Diggs twisted the claws of his right paw into an arcane gesture and pointed at the ghost-ridden tree. “Verna te Ma’Diggsa!” the brindle-furred ghoul shouted.
“What?” Garrett exclaimed, wincing at the ghoul’s butchery of the fairy spell. He had no chance to question Diggs’s technique further as, at that moment, a jet of searing white plasma shot from Diggs’s claw-tip and ripped the bark from the hanging tree.
Diggs cackled maniacally as he poured liquid flame into the roaring conflagration that had, a moment before, been an ancient, moss-covered tree.
The anguished screams of men and women split the night as the hanging tree exploded into fiery splinters that flew in all directions.
Garrett opened his eyes again as the glow of an icy shield of blue flames faded from the air around him and his friends.
“Thanks, Gar,” Warren muttered.
“Yeah,” Garrett murmured, giving Diggs an angry squint.
Scupp shifted her weight to her remaining hind leg and reached out to thump her brother in the back of his head with her crutch.
“Hey!” Diggs grumbled, “You wanted the tree gone. It’s gone!”
“Not quite,” Haven said.
“Whoa!” Diggs exclaimed as he and the others marveled at the fiery outline of the former tree’s branches, still crackling with the angry wrath of countless murdered souls. Of the tree itself, only a ghostly echo, formed of these wraith-like flames of undying rage remained.
The choking gasps and piteous cries of countless tortured souls raised the hairs on the ghouls’ backs and set Garrett’s teeth on edge.
“I don’t believe the dead will so easily be put to rest,” Cenick said as he stared up at the ghost tree.
“How many people did they hang here, anyway?” Garrett asked, his voice hushed in awe.
“There’s a lot o’ bodies in that bog, boy,” Bargas rumbled, “You can smell ‘em from a mile off.”
“There were many reasons for dying on one of King Haerad’s trees,” Lady Ymowyn whispered, shutting her eyes against the horrid sight, “but few were those who deserved such a death.”
“Can you do something about this, Garrett?” Haven asked.
“I don’t know,” Garrett whispered. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the haunted tree, sensing no magic that he might unravel there. What held a ghost to the place where he died? Garrett’s brother had said that a ghost was like a person who stopped halfway across the plank to board a ship. How could you make a ghost take those last steps across to the other side? What couldn’t they bear to leave behind?
Garrett stepped forward, the skin on his arms crawling with the powerful feelings of rage and loss boiling from the memory of the tree. He lifted his hand before him as though to shield his face from the heat of a furnace as he screwed up his courage to try to help them.
“Excuse, me,” Garrett said, addressing the ghosts, “I... uh, I’d like to help you, if I can.”
A wave of pure spite washed over Garrett as the gallowgeists hissed in rage.
“Yeah, I know you’re mad about what happened to you,” Garrett sighed, “but... I mean, how long are you gonna keep bein’ mad about it?”
A roar of croaking voices blasted Garrett, staggering him backward a step.
“Uh, maybe you’d better let ‘em be, Gar,” Warren said.
“Yeah, Gar,” Scupp added, “Gallowglooms aren’t really known for bein’ all that friendly.”
Garrett scowled, starting to lose his temper. Whatever justification they originally had for being that angry, there was no reason to take it out on him. He was only trying to help them.
“Listen!” Garrett shouted, “I know you have every right to be mad. I’d be mad too, if something like that happened to me, but what is it you want?”
“Vengeance!” hundreds of ghostly voices assailed him at once, knocking him backwards another few steps.
Garrett wrinkled his nose as he looked out over the bog. “All right,” he said with a shrug, “I think I can help you with that.”
“What are you going to do, Garrett?” Cenick asked as Garrett turned to approach the hanged corpse on the grass at their feet.
“We were gonna animate ‘em anyway, weren’t we?” Garrett said.
“Yes,” Cenick replied, “but we do not have enough essence for all of them, even if the ghouls could retrieve them all from the bog.”
“I don’t think we’re gonna need any essence for this,” Garrett said.
Cenick gave him a questioning look.
“I’ve been thinking about what Max did to those guys from Wythr,” Garrett said.
“Garrett!” Cenick hissed, lowering his voice, “What Max did was wrong! You know that!”
Garrett shrugged again. “Well, this was pretty wrong too, don’t you think?” he asked, lifting his hand toward the ghost tree.
Cenick stared at the flickering ghost lights for a long moment. He lowered his head at last and sighed, “Do you think you can do it?”
“Might as well try,” Garrett said.
“What are you going to do?” Mujah asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Let’s see about giving these people their bodies back,” Garrett said. He turned to look at the tree again as he pointed at the hanged body on the ground. “Which one of you does this belong to?” he asked the ghosts.
A single flare of crackling ghostly fire sputtered among the invisible branches of the hanging tree.
“I need your help,” Garrett said to the ghost, “... please.”
The ghost fire burned an angry red in answer.
Garrett stretched out his right hand toward the red ghost, his other opened, palm-down over the peat-shriveled body on the ground. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Fallen ones, I bid you rise,” Garrett whispered, “Spirit and Flesh undone now mend. To the Spirit a body given. To the Flesh a quickening gift.”
The tingle of strange magic ran through Garrett’s veins, and he smiled to himself, remembering that day, long ago, when he had first learned the words to stir the dead. What would Uncle Tinjin think of what he was trying to do now?
Ymowyn gave a startled scream, and the others drew back in horror as the thing on the ground gasped hoarsely, filling its shriveled lungs with breath before letting it out again in a tortured shriek.
“Join as one, oh wisp and bone!” Garrett shouted, “Join in strength and know new life. Fallen ones, now one, arise. I give you life to serve my call!”
“Look!” Scupp gasped.
“Boneash!” Warren cried.
Garrett held his eyes shut, his heart sick with the impotent rage of the hundreds of ghosts that now pushed and shoved and clawed their way through the chambers of his soul, sobbing and crying and begging to have again what had been taken from them. He channeled them and poured them out into the world again like a fiery ichor that soaked into the earth. He felt the sensation of bare toes finally sinking into the soft earth after countless ages suspended above, kicking and stretching, yet never reaching... until now.
He poured their burning rage into the cold mud of the black bog, but, even then, their hatred could not be quenched. He opened his eyes and turned slowly to see the grim harvest of the seeds he had planted.
A shambling horde of dripping dead now pulled its way up from the depths of the bog. Their shaking hands clawed at rotting nooses around their necks, and, in the sunken hollows of their eyes, burned the orange flames of their unspeakable wrath.
Garrett stood alone before the shriveled dead as they clawed their way up out of the bog. His friends had retreated a safe distance away, too shocked to speak. It was the hanged man on the grass that first rose shakily to his feet and turned to face the necromancer who had raised him.
“I would have words with the King,” the dead man gurgled, his voice barely audible as dirty water dribbled from his leathery lips.
Garrett smiled as he turned and pointed to the northwest.
“He lives in that direc
tion,” Garrett said, “Big castle. You can’t miss it.”
Chapter Eight
“So we’re really gonna fight the Astorrans?” Warren asked as he perched atop a massive headstone carved in the shape of a castle.
“Yeah,” Garrett said as he kicked through the mound of bones that Scupp was piling on the ground next to the open grave at his feet. The ghouls had nearly finished digging up the old churchyard of the nearby abandoned village, but they’d found nothing more useful than a few, half-rotten villagers.
Warren gave a worried grumble as he tossed aside the skull he had been holding.
“What?” Garrett asked.
“It just seems weird to me, that’s all,” Warren said, looking out across the cemetery toward the pinkish glow of approaching dawn.
“Yeah, Gar,” Scupp said, lifting her head from the pit, “We’re all for fightin’ the redjacks, but...”
“But what?” Garrett snapped.
“It’s just...” Warren sighed, waving his shaggy paws noncommittally.
“Look,” Diggs said as he hauled himself out of a nearby grave and cracked his muddy knuckles, “These guys work for the redjacks, so they’re kinda like redjacks anyway. I mean Garrett’s gotta fight ‘em or else they’re gonna come after us eventually.”
“I know,” Warren grumbled, “but somethin’ just smells funny about it.”
“War has its own kinda smells boy,” Bargas rumbled as he pushed a stone sarcophagus up from the dirt and shoved it out onto the ground before him, “and they ain’t always good.”
“Couldn’t we try to make friends with them?” Mujah asked from where he sat in the open doorway of a nearby crypt.
“That didn’t work so well last time,” Garrett said.
“Yeah, but that was the old king, right?” Mujah said, “Maybe somebody could talk to the new king.”
“Cabre?” Garrett snorted, “Not likely. Everybody in this kingdom hates me because of him.”
“Yeah, but maybe somebody else could go talk to him,” Mujah said.
“I’m not sending anybody else in there, after what he did to me,” Garrett said.
“I’m not scared!” Mujah said, “I could go, if somebody showed me the way.”
“No!” Garrett shouted, and the ghouls flattened their ears in alarm.
Mujah stared back at Garrett, wide eyed and seemed to sink further into his moldy yellow coat.
“I’m sorry, Mujah,” Garrett sighed, “I just don’t want to risk letting him hurt anybody else.”
Mujah fell silent, his eyes now hidden in the shadow of his ragged blue hat.
“I just don’t understand why we’re wastin’ time in this old boneyard,” Diggs said, “I mean there ain’t nothin’ here worth eatin’ or animatin’, so why don’t we start in on getting’ some fresh meat?”
“‘Cause those people aren’t meat!” Warren growled, “... not yet.”
“Will be soon enough, once we get at ‘em,” Diggs chuckled.
“Somebody’s gonna step on yer tail one o’ these days, boy,” Bargas growled at Diggs, “and yer gonna find things ain’t as easy as you thought they’d be.”
“I’m just trying to get as many zombies as we can before we start this,” Garrett sighed.
“Or maybe you’re draggin’ your feet,” Scupp said, looking up at Garrett from the grave, “‘cause you feel just as queasy about it as we do... ’cept for Diggs, of course.”
“Hey, I didn’t make the world the way it is!” Diggs said, picking up a leg bone and waving it for emphasis, “Garrett’s the one that’s gotta do somethin’ he don’t wanna do, for the sake of all the rest of us, and I’m the only one’s got his back right now! Maybe you should think about that.”
“We’re with you, boy,” Bargas said, looking at Garrett, “Don’t ever think we ain’t... but you better be sure what hole you want us to jump in... Some holes ain’t got a bottom, and you know it.”
“I don’t wanna hurt these people!” Garrett cried, “I tried to be sneaky about it, I tried not to hurt people, but it didn’t work! Somebody give me a better idea... please!”
“I still think I could talk to the King,” Mujah said.
“No, Mujah!” Garrett shouted, “I am not letting that bastard hurt you or anyone else I care about!”
Mujah flinched as though Garrett had struck him a physical blow.
“That’s enough!” Scupp growled. She reached out and grabbed Garrett’s ankle, yanking his leg out from under him.
Garrett landed on his backside in a heap of freshly dug grave soil.
Blue flames crackled around his splinted fist as he raised it to strike the leering dog-thing that now dragged him toward the gaping pit in the earth.
“You wanna hit me again, Gar?” Scupp snarled as she grabbed the collar of his robe in her black claws and pulled his face toward hers.
Garrett blinked, relaxing the fingers of his hand as the icy flames died away.
“Gods, Scupp, I’m so sorry!” Garrett gasped.
The brindle she-ghoul looked at him with pain in her eyes. “It’s not you, Garrett,” she sighed, “It’s not you inside there.” She released her grip on his robe, and Garrett collapsed back into the frost-covered soil. She looked away, sinking back into the grave in silent resignation.
“He’s just tired, Scupp,” Warren said as he reached down to help Garrett to his feet. Garrett hadn’t even noticed the big ghoul make the leap to his side.
“No,” Garrett said quietly as Warren helped him dust himself off, “Scupp’s right.”
“What do you mean?” Warren asked, looking a little afraid.
“Uncle Tinjin warned me not go after Cabre,” Garrett sighed, “I think the closer I get to him, the more I start to think and act like Brahnek Spellbreaker.”
“Then why are we doin’ it?” Warren sighed.
“‘Cause we gotta,” Diggs said.
“No we don’t!” Warren whined, “Garrett, let’s just get outta here! This place is gonna kill you... inside and out.”
“I can’t leave!” Garrett said, lifting his hands in frustration.
“Why not?” Warren demanded.
“Because my country is an open wound!” Lady Ymowyn’s voice startled them all. They turned to see the fox-woman approaching through the churchyard gates, her green eyes sparkling in the shadow of her hooded cloak as she stepped into the light of a witchfire torch.
“Ym?” Warren greeted her as she approached.
“My country is dying,” she said, turning slowly to address them all, “Cabre does not have the strength to hold the throne. He is a sick child, fevered with guilt for the murder of his father, the last of his line with no one to take his place when the crown... inevitably tumbles from his sweating brow.”
Garrett watched her with hollow eyes, knowing what she wanted him to do.
“If we leave now,” Ymowyn said, “Astorra will fall... devoured by the Chadiri god and his cruel minions. My country, my people... good people... Men, women... and children, will be no more than food for the red beast!
“This man,” she said, pointing at Garrett, “is the only one who can save my people from that fate! As long as Cabre sits athrone, my people will share his fever. They will bleed and weaken and eventually die. The only chance they have to survive this is if we cut out the infection at its source!”
“It’s not that easy, Ym,” Warren said.
“What do you think I was trying to do when the Inquisitor caught me, Warren?” she demanded, turning on the gray ghoul.
Warren fell back a step as the fox woman advanced on him.
“I was trying to kill the King!” she hissed, “I got close, Warren, very close... close enough to see what he has become!
“You knew him as a boy... a youth, full of hopes and ideals and dreams of what Astorra might someday become... but he is that no more, I swear to you!” she said, rounding to face Garrett.
“He sits upon his stolen throne, feeling his father’s fingers ar
ound his throat! His eyes are sunken and haunted, and he trembles at every sound. The boy that betrayed us all died the moment he plunged that knife into his father’s back!” Ymowyn spun around, baring her teeth as she faced them all.
“We have not come here to exact some petty vengeance upon Astorra!” she hissed, “We are here to end its suffering... and Garrett is the only one who can do that.”
“Is it worth Garrett’s soul to do it?” Scupp demanded without looking up from the floor of her empty grave.
“Ask that question of someone who still has a soul!” Ymowyn spat as she spun and strode from the graveyard with a flutter of her dark cloak.
Only the buzzing drone of insects filled the silent churchyard as they watched Lady Ymowyn disappear down the shadowy path back to camp.
After a long while, Diggs let out a heavy breath and asked, “Who peed in her pie tin?”
“What are we gonna do, Garrett?” Warren asked.
Garrett shook his head. “I have to fight Cabre,” he sighed, “and I have to find a way to do it while I’m still me.”
“There any tunnels under that castle of his?” Scupp asked, crossing her furry arms on the edge of the grave as she rose, looking up at Warren.
“Yeah,” Warren said, a smile slowly spreading across his face, “Lots of ‘em.”
Chapter Nine
The Island
Marla roused Claude and Alyss just after sunset, though the false sunlight of the moonstone cave still blazed all around them. Marla had to prevent Alyss from opening her facemask once again, reminding the girl of their situation several times before Alyss seemed at last to understand and stopped struggling with her.
Marla sensed Claude’s worried look behind his goggles. They had nothing to drink and no way to remove their protective garb to drink it, even if they did. How long could a vampire survive without blood? She hoped they would not have to find out.
“Have you seen any sign of the others?” Claude whispered as he and Marla moved to the mouth of the cave, leaving Alyss to huddle beneath a drape of seaweed at the back.
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