Chapter 5: Clumsy Trio

The air in the subterranean vault was perfectly still, but to Jack, it felt as though a gentle, icy current was constantly washing over his skin.

He stood near the stone guard niches, leaning heavily on his brass-headed cane. A few feet away, Rusty stood in the dim light of the single tallow candle. The skeleton’s bony fingers were wrapped tightly around the wooden base of the candle holder. It held the light perfectly level, its skull tilted slightly to the side as if waiting for the next order.

Jack took a slow, deep breath. His lungs felt remarkably clear down here. The cold, dark mana of the crypts acted like a soothing balm on his scarred tissue. But as he looked at Rusty, he knew one worker wouldn’t be enough.

To clear the collapsed mine shaft, haul heavy sacks of coal up the steep castle stairs, and secretly deliver fuel to the village, he needed a crew. A single skeleton could barely carry a heavy load, let alone run a covert mining operation.

“Two more,” Jack muttered to himself. “I need at least two more to start.”

He hobbled slowly along the stone shelves, his cane tapping rhythmically. Rusty followed behind, his bare, ivory feet scraping against the dusty stone, the candlelight swaying gently with each step.

Jack stopped in front of a second niche. The wooden box that had once rested here had completely disintegrated, leaving a neat, undisturbed pile of bones. Jack looked closely at the skull. A massive crack ran from the left temple down to the jawline—likely the result of a heavy mace or warhammer blow in some border skirmish.

“You’ll do,” Jack said.

He reached out, letting the cold grey mana pool in his fingertips once more. He guided the misty, pale-blue vapor toward the shattered skull. The moment the magic touched the bone, Jack felt that familiar, sharp tug on his soul. A second invisible, grey thread snapped into place, anchoring itself deep within his chest.

Clack. Rattle.

The bones began to slide across the stone shelf, clicking together like a complicated puzzle. Ribs aligned, vertebrae stacked, and the limbs snapped into their sockets. Within moments, the second skeleton stood upright. Because of the old head wound, its skull sat at a slightly permanent, crooked tilt.

“Your head is covered in stone dust,” Jack said, observing the ancient crack. “I’ll call you Dusty.”

The skeleton didn’t showed any reaction.

Jack felt the drain in his chest instantly double. It wasn’t painful, but it felt as though a small weight had been placed on his shoulders. The passive flow of his mana was being tapped by two separate straws now. He could handle it, but he could already feel a faint, dull throb beginning behind his temples.

“One more,” Jack whispered, gritting his teeth. “Just one more.”

He moved to the next niche. This skeleton was notably different. The femur bones were exceptionally long, and the ribcage was wide. Even in death, this soldier had been a giant of a man, easily standing a full head taller than Rusty and Dusty.

Jack didn’t waste any time. He pushed the third thread of grey mana from his core, directing it into the bones.

The reaction was immediate, but this time, it felt much heavier. The grey thread hooked into his soul with a violent, jarring yank that made Jack’s vision blur for a fraction of a second. His knees trembled, and he had to lean his entire forearm against the stone wall to keep from falling.

Rattle! Clatter!

The giant skeleton assembled itself with a series of loud, sharp snaps. It stood nearly six feet four inches tall, its long, lanky arms hanging down past its pelvis. It looked incredibly intimidating, a towering frame of clean, white bones.

“Bones,” Jack gasped, panting slightly as he stared up at the giant. “Your name is Bones.”

The tall skeleton stood perfectly silent, its dark eye sockets staring down at him.

Jack leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. His head was buzzing. Having three active skeletons connected to his mind felt like trying to carry three open, brim-full cups of water while walking a tightrope. Every movement, every shift in his focus, threatened to spill the mana. His nose began to tickle—a warm, familiar itch that warned him of an impending nosebleed if he pushed his core any further.

“This is my limit,” Jack realized, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. It came away clean, but only barely. “Three is the absolute maximum for now.”

He looked at his little crew. Rusty, the average-sized leader with the rust-stained hand. Dusty, the crooked-necked one with the cracked skull. And Bones, the towering giant.

“We are going up,” Jack commanded mentally, sending the thought through the three grey threads. “Quietly. Follow me.”

The climb back up the steep stairs was a slow process. Jack had to fight his own physical weakness while constantly maintaining the mental threads. Every time Rusty took a step, Jack felt a tiny twitch in his mind. Every time Dusty’s foot scraped the stone, Jack’s head throbbed.

By the time they reached his bedchamber, Jack was covered in a cold sweat.

He stepped through the open trapdoor, and the three skeletons scrambled up behind him, their bones clattering softly in the quiet room. Jack immediately turned and seized the iron ring of the stone slab. With a grunt of exertion, he dragged the door shut, sealing the freezing draft of the crypts away.

Jack collapsed into his high-backed wooden chair, his chest heaving. The three skeletons stood in a neat, silent semi-circle in front of his bed, staring at him.

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“Alright,” Jack muttered, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Before we go any further, I need to know how much control I actually have over you three.”

He decided to test their basic intelligence. He pointed toward the sealed trapdoor in the corner of his room.

“Dusty,” Jack commanded mentally, focusing entirely on the thread connected to the crooked-necked skeleton. “Go watch the trapdoor. Do not let anyone touch it.”

Dusty’s head jerked. He turned, marched over to the corner of the room and stopped directly over the stone slab.

Dusty marched towards the trapdoor and sat near it.

Jack blinked. “Dusty. Stand up.”

Dusty scrambled to his feet, standing perfectly rigid.

Jack sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I need to be more precise. Skeletons have no common sense.”

He stood up, leaning on his cane, and walked toward the trapdoor to see if Dusty would follow the instruction. The moment Jack’s foot stepped within a foot of the stone slab, Dusty’s right arm shot out with terrifying speed, his bony fingers locking onto Jack’s shoulder with the grip of an iron vice.

Jack froze. Dusty didn’t hurt him, but the skeletal grip was completely unyielding. The empty eye sockets stared blankly into Jack’s face.

“Dusty,” Jack said slowly in his mind. “Let go of me. I am your master.”

Dusty’s arm immediately dropped back to his side.

“Okay,” Jack muttered, taking a step back. “Your commands are incredibly literal. If I tell you to let no one touch it, you include me in that list. I have to specify.”

He focused his mind again, projecting a clearer, more detailed thought. “Dusty. Guard the trapdoor. Do not let anyone except me touch it or come near it. If anyone else tries, stop them. But do not hurt Karen.”