Ascension

by B F Rockriver

  Eli looked up to where Eric had been and saw nothing. His son was storming towards the kitchen, his teeth still clenched, and his fists curled into tight balls. The look on his face was sour and filled with intent. The miniature man was about to do something stupid. With a few steps, Eli was behind him, reaching for his shoulder. He was a second too late. A small fist, attached to a lanky arm, whipped towards the back of Savannah’s head.

  Clap.

  The momentum of the blow halted in an instant. Kata’s hand, which had appeared out of nowhere, had clenched around Eric’s fist hard enough to cause a squeal of pain. Eli hadn’t even seen her move. The last time he had seen her, she was preparing the finishing touches of a delicious smelling breakfast. Eric’s wrist bent at a terrible angle, the pain dropping him to a knee, but not enough to injure the boy. His sister had turned around and was now laughing at her brother. “Oh. You’re in trouble,” Savanna laughed. “Ha!”

  A metallic twang vibrated in the air, the sound of thin metal on bone. Kata had swung her ladle onto the hand Savannah was pointing at her brother. “Ouch! What was that-” Savannah started before being cut off.

  “Do. Not. Start.” Kata’s tone grew cold as she stared into Savannah's now teary eyes. “You know what you did. Apologize to your brother, then sit down and eat your breakfast.”

  Now Eric was laughing under his breath. “And you,” Kata said with a calm finality, cutting off her son’s laughter. “The next time you attempt to attack your sister, I will not stop you.” She said with a smile, throwing his fist to the side. “But I will not stop her either.” He nodded, fear clear in his eyes, then sat down next to his sister.

  “Now, breakfast is ready. Who wants to eat?” Eli said with a chuckle, before planting himself next to his wife.

  Warm salty-sweet fats melted in Eli’s mouth as he bit into the slow-cooked pork, the sensation filling him with warmth. Thyme, sage, and a hint of mint added herbal flavors to the meat as it dissolved on his tongue. Each of them ate in silence and enjoyed the rare treat of sweetmeats. Sauteed vegetables from the garden sat atop eggs fried in pork drippings, and Kata had cooked the fresh eggs to buttery perfection. The fat dripped from their crisp edges onto toasted day-old rye bread. A meal like this was worth every ounce of work that went into it.

  After they finished breakfast, Eli and the kids cleaned the house. Thirty minutes later, they were ready to start their daily tasks. Eli’s first duty was to gather wood and kindling before checking the traps for game. The kids were off to help their mother with the animals. Their handful of goats, chickens, and two cows would keep them busy for a few hours. Once they finished their individual tasks, they would all help with the garden and their small field of grains.

  Eli kissed the kids on their cheeks and gave Kata a hug before they left. Before he set out, he slipped on a pair of leather trousers, latched his belt-knife in place, and slipped a green leather jerkin over his brown linen shirt. To finish his routine, he checked on his bow and quiver; Kata’s father had made the hickory longbow as a wedding gift. Long straight grains, formed by the rings of an ancient tree, gave it an amazing tensile strength that could kill an adult buck from sixty yards. After war and years of hunting, it still showed no signs of wear. It was a well-crafted tool, and one Eli had no right to own. Its string, crafted from the sinew of a magical beast, sat dangling. Kata’s father, a masterful hunter and wise leader of men had killed the massive winged creature while traveling the great planes of Altea. The memories of their meeting brought a smile to Eli’s face. After looking the bow over and securing the string, he was almost ready.

  The last piece of equipment needed was his trusty felling axe; it sat beyond the cabin’s threshold, leaning against a bench. That also underwent a quick inspection. An ounce of prevention, he thought to himself while looking over his tool. A smooth, well worn, ash haft led to a sturdy black iron double-bitted head. Both blades were wider than normal and curved inward at the heel. One end of the axe was ground to a dull edge to hack through tougher knots found in the local oaks. The other he sharpened the night before. Removing one of his gloves, he ran his bare hand down the blades and handle of his weapon, inspecting for chips and cracks. Finding none, he slipped the axe into the brass looped frog on his belt. He was ready.

  It’s time to get to work, he thought, before jogging off towards the woods.

  Just before entering the dense tree-line, he stole one last glance at his children. They were laughing and hugging one of their goats. The sight brought a large grin to his face before he turned and made his way to his first task. Several strings and bell alarms lined his property. He had placed them near the trees to alert them to any intruders, humanoid or beast. After thirty minutes of searching the tree-line nearest to his small clearing, Eli found nothing to be out of place. After one final check of his tripwire alarms, he headed into the forest. Red oaks, great for repairs and burning, grew farther into the woods, getting taller the deeper one went into the forest. But there was another reason to go farther in to find lumber. He could hear his traps. If anything found itself unlucky enough to run through them, they would be easy to reach before it got dark. Sometimes, when he was lucky, the loud hacking of an axe against a tree would startle an animal right into a snare.

  Only thirty minutes into his search, he found a familiar redwood snag, of manageable size. He had marked the tree the day before, as it was only a year from falling. Older dying trees would often start small fires or become burrows for dangerous snakes; they needed removal and made great firewood and decorative items. He grasped his axe and got to work, slamming into the tree over and over, until his hands went numb. His body fell into conditioned motions as time blurred into a long series of powerful swings. Repetitive hacking turned an hour into one singular moment, and the woods fell silent between swings, as the world became still around him. A deepening calmness reeled him into a sense of nonexistence. He was just a man with an axe, nothing more. Hours went by as he toiled at his work, hacking at his tree. Suddenly, a loud thud, followed by a cracking sound, echoed throughout the forest, snapping him to attention.

  Filling the air like the snap of a whip, the noise caused the critters around him to stir, as if unsure if they should hide or flee. Taking a wary step back, Eli looked up. He expected to see the tree leaning and falling. All he saw was the sun, now overhead as it poked through the canopy. He had been hacking for hours, yet nothing happened. It should come down soon, he thought, inspecting the damage he had done to the tree. Then he heard what sounded like moaning in the distance, or an animal crying. Another loud snap rang out, causing wildlife to spring into action, this time fleeing from some unknown danger. Now, paying more attention, he could sense the direction where the noise had originated. “There’s no way I could have snared another boar already,” he whispered before stowing his axe in its frog and snatching the bow from its spot on his back. Something had triggered one of his snares.

  Chapter 2

  Eli sprang through the trees, planting his feet heel to toe, knees bent, and his footing firm. Kata taught him to move while remaining quiet. A cool breeze filled the air with an unusual fragrance as the scents of fresh-cut wood, undergrowth, and wild animals enveloped his senses like a light mist. Again there was a wretched undertone of decay, rot, and iron that grew stronger as he ran. It hung in the air like carrion as he closed in on his nearest trap.

  There is something in one of my snares, he thought as he picked up the pace for the final few yards.

  Crouching down and sticking to shadows, he crept closer, trying to get a good view of the scene. The form of a humanoid creature hung ten feet from the ground, the rope of his snare around its neck. Its shape resembled that of a muscular man in tattered clothes, but its skin was pale and hung loose. No motion was visible from the figure, and no animals picked at its remains. Who could this be? How long have they been hanging here? Eli thought just before the body snapped its arms wildly, jerking to life while grasping at its neck, trying to
free itself.

  Oh shit, he’s still alive.

  In a daze, Eli ran to the tree that held the figure aloft and loosened the hold of the rope, letting the body fall a few inches. A sense of wrongness overtook him as he stopped to inspect the man hanging from the tree. Who’s out this far into the Wildwood, and why would they be so close to my home. The thoughts filtered through his subconscious as his instincts screamed a warning. Adventurers.

  Squinting, Eli raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, getting a better look at the situation. He noticed something familiar about the trapped man. He had seen him before. As the sun stopped blurring his vision, familiar features became more noticeable.

  “Wayland! Fuck man,” Eli screamed, recognizing the face of his old friend. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you down, but the fall will hurt.”

  In a panic, he drew the belt knife from its sheath and cut the rope in one swift motion. The strong tension of the rope released at once, causing a loud twang to sound out on the game trail. A moment later, Wayland’s twitching form fell to the ground hard, followed by his head slamming into a rock with a thud. A sloping sound, like a sack of meat hitting the floor, Eli stood motionless as he watched in horror, knowing the damage that a six-foot fall could do to a man causing him to vomit. His friend was dead; he had to be. No one would have survived that fall. Gathering himself, Eli wiped beads of sweat from his eyes and spittle from his lips. Rushing to Wayland’s now motionless body, Eli panicked. Stopping a few paces away, he knelt, taking in the sight of his friend’s ravaged body.

  Looking closely, Eli noticed that his friend's hands were crooked, his fingers broken, and bits of fur and meat had somehow become buried under his nails. Grey dusky bones protruded Wayland’s right leg and left arm looking like grim spikes. The top of his knee cap peeled through his flesh, bursting through the thin skin, but no blood spilled from any of the man’s many wounds. Chunks of a pinkish-gray gelatinous plasma fell free from the now shattered mass, rather than the life-giving crimson fluid. Aging puncture wounds on the torso burst open, releasing a miasma-like mixture of sulfur, bile, and digested food that burned at Eli’s nostrils and throat.

  The sight of Wayland’s slack, lifeless face, caused his stomach to churn for a second time. Fresh blood spilled from the mouth, giving off steam as bits of flesh hit the ground with a wet slap. A smooth, clean laceration stretched across the dead man’s throat from one ear to the other.

  “There’s no way the snare did this,” Eli whispered, catching his breath through the breaks of each word.

  Gathering himself, he stood, before circling the corpse. A soft splashing sound came from below as Eli stepped in something viscous and warm. He looked down to see a deep pool of blood around his boot. The chunky crimson liquid seeped through the laces and into his sock as he stood staring in confusion.

  “Oh, what the fuck,” Eli shouted, removing his blood-soaked foot from the ankle-high pool.

  The still-bleeding corpse of a fawn lay maimed five feet away from where Wayland now rested. Claw and bite marks covered almost every part of its body. Entrails spilled from a fist-sized hole in its belly, like fruit from a basket. The dull gray eyes of the deer now faced the animal’s haunches, and its small head twisted like a pretzel.

  Now, this is interesting, Eli thought to himself as a gurgled raspy breath filled the now silent woods.

  “I wonder what did this,” the words escaped Eli’s lips in a whisper, just as he heard the rustling of leaves stirring near the corpse of his friend.

  Eli looked back to see Wayland twitch, his lungs rising and falling unsteadily. The body of the fallen man jerked as it rose to its feet. Bones snapped into place creaking in resistance as the creature, that was once a man, arranged itself. Fingers moved, and eyes fluttered open, but nothing was there. No life showed behind them; every small sparkle of intelligence had vanished. Its mouth dropped open, letting loose pieces of deer flesh as another stream of warm blood fell to the ground.

  One leg moved towards Eli, then the other. The rotted bones ripped through decaying flesh. Lurching forward, it stretched out its arms, its clumsy movements carrying it toward the nearest living creature, Eli. Moving with unnatural speed, Wayland reached a hand for Eli’s throat. His fingers ended in chipped bones, rather than flesh, as if gnawed off by a rabid animal. Unable to react, Eli stood unmoving until the semi-skeletal hands reached him, and boney fingers stabbed into his soft living tissue.

  “W-Wayland? Wayland, what happened to you? Are you okay?” Eli gasped.

  Cold, iron-like, fingers gripped his throat, their unearthly strength attempting to destroy his windpipe. “Wayland,” a half-breathed scream escaped his mouth.

  Eli looked on in horror as his friend’s head tilted, almost in recognition. Then the monster clacked its teeth. Opening and closing its jaws, smashing them together like a crazed animal, the undead creature bit off a large section of its tongue. Still no blood, Eli thought, before his friend jerked forward towards his exposed jugular. Instinct forced a reaction as Eli slammed a hand into Wayland’s face, the abrupt action breaking him from his stupor. Wheezing, his vision blurred as the dagger-like fingers found deeper purchase in his throat. He was running out of oxygen, fast. He should not be this strong; his arm is almost off, Eli thought as his right hand snapped upward, his belt knife still intact.

  Slamming the blade through the arm, reaching for his throat caused the monster’s grip to falter. With the small release of pressure, air forced itself into Eli’s desperate lungs. The sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking caused the remaining nearby birds to scatter. Flashes of previous violence rushed to Eli’s mind, forcing his body into action.

  With a quick motion, Eli exposed the palm of his free hand and drove it into Wayland’s face with enough force to cause his nose to explode. Grabbing the man by the forehead, he then shifted his weight forward onto the arm, now palming his friend's face. While the force of the blow had prevented Wayland’s teeth from removing Eli’s exposed trachea, it had also knocked the walking corpse off balance. After taking a small step to his right, Eli positioned his leg behind Wayland’s. With all the force and leverage available to him, he pressed forward.

  Eli’s momentum carried him through the zombie as he leaned his shoulder into the maneuver. Now parallel to Wayland, his elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle, he threw the living corpse headfirst into the ground. Any sense of balance that the creature had vanished as it fell backward, off of its feet. Pain erupted in Eli’s knee, as it hit the ground, followed by the full force of the body following it. The impact shook the forest floor with a small tremor and a crack that reverberated from a skull hitting an exposed root. Bits of bone chipped onto the forest floor, splashing nearby leaves with gelatinous fluid.

  Leaping to his feet, Eli took two quick steps back. With a deep, deliberate breath, he processed a critical fact; This isn’t Wayland. It’s something else. Fear, anger, and confusion poured over him. His best friend was dead. Or is it undead? His mind was unable to stay calm. This thing just tried to eat me, he thought before what was left of his breakfast filled his mouth. The queasiness took his attention away from the thing at his feet.

  As Eli looked away, the undead figure moaned and righted itself, attempting to regain its footing. Eli looked back, went pale, then swallowed, as the creature attempted to plant its legs under itself. Slowly, he slipped his belt knife into its sheath and clenched his hand around the handle of his axe. While the tool’s main purpose was chopping down trees, it could ruin flesh and bone with ease. The weight of the axe calmed Eli’s nerves, as he pulled his weapon from its home, its cool ash handle familiar and unwavering.

  Wayland planted both feet beneath him and lumbered forward. As his ruined leg landed, broken bones buckled and snapped. The releasing of connective tissue sent a resounding crack echoing through the trees. Grey jagged bones extended from flayed skin, splitting it like a torn sheet of parchment. Now dragging the destroyed limb, the creature stumbled forward. Al
though slow, Wayland’s corpse was still mobile. Shambling forward, with basic intent, his good arm stretched outward as if dying of thirst and Eli’s flesh was an oasis. Realization dawned on Eli as thoughts of what he had to do settled.

  The sight of the smith now filled Eli with rage, as he whispered, “I’m sorry, my friend.”

  With one final step back, Eli settled into the stance he used while chopping trees and cleared his mind. Shifting the weight of his body, letting it distribute onto both legs, he swung. The heavy iron axe hurtled towards Wayland’s waist with the force Eli would use to fell an oak. The axe connected above the left hip with enough force to cut the body in half. Flesh parted, like waves crashing on stone. Bones shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments, as metal carved through them with ease. Tiny strings of muscle and sinew were all that held the grotesque being together. Intestine and bile spilled from its destroyed torso as it fell to the floor. Wayland’s legs stood motionless for a breath before following the rest of his body to the earth. The earlier miasma amplified in strength tenfold, as various fluids spilled from the now gaping hole in Wayland’s stomach.