Marching Dead

by Lee Battersby

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” said a second voice just off to the left. “It was barely a snack. I’ve raised chickens with bigger ones than that.”

  “Granny!” said Gerd, sharply.

  Marius rolled his head towards the new voice. He couldn’t quite understand what it was he saw. Someone appeared to have played a cruel trick upon a rotten apple. They’d given it a body, and taught it how to speak. Marius frowned, bringing all his current mental powers to bear. Slowly the apple resolved itself into a rough approximation of a human face. A face like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle, perhaps, but all the bits were there and they moved in roughly the correct order. It was attached to a thatch of brittle grey frosting that he tentatively identified as hair, and the whole ensemble perched approximately at the top of what might be a bundle of random sticks thrown together in the dark and covered with a sheet the local pigs had decided was no longer good enough for a bed but was probably, on balance, her body.

  “I know you.”

  “Oh, you’ve stayed sharp.” The face leaned closer. Marius smelled cabbage soup, and death.

  “Granny.”

  “Top marks for the genius.” The old woman leaned back out of view. “And you’re certain this is the man who’s going to solve our little problem, are you?”

  “What problem?” Marius decided to experiment with life in three dimensions. He sat up, then immediately decided to go back to life in a prone position. It didn’t stop the sky rotating like a Catherine wheel, but the patterns were prettier. “Wait…”

  “Here it comes.”

  “You’re…”

  “Almost there.”

  “I’m…!”

  “So close he can taste it.”

  Marius sat up again. This time, the world stayed where it was.

  “But I’m…” He clawed at his chest, tearing at the rip in his undershirt. A raw, red wound sat just below his breastbone. Marius touched it experimentally. It opened up under his touch like sucking lips. He slipped a finger into it, then another, then slid four fingers inside himself to the third knuckle. “I’m dead.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Really dead.”

  “Duh.”

  Gerd coughed. “Granny, I think that’s enough.” He extended a hand. Marius took it, and hauled himself to his feet, his other hand still embedded within his wound.

  “Could you… not do that?”

  “What? Sorry.” Marius removed the hand and wiped the blood on his trouser leg. Gerd wrinkled his nose. “What… oh, gods.” He stared at the field around him. “Is this what it feels like?”

  The world was leaking colour. Marius turned in a circle as the flowers around him grew pale and empty. Alno sneezed, and he stared down at the cat in fascination, watching him turn from a multi-coloured ball into a lint-coloured lump. “Is this… is this how you see it?”

  “You’ve been dead before.”

  “I know, but…” Marius stopped. He had been dead before. Four years ago, in the aftermath of a battle, he had been mistaken for the King of the Dead and dragged down to the underworld. Once they realised their mistake the underworlders had killed him, right before they sent him out into the world to find them a real king. But those feelings of death had never been like this, and he’d always been able to go back to his living senses when needed. “I’m dead. I’m really, properly dead.” He stared down at his hand, as grey and toneless as the rest of him. “I’m dead.”

  “You’re not the only one, pallie.” Granny poked him in the chest. Her finger slipped inside the wound for a moment and they both jerked back.

  “What?”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Well, no, I mean obviously… Wait.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gathered himself, took a deep breath. “All right, one at a time. What do you mean?”

  “Granny’s dead.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “No, really.” Gerd stepped behind his grandmother and laid a protective hand on her shoulder. “You remember.”

  Marius did. He and Gerd had parted ways in Scorby, three weeks after they had delivered Scorbus the Great, first King of Scorby and, not entirely coincidentally, thousand year-old skeleton, to the underworld. Gerd had wanted to return to his village in the mountains, to be there for his aged grandmother when she died, and to guide her through her adjustment to life underground; the same adjustment he’d been forced to make some months previously. Marius had not seen Gerd since.

  “So… why are you not, you know…?” Marius pointed to the earth below them.

  “We tried, but…”

  “But?”

  “It was closed.”

  “What?”

  “Listen, sonny.” Granny stalked forward, and poked Marius again with a stick-like finger.

  “Don’t do that!”

  “Listen, you. I get all gussied up, say all my fare-thee-wells and the like, all prepared to be sent to my final reward for a life of hard labour and looking after young Gerd there…”

  “That’s the same thing. Ow. Don’t do that!”

  “And what do you think happens?”

  “I don’t know. Your reputation preceded you?” Marius flinched away from Granny’s raised digit. “Okay, okay. What?”

  “Nothing, that’s what. Not a blessed thing.”

  “We buried Granny in the village graveyard,” Gerd said before things could go any further. “After a week, she dug herself out and came to me for answers.”

  “But weren’t you waiting for her?”

  “I had. I’d gone down to the underworld to meet her, show her around, you know? Help ease the transition from up here to down there. But she never came. After a few days, I went back to the farmhouse to think.”

  “And sure enough, she came back.”

  Gerd shrugged. “We’ve been in the mountains for thirty generations. We always come back.”

  “The nut never falls far from the tree, eh? Will you stop that!” Marius rubbed at his pectoral and took two very deliberate steps away from Granny. “So why didn’t you just, you know…” Marius opened and closed his hands in imitation of the soldier, “Do that openy-uppy thing and go down there yourselves?” Marius had never mastered the trick of opening holes in the earth where a corpse had lain. The dead used them as gateways between the upper and lower worlds, and he had never wanted to identify himself so closely with the non-living that he wished to use them. It was a skill that Gerd could manage easily.

  “I did. It was empty.”

  “What do you mean, empty?”

  “Empty. Gone. No one there. We wandered about for days and never saw anyone. We went to the throne room, all the corridors, every inch of the underworld I’d ever been to, everything. In the end, the only thing I could think of was to come and see you.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “That’s what I said,” croaked the old woman.

  “Granny.”

  “Well, it’s true. Look at him.” Granny favoured Marius with a sneer it had taken fifty years to perfect. “He’s about as useful as a porridge enema.”

  “Thanks for that image. And you’re an old, dead, blind woman who can’t even die properly.”

  “Marius!” Gerd looked genuinely affronted.

  “Well, it’s true.” Marius looked from one to the other, and finally to Alno, who stared back at him with the blank expression perfected by all cats who wish to declare: “Fuck you, buddy, I’ve just eaten so you’re on your own.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’d like to help, really I would…”

  “Liar,” snapped the old woman.

  “Granny.”

  Marius matched gazes with Gerd.

  “Keth’s gone.”

  Gerd sighed. “I knew it couldn’t last. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do… No! Taken.” Marius pointed at his feet. “Below.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say? What happened?”

  “Someone’s taken her. She came out here… The soldier
, you know the one, the one who killed me… last time he killed me. He was here. He was the one who…” Marius flapped a hand at his chest.

  “Again? That’s twice!”

  “Yes, thank you. Anyway, he took her. Took her down. I’ve got to get her back.”

  “Wait a minute.” Gerd held up a hand. “Took her down, you say? As in…”

  “Yeah. Down there.”

  The two men glared at the ground beneath their feet.

  “Something’s not right.”

  “Keth’s gone. That’s what’s not right. I’ve got to go.”

  “No, I mean…” Gerd pinched the bridge of his nose. “The underworld is empty. Nobody came to help Granny.”

  “Maybe they knew she was coming.”

  “Ha bloody ha. But really – think about it. What if nobody helped because nobody was there? What if nobody is helping anybody?”

  “It’s not my fault she’s… What? Nobody at all?”

  “I don’t know. If there’s nobody underneath, then there are no paths being opened.” He gestured to the horizons around them. “What if it’s all over?”

  “Somebody was here to take Keth.”

  “Yeah. Funny that. I mean, right here, and nowhere else. And if Drenthe is involved…”

  “Drenthe?”

  “The soldier who killed you.”

  “Is that his name? I never got around to finding out.”

  “Yes, well, he’s worked his way up since you last crossed paths. I’ve been back below. He’s always there, whispering in ears, advising.” Gerd made the word sound little better than punching babies. “He’s Scorbus’ man, now, through and through.”

  Marius groaned at the mention of Scorbus. If not for them, he’d still be lying in his crypt at the top of the Radican, the mountain at the heart of Scorby City upon which the royal palace sat.

  “What would he want with Keth?”

  “I don’t know. But if Drenthe is involved, nothing good is going to come from it.”

  “That decides it then. I’ve got to go. Now.”

  “We’re coming with you.”

  “What?” Both men turned towards Granny. She stared at them in defiance, her blind eyes nailing them in turn.

  “Don’t be so bleeding obtuse. It’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re going to the land of the dead to find this poor girl, who’s probably far better off and happier without a conniving lump of shifty like you anyway, and I need to get someone to show me around the place so’s I can have my final rest that I’ve worked all my life for. I’ve earned it! So we’re coming with you.”

  “But…” Marius looked at Gerd. Gerd looked at Marius. Two sets of shoulders sagged.

  “Right,” Marius said to nobody in particular. “Right. Why not? Off in pursuit of a homicidal groinless madman, armed with nothing more than an old blind woman, a boy who still can’t tell the difference between a wooden penny and a gold riner…” Alno meowed. Marius picked him up. “And a cat.”

  “Got a problem?”

  A wry smile contorted Marius’ face for a fraction of a second.

  “I’ve worked with worse.”

  They gathered round the spot where Drenthe had made his exit and stared down at it. The ground now looked distinctly undisturbed and non-gravelike under its blanket of flowers.

  “Can you open it?” Marius asked. Gerd shrugged.

  “Don’t see why not. Doesn’t look much like a grave, though.”

  Granny snorted. “That don’t mean nothing. Whole world’s a resting place for somebody or other.” She lifted her head and took in the broad, flat plain around them. “Nice open expanse like this. Bound to be more than one battle here over time. Could probably throw a stick and hit some poor bugger’s last breath.”

  Marius and Gerd exchanged glances.

  “And how, exactly,” Marius asked, “do you know what this place looks like? Last time we met you were as blind as justice.” He leaned forward to stare into her milky eyes. “They don’t look very functional to me.”

  Granny snorted. “Dead people don’t need eyes to see, boy. Gods’ sake. We talk without breath, we move around without a heartbeat. Seeing without eyes is easy. Been dead six weeks, long enough to learn.”

  “Right.”

  “Try it yourself.” She reached up and poked a finger at his eyes. Marius reared back. “Go on. Close them, see what difference it makes.”

  Slowly, Marius did as he was told. He stayed very still for long seconds, then raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Good gods.” The world was there in front of him. Slightly blurry, as if seen through, well, a pair of translucent eyelids; slightly out of focus and a strange shade of washed out grey he couldn’t quite identify, but most definitely there.

  “Dead sight.” Granny said. “Stays the same whether it’s night or rain or snow. It’s a nice view, after so long without one at all.”

  “I’ll be beggared.” Marius turned on Gerd. “How come you never told me any of this?”

  “Because he’s thick, that’s why.” Granny laid an affectionate hand upon Gerd’s forearm. “He’s beautiful, and loyal, and ever so good with pigs. But being dead doesn’t really suit him. Not like me. I had years to prepare for it.”

  “Bloody hell.” Marius swung his gaze to the ground around them. Everywhere he looked, faint grey lines criss-crossed beneath the wavering flower stems, like a spider web of scars spreading out across the landscape.

  “Told you,” Granny said.

  “Are they…?”

  “Seams, I reckon. Places the ground can be opened up by the likes of us.” They glanced down at Drenthe’s exit point. Sure enough, a grey line ran directly across it.

  “What? What is it?” Gerd closed his eyes and swung his head from side to side in confusion. Granny and Marius met gazes.

  “I told you,” she whispered.

  Marius watched his young friend. “You see it because you were ready for death,” he whispered back. “What does that say about me?”

  Granny said nothing, simply patted him on the arm and snapped her fingers for Gerd’s attention.

  “Here,” she said, pointing down. “Do it here, love.”

  Gerd nodded, and pressed his hands together before his chest. He exhaled once, then slowly drew them apart, in unconscious imitation of Drenthe. Soundlessly, the ground opened up before them.

  “What I don’t understand,” Marius said, gazing down at the thirty or so feet of dark hole, “is that the first time I went underground, it felt like I was dragged through every bloody square inch of dirt between the tunnels and the surface. Now, it’s all holes and climbing.”

  Gerd shrugged. “Does any of this make sense?”

  There didn’t seem anything worth adding to that. Alno stepped lightly between Marius’ feet and crouched at the edge of the hollow. Without looking back he leaped, disappearing into the blackness below. Marius sighed.

  “Follow that cat, I suppose.”

  They spent the next twenty minutes scrabbling for handholds, faces pressed to the dank earth walls. It wasn’t until the group was once more gathered together, on the cold earth floor of the underworld, that Marius was able to look around and gather his thoughts.

  They stood in a tunnel. A dozen feet across, it swung away and downwards, as if whoever had carved it had created a loop that rose from some deeper cavern with the express purpose of reaching a high point where they stood, before falling back to its starting point. The walls were rough, as Marius had come to expect from the underworld, but the floor was smooth, as if trampled into place by the passage of countless feet. The ceiling was high enough that they could all stand comfortably, and

  where he might have expected the fresh, loamy smell of unfiltered earth there was something musty and spoiled to the air. He wrinkled his nose.

  “Not exactly homey, is it?”

  The others were sniffing, too.

  “It smells rank.”

  “It smells dead,” Granny replied. “Dead and le
ft.”

  “Like a pig that’s been carried off.”

  “Thanks for that image.” Marius walked away a few steps, then returned and moved away up the other arm of the tunnel. “It’s coming from down here.” He returned to the group. “So. Do we go towards or away from the nasty dead smell?”

  The others glanced at each other but said nothing. Marius sighed.

  “Why do I always have to be the grown-up?” He nudged Alno with a toe. “Go on. You decide.”

  Alno favoured him with a look of high dudgeon, then streaked away towards the smell. Marius cursed silently and followed.

  Once round the corner, the tunnel descended for another dozen metres or so before meeting a cross channel. The three travellers stopped next to a bundle of sticks leaning up against the wall. Alno was curled up in the centre of the pile, gnawing upon what at first glance appeared to be a round stone the size of a skull. Nobody wanted to be the first to admit that it was most definitely not a stone.

  “He has a bad habit of doing that,” Marius said, as he gently prised cat and skull apart. “I must speak to Keth…” At the thought of Keth, he dropped Alno and settled down onto his haunches, staring at the bone in his hand.

  “It’s okay,” Gerd said. “That isn’t her.”

  “I know that,” Marius snapped, turning it over in his hands. “Just… why is this here?” He indicated the jumbled pile. “And what…” He stopped. “Look at this.”

  Every bone in the pile had been broken, from the femur right down to each individual finger bone. They laid them out, just to be sure. Even the skull had a small, irregular hole punched into its rear. When the skeleton was as assembled as best they could manage they stood away from it, and pondered its destruction.

  “It’s an execution,” Marius said slowly. “They’ve executed him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m not sure.” Marius backed away. “It just… It’s the only reason I can think of to do… that. Come on.” He moved further down the corridor. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “But why would someone want to execute a dead person?”

  “I don’t know!” Marius made the corner and stopped, sniffing in each direction down the cross tunnel. “The smell’s coming from this way,” he said, pointing towards the right. “Are you coming or not?”