Resurrected Soldiers: The Tyrus Chronicle - Book Three by Joshua P. Simon Page A

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    It’s amazing the loincloths stayed in place.
    Now finished, they began teasing the four teenagers still undergoing the process of being made into apparitions.
    “Better get your mind somewhere else, boy,” said one.
    “Might pop Damaris’s stitches,” said the other.
    Myra gave them a cold stare. “Enough.”
    They hesitated, but only for a moment. No matter how cold the stare was, they were adults and Myra was still a teenager.
    “Don’t be upset, girl. It’s only a joke.”
    Myra looked as if she were debating on what to do next.
    Don’t dwell. Make a decision fast and stick to it. Just don’t make a scene and create bad blood at a time like this.
    She began to walk behind Myra, hoping that a glimpse of her presence might ease the two older men from pressing the issue.
    It didn’t matter because as Damaris finished her last stitch, she looked back at the two men. “I don’t think Myra’s upset.” She leaned forward, squinting at the crotch of both men. “Probably just thinking that you two had an unfair advantage over the younger boys. There doesn’t look to be much there that might pop a stitch at all.”
    Smiles broke out wide on all in attendance, relieving some of the tension. The younger men chuckled. The two men who were the targets of Damaris’s teasing joined in last, but loudest of all.
    “Xank-be-damned,” one said, laughing. “I remember when my wife used to talk like that.”
    Damaris snorted, while putting away her needle.
    The hoots and laughter increased then. If the man wasn’t covered in white, he might have turned red.
    “All right. I quit. You win,” said the other man.
    Damaris winked at Ava.
    Gods, did Tyrus know she could do something like that?
    The men asked Myra. “What do you want us to do next?”
    Myra looked as though she was dissecting and analyzing the exchange and outcome. If she continued to take after her father, Ava knew the lesson would be filed away for a future use.
    Myra collected herself. “Grab your gear and go to your assigned spots.”
    “And the tracks?”
    She turned to Rezub. “Can you and two men take care of covering after them and the others?”
    He nodded.
    “Take your time,” Ava interjected. “Just as I showed you.”
    “I got it,” he said, half in aggravation.
    He and a couple others headed out the door with an old shirt tied on the end of a stick.
    With the reduction in numbers, the remaining tension left the room. Ava got closer to Myra as she eyed the three women working on the last two young men Myra had selected. Besides, the unbelievable job of smoothing out the white paste so that it appeared natural, they added dried ash and dirt to make them seem almost like undead creatures out of myth rather than ghosts.
    “How’d you know they’d be so good at that?” Ava asked.
    “I saw them work wonders with make-up and thought the skills might carryover.”
    Ava gave a confused look.
    “Had to do something to pass the time when Ma was working,” she said grimly. “Watching them try to get some of the less youthful women ready for a job was often all I had to do.”
    Of course. How could I forget about the Soiled Dove?
    An uncomfortable silence stretched. Damaris was there a moment later, helping fill it.
    “How’s the courtyard?” she asked.
    “Finished for now,” said Ava, thankful for the save. “Though I guess I’ve got more work to do on the walls and in the towers and gatehouse. I saw Zadok up there.”
    “He should be finishing up soon,” said Myra. “I just wanted him to work on a couple of smaller traps Dekar showed me after a game of crests. He said the Turine army used them during the retreat from Wadlow Hill.”
    Ava tensed. Wadlow Hill wasn’t a pleasant memory for anyone who lived through it. There were many hungry nights and tired days following it until they began pushing back against the Geneshans. She remembered several traps that Hamath and Tyrus had come up with. Nasty things that didn’t