Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 4

  Keren desperately tried to think of what she could do. The Necrow must have discovered they had not captured all of the people in her village. They had set up this ‘escape’ as a way of tricking her; the one prisoner who could not be manipulated into revealing all of her thoughts.

  But she was not fooled. Eventually the Necrow would realize their trickery had not worked. Then they would torture her in order to extract the information they required. It would be best to get this over with quickly…to go down fighting.

  “You’re lying,” Keren said. “They know very well what is happening! You have the gall to act concerned, but you just want to use me to ferret out the rest of my kin!”

  Keren leapt at the Necrow, her stake aiming for its heart.

  The creature was even faster than she had expected. Before Keren could think it swept her weapon aside, grabbing her wrist and locking one arm behind her back. She yelped as it twisted her hand, the pain forcing her to her knees.

  “The Necrow heal quickly from shallow wounds such as arrows inflict,” it said, its mouth inches from her ear. Keren shivered at the proximity of the cold voice. “When they are at full strength, no man is capable of overcoming them.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” Keren yelled. She thrashed against the Necrow’s grip, trying to turn around so she could grapple it. It merely twisted her arm further and she wilted, gasping. Samael be damned, she was sick of these fiends manhandling her!

  “It would be unfortunate if your wrist were broken,” the Necrow said calmly. “Please do not struggle.”

  “What do you want?” Keren cried.

  “To flee with you. To…accompany you…to a destination of your choosing. For many years the brethren have served Lord Belshazzar. Under his rule the Necrow fall one by one. This one shall not suffer their fate.”

  Keren gave a strangled laugh. “How do you plan to manage that? The Necrow cannot abandon the Tyrant King. He created you!”

  “His blood and will made us, but they do not sustain us. Belshazzar does not understand what he himself has wrought,” the creature said, its hand tightening. Keren gasped, and it released her. Slowly she stood, rubbing her wrist, and grudgingly turned to face it.

  “The Necrow have many secrets,” it continued. “Here is one of them: do you know what becomes of the Necrow who exist for too long in this world?”

  It paused, letting her savor the question, the wind whispering through the trees in the grey dawn.

  “What?” Keren asked warily.

  “They become men. Then they go mad.”

  Keren gaped. Necrow became men? What did that even mean?! If that were true, could the opposite happen as well? Usually in fireside stories it was the men who were cursed to become monsters. What was this creature implying by saying it was the other way around?

  “That…sounds like a good thing,” she said. Actually, if one could turn all of Belshazzar’s army into mere mortals, most of Herayon’s problems might be solved!

  The Necrow’s mouth thinned. “So you would think; yet it is a terrible thing. The transformation inevitably leads to the devastation of one’s mind and will. This metamorphosis is a mystery to which Our Lord has refused all explanation. The foreboding of it hangs over all the brethren.

  “The longer a Necrow exists, the more likely it is to suffer this fate. That is why I must abandon Lord Belshazzar, and search out answers elsewhere.”

  Keren didn’t know what to say. How could she possibly know if what it told her was true?

  The Necrow’s hands twitched. “They are coming. You must decide quickly what you will do.”

  “How do I know you aren’t deceiving me into betraying the rest of my –”

  “Such an elaborate plan would not be necessary for such a goal,” the Necrow said. “It would be far simpler for the Necrow to rip that information from you in Belshazzar’s dungeons. In any case, it is not necessary to return to your village. If there were refugees they would have long since moved elsewhere. Much was risked to free you from Belshazzar’s keep. Now, like it or not, you will be accompanied from this place.”

  Keren felt faint. “You…do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?!”

  “No. The right has been earned to make such an appeal as the price for gaining you your freedom.”

  “How can I trust a demon that can do as you do? You whisper in men’s minds, you read our thoughts, our fears, drive us before you like cattle –”

  “Truly, it is possible to force you to act through manipulation and torture. And yet you, small human, cannot deny that these tactics have not been used thus far. Rather, much effort has been made to persuade you peacefully. Why would this be done, if there were not some interest on the part of this one to behave honestly?”

  Keren considered it for a moment. Why would this Necrow be trying to coax her with reason, rather than with threats? Surely there were easier ways to get what it wanted.

  Unless what it said was actually true.

  Keren weighed her options. Her stake lay a little ways away, out of reach. The arrows she had extracted from the creature’s body were still in her den where she had stashed them last night. The sun was about to rise, and there was no telling how near the search parties were to finding them.

  Unless the other Necrow really could be manipulated into staying away…

  “Take off the mask.” Keren said.

  The Necrow seemed taken aback. “Why?”

  “It’s disturbing, and it’s just a symbol of the atrocities committed by you and your king. Leave it here, and I’ll let you come with me.”

  The Necrow’s hands twitched convulsively, indicating some impulse Keren could not fathom. It slowly lifted a finger and pried the bone mask from its face.

  For all its attempts to make the gesture seem careless, Keren could tell it took a great effort of will. The mask hung in its fingers a moment, shivering, then dropped into the snow. The creature’s hands continued to shake as it stood there, allowing her to examine it.

  Its face was shaped like a man’s: well-carved, with strong cheekbones and arching brows. It may have been a handsome face, had it not borne the mottled colors of death. Keren flinched despite herself. At least its eyes were closed – she did not think she could bear to look at them.

  She turned away, now wondering whether she liked the thing less without the mask after all.

  Keren returned to her burrow, retrieved the saddlebag and rifled through its contents. It seemed the Necrow had been well prepared for this escape: there was food, water, a set of clothing, boots, flint, and a map.

  Keren stuffed a strip of dried jerky into her mouth, then seized the clothes and went to hide behind a tree, struggling to pull on the oversized shirt and trousers before she froze to death.

  “How long have you been planning this?” she called.

  “Long before you were captured. Supplies were always kept stocked in preparation. It was unclear when the opportunity would arise to act.” The Necrow walked over and put the supplies back into the bag. Then it hoisted the sack over one shoulder and strode around the tree.

  “What are you doing?!” Keren squealed, yanking the trousers up around her hips. “I came over here for a reason!”

  “Your nakedness does not offer me the same temptation to debauchery as it did to Malthusias,” the Necrow said dryly. “You should be grateful that his attempt to ravish you was cut short.”

  Keren grimaced as she re-settled the black cloak around her shoulders. “That thing had a name?”

  “Yes. He was sufficiently fallen to corruption that he saw fit to give himself a human title.” The Necrow seemed to glower a moment. Then it took hold of Keren’s wrist – gently, this time. “Enough time has been wasted on words. The brethren seek us in force, and we must make haste from here.”

  Keren resisted its touch for a moment, then thought better of it and allowed herself to be led through the woods. “Why? You said your will was strong enough to keep them away!”


  “It is,” the Necrow replied, “Yet it is also wearisome and pointless when we could simply flee beyond their reach.”

  Keren thought this rather sardonic for some reason, but said nothing. Instead she looked back over her shoulder at the deep tracks they left behind.

  The sun was stealing over the high peaks of the mountains, and the winter dawn was rent with sharp divides between dark and light. The newly fallen snow woke to life, blazing beneath skeletal trees with arms cast into inky shadow. Yet the skeletons also wore mantles of diamonds, burning brightly like the silhouettes of angels.

  Not so distant was Belshazzar’s fortress, a black gash marring the nearest mountain face. Its battlements stood watch forbiddingly over the realm of life. On the highest turret stood a figure clad in a crimson robe; Keren imagined it as a speck of blood poised to plunge into the abyss. Then a shaft of morning light stabbed at her eyes, and the vision was gone.

  She stumbled in the oversized boots, and decided to concentrate on keeping her footsteps in line with those of the Necrow, who pushed determinedly through the snowy drifts. Her fevered mind roiled, trying to shape coherent thoughts out of the strangeness around her. It was as if she followed a specter into an uncanny realm where life and death had lost their meaning.

  “Malthusias.”

  The dead spirit looked back at her, its face hidden in the pit of its cowl. “What of him?”

  “What…what did you do to him?”

  “Malthusias was taken off guard. After being overpowered in a test of wills, he was impaled to the ground with daggers so that he could not pursue us.”

  Keren blanched. Grateful as she was from being spared further humiliation from that monster, it was still disgusting to think of it being skewered and staked to the floor, suffering for hours until one of its comrades happened to find it. Disgusting, but not sad.

  The Necrow seemed to sense her feelings. “It was necessary.”

  “I wasn’t blaming you.”

  Suddenly they halted, and Keren was surprised to see the same little horse she had scared off last night. The animal nickered to itself as it nosed through the snow for old grass, its reins dragging along the ground.

  How had it gotten here? Rather, how had they gotten here? Keren looked around and noticed they hadn’t been travelling directly away from the keep; merely wandering parallel to the road in a more or less arbitrary fashion. It seemed, then, that the Necrow had been searching for the beast on purpose. The horse’s trail must have been obvious to anyone with a decent amount of wood-lore. Still, how had it known?

  Keren was still standing in bewilderment, contemplating the possibilities as the Necrow checked the horse’s saddle and re-tied the saddlebags. It led the animal over and offered her a foot up. Keren accepted, then made a fuss out of arranging her overlarge cloak and baggy trousers in the saddle. The Necrow only stopped to check that she was securely on board before continuing through the drifts, leading the mare beside him.

  They traveled in silence awhile, Keren slipping between wakefulness and half-dreams. She was still exhausted from the terrors and revelations of the previous day, still unwilling to accept that any of this was real. In the meantime, she entertained herself with speculations about what was really going on.

  They were traveling in circles. When they rounded the next tree they would encounter a Necrow raiding party waiting for them. Silent as death, swift as crows descending upon a corpse. They could not escape them; no one could. Then Malthusias would have her, and his master too, and she would die from the horror and the shame, just as the others had, all alone…

  Keren glanced at the dark figure beside her, and felt as if she reached out her hand it would dissolve into smoke. The longer the silence drew out, the less she was willing to believe it was real.

  “How is it you can talk?” she asked. “I’ve never heard a Necrow talk before.”

  “The Necrow are capable of speech, but find it tedious, as it requires the effort of breathing. Meaning is conveyed more easily through direct thought. We find it peculiar that humans have not discovered this method for themselves.”

  Keren snorted. “We would have, if it was possible. How did your kind discover language, then?”

  “We read it from the minds of your people.”

  Bile rose in Keren’s throat at this remark. The Necrow hadn’t just stolen her people’s lives; they’d stolen their minds as well. She thought of Malak lying in the dungeon’s stink, hacking his life out while the Necrow stood idly by, pawing through every idea that hinted of rebellion. Had this one been among them? How many nights had it stood watch, brooding over its prisoners’ dying thoughts?

  The Necrow looked at her, and Keren thought she could feel it pacing at the borders of her mind. “Many unsavory things were done out of blind loyalty to a pitiless master. But that life is left behind. This one will kill no more innocents, nor take prisoners. You must find a way to move on.”

  “How dare you tell me to forget the injustices done to my people?” Keren cried. “You may have chosen to run away, but the rest of your brethren still kill and enslave the many tribes of Herayon. There is no ‘moving on.’ Belshazzar will continue his mad reign until he has destroyed everything we hold dear!”

  “And what will you do? Lead a rebellion against him?”

  Keren faltered. What was she planning to do? It wasn’t like she was familiar with any of the other tribes; they were all largely distrustful of one-another. She wasn’t a leader, a sage, or a warrior. She was just a girl from a now non-existent village.

  She looked askance at the Necrow. “You could rebel against him. If you were really telling the truth before, you could just waltz into Belshazzar’s fortress and kill him where he sat on his big ugly throne…If he even has a throne. You said all it took was mere willpower to overcome your friends!”

  “The Necrow are not friends,” it muttered. “And this one is incapable of rebellion. Even if it were possible to sustain willpower over the others, killing Belshazzar…” it trailed off.

  “What is it?” Keren demanded.

  “…one cannot kill him.”

  “Why? Is he immortal? Invincible?”

  “No. He is a man. Yet the Necrow are bound to him. With effort a Necrow could resist his will, but they could not bring themselves to harm him.”

  “Well then, perhaps you could break into the fortress and I could finish him off!”

  The Necrow made a choked noise that sounded a lot like laughter. “That would be…interesting to watch. But unlikely to succeed.”

  “If you don’t think I’m good enough for the job, you could always hire someone else!” Keren huffed. “All you’d have to do is seek out one of the other tribes, make them an offer –”

  “And stand meekly by as they stone me to death?”

  “Yes…I mean, no,” Keren snickered. “Although that would be interesting to watch!”

  “One must accept that plans of rebellion are unattainable. Your people cannot breach Belshazzar’s fortress, the Necrow are unable to raise a hand against him, and any attempt at cooperation is bound to fail, from mutual distrust if nothing else.”

  Keren did not see a way to argue with that. She remembered the map in the saddlebag, and carefully twisted around to fetch it out. She studied it as they traveled, trying to form some semblance of a plan. Finally she said: “We are heading south now, yes? The nearest neighboring country is Pouthenos. Some of the families from my village fled there when Belshazzar began his raids against the tribes.”

  The Necrow stirred. “Pouthenos? That country is unknown to us.”

  “Of course it is. They don’t trade with Herayon because they’re snobs, and we don’t trade with them because they’re…what did the elders call them? ‘Soulless blasphemers’. It makes sense that Belshazzar never mentioned Pouthenos to his minions. He cannot conquer Pouthenos; it is much more advanced than our small nation. They have entire cities full of people!” She waved the parchment at it. “Did you really
never bother to look at your own map?”

  “Reading is not a knowledge we possess.”

  “Oh? You were too lazy to take the time to rip that know-how out of your prisoners’ heads?”

  The Necrow turned to face her, its eyes still closed. “Does reading seem to you to be a useful skill for the Necrow to learn, given their faculties?”

  Keren blinked. That was a good question, given that the Necrow didn’t seem to like opening its eyes. She looked ahead along the unseen trail they were following, then back along the line of their tracks. The Necrow was effortlessly leading them through the maze of the trees, while also keeping to a determinedly straight line.

  “Um, what exactly are your faculties?”

  The dark figure cocked its head. “The Necrow have physical senses just as humans do. We can see, hear, smell, and feel…albeit rather poorly.”

  “Wait, you can see? I thought you were blind!”

  “Where did you come by that idea? Do the Necrow behave as blind men do?”

  “No, it’s just…I guess I assumed there must be something special about the mask. Since you have the eyes of a dead man –”

  The Necrow looked startled. “What?”

  “What?” Keren retorted.

  “You have seen Necrow eyes? Where?”

  “When I was little,” Keren said, lifting her chin defiantly. “The day the Necrow took my mother away. One of your kind stared into a pail of milk as if it was some sort of looking glass, and its eyes were like the eyes of the dead.”

  “That is peculiar. The Necrow usually take care not to let men see their faces.”

  “Why?”

  “We have our reasons.”

  “Of course you do…” Keren scoffed.

  Silence passed. The horse nickered and twitched beneath her. Keren readjusted herself in the saddle. “So…when you spoke about ‘faculties,’ you weren’t talking about your eyesight? You meant another sense?”

  The Necrow hesitated, as if unwilling to acknowledge that she had spoken.

  “What exactly did you think should be so obvious? If the Necrow can see, ‘albeit poorly’, that doesn’t explain why they don’t consult maps. It also doesn’t explain how they’re able to walk about as ably as men do with masks on their faces, or with their eyes closed!”