~ Chapter VIII ~
The first day ended. As night fell the darkness was as dense with blackness as the intense noonday sun was with light. The larvae had disappeared from under the skin as they burrowed into the man’s body. The pain he was enduring was starting to become more intense and he was unable to resist moans of pain and sporadic grunts. He had yet to cry out, but Marik knew the pain would become worse and worse as joints and organs were penetrated.
His son also had become extremely uncomfortable and was in his own world of pain. He had been confined in a kneeling position with now bloodless hands tied tightly behind his back. He had been unable to lean forward for days. His leg and arm muscles constantly cramped and daggers of pain shot up through his spine continuously.
Marik dozed and his prisoners attempted to do the same. He was awakened occasionally by the moans within the hut.
The shaman had given Marik instructions on what to expect as the days went by. The larvae were large and would soon be ready to pupate. They would work their way out of the body, search for a place to hide, and form a hard shell to be their home as their metamorphosis took place. It would take thirty or more days for them to become flies.
Marik had learned the larvae somehow sustained whatever they were devouring. The shaman told him prisoners would live long past the time when their bodies were nothing but skin and bones. As long as the larvae were present the body no longer required food, water or even air. Only after months of being fed upon or when the brain was harmed in some way would the rest of the body be released from the agony of life.
The shaman gave him a dark brown bottle containing a cure. The concoction, made partly from the larvae themselves, caused any of the squirming trespassers in the body to quickly exit and stopped the body from wasting away. It would result in a full recovery for about the first full day after the larvae were introduced, assuming they did not reach any major organs. Longer than a day and parts of the body would simply no longer function effectively enough to continue working, even after the medication was administered and the invaders removed.
“This potion is not for the warrior or his son. It is for you in case something unforeseen happens and the larvae enter your body. If you need it, drink the entire bottle,” he was told. “Do not throw it up afterwards.”
When the light returned the next morning Marik noticed the warrior’s body had wasted away even further during the night. He questioned if the man would be physically able to walk even if he was given the chance to escape.
As Marik approached to offer the man a drink, he noticed the man’s eyes were intense, yet fearful. They stared penetratingly, and pleaded for release. Even though the body was decimated, the eyes showed complete comprehension.
“Please,” the man begged. “Please. I cannot bear it.”
At the moment the man said this it was as if he gave up his resistance. The will to fight back the screams was gone and the man released a shriek that hurt Marik’s ears. The boy involuntarily jumped back in fear, nearly biting his tongue. He momentarily felt pity for the man, and then remembered watching his father die.
Behind him the man’s son started yelling. “Let him go… Please… Please.”
He turned to see the son. The boy was wracked with sobs. Each uncontrollable spasm cut off his air causing him to choke and gasp.
Marik smiled for the first time since the battle and inside his mind something innocent was shattered.
The rest of the day was loud. The shaman had instructed Marik to bring a long piece of cloth to wrap around his head to cover his ears and muffle the noise. He wrapped the cloth around his head enough times to help alleviate the headache he had developed, but still allow him to hear the screams.
~ Chapter IX ~
Late in the day the screams suddenly decreased in volume. The shrieks had become such a constant source of sound that the reduction of noise woke Marik from his other thoughts.
Walking over to the warrior, Marik noticed blood was now bubbling from his mouth. He choked and sputtered with uncontrollable gag reflex. The blood ran steadily to the floor where it pooled.
He continued to watch. The man could neither suck in any air, nor stop his body from constantly trying to draw it in. The relentless sensation of choking to inhale oxygen his body no longer needed must have been excruciating.
“So much blood,” Marik thought.
As he watched mesmerized, a pulsing lump developed on the warrior’s neck. It pushed out until finally one of the larvae, now covered red with blood, slowly broke through the skin. It fell to the floor and crawled underneath the man’s body in between two of the bamboo poles where it stopped and lay still.
Marik knew it was time for the next step. The suffering could go on for a long time if he chose to let it, but the traditional ways called for the anguish to end for an honorable adversary. If it were up to him, the man’s son would not be as fortunate.
He picked up the knife the shaman had left. As the terrified man’s eyes watched, Marik attempted to make a small cut deep inside the warrior’s ear. This proved to be difficult with the involuntary spasms the man was having. The cut ended up being deeper than he had been shown it should be, but Marik doubted it would make a difference.
He picked up the wooden box and removed the last of the larvae from it. The man’s eyes opened wide with terror as the pulsating white parasite got close. As soon as Marik placed it on the ear, the worm moved deep into the cut. According to the shaman, it would not take long to make its way into the brain.
The light was quickly fading. Within an hour darkness overwhelmed the three figures in the hut. One, secured to the floor and continuing to spasm in excruciating pain. One suffering silently, using all of his energy to keep from choking. One sleeping soundly with his head wrapped tightly.
~ Chapter X ~
When Marik woke he lay silently listening for sounds. There was nothing. It was too dark when he opened his eyes to see anything. He unwrapped the cloth from around his head. Still, nothing.
He lay trying to allow his eyes to adjust. Listening closely, he found he could hear the first subtle hints of everyday morning life going on outside his enclosure.
By the lack of sound he knew the ordeal was over for the warrior, but he wondered why he was unable to hear any breathing from the other prisoner.
The light slowly strengthened. The dark yielded, exposing deep shadows, but there was no movement.
Marik shuffled over to drink a cup full of water. Still no noise. Still no movement.
He moved closer to the middle support where the son was tied.
“No,” he exclaimed in a whisper.
The young man’s head was bent forward at a severe angle. The body leaned away from the pole. He either had not been able to stay upright to keep from choking, or he made a conscious decision not to live.
“No!” Much louder this time.
He felt along the walls in the semi-darkness until he found the door. He pushed with all his might until the outer barrier gave way and the door opened.
The light was much stronger outside. Marik stayed upright long enough to notice the shaman in a kneeling position a few steps away, then he collapsed in front of the old man.
“I have failed. The son is dead.”
The shaman whispered a question, “and the father?”
“I did all you instructed. He is dead also.”
“Then you have not failed.”
The boy started weeping silently. “The son must suffer. He cannot be gone. My father…”
“Your father has gone. This cannot be changed.”
“His killer must suffer, he must give up his spirit, or my father will not leave to be with the ancestors.”
The shaman sat silently while the boy struggled with his pain.
Marik composed himself. He looked up and said, “You must bring him back. He must feel the sting of the bondai fly.”
&n
bsp; “If I bring him back, he won’t feel the pain.”
“My father’s spirit must be released.”
“The bondai flies will soon be released. They have fed on the enemy. You father will go with them.”
“No,” Marik insisted. “It is not enough. The killer must be consumed, and then he will be set free.”
“He will be a monster if I bring him back. He will only live to kill.”
Marik stared resolutely at the reluctant old man.
The shaman was quiet for a long time. He bowed his head and his lips moved soundlessly. Finally, he lifted his head.
“Go back inside. Untie the son from the post. Gather the larvae that have emerged from the father. Clean the mess, but do not move the warrior’s body. Close the door. Wait for me there. I must go gather some things.”
Merik now realized he had broken the rules by breaking the seal on the door before capturing all of the larvae. It was extremely important to contain all of the pupae and any flies that may hatch, not only for the safety of the tribe, but also for the performance of traditional rituals. He rushed back into the hut and closed the door tightly behind him.
He had not realized how horrible the stench was when he had been trapped inside, but now upon reentering the small enclosure he could hardly stomach the smell. Blood, decomposing bodies, and excrement mixed to create a toxic stew of heinousness.
It was not bright enough inside to see details, but he was able to find the knife by feeling around over by his sack. He cut the bindings holding both prisoners and laid out the son’s body on the floor away from the father.
He cleaned up what he could, starting with his own belongings which he stuffed back into his bag. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the light penetrating the leaves increased, he was able to start using the water in the buckets and the cloth which had been wrapped around his head to wash away much of the congealing blood and other distasteful stains.
As the light continued to strengthen he was able to see to roll the shrunken warrior’s body and locate five of the larvae which had turned to pupae with hard shells. He placed these back into the wooden box. Based on the locations he retrieved them from, he guessed the two in the groin area were unrecovered, as well as the one he had recently placed into the man’s ear.
~ Chapter XI ~
The shaman returned before noon. The old man was followed by two other large men carrying a hefty box which they set down inside the hut. It was becoming very crowded in the small space now.
“Go find a pallet to carry this body away,” he commanded the two men and they immediately left to do his bidding.
“You have done well cleaning up. How many of the larvae are still missing?”
“Three,” Marik answered.
The shaman pulled out a metal knife. It was the only one in the village and he was extremely proud of it. Reaching down between the warrior’s legs with his right hand he searched by touch.
“Ah, yes, as I thought.” He reached down with his knife and with a quick motion opened up a large incision between the man’s legs. Even though the cuts were deep, there was no blood. A moment later he produced two of the missing larvae still squirming around.
“They do love it down there. Open the small box for me,” he instructed. He placed these two in with the rest. “They will change now that they are out.”
He next went to work on the skull. As he cut behind the ear he instructed Marik to go into the large chest and locate another small wooden box. It was on top.
“Where is it?” The shaman pondered as he carefully operated. Marik at first thought he was asking about the box, and held it out to the old man. After being ignored for a few moments though, he realized the shaman was talking to himself while searching for the missing larva.
“So hard to find… it looks just like the inside of the head. Ah, there you are.”
He pulled out the last wiggling worm and placed it into the new box.
“Close that up. It will live in there for a long time and won’t change until it is fed again. The box is made from wood the worms will not eat.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” Marik asked.
“You are to be my apprentice, of course,” the shaman answered. “You have nowhere else to go and I will not be around forever. The role of shaman will be yours. Everything happens for a reason.”
Marik laughed, “I am a warrior. I was raised to be a warrior like my father. It is all I want to be.”
The shaman inspected the corpse as the two talked. “We are never in control of what the ancestors require. To deny their request is to reject their power in your life. It is not a life anyone wants, but once you start learning my secrets you will change your mind.”
The young man again snickered and said, “My father already told me my future before he was killed.”
“Yes, it was the future he wanted for you while he was alive, but your father spoke to me last night as I slept and made the will of the dead known. It is inevitable.”
Here he paused and walked over to the chest. The shaman pulled out a rough blanket and draped it over the body. When Marik did not respond he continued.
“You have a decision to make. You need to make it quickly. If you want to bring this man back to avenge your father you are going to have to agree to learn my ways. You must sacrifice some of your own life force to bring someone back, and I would not live through the process again at my age.”
Marik thought briefly before answering. “Then, I will serve under you for my father’s sake. Where do we begin?”
The shaman’s wrinkled face creased even more than usual as he smiled.
“Help me drag the warrior’s body outside.”
~ Chapter XII ~
Later that evening, Marik watched over the shaman’s shoulder as the old man crushed up the petals of the ransi flower the boy had recently brought back from the top of the forest. The shaman was explaining the process as he worked.
“We only have two days to bring him back, so tomorrow it will have to happen. When the man comes back to life he will no longer be human. He will attack and attempt to devour any living animal, including us. Some of his organs will have started to deteriorate, so he will have issues at first, but the body will start to restore itself immediately. Since he does not have any fatal injuries he should come back physically intact after spending some time healing.”
“Spiritually, he will have little control. He will feel no pain. He will be unable to plan or communicate. His only instinct will be to attack.”
“He will be extremely strong but will not be as coordinated as he once was. Whether this is due to a lack of physical or spiritual ability, I do not know. He will still be able to be killed by a fatal injury to the head. He will still require food, water and air, but will never need to sleep.”
Marik broke into the conversation at this point and asked, “What about the larvae? Would they sustain him or devour him?”
The shaman considered the question. “I am not sure. I think a more interesting question is whether the larvae would alter him, or if he would alter the larvae. The spirit of the ransi flower controls his actions like an illness overwhelming the body. There is a chance the spirit from the flower will infect the larvae as well. We must be careful before letting them escape into the world.”
Looking through the door Marik saw a bright fire suddenly flare in the distance.
“The father flies away to be with his ancestors,” Marik said. “I need to make sure the son never makes the same trip.”
“When the son’s spirit is released we must send him to be with his ancestors as well. We cannot leave him to wander the forest forever alone.”
“When we are done with him we should deliver his dissected body to his own tribe. I will not give him the rest you think he deserves.”
“It is good for his spirit you are not the one making the decision then.”
The shaman continued with the instruction. “There is still a lot of work to do. The first step is to secure the body as tightly as possible as we did with his father. We do not want him to get loose and start attacking. We must be prepared to feed him so I have sent out men to find squirrels and rats. A blindfold will keep him calm, as well as that…”
The old man pointed to a bottle on the opposite side of the hut. “Bring me the green bottle.”
Marik walked over to get it and brought it to the shaman.
“This is made from crushing the root of the monrath plant and collecting its juices. You will apply it in small doses to his food. One drop will keep him calm for many hours. It would cause you or me to sleep like the dead for a day, but will only keep him from straining to kill you whenever you get close.”
“Are you ready to do your part Marik,” the shaman asked. “I need a great deal of blood.”
“Yes,” the boy answered simply.
The shaman produced a narrow pale tube made from a bamboo stem. “Sit over here with your arm fully inside this tube. You must keep your arm inside until there is enough blood. I will tell you when.”
Marik placed his arm inside the hollow tube. He winced as the shaman expertly placed the metal knife up near the bend in his arm and blood started to swiftly flow down towards his hand.
The old man watched patiently from his chair. After a few minutes he went to stand behind the boy to steady his wobbling body. The bamboo tube swiftly filled, and when there was enough the shaman carefully staunched the flow before removing Marik’s now bloody arm.
“Now is a good time to get some sleep,” Tanis said, knowing the boy was weak and had a long night ahead. He helped Marik over to a simple blanket on the floor where he quickly dozed.
The old man mixed a portion of the blood with the other ingredients he had been concocting and continued the preparation for the afternoon’s activity while Marik slept.
~ Chapter XIII ~
Marik struggled to see everything that was happening. The shaman was moving quickly around the dead body which was now bound to the floor at the wrists, ankles, knees, elbows, neck and waist. He was occasionally dipping fingers from one hand into a bowl he carried in the other hand, and drawing strange symbols on the body with Marik’s blood.
Undead Genesis: Zombie Page 3
