Severed Souls. Terry Goodkind
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Arc smiled indulgently. “Yes, that was once true, but the House of Rahl no longer rules D’Hara, or anything else for that matter. His flesh has no doubt already been eaten off his bones by some of the Emperor Sulachan’s half people.”
Gerald blinked in confusion. “Half people?”
“The Shun-tuk warriors.” A tattooed hand swept around at the chalky figures. “The half people. Ones without souls. Now, lead on, gravedigger, or you will serve us as one of the army of the dead.”
Gerald had never heard of Shun-tuk or half people. He held an arm out, pointing. It took great effort to summon his voice as all the eyes stared at him.
“Insley is right up the road, Lord Arc. There is no road but this one, and no other town but Insley. It’s not far at all. It lies just beyond a few bends in the road among the oak grove up ahead. You will have no trouble at all finding the humble town of Insley. I am sure the people of Insley will … welcome their new ruler’s visit.”
Lord Arc’s disturbing smile returned. The spirit king didn’t share in the smile, nor did the Mord-Sith or any of the sea of grim, chalky faces watching him. The awakened dead glared with glowing red eyes.
“I don’t think they will be all that happy to see us.”
Gerald was sure of the truth of that. He turned to look in the direction of town, wanting more than anything to be free of Lord Arc and all his people, to say nothing of the newly awakened dead. “But it’s right up the road—a short walk. You don’t really need me in order to find the place.”
Gerald wished there was something he could do to warn the people of Insley. He wanted to tell them to flee. But there was nothing he could do.
“We don’t need you in order to find the place,” Lord Arc said with exaggerated patience. “Nor did I ask where it was, now did I? I asked you to lead us there.”
“For what purpose?” Gerald asked, his fear of being with this nightmare collection of people and unholy monsters overriding his typical sense of caution.
The spirit king, rather than Lord Arc, spoke up. “We need you to bear witness,” he said in a voice that burned painfully against Gerald’s skin. It almost felt as if the hairs on his arm would be burned off.
“Bear witness?”
“Yes,” Lord Arc said, “bear witness so that others, in other places, will know what will happen to them should they not bow down and welcome their new ruler and the new era he brings to the world of life. We are giving you the opportunity to help all those people. You are to be a messenger, bearing witness to what has happened here so they will have the chance to avoid the same fate.”
Gerald swallowed. He could feel his knees trembling. “What is to happen here?”
Lord Arc spread his hands. “Why, the people of Insley failed to welcome me as their new ruler. That is an intolerable offense.”
Gerald took a step forward. “Then please, Lord Arc, allow me to run ahead and tell them. Let me announce you. I know they will bow down and welcome you. Let me show you.”
“Enough of this,” the spirit king said in a low growl.
He casually pointed at the pickax still gripped in Gerald’s fist at the end of his hanging arm. The handle grew hot and crisped to black. In a heartbeat it checkered into shriveling charcoal before turning to ash that crumbled away from Gerald’s hand like dust going through his fingers. When it did, the heavy steel pickax head thumped down onto the ground and flopped over on its side.
Gerald stared in disbelief as, in mere seconds, the entire steel pickax rusted to crumbling, reddish fragments.
All that was left on the ground at Gerald’s side was an ashen black stain that had been the wooden handle and unrecognizable reddish fragments that moments before had been the steel head of the pickax.
Lord Arc lifted a slender, tattooed finger, pointing it down the road as he cocked his head, staring at Gerald.
Gerald knew without a doubt that it was a command, and if he disobeyed that command or delayed another moment, he would swiftly regret it.
No choice left to him, he immediately turned and started for the road.
All the chalky figures, led by Lord Arc, his Mord-Sith, and Emperor Sulachan, along with the dead pulled up from their graves by the king of the dead, followed behind him.
The road curved several times as it wound its way among the grove of ancient oaks on its way into Insley. Because the massive oak trees grew together over the road, they closed off most of the churning, gray sky, making the day seem even darker, making the glowing red eyes of the dead stand out all the more. Gerald wished it was a lot farther to town, rather than a short walk.
He wished there was a way to warn people, but he could think of none. Even if he ran, Insley was so close there would be no time to explain it. Besides, had he not seen it, he doubted he would believe a story such as he had to tell.
Not far behind him followed the two emperors, Sulachan and Hannis Arc. The Mord-Sith shadowed her master, Lord Arc. Behind them came an entire Shun-tuk nation of the half-naked, chalky figures with their eyes painted black all around them, making their eyes look like great, dead sockets. The sound of all those bare feet made the air rumble. The dark murk he had seen at first now seemed to envelop them all, like the air itself was poisoned by the evil of these people.
As the road made its way over a slight rise, Gerald glanced back into the distance behind and for the first time was able to take in the enormous numbers of half people. There were so many that he imagined it would probably be most of the day before the last of them passed the spot he was passing. It might even be well after dark before they had all passed that same spot.
Because of their vast numbers the Shun-tuk couldn’t confine themselves to the road, instead surging across the landscape to either side, like a tide of ashen figures flooding the valley landscape and about to drown the town of Insley. In among the half people, the awakened dead lumbered stiffly along, like debris carried on that incoming tide.
It seemed that the garden of the dead that Gerald had tended for so long had finally been harvested by a spirit king come to claim them as his own.
As they rounded a bend in the road at the top of the slight rise, off between the oaks, the first buildings at the edge of town came into view. Gerald had heard of places where buildings were made of stone, but these were not so grand as that. They were simple structures made of wood cut from the ample supply in the trackless forests of the Dark Lands all around.
Most of the buildings of the small town were clustered along the road. Some of those were sheltered by big old oaks growing behind them. The dozen largest buildings were two stories, bunched close together on both sides of the single road, as if turning their backs on the Dark Lands behind them.
The bottom floors of some of those larger buildings provided workspace for leatherworkers, woodworkers, chair makers, or shops for the butcher, baker, and herbs. The families who ran those shops lived above them. There were a few narrow streets off to the sides but they were little more than footpaths. They led to small one- or two-room homes for people who worked the fields or tended to animals all around Insley.
Insley wasn’t big enough to have an inn. When merchants came through, one of the shop owners often allowed the trader to sleep in a shop. Sometimes they slept in the barn at the opposite end of town.
Gerald had heard that in other places, mostly places much farther west and south, farmers who raised crops and kept animals had their homes out where they tended the land. That made it convenient for working, since coming to town was hardly a daily necessity. Most only needed to come to town on market days when they had goods to sell or when they needed supplies. People who lived on their land could watch