“Jerry!” Soon after the villages disappeared, a shout came from the hill’s base as a rugged figure burst out of the tree line. It was Derek, panting as if he’d run all the way here, and still wearing the same bloodied clothes as before. He’d come from a different direction than the villagers; they had taken the long, clear way around, while he cut straight through the woods. They hadn’t run into each other.

  “Derek,” Jerry replied softly, walking to meet him mid-way. The undead stayed behind, letting the two men chat by themselves.

  Derek quickly reached Jerry, a string of curses escaping his mouth before he could even catch his breath. He was furious, far more than Jerry had ever seen him, except when Brad had mistreated Holly.

  “Where are they? Those pitiful, pig-born bastards! How dare they do this to you? How dare they take your kindness and throw it in the trash!?”

  “It’s fine, Derek.”

  “No, it isn’t!” the hunter shouted again, looking at the slur on the wall, then sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Jerry… I had no idea they would do this.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s fine.” Jerry smiled. “What’s done is done. You were right; I really should leave this place, and as soon as possible, too.”

  “But they—”

  “You didn’t run into them, did you?”

  Derek blinked. “No.”

  “Well, some things happened, and I killed Murdock.”

  “Oh.” He stayed silent for a moment. “I never liked that bastard, anyway.”

  “There’s another thing, too,” Jerry continued with a smirk. “I told everyone that Murdock and Melissa had been having an affair.”

  “They’ve what?!”

  “Having an affair. Fucking. You know, Murdock was sticking his—”

  “I know what it means, but what? ” Derek’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Is it true?”

  “Absolutely, my friend. I saw them with my own two eyes—well, not quite, but kind of. Murdock even lied that Ashman was sterile to drive them apart, but it wasn’t him, it was Melissa all along. I never said anything because Ashman didn’t want to know, but now… Well, I wanted to get back at them. If they betray me, why should I carry their burden?”

  Derek was speechless.

  “Well fucking done!” he finally exclaimed. “They deserved that! But still, I can’t believe Melissa… That wench had been taking care of my daughter! Murdock and Melissa had been teaching her herbalism. I… Fuck them both!”

  “They already did it themselves.” Jerry laughed.

  “This is no laughing matter, Jerry! What kind of values have they been teaching her?” Derek clenched his fists, suddenly angry again. “That’s it; fuck it, fuck it all, and fuck them, too. I’m not staying with those fuckers any longer. I’m taking Holly and going to Milaris right now.”

  “Yeah, I’m leaving tomorrow too… If I had any last doubts, they’re all gone. I didn’t need a home, but a family. And now”—he looked back at the tower, where the undead simply stood in silence—“I have one.” He smiled. “You were right, Derek. The world is too large to stay where you’re not wanted.”

  “I only wish someone had told me that when I was younger…” The hunter grumbled. “So, what are you going to do? Will you come to Milaris with us?”

  Jerry shook his head. He leaned back, releasing a light breath as he looked at the sky. It was still afternoon, and the sunset’s rosy color was just starting to color the horizon. The sky, the forest, the mountains, the birds flying above, his beloved undead behind him and a good friend in front.

  Being unwanted hurt, but learning to deal with it was a critical part of life. Nobody belongs everywhere.

  Suddenly, Jerry’s heart was light again. The remaining anger and pain washed away—not completely, of course, but to a large degree, and the rest would disappear with time. The future suddenly occupied his thoughts. The vast, promising world, and all its endlessly intriguing possibilities.

  And as a matter of fact, Jerry already had an inkling of what he wanted to do.

  “Not Milaris, my friend…” he replied. “Necromancers are not welcome in the Three Kingdoms, that much is clear—and they never will be while the Dead Lands remain.”

  “Oh? And what are you going to do about that? Destroy the Dead Lands?”

  “No, even better. I will lift the Curse.”

  “What?” Derek’s eyes widened. “But that’s—”

  “I know. For fifty entire years, after the Curse escaped Ozborne’s control, the northern half of the continent has been an undead wasteland. If fixing that was easy, someone would have done it already. In fact, let alone fixing it, nobody even dares to enter the Dead Lands.”

  “Exactly!”

  “But you see”—Jerry smiled widely—“I recently discovered I’m undead myself. The Curse can’t touch me. I’m the perfect person for the job.”

  “That’s—Well, yes, I guess, but what do you know about Curses?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’ll find a way when I get there. Lifting the Curse will be the first step to necromancers being accepted. Nobody will have to endure what I did. We will be free.”

  Derek gave him a deep stare. “Don’t make the same mistake you did in Pilpen, Jerry,” he said. “Most people are too stupid to be open-minded.”

  “I know. I don’t expect necromancy to be welcomed all of a sudden. It will be a long, difficult journey towards coexistence, and all I want is to do my part.”

  The hunter processed this for a moment, gazing at Jerry’s smile, and then he laughed out loud, the kind of laughter that comes from one’s heart.

  “You’re insane, Jerry, totally batshit crazy—but damn, do I like you! You know what? I think that’s a perfect goal! If I didn’t have a daughter, I might have even joined you!”

  Jerry smiled again. He’d felt lost a moment ago, but now, he had purpose. He had a goal, a dream. He would adventure to the Dead Lands, find some way to lift the Curse, and right the wrongs that necromancers had done or die trying. And, most importantly, he’d make sure to have a lot of fun on the way.

  “However, let alone solving the Curse,” Derek said after he’d calmed down a bit, “how are you even going to get there? The Damn Wall is tightly guarded, and no one is allowed past.”

  “No idea; I’ll just play it by ear. As for getting to the Wall itself, I do have something fun in mind. A way to complete the journey in style, have fun, and make some money at the same time—maybe I’ll need it.” Jerry leaned closer. “This will sound weird, but it’s a great idea, trust me.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “I’ll start a wandering circus.”

  “A what?” Derek’s eyes bulged out, surprise overcoming his previous anger.

  “A wandering circus.” Jerry laughed; a carefree, pleasant peal. After all, why not? The undead were considered odd to begin with; why not capitalize on that?

  “What do you think, my friend? Isn’t it awesome?”

  “A wandering circus… A circus?”

  “Yep.” Jerry smiled. “And I think we’re all going to have a wonderful time. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.”

  “But…” Derek still couldn’t believe it. Compared to their previous discussion, this was just too disorienting. “A wandering circus?”

  “You sure like repeating things, my friend. Are you a parrot?” Jerry laughed again as he paced around, a new spring in his step. The sky was bright, the sun was shining, and the air was clean. The birds chirped as they flew overhead, and the first flowers had already bloomed, filling Jerry’s nose with their fragrance. The vandalized tower was nothing but a dissonant splash of color in a beautiful world, already part of the background.

  “What do you think, Derek? How about we travel together to Milaris? It’s on my way, and I need some equipment to truly get the circus started.”

  “Uh… Sure.”

  “Great!” Jerry beamed. “Go on, then. Bring your daughter and baggage; we leave at dawn.”

  Derek stared in disbelief.

  “Come on, Derek! The circus won’t build itself. I can already see it; Axehand will be our strongman, the Billies will be acrobats, Headless will be the juggler, and Boboar with Foxy will take care of the animal routines. As for Boney, he will help me manage everything, while Birb… Well, Birb will do Birb things. How beautiful; it’s as if everything was leading up to this very moment. Why are you still here? Go on, Derek; your daughter won’t fetch herself!”

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  Giggling and rubbing his hands, Jerry quickly took off toward his undead. As for Derek, he still stood there, eyes bulging in disbelief.

  “But…a wandering circus?”

  Jerry laughed from afar. And just like that, on the next day, a wandering circus which would soon become known far and wide set off, never to visit this little place again. It was called the Funny Bone.

  They were off to new, wonderful adventures.

  ***

  A weird scene was unraveling outside Milaris. In a field behind a forest, hidden from the city’s sight, undead congregated around a small collection of living. They had a wagon filled with fabrics, musical instruments, and all sorts of trinkets, and their eyes were filled with warmth—even for those who didn’t have eyes.

  “This is great, Derek,” Jerry said, looking at the cart. “Thank you.”

  “Only a day’s work,” the hunter replied proudly. Undead could not enter Milaris, so Derek and Holly had gone shopping for everything the circus needed to get started, courtesy of Jericho’s money coffers. They’d done a splendid job.

  While the two were shopping, Jerry and his undead waited hidden in the forest. Derek and Holly had had enough of being outcasts. They should not be seen with undead. Of course, this didn’t mean they were ashamed of their friends. It was just best for them, and everyone understood. Jerry had insisted.

  “And so, here we are,” the necromancer said, his eyes sparkling. “You’re about to start a new life in a new place where no one knows you and you know no one.” He shook his head. “The future is full of possibilities, isn’t it?”

  “So is yours, my friend.” Derek smiled. “Who knows where your adventures will take you. If you ever pass by Milaris again, come visit. I look forward to hearing the rest of your story.”

  “I will.” Jerry smiled back, then released a sigh. “None of this would have happened without you, Derek… From the bottom of my heart, thank you. In my entire life, as long as I can remember, you’re the first living friend I ever had.”

  “I should be the one thanking you. You saved me from the cesspool that is Pilpen and helped me get revenge. I owe you one.”

  The two men looked at each other and nodded with faint smiles on their faces. “Mr. Jerry,” Holly spoke hesitantly, taking a step forward. “Thank you…both for saving me that one time and for helping my father. I’m sorry for being afraid of you before…”

  “That’s okay. Everyone would be scared. What matters is that you got over it, and that you’ve got a terrific dad who loves you very much.”

  She looked up at him with her wide green eyes and nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

  “On behalf of the undead,” Boney said, “we will miss you both. It was fun. Let’s meet again sometime.”

  “No bone pun, Boney?” Jerry asked, raising a brow.

  “I tried really hard, Master, but couldn’t come up with anything.”

  “That’s okay.” Derek laughed. “If you rediscover your funny bone, let us know.”

  Everyone looked at him in surprise, then shared a hearty laugh.

  “Well, we should get going,” Jerry said, looking at the mid-day sun. “The first village is still some hours away.”

  “Don’t let us keep you,” Derek said, extending a hand. “It was my honor to meet you all. Until we meet again, I pray you live wonderful unlives.”

  “I hope you find everything you wish for, Derek.”

  Jerry ignored Derek’s outstretched hand and pulled him into a hug. Boney joined them, pulling Holly along, and soon, all the undead gathered around in a massive group hug, with the zombies at the very back. Foxy climbed and walked on their shoulders to snuggle up to Derek, while Birb perched atop Holly’s head. She giggled, a few tears already glistening in her eyes.

  “Well, that’s it, everyone,” Jerry said as they dispersed. He climbed on the cart. “I wish you the best of luck, though you don’t need it.” He winked. “Goodbye!”

  “Goodbye, Jerry! Goodbye, undead!” Derek and Holly stood there and waved. The wagon started rolling, pulled by Boboar. The undead were already jesting with each other and trying out musical instruments, while Jerry lounged on his heavenly soft chair—which sat at the very top of the cart—and took a quick nap. The future was already filling his head.

  He would miss Derek and Holly, but he knew by now: life was the art of letting go.

  Derek and Holly stood there until the circus had disappeared in the horizon, and only then did they speak again.

  “They’re good people, Dad,” Holly said.

  “Yeah. I hope they have a blast… Oh, to be young. Now, come on. Let’s build a life we’re proud of, and when you grow up a bit, maybe you’ll adventure, too.”

  “Yes!”

  They returned to Milaris, where they’d make their home for the next few years. The circus had gone away, too.

  And everyone lived happily ever after until they didn’t.

  ***

  Magic rippled in the silent forest.

  The animals freaked out and ran away; the trees shuddered; the wind blew. Darkness coalesced on the forest ground thickly, like slime, before the soil glowed black. It rose, and at the same time, transformed, becoming a naked man with bronze skin, wild hair, black eyes, and hands as large as shovels.

  Jericho’s eyes opened in confusion.

  “Hmm? I’m alive?” he asked, trying to stand.

  “You are not.”

  A person was crouched on the ground beside Jericho. One of his hands touched the soil next to his feet, still ebbing black light.

  This was a clean-shaven man in his thirties, with dark hair and a long, thin scar running horizontally over his entire forehead. Below the scar, his blue eyes were framed by strict lines yet were piercing like the pointiest of daggers. He wore a dark, tight leather jacket over a white silken shirt, and as he stood, the two black feathers sticking out of his chest pocket took Jericho aback.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked, but a burning pain in his soul instantly made him fall to his knees.

  “Your new master,” the man replied in a crisp voice, “so be polite.”

  “A necromancer…” Jericho grunted. “Fuck off! I have no master!”

  “That is not your choice to make.” The man raised a hand, sending a new jolt of pain through Jericho. “You are already one of mine. I prefer letting my undead keep their minds, so try to accept it.”

  The earth spirit roared. “You fucker, I’ll—” He froze mid-sentence. He remembered. He had been crushed. His bandit gang had been destroyed, his brother tree murdered, and even he, for all his endless power, had been defeated.

  Hatred flared inside Jericho as he thought of the man who took everything away from him. Jerry Shoeson…

  He had lost everything, but he could start anew. He was back. As long as his mother was with him, there was nothing Jericho couldn’t do. He reached for the familiar link inside him, connecting him to the earth, or at least he tried to.

  “Mother!” he yelled in panic. Suddenly, he was terrified. “Where’s my mother?!”

  Jerry had even stolen his mother! Jericho had lost his powers! He was now weak and alone, and he could never take revenge. He’d lost everything. The world spun around Jericho as he stumbled.

  “Gaia does not take in undead,” the necromancer said. “She has abandoned you. It was I who revived you, saved you from the endless void of death. My name is Maccain Darkson, a Herald of the Wizard Order, and I will grant you new life.”

  Jericho’s thoughts spun, only half-listening. However, he did hear one word, and it was enough to shake him. “Herald?” he asked, eyes opening wide. “Really?”

  “Is my strength not proof enough?”

  A shadow fell on Jericho from behind, and as he turned to look, he found a one-eyed ogre staring him down. Jericho himself towered over normal men, but this creature was easily a head taller than him, and the club it wielded was a normal person’s height.

  “I know you!” Jericho exclaimed, taking a step back. “Borgon the Crusher!”

  The ogre smiled, revealing a line of flat, bulky teeth. Behind him stood another man, slim and holding two swords—he was also a zombie, as evidenced by the deep wound on his chest. Suddenly, a flash came in the moonlight, and the grass below seemed to lose its luster as droplets from all around formed a humanoid shape in midair, barely as large as Jericho’s palm.

  Jericho was surrounded by four beings: the necromancer and, presumably, his other three undead. Suddenly, the sword-wielder zombie released a grunt. It trembled and fell to its knees. Jericho watched in confusion as, with a final hateful glance at its master, the zombie collapsed. Its swords fell to the grass.

  Jericho blinked. “What the hell was that?”

  “The fate of those who disappoint me. I believe in quality over quantity; three of you are enough until I find someone stronger.”

  Jericho felt lost. He glanced at the other two undead; the ogre grinned, while the water spirit’s eyes were unable to discern.

  However, Jericho understood one thing: his fate was no longer in his hands. He had lost everything and been reborn as a tool.

  He did not want that. The absence of his mother still ached like a burning pike through his ribs. Suddenly, he felt trapped, and an intense urge to inflict violence. His eyes widened in rage. He clenched his fists, turning around to—

  His soul burned again. All power left Jericho’s limbs as he dropped to a knee, unwillingly bowing to the man who claimed to be his master. Jericho did not want to be a slave. He realized he hated this man from the deepest core of his being, and his soul fought back with the madness of a cornered animal, but it was not strong enough. Magic grabbed his soul like an iron fist and squeezed it, forcing him into obedience. All thoughts of resistance were forcibly dispersed as part of Jericho’s mind was locked away.

  His soul was overwhelmed; the fighting subdued. He had lost.

  Jericho lowered his head toward the necromancer. His hatred for the man was vanishing; Jericho knew that, in a few seconds, he would do anything for the man he so very hated. No—the moment he became a slave, Jericho realized he hated himself the most, and an animalistic, desperate cry echoed from his throat into the forest—a final act of resistance before any such thoughts were extinguished, leaving only deep hatred with an unknown source.

  Maccain smiled. “Tell me, my newest slave… Who killed you?”

  In the deep, bitter pit of his self-hatred, Jericho grasped onto the chance to vent his impotent frustration. His lips twitched with pleasure.

  “A necromancer, Master. A man called Jerry Shoeson.”

  first advanced review!! And a good one too. I'm so happy, thanks Nenanreads25!