Chapter 24

The cairns were lit with the streaming flames of maroon and green and purple. Stones cracked from the heat. Flames licked like devil tongues toward the sky. At clouds that scarred from the reaching flames and melted the falling snow.

Burial cairns stretched in every distance as far as the eye could see, all the way to the depths of haze and obscurity of snow fall. Four cairns before us trembled with the buried, agonizing respirations of Disciples of Bekbah.

One of the four cairns fell apart. Stones cracked and broke as they clattered upon each other in their tumble. Sparks of maroon and green and purple enchanted the sky and installed a glow in every drifting snowflake.

Standing among the ruins, having been entombed while still on its feet, was a Disciple of Bekbah. From his cracked skull glowed green mists that curled as ram’s horns did. When he stepped forward, the mists swayed. When he stopped to stare at us with sheep’s plucked eyes, the green mists of horns lazily smoked in their curled forms.

From his hands draped threads of flesh that dangled like wet wigs. His tongue searched his swollen gums for teeth, and found not a single one. The shredded tunic he wore hung from him the way the rest of his graveyard robbed skin hung.

He chanted a dirge. He lilted in mourning. He pried open wide lips and screamed with a yearning.

“Maggots sent for the braggart men! Famished with affliction, feed your flesh addiction!”

Giant maggots crawled out from every surrounding burial cairn. One at a time, they exhumed themselves in a squeeze of flesh and chittering of mandibles. From seared backs lept contagious flames.

Three more cairns shivered, then sent a tornado of sparks to the sky, and tumbled apart. From shallow graves rose three more disciples, with ivory ram’s horns and stolen sheep’s eyes. They wielded shepherd’s canes and as one, they lifted the hooks high. As one, they chanted with punctured lungs.

“Haunting hunger, hanging flesh! Taunt no longer, give them rest!”

Gold light manifested in the center of the shepherd’s cane hooks. The light coalesced in a ball that burst with the sound of a large deep bell.

The maggots screeched together like a chorus of pain. They swelled and they swelled and they swelled, until their skins split and they oozed white gloop. They shook and wriggled, now thrice their original size and squirmed faster than ever. They galloped without feet and Watt braced himself.

“Erik and Lep,” the warrior said, “take out the Disciple people. Arris, help me fight off the maggots, and Tosin—stay behind me.”

Erik ran off to the side, and Lep stood behind me, casting forth his mana bar. I cast mine, and Arris cast his.

The maggots were nearly upon us. They throbbed and pulsed as they charged. From split skin, still spilled sick slime.

“Garden Spider! Oak Beard!” Our ancienne cast his spells.

“Hand of Flames!” From over our heads sailed the giant flaming hand made of patterned embers. It sailed through snowflakes. The hand scooped down and melted away the maggots along its path. It chased down one of the ivory horned Disciples who tried to run with a wayward gait. The Disciple got caught in the clutches of Lep’s spell and it opened its mouth in a petrified scream. A scream that erupted from its mouth—not with sound—but with black steam, as it burned. Fire Spear soared over our heads and impaled its molten tip into the exposed face of the Disciple. It’s skin blackened from spreading fire and it slumped dead to the glacial ground.

In two sure steps, Watt engaged the incoming maggots. Arris stepped up beside Watt, his form encased in the glowing green spirit of an ancient tree warrior. He bashed away at the maggots, sinking his large green fingers into white flesh, and squeezing until the monster exploded in a burst of gushing ooze and gore.

Watt chopped through one maggot at a time. His heels were planted firmly on the ground and he was holding his own. Maggots rushed in from his right.

“Fist of Wind!” I slammed my flagstaff to the frozen ground. The wind-tangled fist burst through the maggots rushing Watt, blowing the creatures to splatters. Life-steal activated, refilling health to the warrior and the ancienne. However quick my teammates were, maggots still broke through their defenses and chomped with cutting teeth.

Without chainmail, Arris took more damage.

“Five of Gryf!” I struck my flagstaff down. My mana depleted 5 points and the silver ribbon lashed in an unseen wind. It whipped and snapped against its chain. The chain rattled against the eyelet. Small silver bird’s wings fluttered above Arris and his health refilled 5 points. I cast the spell again and smacked the flagstaff down once more.

The maggots shrunk as the Disciple’s spell wore off. They slowed and trembled. Arris and Watt battled with renewed vigor at the opportunity. A brief glance told me the rogue and mage were still at full health.

The Disciples of Bekbah cast their spells once more.

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“Maggots sent for the braggart men! Famished with affliction, feed your flesh addiction!”

“Haunting hunger, hanging flesh! Taunt no longer, give them rest!”

Ghostly white maggots erupted from beneath surrounding cairns. They tripled in size and sped at us.

Erik’s health dropped by a third and I saw him battling with a Disciple. He was crouched in a twirl of black cloak, striking with his kris blade, and taking a beating from the enemy's shepherd's cane.

Another Hand of Flames navigated through a row of enlarged maggots and pinned down a Disciple. A second hand of flames followed, again parting the crowd of maggots. Both flames clasped over the Disciple, burning and smothering him to his death.

“Wandering Spitfire!”

Lep cast another spell, just as his health siphoned halfway. Alarmed, I spun around. Maggots had flanked us. Lep had been caught off guard and now grappled with the giant slug-ish creatures. With every bite of maggot mandible, chunks of his health depleted.

His spell—the last of his mana—cast a growing teardrop shape of flames that sprouted legs. Upon the teardrop head snapped a trio of flames. Hollow carved pumpkin features cast a view right through the fattening spitfire. Then it bolted toward the maggots, melting through them, dealing damage with every touch and pass it made as it circled. Behind every footfall was left a little burning footprint.

“Fist of Wind! Five of Gryf!” The bottom of my flagstaff cracked on ice and both spells were cast. As Fist of Wind barreled forth to Lep’s aid, I lobbed two potions simultaneously. They exploded on impact, healing him instantly to almost full health. Five of Gryf and Life-steal healed him the rest of the way.

The spitfire continued running circles in the midst of the maggots. The Fist of Wind I’d cast, slammed into the maggots before Lep, blasting them to pieces, and buffeting the mage's robe and tunic.

Lep shot to his feet, and popped off the cork of a mana potion. He gulped it down and his mana bar refilled.

“Arris, Watt!” I shouted for their attention. “We’re surrounded! Be careful!”

“Erik killed another Disciple,” the warrior said after a full strength swing of his battle axe. “Get the last one Lep! Arris and I will be fine!”

The Garden Spider disengaged from its battle at Arris’s side and came to defend Lep from encroaching maggots.

The maggots shrunk once more as the Disciple’s spell came to an end. The fat monsters paused, shriveled, then trembled at the loss of power.

“One more push! C’mon,” Arris said.

Another Hand of Flames sailed over my head. It smeared a row of maggots like melted butter and clutched the remaining Disciple—the one with green misting horns. Erik retreated a few paces from an attempted attack to give Lep’s spell some room. The Disciple reared back its head and screamed with hole filled lungs. It’s tongue stretched from its maw, groping for rescue.

Erik’s mana bar siphoned off by a few points and his cloak bled a floating dye of shadow. The inky shadow enveloped him and lifted him just above the Disciple. From that shadow came Erik’s snake-quick strike. His kris blade plunged through skull and Bekbah brains.

With the last Disciple felled, we slaughtered the rest of the maggots with ease.

“Well done,” Watt said and clasped each of us in firm handshakes. ”Almost had to use the little bit of mana I’ve got left back there.”

Around us, beyond the corpse ridden battlefield were rows beside rows of burial cairns. All were alight in the same green and maroon and purple bonfire flames. Cinders plumed with the smoke that climbed to the overcast sky. Snowflakes still drifted lazily down.

“Which way?” Arris said. His Garden Spider climbed him and nestled in a spun silk sling at his belly.

The wind was still subtle yet persistent. It came with brisk whispers and lifted the edges of our cloaks and robes and tunics. Snowflakes swayed in a gust and kissed our clothing and skin.

No one responded to Arris’s question. We turned about in place, this way and that, searching for the way forward.

Watt was the most anxious. He paced and grumbled beneath his breath.

“Should we just pick a direction and start walking?”

“Elder Azure Mana Totem,” Arris said, and the crystal laden totem broke from the frozen ground. He cast Ancienne’s Nature and began combing the field for corpse bits to absorb.

Erik and Lep spoke together in low tones as they scanned the endless plane of ice and cairns. The rogue’s cloak lifted and fell with the ebbing wind. Lep’s robe gently ruffled in the ebbing wind.

A bluster of wind scooped at us and we braced against the icy current.

“Arris, what are you doing?” Watt said, reaching the end of his patience. Being directionless was eating at him. “Help us find a way forward!”

“Hold on,” Erik said. “There’s something different about some of the cairns. Lep and I are trying to figure it out.”

“I think it has something to do with the flames,” Lep said.

Arris had stopped absorbing nature and we all gathered together to scan the burning cairns once more. All the fires looked the same. They didn’t vary at all. We could discern no difference.

The wind changed direction in a swooping gust and blew the Zekaidian’s Anvil flag in my face. I switched my flagstaff to my other hand and pulled the fabric from my face. Some of the burial cairns dimmed with the gust and returned once the wind passed.

“Guys,” I said. “Watch the wind.”

For half an hour we watched and waited. Several times we had to settle Watt down. He was having an increasingly hard time handling our inactivity.

Another gust of wind billowed in a swooping arc. Zekaidean’s Anvil and Five of Gryf flapped with the passing gust.

“I figured it out!” Lep said and leapt up and down with excitement. “Look! Look! When the wind blows, some of the cairns aren’t affected. It’s like the fire isn’t even there. The other ones—” he pointed to a particular row ahead of us, “—are affected by the wind. You can see the fire bend and dim. I’m pretty sure we should follow—Watt! Wait up!”

We’d just finished replenishing our mana bars when Watt started forward at a jog. We bolted after him with a thrill in our veins. Lep was grinning from ear to ear.

At times, we had to pause and wait for new swoops of wind to show us which cairns burned true. We followed those until having to repeat the process. The trek was long and icy. At other times we had to turn at specific cairns, and almost missed the subtle signs when the wind was quiet.

At last we arrived at the last burial cairn in its row. Beyond it lay a path of cracked ice and discarded corpses. Bones and frozen maggots littered either side of the path. It sloped around and down into a chasm.

We slowed our descent as soon as we heard munching and squishing.