sounds came from where the Master was, sounds they could understand but felt they should fear.
“Why is he taking so long?”
“Because Master never finishes early.”
“Tsk. If the lock wasn’t so thick, I would have picked it ten times already.”
But the sounds were not their Master, so they ignored them.
Eventually, something happened. The mice had pulled what they could not pull, and they felt their Master’s approval through his will, and they were even happier than if they’d found food!
They had done it! They had helped the Master!
Happy! Happy! Happy!
The two mice ran in circles around each other, and the Master let them celebrate before speaking again.
Come.
Beyond ecstatic, the mice held what they should hold—the ring—and slipped under the door, finding a human and weird creatures that were friends, kin—they served the Master too.
Standing still in front of a human terrified them, but they did not even consider that, for they could see their Master hanging in the air behind a weird friend thing. Their minds were filled with worship. They had succeeded!
Master!
***
“Finally,” Marcus groaned quietly. “Did it have to take one bloody hour?”
Boney was annoyed. If he had brows, he would have creased them. “If you tried controlling mice,” he replied, “you couldn’t even get them past the door.”
“Very well, I won’t complain—they are pretty useful. Can you get the keys, please?”
“Can’t you?”
“I would rather not.”
Boney leaned down and gently plucked the keys from the two mice, watching them all the while.
He was always impressed by the degree of kinship he felt to Master’s other undead, even if they were something small and stupid, like mice.
I guess the Master’s will fills our bones and makes us friends, he mused, entertaining himself with jokes that Marcus wouldn’t laugh at. Then again…
“Do these little mice chill you to the bone?” he asked, letting out a cluckle. Marcus did not reply, but Axehand grunted in amusement as he took a swig of wine, and Headless moved his head up and down—these two always supported his jokes. “You are outnumbered, Marcus. Prepare to suffer.”
“Please kill me.”
“Don’t be spineless. Endure the torture.”
He groaned. Boney cluckled.
“Can we please hurry?” asked Jerry from where he was strapped to Axehand’s back, not opening his eyes. “These Little Ones are killing me.”
“I didn’t see you hurry before,” retorted Marcus as Boney got to work unlocking the door.
After deciding to borrow the Count’s airship, the Eye of the Sky, their plan was simple. Step one, have Foxy hunt down mice. Step two, have Axehand carve empty horses and hide the zombie mice inside them. Step three, perform for the Count and gift them the zombie-filled horses behind so the mice could come out at night.
It was the perfect plan. After all, who would suspect that the gifted wooden horses hid invaders? What a novel, foolproof idea!
Step four, infiltrate, find the airship, have Marcus make it work, and steal it. Very easy.
They were currently hidden inside an alcove next to the Count’s manor, having approached as stealthily as possible—which was a tall task as they were carrying a bunch of stuff.
The four Billies carried the heavenly soft chair, the St. Hugh’s Bones—and other shoemaking equipment—the bag of shoes, and another bag filled with supplies. Marcus carried his own equipment, Headless his head, and Boney several items that could be immediately useful in several situations. Boboar and Foxy were just strolling along.
After reaching the alcove, Jerry had called out to the two guards and quickly used his magic to knock them out through the large iron door, then focused his mind on controlling the two dozen zombie mice—which, according to him, was a lot tougher than he anticipated, so he’d been strapped to Axehand’s back to devote his full attention to the task.
Meanwhile, Birb was flying in circles above, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.
“We’re in,” said Marcus, suddenly whispering. He turned around, eyeing the undead. “Are you ready?”
“We were unborn ready.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Taking a deep breath, Marcus pushed the iron door open, and they were in.
***
Birb flew in circles, high in the air, observing the situation below. If it noticed anything suspicious—as suspicious as its bird mind could comprehend—it would notify Master immediately.
Unfortunately for Birb, as its gaze was directed downward, it could not see that another undead bird flew above it, watching with wicked eyes.
