by Clayton Wood
And the second were the small strips of flesh covering it on one side. Some muscle between its ribs, a piece of liver magically stuck to the inside of its lower ribcage. A hint of yellow fat deep within one eye-socket.
It was not the presence of these things that was so unique, but rather the fact that they had previously been absent.
And in the Plane of Death, nothing escaped Petrusa’s notice. She had eyes everywhere, in the countless sculptures she’d created within her realm over the millennia.
So Petrusa had sent for this Lost One, allowing it in her palace. It became her constant companion, following her mindlessly day after day.
A reminder of Petrusa’s failure.
For none who bore the golden ring were supposed to become Lost Ones. That was the promise, that those accepted to Petrusa’s service would have their bodies returned to the Plane of Death intact, so they could continue in death as they had in life.
A promise Petrusa had failed to keep…and that was exceedingly rare.
Petrusa eased herself onto her throne, watching as the Lost One shambled to her side.
She felt something beckoning her, the psychic equivalent to a tap on the shoulder. It was the personification of Death, as old as the Plane of Death was.
Shadows from the columns in the throne room moved, converging into one deep shadow on the floor before her. From this rose the great black skull of Death himself.
“CASTLE UNDER HAS FALLEN,” he notified her.
“The Collector?” she inquired.
“NEAR DEATH.”
Petrusa accepted this. She was not particularly surprised. The Collector had risen to power quickly, becoming a very wealthy – and formidable – player on the world stage. But Gideon Myles was a truly gifted Painter, in a league of his own. The best of several generations. Only one other had approached his level in the last few hundred years.
“Thank you,” she replied at last. But Death did not leave, though her statement had clearly been a dismissal. “And?” she inquired.
“HE MAY HAVE VALUE.”
“We’ve followed him most of his life,” she stated dismissively. “He has no value to me.”
“HE HAS VALUE TO OTHERS.”
She considered this.
“Very well,” she decided.
Death left her then, vanishing into shadow.
She had no concern that her will would be carried out. The Reapers were denizens of the Plane of Death, after all. They followed whichever master managed to defeat them in battle until that master’s death…and the Collector would soon be dead. As such, they would be able to provide a new master with the likely location of the Collector. And Petrusa would ensure that one of her Necromancers became their master.
The Reapers were as much a part of this world as the world itself. A fact that the Collector had not appreciated, for Petrusa had long ago hidden their true nature, concocting a false history for them.
The past was just a memory, after all. And after nearly all who had lived in the past passed away, history could be rewritten with impunity.
It was a shame that the Reapers had not witnessed the Lost One’s death…and that the artifact providing its location had mysteriously vanished.
Petrusa sighed, finding her gaze drawn once again to the skeleton standing to her left. To her surprise, it was staring back at her. And that wasn’t all.
She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening.
The Lost One had changed.
The bare strips of flesh at its chest and flank had blossomed, now flush with rust-colored muscle covered in patches of yellow, marbled fat. One of its arms was so flush with muscle that its bones there were completely covered, long tendons visible as they extended from its forearm to its fingers. The golden ring on its forehead was half-hidden with flesh now.
And a lone eye rested within its socket, staring back at her.
Petrusa resisted the urge to stand from her throne, regarding the Lost One silently for a long, long while. Then she gave it a rare smile.
“Well aren’t you clever,” she murmured.
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About the Author
Clayton Taylor Wood is the self-published author of the Runic series, the Fate of Legends series, and the Magic of Havenwood series. He’s been a computer programmer, graphics designer, martial-arts instructor, and now works in the medical field. He has a wife and two wonderful sons.
Writing was always Clayton’s passion, but it wasn’t until the birth of his first son that he found the inspiration necessary to finish his first book. Five years later, he published Runic Awakening, the first entry in the Runic Series. With eight books published so far and many more to come, he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon!
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