The Beautiful Dead (19 page)

“Don’t say
that.”

“The tavern,”
he goes on, choking on his own voice. He can barely get the words out. “When
the tavern was invaded. I sent them there, Winter. I sent them after you.”

The. Only.
One. Left. To. Blame. Is. You.

My hand slips
from his. I cover my mouth, shake my head once. I don’t want to hear anymore.

“I had found
you,” he mutters, “and I sent them to that tavern. Something stopped them.
Something stopped them from finding you. So I had to get … smarter.” His voice
quivers. “I manipulated the Trenton system. I … made them give you your Raise
assignment five months early. I needed to get you out of the city. I needed you
out in the open … available for the Deathless to take you. But Winter, please,
listen to me. I am not a bad man.”

I feel myself
collapsing within, suddenly unsure if I can hold my own weight up much longer.

“This is not a
bad life. Don’t let the horrors deceive you,” he urges me. “You can have power,
Winter. You can have so much power if you join us. Please, Winter …”

“Alright,
alright,” grunts the green-eye. He swings his metal leg forth, coming toward us
a few paces. “It’s time we make her choose, since she clearly did not cooperate
with the King. Death or undeath, girl.”

“Winter,”
Grimsky breathes. “Please. You have to join us. You have to be one of us,
because if you don’t—”

“You’ll kill
me?” I snap. “I’m already dead, what’s the use in that? My other choice is
submitting to this
wrong
way of life—death—where we enslave innocent
children and—No! I’d rather be six hundred feet in the ground than stay another
day in this place!”

“That can be
arranged,” green-eye murmurs tiredly.

In my Undead
eyes, I swear I feel the hint of a tear forming—an impossible tear that only a
Human is capable of, a Human much like the twelve that wait behind me
somewhere, silently begging for their lives.

The stumpy man
sighs. “The King is only so patient. Deathless, your sword.” He offers Grim
what looks to be the same blade that belonged to the Judge. The hilt is wrapped
in a thick, wooly sleeve.

Of course. The
steel sword … Grimsky was afraid of it in the field, refusing to fetch it for
the Judge when she needed it against the army of Deathless descending on us. He
couldn’t touch it because—

“Please,
Winter.” Grim holds the blade with less-than-confident hands. “You just
need—You just need to pledge allegiance to us. It’s that easy. Please don’t
make me do this.”

“Do what?” I
ask angrily, challenging him, daring him.

“If you don’t
pledge, then I have to shatter you.” The sword trembles in his hand at those
last words. “I really, really don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t
have to, Grim. Wake up!”

“I must.” He’s
clenching his teeth, trembling. I have never seen Grimsky like this, so
flustered and scared. “Please, Winter. I still … I still love you.”

My tone
changes. “Is this Deathless man controlling you? Is that why you ‘must’ do it?”

“It will all
make sense,” he assures me in a shaky voice that is, in no way, assuring. “You
belong here, Winter.”

The world
looked a lot prettier just a few days ago. So many possibilities. So many
smiles to have … and now this is my fate. How this world can so change.

YOU DID THIS
TO YOURSELF.

Megan makes a
sound several yards behind me, like a wordless plea, a whimper. The other
Humans, they’re clinging to one another like a frightened family stranded in
the middle of a storm. With no positive outcome in this undeathly stalemate, I
realize I’ve let them down. All of them. Offered them hope, only to steal it
away. Maybe they were better off in cages. Me and my hero complex.

“Do what you
must,” I whisper, defeated.

I shut my
eyes.

At the sound
of the sword lifting into the air, I hear the stirring of the Humans behind me,
nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to look but at the sight of their only
salvation, me, now moments away from my end.

“We could’ve
had the world,” Grim says softly to me, the final words I will ever hear.

Then he swings
the blade.

C H A P T E R – T H I R T E E N

My eyes snap
open.

The short man
lurches forward, steel sword impaling him like a shish kebab. His cane drops to
the pavement and his hands grip the rogue weapon in a panic, his tiny mouth
gasping for air that isn’t there, a sickening shriek trying to leave his lips.

And there’s
blood. The short man is bleeding from the wound. I look up at Grimsky, baffled
by this.

Still gripping
the sword, he turns his head and says, “Run.”

Don’t have to
tell me twice. I signal the Humans with a wave of my good arm and, hopping and
shuffling as I am with a girl over my shoulder, hurry in the direction the old
man earlier indicated: through the vacant wall of the church. Just before
rounding the corner, I look urgently back at Grimsky, a hundred questions still
racing through my mind. His eyes find mine just long enough for him to mouth
the word: “Go.”

So I do.

My imaginary
heart racing mad, there is a trapdoor on the floor of the church through which
we descend by the old man’s lead. I hop down a short flight of steps—a task far
more difficult done than said—and we move through a passageway I assume leads
under the city wall. Grateful to reach a set of stairs, we find ourselves
emerging from a hole in the forest ground. Joy floods the face of each person.
I’ve no idea how long they were imprisoned in the city, but to at last be
breathing the air of the woods, I imagine it is a gracious and welcome luxury.

“You okay?”
Megan asks, sweet as she is.

“Of course,” I
answer pleasantly, ignoring the waging war of emotion and confusion in my chest
that has everything to do with whether or not Grimsky is one of them, or one of
us. “You?” She nods eagerly.

Judging from
my small moment of humanity in the Black Tower, I’m guessing it’s either
midmorning or midday, since all the Humans seem to be able to see well enough.
“We’re not in the clear yet,” I tell the lot of them, adjusting the weightless
weight of the girl on my back. “We need to get all of you home, through the
woods. They could still be gathering their forces to pursue us.”

“We can take
it from here,” one of the men in the group shouts out. “Yeah,” calls out
another man by his side, eyeing me. “We’ll find our own way home.”

I frown,
surveying the group with confusion. “What do you mean? Don’t you want my help?”

The two men
look at each other, uncertain.

Then it dawns
on me. “You don’t trust me?” I ask, not daring to admit how that sort of hurts
my feelings. Oh listen to me, pretending I have feelings. “Why not?”

“How do we
know you’re not tricking us into leading you to our home?” a lady in the back
points out. Another man grunts in agreement. “Yeah. How are we supposed to
trust that whole scene you put on back there?”

“Scene?” I
wrinkle my face, confused. “You think that was all an act?—Are you serious?”

“How do we
know you’re not one of them?” a younger man in the front calls out, squinting
his eyes. “How do we know you won’t make dinner out of us?”

“You don’t,” I
admit, annoyed at having to defend my own integrity, “but I put my own
existence at risk for you. I could’ve left you in those cages to satisfy
whatever profane desires those Deathless keep. I defied the King and made her
scream … What more proof do you need?”

I look to
Megan for support, but even she seems a bit sheepish to stand up for me, I
suppose, in the presence of all these older Humans.

Then the
obvious thing occurs to me. I lift my fist to them, demonstratively. “This
ring, it’s made of steel. No Deathless can wear it. There’s your proof.”

None of them
seem to follow. They just look to one another, as if wondering whether anyone
understands the point I’ve just made. Maybe they weren’t aware of the
steel-sensitivity of the Deathless. Maybe they still aren’t.

Then there is
activity at the hole in the ground and, with a worried hush, everyone backs
away to make room for another figure emerging from the passageway.

“Marigold??” I
call out, surprised.

Her large
shape cuts through the startled Humans, comes up to me with excitement in her
eyes and says, “They’re coming, they’re coming!” She takes a breath, imaginary
or not, then cheerily adds, “And they’re
angry!”

Without a
second to stop them, the Humans scatter in all directions. “Wait!” I cry out,
spreading my arms in vain. “Wait!—It isn’t safe!” But already, several have
vanished from sight, running to save their lives. The only ones that remain are
the old wordless man, two short women who look to be twins, a teenage boy, and
Megan. Why they didn’t run, I can’t say. Maybe they have a tad more faith than
the rest.

Or they’re
idiots. “We need to run and hide,” I tell them, “at least until those
good-for-nothing Deathless get out of range or give up.”

“They don’t
give up, dear,” Marigold chimes in, peering over her shoulder at the hole in
the ground. “They’ll hunt to the end of time, those enduring things!”

I survey the
now-panicked faces of these five Humans. I don’t suspect Marigold’s words
touched them kindly.

“Then we run,”
I say with confidence. “Stay with me, all five of you.” I nod to Marigold. “Six
of you.”

Marigold grins
chirpily. “Yes! May I help somehow?”

I hop once, my
Raise shifts on my back. “Would you be—Would you be willing to carry this dead
girl for me?”

Oh, the things
you hear yourself say in this world.

“Ooh, gladly!”
Like I’m giving her a candied apple.

It is an awkward
endeavor, but the dead girl is transferred from my back to hers. Undead as we
are, the weight neither challenges nor affects her ability to run.

I’m about to
thank her when I hear the first hint of activity at the hole. “Go,” I breathe,
turning on my own heel and gracelessly hopping in the direction of wherever.

And so we run
alongside our small band of Humans.

My tireless
Undead body really helps in the constant act of having to hop, because every
propelling spring of my right leg is just as potent as the first, even after
miles of hopping. Do Undead kangaroos exist in this world?

“I’ve never
been on the run before!” Marigold cries, ecstatic. “I’m to presume this is your
Raise I’m carrying?”

“Yes.”

“And you broke
your leg a few, it seems?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll mend it
when we get back to Trenton!”

“
If
we
get back,” I correct her. Megan shoots me a look. Okay, perhaps I should be a
tad more optimistic in the Humans’ presence. “Megan,” I try, “will you lead the
way home? I want to ensure you guys make it there.”

“We … will be
… safe,” Megan says between breaths, panting as she is. “Just … let us go … and
you go home!”

In my
unlimited-stamina way of running, I forget their energy expires. “You’re tiring
out,” I warn her. “I don’t want any of you to fall behind and—”

“Winter,”
Marigold interrupts, “They’re not after the Humans.”

I look to my
side to see the teenage boy and twin girls cutting off in another direction.
The Deathless on our heels, stumbling and staggering and clambering over each
other, are coming straight for me—and only me.

“Of course,” I
say, annoyed.

“So
exhilarating!” Marigold cries out. “I haven’t had this much fun since I built
an ankle from scratch!”

Ignoring her,
I call out, “Megan, you need to go with the others—You can’t risk running with
me!”

“I don’t want
to leave you!”

“You have to!
There’s a worried mother and father who want you to come home …”

“You saved my
life! I want you to be okay!”

“I’ll be
fine!” I assure her, my voice stern. “Just take care of yourself!—Run home!”

“But Winter—!”

“Now, Megan!!”

And then she
breaks from me, taking off in the other direction. In only two short seconds,
the little Human girl is gone. I feel a pang of worry, like I just watched my
own daughter take off into the woods unprotected. Here I was, claiming
responsibility for her, only to let her go. At least she’s in safe company now
with the other Humans.

Except the old
man. “Hey, oldie,” I call out between hops. “You should go with the rest of
them! You aren’t safe with me!” He doesn’t seem to regard what I’m saying,
running by our side with notable agility, keeping up despite his old age. “Very
well, have it your way.”

“Winter!”
Marigold shouts.

Peering over
my shoulder again, I realize the Deathless are quicker than previously noted.
Already two of them are on our heels.

“Nice to meet
you,” I say, reaching back to give the closest one an innocent handshake. The
steel of my ring burns instantly, inspiring an agonized cry from him, and he
drops clean to the ground gripping his fingers and writhing in pain, the other
Deathless trampling over him. “Until we meet again!”

“Ooh, Winter!”
my personal cheerleader shouts. “You have such curious style!—Helena never
mentioned!”

Helena. I feel
a terrible pang of guilt at what I’d done to her, willingly or not. Leaving her
behind as I did, she’s already met her final fate in the granary by now,
grinded to dust, to particles, to nothing.

And like I
need something else to feel awful about, there’s Grim. “Mari,” I call out,
fighting my stubborn desire to dwell on these anxieties. “Anything in your kit
made of steel??”

“What kit?”
she says. “They confiscated everything!”

I curse under
my breath.

“But I do
happen to have a steel-plated forearm,” she adds merrily.

And in one
single motion, Marigold stops running, detaches her entire left arm, shakes the
fake-flesh off, and swings the naked steel-plated bone like a troll’s club at
the nearest chaser. The improvised weapon hits the Deathless square in the
face, knocking him senseless and arousing steam—and a scream—from his squished
skull.

All of this,
while balancing a dead girl on her back.

To the ground
that one plummets, and wouldn’t you know, dear danger-hungry Marigold doesn’t
stop there. With another foolhardy swipe of her own steel-plated forearm, she
scores a blow against the head of a skinny half-man. Swinging the other way now
like she’s batting off a swarm of flies, the large lady takes out two more,
then a third by clubbing it right in the chest. A pile of steaming,
anguish-ridden Deathless writhe on the ground before her now, and she just pops
her arm back into its socket like this is an everyday chore for her.

Turning back
to me, she sings, “What fun!”

Even the old
man stopped to admire the show. “Let’s go!” I call out, breaking them from
their trance, and the three of us bust a move.

After another
long bout of running, I find I don’t recognize any of the paths we’re on,
nestled in the leafless trunks, sticks, and thorny lifeless vegetation of this
world. I still don’t know where I’m going and whether or not Trenton looms any
closer than it did an hour ago, but the three of us keep hurrying. With every
passing hour, perceived or real, thoughts of Helena and Grim follow me like
ghosts. Helena in pieces, even her final words cut to pieces … Grimsky and his
Death-forsaken soul.

No matter the acts
I did of freeing some Humans and finding my Raise with the most unfavorable of
luck, I only feel deep despair.

“Still hanging
on?” I call out to Marigold, who simply grins with utter excitement at our
impending doom. I wonder if she spent the entire time at the Necropolis admiring
how cute her cage was, pondering excitedly the nightmarish things that were
soon to happen to her.

I guess some
were made for this world.

Neither her
nor the old man seem to know where the Necropolis actually sits in relation to
anything else in this dead world, so we conclude that we’re utterly lost. The
only thing stretching for miles in all directions is the dead woods through
which we’ve been running without end.

How curious,
my misfortune. To flee one prison only to get thrown in another, except this
one is perhaps a bit roomier.

And full of
trees. “I neither see nor hear any more of them,” I point out, surveying the
area with a quick glance. “Maybe this is a moment for us to collect ourselves.
Are you doing okay?” I address the old man, who just smiles at me. “I hope
you’re prepared. Trenton probably won’t welcome you, sad as it is. Might want
to part ways now, unless you’re feeling particularly foolish. You know, you
have a lot of endurance for someone your age …”

“I’d always
wanted to meet a Human,” Mari admits, leaning against a tree and poking at her
fingernails, “but seeing as it’s against the law and all, I figured, better
not. Is it true that they sound funny? Like little machines?”