Sister of the Dead

by Barb Hendee

  Her thoughts were cut short by thrashing in the forest.

  Neither Leesil nor Chap would ever make so much noise. Perhaps Magiere? But wouldn't Chap lead her in a more stealthy fashion?

  Wynn grabbed her crossbow and quiver from the ground and crawled around the tree trunk away from the sound. She peered out, and a dark figure moved haltingly through the forest.

  She fumbled with the crossbow, trying to cock and load it. The figure pushed through a tangle of low branches, not bothering to hold them aside from whipping at its body and face.

  Even in the darkness, Wynn saw the darker hollow of its mouth open and close with no sound but the wet smack of its lips coming together. She made out the long curve of steel in its grip. It was one of the dead seamen who had appeared in the cavern.

  Wynn quietly slipped the quiver's strap over her shoulder and raised the crossbow, ready to step out and fire if it came close. A rancid stench surrounded her over the forest's thick smell. She turned at the rattle of branches behind her.

  The second seaman's face pushed through a curtain of moss, green strands tangling on the stained teeth in its open mouth. Filmy eyes stared blindly ahead as it slashed at her with its saber.

  Wynn screamed and clenched the crossbow's lever as she fell along the tree's side.

  The garlic-soaked quarrel struck the dead seaman's stomach as his saber split bark where she'd crouched a moment before. The first seaman closed in from the other side, its clumsy feet stomping the wet earth.

  Wynn scrambled on all fours, dragging the crossbow behind her. When she tumbled beyond the next clump of trees, she got to her feet and began recocking the crossbow. The way these things moved, she should be fast enough to stay out of their reach. As she was about to pull out another quarrel, she looked back and nearly screamed again.

  They were charging after her.

  Wynn turned and fled. She heard more thrashing in the forest close behind as her short robe caught in low brush. Feet skidding in mulch, she jerked herself free.

  Something grabbed her cowl from behind, and this time she cried out.

  Wynn turned upon the grip, swinging her crossbow as a club. Its bow snapped off in pieces as the weapon collided with her attacker's head. The smell of putrefied flesh welled up around her.

  His skin was gray and darkly splotched. Eyes without pupils stared blankly ahead, as the seaman raised his saber and brought it down at her head.

  She held up the crossbow stock with both hands, and the saber cracked against it.

  A deep voice call out from nearby. "Wynn! Where are you?"

  "Leesil?" she called back. "I'm here! Please help— quickly!"

  She struggled with the dead seaman, trying to hold him off.

  A fist shot past her head from behind, striking the dead man's face, and he fell. But the corpse's grip held on Wynn's cowl, and she was jerked along, spinning around to fall backward to the earth.

  The cowl ripped from her robe, and she rolled to hurry away on hands and knees. As she looked back, wiping dirt and muck from her face, she saw the dark silhouette rising up over the downed seaman.

  In his hand he held a longsword.

  Wynn froze in confusion. The figure standing over the seaman was too tall, and his hair was dark. Even in the moonless night she caught the pale tone of his skin.

  Chane turned toward her.

  IThe moment Chane heard Wynn scream, he abandoned silence and raced toward her voice. "Wynn! Where are you?" A loud crack sounded ahead where her voice had come from.

  "Leesil?" she cried out. "I'm here! Please help— quickly!"

  She had mistaken his voice. Welstiel had warned him not to reveal himself, but Chane didn't care anymore.

  He opened his senses, smelling the air and feeling for life among the trees as he ran. Wynn was close enough to hear, and that was close enough to pick out her living presence in this place where anything animate was dead or undead. He felt her easily, but there were also two spots of cold emptiness he sensed near her.

  He ripped through the forest's tangle and saw her.

  Wynn held up the broken crossbow, blocking the saber pressing down at her. The dead man had her cowl in his free hand, and she could not pull away.

  Chane rushed in, striking with his fist over the top of Wynn's head and into the corpse's face. Its grip on Wynn's cowl held. As she spun about, dragged after her attacker, Chane threw himself forward rather than fall on top of her.

  A rotting stench filled his heightened sense of smell, and he gagged as he fell on the man. Chane quickly rolled to his feet, and turned to look for Wynn.

  She scurried away on all fours, her cowl ripped away. Wiping dirt off her face, she stared at him blankly.

  "Chane?" she whispered, and then her eyes widened as she looked down at his feet. "Chane!

  The prone corpse swung its saber at his legs.

  He caught the blade with his longsword and stomped on the corpse's wrist. Bone snapped under his foot, and the saber came loose. He rammed his own sword though the corpse's chest and felt the blade sink through into the earth. The thing beneath him thrashed awkwardly, even with the sword through its body, attempting to grab his leg with its free hand.

  A troublesome creature. Chane wondered what it would take to put an end to this. He snatched up its saber, raising it to hack the corpse's head from its shoulders.

  He heard the hiss of a blade from behind, followed by a cry of pain from Wynn. He started to turn as Wynn shouted, "Another, behind you!"

  Pain pierced Chane's back. He looked down to see the point of a curved blade protruding from his rib cage. His own black fluids spread through his torn shirt and vestment. He suppressed the pain and slammed his elbow high to the rear.

  He felt it crack into something mat whipped back from the blow. But the attacker behind him held on to the saber's hilt. Chane lunged forward sharply, sliding his body off the blade. Fluid loss would eventually weaken him, and he couldn't leave Wynn unprotected. As he turned around to face this new assailant, he glanced toward her and faltered for an instant.

  Wynn's legs buckled under her as she dropped to her knees with a strange frown. She stared at him in bewilderment.

  Blood ran out her collar down her severed sleeve.

  The undead must have slashed her with its saber before running Chane through. Chane lost all awareness of his own body, and even the lingering faraway echo of pain in his torso vanished.

  "Don't move!" he shouted at her.

  He swung at this second corpse's neck with the saber. The dead man blocked with his own blade. Chane had no idea what it would take to put these things down. Welstiel had called them "reanimated, " and Chane hoped they were as mindless as that might imply. While this creature's expression showed no self-awareness, it had enough survival instincts and lingering memory to wield its weapon.

  Chane feinted, and as the creature followed, he kicked out into its knee. Its balance faltered, and he swung for its neck. It blocked again but not quickly enough. The blade bit through fetid flesh and stopped on bone. When it showed no sign of slowing, Chane dropped his weapon and lunged at it with both hands.

  Before it could draw the saber back, he threw his arms around its neck, toppling it over. As they hit the ground, Chane pulled his knees up and pinned the corpse. He gripped its head and wrenched sideways.

  Its head tore free in his hands.

  He tossed it aside, grabbed a saber from the ground, and ran to the other corpse—now clutching at the longsword still pinning it to the ground. One hard blow was enough to sever its head, and the body ceased moving.

  Chane tossed the saber aside and stumbled toward Wynn. He knelt before her, working quickly to open the blood-soaked collar.

  "What are you... What are you doing?" she whispered.

  Wynn's round, olive face was streaked with dirt. Her long braid had come loose and light brown hair hung down her shoulders, some of it matting in her blood.

  "Be still and quiet, " Chane said. "I need to
see how bad the wound is. "

  He pulled back the left side of her robe to expose an ugly tear in the soft flesh between her shoulder and collarbone. Though the saber's tip had slashed open her sleeve, it had not cut into her arm, as well. He slipped off his vestment and cloak and tore away both his sleeves. Lying on the ground, the cloak seemed to move of its own accord. His rat crawled from the pocket and skittered off into the trees. He did not try to stop it. Folding the sleeves together for a makeshift bandage, he pressed it against the wound.

  Wynn let out a cry, and Chane almost pulled away. But she could not stand to lose any more blood.

  "This needs to be sewn, " he said. "Where's your pack?"

  She didn't answer but reached out with her right hand as if checking to make sure he was real.

  "I told you to go. "

  Wynn looked so shattered, frightened, that Chane could not help pulling her around until her uninjured side rested against him. She went rigid at first but then shifted closer, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He kept pressure on the bandage and felt blood soaking through to his palm as he put his other arm about her shoulders. He rocked her back and forth.

  "Everything will be all right, " he whispered. "I'm here. "

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  M agiere struggled to push aside what her mother's spirit had shown her. Of all the faces that passed through her mind, from Betina's, to that of the infant with its slit throat, and to Bryen's, one face wouldn't be suppressed.

  Welstiel—her brother.

  She pressed on through the forest, focused upon the child ghost leading her to Ubad. The undead of this place served his whims, assaulting anything he wished—except for herself, and perhaps Chap—and remained a danger to Leesil and to Wynn. The most certain way to end that threat was to find Ubad quickly and kill him.

  With every step, Welstiel's face lingered in her thoughts.

  Magiere looked back to check on Chap.

  There was no one behind her. Even with her night sight open wide, she saw no sign of his silvery shape in the forest.

  But she couldn't lose track of her guide, so she kept moving. Relief came when the dog burst from the brush to lope beside her.

  As the ghost girl slipped around a tilting spruce, she hovered in the air, waiting for Magiere to catch up. The ghost shimmered and vanished as Magiere stepped into a clearing with Chap at her side.

  Across the open space stood Ubad, an iron staff resting in his grip with one end upon the ground. His head turned toward her, and Magiere wondered how he was aware of her through the eyeless leather mask.

  "Now we can speak alone, " Ubad said.

  "I didn't come to talk. "

  She headed straight for him without breaking stride, swinging for his head with the falchion.

  Instead of gliding away, or fading out of reach as he'd done in the cavern, he leaned the staff forward to catch her blade. Steel and iron clanged sharply together, but Ubad's arm didn't give an inch under the force.

  "Stop this!" he ordered. "I spent a lifetime, my lifetime, in your creation only to believe you murdered at birth. There wasn't time enough to begin again, and all was lost. But when rumors were heard of a hunter in the land, I regained hope. I have waited too long and suffered too much. "

  "Suffered?" Magiere drew back her sword. "You speak of your suffering, after all you've done? After what you did to my mother?"

  "You have no venom for Welstiel? This is his doing. I searched for years... years, to take vengeance. Without his interference, you would be standing by my side... standing at our patron's side. "

  Magiere's hatred swelled, and her teeth hardened in her mouth. She struck downward, so he couldn't block without lifting the staff. Ubad shifted left, swinging the staff upon its grounded end, and deflected the blade.

  Rage brought strength, and Magiere lunged, faking left. When Ubad shifted away, bringing the staff back around, she leveled her swing. The falchion's tip slipped in behind the staff's slant and sliced through his robe at the waist.

  Ubad faded back, winking in and out like a ghost, and lifted the staff from the earth. Its top end dipped, sweeping her sword aside. He used both hands to bring the staff's bottom end around at her head. Magiere ducked away as it narrowly missed her jaw.

  "Instead of conversation, you wish for instruction, " he mocked.

  She glanced to his stomach. The robe was too full to tell if she'd reached his flesh, and the fabric too dark to see if it was stained with blood. He didn't appear injured.

  Magiere's self-control began to waver. Hunger burned up her throat and into her head. She swung again, pressing in on him.

  "You feel the hunger, yes?" Ubad asked softly. "Like your great father, you've already learned to control it. "

  Chap lunged in behind Ubad. Magiere hadn't seen him circle around, and the dog snapped at the man. With the same spin of his staff, Ubad cracked her blade aside with one end while the other slammed into the dog's shoulder. Chap tumbled away but sprang to his feet again.

  "You master it now, as your source of strength, " Ubad continued, "instead of being driven before it like a slave. "

  Ubad blocked her repeatedly. One swing of his staff clipped her forearm so hard, it made her stumble, but she barely felt the pain and instinctively pushed it down. However Ubad managed such a heavy and unwieldy weapon, he easily kept pace with her. And his unnatural ability to shift places like a ghost left Chap's teeth closing upon empty air. Magiere's instinct warned that he was only toying with her.

  He lashed at her with words harder than the iron rod. "You were born of life and death to be more than either. Both will bow before you... if you accept who you are. You cannot hide from yourself any longer. "

  Magiere shuddered as if his words were the cold sweat upon her skin.

  As long as she clung to hunger and hatred—the same that this madman claimed were her birthright—she could keep at this all night and face exhaustion afterward. How long before Ubad would tire of this play and his preaching? How long before he turned to something more within his talents?

  "You have no one else, " he said more quietly. "No one but me who understands these things. There are so many more questions you have that only I can answer. To find your place, your family... I am all that is left to you. "

  Ubad's block was slower this time.

  Magiere threw her weight behind the sword and into his staff. He was forced to exert more effort, and his attention fixed firmly upon her. In an instant, he screamed out and stumbled.

  As Ubad twisted about, Chap jerked hard upon the man's ankle clenched in his teeth. Magiere grabbed the iron staff's end with her free hand and thrust with the falchion. The blade split through the robe and into Ubad chest.

  He screeched, and the staff jerked from Magiere's hand. As she pulled on the falchion to free it, the staff cracked back across her temple, and she lost awareness of the world.

  There was no pain at first, but it rushed into her skull as her sight returned.

  She looked up into the dark sky above the clearing and felt wet earth beneath her. There came two sounds as if from a great distance—Chap's growl and strange whispered words of a twisted language she didn't know.

  Ubad was chanting.

  Magiere flopped over to her hands and knees.

  Strange guttural words issued from Ubad mouth as he swept the staff's end at Chap. The dog whirled away, and Ubad rammed the staff's end into the ground.

  "Khuruj," he shouted, "fe nafsi htalab!"

  These words didn't match those of his chant. They rolled from his mouth in a familiar manner like a demand to someone Magiere couldn't see.

  A shudder answered from the earth.

  Magiere stood up as best she could, uncertain whether to assault Ubad once again or to back out of the clearing. Chap let out a snarl that mixed with a mournful yowl. He rushed at her, skidded to avoid crashing into her, and then began shoving at her legs with his head and shoulders. He was trying to drive
her back toward the trees.

  Ubad repeated his strange words in a commanding shout. "Khuruj, fi nafse htalab!"

  The earth rolled beneath Magiere's feet. As she started to fall, Ught gathered all around her. Something lashed around her arms and legs, and she was lifted from the ground. Before she saw what held her, she spotted Chap running across the clearing's floor as a crack in the earth extended to race after him.

  Blue-white light lanced upward from the split. It congealed and took shape in the air, forming into long tendrils that moved with a life of their own. They lashed out at Chap, winding around his body and neck. The dog was wrenched back from his flight and lifted in the air within their coils.

  Tendrils curled up around Magiere's limbs, as well, like ropes of living light.

  "The dead may be my preference," Ubad said. "But I can still conjure and summon other things, such as the collective spirit of this forest."

  Magiere fought to move her arms. If she didn't kill Ubad, what would become of Leesil and Wynn?

  "Are you prepared to be rational?" Ubad asked.

  Anger faded from her into numb loss. When she spoke, her mouth moved freely, teeth receded to their normal state.

  "My companions ... Leave them be ... and I'll listen to anything you wish to say."

  "How generous," he answered mockingly. "I will be your father, your teacher, your only family. You have no other. Vordana has finished your half-blood by now, and my other servants have fed on the sage."

  Leesil's face filled Magiere's thoughts, and she grew cold inside.

  Ubad lied. It had to be a lie.

  Anger and hunger swelled in her as Ubad turned toward Chap.

  "As for this mongrel puppet of the enemy, his meddling ends now."

  IWelstiel sensed Magiere's presence and followed her. Around him, the trees were strangely empty of movement. It was not Magiere that he saw first, but a blue-white light filtering through the forest. As he drew closer, it moved and grew. Welstiel hurried on as quickly as silence allowed, and what he saw almost made him bolt into the clearing. Tendrils of blue-white light sprouted from the cracked earth, snaring both Magiere and Chap. She hung in the air, tangled within them. The tendrils had to be shaped from summoned or conjured elemental material, but their nature was unknown to Welstiel. Ubad had never shown this ability in the years Welstiel had suffered the man's presence and tutelege. Urgency made him take another step forward before he could stop himself.