The Dread Lords Rising by J. David Phillips
Chapter Twenty-One
Voice Of Thunder
Sarah fled and was gone, disappearing ahead of him in the deepening gloom. Niam followed, unable to keep up. Beyond the thick tangle of ferns and vines, he saw that the trees opened up and the way became easier. “Sarah! Seth!” Niam yelled out. The words didn’t go very far as the trees and the thick canopy overhead seemed to swallow up all sound. In the clearing ahead, the black waters of Siler’s Lake stretched like a placid mirror in the darkening sky, and a girl’s from lay supine upon the damp earth by the water’s edge.
Sarah.
“No,” Niam moaned. Looking around rapidly as he entered the clearing, he saw that he was alone. Sarah’s body lay still and stiff, but something was off. Niam peered at her cautiously as he slowed. His stomach lurched when he noted the twisted angle of her head.
This was wrong.
Sarah had been found floating in the lake with her skull fractured just above her brow. Unable to bear the indignity of death’s broken posture, he trembled as he knelt beside her and gently covered the ugly lump at the base of her twisted neck with the top of her blouse. Carefully, he cupped her cold chin in his hand and turned her head upright to a more natural position and gasped.
Bug’s cold eyes looked up at him instead of Sarah’s, expressing nothing except the utter stillness and finality of death. Somewhere in the distance he heard laughter. Salb . . . Kreeth . . . Bode . . . Card . . . their voices blended into a cruel chorus. Hit it harder with your head, feeb . . . follow those three brats and cause them as much trouble as you can . . . this isn’t over Maldies . . . Maldies the rat, Maldies the brat…
Niam shut the voices out. Instead he focused his disbelieving eyes on Bug. Beneath her hair, something black began to stir like a worm tattooed into her pale skin. It writhed and turned sickeningly. Niam jerked his hands away from her head as the worm’s sinuous form undulated into view.
Not a worm, Niam knew
Writing.
Just like the writing on the boxes at the Vandin camp. Spellbound, he watched as runes boiled out of her hair like a mass of angry ants pouring from their nest. Niam’s stomach suddenly felt full of rancid goat’s milk. He wanted to heave. Just before he did—
—Lightning flashed in the sky overhead, whiting everything out in sharp light as a bolt struck soundlessly nearby.
Something was different.
Niam stood in darkness. The terrible sickness in his stomach was gone, but the image of Bug’s innocent little face staring unblinkingly into the air remained. “Why is this happening to me?!” Niam shouted. Only silent darkness answered his cry. “You where there, weren’t you? You were there when my brother and sister died. You saw what happened to Corey!” he bellowed at the source of the Voice.. “I’m sick of this! Show yourself! Who are you?“ Niam demanded. “Give me a way to fight this!”
Lightning flashed and Niam winced. He shielded his eyes against the light.
And something was different.
Niam now stood in the stable yard on the far end of Pirim Village. A ring of statues surrounded them. Tall men and women of stone stood gazing down with stern expressions.
Beside him, Maerillus held the stirrup steady so Corey could mount the horse. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t let Corey get up on the horse. “Don’t,” Niam tried to say, but his words evaporated into the air like steam on a cold day. “No!” he screamed, but nothing came out of his mouth. A quick, soft noise sounded behind him; he looked back. Between a gap in the statues, Salb hurled a pitchfork. Niam cried out again, but his words felt as heavy as stone in a throat too weak to force them out. The pitchfork sailed lazily trough the air. Trickling tears leaked from lidless stone eyes as Bug’s scream pierced the air. Niam moved to intercept the thing before it stuck the horse, but his arms and legs only responded in slow motion. Everyone around him moved at half speed. Corey turned, looked at him, and his eyes held no color, only flat white cataracts of death instead of pupils. Tiny black tendrils wriggled across his features like evil threads.
The horse gave a spasmodic kick as the pitchfork struck with a flat thwack, and Bug’s scream accompanied Corey’s fall. The sound of it pierced Niam’s heart. Maerillus and Davin ran toward the body, but Niam hadn’t even finished his first step. “No!” He tried warning them. “That’s not Corey!” The not-Corey lay motionless for a moment, but Niam knew it would not remain so for long. Bug ran to its side. Maerillus and Davin skidded to a halt beside her. One of them exclaimed, “He’s not dead! Look—I saw him move!”
Niam strained with all of his might, but he moved no faster than molasses on a cold day. This wasn’t right.
“Give him room!” Davin shouted as the body started to quiver and jerk.
“Please,” he begged the stone visages, “help me.” The statue next to him wore a sad expression. From its chest an arrow protruded. Niam knew the man in life whose cold eyes stared ahead as blank as the stone they were cut from. In one the statue’s hands was a small crossbow. The other held a metal object that looked as delicate as a snowflake cut in an impossibly intricate pattern. “Jort . . .” Niam croaked
Nearby, the not-Corey raised itself as lines of terrible writing cavorted and skittered across his skin. The flesh beneath rippled as unhealthy things moved and stirred within. Niam’s stomach lurched. Nausea welled deep within his gut. His knees trembled with pain.
“Please help me,” he prayed.
The not-Corey now stood erect with erratic, tottering movements. It seemed to be slowly feeling out unfamiliar limbs for the first time.
“Please!” Niam croaked. “Help!”
The statue of Jort turned its head toward him and in a grating voice commanded, REMEMBER.
“Give me something to fight this!” Niam begged.
Lightning flashed overhead. “DONE!” all of the statues replied at once.
Another blinding flash cut the sky in half, and the light seared Niam’s eyes. Then all of the statues surrounding him cried out like thunder.
FEEL!
Their voices shook the earth.
REMEMBER!
.