Death's Reach, page 4
part #2 of Hungry Gods Series
They weren’t just dead, they had just died, and the process was happening before their eyes.
Lysa tugged at Mykel’s sleeve and pointed. “There’s someone over there.”
Taegar looked where the little girl gestured. Not twenty feet away stood a man, naked and hunched over, long and tangled golden hair fallen over his face. Though the trees and foliage obscured him, Taegar recognized the form. In life the body would’ve glowed with divine radiance. In death the light had disappeared, yet still the man looked the form of human perfection, with powerful muscles and unearthly beauty.
They’d found a dead god. Or rather, it had found them.
The god slowly raised his head and looked directly at them, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as though he could already taste their flesh.
“Where did the elves go?” Lysa asked.
Taegar risked a glance around. Eromel and his party were nowhere to be seen. “We’re bait.”
“It’s just one zombie,” Lara said, “Easy, right?”
The dead god lurched toward them, arms outstretched. Compared to the other dead they’d fought, he showed no signs of injury or rot. As he approached, the trees shook and moaned, their branches moving against the wind, twisting toward Taegar and his companions.
The nearest tree, a dead ash, tore a root from the earth. From its trunk a face emerged with gnashing teeth. They backed away as the tree groaned and careened wildly. A woman composed of deadwood pulled free from the ash as it uprooted and fell.
Mykel stepped to the side, pulling Lysa with him as the tree hit the ground where they had just stood, with a force that shook the forest. The surrounding trees shuddered and toppled as more of the strange wooden women emerged from their trunks.
“It’s not one zombie,” Serina said, “It’s an entire forest of them. He’s infected the dryads.”
She stepped forward and moving with lightning speed swung her sword into the zombie dryad’s neck. The faerie’s head popped off and tumbled away, and the body collapsed like a life-sized wooden doll.
One lurched at her from the side. She turned, finding Mykel had joined her. Following her example he swung for the neck. His sword chopped into the wood like an axe penetrating half way and firmly stuck. The dryad ignored him, as did all of the dead.
“Mine’s enchanted,” Serina said, and decapitated it with a single stroke, freeing Mykel’s weapon.
“The god’s getting closer,” Lara said. Though she held her sword in front of her, she backed away.
More and more dryad’s emerged, forcing them back. Taegar clubbed one across the face, sending splinters and wood chips flying. The dead faerie hardly slowed. He pounded the head again and again, yet she didn’t drop until he’d completely pulverized it.
The god had nearly reached them.
“Where are those damned elves?” he asked. Out of the three of them, only Serina’s blade gave them an edge. Finally he gave the order, “Fall back!”
They ran before the dead god reached them, Lysa attempting to drag Aleran along. Though the elf still demonstrated remarkable grace despite his blindness, he slowed them down.
Risking a look back, Taegar saw the dryads no longer pursued them. Instead they moved from tree to tree, their wooden teeth digging in and tearing away bark. “They’re killing the tree spirits,” he said.
Mykel grabbed him by the arm. “I may be the only one that can stop him,” he said, “Take Lysa, don’t let her follow me.”
“No!” Lysa said, “I’ll go with you.”
He knelt down and pulled her in for a hug. Taegar tensed at the dead man’s gesture, he still found it difficult to trust him, but Mykel’s affection was genuine. “I can’t protect you from all of them. They will ignore me. I’ll kill the god and catch up with you.”
“I’ll wait for you,” she said.
He shook his head. “Don’t stop running until you’re safe. I’ll find you when this is over.”
Without another word, he turned to confront the zombie. Taegar wanted to watch. He wanted to pray to the gods that Mykel would succeed, but he didn’t know if any were left. “Come on,” he said, “He’ll be fine.”
She sniffed and nodded.
Even with Aleran, he pushed them as hard as he dared. He found a game trail, and though it didn’t head west back the way they’d come, it made traveling that much easier. It twisted and turned, leading deeper into the forest. Here the trees were taller and thicker, blocking out the sky. To their left he heard the sound of running water.
Bursting out of the foliage, they entered a clearing at the edge of a river. Though not too wide, it looked deep. Covering the ground looked like hundreds of butterflies of all different colors. They twitched as though they were slowly dying. Would the curse affect insects too? He didn’t want to think what that would mean.
He paused, considering their options as Lara and Serina joined him. “Levia is still a ways to the northeast,” he said, “Which means a long walk through the forest, and crossing the river. Or we could try to cut through the brush and get out of the woods.”
“I don’t want to be in these woods at night,” Serina said, “Not if I can’t trust the trees.”
“Hey,” Lysa said, “These aren’t butterflies.”
They turned to see the girl crouch. She reached out for one, extending a finger to touch the bright green wings.
“No!” Taegar shouted. Lysa jerked her finger back as one of the tiny things flipped over and tried to bite her.
“Sprites,” Serina said.
Lysa hopped up and took a step back. Her eyes were wide with wonder. “What’s wrong with them?”
Taegar knelt down next to Serina. The tiny faeries lay gasping as though unable to breathe, their mouths moving like fish out of water, struggling for air.
Serina nudged one with her boot. The sprite latched on to the toe, trying to gnaw its way through the leather. With the heel of her other foot, she squished its head. It popped like a small cherry tomato. “They seem to be having difficulty with the plague,” she said.
“They don’t look bitten,” Lara said.
“It’s the world dying,” Aleran said. They all turned to face the elf, who hadn’t said a word for some time. “The smaller faeries are inseparable from nature. The gods are changing the world. Their essence is killing everything.”
“Does that mean Mykel failed?” Taegar asked, earning a glare from Lysa.
“How do we even know which god he fights?” Aleran replied, “All I hear is screaming, screaming from everything. The air tastes of death. What does it matter if Mykel wins or loses? We’re all going to die.”
Serina grabbed him by the arms. “Don’t say that. We’ve survived against all odds. We will find others in Levia. We will find a way to fight.”
“It’s all around us,” he said, “There’s death everywhere. There’s no way out. There’s no place to run.”
Lara put a hand on Taegar’s chest, forcing him to take a step back. He looked at her questioningly, and she pointed to the ground. The sprites were crawling toward them. “Guys? We’ve got to go. Now!”
They turned back down the trail. Sensing their prey fleeing, the sprites lifted up, a colorful cloud of death. Aleran, unable to see them, stood his ground.
“Aleran,” Serina cried, “This way.”
The sprites settled upon him, blanketing him with a shroud of hundreds of wings. They sounded like a swarm of hornets, loud enough to almost drown out the elf’s screams. He fell to his knees. Taegar lost sight of him within the swarm.
Serina turned back. Taegar wrapped his arms about her, forcing her away. She struggled, and he swept her up in his arms and carried her. She beat against his chest, this woman that had slain possibly thousands of monsters, suddenly limp and helpless.
“Please,” she sobbed, “He’s all I have left. Let me go. Let me go to him.”
“He’s gone,” Taegar said. He ran faster, ignoring the branches scraping at his face, and the brush that threatened to trip him.
“Then let me die with him,” she said, “I’ve lost everyone. Just let me go.”
He whispered empty words of comfort, words to distract her, things he’d heard at gravesites to give hope to the living. They came like rote to his lips, devoid of meaning. She wept against his shoulder, her fight gone. He could see Lara out of the corner of his eye, keeping up with him, and he silently thanked whatever gods were left that it had been the elf and not her.
It felt like they ran for hours, though he had no idea how much time had actually passed, and he had no idea how far they’d traveled. He collapsed on an old log, gently setting Serina down. She immediately pulled away, hugging her knees to her breasts. Lara dropped down next to him.
They didn’t say anything while they caught their breath. He could still hear the elf’s screaming in his head, though he knew by now he had to be dead, possibly one of the undead. There had to be some way out of the forest. Once he could catch his breath he’d find his way. He wasn’t much of a woodsman, but he’d been alone on the road since his mid-teenage years. He’d learned a few tricks.
Lara sat next to him, looking back the way they’d came. They were down to the three of them.
Just three… Wait. “Where’s Lysa?” he asked, and jumped back to his feet.
CHAPTER 5
Mykel walked into the midst of twisting and dying trees. A massive oak, possibly hundreds of years old, raised its branches to the sky before falling, its root structure pulled up from the earth, showering him in dirt and leaving a crater in its wake. The dryad zombie that pulled herself from its trunk seemed but an ant in comparison.
He knew little of such creatures. His mother had told him once, as a child, that when you killed the tree, the dryad also died. The trees were dead, and the dryads lived on, albeit as something else. They reminded him of rotting logs with legs.
He walked past her, ignored, toward the god and raised his sword. The gold-skinned entity still pursued his comrades, staring beyond him as though he didn’t exist. Death had its perks. He swung the sword with a blow capable of decapitating a mortal.
It sliced through his neck and stopped against the god’s spine.
The zombie turned and faced him, seeing Mykel as though for the first time, and as a threat coming between him and his prey. As he pulled the sword free for another strike, the god’s backhanded blow caught him off guard and sent him flying. As he crashed through a thicket he felt a new emotion he’d not thought to ever experience again.
Surprise.
The dead god watched him struggle as he crawled out of the bush. The blow had crushed ribs. Mykel didn’t feel pain, and he didn’t worry about broken bones. As long as he could stand, he could still fight.
Clenching his fists, he strode up to the god. His sword had slipped free, falling at the god’s feet. He didn’t need a weapon. He would tear him apart with hands and teeth. The god did not wait for Mykel to attack, launching forward with hands going for his neck. Mykel sidestepped him easily, sending a flurry of punches into the zombie’s face and neck.
The god responded with flailing arms and snapping teeth. Mykel drove an elbow into his mouth, shattering teeth. The zombie ignored the blow and seized him about the throat.
Fingers strong as stone sank into his flesh. Mykel fought to pry them loose, but the god’s strength surpassed his own.
He jammed his fist through the sword wound on the zombie’s neck and struck his spinal cord. The god released him, staggering as he lost control of motor functions. Mykel fought to drive his fingers deeper, and wrap completely around the spine. If he could get a grip, the fight would be over. He tore through the muscle tendon and the god’s head tilted, no longer able to support it upright.
The zombie grabbed his wrist with one hand, and the upper arm with his other. His elbow snapped as the dead god twisted, followed by the tearing of flesh and muscle. The arm tore away, and the god threw him to the ground.
Mykel stared at the bloodless stump where his arm had been. Looking back at the god, the other half of his arm had managed to grab the spine, but the god still stood, head resting limply against his left shoulder.
He could still feel his dismembered arm. He could still feel his fingers against the spine of the god.
He willed the separated fist to clench and the god toppled.
All about him, the zombie dryads continued to attack the other trees. Leaves and pine needles fell like snow.
Mykel stood over the downed god. The zombie snapped and bit at him, but without control over the rest of his body, he no longer presented a danger. He reached down and pulled his arm free. He placed it back to where it had once hung, and felt bone and tissue fibers immediately reconnect and regenerate.
He raised his fist in front of him and wiggled his fingers. Around the elbow where it had torn away, the flesh didn’t heal, leaving a permanent necrotic scar. It didn’t concern him in the least.
Mykel turned his attention back to the god and grabbing him by his hair, lifted it from the ground. When around his allies, he could sense the blood flowing in their veins, smell their delicious flesh. It created a constant battle within him, a war to hang on to that slim thread of humanity that kept him from joining the ranks of the zombie horde.
He’d been a mindless zombie before returning home. Nothing had solved the mystery of his return of his mental functions. He couldn’t even remember what it had been like. He still had the taste in his mouth, and felt the cravings like the pang of addiction. Some part of his sanity had survived where a hundred thousand others were lost.
He’d lost control but once since then, in battle. Family had saved him, his inability to harm his sister.
There were no living beings nearby to draw his attention. He didn’t care about the dryads. They did not incite his hunger any more than the vegetables or fruit did.
It wasn’t life he sensed. There was something else.
Mykel stared into the dead god’s eyes. They were golden, even in undeath. The gods did not demonstrate any of the rot of their human counterparts, immortal and glorified beyond life. Blood did not pump through his veins. Sorcery did. He could sense its source.
With a feral growl he sank his teeth into the god’s cranium with enough force to shatter the skull.
CHAPTER 6
Lysa had started to flee as the sprites swarmed over Aleran. She’d kept close to the others, terror adding speed to her feet. She ran, feeling the utter hopelessness that the elf had spoken of. Was he right? Were they lost? As soon as they had entered the forest and seen the zombie tree people, she realized what a true nightmare the world had become. There wasn’t any way out. The trees were everywhere. She could run forever and never be free of them.
It felt immeasurably worse without Mykel. He’d promised he’d find her, though she couldn’t imagine how. She should have stayed with him. There might’ve been a way for her to help. She wasn’t worried about him. Nothing had posed a threat to him. Everything dead ignored him.
What if he could make her like him? Would it be so bad?
He didn’t act like he cared that they’d lost everyone. She’d watched the dead kill her parents. Her father had been infected with a bite that killed him slowly, and he’d changed and killed her mother. Dorian, her brother, had slain them both.
The thought of her parents made her eyes blur. She thought about them too much. Their loss left an emptiness inside of her that was nearly unbearable. With Mykel around, she could push it away and focus on surviving, just like the others did.
Her other brother still lived, or so Lara said. Lysa wanted to believe. Mykel told her it was a possibility, but said that she was his only concern now. When they got to Levia, Lara said the wizards could find Dorian and save him.
That’s what made her stop. How could the wizards help Dorian if Aleran hadn’t been able to? What if the wizards weren’t willing? Aleran had been very powerful, able to control fire. Wizards had spell books with all of their secrets contained within. If she had that book, she could save Dorian herself. She wouldn’t be useless, either. She could fight along with the others, and no longer be a helpless nine year old girl.
Lysa watched the others disappear into the woods before turning back. They wouldn’t agree with what she planned. She tried to be quiet, but every twig snapped beneath her feet. She sounded incredibly loud to her own ears. In the distance she could hear the groans of the trees as they killed one another. She wondered if she was hearing the trees screaming like Aleran had said.
They didn’t move as fast as the human dead did. The faeries of the trees weren’t used to moving and attacking. She didn’t think that was how trees ate at all. The curse turned them into something they weren’t, making them do things they had never done before.
She hadn’t gotten too far from the clearing. She stood on the outside, peering through the trees. Aleran lay on the hard earth, staring at the sky. He looked as though he were still alive. His bandage had fallen from where his eyes had been, showing horrible empty sockets surrounded by burnt twisted flesh. His body had swollen, making him look as though he’d rapidly gained weight, and his clothes were torn, showing deep bite marks all over.
It looked like he still breathed. Did the dead need air? Mykel didn’t. When he sat still, he was like a statue. Aleran didn’t act like her brother at all.
Breath meant life.
She carefully studied the clearing. She saw no sign of the sprites. Cautiously she approached him. With only the elf to disturb the illusion, the glade had a sense of peace. She could feel the magic of this place. On any other day, she would’ve loved it there. Now she only felt exposed.
If there were others out there, if the sprites were nearby, they had a thousand places to hide. The brush grew thick. They could be watching her, waiting until she was too distracted to run. The trees too were probably watching. Just that morning she only thought of trees as objects, not as living things. She knew they were plants, but they’d never posed any danger. She’d climbed them, taken naps in their shade, and never once worried about her safety. She would never trust them again.
