Death, Be Not Proud

by Jonathan Maberry

  -9-

  Much later, I lived again for I felt the night. I still bathed in the shadow, which drifted, wetly across my face. I slid back an eyeball and saw my world.

  I lay upon a beach of black stone. Far into the night there was an ancient ocean of sighs and whispering light. It hissed and a wave of molten glass died near my booted feet. I rolled away, wondering if I was dead.

  For some time I lay upon my back, staring at the unseen sky, listening to the oceans slipping heat. My breath came in short, rasping gasps. As I lay upon the nighted beach and felt the many blacks, I became aware of a peculiar tightness in my chest. My heart felt like it was expanding, swelling—my head lolled back, pressing into the loose shale of the beach. Agonized, I rolled over, pulling myself into a huddled mass. My guts churned. What was happening to me?

  My face exploded with warm, chunky fluid. I wheeled away, somehow on my feet again, stumbling and trailing bile. I fell to my knees facing the dead sea, and saw her come to me.

  She slid in with the silence of still air. The skiff parted the waves and she stood in the prow, naked but for a fluttering cloak about her face and shoulders. The boat struck the rocks with a grinding noise and came to a halt before me.

  I questioned not. This was not my world so I walked forward, my nausea forgotten. Climbing in I grasped the single mast. With a slight gesture from her, the strange craft turned about and slid back into the sea.

  Our journey began, timeless. I studied her shapely back and the gentle sway the sea lent to her buttocks. She looked not at me, her face hidden in ashen cloth, only outwards to the slipping sea.

  “Am I dead then?”I asked.

  She said nothing but after a time the words began to form in my brain.

  “We are born dead, from death, seeking life in darkness. The life of death. I have found it here. You will not.”

  “Indeed…well then what lies on yonder shore? Do my dog-brothers await me? Or perhaps the men I have slain? Do they stand upon that grim beach, staring without souls, awaiting their vengeance?” I hoped not. I had fucked a lot of people up.

  “Tell me woman, TELL ME!” I yelled, lurching to my feet and reaching for her, fingers stretching out into vertigo and then oblivion. Again, I felt myself sprawling on rock, and somehow struggled to my feet. When I stood again, I had something of the world behind me. The sea, now at my back, reflected dully off of Wick, still so sharp, so vital, so deadly in this land of the damned. It would bathe again before I slept.

  She was above me on a flight of stairs. The sea licked at my boots one final time as I left it behind me, crunching again across the black shale to where she waited. A kind of light seemed to spill from her, and it curled lazily about the stairs as I made my way towards them. Her face remained in darkness. Would it be revealed when her light was at an end? Could she die? Had I already?

  I ceased walking at the foot of the stairs. She motioned for me to follow but I remained where I stood. Again she gestured but and my reply was the drawing of my dagger. I pressed the point of it against my throat and began to draw it across the flesh. I gasped in pain as living blood poured forth.

  Suddenly she was rushing down the stairs, arms outstretched.

  “No! It is not his will!”

  I stopped and sheathed my blade, smiling.

  “Then lead on, she-thing…your Master awaits…”

  -10-

  I felt strong as we passed through corridors of mossy black stone, giddy on dreams of power and a fathomless hatred for all things alive. What kind of evil dwelt here? Surely, an entity of great power, with enough to construct and live in a world of its own creation, but it still needed slaves to populate it. In me, perhaps he saw some potential, a link to the surface world perhaps. My twisted face had already made me something of a monster…perhaps my unseen host would grant me some unholy dark power, one that I could use to smear my hatred across the face of the world, to kill and destroy and drive back great trains of slaves to the all- swallowing underworld. However, there would be some sort of price to be paid in exchange for such a gift. Beings of great power are beings of great trickery, and my soul stood in the bargain. I would bargain hard before I lost that, I swore.

  Many times we passed through pools of pulsing light, and heard unseen things skittering away. I smiled as I imagined their twisted faces, their bulging eyes. Truly, they were the basest of his slaves.

  An archway loomed ahead, and beyond that was a cavernous hallway of shifting red stone. I first thought the floor was covered in part by a gigantic grey fur rug, all matted and vile. I then suddenly realized that I beheld a living carpet of rats. They were smaller than the one that I had slain earlier, but these ones were more horrid—these creatures had never dreamt of the sun, much less seen it. They hunched, thousands of them, tails flickering, and as my foot crossed into the room, they moved as one, bolting up and forming a seething wave, which rolled away from me. Bulging, chittering, the wave grew as it receded into the endless chamber. They left the stone bare save the droppings.

  My guide turned to me. Braving her gaze, which I felt upon me like a shroud, I saw her face, still bathed in pulsing shadow. A shapely arm stretched into the darkness, pointing into the chamber.

  “Go,” she intoned. “He awaits you.”

  -11-

  Into the chamber of the shifting stone I walked, alone and without fear. I walked, and the rats scurried from my feet, disappearing into the walls and holes in the floor. There they remained, gazing out and wondering at my presence here in their domain. Some of the more curious followed by my heels, twittering softly. I turned and knelt amongst them.

  “Pretty pets, “I muttered, outstretching my blade. Several of the scabrous creatures scuttled up it, mouths agape with yellow chisels. I mocked a smile and outstretched my good hand, meaning to fondle the little beast closest to me.

  As one, their spines arched and their fur rippled with an unseen wind that rushed past me.

  And this was it. I could feel him near, very near. He came from behind without a sound as the memories of my life seemed very far behind me. His eyes peered through the back of my skull and bored deep into my brain, pulling me about. I crashed to the floor and writhed on my face, mind boggled by unknown fate. I felt myself gripped, and slowly I raised my swelling head to behold whatever new horror there was in store for me.

  A broad face framed with a shock of bushy white hair loomed before me. “Up young one! Be you drink-addled? Punk out now and I’ll eat your eyeballs!”

  I was pulled roughly to my feet and stared dumbly about…the open sky? I stood on a city street, the roofs done in purple stones. The air was chill and brisk and tinged with smoke, fire and the sickly-sweet odor of roasting flesh. A woman screamed.

  Before me stood my Elder, wound in teeth and iron. “You whelp,” he cried as he struck me, “this city awaits our bloody reap!”

  This was a day I had lived, over ten years ago. It was a day I could never forget, the day of my great wounding.

  Elder grabbed me and dragged me along behind him. He gripped a battle-axe in his other burly fist. “Here, scum-pup, that wench went in here…let us savage her with our bloody rituals.”

  Dazedly I staggered after my Elder, my mind blasted beyond all comprehension. We dashed down the street and came to a stop at the entrance to a small sub-alley. He turned back to me and smiled in a way that made clear his intentions plainer than words could. Unless of course he had said, “let’s fuck and kill her.”

  Too late, I remembered this is where he had died. He leapt through the archway, axe held low, but half a heartbeat later flew back in the exact opposite direction with twice the force. There was another flash of steel, which blurred all behind it, as my Elder stumbled back with half his forehead laid open. Brainy muck spilled out of the wound as he gurgled and collapsed into the gutter.

  “Thou art slain…” said a clear voice from within the arch. I instantly recognized the voice of my executioner. The dealer of the terrible car
ds. His blade had left me the shattered monster that I am. I backed away, my first good sword extended away from me with both hands.

  Both hands? A nightmare nay…a dream! But why should that detail have been any less perfect than the entire spectacle. I had been a strong lad of eighteen seasons but by the end of this day, I had been reduced to a disfigured horror. Spat upon by my tribe, feared by man, shunned…but now I lived again. I felt my face and joy sang through me as I touched smooth and cool flesh. I was healed. I had a nose…two eyes. I had a penis again. Oh by the gods, I had an unscarred penis again.

  The Variag were not the only ones who mutilated the genitals of their victims.

  Then before me was the one that had taken everything away from me. He was a tall man, fair-skinned, dark and bearded, wearing a coat of bright chainmail. He was relaxed as he delicately stepped over Elder’s still twitching corpse and hefted his bright scimitar, the same one that had bitten into my face. I could remember that pain. I swore I would not live it again. I refused to.

  I leapt at him, screaming out to my God, bringing the sword down into his. He parried and struck back, the swords clashed and twisted. TANG! TANG! They sang the death song.

  His blade slid by my face, parting air. I could remember that blow, could remember what it had done to me. And I had just avoided it.

  He surged upon me again, raining blows after blow. I took them all. I was in a younger, lither body, yet seemed to have retained all my future memories. As I searched for any opening, all the while avoiding his murderous intent, I drew upon years of deadly duels and the actions that let me walk away from each one of them. Well, I crawled once.

  The cities outline began to fade. This fight was all I knew, my bright foe with his curved blade, which constantly sought my vitals. Finally, the exhaustion gripped us and we stumbled apart, leaning on our swords. Here was my latest lover. I lovingly studied his square face and forked beard, spattered with blood and slick with oil. He met my gaze strongly, smiling and inclining his head in a gesture of respect.

  The ground writhed. Dirt was stone, and the purpled city fled to the lightless depths. New stone grew, twisted, and dripped. Once again, I was sent.

  She stood before me again, she of the faceless beauty, her head pulsing like a sun, armed with two queer weapons that resembled nothing quite as much as a giant-sized knife and fork set. Her body was glistening and tight, and my cock throbbed at the site of it.

  I still had my cock, my nose…my new potential master was truly glorious in the scope of his gifts…what would their price be? I wondered.

  We stood at the center of a vast stone disc, suspended by giant chains above a pit of fire. This I noticed dumbly as I began to circle her.

  “Does your Master never tire of these games? Get on with it!”

  I leapt in; hacking with all of my might…she trapped my sword with her giant fork, and plunged the huge knife with the other. I watched in amazement as it buried itself deeply in my abdomen. There was a gush of burning liquid vomited deep inside of me as I fell back, her atop me. She twisted my sword out of my hand with her stupid fork- weapon, which actually seemed to work well, which enraged me all the more. I flailed about, reaching for my weapon and failing to get it…then she withdrew the blade with a slashing motion that left guts hanging out of the hole.

  I was about to die. She loomed above me. Then suddenly, desperately, I remembered a shadow of my past. A knife, given to me by my Elder, one I had kept hidden in my belt, one I had worn on that day. If only…

  I groped and…it was there!

  I jerked the blade free and plunged at her face with the blade. Then her veil was gone and for a second the true features of her face were revealed…The face of death. a parchment wrapped skull whose moldering corpse hairs rose up in a cloud of hissing reptiles. The blade plunged deeply into the eye socket of the thing, immediately dousing the face in darkness again. She began to shake with a tremendous force as the air crackled with sorcerous energy. Wrenching vibrations wracked my arm but I forced the point deeper. Then a new pain began to take me. My knife hand tightened and felt as if the sinews and tendons were being pulled from within. It became rigid and stiff, the pain grew…the bitch’s magic was remaking my knife, my hand!

  I threw myself away and saw they had merged, become one thing of stone and flesh. The knife, molded with flesh, steamed, and cracked as it hardened into rock. I screamed for pity from the merciless Gods. However, it was too much…too much pain for my soul or anyone else’s to endure. I ran to the edge of the disc and leapt off, leaving the edge behind, sailing above the fire.

  I leapt to meet death.

  Into the flame I went. All was speed that slowed and halted as strong, cold arms reached into my death. I clutched at Death’s cloak as he passed me in the dirt. I was taken aback; through all my pain…I could not die.

  Beyond me, all was brown and cold. It was to have been my grave but he took me from this place of rest. It was denied. For what is was worth, I had won. I had defeated his servant, and for this, I was to be his.

  The pain that had driven me to attempt suicide was gone. I groped at my face and found it was still smooth. But my hand was still of the stone-flesh, hardened into its last shape, that of a hand clutching a knife. However, it no longer hurt me. It was part of me. Of the horrific wound to my bowels, all that remained was a slight tingling. My Master had healed me. He was kind.

  We came through the shadow together, and always he held me close, like a babe. He was of all time and everything of hate. Pure, unadulterated. Black snow, I mused.

  He was older than all but the gods, and he had known many forms. He had worn them and cast them aside like so many coats. Such things were just tools, physical manifestations of the reality he wielded like a paintbrush. But for all of his forms, he was truly formless. Where he lived who could say? Of where such things spring forth who dared guess. Now he was here. He walked our earth. And I was to join him at his side.

  Later, I knelt in awe before him. He wore such a guise, as I could understand, the web of death woven thickly around him.

  Upon a field of white there stood a pillar of black and atop this was set his face. Ahh…his face. How can you describe the dripping face of lunacy, beyond all ken? Like a block of flesh carved from stone it crowned his being, cut with infinite aloofness and absolute evil. Clean of hair, his eyes were unmatched as they burned and bored two bloody black holes in my soul.

  He flew above the maggots of civilization. He spurned their towers, their statues. He flew through the cosmic night, between the worlds, and he looked balefully down on the squirming races of the maggot-men. However, he needed us. He needed to feed upon us. He needed us to serve and love him. We worshipped him, though we knew it not.

  Upon the cool skin danced lines, traced by the caress of his fingers and the grave-nails they were tipped with. He smiled then, displaying the teeth, so slender. They gleamed with disease, and were shaped like those of a dog. He touched himself somewhere, and the eyes darted upwards, and all about him was dancing air.

  “Oh my Baron,” I said. “I am so filled…”

  The great head inclined slightly, and then I saw all of the hole, deep into him, reaching all the way into the pit. He rose.

  “Yes, my filth…you shall be my sweetest slave.”

  I fell back, fire leaping through my being, and bellied my ecstasy.

  “Oh Master…what would you have of me to do your bidding?”

  “Much. Your soul, for one.”

  His words thrilled me.

  “Your life, for another.”

  He flowed towards me, trailing shadows and wisps of gauze. I was to become his. What purpose I would serve I could not guess. Nevertheless, he came to me, purpled lips drawn back. His arms suddenly went wide and high and then came down towards me, compressing the air and sending my harness into a state of disarray. His gaping mouth exploded with red foam as slaver welled up around the black teeth. His delicate fingers came to rest upon my knee
s. He stayed there as all spun. He ran through me, and touched me deeper than any woman ever had (and I had paid plenty for them to suck my ruined cock). He bent to me. He was to become my lover.

  Hissing, he exhaled a cloud of grey steam. It curled about me, wrapping me in wild bliss. My gift came forth, straight and true, quivering like a piece of just cooled rock. This was it…an undeath of eternal joy, and dark deliverance.

  Chaos is change. All my horrible life I had wanted this. This was the crowning moment of my existence. However, I did not know getting my fucking dick sucked by a gay vampire was part of the plan.

  So I pissed in his face.

  He let loose a howl of the truly damned and spun away, his waxy face bubbling. But I pursued, smashing down with the terrible new weapon my hand had become. I crushed down with my final hate, and I actually saw the Baron’s head begin to break apart, destroying it even as it sought to drag me down. My wounds, all my countless wounds came upon again, but this time as one. All the pain, all the hate, all the rage, humiliation and shame that had been my life, all came upon as one thing. And as part of this, once again my penis was hideously mangled.

  That was it. Game over. I was finally and completely rent, utterly broken. Spleen’s smashed head spun off into space, and I plunged into a dark abyss I willingly embraced. Finally, I was dead.

  -12-

  Three days later, I sat on my horse on a hill about a half a mile outside the city walls. My body was wracked with pain that the early morning chill did nothing to assuage. All of my wounds were slowly and painfully healing and today was the first day I could travel. For the last few days, I had been lying in The Gaping Gargoyle, and Ferd had tended me back to life.

  “You really look like shit…,” he had said.

  I had no memory of how I had escaped the pit beneath Bone Manor. I had just appeared on Ferd’s doorstep, covered in blood, pants down, right hand fused with a dagger into a thing of flesh and stone. As soon as I could, I had mounted my horse and ridden out of that cursed place, not stopping until Bone Manors hideous shadow was well behind me.