Death of a Darklord

TWENTY-FIVE

Jonathan stood at the open window in Tereza's room. Dawn had come at last. It spread in a soft wash over the village. The sky was white and heavy with snow, and fresh white flakes had filled the street below, deep and thick with footprints. The dead had wandered the streets until perhaps an hour before dawn. Jonathan had listened to them squabbling in the dark. What did the dead have to quarrel over? Why did they stay here in a town prepared for them?

There were hundreds of zombies, a veritable army of the dead. They could move outward into the countryside and raid everything in their path. Here in Cortton the town hid in its upper stories, the livestock below. The livestock living inside had originally been protected against wolves. No wolves now came near Cortton. Even they feared the dead.

Who had done this? Why had they done it? No matter how evil the perpetrator, there had always been a plan-some logic, no matter how twisted. A great deal of magical energy had been used here, but for what purpose? Jonathan could find nothing that the zombies had gained for anyone.

The town had been a center of commerce, but no farmer would come near it now. Traveling merchants would not enter the main street. The meistersinger's reassurance of daylight safety hadn't helped. After what he had seen in the night, Jonathan could not blame anyone for avoiding the town.

A breeze had come with the dawn, an icy finger of wind that trailed down Jonathan's spine as if he stood bare before the window. He shivered, and could not seem to stop.

"Jonathan," Tereza's voice, hoarse, faint, but there. He turned with a smile. She held one hand out to him. The hand trembled, but the smile on her lips was firm.

He knelt beside the bed, taking her hand in both of his hands. He pressed her fingers to his lips. "How do you feel this fine morning, my wife?"

Her smile widened. "Better than last night."

He spoke with his lips against the back of her hand. "Is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry?"

"Did Elaine or Elaine come back last night?"

It was the one question he did not want to answer, but he could not lie to her face. He'd never been able to lie to those dark eyes. "Mo, they did not."

She struggled to sit up but fell back against the pillows. "We must go after them. We must. help them."

"Tereza, either they found shelter last night, or they do not need our help."

"No, Jonathan. I don't believe they are dead."

"Tereza, please…."

She tried to sit up again but fell back, gasping this time. Her skin paled, and a beading of sweat broke on her skin.

"Tereza, you are too hurt to go anywhere."

She turned her face to the wall, pulling her hand from his grasp. "No, Jonathan. 1 won't give up."

"There are hundreds of undead in the streets at night. Hundreds. I watched them from this window.

There is no survival out of doors in Cortton after dark."

She turned her head, tears glittering in her eyes. "Then find their bodies."

He looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. He was a coward. He did not want to tell her there would be no bodies to find.

"What is it? What are you keeping from me?"

He looked up. Something like a smile twisted his lips, but there was no joy to it. "I could never lie to you, could I?"

"No, and don't start trying now. What is it?"

"The town council demanded to speak with me last night. They said all who died in Cortton rose to walk the night."

"Those that died of the plague," she said.

"No, my love, all who die in Cortton rise as undead." He watched the horror spread across her face, the realization of what that meant for their 'children.

"No, Jonathan, not that. I might be able to bear their being dead, but not that. Please, Jonathan, not that."

He held her good hand and cradled her head in his arms. He held her while she cried, but did not cry himself. He had insisted Elaine come. If she had been safely at home, Blaine would not have had to go in search of her. It was his fault, his doing. Jonathan would not let himself cry. He didn't deserve it.

A scream cut the morning, a wordless wail that held all the pain in the world. The sound froze Jonathan, heart pounding in his chest. Feet clattered up the stairs. The sound seemed to release him. He stood, moving gently from the circle of Tereza's arms.

"What was that?" she asked.

He shook his head, but he feared he knew. He opened the door and found a crowd of people filling the opposite doorway.

Jonathan pushed through the people until he stood in the doorway. Fredric had dropped to his knees, head bowed. Randwulf stood to one side of the bed. His young face raw with grief. Silvanus sat in the narrow bed, holding Averil's limp body. He rocked her as he would a child, but her arms flopped with every movement like those of a broken doll.

Silvanus was saying something, over and over, too soft for Jonathan to hear. Konrad stood at the window, staring out at the morning light. His hands were clasped so hard behind his back, the veins corded in his forearms.

The white-haired doctor stood in the middle of the room. For a man that had seen a great deal of death, he seemed at a loss.

Jonathan took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He went to Konrad. "What happened?"

Konrad shot him a quick, harsh glance out of the corners of his green eyes. "She lost too much blood. Then the wound became inflamed. The fever burned her alive. No herb or potion that I had helped her."

"What of her own potions that she brought with her?"

"She used the last on her father."

Jonathan glanced at the bed. Everyone seemed stunned, unable or unwilling to do anything. He stepped forward, past the stupefied doctor. He could hear what Silvanus was muttering now.

"I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her." It was a piteous litany. His voice squeezed tight with grief and guilt. Yes, Jonathan recognized the taste of guilt. It was too strong in his own mouth not to know it in others.

He placed a gentle hand on the elf's shoulder. Silvanus did not notice. He rocked his dead daughter in his arms as if her limp body were the center of the world. And for that one moment, perhaps it was.

Jonathan squeezed the elf's shoulder. "Silvanus?" He made the name a question.

The elf gave a sobbing cough and looked up at him. Those golden eyes swam with tears. The tears looked like mercury sliding down his cheeks, as silver as the elf's hair was gold. Elves cried silver tears. The sight of it startled Jonathan down to the soles of his feet, tingling. The sight was astonishing, the grief unbearable.

"Silvanus. " Words failed him. What could he say? I'm sorry wasn't enough. I grieve with you was a lie. He hadn't known Averil, not really. He'd have traded her life for Elaine's in a moment. "There are no words, but I am deeply sorry for your loss."

"I tried to raise her from the dead. All these years it came easily to me. But this time, when I would have given my whole soul for the power, it did not come. Why?"

Some questions had no answers, or at least none that we wanted to hear. "I don't know, Silvanus. I don't know."

He hugged her to his chest, his one good arm tight against her back. The missing arm was longer, and the stump helped hold her in place. The sight of the growing stump made Jonathan's stomach clench. Nausea burned at the back of his throat. He took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed. He would not let his own fears make this hideous scene worse.

"We have to tend the dead before dark," the doctor said. His voice sounded ordinary enough. Jonathan wondered why he himself felt so startled. He had seen many scenes of grief before.

Silvanus shook his head, rocking faster. Averil's hand slapped the bedframe with a meaty thunk.

Every few moments; thunk-thunk-thunk. That one sound seemed worse than all the others.

Randwulf rushed forward, grabbing both the elf and his dead daughter in his arms. Hugging them both. He held them close and the awful sound stopped.

Randwulf's head was bent over Silvanus's shoulder. There was a large bump at the top of the boy's spine. Jonathan couldn't remember it being there before, when he saw Elaine heal the old wound.

He shook his head. Now was not the time.

"We have sent for the undertaker," the doctor said.

Silvanus's head snapped up, rage sparkling through the tears. "No, not yet."

"We must have her out of doors by dark," the doctor said.

"Why?" Silvanus asked.

Jonathan made a movement to attract the doctor's attention. He gave a small shake of his head. The doctor frowned, not seeming to understand.

Jonathan walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, directing him toward the door. "I think we should give Silvanus a few moments alone with his grief."

"But we can't have a dead body inside…"

"I know that," Jonathan said softly, "but it is an hour past sunup. We have time."

The doctor shook his head, eyes wide with what Jonathan now recognized as fear. "The undertaker is on his way. We must…"

Jonathan practically shoved the doctor through the door, pushing the crowd aside. When they were in the hallway, he spoke, low and urgent, "They do not know that all dead in this cursed village rise to walk the night. And you will not be the one to tell them."

The doctor's mouth made a little O of surprise. "It is my duty to protect this town."

"And a fine job you're doing. Now get out."

The doctor sputtered, protesting. "I am the doctor here. You are to find the source of this evil, but I am to protect the living."

Thordin had come up. He stood at Jonathan's side, simply staring at the doctor. There was really nothing in the look that Jonathan found frightening. It was just Thordin, but the doctor paled.

"I think you had better leave," Thordin said in a low, careful voice.

The doctor's eyes widened, then without another word, he fled down the stairs.

"You must be a great deal more frightening than I think you are," Jonathan said.

Thordin shrugged. "The doctor scares easy."

"That he does," Jonathan said. "It might be interesting to find out why."

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. It was enough, no words needed. Thordin went to follow the doctor or perhaps to question him, Jonathan didn't care which. Who better to corrupt the dead and dying than a doctor? The village had only one. Who would question him?

He heard Tereza calling his name faintly through the other door. He opened the door with a smile that was all lies. Averil's death was one more reminder of their own loss.

"The girl's dead, isn't she?" Tereza asked.

Jonathan nodded, leaving the door half open behind him. "I may be needed in the other room. Silvanus does not know …" He let the thought trail off.

"That all dead rise again as zombies," she finished.

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking her offered hand.

"We must try and find their bodies, Jonathan. We can use fire to destroy them so they won't rise."

Jonathan could not meet her eyes.

"Husband, look at me," she said.

He raised his head and met her dark gaze. "You were always braver than I."

"I am more practical. That isn't the same thing at all, Jonathan. The thought of … of watching them burn. A new zombie looks living. It would be like burning them alive."

"They won't be alive, Tereza."

"We must do it for the sakes of their souls, but…"

"You are too ill to move from this bed. I will do what is necessary."

She squeezed his hand. "Averil must be treated the same way."

"What I can't understand is why the villagers haven't been burning the bodies, themselves."

"They may not know that fire destroys the body completely," she said.

"The undertaker should have known. Any keeper of the dead in Kartakass has to be aware of how to keep the dead from rising."

"Perhaps it is the old dead that fill the streets."

Jonathan shook his head. "I will find out today. Before another night falls, I will have answers."

"So quickly?"

"We have lost a great deal in one night. I will not lose anyone else. We will find who is behind this."

"You have some ideas. I can see it in your face."

"Yes, I have some suspects."

"Who?"

He glanced back at the open door. "Later. Let me see how Silvanus fairs. I promise to come back and tell you all my theories. You know that I do my best thinking while explaining things to you."

She gave a small smile. "I know."

He kissed her cheek and left, closing the door behind him.

Konrad had shooed the idle gawkers away. He stood guard over the door, hands on chest, and wore a forbidding expression. Suddenly, his face changed, a look of astonishment crumbled it into lines of shock. He was staring at something over Jonathan's shoulder, something coming up the stairs.

Jonathan turned. Elaine was ascending. He felt his own mouth drop open with surprise. She looked as she always looked. Clothes covered in dirt and blood, but it was her.

She was a few steps from the top when Konrad broke and ran for her. He lifted her bodily up the last steps, whirling her around in the narrow hallway. He put her down, and they were both laughing. Konrad was laughing. It was the first joy Jonathan had seen in him since his wife died.

Konrad set her on the floor and hugged her again. "Elaine, Elaine, Elaine." He seemed unwilling to let her go.

Jonathan stood there with tears running down his face, mingling with his beard. Her blue eyes glanced at him. He held his arms wide, and she ran to him. He hugged her to his chest, burying his face in the top of her hair. Her arms held him as if she would never let him go.

"I am so sorry for all I said, Elaine."

"It doesn't matter." She pushed away from him, enough to look up into his face. There was something in her eyes, some knowledge that left Jonathan frightened. He was suddenly cold all over as if he'd been dropped in icy water.

"Where's Blaine?" His voice was choked and soft. He knew the answer. It was there in her eyes.

"Gone," she said. One word, not even the right word. Gone, not dead. Mustn't say that word aloud. Gone.

"Are you sure?" Konrad was with them, hand on Elaine's back. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, burying her face against Jonathan's chest. She did not cry, as dry inside as a seashell left on a high shelf to gather dust and dream of lost paradises.

He had believed them both dead, or said he did, but Jonathan realized now it was a lie. He hadn't really believed. It was true for one of them, and he couldn't think. One question came to his mind. "How?" he asked. Somehow that seemed important.

She took a deep shuddering breath and stepped away from him. She stood in the center of the hallway, hands close against her body, tight as if afraid to touch anything. "He was trying to save me. He died saving me." She raised her face and looked at them. The hatred in her eyes pierced him to his soul. Self-hatred was the hardest wound to heal.

"We were trying to climb onto a roof to get away from the dead. He fell." She held out her hands to the empty air. "I tried to save him. I offered him my hand, but he wouldn't take it. Why wouldn't he take it?"

Konrad stepped toward her, gently, as he would approach a wounded animal. "If he had taken your hand, would you both have fallen?"

She looked at him, eyes stricken. She nodded, then hid her face in her hands and said, muffled, "Yes, yes, yes."

Konrad touched her shoulder. She flinched, but did not step away. He encircled her in his arms, and she let him.

"Tereza needs to see you, Elaine," Jonathan said. His voice still sounded distant, as if someone else were speaking.

She looked at him, pain so plain in her face that it was like a physical force. "Must I keep telling it over and over again?"

"Let her see you are safe, then I will tell her."

Elaine took a deep breath, leaning into Konrad's body, seeming to take strength from his touch. Even through his numbness, Jonathan looked at the two of them and saw something he hadn't before-a couple. He shook his head. Time enough for that.

He opened the door, forcing a smile on his lips. "Tereza, Elaine is safe."

Konrad led her through the door, arm still protectively around her shoulders. Tereza's cry of, «Elaine» and her reaching hand were pure joy.

Jonathan stood back and let his wife have her reunion, her moment of relief and happiness, before it occurred to her that someone was missing. He watched the happy tears and waited.