“It smells horrible,” Curtis said, covering his nose. A putrid stench hit Sam’s nostrils at the same time and he cringed.
Behind them, Alsted said, “Rotting flesh. Remember that smell. Gives them away every time.”
“How could we forget it?” Curtis asked.
Beside him, Sam saw that Sarah had pinched her nose shut with her thumb and index finger. “It’s awful,” she said.
As they neared the creature, they could see sturdy iron shackles clamped around its wrists, connected to thick chains that ran back to ringlets protruding from the stone wall.
There was roughly thirty feet separating them from the decaying man-thing. Drool ran from the thing’s mouth, down its chin, dripping onto its bony gray chest. Sam found it difficult to look at, but hard not to at the same time. He had never seen anything like it. What could do that to a man?
“It looks evil,” one of the boys said.
“Not evil,” Finnaeus said. “Mindless. Driven only by blind rage and a hunger for human flesh. It isn’t evil, although it is easy to understand why someone would think that. Its condition – its curse – makes it very dangerous indeed. But it is truly an emotionless creature, without reasoning skills or any concept of good and bad or right and wrong.”
“What is it?” another boy asked.
“A zombie. A minion of the undead.”
Suddenly, the zombie lurched toward them, gnashing its teeth together, spittle flying from its lips. It charged straight for Finnaeus. When it was within ten feet of the old priest, the chains stretched taut and it came to a jerking halt.
Some of the boys had retreated a few steps as the zombie charged forward. Sam had stood his ground, but it had taken a significant amount of will power to remain where he was, and that was only because he didn’t want to appear weak in front of Sarah.
“How does that happen to a person?”
Finnaeus said, “By curse or incantation. If a person is cursed before they die, they can return in this state. An incantation can bring men back as well. Necromancers, bone conjurers, and deathraisers are all skilled in this art.”
“Why would anyone want to do that?” Sarah asked.
“They are a formidable weapon when controlled,” Finnaeus said. “A creature with no mercy and no remorse and an uncontrollable appetite.”
And just then, Sam realized why someone would raise such a vile creature from the dead: to build an army.
That’s what they were talking about, Sam thought. Demälikar would command the undead and use them as his army.
“The soul has moved on,” Finnaeus said. “Nothing more than a puppet remains.”
“An ugly puppet,” Curtis said.
“Very true,” Finnaeus agreed. “And I think now would be a good time for our demonstration.”
Finnaeus flicked his hands in the air, clenched them into fists, and then brought them down forcefully as though he was pulling down on an invisible bar that offered a small amount of resistance.
The shackles around the zombie’s wrists snapped open and fell away, clanging as they struck the ground.
At first, the zombie remained still.
It’s too stupid to figure out what just happened, Sam thought.
But it didn’t take long for the feral creature to realize that it was no longer bound. A horrible gargling worked its way out of the zombie’s throat. It charged toward them.
This time, Sam couldn’t resist taking a step back. It was all he could do not to turn and run away as fast as his legs would carry him.
The zombie was very close to reaching them, but Finnaeus opened his mouth and a strange sound came out of it. “Ooooohh-Ummmm…”
They weren’t exactly words. They were musical notes; similar to the chanting Sam had heard when they first entered the cathedral.
“Ooooohh-Ummmm-ka,” Finnaeus repeated, and suddenly they felt the ground rumbling beneath their feet, as if something was tunneling through the dirt below. Golden chains erupted from the earth like impossibly fast-growing weeds, shooting up and outward as they coiled around the zombie. Within seconds, the zombie was rooted in place by the mystical restraints.
“You will notice,” Finnaeus said, “that the Holy Arts differ from other branches of magic in that we do not use specific words, but instead, sounds are the basis of holy magic. Rather than a word, chants, hums, and certain musical notes are used. Depending on the key, a spell can have differing results.”
The zombie struggled against the magical restraints, but the more it struggled, the more tightly the chains wrapped themselves around it.
“This is a binding spell. It only works on the undead, which includes zombies, vampires, ghosts, and certain types of ghouls. For this reason, it would do you well to know what you’re up against. This particular spell is useless on living creatures. The Holy Arts are focused on healing, protection, and defense against the undead.”
Sam worked up the courage to move to the front of the line, standing next to Finnaeus so that he had a clear view of the zombie. “Can you cure it?” he asked.
Finnaeus shook his head. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. For this poor fellow, the damage has already been done. It is without a soul. Healing and resurrection have no effect if the soul isn’t intact.”
“You can bring a person back to life?”
“Yes. Under certain circumstances. However, it is a rare occurrence. It is very difficult to bring someone back whole. Often times, pieces are missing. The soul leaves the body by varying degrees.”
Thinking about that made Sam’s skin crawl. What did Finnaeus mean by ‘pieces are missing?’
Sam thought the zombie looked absolutely miserable, if such a thing was possible. It fought against the restraints, the chains so tight now that they dug into the undead creature’s flesh, releasing a black ooze, which pooled on the ground beneath its feet.
Even its blood isn’t normal, Sam thought.
“Let us end this unfortunate fellow’s suffering,” Finnaeus said. “So that his body may rest in peace as his soul does in the afterlife.”
Finnaeus glanced up at the heavens. “Ah-ohmmm-ayieeee,” he chanted, and a bolt of white lightning flashed from the sky, striking the zombie. Sam blinked; a natural reaction to the blinding flash of light, and when he opened his eyes again, the zombie was a charred statue which smoldered for only a second before it collapsed into a pile of ash. The golden chains that had been binding it retracted and slithered back into the ground.
Sam was dumbstruck, unbelieving of what he had just witnessed. “What was that?”
“Holy Bolt,” Finnaeus said. “Hammer of the gods.”
“What an awful thing,” Sarah said.
“How can you say that?” Sam asked. “It was evil.”
Finnaeus said, “Compassion is a powerful force. It is not a weakness. As I said before, that creature was not evil. No more than your sword is evil. It is the hand and mind connected to it which holds the capacity for good or evil. If you take one thing away with you from this lesson, let it be this: the heart possesses a greater magic than anything that can be learned from a book. The question is, when the time comes and darkness is upon you, will you embrace it? Or will you rise up against it?”
Sam looked at Finnaeus and saw that he didn’t expect an answer. The old priest smiled at him and said, “Something to think about, I suppose.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE HIGHER GROUND
The following morning, a Friday, they began studying the first chapters of the book Battlefield Ethics by Ignobal Barnes. With the tests a month away, Sam was surprised they hadn’t started studying it sooner. By now, of course, he had skimmed through the book on his own, having plenty of free time in the evenings since he rarely met Lilah in the forest anymore because of the colder weather.
Much of the book was just plain common sense; everything in it boiled down to following the Golden Rule, which was simply to treat others as he would want to be treated. Surely everyone in hi
s class knew it by heart already, and whether they chose to follow it or not, relearning it seemed like a colossal waste of time.
But maybe it isn’t so bad for someone like Cully Duke to hear it over again, Sam thought. Better yet, someone should beat it into his brain.
It was a maxim he had learned as a young child, and so as they took turns reading paragraphs aloud that brisk winter morning, Sam couldn’t prevent his mind from wandering.
Even Felgorn, who usually appeared indifferent whenever it was time to crack open their books, looked bored out of his mind (ogre’s didn’t have a written code of ethics, but Felgorn, as an instructor, had accepted the human version). Alsted, however, watched all of them like a hawk tracking its prey before it swooped down to snatch it up. Earlier, he hadn’t had any qualms about stressing the fact that these lessons were of the utmost importance; just as important as their practical lessons.
Curtis finished reading a paragraph.
“Continue, Sam,” Alsted said, the dwarf’s booming voice knocking Sam out of his daydream. In it, he had been picturing himself and Sarah in battle together, huddled back-to-back as undead hordes closed in on them. No matter how many zombies’ heads they cut off, more and more kept coming. In the dream, Sam had tried to use magic, but all he had succeeded in doing was conjuring a useless dragon sprite that cawed once like a sick bird and then blew apart in a rain of sparks like a dud firework. The zombies had drawn closer and closer; Sam could feel Sarah’s back against his own, she was breathing heavy, and he had thought: this is it, we’re goners, but at least we’ll die together!
And just as the end had come, Alsted’s voice pierced his fantasy, asking him to read the next paragraph.
Sam glanced down at the page. He wasn’t sure where Curtis had stopped reading; wasn’t, in fact, sure that he was even on the right page. Thankfully, Curtis was keen enough to see that Sam hadn’t been paying attention and tilted his book so that Sam could see it, pointing at the paragraph where Sam was supposed to start reading.
Bailed you out again, Sam thought. If this keeps up, you’ll never pay off your debt.
Sam cleared his throat and began reading the paragraph out loud.
“A warrior never attacks an injured party unless that injured party poses a threat to the warrior or others,” Sam read. “A warrior never engages a civilian in battle, nor women or children for that matter. A warrior is responsible for his weapon and will have control over it at all times…”
And on and on it went…
Sam finished the long paragraph, and when he finished, the next boy in line began to read. Several hours passed this way. Sam wondered if they were making up for lost time. If perhaps they shouldn’t have started much earlier and now Alsted was trying to cram it all in at once.
Finally, after they had finished Chapter Five – “Expectations of a Warrior During Dark Times” – Alsted had them put away their books and sent them off early. He also informed them that Saturday would be a free day. It would be one of their last prior to the holiday, which coincided with their written and practical exams. After that, they would enjoy two full weeks off before the next semester started.
“I swear it’s a miracle I didn’t fall into a coma,” Curtis said as they were leaving the arena. “Ethics is so dull.”
“You’re not kidding,” Sam said.
“No fooling. I noticed you were off in your own little world.”
“I guess I was. Bored to tears, really. Thanks for having my back.”
Curtis said, “It’s practically what I’m here for, isn’t it? You could even say it’s my calling. Draggin’ your butt out of trouble.”
Curtis didn’t seem all that broken up by the fact that this was the role he had more or less fallen into. Being a loyal friend suited him well.
“And you’re getting quite good at it,” Sam said.
“Yeah, well, don’t go showering me with too much praise. It might all go to my head and then it might start looking like yours.”
In the mess hall, after they had filled their plates with some type of meat that could have been either chicken, turkey, pig, or dog and then ladled runny gravy with peas and carrots over it, they sat down at their usual table. Sarah hadn’t arrived yet.
“How much you wanna bet she doesn’t show?” Curtis asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“Don’t you remember? Last time we had a day off, she didn’t show up for dinner the night before either.”
Sam hadn’t thought about that. The news that they had a day off tomorrow was still too fresh for him to have spent time imagining what he would do with it, but spending it with Sarah had been at the top of his list. Of course, it went without saying that Curtis would tag along, too.
“I guess we’ll see,” Sam said.
“Too chicken to take the bet?”
“No, but I’m too good a friend to take such an easy win.”
Curtis scoffed. “Come off it. You’re chicken.”
It was lucky for Curtis that Sam hadn’t taken the bet because a minute later, Sarah entered the mess hall. She grabbed a plate of food, filled her cup with water, and sat down across from them. It didn’t take long for her to notice that both Sam and Curtis were staring at her.
“Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose?”
“No,” Curtis said, “it’s just that I bet Sam here that you wouldn’t show up for dinner.”
Sarah said, “That seems like an odd thing to bet about.”
“Not really. Seeing how last time we had a day off, you didn’t show up for dinner the night before. Let me guess, you’re spending tomorrow in the castle all by your lonesome?”
Sam elbowed Curtis’s arm. “That’s none of our business,” Sam said, but he was lying. In truth, he wanted to know very badly what her plans for tomorrow were. He stared down at his plate of mystery meat and even more mysterious sauce, trying to pretend that he could care less about the subject.
“You seem very interested in what I’m doing tomorrow,” Sarah said to Curtis. “Were you planning on asking me out or something?”
Curtis nearly choked on a mouthful of food, spitting it out. Sam’s face went red, but he went on eating.
“Of course not,” Curtis said. “Not in a million years. We just thought…well, that you – if you didn’t already make plans – you might want to hang out with us.”
There. It was done. And Sam hadn’t even had to do the asking.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Curtis. And what have the two of you cooked up? Something adventurous?”
Curtis stared at her blankly. Sam shoveled more food into his mouth. Chewing had become an effort. What are you all nervous for? he thought. She’s kissed you before, you shouldn’t be acting like a little boy seeing a girl for the first time.
“Every day is an adventure for us,” Curtis said boldly.
“While I don’t doubt that, I’ll need to know what you have in mind before I’d agree to go with you. Otherwise, a day spent in the castle might be the better choice.”
Sam swallowed his food and said, “I thought you didn’t like being in the castle by yourself all the time? You said it was lonely.”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to go red in the face. She gazed at him, biting her lip, trying to figure out if he was trying to be smart. Sam hadn’t considered that he might be betraying her confidence; wasn’t it common sense that if you were stuck somewhere by yourself enough that it was bound to be lonely?
Sarah seemed to be on the verge of crying or laughing or yelling, or maybe all three or none of those things, but she stared at Sam for a long time before finally deciding that he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. She regained her composure quickly. “It is lonely at times,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean hanging out with the two of you would be any better.”
Sam looked shocked. Where was this coming from?
“I – we – would like you to spend the day with us. It’d be all three of us. Together.”
“All right.”
Sam was beginning to think that someone had kidnapped the real Sarah and replaced her with this wishy-washy imposter. “All right?”
“Yes. I’ll spend the day with you,” Sarah said. “What are we doing?”
“Um…” Curtis glanced at Sam. What were they doing?
Suddenly, an idea occurred to Sam. “I’ve been wanting to visit Surly Dragon Arms,” he said, “to talk to Jiao-long about Rusty. I think my sword is enchanted.”
“Because of the business with that girl’s spell?”
“Yeah.”
“Probably only a fluke,” Sarah said. “Spell work is tricky, or so I’ve heard. She probably just did it wrong.”
“She said – er, I don’t think that’s it. She seemed to know what she was doing. I mean, Volatine wouldn’t have brought her if she couldn’t have done the spell, would he?”
“I suppose not.”
Oops, Sam thought, almost let it slip that time. He found it difficult to keep anything from Sarah; she was a good friend after all, and at times he didn’t think it would be such a big deal if she found out about his extracurricular magic lessons with Lilah. He knew she wouldn’t squeal or turn him in.
But a promise was a promise, he reminded himself.
“It wouldn’t take long, and then we could do whatever you wanted to do.”
“Okay. So six o’clock then? Might as well make the most of it, right? I’ll wait outside your living quarters. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Maybe my luck is finally changing for the better, Sam thought, a huge smile plastered across his face.
Sam woke at quarter after five on Saturday morning. It was still mostly dark. Curtis was asleep in the bed next to him, but wasn’t snoring as loudly as usual. Glancing around the room, he noticed that two or three beds were already empty, which meant he hadn’t been the only early riser. Most of the boys, however, were still sleeping. Sam couldn’t blame them; after countless days spent waking before the sun and staggering sleepily to the arena, sleeping in late was an appealing prospect.
Quietly, Sam put on his jeans, open-necked shirt, and slid his boots on. There was fresh snow on the ground, and large lazy snowflakes drifted past the window, so he shrugged on his wolf’s fur coat before stepping over to Curtis’s bed and nudging him awake.
Sam Finch and the Zombie Hybrid (Sam Finch Series Book 1) Page 12