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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

"I have my own tasks, and I needed information from you to help me accomplish them," Sabriel says, "And since you're not one of the Dead, there's no need."

At least he didn't bother insisting androids weren't alive, and thus couldn't die. Small mercies, she supposes. But perhaps she'd better steer this conversation to safer areas.

"Is there anything more you'd like to learn about my own abilities- anything that would help you work with me more effectively?" She didn't want him caught off guard when she used a different bell, or started casting Charter magic.

No need. The LED spins (blue, blue, blue). What does she need him for? Surely not information at this point. And she hadn't needed his assistance tracking down her prey.

What is his mission?

Connor doesn't ask.

He nods instead toward the bells. "Do all of your abilities rely on those?"

"No. I don't need them to cast Charter magic, which is what I use for things that don't involve Death and the Dead," Sabriel presses one finger to her forehead, and the mark there glows in response, "That's how I opened the padlock."

"And I don't need them to sense the Dead, or death and the dying- that comes from my bloodline, not the bells or baptism. The bells just augment my necromantic abilities- Saraneth is the one I use most frequently, but each has unique properties, and each has their own purpose." Some more useful than others- Sabriel's only used Mosrael twice, and doubts she'll need to use it anytime soon.

Magic again. Connor frowns, but nods—he'd seen the padlock. The bells still seem like the more dangerous tool, and his gaze flicks back their way as he considers.

Bloodline, she said. The father too?

"At what range do you detect those things?"

Edited 2019-04-07 05:59 (UTC)

"That depends on a few factors- if there are many of them, or if one of them is especially powerful, I can sense them from some distance. But one or two of no particular strength? I'd need to be within several blocks- closer, if it's something like a mordaut- they're a parasitic type of lesser Dead- that's good at hiding."

She'd needed to be in the same room to spot the one at Nestowe. But hopefully the necromancer wouldn't use any- they could blend in easily, but their feeding habits were distinctive.

No twitch to her expression. No increased heart rate or flicker of the eyes. The lack of method behind all of it is grating, but she believes what she's saying, and has the details to back it up. That doesn't make it all reliable, but after the last demonstration, he can't dismiss anything without proof.

A shape appears a few blocks down the road: the taxi, turning a corner. With some regret, Connor shelves some of the personal topics for another time. It's hard to say how willing Abhorsen might be to share later, and information is a more pressing concern.

He speaks quickly, eyes on the approaching vehicle. "You said the bells have different functions. What are they? And are yours the only ones?"

"You're already familiar with Saraneth- it binds the listener to the ringer's will, and you saw me use Dyrim- that one can grant the capacity for speech, or take it away. And Kibeth's the walker- it can grant or remove freedom of movement, or force someone to walk into Death. But it seeks to ring of its own accord." Sabriel pauses for a moment as the taxi comes to a stop, stepping inside, and waiting until Connor's gotten in and they've started moving.

"This is Ranna, the sleeper," Sabriel says, pointing to the smallest bell, "It forces the listener to fall asleep. Next is Mosrael, the waker- when rung, it pulls the listener into Life, and the ringer into Death- so it's not one I use."

"Fifth is Belgaer, the thinker- like Kibeth, it seeks to ring on its own accord and can be difficult to control, and it has power over thought and memory- it counters Saraneth, restoring free will to those bound, and it can also restore the memory and personality the Dead had in life- or shatter minds and erase memories, depending on how it's rung." Another bell Sabriel had never had much cause to use. Then her fingers pointed to the larges bell, and she kept them as still as she could.

"Astarael, the weeper. When rung properly, it sends all who hear it deep into Death- including the ringer. It's a bell of last resort." She tried not to think about the only time she'd heard it rung, and what the circumstances had been.

But he'd asked another question, and Sabriel answered it with something like relief.

"Abhorsen's bells are not the only set- and while the knowledge of how to make them hasn't been lost, it's also not common. And the bells necromancers use don't have Charter magic in them- but the individual we're after has a set of his own, if that's what you're asking."

That wasn't what he had been asking, but it's useful information nonetheless. Connor saves it alongside the litany of functions. Along with the pained stillness with which she gestured to one bell... and the relief with which she moves on from the topic.

Abhorsen's given him more to work with than expected, and after the time period she'd allotted for discussion was used up. The task has vanished from his view, but Connor considers her answers, then asks after a few more. What difference does the Charter magic make? What does she know about their target? His eyes narrow at the replies, and he swallows back acerbic commentary about her country. Still, for a scarce few minutes, the interaction is nearly functional.

Abhorsen ^ [Tense]

He lapses into silence as the ride continues, fingers tapping a silent pattern on the door handle. Outside, the dilapidated suburban surroundings vanish, replaced by the industrial shapes of factories as they pass the outskirts of the city by. Soon even those structures become more sparse, and they turn off onto a side road passing between rolling white hills.

Fresh snow. The sun, glowing brightly off the landscape. It's nearly idyllic. Unless, of course, one looks too closely. At certain angles, the reflected light on the terrain looks wrong: not smooth slopes, but mounds of fragments, bone-white pieces layered to a landscape of debris. If it's trash, it's certainly overflowed its boundaries. The taxi's path cuts a straight line between the hills, swerving gently to avoid a road hazard.

A white, slack corpse, arm sprawled across the pavement.

They're all bodies. Skinless and stripped, piled in and past the dumping ground—stacked in small mountains stretching on as far as can be seen. Tens of thousands. Hundreds? More? It's impossible to tell. Impossible for human perception to properly take in.

Connor isn't a human. The taxi comes to a stop and his gaze sweeps the surrounding piles, logging every slack expression of despair or fear. Every worthless, defective machine.

What a waste. He pushes upright as the door opens, turning expectantly to Abhorsen. "What are we after?"

Sabriel doesn't need to look. She stiffens as they approach the landfill, every muscle going tense. Connor can say androids aren't alive as much as he likes, this feels like they're surrounded by corpses.

By the time the taxi stops, Sabriel's shaking, even as she wraps her coat more tightly around herself. She can almost hear the river, and the sunlight offers little comfort. She still doesn't understand the reason the Ancelstierrians did this, but that doesn't matter. They've created an easy path out of Death, along with all the corpses the necromancer might wish for- and with Death so close, she can feel spirits on the other side- not trying to return to Life as far as she can tell, but still... her enemy would have no shortage of minions. Given enough time, he could raise an army beyond the wildest dreams of any necromancer.

Sabriel's shivering worsens, and she can't tell herself it's just the cold, or how clearly she can feel Death. She'd thought stopping Kerrigor would keep Ancelstierre safe from the monsters of the Old Kingdom- and she'd been wrong.

She swallows at Sixty's question, then starts speaking, "Look for signs of bodies being removed- I can only tell if they've been moved from where they died, so I can't use my Death-sense to tell if any were taken. If he wants to use their spirits to make Shadow Hands he'd simply remove their heads... and their weakness to running water can be nullified by a barrier of grave dirt, so see if any soil has been removed."

She can tell when corpses have been transported... but only from a specific place? Irritation pulls at the edges of Connor's mouth, but he files away the information. Or the excuse. Just because she believes her own bullshit doesn't mean all of it has to be true.

Still, it's what he has to work with. He nods curtly at the instructions, glancing over the surrounding space. Trails in the dirt show where a number of chassis have been dragged, but all of those are accounted for—most likely, just an effort to make room for parking.

Connor's eyes drift up the nearest hill before returning to Abhorsen. What's wrong with her?

"We'll need a better vantage."

Or he will, at least. Is she coming?

Sabriel nods, and forces herself to focus on the chill in the air, and the crunch of snow under her feet. Lessons from her father drift to the surface of her mind, and she forcibly dulls her Death sense- she can't shut it off entirely, but it becomes slightly less overwhelming, and her shaking eases.

The climb up is slow- Sabriel tries very carefully not to touch any faces, or think too much about the expressions on those faces. There's no stench of decay, but she's not reassured by that- it just means that the Dead could use these bodies as vessels even if centuries pass.

She needs to lay down wards and wind flutes once she's dealt with the necromancer, to make sure another one doesn't try to do the same thing. But that will take months, and she has work to do in the Old Kingdom.

"Why did they even do this?"

Sabriel can't keep the dread out of her words, or hide how overwhelmed she feels. There's no concentration of bodies anywhere near this amount in the Old Kingdom.

The plastic underfoot is smooth and slippery—more so, when heaped precariously and dusted by snow. Connor's attention stays mostly on his footing, testing his weight as he carefully steps higher up the slope. For all the challenge of it, he moves quickly, slowing only when it's clear his owner isn't keeping up.

"Squeamish, Abhorsen?"

If she glances over, she'll find one smiling face amidst the paroxysms of terror. Connor's brows are raised, lips curved in imitation of kindness.

It's not hard to see through the pretense.

"They're just machines. And they were malfunctioning."

A hand lifts, carelessly gesturing to the sea of bone-white limbs and empty bodies.

"Cyberlife's customers deserved more."

"They feel like corpses," Sabriel says as she moves to catch up, "My senses are telling me I'm standing on a mountain of corpses." Corpses that didn't seem to have any obvious cause of death, corpses whose limbs were all intact.

She wants to push Connor, to hit him, or simply order him to wipe that stupid smile off of his face. Instead she focuses on moving upwards, gritting her teeth and trying to think about what they need to do here, and what to do after that.

"I still don't understand what deviancy is, or why they couldn't repair them, instead of- this. But what I do know is that if the man we're after can use these androids as he'd use human corpses, he has the makings of an army beyond anything he could dream of. Do Cyberlife's customers deserve to be devoured by the restless Dead?"

His eyebrows lift. "You tell me." Certainly, Connor wasn't programmed to make moral judgements. Only functional ones. Still, there's another implication in the ironic twist of his mouth. In the way he glances, oh so casually, in her direction.

She's the one who's made a recent purchase.

Connor turns back to the ascent. A child model dislodges underfoot, creating a miniature cascade to one side, but he recovers quickly. Before long, he stands at the top of the hill, surveying the rise and fall of bodies to all sides: white plastic, reflecting the sun's warm light.

For trash, it's almost pretty.

Sabriel follows silently, squinting against the afternoon sun as they reach the top, looking for... she's not sure. Some movement, or simply a sign of bodies being moved, or soil being excavated.

Wait- what was that? Sabriel uses her hand to shade her eyes. Yes, there was movement in the shadow of one of the mounds- a figure dressed in dark, dirty clothing, face hidden behind what might have been a hood, or possibly an old blanket, moving slowly as though they didn't want to be seen.

"They don't feel like one of the Dead, and there's no sign of the bells," she says, more to herself than to Connor, readjusting the strap of her guitar case and her bandolier as she starts heading down the slope, one eye on her footing and the other on the figure.

"Let's talk to them."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject