Ashyn glanced over.
“That wind was the spirit escaping,” Moria said.
Tyrus got Ronan upright, then walked over beside Moria. “Huh. Well, the good news is that the mummification process was successful. The bad news is that I doubt the monks will want to display this fellow at the shrine.”
“That’s what they do?” Moria said. “Display them?”
“Yes. Mummified monks posed on cushions and at writing desks and taking tea. It’s quite macabre. I’ll have to take you there sometime. But the better ones are the shrines near Violetmere, with mummified demons.”
“Demons?”
Before Tyrus could explain, Ashyn and Ronan approached the box. In the bottom lay the monk. While Ashyn had read about mummification, that did not prepare her to see it. This looked like a demon, a profane mockery of human form.
The thing was wizened into what could best be described – though the analogy upset her stomach – as dried meat. The limbs were twisted and deformed. The head was a discolored skull with bulging yellow teeth and matted hair.
The worst, though, was the proof that the monk had indeed been alive moments ago. The dried lips were peeled back in a soundless scream. The eyes – sunken and withered – were wide. Both arms were outstretched, the hands like claws, the fingertips broken off from scratching at the stone lid.
A spirit had possessed this body. Been thrust into it as a side effect of whatever magics Alvar Kitsune was using at Fairview. Someone had died – perhaps at the hands of Alvar’s men – and the spirit, roaming, not yet ready to cross into the second world, had been thrust into the nearest vessel: this interred horror.
“The other boxes,” Ashyn said quickly. “We must open the others and free —”
The mummy twitched. Ashyn stopped. They all stared as the thing went still and silent again.
“Did it just —?” Tyrus began.
The mummy hurled itself at him. Even as her eyes saw it happen, Ashyn’s mind could not comprehend it. For that “bag of bones” to sit up would seem an impossibility. But to fly from the box, leaping on Tyrus, arms and legs scrabbling…
Ronan fumbled with his blade as the thing knocked Tyrus off his feet and fell on him like a dervish, clawing and kicking.
Moria did not hesitate. She grabbed the mummy by the back of its tattered tunic, shouting “Begone, spirit!” But the thing clung to Tyrus, now scrambling to its feet as it beat at him. Tyrus pulled his blade but there was nothing he could do with it – the mummy had one arm wrapped around his neck as it hung off him. He sheathed his sword and grabbed that arm instead, heaving at it as Moria continued to pull on the tunic and command the spirit to leave.
Tyrus could not unclench the mummy’s grip, and when Moria grew frustrated and yanked harder, the fabric tore in her hands, sending her staggering back. Ronan had his blade out then and rushed for the thing, but the beasts were there first. Tova grabbed a leg. Daigo made the mistake of doing what wildcats do with prey – leaping onto its back and going for the neck. The jolt of Daigo’s landing knocked Tyrus down again.
Ashyn had recovered from the shock and was speaking to the spirit within the mummy. She promised they meant it no harm and apologized for what had happened. Neither assurance was particularly convincing – not when two very large beasts bit at the mummy and one very angry Keeper shouted at it. It was also admittedly difficult to apologize when the mummy was the one causing the trouble. But Ashyn thought of that poor, twisted thing in the box, of the horror the spirit must have experienced, and she focused on that, telling it that freedom was close, the second world was close, its suffering was almost at an end.
She’d like to think her words loosened its resolve and calmed its fevered panic. But she acknowledged that Moria – snarling at it to be gone and pummeling it with spiritual energy – probably played a greater role in its eventual decision to depart. There was, again, a rush of wind. Then the mummified remains fell still.
Tyrus pushed the mummy off him and rose, whisking sloughed bits of dried flesh from his tunic.
“Well, that wasn’t at all humiliating,” he said. “Please tell me I didn’t shriek. And if I did? Remember I am of imperial lineage. Lie to me.”
“You didn’t shriek,” Moria said. “Still, it is a shame Simeon wasn’t here to record the encounter for posterity. Prince Tyrus, attacked by a mummified monk. Truly, though, it looked more like a monkey. A crazed monkey, clinging to you —”
“Enough,” he said with a feigned scowl. “Speaking of monks, did they see…?”
He looked around. Ivo had sidled off as they opened the box. Now he huddled with the other two a hundred paces away.
“Well, at least they didn’t bear close witness,” Tyrus muttered.
“You needn’t worry,” Ashyn said. “Two of them have taken vows of silence.”
“Though they might have been tempted to break them,” Moria said. “To relay that particular story.”
“But I did not shriek, correct?”
She smiled. “You did not shriek.” Her gaze swept over him. “That thing didn’t bite you, did it?”
Her tone had Tyrus touching his face, eyes widening in alarm. “I don’t think so. A bite doesn’t turn one into a shadow stalker, does it?”
“That would be ridiculous,” Moria said. “I meant that being bitten by any dead thing cannot be healthy. But I don’t think we’re dealing with shadow stalkers either. Not the sort we’ve seen.”