The Beautiful Dead (26 page)

Megan’s taken
her hand, going forward. Jasmine steps over debris, quietly avoiding the creaky
floorboards, but I’m still standing here entranced by the picture. Trapped in a
thought. Held hostage by something that’s trying to occur to me. Something that
seems so … so …

“Mad,” I
whisper.

It was Helena’s
last words to me: “The Deathless King,” she said. “The Deathless King is m…”

Malory … Mad
Malory.

Something
tells me I knew that already.

C H A P T E R – E I G H T E E N

This is not
the Trenton I knew.

Empty streets.
Nothing in sight. I worry for a moment that we’re too late, that all the people
of this city were extinguished. I curl up my fingers into tight and tighter
fists, glaring on, unable to form kind thoughts. Every one I have is imagining
the Deathless King and all her minions ended in some horrible way. My fear is,
it wasn’t them who was ended horribly.

“Do you hear
that?” breathes Megan, terrified.

Far away,
deeper in the city I hear masses of people cheering—or screaming, I can’t
tell—and it’s difficult not to picture a coliseum of bloodthirsty spectators
watching something barbaric. My worst nightmares couldn’t help imagine what,
exactly, we’re overhearing.

“Winter!”

The voice is
so loud, my bones are nearly shaken out from under my skin. In a shadow between
buildings, I spot the shape of little rebellious Ann, neck swallowed up in her
signature scarf. I want to cry out how happy I am that the Deathless haven’t
turned her to dust, how relieved I am to see her, how—

“In here,
fools!” she whispers. “Out of the street!”

But it’ll have
to wait. Quickly, we leap into the alley and are ushered hastily through left
turn and right, down backstreets and around corners—so much so, I can’t tell
which direction we’re headed. She takes us down a pair of cellar doors and into
a stone passageway that leads on for an eternity. The air feels thick down
here, and there is no light. I can feel Megan clinging to my hand, unable to
see at all. So I figure, maybe a little speaking will help her through these
pitch-black tunnels. “Ann, tell me. What’s the plan, and where are we headed?”

“Which
question you want answered first?” We swing around a corner and head up a
flight of stairs. I slow down, cognizant of the blind Human that follows. “We
are headed for the Town Square where King scary-face is, obviously.”

We stop
suddenly at a trapdoor in the ceiling, which Ann ascends a blunt stepping
ladder to unlatch. Pushing through, she lends a hand to help us up. Dust
overtakes us, inspiring a cough from Megan below.

When we emerge
from the trapdoor, I realize exactly where in Trenton we are: the infamous
tavern. The dusty remnants of corpses and Undead still season the floor … The
place was never touched by a soul after its incident. Never cleaned, the
tragedy that betook this place never covered up. It might as well have happened
just yesterday. Once the others have come up, the trapdoor is dropped shut and
Ann moves quickly to the front door, carefully peeking through the boarded-up
window with the cunning of some ninja.

I turn back,
thinking of John, hoping the pain in my eyes is well-masked. “This is where I
first met John,” I say to Megan, but she just nods wordlessly.

If something
happens to either of them, I’ll never for all the rest of time forgive myself.

“The plan,”
Ann says, still staring out the window, “is to get ready for a big, ugly fight.
Jasmine’s brought you back in one piece, and the Judge is awaiting our next
move. We have many armed, the only thing stopping us is the short guy with the
eye the King brought along.”

“The Warlock,”
I mutter. There’s simply no way to say that without sounding dramatic.

“That’s what
he is?” Ann sighs. “Whatever. That guy’s gonna be first to get a big welcoming
sharp something through his thumper. No one can get close enough to him. We
can’t even get an arrow through him, nothing. Anyway, the Heads have the Square
surrounded, so—”

“The Heads?”
Megan interrupts.

“My best friends.
We pull off our heads and play illegal soccer in alleyways. Well, we used to.”
She huffs, tightens the scarf around her neck. “Anyway, we’re going to
overthrow his Majesty the scary-face, and hopefully sack some Deathless. All of
them, in fact. Hey, you have weapons,” she says with her eyes on our blades, as
if seeing them for the first time. “Steel-brand, I assume. Anyway, on the
surrounding rooftops of the Square, my friends have grated steel dust and
splinters and—well, just think of it like a Deathless nightmare from the sky.
When the time’s right,” she adds, grinning with more joy than she should be,
perhaps, “all of that steely, rusty, metally terror will rain upon them. I
can’t wait to see the looks on their faces. Except King scary, of course, since
he doesn’t have one. Did you know the King doesn’t have a face?”

“Yes,” I admit
quietly. But the troubling thought isn’t that the King has no face … It’s that
I now know what her face looked like before she clawed it off.

“We will cover
the Square,” she says. “You are the one the King’s looking for, so … You’ll be
the ultimate distraction while we’re getting ready to strike, of course. And
your little friend Grimbucket is up there too. You need to get close enough to
nab the death-whisperer, okay? Once he’s done in—”

“Then hell has
our permission to break loose,” I finish, clutching my sword tighter.

“What’s that?”
asks Ann, and I lift the small box Megan had given me, which I’d had bound to
my belt. I open it up, showing her the small, shimmery shards inside. “Again,”
she mutters, “what’s that?”

“Megan,” I
say, indicating and introducing the little Human with us, “found them in the
woods surrounding her camp soon after the Deathless attacked. When you touch
them, they turn greenish. It sounds silly, but they kinda look like—”

 “The little
death-whisperer’s funny eye.” Ann smiles like she’s stifling a laugh. “You’re
telling me you have a box of Warlock eyeballs?”

“I don’t know
what they are. But in case they hold any value …”

“Good
thinking.” She puts a hand on the lid of the box, shuts it herself. “I can’t
look at those any longer. It’s like he’s watching me, times three.”

“What do I say
to the King?” I ask, finding myself growing scared, my imaginary heart
beginning to race. “How can I trust that when I turn myself in, I’ll … I’ll …”

“You’re not
turning yourself in,” Ann corrects me. “You’re turning
them
in. Gotta be
strong and prepared to do whatever it takes. Even if it means … you know.”

Yes, I know.
Putting a steel blade through Grimsky. I’d already allowed the discomforting thought
to pass through my mind. So sweet of me, to repay his mercy and kindness he
showed me with eternal damnation.

“Are you
ready?” she asks, hand on the door handle.

I glance
behind me, studying the faces of Megan and Jasmine, my loyal companions. Their
fear is mirrored in mine, and that kills me. I wish I could be braver. I wish I
could be strong for them, but I can’t. I’m weak, afraid, and ready to die for
good.

And John’s not
here. That kills me worst of all.

“Chin up,” I
tell Jasmine, quieting my own qualms. “We died once before, didn’t we? What’s
left to lose?”

“Nothing at
all,” she replies, and it’s frustrating that I can’t tell if she’s sincere.

Just before
turning the handle, Ann says, “Just in case I don’t make it, I want you to know
… I’d already planned what I would name my first Raise. Not to be all mushy and
stuff, but um … Her name would be Summer.”

I try to
smile, but can’t even manage that much.

“And if your
Raise is male?” Jasmine teases.

Ann shrugs.
“Still name him Summer, I guess.”

“With such
odds against us, better name it Fall,” I mutter, my eyes going dark, “because all
considered, that’s exactly what our kind will be doing today. Falling. To
eternal ash.”

“That’s the
spirit,” says Ann sarcastically. “Any other motivational pep talks you’d like
to give before we—”

And then I’ve
had enough. I push in front of Ann, throwing open the tavern door with no
regard to caution. I march down the empty street until soon it is not empty,
but crowded with the gathered citizens of Trenton, all of them watching
something as it unfolds on a grand stage in the middle of the Town Square. All
of them choked by their own gasps and fear, watching as another innocent soul
is brought up to the platform to die in front of everyone. To die, because I
hadn’t until now the courage or stupidity to come forth. I’m ready for this,
whatever this is. The end of my existence. The end of all of ours.

I’ve been
ready since I undied.

“Quieter,
dear,” Jasmine whispers to Megan. “I can hear your heartbeat like throws of
thunder.”

As if she
could possibly quiet the unapologetic throb of life within her.

I push through
the crowd until I’m finally able to witness the spectacle. At the far edge of
the stage is the Lock. He’s clearly ready to end someone else’s existence, his
green eye visible even from here. There is a tall black shadow: The Deathless
King. A poor man is in her clutch, gripped at the neck like a chicken. I
recognize him … a kind man who’d wave at me every day. No one special, no one
whose name I even know, but just the sight of his fear-stricken face is enough
to inspire a death wish in me.

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

I unsheathe my
sword.

“Another hour,
it’s been,” the King-Queen announces, her voice like a bell ringing through the
crowd. “Or so we must estimate, as you Pretenders don’t believe in time. Any
last words, Pretender?”

“I have a last
word!” I shout out.

The crowd
seems to explode away from me at the sound of my voice. My, I’ve a set of
lungs. To my great satisfaction, the King spots me in the crowd, her slimy pink
eyes visible even all the way from where I stand in the pool of frightened
Trentonites.

I’m ready to
die, that’s what I keep saying to myself.
I’m ready to die … I’m ready to
die … I’m ready to die …

Despite Megan’s
exasperated whimper and Jasmine’s quiet protests, I make my reckless way
forward. Everyone parts, allowing me a perfect path to the dreaded stage, as if
welcoming me to it.

I worry,
approaching the steps of the platform, that I’ll trip and fall, unable to put
one simple foot before the other. Of course, I’m not so lucky today and ascend
them perfectly. The moment I’m on the stage, standing before all of Trenton, I’m
struck by another presence on the stage I hadn’t until now noticed: a sightless
Grimsky.

The Deathless
King seems positively tickled by my reaction to seeing Grimsky this way,
removed of eyes, helpless and standing there like a plank.

“So you’ve come
forth,” she declares, “and so this kind and innocent soul is spared. Go,” she
barks to the young man she’d had in her grasp, and as though dodging invisible
bullets, he ducks his head and leaps off the stage, vanishing into the crowd
and who knows where.

The spot where
he stood, grey dust and bone linger … Remains of the innocent people I did not
in time save.

“Drop the
blade,” the Deathless King kindly orders.

I squeeze it
tighter. I won’t show the people of Trenton a weak soul. I’m going to be
defiant, strong, and rude, because I’m lovely like that.

“If you think
your life is soon to end, it isn’t,” she says, her words coming from that
unsettling vacuum in her skull where a face ought to be. “You don’t belong
here. You never did.”

“Why? Because
you think I’m your ‘missing progeny’ or whatever?”

Then I hear
Grimsky’s raspy voice: “Winter …”

I turn my
head, but keep my eyes on the King. Grim, even without eyes, I feel him trying
to find me, turning in my direction. I can almost feel the Grimsky I knew reaching
for me from out of that shell of a body, without hands, in just that one sad
word … My name.

“Winter,
please,” he says, his voice nothing more than a choking groan. “Please, come
back with us. Don’t let her … Don’t let her destroy this place, or you, or—”

I can’t listen
to this. I can’t let it break my resolve. “You tried this once,” I tell him
firmly. “It didn’t work the first time, it won’t work the second.”

“Winter,
don’t,” he pleads. “You don’t even know—”

“Maybe I’ll
never know my life. Maybe I’ll go to a second grave without ever waking up. But
the lives of Helena … Benjamin … John’s parents … My new friend’s brother,
Megan’s brother … Of Jasmine’s daughter, of the countless whose existences,
whether first or last, were taken by these ugly death-parading fanatics … I
can’t let their lives go in vain. This has to end, Grim.”

Queen of the
Deathless issues one sad chuckle, her body jerking in the effort, clearly amused
by my pain. “Darling,” she says, “they never had lives to begin with. All of
them are a perversion of nature. Even all of us. Even your Human’s little
brother … They don’t deserve their lives.”

“Don’t talk
about them!” I snap, my temper getting the best of me. “You have no right to
talk about them!”

“Now, now. Don’t
misunderstand me, child …”

She takes one
step forward, I take one back, gripping my blade tighter and lifting it. I’m
not afraid to hack her to pieces, to risk my existence in front of that short
man’s green eye, to turn into dust doing so.