The Ship of the Dead
Carola Delas shuffled through the tall grass of the plains. Every part of her ached. Her muscles had begun to seize and her skin grew tighter with each passing moment. She was always hungry, and only raw human flesh could satisfy her. In every village she’d passed through, she’d left behind a few desiccated bodies, most so stripped of flesh as to be unrecognizable. She wept as she walked, heaving dry sobs that rattled in her chest. You’ll quit that right now, Umbra’s voice spoke in her head, I’ve no patience for whiny little crybabies. “...whhhhhyyy...” Carola spoke in a rasping whisper, “...didn’t you... let me...” she drew a deep wheezing breath, “...die?!” When you gave yourself to me, “body and soul”, what did you think that meant? Umbra asked, exasperated. Now that Carola was among the reanimated, her short-term memory was near useless. That meant they had to keep having this conversation over and over. You are mine to do with as I please, she said, When your body finally rots past the point of usefulness, I will take your soul for a plaything. “Nooooo,” the thing that was Carola howled. You made the deal, Umbra scolded, I provided the services you requested. Don’t complain now that you’re finding my fee to be more than you’d care to pay. “What... do you... plan...” Carola’s tortured lungs took in another gasp of air, but she was cut off by the impatient goddess in her head. I’d tell you, but you’d only forget. Don’t pay it any mind. I have plans for you, that is all you need know. A shadow darkened her steps as something large passed between them and the full moon. Ah, Umbra said, there it is. Carola looked up, her brittle bones cracking and popping as she did so. Above her hovered an enormous black airship. A chill wind blew from it, though Carola could not feel it. Skeletal rotting corpses looked down at her from the windows expectantly. A ladder made of bone and sinew was dropped. Climb, Umbra ordered. “...no...” Carola whispered. Let me assure you, Umbra’s mental voice hissed, while you may think things are bad for you now, I can actually make them much worse. Think on that a moment, she counseled, Do you really want to experience worse than this? Carola climbed the ladder. It was awkward and slow, but she eventually made it to the top. Two other reanimated corpses in worse states of decay hauled her into the ship. Good girl, Umbra said. Now, take the captain’s chair. Carola turned her skull-like face toward the bridge. A large chair made of blackened bones occupied the center. She hobbled over and sat down in it. Her undead crew assumed subordinate poses. Excellent, Umbra was pleased, the Ship of the Dead has a new captain at last. Now, there is work to do, my darlings, so get to it. “Work?” Carola’s voice was stronger. Her body was still rotting away, but she felt less affected by it than she had been. Oh yes, Umbra said, There is war brewing among the living, and we have a few important items to collect before we join it. A corpse that was little more than a skeleton turned to her from the helm. “Heading... Captain?” All of a sudden, Carola knew exactly where they were going. The fog that had settled over her mind after she died was also lifting. She regarded her helmsman with wide sunken eyes and said, “Set a… course… for the… Wild Lands. They have the… first… item on our… list.” “Will we get to… eat… while we’re there?” another corpse, this one at the weapons station, asked. “Oh yessss,” Carola’s rotting lips pulled back to reveal a rictus grin, “More than enough… food… for all of us.” The Ship of the Dead lifted itself into the dark night sky and set about its grim errand. The hideous cackling laughter of its crew caused people for miles around to have the worst nightmares of their lives.
The End Begins
Artemis, Kael, the Monga and her War Chief sat around a table in the Wild Clan’s great hall. “I’m not surprised,” Artemis said. “What surprises me, in fact, is that they waited this long.” “Mm,” the Monga was thoughtful, “The question now is what to do about it. We of the Wild Lands typically do not involve ourselves in outside affairs, but I’ve grown fond of young Michra during her time here,” she smiled at the Gunfighter, who sat against the wall with Sa’raa and Bon, “and would do what we can to aid her Land.” Artemis nodded, “Your aid will be sorely needed. I have already thought the news to Pym, and he is sending an airship with a troop of soldiers immediately to Drego’s aid. Unfortunately,” she sighed, “our numbers, and Drego’s, will not match the Nazean force.” She slammed her fist into her palm, “If only we had not grown so complacent since the last war. We felt so secure under the treaty, we believed we could reduce our armies and spend our treasures on other priorities.” “War is a cruel necessity,” Jef growled from his place at the Monga’s side, “and it is a wise leader who strives to be free of its demands. No doubt your people appreciated the choice when it was made, for all that they suffer for it now.” Artemis sighed again, “You are right, of course, but whether the choice was for good or ill, it offers little help to us now.” The Monga smiled, “Which brings us back to the Wild Clan. Though we do not number as great as the Nazeans, each of our warriors is worth ten of theirs.” She gestured to Jef, “Or twenty, if we count him twice.” Jef grunted and smiled, folding his massive arms across his broad chest. “No doubt,” Artemis agreed. “During the two days I have been here, I have seen strength and skill unparalleled in the outside Lands. Is it true all of your children are superhuman?” “Not just my children,” the Monga said proudly, “but all my people are gifted in some way. It is believed to be an effect of living in the Wild Lands.” “And you,” Artemis asked, curious, “in what way are you so gifted?” “I am impervious to injury and disease,” the Monga replied, “and I age slower than other mortals. Tell me, Monarch,” she inquired, “how old would you say I am?” Artemis studied the other woman for a moment, finally answering, “I would say you are halfway through your third decade, if that.” The Monga grinned, “I approach my eightieth summer, Artemis,” she said softly. “Eighty?” Artemis’ eyes widened. “I aged normally until I reached maturity,” the Monga explained, “then progressively slower each year after that. I believe I am aging one year for every two decades now.” “Well,” Artemis said, “that must make you quite formidable both off and on the-” A loud booming crash interrupted her, and the ground shook as from a quake. Jef was already out the door before Artemis and the Monga rose from the table. Michra raced for the door, guns drawn, Sa’raa in feline form by her side. Kael hurried behind his wife and the leader of the Wild Clan. Outside, people fled indoors as boulders rained down upon the village. “What is this?” Jef looked around him. He swung his axe, splitting a massive stone in two before it struck him. Another boulder hurtled toward what seemed to be a school, and Kael leapt into the air, catching it before it hit. With his peerless vision, he was able to see the source of the deadly hail high above them in the sky. It was an airship, black as night and descending toward them rapidly. On the ground, the Monga studied one of the boulders carefully. “This is part of a golem,” she said, running her hands over the smooth stone, “Trae’s golem, unless I miss my guess.” She looked up, scowling, “What goes on here, and where is my daughter?” That moment, in the Ship of the Dead, Trae sat bound to a chair on the bridge. Two skeletal members of Carola’s crew stood at either side, sword blades held near her throat. Their undead captain paced awkwardly before her. “You...know...” Carola rasped, “what we... want.” “Oh aye,” Trae glared defiantly. She was determined to show no tears to this lot, for all that she grieved for her broken friend. “You’ve made your desires plain,” she said, “But if all you want is the head of the Mad Wizard, why not simply pluck it from the pike before our gate?” Carola ground her teeth together in what Trae assumed was a wry smile. With her face decaying as it was, it was difficult to tell, “Do you... think me...” the undead captain paused for a long rattling inhalation, “...stupid?” Trae resisted the urge to answer. Instead, she strained against the ropes binding her wrists behind the chair. She felt them begin to snap, then stopped. First, she had to deal with her guards. “I am aware...” Carola continued, “...of the spells... binding the Mad... Wizard’s... head. Also that... you,” anoth
er gasping breath, “...know how... to break them.” “Mm,” Trae said, “You may be right. I do know a great many things. For instance, I know that there are 206 bones in the human body,” she smiled. “Double that is 412. Double again is 824.” Suddenly, the two guards next to her fell into piles, each bone in their decaying bodies split evenly in half. Trae stood, muscles taut and bulging as she snapped the ropes about her wrists. She moved toward the door leading to the outer deck of the airship. She spat a final insult over her shoulder, “And, to answer your question, yes, I do think you’re stupid.” With that, she threw herself over the edge and into the open air. Carola hurried after as fast as her shuffling gait would allow, and saw Kael catch Trae in mid-air. “Damn,” she muttered. If the Champion was here, it was possible Artemis could be too. She did not wish to face Vega’s Monarch yet. You do not have to, Umbra spoke in her mind. Collect the other two items first. There will be time enough to return for this one, when this village is without its warriors. The undead captain nodded slowly, then turned and ordered the helm to a southerly heading. The other two items were in close proximity to one another, and could serve to aid her in retrieving the Mad Wizard’s head. With a last glance at the frightened mortals below, she walked back into the bridge and returned to her seat. On the ground, the Monga watched Kael and Trae land with a grim expression. She’d recognized the black ship, and she felt a chill run through her at the thought. “The Ship of the Dead,” she told Artemis. “Legend tells it has trawled the ether for millennia, seeking a captain to lead it. It is said that to see it in the sky is to see a sign of the Last Days.” She shook her head, haunted eyes meeting those of the visiting Monarch, “The End is upon us, Artemis. May the gods help us all.”
Amorlia Page 24