Death's Reach, page 3
part #2 of Hungry Gods Series
Up close there could be no denying the walking nightmare they’d become.
Many of the shamblers sported fatal wounds that included missing limbs. Even drained of blood their bodies continued on, incapable of experiencing true death. Bites and scratches leaked puss surrounded by necrosis, creating hideous wounds exposing muscle and bone. Hands twisted as though arthritic, and gore caked their broken fingernails from ravaging the flesh of the living.
Their faces did not lack intelligence, despite their state, but had transformed into a predatory cunning. Lips curled back from black teeth elongated by receded gums. Their eyes had turned a sickly, jaundiced yellow, with fading pupils that darted about at the slightest motion as though akin to a spider feeling vibrations on a web.
And they were everywhere. They wandered the farms and pastures and roads, they pounded and tore at cottages, sensing the still-beating heart of a desperate living entity fighting for survival. In the middle of the kingdom they were thick, swarming around the capital of Doramwall. Whether king Domaran and his family yet lived or not, no one knew. Outside its walls, the stink of the city’s fallen cavalry, composed of thousands of horses and trampled corpses, drew untold numbers of flies and carrion. Bodies of the soldiers were few, but not because of victory. Their dead had risen to join the invaders.
Across the Medan Valley the same horror repeated, though in some places the living fared better than at Doramwall. Some believed the gods punished them, others that the gods would save them.
To the far west of the kingdom in a small valley in the foothills of the Shrouded Mountains, five survivors huddled around a small campfire tucked beneath the cleft of a rocky outcropping. They numbered six, though one of their party kept a tireless watch upon a nearby hill. They had witnessed the spread of the undead and lived to tell the tale. They also knew that the dead were but a part of their worries.
Their leader, Taegar i’ Kallis, a young man with wild shaggy hair and haunted eyes, hoped to find a city untouched by the dead.
He glanced at the dark sky and shivered. It looked to be a short autumn. They’d seen a few flurries of snowflakes over the past few days, and in two weeks of travelling, they were still too far from the city of Levia. He didn’t know if it still stood since the invasion of the undead army, but he had to believe. They all did. If it didn’t stand, then what chance did they have?
He’d hoped to reach the city before the first snow came to the Medan Valley, but his hope had begun to slip away. They should’ve reached it by now, but his choice in traveling companions had slowed him down considerably. They weren’t the type of allies he would’ve chosen. Fate had saddled them together, and as far as he knew, they could very possibly be the last remaining living in the entire kingdom of Medanholm.
He pushed the thought away. That kind of thinking kept him awake at night. It made his companions feel all the more valuable, even the disfigured elf. He’d expected Aleran Starshade to die, and perhaps the elf would’ve been better for it. Yet somehow Aleran had held on, and even improved. He’d been horribly burnt and disfigured by one of his own spells gone awry, thrown back in his face by the god of Undeath.
Yes, Taegar found it remarkable that the elf lived, yet fortunate because it kept with them the woman, Serina. He’d never seen anyone fight like her, and he wondered if they lost Aleran would she go her own way? Those two were the last remaining members of Mendreth’s Fist, a mercenary band of incredible warriors. Even in the remote wilderness of Western Medanholm, they’d come across wandering packs of zombies. Serina and the man with the dead eyes, Mykel, dispatched them relatively easily.
Taegar moved to join his companions around the small fire, choosing a seat next to Lara. The girl, barely a woman, meant more to him than anyone else he traveled with. He would do anything for her, even give his own life, and had nearly done so in the past. Unfortunately, she still grieved, and held out hope, for another.
She acknowledged him with a nod. He wanted to sit closer to share her warmth, but mostly just to be next to her. Instead he distanced himself enough they could’ve squeezed another person in.
“You look tired,” she said.
“We all are,” he replied. He shivered, and glanced at the sky. “It may snow tonight. I’d hoped we could find shelter.”
She nodded. There’d been few living in such a remote part of the foothills before the army invasion. This territory belonged more to giants and goblins, and humans were few and far between. They’d found several abandoned cabins that they’d raided for clothing and blankets, but the farther north they traveled all signs of civilization disappeared. They kept to the foothills of the Shrouded Mountains that rose above them to the west. The mountains also loomed to the north, but the group would still travel for miles before they’d be able to turn east, toward Levia. The trees of the Enthelm Forest stood like dark sentries directly to the east. Despite the elf’s insistence to enter the woods, they’d chosen to avoid it. Whatever direction they chose, it would be wilderness, though the woods would slow them down even more. They hugged the tree line, and would circle it to reach the city.
Across the fire, Serina, the woman that broke away from her gender stereotype by pursuing the life of a mercenary, sat next to the elf. Aleran slept while she watched over him. Any time they stopped he would sleep. Taegar couldn’t imagine how he dealt with the pain. His backfired spell had burned away all of his hair, leaving behind raw blistered flesh. His lips, nose, and eyelids were completely gone, and he wore a blindfold to protect the remains of his damaged eyes. A young girl, Lysa, slept on the other side of Lara. She handled the zombies nearly better than any of them, though how he didn’t know. She’d lost her parents and one of her brothers a few weeks prior, and she went on with her life with a fierce determination that put the rest of them to shame.
The last member of their group crouched unmoving at the top of a nearby hill, keeping watch. Mykel, Lysa’s oldest brother, never slept. His eyes were as cold as his flesh. Taegar couldn’t quite decide what he thought of the man, especially after learning that he was dead.
Mykel was an anomaly. He was a zombie, and yet had not succumbed to the mindless hunger and rage of the others. Taegar had spoken to Lysa about it once during their journey. She’d replied that she’d wished for her brother to return and he had. For her it was that simple. The rest of them weren’t that sure, yet he’d given them no reason to doubt his intentions. If something were to happen to Lysa, he wondered if Mykel would change back.
His thoughts were interrupted as Aleran awoke from his sleep with a start, head turned toward the forest as though his blind eyes could see.
Serina placed a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” she asked.
“The spirits of the Enthelm are screaming,” he said, “Can you hear it?”
Taegar listened. The wind shook the limbs and whistled through the leaves, but he heard no cries. Even the animals were silent.
“Shh,” Serina said, “I hear nothing.”
“It’s a fever dream again,” Taegar said. The elf awoke often like this, hearing things on the wind. At first it had terrified them all, for there were things they could not see that they did not wish to encounter. They had witnessed the death of an evil god, but not before he had unleashed a horde of zombie gods into the world. Those beings had quickly scattered, but not before Taegar witnessed one of them become incorporeal. Where they were now he had no clue.
Aleran pointed into the woods. “We have to help them. Something terrible is happening.”
“No. We avoid the forest.” Taegar glanced at the others for support, but their eyes were on the elf.
“Serina,” Aleran said, “Help me up.”
Serina didn’t argue. The elf stood slowly, leaning heavily on the woman. The two of them headed toward the trees, neither seeming to care if the rest of them followed.
“Are you crazy? It’s too dark. You’ll get us killed. We can wait until morning, or discuss this.”
Lara shook Lysa awake. The girl said nothing, quickly taking in the situation, and got to her feet. Lara strapped her sword to her waist and grabbed a torch and lit it from the campfire. The two of them set out after Serina and Aleran, leaving their supplies behind.
“This is crazy,” Taegar said. He jogged to catch up to Lara. The girl possessed admirable courage. He’d seen her fight impossible odds without a real weapon. She’d taken to dressing like Serina, in breeches, discarding her dresses for attire more convenient for their trip. He was glad that she’d stopped emulating the woman beyond that. He liked her long brown hair, and not the short cut that Serina favored.
They only listened to him anymore when they didn’t want to make a hard decision. They wanted that on someone’s shoulders other than their own. He’d thought that made him their leader, but more often than not, they went their own way.
Behind him he could barely discern the sound of running as Mykel joined them. For a dead man, he moved incredibly silent. He didn’t ask what they were doing. Where Lysa went, he followed.
Before him the trees rustled, as though beckoning them. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the forest became a solid wall of darkness. If anything hid within them, none of them could see it.
To Lara, Taegar said, “We’re following a blind elf into the woods at night, toward screaming that only he can hear. Do you see anything wrong with that?”
“We can’t let him go alone.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t bother to answer. He hated sounding the coward, even when his advice was logical. He was just a pilgrim, though a lost one at that. He’d spent much of his life looking for faith, for a sign the gods were real, or that they still cared. He’d found all the evidence he needed to prove their existence, and it hadn’t been the solace he’d been searching for.
Serina and Aleran reached the edge of the forest. They didn’t pause, disappearing into the darkness as though the woods had swallowed them up. Taegar stayed near Lara, within her torchlight. A dozen yards in, they caught up.
The forest suddenly burst into light, and before he could cover his eyes the light of a brilliant orb blinded him. He drew his mace and took a step back, afraid to swing in fear that he would strike his companions.
He strained to hear whether enemies approached as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. His companions were caught off guard too, stumbling back. His vision slowly returned, revealing a band of elves surrounding them, armed with bows and swords. One stood back, holding up a blue orb of sorcery.
They were dressed in woodland greens and browns, and if they had not made their presence known, he doubted he would’ve ever seen them, even in daylight. Aleran, with Serina’s support, had moved close enough to engage in conversation with an elf wearing a laurel crown upon his head.
Taegar moved closer to hear their conversation, ignoring the twitch of the nearest elf as he lifted his bow in warning.
It didn’t matter, he couldn’t understand a word they said. They spoke in the language of the fey.
The reaction of the elves to Aleran’s disfigurement told him volumes. Their faces twisted with an unhidden mixture of disgust and pity. It had not been easy traveling with him, but to see their reaction to Aleran fueled Taegar with a slow rising anger.
Serina handled it better. She held her chin high, but her cheeks were red. While traveling with the two of them, Taegar had come to realize the bond that existed between the woman and the elven wizard. She would kill every one of the elves if it meant defending Aleran. Their distaste for his appearance offended her as well.
Finally Aleran turned back to his traveling companions. “This is Eromel of Misthaven. He says that a powerful and evil spirit has entered the forest. It has been killing the dryads to the southeast. They have followed its trail here, to where they found us.”
“Do you think it’s one of the… dead gods?” Lara asked.
The darkness beyond their circle of light took on an all-too menacing feeling. It felt as though eyes were watching them from every direction. Even with the elves, masters of the woodland habitat, he didn’t feel safe.
“If it is, we need to get out of here,” Taegar said, “We can’t fight them.”
Eromel turned to face him. His acorn-shaped eyes were large and inhuman. “Aleran has told us of these… gods. I have dealt with them in ages past. We have successfully kept the walking dead out of our forest. We will defeat this abomination as well.”
“Eromel has agreed to provide us safe passage through the Enthelms,” Aleran said, “If we will aid him in battling the spirit. I told him we would. They will join us at our camp, and in the morning we will hunt it down.”
Taegar opened his mouth to ask how they intended for them to help, but he caught sight of two of the elves whispering amongst themselves, and saw the contempt in their expression. Whatever the elves had in mind, it did not bode well for the rest of them.
CHAPTER 4
Taegar had a difficult night sleeping. The elves did not join them at the fire, instead taking positions within the branches of the trees. He knew they were there only because he’d seen them disappear, climbing with an agility he envied.
By the time the sun rose, he felt like he’d joined the dead. His fitful sleep and the early morning made him wish for the days before the invasion, when warm beds were easy to come by. They couldn’t go on like this forever. There had to be sanctuary somewhere.
They moved toward the woods to join the elves awaiting within the shade of a towering elm. As they approached, Eromel stepped forward, drawing his thin elfish sabre and pointed it at Mykel.
“What is this? You travel with an abomination?”
Lysa moved to position herself between the elf and her brother, but Taegar interceded first. The night had cloaked his identity before, but the light of day revealed his condition. “It’s complicated,” he said, “He’s not the same.”
Eromel’s eyes narrowed. “I will not allow him to set foot within these woods.”
Aleran stepped forward, Serina guiding him. “I will vouch for him,” he said.
“I think not.” Eromel stepped forward, and in one smooth motion drove the sabre into Mykel’s chest.
Mykel stepped forward, forcing the blade deeper until it penetrated out of his back. He grabbed the elf by the wrists and jerked him forward until their faces were nose to nose. The blood drained from Eromel’s face as he tried to pull away, but the dead man held him tightly. Nobody dared move. The band of elves had all taken a step back.
Mykel let out a deep low growl. “Never do that again,” he said. He released Eromel, and the elf fell back against the tree.
Taegar grabbed the hilt and pulled it out of Mykel’s chest and dropped it to the ground at Eromel’s feet. Thick dark blood stained the blade. The elf’s hand shook slightly as he picked it up.
Lysa stepped forward with hands on her hips. “You hurt him and I swear I’ll… I’ll let him eat you!”
A dozen arrows on taut bowstrings aimed at the group. Taegar held his breath, not daring to breathe. The fear disappeared from Eromel’s expression.
“Eromel?” Aleran asked, “What’s going on?”
Another elf stepped forward, and whispered in Eromel’s ear. His expression didn’t change but he gave the other a small nod. “Nothing,” he finally answered, “We will allow your… companion… to accompany us.” With that he turned and headed into the forest.
The other elves lowered their bows and quickly fell in behind, though some stayed behind Taegar and his group. Despite the defused situation, they continually glanced at Mykel as though they expected him to turn and attack.
The elves moved with complete silence, their steps disturbing not a branch or leaf. In comparison, Taegar and has companions sounded like a pack of ogres hopping on eggshells.
As far as he could tell, they were the only living creatures around.
The further they walked, the more unsettled he became. Not from the wilderness, though, but from the elves.
Casually he asked, “So, why do you think they need our help?”
“What are you afraid of?” Serina asked, “They said there’s a spirit corrupting the forest.”
“Maybe if we were a bunch of heroes. Have you looked at your new traveling companions? This isn’t Mendreth’s Fist. Aside from you and Mykel, the rest of us aren’t warriors. We have a child with us. This is not the group that I’d ask for help.”
Lysa looked up and said, “I’m not afraid.”
“And what do you intend to do?” Taegar asked.
“I’ll keep her out of the way,” Lara said, “We can still help. There are those of us that can.”
Taegar shook his head. If he had any sense, he’d turn around and leave. He knew he’d be better off on his own. He always had been.
But that had been before he’d met Lara. Even facing a threat unknown, she carried her short sword with confidence, though she barely knew how to use it. In a fight against anything other than a few zombies, she’d be doomed. If he’d had to choose a fighting companion that he could depend on to defend his back, she shouldn’t have been at the top of his list, but this wasn’t the first time he’d gone along with her. The gods must’ve cursed him as a fool. As long as she continued on, he’d stay by her side.
Yes, the gods had definitely cursed him. The woman haunted his dreams. He longed to hold her, to kiss her, but her heart belonged to another. She held out hope that the man she loved still lived, and perhaps he did, though trapped in a prison meant for gods. While he sought sanctuary, she saw their destination as a source of hope, that the wizards of Levia would find a way to free him.
Serina stopped. “Wait,” she said softly, “Look at the trees.”
He didn’t see it at first. He almost couldn’t detect the subtle changes to the trees. With winter steadily encroaching, the leaves were already yellow and brown, with many of the deciduous trees nearly bare. Looking closer, he noticed what Serina had. The trees looked dead. Oak and elm, ash and pine, all were dead, with leaves and needles dropping from the branches.
