by Scott Kaelen
With the Aissia figurine in her hand, she assessed the corpses that dotted the street. The ones here were mostly of two sorts – heavily decomposed, and looking to have been in the grave only a matter of weeks or months. Sabrian’s earlier comment came back to her as she stared at the fresher of the corpses: “For the majority of Lachylans, they were very much alive. As for the bodies buried in the graveyard…”
“Oh, stars,” she whispered. “Can some of these creatures still think? Or feel?”
In that moment, her heart went out to them. All these years… The one she was staring at turned and caught her gaze. A woman. Fleshy. Swollen. The yellowed eyes looked almost kind as the cadaver shuffled towards her, closing the gap between them. Kind… and then not. Bursting forward, Jalis hammered the figurine into the dead woman’s face. The heavy base cracked the cheekbone and she launched a second blow, smashing the jaw to the side and causing the woman to stumble. Rushing around her, she aimed the makeshift weapon at a kneecap. The leg bent backwards at the joint and Jalis cracked the brass weapon down onto the back of the woman’s head. The woman pitched to the floor and Jalis made quick work of bashing her brains in. Stepping back, she leaned against the fence and realised with disgust that she’d been thinking of the creature as a woman, not as a dead thing. But what if they do think? ‘Cleansing’, Lewin had called it, and perhaps it was the most apt word.
A battle cry resounded from close by. Jalis glanced to the main mass of corpses in time to see one of the knights burst through with a triumphant shout, smashing two of the creatures together in his gauntleted hands and casting them aside. He staggered forwards and paused for a deep breath before striding along the street towards Jalis.
“Ellidar?” Although sheened in sweat and grime, she recognised the knight from earlier in the castle.
“My lady.” Ellidar stopped before her and gave a brief bow. “Care to join me?”
Loosing a terse laugh, Jalis shook her head, shrugged, then smiled. “I’d be honoured to, knight sios.”
Returning the smile with a thin one of his own, Ellidar said, “Actually it’s knight-paladin.” Jalis quirked an eyebrow as the knight strode past her, beckoning her to join him. “Your friends are heading for the Litchgate. The last of the denizens are still trickling through. It’s a clean-up operation now.” He snatched his longsword from its sheath and drove it into a corpse’s mouth before kicking the creature away.
A one-armed corpse came stumbling towards them. Jalis raised the figure, but Ellidar caught her wrist. It was only then that she noticed the creature was carrying its arm in the other hand, and as she stared in sickening dismay she realised it was not a corpse, but a Lachylan.
“For the gods’ sake, Emil!” Ellidar snatched the arm from the man’s grasp and shoved the bloody bone-end into the ravaged shoulder muscles, loosing a cry of agony from Emil. “Hold it firm and get it stapled back on. You do want to keep it, don’t you?”
Emil nodded, clearly in shock despite the Lachylans’ healing abilities.
“You did well,” Ellidar told him, ushering him across the street as a door opened and an elderly man stepped out to assist.
Ellidar turned to Jalis, swatting a head off a corpse as he did so. He motioned for them to continue.
“I nearly brained that man,” Jalis muttered.
“I was only a second ahead of you,” Ellidar admitted. “Which is lucky for Emil – it takes much longer for the motor functions to reaffirm themselves after a decapitation – but not so lucky for many of my fellows, I fear. The casualties are extreme, but, gods willing, there will be no more true deaths this day. I left my knights defending the attack from the front,” Ellidar said. “Ten men in total, plus my second. I know that the castle doors have held, gods be thanked, but I fear that half of those men, along with too many other folk of this city, are in as bad a condition as Emil.” He sighed. “Or worse.”
Conversation ceased as they continued up the boulevard, together dispatching each corpse along the way. The sounds of fighting behind them grew quieter by the minute, and Jalis knew that the battle was over and had turned into a rout.
Except the enemy was no enemy, she thought. Just a mass of unthinking creatures following their instincts.
As they drew ever closer to the Litchgate, Jalis peered ahead past a handful of Lachylans and the few corpses that still stood upon the street that was littered with their brethren. “There they are!” she cried, spotting the unmistakable forms of Oriken and Dagra in the distance, their backs to her.
Ellidar peered ahead and gave her a respectful nod. “Go to them.”
Treading lightly along the mansion’s side pathway, Wayland edged around the dead trees beside the corner of the house and froze as he stared into the empty sockets of an emaciated ghoul. The creature hissed at him through its rictus grin, and he smashed his axe into the top of its skull, cleaving it in two. Kicking the ghoul to the ground, he took a calming breath and gestured behind him for his group to follow. He heard Demelza’s soft footfalls as she hurried up to him. Frowning, he glanced back and beyond Demelza to the far corner of the mansion.
“Where’s Tan?” Wayland whispered.
Demelza glanced around. “Dunno.”
“He was right behind you!”
“Aye, he was.” She shrugged. “And then he wasn’t.”
“Damn it. Wait here.” Running back the way they had come, he glanced around the rear of the mansion, but the blacksmith was nowhere in sight. He sighed. And then there were two. Casting the despondent thought aside, he hurried back to Demelza. “Nothing to be done for it,” he told her. “Stay close. Very close. You hear?”
She clung tightly to her satchel and bow, and gave an abrupt nod.
Together, they crossed the mansion’s garden, through a side gate and into the next garden, staying out of sight of the nearby street. The tremors now were nothing more than subtle vibrations beneath his feet – a small mercy for which he sent a silent thank-you to Valsana or whichever of the elder gods were listening.
A lone ghoul stood beside a cluster of skeletal saplings. Shuffling into the open, it took several steps towards Wayland and Demelza, then paused, swayed on the spot for a long moment as if in indecision, and loped away. Again, Wayland thought as he watched it wander towards the garden’s corner. The longer he’d been in the city, the more the creatures had exhibited such behaviour, as if something of more interest had won their attention. Or something was repelling them. Glancing at Demelza, he rested a hand on her shoulder, drawing her wide-eyed gaze away from the retreating ghoul.
His plan was to avoid unnecessary contact, not only with the ghouls but also the enigmatic residents of the city, by keeping to enclosed areas but holding the tactical position of observing without being seen. He’d conserved his remaining arrows, using his now gore-encrusted axe to dispatch any ghouls that attacked them. If the true targets showed up, then ranged weaponry would be a distinct advantage against the three outlanders.
The open expanse was devoid of greenery save for the carcasses of standing trees, but otherwise well-kept. Waist-high stone pillars topped with bronze balls marked each corner of the garden. As he reached the sundial in the centre, the mansion’s front door creaked open and Wayland froze, readying his axe. A shadowed figure stood within the doorway, its features gaunt and wrinkled; not a ghoul, but an elderly woman. Bizarrely, he felt like a child caught stealing apples, though there were none to steal, and the city was swarming with the undead. “I mean you no harm,” he called out, wary of his voice travelling to the street.
“Good that you don’t,” the old woman croaked. “You tried anything clever with that axe of yours, I’d be putting you over my knee, young man.”
Spotting the next adjoining gate, Wayland sidled across to it, casually saying to the woman, “I’m looking for someone specific. I don’t suppose—”
“Ha! Aren’t we all?” she crooned, then gave a lascivious cackle.
“Yes, er, we’re also trying to f
ind our companions. Have you—”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there either, lovely.” The crone smacked her lips.
I’ll get nothing from this old biddy, he thought. “We’ll be on our way.” He forced a tight smile as he took Demelza’s arm and quickened his pace for the gate.
“Such politeness.” The woman turned her beady eyes to Demelza. “And what a charming girl. Do come back any time!”
“Yes, of course.” Wayland glanced into the next garden. “It was, er, lovely to meet you.”
“You mind yourselves out there, young man and little missy.”
He ushered Demelza to hurry through the gate, leaving the old woman watching them from her porch. In the next garden, he sighed despondently and dropped all pretence of stealth.
What is the point in creeping around? If I could just find Eri and the others, go home, forget that any of this ever started… We long knew of the ghouls within the graveyard. But the city… The curse of the goddess runs rife here. And yet it teems with people living in dwellings as grand – or grander – than Albarandes Manor. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been this way since the blight. Lachyla was never fully deserted. These are our cousins.
“The dynamics of the mission have changed considerably,” he muttered, then sighed. “But orders are orders.”
“Huh?” Demelza looked quizzically at him.
“Nothing, girl.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s nothing.”
Spotting a gated arch that led out onto the main street, he headed towards it. A ghoul ambled into view beyond the iron bars and turned to regard him. He waited, and the creature continued on. Reaching the gate, he glanced through. The street was sprinkled with twitching bits of ghoul, and few still stood among the mess. Several of the city’s inhabitants meandered between the fallen ghouls; beyond them, in the far distance, he caught sight of two men headed in his direction. A third figure – a woman, if his eyes didn’t deceive him at this distance – was running up behind them. Something about the three gave him pause, something that spoke to his Warder senses that they didn’t quite fit in with the inhabitants of the city. The men working in unison – one taller, the other short of stature – and the woman of slight build but graceful confidence. Is it them?
Stepping back from the arch, he pulled Demelza before him. “Look down the street,” he told her. “Far down. And tell me if those are the ones we seek.”
The girl stuck her head out. After a moment, she turned to him. “Aye. That’s them.”
Ah, goddess. Wayland’s heart suddenly felt like lead. This is it. “The moment is here, Demelza.” He slung the axe into his belt. “It’s time for you to go, like we discussed.”
Her brow furrowed, her eyes misting over.
“Run for the graveyard. And don’t stop. You hear?”
“Aye.” Demelza’s voice cracked. Her eyes were downcast, her fear held just beneath the surface. “I hear.”
“You’re the bravest lass I know, little Dee,” he said softly. “Now, run.”
When she didn’t respond, he turned her roughly about. Her shoulders hunched and she loosed a small sob.
Ah, girl, I’m so sorry. “Go!” he hissed, and nudged her forward. She stumbled, then broke into a run, padding across the garden. Wayland watched her go, then turned to the archway. Notching an arrow, he steadied his nerves and waited for the outlanders to draw nearer.
Blackness. She floated in a painless place; not her body, only her mind. Pain held no dominion in this space so far from the stars. The emptiness loomed in from all sides, ensnaring her in its web of nothingness. The Void. The thought came without attached emotion. This must be the waiting room between Verragos and the Spirit Realm. But where is the goddess? She will come for me soon, take me beneath her wings.
A grey cloud materialised before her, and a soft sensation intruded upon her contemplations with a thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum like a colossal, invisible beating heart. The Void whorled and opened like a flower’s petals unfurling, and a flicker of doubt grew into a torrent of fear as the cloud bloomed into a yawning vortex. Unable to control it, she began to turn; the motion quickly grew into a dizzying spin and she plummeted towards the widening maw. The gyre brightened. She hurtled through, and burst out into blinding light…
Pain coursed through Eriqwyn’s body and she cried out, snapping her eyes open. Dazed and disoriented, she stared up into blinding daylight. With a gasp, she arched her back, feeling her shoulders press into hard ground that buzzed with a rhythm like a heartbeat. As her eyes became accustomed to the sunlight, a hazy figure hovered into her view.
“…fine now,” the silhouette said. “Rest easy.”
She took a gulp of air. “It hurts.”
“It will fade.” The figure laid a hand upon Eriqwyn’s shoulder, holding her to the ground. “Give it time, Eri.”
I know that voice. And the memory flooded back as the face swam into focus. “You! You killed me.” She grabbed Shade by the shoulders and pulled her to the ground, rolling on top of her. The woman struggled, but Eriqwyn snatched at her wrists and held her in place. Pain still seared through her, but was quelled by her rage. “You fucking whore,” she spat. “What have you done?”
“I freed you, Eri. I made things right.”
“You tore me from the afterlife!” She let go of Shade’s wrist and slammed a fist into her face, rocking her head to the side. Shade gasped, then grinned and pulled Eriqwyn down, rolling over onto her and straddling her waist.
“So feisty,” she purred. The woman’s strength was unnerving. “That’s another trait I admire in you.”
“No ghoul attacked you, did it?” Eriqwyn spat as she struggled within Shade’s grasp. “You did those wounds to yourself. You’d already bled out before coming to find me. It was all an act. They’re all like you, aren’t they? All those people in the city. All ghouls! And now you’ve made me the same.”
“You’ll thank me for it one day. Perhaps not this day, but eventually. You can live out your dreams here, your fantasies. You can do all the things you ever wanted to do but were held back by your… inhibitions.”
Eriqwyn fought to free herself from Shade’s hold. “You took that choice away from me. I would never have chosen this. Never!”
Shade nodded. “You were too afraid of yourself. Which is why I did it for you, Eri. Don’t you see?”
“Minnow’s Beck needs me,” Eriqwyn argued. “It needs a First Warder. Adri needs me. You will not keep me here!”
“There were First Warders before you. There’ll be others after you, too, for those who choose to remain in the village. Not all will want to remain after this. They will flock, when they learn the truth.” Her eyes glistened as she smiled. “I waited my whole life for this.”
“You are mad,” Eriqwyn hissed. “I will kill you.”
Shade laughed. “Ah, Eri,” she said with a lustful grin. “That which is once dead, dies not twice so readily.” Leaning her weight down, she pressed her lips to Eriqwyn’s. With their lips still touching, she whispered, “You won’t hate me forever. You may even come to love me.”
Eriqwyn screamed into the woman’s face. A surge of strength welled in her and she forced Shade away, throwing her to the ground. Eriqwyn climbed to her feet. Standing over Shade, she drew her knife.
Shade leaned back on her elbows and locked her dark eyes onto Eriqwyn’s. With a soft laugh, she said, “What is more important, Eri? Me, or your mission?” Before Eriqwyn could reply, the woman sprang to her feet and ran.
With a snarl and a curse, Eriqwyn snatched her bow from the stones and took pursuit.
With Oriken at his side, Dagra stepped between the downed corpses, lopping heads from necks with a detachedness that he knew would soon be replaced with facing his own predicament. It should have been easy, he thought, crushing a reaching bony hand beneath his heel. It almost was. We had the jewel. We were out on the heath. And then… He looked up from his grisly work to see a corpse stood in the street. Its partially
crushed head hung askance, the jaw dislodged. Blade-slashes covered its half-eaten features, and its yellowed eyes stared at Dagra with a quiet madness beneath which he sensed a taint of misplaced kinship.
“You.” Dagra pointed his sword at the corpse. “I know you.”
“Want me to get this one?” Oriken asked.
“No.” To the corpse, Dagra said, “I gave you a beating once. You’re back for more? Fine. I’m not afraid of you. Not this time.” He readied his gladius. “Have at it, then.”
Rather than advance, the corpse raised a mangled hand to its chest. The broken jaw shifted and crunched. “Lie,” it rasped.
Dagra nodded. “Yes, I know. You told me that before.”
“Shitting stars!” Oriken said. “Did that thing just speak?”
“Uhuh. Believe me, now?”
“Damn, that’s wrong on so many levels.”
“Lie,” the corpse repeated. “Liar…” The gnarled hand tapped at its chest over its dead heart, then it stretched its hand towards Dagra as if trying to point a twisted finger at him. It repeated the gesture at Oriken. “Ree,” it said. “Liar!” The eyes narrowed and it took a step towards Dagra.
“That’s enough of that!” Oriken pounced. The royal gladius descended and hammered into the corpse’s head.
“Dagra! Oriken!”
Dagra whirled around to see Jalis jogging towards them, a grin of relief upon her face which he couldn’t help but return. “Ah, lass!” he called, to the sounds of Oriken finishing off the corpse behind him. “There you are.” But Jalis’s smile slipped and she slowed to a halt. “What?” He turned, and found himself staring down the pointy end of an arrow aimed right at him.
As the rangy one rose from finishing his business with the decapitated ghoul, Wayland shifted his aim from the bearded man. “You,” he said.
