bindsthedead

PSL

There was a time when Sabriel might have been eager to see the inside of Cyberlife Tower. Her class had been to Detroit when she was thirteen, and they'd toured an android factory- or the part of it they showed to tourists, at least- and visited museums and art galleries and all the sorts of things Young Ladies ought to see, but weren't available in the small town of Wyverley, or in Bain.

But Sabriel wasn't here for a school trip. Recent events in Ancelstierre meant that with the sudden loss of all android soldiers meant that soldiers from the entirely human garrison at the Wall had been transferred elsewhere- which meant fewer soldiers watching the border, on top of the losses from Kerrigor's attack, and a necromancer had slipped across, making his way to the largest city that was close enough to the Wall that magic still worked- one that seemed rather different than how she remembered it.

But what was occupying most of her attention was the Cyberlife representative in front of her. Sabriel listened politely as the woman spoke about malfunctioning machines and simulated emotions and how things that weren't alive couldn't die, so why would a necromancer- and from the woman's voice it was clear she didn't believe such things were real- want with deactivated androids?

Sabriel stood up and shook the woman's hand, telling her she'd been very helpful without meaning a word of it, and headed out the office before pausing.

She sensed something ominously familiar- Death, and a recent one at that. She turned another corner, following the sensation as a hound tracked a scent, half-expecting someone to spot her, to see her in her armor and bells (security had made her check her sword at the front desk) and tell her she wasn't allowed to be here.

But no one came, and no one living was in the laboratory she went into- just a dead- (deactivated?) android on a table-or its head and torso at least, with panels on its chest removed to reveal tubes and biocomponents, and Sabriel felt she'd stepped into a morgue and found an autopsied body.

Sabriel was seized by a sudden impulse. If androids weren't alive, then she'd simply waste some time, but if they were... well, she'd have a source of information she could interrogate as she would any Dead spirit. And unlike the representative she'd just spoken to, she could force it to answer honestly and completely.

Decision made, Sabriel undid the straps and drew Saraneth from the bandolier. This far from the Wall, stepping into Death took a deliberate effort, but soon Sabriel was in the First precinct and she cast around with her senses, trying to feel out the spirit of the android- if it had one, it couldn't have gone beyond the First Gate, and probably shouldn't be that far into the the First Precinct.

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The glowing comes as a surprise. Connor logs the visual data absently, most of his attention on the opponent to his front. Fast regeneration. Amorphous form. His mouth curves up slightly at the shriek. What is it made of? He peers with interest at the open mouth—and the light burning in its depths. Is there a power source inside?

The human seems to be dispatching her own enemy quickly, and the intact arm of his target slices out, reclaiming his attention. Connor steps aside, free arm coming up to block the strike. It's stronger than expected, and he staggers slightly under the force of the blow as he brings his sword up. A twist of the wrist and he slices inwards, hacking toward the side of the thing's neck. How much can it repair?

The head goes rolling, turning into the same writhing shadow as the severed arm, tendrils extending as it tries to inch its way back to the main body, even as Charter magic from the blade eats into it.

There's already a bulge forming at the base of the neck, the torso shrinking slightly as it uses mass from that to make a new head, and another mouth- this one impossibly wide, as it lunges forward to bite desperately at Connor. Still, it is weakening somewhat.

Sabriel straightens her arm. Stabbing it through the neck didn't kill it, but it's clawing at the blade, trying to free itself from the weapon even as the Charter magic keeps eating into it, the glow on the blade more like golden fire now. The shrieking has become more of a howling, and it almost seems to be trying to form words.

With the Dead distracted, Sabriel tosses Saraneth and catches it by the handle in a practiced motion, swinging it in a figure-eight pattern, focusing the bell's power solely on the Dead in front of her, trying to force it to stop fighting, to be still.

It works, although the Shadow Hand is still twitching as she withdraws her sword, and Sabriel regards the thing with a focused expression that shows neither mercy nor cruelty. She's never felt much of either for the Dead, just the cold sense of what she needs to do.

The creature's head had shown some form of internal power. Connor glances after as it topples, and isn't entirely surprised to see it active still. No, it's the second head he'd failed to account for. His eyes snap back to the body as its new mouth stretches wide, and he throws himself to the side, scrambling to escape its lunge and bring his (unwieldy, archaic) weapon to bear.

The evasion isn't quite as successful as before. Teeth catch in the sleeve of his interposing arm, and his expression freezes, sharp and irritated before he flips his grip on the sword. His opponent's gotten too close to slash at effectively, so Connor stabs inwards instead, slamming the blade through the side of its head. His trapped arm shoves outward, aiming to keep the creature (and its claws) away, while his left hand jerks sideways with the sword, trying to cut off its upper jaw.

The Shadow Hand screams as the sword goes through its head, the glow from the sword growing stronger, becoming something like golden fire that emits neither heat or smoke.

The shove works... but the Shadow Hand;s body feels cold, and not entirely substantial. Its upper jaw is half-removed, Charter magic eating at the wound, preventing it from reattaching properly. Instead it makes a sound like a death rattle as it lashes out with both its wounded and intact arms, aiming for Connor's sword arm, trying to force him to drop the weapon.

"Connor!"

Saraneth sounds out, its voice far deeper than a handbell its size ought to be, but the bell's power isn't directed at Connor- but rather at his opponent.

In the seconds before Saraneth's power grips it fully it starts to collapse, losing its humanoid shape as its main body and its two severed fragments try to get away. But it's not enough, and Sabriel steps forward, sheathing her sword, that look of intent focus still clear on her face.

Edited 2019-03-27 07:31 (UTC)

With a jaw too damaged to bite down, the teeth clenched against his forearm aren't much risk. But even half-decapitated (again), it's still annoyingly persistent. He can't move out of reach without releasing the sword. He can't evade the claws without moving. It's cold, cold, cold. Like the Garden.

Connor twists the sword embedded in its head, smiling grimly as it screams. If he can't avoid damage, he's certainly going to inflict more. It strikes back, a voice calls out, and his eyes flick sideways for the barest moment—only to (flinch) stiffen as a familiar sound cuts through the space.

Deep. Clear. The bell's echoes cut across the scene, and for a moment, Connor can almost feel the river's chill. The sense of pressure in his code. Paralyzing and overwhelming, forcing parts of him to a new shape, and his LED spins yellow/yellow/red—

—before he jerks back, expression shuttering. He can move. Of course he can. It's his opponent that's frozen just short of contact, his opponent who's shrinking down to a quivering, worthless pile of trash. Connor releases the sword and steps back, ceding his target to Abhorsen.

"Calm down- I'm not going to use the bells on you. They're an Abhorsen's weapon against the Dead, not against androids." Sabriel tries to keep her voice reassuring. If Connor's going to be helping her, she doesn't want him to flinch every time she uses her favorite bell- one she's already strapping back into her bandolier. She'll need Dyrim for this- and then Kibeth, once she's learned all she can.

Dyrim's tone is far lighter than Saraneth's and there's somehow a hint of a voice in the chime, like a chorus singing, or multiple conversations mixing in a crowd.

The effect is less pleasant. A tongue forms out of the shadow-stuff of the spirit's mouth, and when it speak its voice is understandable, but inhuman and warped, every sound carrying the hint of a death rattle.

"Abhorsen!" It's pleading, but Sabriel's face is carefully blank, and there's no mercy in her voice as she speaks. Weakness has not place in dealing with the Dead.

"You will answer my questions. Where did your master bring you into Life?"

"A grave, filled with bodies- white like bone, with blue blood, and not even buried! Some were even still living." There's a tone of gluttonous satisfaction in that last sentence that makes Sabriel vaguely nauseous, but she keeps it from reaching her face. So androids were alive.

Connor's eyes flash back towards Abhorsen immediately, expression twitching with disgust and outrage. Of course he's calm. He doesn't need her platitudes for that. He doesn't believe them, either. She changed his programming once already, and she'd do it again if she felt the need.

...Not that he cares. And not that she needs to. Cyberlife approved her changes, and Connor is—obedient.

He knows his place.

He swallows back the furious retort. Shifts his glare downward. Whatever she's doing to the creature seems to be having the desired effect, and his left hand lifts, fingers tracing the hole bitten through his opposite sleeve. He stays back, no move to interfere, though Sabriel might catch an angry mutter at the Hand's answer.

"They weren't."

Sabriel can't quite stop herself from rolling her eyes at Connor's expression. Why did he insist on treating every attempt to be pleasant like she was insulting him?

"How long have you been in Life?"

"Five days"

"What were your master's instructions for you?"

"Hide. Feed as needed, and kill any who saw, and wait for his summons."

"And did he say what he would summon you for?"

"Didn't say." Of course not. This necromancer had a reputation for being clever, so it wasn't surprising that he'd kept his servants from knowing more than they needed to. Unfortunately, this meant she'd have to learn about the necromancer's plans some other way.

"How many others did he raise when he brought you into Life? Did he put any of them into bodies, or leave them as spirit forms? Did you hear what his orders were for them?"

"Six others- four without bodies, two with. He told two with bodies to stay with him, two without to go and hide." At least four more Dead to deal with, and Sabriel has little doubt he'd raised more since then. She replaces Dyrim with Kibeth, holding the bell with both hands and a firm grip. The Walker might be a useful bell, but it was also a willful one.

Kibeth's song is bright and merry, the notes mixing together in a parade march, and the Hand's desperate plea for mercy, its promise to serve, is almost drowned out by its song as Sabriel forces her feet to remain still, instead of moving to the bell's rhythm.

The two Shadow Hands vanish, the sword one had been impaled with falling to the floor, the glow fading from the Charter marks on the blade. There's no residue left from where they were- just Sabriel and Connor, in an empty, abandoned house as Sabriel straps Kibeth back into the bandolier.

Six others. Two bodies. Connor listens to the interrogation, fingers twisting in his jacket sleeve. Her bells produce answers, and his eyes flick up, silently tracking as she changes one out for the next. He's braced already when she rings it, and locks down motor control entirely when the impulse to move comes. He doesn't need to go anywhere. He shouldn't, and he won't. Connor watches the creature vanish, new-made mouth begging for the option to obey, and his fidgeting stills, hand lowering to his side.

The sword clatters to the ground. The creatures leave no residue to sample. No corpses to assess. No proof that they were here at all, outside the information they delivered. Connor eyes the weapon, but doesn't reach for it immediately. He waits instead, expression perfectly blank, for Abhorsen to address him.

He still doesn't know what he's here for.

"Connor, are there any junkyards with large numbers of discarded androids that are near here- and that those creatures wouldn't have needed to cross any rivers, creeks, or large water pipes or sewers underground to reach?" To Sabriel, Detroit's streets are even more of an unknown to her than the streets of Belisaere, and she doesn't have time to learn them.

The guitar case is open again, and Sabriel's already repacking it with her armor, surcoat, bells and sword, before grabbing the second sword and motioning for Sixty to hand her the sheath.

"Do you understand now, that I wasn't joking or being superstitious when I spoke of the restless Dead?" There's no condescension in Sabriel's voice, just something quiet and thoughtful.

"Listen- I'm sure the people at Cyberlife are very clever, and I'm sure they programmed you with all sorts of useful knowledge, but they don't know anything about the Old Kingdom- so please ask me if there's anything you don't understand, and believe me when I tell you that to those creatures, you're something alive, something they can feed on. What you are legally really doesn't matter to them, or to anything magical in general."

Ah, of course. She needs him for his internet connection. Connor presses his lips together and runs a search, compiling and overlaying different maps of the city. He reaches down at her gesture, unbuckling the weapon sheath and belt and passing them over before he retrieves his own from a pocket.

Her tone isn't condescending. He's not sure the same can be said of any words that spew out of her mouth. Prompting and smug, indulgent and dismissive all in one. Very clever. As if he were a human child, to have his hand held through a proper education.

Connor is a machine. He'd been in error. Now he's updating his information. Abhorsen's labels are still superstitious, but her expertise on the topic is clear. Obviously he has questions.

...Too many to waste either of their time with. His jaw tightens as he brushes the prompt aside. When he replies, his voice is as toneless and mechanical as his expression. "Legality has nothing to do with it."

Moving on. "There's a solid waste landfill not far outside the city." He lifts a hand, projecting the address on his palm. "Drainage systems run under the whole region, but the main sewage and storm drains are sparser further out. Maintenance has undergone severe disruptions over the last few days."

It's possible there's been a breach. Or that the flow's shut down in certain areas.

Sabriel raises one eyebrow, not entirely sure if he's agreeing with her or not. But in any case... She takes the belt and sword, then snaps the guitar case shut.

"Well, that's a little bit of good news at least- the Dead can't cross over or under running water, so they'll have a hard time moving around." But there are ways around that, and one of the simplest is a bridge of grave dirt.

Sabriel reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone- but the screen is a frozen, pixelated mess, and she has to restart it, muttering as she does so. Technology never seems to work properly around the supernatural- Connor seems to be the exception so far.

"We still have daylight- we might as well visit the landfill, see if any bodies or soil were moved- if there are any living androids still there, they might be able to tell us something. And we can talk on the ride there- About the Dead, magic, and the necromancer."

Once her phone is on and she can call a taxi, at least.

A phone? How... quaint. Not to mention redundant. Specialized RK800 functions were one thing, but even a domestic model could place calls for its owner.

If Abhorsen doesn't know, Connor isn't going to remind her. He lets the projected image fade, reaching to adjust his jacket sleeve again while she struggles with the device. The rip isn't too wide, and the glow of his armband offers a visual distraction on that side. Even if...

His owner speaks again, setting a plan, and Connor's eyes flick back up, hand lowering carefully. "Of course." She's in charge.

Discreetly, he wipes off a few smeared drops of blue.

Sabriel calls up an automated taxi, then motions for Connor to follow her outside. She relocks the padlock with a Charter spell, tracing the marks over the metal and turning to Connor as the lock clicks shut, her breath fogging in the cold air.

"We have a few minutes before the taxi arrives- ask me about whatever you'd like, as long as it' not about what happened at my school." He's been helpful, but she's in no mood to have Connor acting like a less knowledgeable version of Mogget. But hopefully some conversation will keep her mind off of the chill in the air, or how many bodies and spirits the necromancer might have access too.

Whatever he likes. Connor's mouth twists faintly, and he considers again reminding her how little the term applies. Wasted effort, no doubt. The objective flickers to life in the corner of his vision. Question Abhorsen.

The school is off limits. That still leaves plenty to pick at—and one target in particular stands out. But if her careful exclusion is much sign, she's still wary. If he moves directly for the likely target, she might well rescind the chance entirely. Better to take it slowly. Start with the questions Abhorsen wants to hear.

"How many creatures like that are there?"

"Too many. Around ten thousand in the Old Kingdom, if I had to guess- their numbers wax and wane, although since Kerrigor's defeat, their numbers have been falling. And of course, no one knows how many there are in Death." Or how many this necromancer could raise.

"Of course, most of those aren't under any necromancer's direct control- they're Dead that entered life of their own accord."

Edited 2019-04-01 06:16 (UTC)

Several thousand? Connor eyes Abhorsen, lips pressed together... before his gaze flicks forward. He isn't at all sure what sense that makes, but he doesn't have the data to contest it.

Besides. He's genuinely curious about another improbability.

"If that can happen, why aren't people everywhere aware?"

Clearly those creatures could exist south of the border. And if they were able to self-generate...

"Everyone in the Old Kingdom knows about them- children learn the best defenses against them in nursery rhymes. But the Wall keeps most Dead and Free magic things from passing physically into Ancelstierre, and makes it difficult for them to pass over through Death," Sabriel explains, "I don't think I've ever heard of Dead rising of their own accord on this side, except at the Perimeter."

"And while a powerful enough necromancer can pull the Dead into Life anywhere, most necromancers and free-willed Dead use places where the boundary is thin- broken Charter stones, and places where large numbers of people have died or been buried," Sabriel continues, her tone grim but not lecturing. "There's a reason we generally burn our dead in the Old Kingdom, and why that's also the custom in the parts of Ancelstierre that are very close to the Wall. Further south... well, most Ancelstierrians seem desperate to believe none of it's real, even if they have to come up with ridiculous theories to explain it away. Even if it puts them in danger." And Sabriel didn't bother to hide her frustration with that.

"And on this side... Magic fades the further south you go, and Death becomes harder to reach, even in places where the boundary should be thin. Go far enough south and it becomes impossible to reach, not matter what. But Detroit's close enough to the border that I can still use magic and walk into Death, it's just a bit harder than the Old Kingdom. And if androids... count as living beings magically speaking..." Sabriel's voice wavered, "Then a graveyard filled with thousands of corpses would be an easy route in and out of Death, even this far from the Wall, along with a ready supply of bodies and spirits."

The Wall. The boundary. Connor stares ahead as Abhorsen explains, LED blinking a slow yellow. What databases he can access don't have much more information on the topic: scattered reports of hysteria, for the most part. His expression remains nearly blank, but an irritated furrow starts to knit between his brows.

Magic.

It's a useless term. Even if Abhorsen has these capabilities... even if others do, there's still a system. Clearly there are limits. All power has to come from somewhere, and if he can understand the method—

It's easy to tell, the moment puzzlement gives way to something much more hostile. Connor stiffens, expression twitching in a spasm of dislike. However she was counting, androids weren't alive. And certainly—

"We don't have souls."

Connor's confusion is clear, and understandable- all this is new to him, and he seems to be taking this explanation more seriously than he did the last time Sabriel tried talking about it. Overall, she'd say it's an improvement that he appears to be trying to learn.

Then she mentions how androids might fit into this, and his expression changes. So he did have feelings about that, although Sabriel can't understand why he'd find the idea of having a soul so upsetting. She sighs, her breath forming a mist in the cold air.

"Then what was I speaking to in that river where we first met, if not your spirit? That was Death- the only things that can exist there are spirits, because it's not a physical place. And my bells only work on the Dead and the Living- they don't do anything to technology like cars and computers, except break them."

That was—what? The blank mask is firmly back in place, but the android's LED spins quick, erratic circles. He remembers the river. The simulation. She'd reactivated him there... hadn't she? His memories are soft and strange, data missing or corrupted—but Connor can't quite dispel the flicker of uncertainty. Had he been there before she came?

...It doesn't matter. It wouldn't prove anything. And certainly, her bells don't. His stare narrows at the offending implements, voice quick and flat as he snaps back, "Then I'd say they're working perfectly to standard."

She hadn't been authorized. And still, he'd done what she said, answered what she asked. Connor might have been a failure before, but he'd at least known who he should obey.

"I don't know where you reactivated my program. But it doesn't change anything.

"I'm a machine."

"I see. Well, I suppose you don't need to understand, even if I'd like you to." Sabriel couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of her voice. Apparently Ancelstierrian androids were rather like their human counterparts when it came to being confronted with the supernatural. She shivered a little, as a gust of wind hit her. When was that taxi going to get here?

"I'd at least like you to understand what my purpose and responsibility as Abhorsen is, even if it involves things you might find hard to believe."

"But I have a question of my own- why did you swear at me in the labratory?" Vulgar hostility really didn't seem like it had a place in social integration programming, but then again neither did implying that she was responsible for getting her friends killed. Perhaps that was why he'd hadn't been scheduled for reactivation- they'd decided his personality was too unpleasant for their purposes.

He doesn't understand? He's not the one denying basic facts. There's a twitch at the corner of Connor's lip, but he keeps the vicious sneer off his face. He holds back any commentary on her purpose while he's at it.

When he does glance back to her, it's with a cool, indifferent stare—and certainly, Abhorsen's own question warrants at least that much disdain. "You hacked me. Were you expecting politeness?"

"Do machines actually care about things like that? Most tools aren't picky about who wields them." With exceptions including her bells, her sword, and apparently Connor.

"I wasn't expecting you to turn back on," Sabriel admits, "If I hadn't been... interrupted by that technician finding my body, I would have instructed you to follow the river to the end, not go back into Life." But apparently there'd been more life in Connor than she'd assumed, and he'd returned to Life of his own accord.

Edited 2019-04-06 04:42 (UTC)

"Of course not." Machines don't care. He doesn't care. He's obedient.

"But we're programmed to accomplish our tasks. Tampering like yours makes that more difficult."

Until Cyberlife redefined his purpose. Until they gave him away. Connor's stare wanders sideways, lingering on the trickle of meltwater seeping into the ground. Follow the river. He doesn't know the details of her religion, or of the place she'd used to bring him back. But he can guess without a doubt what that means.

His response is utterly without inflection.

"You can correct the oversight at any time."

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