Immortalibus Bella

by SL Figuhr

  Colin looked at his brother worriedly; due to their nature, they were not plagued by ills the way mortals were. There had to be something wrong.

  “I don’t care what it could be, it’s more than we had. We’ll just have to be careful. We both know a trap when we see it. I don’t think it is one. It would have been easier to lure us into a trap when we first arrived. It must be Lady Illyria; just accepting her hospitality and staying under her banner is enough for the townspeople to place their faith in us.”

  Mica shook his head. "He sent word he was mistaken, mentioning the king’s advisor is investigating the duchess.” He watched the disbelief spread across his brother’s face.

  His elder brother shot him a disgusted look. “Since when has Nicky ever had enough coin for something so large and elaborate? He’s a twelve year old boy whose only real skill is thievery and lies. What adult is going to listen to his advice willingly and follow it? No, I think she has gotten sucked into something she doesn’t comprehend and is a pawn.”

  Colin shrugged, standing to ring a bell, waiting for a slave to answer. “My brother and I have to go out on business. We will need the horses saddled. We’re not sure how long it will take. Please have cook pack some food and drink for us.”

  She murmured assent; Colin called after, “We’ll need the horses and food ready in twenty minutes. Thanks.” He bounded up the stairs after his brother to change into riding leathers.

  It had taken the men longer than usual to ride out of town, owing to the fact they were trying to find the correct orientation of the map. After several false starts and an hour of wasted time, they were on the right track, entering the clean green scent of the forest.

  “The more I think upon it, the more I’m sure the map refers to the grove I stumbled across. It looks to be taking us by the most direct route. If this is a trap, we should try finding the little track I originally used. That way we can sneak up on any watchers and ambush them.”

  Colin kept quiet, content to let his brother search while he gazed at the forest. The growth was thick on both sides, the rutted road stretching before them, wending its way through the trees. He had never been this way during his searches. The sight of the road reminded him of the ruined castle hiding deep inside the kingdom. Was is possible to find the remnants of a way to it, no matter how overgrown?

  Mica signaled to him, interrupting his thoughts. They plunged off the track onto something resembling a deer path. After about a half hour, Mica growled in disgust, remarking it wasn’t the right trail. They started back to the road, repeating that pattern many times throughout the afternoon. The sun had turned a mellow color before Mica finally found the right path. Branches and shrubs brushed their legs as they picked their way down the game trail. Colin lost track of how long they rode. Both horses stopped dead, whinnying in fear, trying to rear and plunge back toward the road, though there was no apparent reason for the spooking. The riders had their hands full, keeping the mounts reined in.

  “This happened the last time I was out here,” Mica gritted out as he finally got his horse to hold still. He slid off, patting her nose, calming the jittery mare whose eyes rolled to show the white. “Better lead them back toward the main track before we tie up. I couldn’t get the mount I was on at the time to go any farther, either.”

  “Here,” Mica quietly mouthed, while scanning the tree line to see if he could spot any watchers. Colin could see how the bushes were broken and trampled by a large mass moving through.

  “Here’s where it gets tricky. I remember crawling through.” Mica was puzzled, then suddenly collapsed to his knees, bowed over with excruciating pain. As suddenly as it had come, the pain disappeared.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mica panted out, carefully standing. “No, I don’t know what’s causing it. Let’s just forget about it and keep moving,” he brusquely answered the unspoken question, starting to walk around the brush, looking for an end or break.

  Colin followed as they fought their way to the edge of a clearing. Both men stopped, sweating and breathless, to look around. When they were satisfied no one was lurking, they stepped out into the open approaching the center. Immediately both men’s skins itched as if hundreds of tiny, unseen insects crawled over their flesh. The men slapped and scratched to no avail before setting their minds to ignore the sensations as best as they were able. A sweet stench, reminding them of decay, hung heavily. Despite the sun overhead, the grove was gloomier than it should have been. Colin set his pack down, taking out a small, slim box. He opened it up, noting the wax tablet within was still intact as he removed the metal stylus that went with it. It was one of the better presents her ladyship had given them, in his opinion. He would have to keep his notes brief, so as to take advantage of the space.

  “Clearing of medium size, say, sixty feet around?” He shook his head. Noted an altar in the center covered in dark stains looking suspiciously like dried blood. Likewise, the ground all around was black and hard. Colin crouched down and, using one end of the stylus, scraped up reddish-black dirt. He poured it into a small clay bottle, stoppering it with a wood cork before replacing it in his jacket pocket.

  “Blood drained from the altar? Maybe.” He noted a path with the remains of burned torches tossed to either side of the path, and a wagon track. “It looks like the main track on the map we were given. We’ll have to take the horses around to find the start.”

  Mica left. Colin could see the bones of animals piled around the altar, the carving around the entire rim, obscured by dark stains. As he inspected it, he realized they were symbols. Some even looked familiar, yet he couldn’t recall where he had seen them before. Colin started at one side and began copying the symbols in order. He was afraid he would run out of room on the tablets before he finished. He didn’t have too many of the portable tablets with him.

  Mica followed the path with its faint imprints left by footwear. He reckoned that he’d gone about half a mile into the forest before the path emptied into an overgrown lawn, across which sat a two-story, squat stone house. Mica saw no watchers or other signs of life. The air was still and heavy with the same sweet smell of decay as the grove. The man felt uneasy but couldn’t pinpoint why. The windows were all shuttered tightly. Did he dare go closer? A terrace ran the length of the back wall, a trellis hung with dead vines centered against the wall. The trail from the grove continued across the lawn, the grass beaten down in a line to the patio.

  “This must be where the men meet to leave their mounts. A private lodge for the boy?” he muttered to himself as he cast a glance back down the shadowed way he had come.

  “Colin should be fine; they probably don’t come until dark anyway. Plenty of time to explore.” But still he felt unsettled without knowing why. The sensation of wrongness about the house increasing as he gained the terrace; was it possible the stench was stronger?

  Mica tried the shutters, all locked from the inside. He headed around the corner and spotted a dark shape shuffling around the other side. Other dark shapes rustled forward out of the forest, slowly following the scent of the intruder. Mica passed through a walled courtyard past a stable; he ignored a door opposite, more interested that the front was unguarded. Just as he opened the far door, he thought he heard a thump on the one he had just come through, thinking he heard a shuffle and a moan.

  It sounded as if someone was in pain inside the stables. What if it was a clever trap by the little boy? But then again, what if someone were being held prisoner, hurt and needing help? He couldn’t remember much from that night, though he could have sworn there was human sacrifice. He walked toward the big door, slid the wooden bar back, rolling the door to the left. A foul stench of rotting meat and body fluids assaulted his olfactory endings. He fought down the urge to throw up as a cold, rubbery hand clamped on his arm. Mica’s brain froze. The person—no, the thing—before him moaned again, drawing him toward the remains of its mouth. That broke his inertia. Mica tried to tug free, a shout of horror bursting forth, bu
t the hands holding him were like steel bands.

  His punch landed with a splat, clotted blood flying out, skin breaking and slipping. His attacker ignored the blow, dragging the immortal’s arm closer to his gnashing teeth. They danced around the courtyard as Mica struggled to break free. He backpedaled, drawing his sword, but the creature before him moved closer, hands grasping, moaning, taking no notice of the warning cuts Mica gave him across his arms and legs. He saw they didn’t bleed the same way as a mortal—clots of a thick smelly dark ichor oozed and dripped out.

  “This is fucking crazy! I’ve got to get the hell out of here.” More moans came from the darkness of the barn, men/things spilling out, reaching out, as Mica tried not to cast his breakfast on the ground.

  He sliced a hand off but the once-man relentlessly pursued. Mica could feel hands and arms all around, trying to grab hold. He sliced and stabbed; he needed to get back to Colin, but how to kill these things? Frantically he searched his mind, couldn’t remember anything, deciding to open the man from stem to stern. It wasn’t hard to do, only...

  “Fuck it all!” Mica managed to trip the body up; it fell back, squirming like a helpless beetle or upturned turtle. The other creatures bumped against it, momentarily held at bay. Mica dived between the legs of the mob, managing to come up behind them. He began to hack heads off, always moving, trying to keep the group off him. He was panting, sweating and worn out by the time he got the last head off. The bodies lay still on the ground.

  The door into the house was locked tight, the surrounding wall high enough he couldn’t see over. Do I dare try the door to the front? How many of those things might be waiting? Can I circle around? No, better to not chance it.

  Cautiously Mica walked toward the stables, sword at the ready, stepping just inside the entrance. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Carefully he explored, finding the ladder to the loft. Fast and silently he climbed, making his way over to peek out the barn loft door through which hay was loaded, using the pulley rope to lean out farther. There was a small crowd of the things, all standing still, staring at the door leading into the courtyard. Mica silently cursed to himself. They hadn’t tried to break down the door to swarm him, but he didn’t want to get stuck here until nightfall. It was only the thought that Colin might come looking which drove him to more action. What little he could see of the front lawn was clear of the creatures. He scanned the visible tree line; nothing moved but he saw another road leading away from the house into the forest.

  “Think, Mica, think,” he muttered, climbing back down, walking over to the gate leading to the front of the house, avoiding the corpses. The problem was he hadn’t watched those damn horror movies humans had so loved pre-cataclysm. “Colin would know what to do, I bet; this sort of shit is just up his alley, debunking myths and legends. Shit!” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “I have to get back to the clearing. I don’t know where the road goes. Maybe I can go around the house, behind those things, and make the trail before they notice me? It’s worth a shot. I need a shield, something else to help bash them out of the way." Back to the stables he went, but nothing he saw looked helpful. New torches in holders gave him an idea. “Fire. Everybody in their right minds is afraid of it; ’course these things don’t seem to have a mind.”

  He paced some more, deciding to take one anyway. He searched out his flint and steel, after a couple strikes managing to light it. “Okay, Mica, here goes nothing.”

  Mica led with the torch, opening the door with his free hand. It was still clear, no moans of greeting as he slipped out. Silently he shut the door behind him, and jogged across the front lawn while drawing his sword out. He chanced a quick look back, and saw more of the things shuffling toward him from the tree line. He nipped around the corner, still in the clear, picking up the pace a bit. But another thing stepped out just as he rounded the far back corner of the house. The group by the courtyard was slowly turning his way.

  "Shit!” He was going to get caught between the two groups. Mica put the after-burners on, breaking into a flat-out run. He sliced with his sword, batting with the torch before making the path. He ran, the horde moaning and shambling after him.

  Colin stared in horror at the group which had split to come after new prey. His brother reached the tangle with the horde. Mica thrust with the torch, miraculously still lit, deep into the brush, which caught easily.

  Both men concentrated on trying to get free of the tangle, the things moaning and following. The flames grew higher, the heat unbearable, the smoke choking. They fled down the path, back to their horses, hoping the animals were still there.

  “Are you crazy? They don’t!”

  “Think about it . . .”

  “The Haitian zombies weren’t dead, they were living men under powerful drugs! Those damn things chasing me today sure as hell looked dead to me! No one can live with those sorts of wounds!” Mica couldn’t help the shiver of revulsion.

  Colin merely sighed, resuming his train of thought. “It’s possible the men are under powerful botanical drugs, and their bodies are slowly breaking down. You said you smelled a sweet scent? There could be some plant perfuming the air causing hallucinations. The drugs in the zombie’s system clearly make them impervious to a lot of damage and pain. I have a feeling, though, the participants use the house before the rituals. I think we should go back.”

  “Actually, we do. Destroy the brain. Face it, we don’t know what kind of drugs were used so the best thing to do would be to put them out of their misery. Look, there’s another way into the grove. You still have the map, right? Why don’t we find it?”

  Mica stared at his brother in disbelief. “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, look behind you, toward the sky,” Mica replied.

  Colin did, seeing a column of smoke rising several miles behind them. “Ah. Whoever uses it doesn’t know their grove is on fire. They may send someone to check it out. We can lie in wait for them as we keep an eye on things. They might lead us back to whoever is hiding the little boy.”

  “I don’t fancy burning to death! A forest fire is nothing to mess with. Do you realize how long it’ll take our bodies to regenerate? And how excruciatingly painful the process will be?”

  Another sigh from Colin was his answer. They got the horses moving again, each man lost in his own thoughts. When the road forked, instead of taking the turn leading back to town, Mica took the opposite way.

  “I thought . . .” Colin began.

  “Shut up. I see flames, and we’re out of here,” Mica spat. Colin only smiled.

  * * *

  The men found the track leading into the grove as the sun set. A heavy scent of smoke, mixed with charred meat, greeted their noses. Cautiously they rode down the path, nerves keyed up, expecting an ambush. Unexpectedly the road split; the brothers reined in to confer.

  “The horses are calm; they’re not disturbed. Remember the burial pit I saw? What if I didn’t realize how close to the grove it is? There’s what appear to be bloodstains all over the altar. We know Nicky used human sacrifice before,” Colin theorized.

  He nudged his horse down the path, just two dirt tracks worn into the grass from the repeated passing of wheels. A small brook intersected, deep enough for the horses to drink from, but not so deep to prevent wagons from crossing. The smell of decay grew stronger, but they didn’t see or hear any shuffling movement or moans. The brothers tied cloth over their mouths and noses at the unbearable stench. The trail opened up; before them, in the gloom of dusk, appeared a pit. The men got down, lit the lantern they had brought, holding it high. The wagon tracks crisscrossed a cleared space. The removed dirt formed a wall around the far side. Colin was barely able to see the break he had used before. On the far right side, tangled roots and tree stumps had been piled up to form a type of barrier. The brothers held the light out over the pit. The sight horrific: bodies lay in a tangle as far as they saw, all in various states of decay.

  A c
hoking sound came from Mica, hushed tones of dread. “I remember some of the clothes the men and women wore. They must have been sacrificed at the altar.” A vision roared through his mind with the strength of a train, bringing red burning eyes, a guttural voice, and one hell of a headache. “These foul murderers must be stopped.”

  The sky above the tree line held the last dying rays of light, but they rode in darkness. Voices along with the creak of wheels alerted the brothers they were no longer alone. Hurriedly they guided their mounts into the foliage, hoping the other men would pass by.

  “You ain’t the only one. Crazy bastard, if’n he didn’t pay so well, I’d tell him what he could do with his orders. You smell smoke?” the second asked.

  “What, you think someone found this place and set it on fire?” the first voice asked. “Probably them damn poachers. Haven’t got the sense to go elsewhere.”

  Then his mount gave a nervous whinny. The noise ricocheted in the still air. The brothers froze, but when no one came to investigate, they hurriedly secured the animals out of sight before slipping back to the grove. The trees around the far side had been blackened by the fire, the underbrush burned away. It was a bit eerie, one side green and growing, the other gray and lifeless. Tonight, four torches burned by the altar, and only a handful of people huddled in the caged wagon. There was no sign of the men who had driven it. The ground inside the clearing appeared untouched by the flames.

  The denuded branches provided scant protection. Mica hoped no one chose to walk around the tree and look up. They waited, breathing in the stink of smoke. Out of the inky darkness came a cloaked, hooded figure carrying a torch, followed by twelve others. Every supplicant set their torch in the ground in a wide ring behind them. The leader stood before the altar, speaking words in an unknown tongue. The brothers held their breath. Chanting filled the space, while the leader began waving something shiny about. Fog boiled out of the heated, charred ground as the cold night air met it. A sudden flash of bright light scored Mica’s vision along with a sharp blooming pain in his head.