Chapter 21
The Jar’s Fall
Some things fall better than others. Paper, for example, falls rather terribly; anyone with any practice at being annoying knows that you must first scrunch paper into a ball before you can throw it at someone with any real velocity.
Glass jars, however, fall rather brilliantly; it is in fact a point of pride for most jars.
They have stiff competition, of course; whales do a good job, and feathers are famous for their unique style, but jars always tend to give it their all.
One rainy day, such a jar was minding its own business when suddenly, it found itself among the clouds.
It had no knowledge of murder plots or contingency plans, it just did what most objects do when they find themselves very high up, and that was to fall.
It had very little say in the matter, what with it being inanimate, but then again it’d had very little say in most things in its life.
It had been a normal jar once, filled with normal jar things: marbles, jellied beans, jams—you name it, this jar had been filled by it.
That was, until some meddling fool put a spell on it; a dampening spell, they had said.
This felt a bit unnecessary to the jar as it never had any problems with moisture; it felt it would’ve been much easier to just poke a few air holes in its lid.
Anyway, after this meddling fool’s spell, the jar’s next inhabitant had been a rather lecherous new thing; no, it wasn’t pickles, it was a ruby.
A ruby it still held as it started to fall.
Unsure as to the inevitable fate of falling objects, the jar felt rather excited about this new sensation.
The wind rushed past its imaginary hair, its imaginary limbs flailed in the rain, it spun and tinked as the ruby within bounced off its walls.
It was a lovely change of pace to its usual shelf life.
It whistled with joy as it flew toward the wide expanse that seemed oh so eager to greet it.
As it got close to this expanse, its whooshing fun was interrupted.
Not, as you might imagine, by a smashing, but by a strange pop.
This happened several times; it would get close to the ground, and then pop, the jar would find itself up in the clouds once again.
After the third time this happened, the jar was rather bored with falling, and wished to be out of the rain and back inside.
The ruby however, seemed quite excited about this descent.
It kept saying things like, “Finally, finally I shall be free.” The jar thought this was rather strange behavior for a ruby, who up until now had been a rather dull conversationalist. It had screamed for a good chunk of their time together; that was annoying, but at least the jar could sing along to its screeching tone.
Then of course came the lamenting. Lamenting the world, lamenting the “wizard” that put him there, lamenting the many people who refused to team up with him.
The ruby even lamented the jar itself. Heavens knew what the jar had done; it hadn’t had a say in any of these matters. It was just a jar.
As the vast expanse got closer, the jar felt a sudden, very real sense of dread.
This sense was not helped by the ruby’s constant maniacal laughter.
There was something very solid about this ground that chipped away at the jar’s self-confidence.
What would happen when they finally met?
Why was the ruby so happy about it? Would they get alo—
Mal looked down at the broken jar at his feet.
The triumph of the moment dissipated. What little sense of accomplishment he’d felt, after once again being only useful adjacent, vanished.
His death sense sparked and rang through his brain like a shattering gong.
Mazino was free. Before Mal could utter a word, a slithering blackness coated the ruby, then spread, forming a blackened pool in the already sodden earth.
A sickening panic filled Mal’s mind. The ruby rose into the air, the black ooze flowing with it, writhing and clawing.
Mal saw the same shapes and monsters that formed in his shadows permeate through the ooze.
His had only ever been figments, shadows of creatures in the dark.
Mazino’s were real. The ooze thickened around the ruby and started pulsing, beating.
There was a flash of blue where lightning struck the night and a visage formed with the beating ruby as its heart.
A ghostly shadow stood staring at Mal. Smiling.
Laughter pushed its way through the sound of the rain as the grin on Mazino’s face roared.
The ooze molded itself to his form, a writhing mass that followed his ghostly movements.
Mal felt his heart pounding. His vision narrowing.
He couldn’t tell if his hands were numb from the panic or the rain.
Now was not the time for this. Not again.
He caught a shallow breath, holding it tight in his chest. Slowly he let it out, the warm air bleeding from his nostrils.
He caught another, slowly in, slowly out.
His heart kept pounding, his hands were still numb, but his world stayed solid.
He dug in, stabbing his heels into the weeping ground.
He had come here to stop Kosh, to confront this evil, his evil. He knew there was no running now.
Mazino laughed, his pale ghost readjusting to the world. After what felt like an eternity, the beast finally spoke.
“It’s stopped. It’s finally stopped. I’m free of that singing, jabbering jar. Do I have you to thank for that, boy?”
Mal froze, unsure of what to say or what on earth he was talking about.
“You are right to be awed. You have done me a fine service and now I shall reward you. You will learn from me, the grandest of the dead. What is your name, boy?”
“Galowin Madstone …” Mal found himself saying.
“Madstone, a fine name. Together we will shake this world. Together we will bring ruin to all who oppose us. Together … why you are looking at them?”
It seemed at this point that Mazino finally took in the scene. Kosh lying dead, everyone looking terrified and battered, Walters holding a jar containing a pendant. Mazino did not seem amused.
“So you’re not …”
Mazino let out a long, deflated sigh, then casually gestured at Mal, sending a pulse of clawing ooze in his direction.
Mal was quick enough to react, raising his arms to block, but he wasn’t prepared for the sheer force required to hold the blast at bay.
It felt as if he’d somehow caught a falling house and was now desperately trying not to get crushed by it.
The blast itself had stopped mere centimeters from him, the creatures within clawing at the invisible wall Mal had erected.
Mal hadn’t needed to search his feelings this time; somehow it had all been instinct.
Mal felt the white circles glowing from his eyes, barely shining in the darkness.
Mazino stared at him, seeming less than unfazed.
He tilted his head, as if to say Curious, then waved another hand.
A flash of blue struck out in the darkness, emanating from Mazino.
Someone behind Mal screamed, “Nooo.” Mal thought it sounded like Des, but he was too focused on the creature in front of him to turn around.
The bolt stopped—again, mere centimeters from him—joining the oozing blast. Mal was still trying desperately not to be crushed, but he managed to move his head enough to see a new face in the fray.
Taran had materialized by his side. His eyes glowed and crackled with lightning.
His drenched blue robe flapped in the wind as he held the bolt in limbo for a moment, then sent it back at Mazino.
Mal felt the weight he was holding lessen, as Mazino was forced to deal with the returning bolt.
Mazino took a false breath, then the earth around them erupted.
Bones rattled in their piles. Graves burst into clouds of dirt.
The dead were back, a viscous ooze cementing their bones together, giving malice to their movements.
The groaning grind of bone on bone churned through the rain.
Heavy, clunking footsteps followed. The crushing weight disappeared.
Mal felt a flood of relief as he lowered his arms, exhausted from the strain.
He looked around to see hundreds of undead surrounding him and his friends, and Walters was one of them.
Glazed over. No longer himself. Mal watched all their work be undone as Walters’s body threw the jar to the ground.
The jar containing Kosh. Never bring a dead guy to a necromancer fight.
Another blast rang out, both lightning and darkness.
This time the black ooze wasn’t aimed at Mal, but at Taran; the lightning bolt, however, had come crackling toward Mal.
Taran halted the bolt, Mal pushed back against the ooze, each saving the other.
Mal felt his shadows push forth, turning his arms into writhing blackness, revealing the bones beneath.
Mazino smiled even deeper, then twisted his hands and ratcheted up the pressure.
Mal thought he might pass out from under the strain of it all.
As the footsteps of the dead got louder, Mal managed to muster a single word of warning to his friends: “Run.”