It was in that moment that they saw the first body. It was completely skeletal, half covered in thick dust and debris, and it lay exposed in the middle of the thoroughfare, an arm stretched out as if reaching for something in its dying moments. Both men stopped dead when they saw it, Rekkit’s skin tingling uncomfortably as a cold sweat broke out all over him. Next to him, Olaf whimpered.
“It’s okay Olaf, it’s just a body,” Rekkit said, his voice tremulous and unconvincing even to his own ears. He’d seen bodies before but this one made his blood run cold. He reached out a hand to comfort Olaf, or maybe it was to reassure himself, and found that his partner’s skin was clammy. Olaf was shaking, staring at the body in wide-eyed terror. Part of Rekkit wanted to run as fast as he could away from there but he hardened his resolve; he hadn’t spent twenty five years as a thief to run away from the best opportunity of his life.
“Okay this is what we’re going to do,” he said, forcing confidence into his voice that he didn’t feel. “We’re going to go into that mansion up ahead,” he continued, indicating a large, opulent looking building which had both a dome and two minarets. “We’re going to fill these bags with valuables and get the hell out of here. How’s that sound?” He looked at Olaf, who was too terrified to do more than jerk his head in what Rekkit presumed was a nod. Grabbing the fat man’s arm, he propelled him forwards.
As they walked towards the mansion they came across more bodies in the street, in gardens and even in a dried up fountain. What had appeared to be bumps in the grass of the once-luxurious gardens turned out to be more corpses, left to moulder there for so long they’d become part of the landscape. Rekkit’s pulse thudded rapidly in his throat. What terrible thing had happened here?
Something about the bodies struck him as strange. Most of them were so old they were just bundles of bones, partially covered by weeds and dust, but there were a few that looked as if they died more recently. They lay exposed on years of accumulated dirt, with long strips of decaying tissue still clinging to many of the bones. All the signs pointed to a sudden and mass extinction of the people in this city; the abandoned houses, the dinner tables set for supper, the ancient skeletons. So what had killed these other people, years after the original catastrophe?
Fighting against every screaming instinct in his body, Rekkit dragged Olaf all the way to the mansion. The fat man was clinging to him now, whimpering again as they progressed up the long entranceway. Rekkit kept his eyes steadfastly ahead, refusing to look closely at the numerous mounds in the grass, focussing instead on the heavy, brass-studded doors ahead. On reaching them, he stretched out his slender-fingered hands and placed them on one of the doors, giving it a tentative shove. The door shifted slightly, scraping noisily across two inches of floor. Rekkit pushed again, harder this time, and the door screeched backwards on protesting hinges. Halfway through its reluctant swing the upper hinge snapped entirely, the enormous door tilting precariously away from Rekkit as it started to topple. Olaf let out a squeak as he leapt backwards in fright. The heavy door gave in to gravity, snapping the other hinge holding it in place and crashing to the floor with a tremendous booming sound.
Both men’s shoulders tensed involuntarily and they held their breath as the booming sound echoed around the cavernous entrance hall. Rekkit let his breath hiss out between his teeth; if he’d been less frightened he would have cursed. If anyone or any
thing
lived in this place then their presence would no longer be a secret. They waited silently for a minute, but when no sound issued from within the darkened interior of the building, Rekkit gathered his courage and clamped a hand on Olaf’s trembling forearm.
“Come on, it’s now or never,” he hissed quietly, leading his terrified partner over the threshold into a grand hallway. Several archways led off into different rooms, and Rekkit selected the largest and most formal of them to go through first. They passed the foot of a magnificent staircase, sweeping upwards into shadow, and went through the ornately carved archway into what must have been a primary reception room.
Mouldered couches that must once have been lavishly upholstered lay scattered about the room. Picture frames had fallen to the floor, the once-bright paintings faded and ravaged by time. A huge marble fireplace stood as grand as it ever had, untouched by decay and covered in a thick layer of dust, but what got Rekkit’s attention right away were the ornaments resting on top of it. The numbing fear receded as greed reasserted itself in his mind, and he paced as fast as his painful ribs would allow over to the fireplace, reaching out for the largest ornament. His hand settled around the gratifyingly solid object. It was too heavy to lift with his broken rib, so he settled instead for brushing off the dust.
His heart started thumping with excitement as the unmistakable gleam of gold was revealed.
“Olaf, come here!” he called urgently, moving on to the next ornament, and then the next, brushing off enough dust from each to reveal more of the precious metal. Spinning round he faced Olaf with a victorious grin. “I told you there’d be treasure!” he said triumphantly. “We just need to take one of these each and we’re set for life,” he said, indicated the golden objects on top of the mantelpiece. “Olaf!” he snapped in frustration when the fat man didn’t even look at him. Olaf was staring past Rekkit at something, his mouth moving soundlessly. “Olaf!” Rekkit said angrily, but then he noticed a wet patch blossoming in the crotch of Olaf’s leggings and spreading down his leg.
Seized by sudden dread, Rekkit slowly turned around to face the mouldering couch Olaf was staring at. It wasn
’t the couch itself that held his partner’s attention, but was what was on it. A body lay sprawled across the couch, not decayed like the others but still fresh. It lay on its back, its limbs splayed as if it had been dropped there by a giant hand. Without really knowing why, Rekkit shuffled slowly towards it. What was such a fresh corpse doing here? How long ago had it died? His heart practically jumping out of his chest, Rekkit got a better view of its face as he drew near. He was only slightly relieved when he saw that whoever this had been had died some days or maybe even weeks ago. Its face was already in the early stages of decay, so whatever had killed it was probably not here anymore, or at least not in this room. It was definitely time for him and Olaf to fill their bags and get out of here! He was about to turn away when he thought he saw a movement in the corpses hand. Did its finger twitch?
“
Don’t be stupid Rekkit!” he admonished himself angrily. “It’s just a corpse.” He stepped nearer for a better look. Just one step, and then another, until he was standing right over the sprawling body. There was no sign of movement. “See!” he said loudly. “Just another body,” and then its eyes opened. Rekkit shrieked in abject terror as the corpse glared at him with eyes half taken by rot and yet filled with malice and a dreadful hunger. It lurched upright from the waist, moaning raggedly as it reached for Rekkit, but the thief had already jumped back out of range. All thoughts of gold forgotten, Rekkit ran towards the exit, tortured by the spikes of agony from his broken rib.
“
RUN!!!” he yelled as he passed Olaf, smacking him on the arm, but the fat man didn’t move. When he reached the doorway Rekkit turned back to see if Olaf was moving, but his partner was just standing there, frozen to the spot as the animated corpse staggered towards him, its grasping arms reaching for him.
“
OLAF!! RUN!!!” Rekkit shouted once more, but Olaf still didn’t move. Rekkit watched in horrified fascination as the corpse reached his partner, its twitching fingers closing on his shoulder. Rekkit had once seen a man struck by lightning, and Olaf reacted to the corpse’s touch in exactly the same way. He reared on his toes, his enormous body tensing all over.
Rekkit tried to force himself to move but he couldn
’t look away. Then, to his surprise, the corpse simply fell to the floor, the life that had animated it fleeing in a heartbeat. Rekkit tried to calm his frantic breathing, succeeding after a long minute to push away the sharpest edge of the panic that had seized him. The corpse hadn’t harmed Olaf, and it seemed to be out of action now, so maybe they still had time to fill a bag and salvage the gold.
“
Why didn’t you move, you idiot?” Rekkit asked with forced joviality as he walked back over to Olaf. The fat man was still standing on the spot, breathing raggedly. Rekkit felt a tiny bit of sympathy for him. He had a more delicate disposition than Rekkit, and he’d obviously been shaken up by what had happened. “Come on Olaf,” he said as he neared him. “Grab a bag and put something shiny in it, and we can leave this place.” Olaf still didn’t move.
Rekkit stepped right up to his partner of five years, keeping a wary eye on the expended corpse lying at their feet.
“Come on man,” he said more gently. “It’ll seem like a dream tomorrow.” He reached out a hand and placed it on Olaf’s shoulder, but the second he did so he felt an invasive force seize him. It was cold and hateful and it was rushing through every part of his body. Rekkit’s eyes widened in terror as Olaf turned to face him, his once genial brown eyes now deep black and filled with an inhuman hunger and hatred that had nothing to do with the man he knew. Olaf’s ham-like, fleshy hands reached out, grabbing Rekkit by the shoulders and pulling him towards him. Rekkit’s screams echoed out into the night.
…
In an observatory in the middle of the Ruined City of Elmera, Shirukai Sestin stood at a broad, curving window looking out over broad avenues and once-grand palaces. He’d watched the inevitable demise of the two thieves and smiled in pleasure as the thin one’s death screams sounded from far below him. So, the Spirit of the Ruins had taken another victim, or indeed two. It guarded him well, Sestin mused to himself, but maybe it could guard him better. He whispered gently through the open window, a whisper that carried powerful magic. Shirukai smiled again as his magic went forth, looking forward to seeing what use the spirit would put its new powers to.
Residues of the magic spun out into the evening, reaching beyond the boundaries of the city. For miles around children muttered and turned in their sleep, and parents looked at each other uncertainly, a feeling of dread and despair troubling their hearts. And then it passed. Without knowing why, men out drinking in taverns made their excuses and went home to their families, and many a husband and wife went straight to bed, anxious to be holding each other as night descended.
Gaspi took a sip of his ale and sighed contentedly, peering out of a window in the Traveller’s Rest. Although the glass was murky from years of smoke and marred by a dozen air bubbles, he could still watch the diverse and colourful traffic of the city as it passed by. It was good to be back in Helioport.
“
What’s the sigh for Gasp?” Taurnil asked.
Gaspi looked at his friend
’s bluff, honest face and smiled. “I’m just thinking how glad I am to be back,” he said.
Taurnil looked at him shrewdly.
“Didn’t enjoy the summer then?” he asked.
“
Not really,” Gaspi said with a grimace. The summer had dragged interminably for him, but he hadn’t talked to Taurnil about it at the time. His best friend had obviously been having a good time, and he hadn’t wanted to spoil it. Taurnil had taken his girlfriend, Lydia, back to Aemon’s Reach for the first time, and had loved showing her where he’d grown up. The couple had spent a lot of time in each other’s company, and Gaspi had been able to see how gratified Taurnil was that she showed such an interest in his village. Aemon’s Reach was a place full of happy memories for Taurnil. He’d grown up with loving parents, who’d quietly supported him in everything he did, and he’d always had a best friend in Gaspi.
It wasn
’t the same for Gaspi. His parents had been killed by bandits in the forest when he was a baby, and he’d been raised by his guardian, Jonn, who’d survived the attack. Jonn had not only lost his best friend that day, but he’d also lost his wife. Much as Gaspi loved Jonn, and though Jonn did his best for Gaspi, his guardian’s life had always been shrouded in regret, and Gaspi could remember many a time when he’d found him unconscious from drink, lost in his sorrows. Since moving to Helioport, his guardian had straightened himself up and found new happiness as a city guard. Aemon’s Reach was haunted by too many ghosts for Jonn, and in their absence he’d found a new sense of purpose again.
Gaspi
’s summer had been made even less enjoyable by the way the villagers of Aemon’s Reach had treated him. They’d known that he’d gone off to study magic, but somehow it hadn’t really hit home until he was back there among them, a magician in training. His old nemesis, Jakko, had called him a fraud until Gaspi sent out a whisper of magic and called a small sparrow to alight on his finger. Jakko had turned white, remembering the time when he and his Pa had been attacked by a flock of birds at Gaspi’s direction. Gaspi figured he must have spent the intervening time denying it had anything to do with magic, but the sight of the single, harmless bird on his finger had shut Jakko up, and he hadn’t bothered Gaspi for the rest of the summer.
M
any of the villagers had difficulties accepting his gift. Though outwardly welcoming, they’d maintained a kind of cool reserve that made him feel like an outsider. One time he’d used his powers to freeze the village pond, despite the balmy summer weather, so that he and Taurnil could play koshta. They’d invited the gaping villagers to join in, but most of them distrusted what they saw and were unwilling to step out onto the ice. Some, including Jakko and his Pa, avoided him altogether. If they had to pass him in the street, they looked in the other direction, muttering fervently about witchcraft and devilry. As a result, Gaspi hadn’t felt comfortable walking around the village. He’d ended up spending most of his time with his friends, and with the village healer Hahldorn and his wife Martha, who had no qualms at all about his powers.