Lost in Revery

by Matthew Phillion

  “I still think it was a nosferatu,” Tobias said.

  A new voice spoke from the darkness so unexpectedly Morgan felt goosebumps rise across his entire body.

  “We’re not vampires, and frankly, it’s a little offensive to call us ghouls,” the voice of the creature from the camp said. “We prefer to call ourselves the eaters of the dead.”

  “Ah, shit,” Cordelia said.

  Morgan hefted his hammer and readied himself, thinking about what spells he knew he could call upon against creatures of the night. He saw a flare of light as Tamsin prepared a fireball spell. The four adventurers instinctually put their backs to each other so they could see in all directions.

  “Where’s the voice coming from,” Tamsin said.

  “Hey creeper!” Tobias said. “You do this often? Just… whispering dramatically from the darkness? You’re not impressing anyone, y’know. It’s… It’s actually really disconcerting.”

  “Then maybe I’ll step into the light,” the voice said, and Morgan saw a pair of red points in the darkness, eyes staring at them. And then another pair. And another. And another.

  “We’re surrounded,” Morgan said.

  “No problem,” Cordelia said. “We’re only down two party members. I mean technically, we’ve got the core four here, right?”

  “Core four?” Tamsin said. “Also tell me which way to shoot this fireball, please.”

  “Tank, healer, damage, and… well,” Cordelia said, giving Tobias a look.

  “That’s the beauty of the bard, darling,” Tobias said. “We can do it all. Watch this.”

  And Tobias began to sing. Morgan gritted his teeth—it was one of the most obnoxious earworms of the past five years, the sort of song that latched onto your brain and wouldn’t let go. Why, why would he do this?

  The creature spoke again, still not emerging from the shadows.

  “Save your charm spells for the living, minstrel,” he said. “They’re no use to you on the dead.”

  Tobias shrugged casually.

  “Well, that’s what I got, guys,” he said. “Sorry. Anyone else?”

  “Screw this,” Tamsin said, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent a fireball splashing into the fire where a cluster of the bright red eyes watched.

  And then the road turned into a battlefield.

  Inhuman screeches squealed from the spot where Tamsin’s fireball exploded, branches and underbrush catching flame, illuminating desiccated, spindly silhouettes in the darkness as the creatures scattered. Something leapt out of the brush on the other side of the road, and without thinking, Morgan swung his hammer upward, connecting hard with a meaty thud. The monster collapsed on the ground several yards away and then, like a video running in fast forward, skittered back into the forest to hide. Cordelia took a creature’s arm off at the shoulder and then split it from hip to throat with her axe. Even Tobias got in on the violence, as always displaying an unexpected proficiency with the elegant sabre he wielded.

  “See? We got this,” Tobias said, smirking at the rest of the group.

  And then he fell, his feet yanked out from under him.

  “Tobias!” Tamsin cried out. Morgan watched in horror as Tobias was dragged by his ankles by two of the creatures, their pale, blue-tinged skin gleaming in the light of Tamsin’s fire, eyes bright red dots. They hissed as Tobias kicked and tried to slash at them with his sword.

  Morgan reared back to swing at one with his hammer and roared in frustration as another of the creatures grabbed hold of his weapon, preventing him from making the attack.

  “Cordelia!” Morgan yelled, and the barbarian charged, only to be cut off by another of the ghoul-like things, bigger but almost comically thin. She nearly cut the undead monster in half as she fought to get to Tobias, but the creature didn’t die—it reached out at her with long, bone-tipped fingers, forcing Cordelia to shove him away with her booted foot.

  “Morgan, if you have any more cleric-y things up your sleeve, now is a good time,” she said.

  Morgan tried to call a spell to mind, anything, but he couldn’t focus his thoughts as he shook the ghoul off his hammer. In frustration, he bashed its head, hearing bone crack and snap. Then the spell he wanted was there, as if written in golden letters before his eyes. He called out words—what am I saying, he thought, I don’t know if I’m saying a prayer or magic words or something else—and the entire battle lit up like the sun. The monsters screeched like terrified animals. The shadowy silhouettes of the undead retreated into the forest like rats, fleeing from the divine energy of his spell.

  As quickly as it appeared, the light began to fade. Morgan blinked away the afterimages, straining to focus his vision in the glittering, soft glow of the coming day.

  “Are they gone?” he said. “Cordelia, I can’t see. Did it work?”

  Slowly, his vision returned to normal, revealing the road, the dying embers of Tamsin’s spells. Cordelia stood in the middle of the path, her axe in hand, dripping with thick, black blood. Around them, pieces of the undead twitched and squirmed—arms, torsos, even a single head, removed from its body, still growling and baring its teeth.

  “Morgan,” Cordelia said, her body shaking with rage. “Morgan… the twins are gone.”

  Chapter 8: We’re a delicacy

  I have had better days, Tobias thought, listening to his lute clang pathetically behind him as the ghouls dragged him along behind them.

  They’d tied his hands but hadn’t blindfolded or gagged him, which told him they clearly didn’t care if he saw where they were going or if he spoke to them. He glanced over at his sister, looking miserable and angry, her wizard’s robes twisted and dirty from the trip.

  Just us, he thought. Hopefully that means they couldn’t capture the others and they can come rescue us and not something unthinkable. He almost laughed at the thought of these creatures trying to drag Cordelia in this undignified manner, but then a rock or root dug into his back and all humor went out of him.

  We’ve got this, he thought. This is fine. We’ve been in worse situations before. Okay, maybe not worse situations, but between the two of us, we’ve got a lot of tricks up our sleeves. We can get out of this.

  His view of shadowy treetops gave way to open sky, and it took just a quick glance around to see they’d returned to the abandoned town. Great, Tobias thought. We were coming back here anyway. They saved us the trouble.

  They continued along the main road through the center of town before coming to a complete stop. Tobias tried to come up with a snappy one-liner, but before he could think of anything worth saying, he was hoisted up onto a ghoul’s shoulder. And then he saw what they planned to do.

  “Oh no,” he said. “Can we not? I’d rather not.”

  He watched as two of the creatures skittered down the well in the center of town, almost spider-like in their movements. Next, the ghoul carrying him prepared to lower him down.

  He stole a look at his feet, where his ankles were bound by old, filthy rope. Not, he thought, enough rope to lower him down a well with. Not at all.

  “Maybe you could double up on the ropes?” he said. “Just in case? I mean safety first, guys, right?”

  Not speaking, the creatures upended him, lowering him head-first down into the darkness.

  Tobias began singing that sailor’s song from Jaws, the one Quint sings when he thinks they’re going to die.

  “Toby!” Tamsin yelled, her voice echoing down the well as Tobias disappeared into the darkness. He’d felt strangely resigned to it all before he heard her voice, but the fear he heard there, fear for him and not for herself, spiked his heartbeat. He fought the urge to struggle against his bindings, knowing that even if he got free right now, he’s just be plummeting toward a broken neck at the bottom of the well.

  Eventually, the narrow vertical tunnel opened. Waiting for him at the bottom was the first of the creature they’d seen, the one by the campfire. He was bigger than the others—Tobias was tempted to use the word healthier, t
hough that seemed weird to say about an undead creature—and his face, though monstrous, had more reason to it, less feral in nature than the lesser creatures around them.

  “Hi,” Tobias said. “Hello. Hail and well met, my good sir. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Tobias, but folks call me Oberon the Blue.”

  The creature smiled at him with a mixture of amusement and, Tobias thought uncomfortably, a hint of hunger.

  “Minstrel,” the undead monster said. When he wasn’t trying to spook them by a campfire, the ghoul’s voice had a nice tone to it, Tobias thought. He sounds like a TV announcer. “You talk quite a bit. I suppose that’s to be expected.”

  “I sing, too,” Tobias said. “Play the lute… I mean if you didn’t break my lute—did you have to drag it? If it’s not broken, I can play that too. I’m a versatile performer.”

  “Good to know,” the creature said.

  “So that’s it then?” Tobias said. “I tell you my name, rattle off my resume, and I don’t even get a name?”

  “I am Urfang,” the creature said.

  “Stop talking,” Tamsin, who had just been lowered down the well beside Tobias, said in a stage whisper. Tobias ignored her.

  “What do you do around here, Urfang?”

  “I am the Champion of Shadows,” the creature said.

  “Are you the man in charge around here?” Tobias said.

  Urfang laughed.

  “I am my master’s right hand, his eyes and his claws,” Urfang said. “No, I am not the man in charge. But you’ll meet my master soon.”

  “Is he as devilishly handsome as you are?” Tobias asked.

  “I suppose that depends on your taste in aesthetics,” Urfang said. He motioned for his unspeaking companions to move, and the others hoisted Tobias and Tamsin up like luggage.

  “So, what’s the nature of our visit?” Tobias asked. “Are we here to sing for our supper? My rates really are reasonable for appearances. I would’ve been happy to work a gig for a discounted rate if I’d known you’d go through all this trouble.”

  “I swear, Tobias, if you don’t shut up…” Tamsin said, her voice pinched by how the ghouls were carrying her.

  They made their way deeper into the water system, the ground damp below them. The tunnels were lit by sporadic torches, an almost ridiculously civilized touch in such an eerie place.

  “We don’t come across many of your kind in our travels,” Urfang said. “My lord has a taste for elven flesh. We bring you to him as a gift. An offering.”

  “Our kind?” Tobias said. Urfang touched the tip of his ear with his clawed finger. The gesture was almost delicate.

  “Few elves come to this region,” the ghoul said. “You taste like spring.”

  “We’re a delicacy,” Tamsin muttered. “Just once, just once, I want to meet an evil creature in this world that doesn’t want to eat people.”

  “That’s just a rumor,” Tobias said. “Really elf-meat is pretty gamey. I mean look at us. Barely any meat on the bones. We’re like pheasants.”

  “We know what elf tastes like, minstrel,” Urfang said. He traced that same hooked finger along the bard’s cheek, drawing blood. Urfang brought his fingertip to his mouth and licked it with a horrifically long, forked tongue. “Mm. Sunshine and fresh fruit. My master will be pleased.”

  “Tam? I think he just drank some of me,” Tobias said.

  “We are in so much trouble,” Tamsin said.

  Chapter 9: The hunt master

  “Kids, Jack,” Eriko said as they ran toward the sounds of battle. “The house has kids in it!”

  Jack readied his bow as he sprinted, anime-style, through the brush. Back home, Eriko’s risk-taking had been entertaining and occasionally annoying, but he was really struggling to not be angry with her right now. The risk she’d put their group in by taking off bothered him more than he wanted to admit out loud.

  “What if they were monster kids?” Jack said, readying his bow. As he ran his hand across the wood, he noticed an alarmingly distinct crack that hadn’t been there before Eriko smashed into him. Great, he thought. This thing’s going to need to be repaired, too. I’m a ranger with no bow.

  “They were regular people, Jack,” Eriko said. The sounds of combat were dying down. Jack hoped that meant their friends had won and not the opposite. “We have to help them.”

  “Let’s help our people first,” Jack said as they exploded out of the brush and onto the road. Embers from a fire were slowly tapering out, and body parts, some still twitching and grasping, lay scattered around. Standing in the midst of the carnage were Morgan and Cordelia, the latter covered in blackish blood that clearly was not her own. They both instinctually raised their weapons as Jack and Eriko crashed out of the woods, but while Morgan automatically dropped his hammer to a resting position, Cordelia stormed toward them, her axe still in hand.

  “What happened?” Eriko said. “Where’s Tobias and—”

  Eriko was cut off as Cordelia, displaying the strength of the orcish form this game gave her, grabbed the rogue by the front of her jerkin and lifted her into the air one-handed.

  “This is your fault,” Cordelia said. “If you hadn’t run off alone, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Jack started toward Cordelia, but Morgan waved him off and shook his head.

  “Cordelia,” Jack said. The barbarian ignored him, so Jack repeated himself. “Cordelia, what happened.”

  “The creatures. The ghouls. They took Tamsin and Tobias,” Cordelia said. “Dragged them off into the woods. Are you happy now? Did you get your curiosity fix, Eriko?”

  “How long,” Jack said, watching as Eriko’s face turned redder and redder. Her hands clutched at Cordelia’s wrist for purchase, but her legs hung limp, as if not even bothering to fight.

  “Minutes ago,” Morgan said. “I thought we had them on the run, but…”

  Jack looked at Silence, and the wolf started back at him knowingly. The ranger pointed at the ground, and Silence began sniffing, looking for a scent. Jack scanned the ground as well.

  “We’ll track them. Follow them back to wherever they took them. We’ll save them,” Jack said. “It’s not too late. They took them alive, yeah?”

  “I think so,” Morgan said. “There were a lot of ghouls. I didn’t see them take them.”

  Cordelia dropped Eriko, who collapsed to the ground rather than land on her feet. Eriko coughed and wheezed, rubbing her neck.

  “Let’s move. Maybe we can catch them on the road,” she said.

  “You won’t,” a new voice said. The voice was deep, and spoke slowly, with an old, gravelly tone. Jack whipped around in the direction the voice came from, drawing back his bow, which cracked and snapped in half in his grip, part of the bow spinning off until it hit the end of the bowstring and clattered to the ground.

  “Shit!” Jack said. He threw the bow aside and pulled out the two short swords from his belt. “Who’s out there?”

  The last thing any of them wanted to see walked out of the shadows. Whip-thin and unassuming in height, the being had grayish white skin, piercing red eyes, a mouth full of pointed teeth. He wore dark clothes, studded leather armor covering his torso, with a cloak of such a dark green it was nearly black over his shoulders. He had a bow in one hand, another slung on his back alongside an intricate quiver, a sword at his hip.

  “You’re one of them,” Morgan said.

  Eriko staggered to her feet, backing away. Cordelia hefted her axe and adopted a fighting pose, but held back.

  “They are my kin, that’s true,” the being said. “But I wouldn’t call myself one of them. My name is Murtok.”

  “I don’t care what your name is,” Cordelia said, but Morgan stepped forward, holding out a calming hand to her.

  “What do you mean, kin,” Morgan said.

  “You see me,” Murtok said. “I have the same curse. No doubt you’ve spoken to the champion, Urfang. The clever one.”

  “There was one who spoke,” Mor
gan said. “We didn’t get his name.”

  “They are my tribe,” Murtok said.

  “Ghouls,” Cordelia said.

  Murtok seemed to consider the term, turning it over in his mind.

  “You’re not the first to call us that,” he said. “We’re a bit more than textbook carrion eaters. We’ve been around longer.”

  “What do you call yourselves, then,” Jack said.

  “Those of us who are not… new to undeath call ourselves the gaunts,” Murtok said. “Creative, I know. But ghouls are feral things, clever in their own way, but more beast than man. The gaunts are…”

  “You remember who you are,” Jack said.

  Murtok looked at him, surprised.

  “You’re not wrong, ranger,” Murtok said. “And some of us… are not happy with what we’ve become.”

  “But not all of you,” Eriko said, still kneeling on the ground, a hand at her throat.

  “Most of us are quite happy with damnation,” Murtok said. “I can’t say I’ve ever met someone like me. The kin move from place to place, eating the dead, killing the living to make more meat. A gray plague. I follow them. I do what I can. It isn’t much. I think the only reason the patriarch hasn’t ordered Urfang to kill me is because…”

  “Because?” Morgan said, coaxing.

  “The patriarch knew me in life,” Murtok said. “He may enjoy this damned afterlife, but he isn’t without sentiment. I think I’m the last person who remembers him before he fell.”

  “Why help us,” Eriko said, staggering to her feet. “You have the same curse. They’re your ‘kin.’”

  “They need to be culled,” Murtok said. “I’ve watched my old friend build up his tribe, his little army of the dead. I won’t lie to you. I’m a sentimental monster. I don’t want him gone. But they wiped out an entire village.”

  “Not yet,” Eriko said. “They’ve got a building full of children in there.”

  She shot a wretched look at Cordelia.

  “Yeah. That’s what my fucking curiosity got me, Cordie,” Eriko said. “That building you guys wouldn’t let me open is full of kids being held like veal. Happy now?”