A look of rapture was on the dead man’s face. There is nothing quite so potent to remind one of things half-forgotten, as the radiant skin of a beautiful girl. He reached for her shoulder, turning her towards the wall again. Stay like that. I find your back to be particularly appealing. You should relax, little mouse. Be thankful I will not hand you over to Belshazzar until my eyes have had their fill.
Keren trembled, barely having strength left to stand, let alone fight the terror coursing through her blood. She had tried so hard to escape this, so hard…
The room went black.
Keren thought she had fainted, then lost her balance and fell against the wall.
The Necrow hissed. There was an answer: a presence whose mental shockwaves Keren could feel where she lay half-collapsed against the wall.
There came the thud of limbs colliding in the still air, abrupt exhalations as diaphragms were struck. Then the dull sound of a body crunching into the floor; the screech of metal on stone. There was a guttural cry: an animal sound that caused Keren to shudder in revulsion. She could still sense the Necrow’s presence inside her mind, writhing. Then suddenly it was silent. She was alone in the dark.
No, not alone. There was hoarse breathing nearby.
Someone dropped a cloak over her shoulders. Keren flinched away, then clutched the fabric around her instinctively.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
There was silence. Then: “Do not ask who, or why. If you escape this fortress alive, you may ask as many questions as you like.” The voice was soft, mellow, but undeniably masculine.
His hand found hers in the dark, pulling her forward. A rush of newfound energy entered Keren’s limbs, as if the life the Necrow had stolen had been miraculously returned.
“Keep the cloak about you,” he said. “And follow closely.”
He led her from the room where the moans of the beaten Necrow still echoed in the darkness.
They entered the corridor, and Keren barely caught a glimpse of her rescuer as he led her through the dank tunnels. He was tall, so tall he was forced to stoop as they made their way through the bowels of the fortress. The hand which held hers was clad in tanned leather. He was concealed by a heavy black cloak identical to the one he had given her. They were the same cloaks which the Necrow wore. Did he intend them as some sort of disguise?
He paused as they reached an intersection with one of the main tunnels.
“It is not far to the gate,” he murmured. His back was still turned to her as he studied the path ahead. “Put up your hood. Look straight ahead, keep walking, and do not slow. They will not suspect you if you act as one of them.”
Keren did as he said, and tiptoed close behind him. Mystified though she was, something about him compelled her trust. Perhaps it was his remarkable calm in the depths of this hell hole. Or maybe it’s because he just saved me from an undead degenerate, she thought.
Keren hardly dared glance at the Necrow passing around them up and down the corridor. Astoundingly, none seemed to pay any attention to them, and she dared to wonder if her guide’s theory was true. Could their mere pretense of fitting in be enough to discourage the curiosity of the all-seeing guards?
Surely not. Surely this was an impossible deception made in a desperate grasp for freedom…
Why was it working, then? They were nearly to the entrance through which Keren and her kin had first been brought. Her guide produced a key and unlocked the gate himself.
The monstrous guards on either side gave no recognition of their presence. Why?
Keren could not help but stare at them as the gate creaked open. Then the man’s hand was on her arm, pulling her through. Together they walked down the passageway toward a dim patch of light.
It was dusk outside, but the snow made the world glow. The moon was half-full, and stars were beginning to emerge. The chilly air which buffeted Keren’s face smelled delicious. Her bare feet stung sharply as she stepped into the snow, and the icy bite was exhilarating.
One of the shaggy horses was waiting for them near the gate, bridled and laden with saddlebags. Her liberator moved behind her, a hand on her back. He lifted her easily into the saddle and led the mare swiftly down the winding road which descended the cliff.
They had only trekked a short ways from the keep when an arrow struck the ground nearby. The mare whinnied, and her master passed the reins to Keren as more arrows hissed to either side.
“Ride for the forest,” he said. Keren was faintly surprised that he did not sound at all winded. “Do not look back. You will be safe once you reach the trees.” He slapped the horse’s rump, and Keren snatched at the reins in panic as they cantered away down the hillside. After a moment she regained control over the excited animal and turned in the saddle to peer back the way she had come.
Her guide simply stood there, looming tall and dark against the snow. Arrows rained around him, and yet he did not move. His face was turned towards the battlements from which the distant forms of the Necrow were visible.
“Are you mad?” Keren cried. “What are you doing?!”
The man turned to her coolly, his face cloaked in shadow. “GO,” he said, and this time the very force of his voice was enough to send her fleeing in the other direction. She did not question the sudden bolt of fear which pierced her chest, making her forget everything but the path she had to take, gripped by her most primal instincts for self-preservation.
Down the rocky slope she rode, away from the path, skidding around boulders and along slopes of loose shale. The little mare frantically strove to keep its footing as Keren urged it over the uneven terrain.
There were no Necrow set to guard the bottom of the crags. None dared approach Belshazzar’s fortress, and none left against his wishes. Thus Keren met no resistance as she careened down the hillside to the edge of the forest.
She rode through the underbrush at a trot, fighting to keep her breathing subdued against the painful thudding of her heart. Her ears strained for any sounds of possible pursuit. Skeletal bushes creaked and snapped beneath the broad hooves of her steed, echoing fiercely in the deadened silence of a forest at twilight. Keren cursed at the racket, and feared they were leaving a trail broad enough for even a blind man to follow.
She halted in a clearing half a mile from the road. She sat poised on the tiny horse, their breath billowing together in the icy air. There was no sound apart from the occasional screech of an owl.
Keren dismounted and collapsed against a tree, gradually becoming aware of her body as the adrenaline left her blood. Her bare feet were wet and freezing in the snow, her arms and legs aching with the strain of so much movement after weeks of languishing in a cell. She tore a strip of cloth from the cloak to bind her hair, which was too long and refused to keep out of her face.
She became more grateful for the cloak as she huddled against the tree, the heat of her flight swiftly leaving her limbs. Keren tried not to think who or what had worn this mantle before her; at least the thing bore no smell of its former owner.
She thought of the man who had given it to her, and wondered.
None of it made sense. Who was he, why had he helped her, and how could he be so foolish as to just stand there and let the archers shoot him down?
Some small piece of conscience told her she should weep for him. Yet she had witnessed so much death already, and was so shocked by his actions that she found it impossible. No, the circumstances of her escape would likely remain a mystery. She had to make plans for the present. Belshazzar’s minions would look for her. She had to find some place to hide.
Keren got to her feet, trying to ignore the stiffness in her cold, aching body. She looked at the horse and considered it a mixed blessing. On the one hand it offered a swift means of escape, and the saddlebags it carried doubtless had something worth scavenging in them.
On the other hand, the beast left a trail Keren was unable to disguise, and simply galloping south as fast as she could with less than half an hour’
s head start would be useless if the Necrow could simply follow her trail.
The trees in this forest were tall, the underbrush thick with fallen logs. She could climb a tree, but she knew from experience that such a tactic was uncomfortable at best and should only be used as a last resort.
Burying herself was a much better idea. She could be warm, snug, and perfectly concealed, so long as she covered her tracks. The horse could be scared off to create a false trail…assuming it simply didn’t wander back to the stables at the keep.
Keren went to work immediately, choosing a heap of dead wood at the base of a nearby pine. She made a hollow in the center of the pile and used a branch as a hoe to dig a bowl in the ground, bulking up the loose snow and earth around it. Every child of Herayan learned how to craft a makeshift shelter in the wilds, and Keren had practiced the skills many a time.
There were no ferns in these chilly northern woods, but Keren gathered what greenery she could to make a nest in her hole, weaving branches into the dead wood above and around to further conceal and insulate her burrow. The entire undertaking was done in only a quarter of an hour, which made her proud.
She pulled the saddlebags from the mare’s back and stashed them in the burrow. Using a thin rod as a makeshift whip, she beat the beast’s hindquarters with as much vehemence as she could muster. The creature crashed off through the underbrush, and Keren was more than a little sad to see it go. Her own tracks she carefully erased with a fresh pine bough.
Her next task was to prepare what crude weapons she could, should her hiding place be discovered. She would not be re-captured without a fight! So she huddled in her burrow with a wieldy stick she had found, sharpening it into a stake on a stone. All the while she listened and watched through the tiny cracks in the walls.
The half-moon shed plenty of light to see by, and the snowcapped landscape practically shone with reflected light. The forest was eerily quiet, only rarely touched by the calls of night animals. The wind sounded distant, howling far and away through the spires of the mountains. The cool smell of pine filled Keren’s nose as her stake rasped softly against the stone.
She fretted over the job she had done erasing her trail. There was always a chance she had missed a print, or made the cover-up too obvious. Then again, snow had begun to fall as night descended. The longer she waited, the better her chances at escape were. Keren thought of unpacking the saddlebags then, but was more afraid that possible pursuers might hear than curious at what provisions lay within.
An hour passed in silence.
There was movement at the edge of the clearing not far from her shelter. Keren froze, heart pounding.
A tall figure in black waded through the snow, following the trail she had just erased. He moved slowly, one gloved hand reaching out to clutch the nearest tree. Keren saw the arrow shafts protruding from his body. She gasped, but did not move, her instincts warning her of a trap.
The man stopped, breathing heavily. “There are none pursuing.” He sagged and collapsed at the base of the tree.
Keren leapt from her shelter, baffled and grateful and ashamed all at once. She ran to him and knelt at his side. “Dear God, how are you still alive?”
He shook his head. “No matter. It is good you are safe.”
“Please, let me help you!” Keren said, reaching for him.
He seized her wrist. “No, you should not –”
“Why?” she cried.
“If you knew what I was, you would not forgive me.”
Keren wavered, a chill stealing into her. “Who are you?”
“I am no one. It is what I am which may alarm you.” He released her hand, hesitated, then flung back his hood.
Keren recoiled. A familiar bone-white mask gleamed faintly in the light of the rising moon. The skin beneath it was darker than any human skin she knew. “You –” she gasped. “You’re one of them?!”
“Aye,” the Necrow answered. His voice did not betray his emotions.
No, Keren thought. Don’t fool yourself: ‘it’ has no emotions at all…
“Why?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The Necrow shifted against the tree. “Please… It is difficult to speak…like this.”
“Then forgive me for not putting you out of your misery!” Keren cried. “Why did you help me escape?”
“The arrows…no questions will be answered, until the arrows are removed.” Its hand rose, convulsed, then fell to its side. “You should have the strength to do it.”
Keren was as angry with the thing as she was afraid. But she was undeniably curious about why it had done as it did. What harm could there be in prolonging its life a little longer?
“Fine,” she said, grasping the feathered tip of the shaft lodged in its arm. “I always wondered if your kind felt pain.”
Keren yanked the arrow out, and the Necrow bit back a scream. So human was the sound that Keren could not help but feel guilty for what she had done. She watched, stunned, as the creature writhed against the tree. After a few moments it stilled, its breathing labored.
Keren inspected the arrowhead. “There’s no blood.”
“The Necrow do not bleed,” it said hoarsely. “But they still feel pain.”
“Strange,” Keren said, shoving the arrow through a fold of her cloak for safekeeping. Indeed, there was no stain on the Necrow’s robe, no sign it had been struck except for a small tear in the cloth. She reached for the arrow in its thigh. “Guess that means I don’t have to go through the trouble of prying these arrowheads out with a knife. Is there any way I can make this more comfortable for you?”
“No,” the Necrow said through gritted teeth. If it were not blind, Keren suspected, it would likely be glaring at her right now. Swiftly she extracted the second shaft.
Again the Necrow cried out, its fingers raking furrows in the snow. Keren did not wait, but immediately grabbed the arrow in its chest and wrenched that out as well. This time the Necrow’s voice broke and it bent over, its chest heaving soundlessly.
Keren gave it a minute. Its human-like actions were unsettling, but that was not enough to make her offer it any comfort. Strange to think it would not die from these wounds. If only that were true for her fallen comrades; they might have stood a chance against Belshazzar then.
“Why did you help me?” she asked after a few moments.
“Please,” the Necrow whispered, its head bowed. “Not now. The pain…just wait until morning.”
Keren felt angry at first, and was tempted to punish it for its request, even though doing so to a human similarly incapacitated would have been shameful.
But this was no man, Keren reminded herself. This was a monster.
Then again, she was tired. Exhausted, actually, and in no mood for an interrogation. The idea of interrogations upset her at the best of times anyhow. “All right, Necrow. But I won’t be so easy on you tomorrow morning!”
She pondered it for a moment, gasping at her feet, and decided it wouldn’t be going anywhere. So she left it where it lay, crawled back into her makeshift burrow, and huddled inside the cloak. The thought nagged at her that perhaps she should have killed it after all, but by then her limbs were too heavy to move, and the next moment it was too much trouble to think at all…
CHAPTER 3
FLIGHT
Morning dawned pale and frosty. The smell of pine filled Keren’s nose as she woke, shivering, snow dusting her head and shoulders. Joy and relief flooded her spirit as she remembered she was no longer in the dungeon. She stretched in the confined space, easing the cramps from her legs and back. The sounds of the forest were sweet to the ears.
She had almost entered a forgotten state of serenity before she remembered how she had gotten there.
Keren scrambled to her feet, fighting against sudden panic. She stumbled out of the brush den into the clearing, eyes groping for a sign that her chance at vengeance had not wandered off while she slept.
There. Exactly where she’d left it, just sittin
g a little straighter now, waiting for her. Even with the mask over its face, it was obvious it was awake…Not that their kind ever slept. Again she heard that unsettling whisper in her mind, the phantom presence which had driven so many mad in Belshazzar’s keep. Her hand gripped the stake – she had not been so absent-minded as to leave that behind!
Pallid sunlight rippled between them as she waited for it to make a move.
The creature’s head cocked to one side. This behavior, so similar to what a man would do, raised the hairs on Keren’s spine. She gritted her teeth as the Necrow tapped a finger absently on one knee.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded.
“It is good to see you survived the night.”
Her lip curled. “You were afraid a little chill like that would kill me?”
The Necrow shrugged, apparently unconcerned by the stake she held. Keren’s hand began to tremble as she thought of this – what tricks might this demon have up its sleeve?
She thought of running, but could not be certain that other Necrow were not lying in wait nearby. “You said you’d tell me why you helped me escape!”
The Necrow sighed. “Aye. Of course there must be endless demands made, after many wounds were suffered to free you. Still there are no thanks given.”
“Why should I thank you when your motives could only be sinister, Necrow?! Did someone pay you for my release?”
“Of course not,” the creature growled. “You were freed because I wished it, not for the sake of worthless coin.”
“Then this must be some twisted plan of the tyrant king. He wants me to lead you to the rest of my people! How do you explain how we managed to escape your comrades? The Necrow can’t be fooled by simple disguises!”
“No – our escape was a test of wills. The others have grown feeble from indulgence in this world. They submitted to my will to pay no heed, and let us pass. The archers too, though they proved more troublesome. Even now they track you, yet they are slow to discover this place because my will keeps them at bay.”
Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 3