“What the hell am I doing here?” Aiden Spence asked himself out loud, keeping his voice lower than usual in his dangerous surroundings. The air he sucked deep into his lungs was stale, thick, and cold as a midwinter wind. Annoyed, he ran both hands through his sandy hair, tugging out some of the tangled areas where moisture had dripped from the low ceilings and dried.
Another cobweb broke onto his face and it rubbed it away quickly, leaving behind some of the residue on his neck and collar. With the grime and filth currently covering his clothing, a little spider silk wouldn’t add much. Dim light pulsated from the nesting fungus, casting the long tunnels and circular caverns of the Dry Canals in shades of blue. Littering the floor were the remains of a rushed arrival and hasty departure, creating a trail that lead directly to the areas where the caskets of the rich nobility were stored. He remembered hearing about the last minute decision to dig up all the graves, including that of the rich families of Fairweather, and moving the remains into different parts of the Canals. The priests had assured the populace involved that the hordes of undead were sealed away from the passages they would use, but the multitudes of expensive pottery and glass that lay in scattered shards along the walls said that the people didn’t quite trust the word of the priests.
“Priests,” He muttered contemptuously, “The fools couldn’t stop the spread of the plague and not even the goddess would come to help us.” Aiden shook his head, the familiar angry flame kindling inside. He wasn’t alone in his recent change of heart regarding religion. Who could believe after losing town after town to the plague and watching as loved ones died in pain only to wake from death as mindless corpses?
“Where was the goddess then with her almighty love and forgiveness? Willowpine, Water’s edge, and Haybridge—all taken and destroyed.” A lump knotted in his throat. “So close to us. How long before the plague comes for Elena and the kids?” His voice died down to a whisper and he leaned heavily against the wall. “How long?” He asked the darkness, responsibility weighing heavily. Forehead to the cold stone, Aiden rested for a moment, his eyes closed and his thoughts introspective. A family waited for him at home in the suburbs of Fairweather and it was expected that he would bring home enough coin this trip to stock the pantry for months. That was the plan, store the salted meats and bundles of dried sundries, preparing for the day the bells rang wildly with the signals for evacuation.
His skin slid away from the stone, a layer of moisture beading in the wrinkles above his brow. The thought of what bacteria he had just invited onto his body wormed through his mind until furiously, he rubbed it off. Things were going well so far and judging by the information he had bought with what meager coin he had left, the room he sought was just up ahead.
Aiden wasn’t a thief by trade and was in fact, poor at pretending to be one. Born on the outskirts of Haybridge, he had married into the family trade of game hunting. Food and money for goods had never been an issue for them until the day the plague had first cropped up in Willowpine. The illness spread rapidly, almost as if by touch, infecting volumes of the populace over the course of a single night. Appearing in the guise of a common cold, the victim’s condition degenerated rapidly into a painful death. A full day was sometimes needed for the disease to incubate and reanimate the unfortunate corpse.
When the first of the dead had risen, the priests had condemned the family as heretics and godless heathens, declaring that the infected were being punished by the goddess. As whole villages and towns collapsed into anarchy, the surrounding areas were declared as no-kill zones, cutting off the most lucrative animals of the fur trade. Left with no other choice, Aiden turned to petty thievery in the long hours of the night. Unable to face his wife and confess to being a criminal, he disguised his activities as hunting excursions. With two children and a list of debts that small crime couldn’t satisfy, he couldn’t refuse this one last job. He couldn’t fail them.
The air within the tunnels had a fall chill to it, bringing the spring breezes deep into the earth where the lack of sun made it cold. The inhabitants of the Canals didn’t complain, especially since the majorities were now the walking dead. Or milling dead as it may be, considering that the creatures tended to congregate around one another instead of roving the halls looking for escape routes. There were others to do that, undead that could still think and reason. Not that Aiden quite believed in those stories. It was impossible to think that there could be such a thing as a lich.
He turned to continue down the path when a noise stopped his feet from moving. Scratching, like a thousand tiny nails against a sharpening rock broke the silence. Moments later what must have been twenty mice came pouring from around the bend behind him, running as fast as their little paws could guide them. They drove past him like he were nothing more than a stick in the road and disappeared over the slope. Shaken, Aiden adjusted the straps on his pack and managed a weak chuckle at his jumpiness. He walked quickly in the direction the rats were headed, wondering off-handedly what would cause rats to travel in such a large herd. Not being much an expert in rat behavior beyond taking the business end of a shovel to the food-raiding rodents, he let the strange occurrence go.
The path was surprisingly short and Aiden profusely thanked the clumsiness of the grave transporters for their transgressions. Without the piles of pottery to guide him, he would have missed the shadowed fork that lead away from his direction. Cobwebs were more numerous here and he tucked his hand into his sleeve, raising his arm like a shield to push them out of the way. He came to the entrance of the first cavern, startling as a flash of green blinded him.
“Damned priests,” He cursed. “Damn them and their goddess!” Aiden snarled as he moved past the wall sized warding glyph to his right. The glyph was designed to keep the undead out of certain locations, allowing only those with a beating heart enter. It was the only defense the priests had found that could work against the plague victims, but the expense of a glyph was high and therefore glyphs were reserved for the entrances and exits of the Dry Canals. Realizing what this meant, a wide smile crossed his face. A glyph here meant someone wanted this place secure and he didn’t believe for a second it was to preserve the memory of some long dead relative. Eagerly he moved inward, the smell of treasure sweet to his nose.
The cavern opened up into a circular room with smooth walls and rectangular slots cut to fit individual caskets. Though the glyph couldn’t keep spiders out, the area was in surprisingly clean and good shape. All the stone removed from the holes had been carted out and the floors swept. In addition to the large locked boxes, big enough for a grown man to stand on, there were smaller ones and ornate urns tucked into the slots. It was common for the wealthy to decree in their will what fineries were to be buried with them and Aiden intended to feed his family with the profits of their vanity.
He headed for the nearest box and clambered on top, standing still for a moment to test the load bearing capacity of the structure. Then he took the small eye-level urn, tracing the hand carved designs with a fingertip. His broken reflection was met with a grin. The cap unscrewed with some effort, the aged sand seal breaking under the pressure. He turned it over, a perfectly preserved brooch with gold and sapphire accents tumbling to a halt in his palm. Unbelieving, he couldn’t take his eyes from the jewelry. He had expected to find bronze, maybe even silver, but gold on his first attempt! His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and with a giddy smile on his face he tossed the urn back into its hiding place and went hunting for more.
Hours later, his pack loaded down with jewelry, cups and exotic spools of thread from across the Tan’sin Strait, Aiden headed out of the cavern with his spirits soaring. He left his good sense of caution behind with the broken urns and discarded boxes that had tipped off the ledges and crashed to the floor. The glyph flared as he passed by and he gave it a salute. “Thanks for the help!” He said cheerfully. Maybe the priests had a use after all.
Stepping into the hallway, Aiden barely suppressed the urge to whistle. For the father in his early thirties, he nearly skipped like a schoolchild on the last day before summer break. Elena and the kids would eat well for not a few months, but all year long! Strolling along casually, Aiden’s foot caught on a shard of pottery, causing it to slide across the ground with a loud screech. He froze, remembering suddenly where he was and what else was potentially with him. Instantly his body heat had risen and his heart hammered. Looking as far as he could in the dim light, there was nothing else in the tunnel up to the point where it curved.
The light darkened further, his view dwindling to a few feet in front of him and a cold feeling shimmied up his spine. His breathing became labored, choked out by inevitable panic. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else here. His eyes fixated on the looming shadow that fast fuzzily on the floor. Walk, don’t look, you fool, don’t look! He told himself, the mental commands going unheeded as his shoulder turned backward, his torso following. His eyes were the last to maneuver, resisting to the end. The blue lights pulsed brightly and in that moment every feature on the obstacle became strikingly clear.
Ragged hair hung down to its waist, covering what facial features it may have had. Threadbare cloth that may have once been a robe or dress hung limply from its hunched form. Its arm stretched out toward him, the flesh completely torn away in most areas, leaving only strips of exposed, rotting meat and chunks of cartilage wedged in the joints. Aiden couldn’t look any further than the long bones of its fingers, sharpened to points.
Horror wracked his mind and all he could think was that he had failed them. He wasn’t cautious enough and now they would starve without him. How could he be so selfish and stupid? He was going to die here, becoming the next meal of this abomination.
The fingertips moved, curling inward and then elongating again in an inviting gesture that said, “Come here.” Aiden took this in numbly, his mouth dry and his mind blank. He had to begin thinking again if he were going to make it out alive. The undead can’t communicate. He thought wildly. They can’t even keep themselves from lunging at the nearest living, breathing target! Yet this one stood, rooted no more than ten feet away, beckoning him forward.
Aiden gulped in breath, willing away the paralyzing but well-founded fear. There were options here, if this creature wasn’t going to attack immediately. He thought about trying to talk to it but he feared that any speech would break this miraculous spell that kept it from lunging forward and driving those needles into his eyes.
There was no other choice. Run. The word was simple, easy to repeat and even easier to obey. Run or die. Aiden tensed and then his body sprang into motion. Running was second-nature to him, his legs eager to obey and his feet finding good purchase on the rough stone floor.
Behind him something roared an inhuman sound unlike any he had ever heard before. His ears stopped listening to the echoing reverberations of it and focused on his heartbeat. Run, he could run for hours, for days, for weeks and years if it took him away from that thing and out of this deathtrap. He rounded the corner and jumped down the cut stairway, taking the steps three and four at a time. There were no railings here to help him along, only pure momentum.
The stairs gave way into the grand cavern and he blindly dashed between the two hunched figures, barely taking note of their lifeless status. Suddenly the tunnel entrance in front of him slipped from view and he came crashing to the floor. His hands braced most of the impact, leaving only his chin to smack hard on the stone.
A vise tightened around his ankle and he yelled in pain and surprise. Lying on the ground was the half-eaten corpse of what may have been a woman when its head was more intact. The maggots swarmed the facial area but the mouth still opened and hissed at him. His free foot kicked out and stomped down on the hand holding him until it released him. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled to get back on course. It was then that the ones in the shadows converged into view, shambling from the shadowed corners and closing in on him.
Grabbing the long knife he held strapped to his belt, Aiden raised it in puny defense against the creatures which felt no pain and could not be killed. After all, how did you kill something that had already died? Dozens of teeth, blackened and crusted with the blood of others gnashed in anticipation, the foam blood of a recent kill frothing out of mouths and to the floor. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to die at the hands of these if he knew they weren’t going to just rip him apart like a Sunday feast. Raising back his dagger to slash at the nearest one, his eyes slipped closed and he asked the goddess he didn’t quite believe in to look after his family.
“Sssstopph..” The garbled command made his eyes shoot open and look around.
The undead halted their advance, a strange passive look crossing each grotesque face. One by one they parted and the same creature he had met in the hall stepped through like a king addressing his court. Its razor tipped hands rose and dropped, along with them the undead fell to their collective knees looking as comical as animated dolls. It turned to him and Aiden tensed to run again. This was his chance!
“Do not movve.” It’s speech was clipped and forced but the menacing edge promised death if he stayed and death if he ran. Who knew how many of these things waited in the next room? It was a clear three tunnels and four rooms to freedom beyond. How and why did it speak to him? Was it a phantom tinge of loneliness that made it seek another who could converse?
“What,” Aiden gagged on his own words, being forced to cough out some of the dust that had been lodged in his throat. “What do you want?” He finished, hoping that it would speak next, not attack.
“You, breeatherr.” It wheezed, dragging out its words.
“Me? Why me?” he asked, genuinely confused. Breather? Was that what it called the living?
“You do not rememmberr me.” It stated, stepping closer to him. His feet shuffled backward slowly.
“Stop!” It snarled, the pointed fingers balling to fists. Aiden froze.
“Who are you?” He whispered.
The creature grinned, the blue-black flaps of skin stretching far back away from the remains of its teeth. Then it lunged, arms and fingers outstretched, faster than he could react. It grabbed him by the right arm, digging the razor points into the soft flesh of his upper arm.
Its head rolled close to his face, the stench of rot permeating every pore on Aiden’s body. His stomach rolled but he had worse things to be concerned with. The fingers dug in deeper sending ripples of pain up through his shoulder and he was forced to release his knife. The clatter of the blade on the stone floor was like funeral bells in his mind.
“Kelsey..” It purred. The other hand coming up to stroke the left side of his face in an almost endearing manner. The little points of its fingers scored the surface of his skin and it seemed fixated on the motion.
“Kelsey Smith?” Aiden dug the name up from memory. He choked at the thought. Kelsey had been a childhood playmate of his, sent away as a teenager to work in the household of one of the wealthy families in Haybridge.
The sound of its name being repeated seemed to have some effect on it. The stroking motion on his cheek stopped and it looked at him. He forced himself to meet the gaze of those empty eye sockets.
“Yess.” It hissed, easing the grip on his arm.
He used the moment to study it, seeing for the first time the wide expanse of a tattered but useable scarf that wrapped around its neck tightly.
“So alone.. Aidenn. Dark and cold.. Wants you should stay heerre with us.” It purred again but he paid no mind to its words. The cloth slipped as it spoke, revealing the gaping hole in the side of its neck. If he could somehow manage to rip it further, it may be enough to get the creature to let go of him and give him a head start. It would have to be a perfectly timed shot. He inched free the thin stiletto he kept for emergencies secure in the cuff of his shirt. The hilt slipped into his palm.
“Stay with you?” He asked, hoping to keep it talking.
“Yess..” It grinned again, resuming the scratching on his cheek. “Join me Aidenn..”
“I’ll be like them if I die Kelsey.” He tossed a glance behind her shoulders where the undead waited like docile cows.
“Noo.. You will be like meee..”
“How?”
“You eat fresh.. alive… it keeps you from being themm.” The creature purred, petting him like a favored cat.
“Alive..?”
“Yess.” Its voice rasped deeper, as though it enjoyed the thought of fresh meat at that moment. In all likelihood it did. “Submit, Aidenn. Submit to me.”
“I..” He adjusted his grip on the knife, bringing it waist level.
“Yess.” It sighed, releasing the grip on his arm and tilting its head to the side as though it would rest its head on his shoulder. He knew better, the tender portion of his neck was there. It planned to eat him alive then.
“I will not submit.” He spat the words, pushing it backward and slashing through a good portion of what held its neck together. Rancid blood bubbled up out of it, spurting. His arm flew up as he tried to shield his face. The creature gurgled but its arms kept working, grasping toward him. Anger surged through him at last.
“Just die Kelsey!” He growled, lunging onto the flailing body and stabbing at it wildly.
Soon though, the sounds of the undead stirring broke through his red haze and he looked up to see the serene look fading from the creatures. Quickly he backed up, leaving the stiletto imbedded in what was left of Kelsey’s body. Before the undead had a chance to box him in again, Aiden was on his feet running again for his life, the thick acrid taste of Kelsey’s blood on his lips and stinging his wounds. He couldn’t be concerned with cleaning it off now, not with the other undead so close behind.
Aiden burst from the dark of the Dry Canals to a quiet night. No birds or insects serenaded so close to the entrance of this place and it was almost as if they could sense the evil locked within. He stumbled onto his knees, his lungs heaving and heart straining from the exertion.
Nearby he could hear the quiet rush of clean mountain spring water and he navigated to it. Washing his face and hands he pulled off his shirt and rinsed the wound on his arm. The creature’s pointed nails had left three long gashes deep in the skin. His blood continued to stream down his arm like little red rivers. His tongue tingled from where the foul substance had slipped in, mingling with his saliva.
The enormity of the situation rushed to him as his adrenaline faded. A lich was what the newspapers had called it. Undead but still retaining some portions of its memory and abilities to communicate, Aiden wondered if he should let someone know that the liches could command the others as well. He shook the thought from his head, there was no way he would risk being caught. A thief could expect dismemberment but a grave robber could only expect death.
Sinking back to his knees, he let the nauseating feelings wash over him. Beyond all else, he couldn’t stand the thought of that Kelsey creature’s blood in his stomach. Though his skin was clean he continued spooning water onto his wounded arm, rubbing his thumb deep into the cut to make it bleed again. The area was beginning to swell but he could still feel the burning cold of where Kelsey had touched him. His cheek sizzled as if he had been struck by acid.
The sensation intensified and he cupped that side of his face, his teeth gritted in pain. Soon the wound on his arm followed suit, the agony turned his stomach and as it magnified. His vision swam, the spring in front of him spinning. Aiden’s eyes closed with his head dropping to his chest and his body collapsing to the ground.
Near to morning he awoke again. His tongue felt thick, almost slimy and he could think of nothing more than a long drink. The water was clear and pure to the taste. It was curious to him why the Fairweather inhabitants had banned the use of this spring since the plague victims had been forced into the tunnels.
That tingle of knowledge crept down his spine again. If they had banned the spring on the superstition that it may be tainted, what then would they say about the blood of the undead that soaked the front of his shirt? His hands shook as he brought out the shirt again and began furiously washing the black off the fabric. No one knows, he affirmed to himself. The path leading to the canal entrance had been long disused. Locals made signs of warding upon even looking down the cobbled road; their superstition seeped in the reality of what lay beyond the priest’s seal.
“What would Elena think of me now? Creeping around tombs and robbing the dead?” Aiden gulped down another handful of water. “It’s not as if they don’t deserve it!” He reasoned. “The rich fools! What were they thinking, burying their trinkets with them as if they could take it to the after life. Last I checked
His cousin had been one of those tossed out to the streets when the plague had hit the outskirts of Haybridge. Later the priests had condemned the act, fining the pompous bastards. A slap on the hand, it was! No one saw the products that coin bought and it was well known that the fines went into the Church’s larder. It was said there was enough gold ferreted away in the false walls and underground vaults, to finance each of the Five Fifes for two years.
The sky began to brighten with the first rays of dawn. Soon the roosters in the town below would crow, waking the farmers for the next day. He needed to get back to the inn before the world stirred. The disturbance he left on the path he had covered as well as he could, regretting only the rope he had been forced to cut through in order to open the gate. He had frayed the ends to make it seem as if an animal had chewed through and could only hope that no one would suspect further. The pack pulled on his shoulder, reminding him that the hard part was behind him and he left the Dry Canals without looking back.
