Chapter 13

His arm moved, sweeping across the floor slowly. The thin layer of dust stirred around him, clouding the air. His forehead slumped down and when he inhaled the dust clogged his nose. Where am I? His eyes struggled open and focus. A bright red-orange glow bloomed in front of him, standing out from the dull brown and black hues that filled his vision. What is that? Exhaustion pulled at him, shackling him to the ground. Aiden wondered if he had ever felt so tired before. It was as if something had sucked all the energy from his bones, leaving him empty and hollow. His eyes dropped shut again. Wake up Aiden, wake up! Light cracked through the darkness, responding to his commands. That’s right, it’s time. Wake up and face reality. A twinge of fear seized him and he shifted once more, driven by the urgent need to break free of his bonds. He could not let fear overtake him again.

As he worked, his muscles began to respond, shaking off the intense lethargy that had pinned him down. Good, now the other one. He told himself, watching through blurry vision as his legs bent beneath him, his knees taking on full support of his body. His arms shook, betraying their weakness. Soon he rocked back onto his heels and put forth the effort to try and make out the objects around him. The biggest problem came n from the blinding orange light in front of him. It dominated his sight and forced him to turn away.

The familiar stiffened canvas of his pack seemed to shimmer into view and he grabbed at it. His hands slid along the straps, slow to actually grasp the cloth. He wound the strap around each hand and pulled it into his possession. The first thing he touched were the gloves, still tied tight around the mask. He scooped these items out and worked them loose. The gloves slid smoothly onto his hands, the leather soft on his palms. He breathed deeply, trying to keep his eyes open as he shod the other one. Somewhere, in the depth of his mind, he noticed that there was a distinct lack of ravaged skin on his extremities but that was a whisper compared to the overall task of trying to keep conscious.

*Creak* The sound of old wood straining split through the air. The mask dropped to the ground and he spun on his heels. His body warmed, eager to face whatever enemy presented. His head pounding against the confines of his skull, he strained to see past the inferno to where the sound had originated. *Creak!* the wood groaned louder. *Creak, creak, creak..* the sound dwindled away into silence and someone moved directly in front of the fire that kept him blinded. His eyes began to adjust, seeing the colors more distinctly as fuzzy objects.

The walls were long logs, bound together by some sort of mortar. The rest of the brown came from the worn planks beneath his feet. His head lolled back and he squinted up at the figure. So this was it then. Someone had found me and brought me back here to kill me. But what was he waiting for? I should be dead by now. Or am I already? The possibility made his pulse race and in turn intensified the headache. He crumpled onto himself, stunned into silence by the sudden pain.

“Easy now.” The rasp of an old man’s voice echoed around him but he could think little past the agony. He barely struggled when hands enclosed his arms and pulled him mostly upright. The sharp screech of a wooden chair sliding across the ground pierced his ears and he grunted miserably. “Here we go, easy.” The man said, mostly to himself. For Aiden there was no relief in those words. He sagged onto the table, only partially sitting.

The man left, disappearing beyond Aiden’s hearing range. When he returned, the cool feel of water being applied to the back of his neck helped to ease the pain. Another rag went to his forehead and with each passing moment, the headache retreated into the depth of his skull.

“That’s better. How are your eyes?”

How could he know? Aiden’s eyes continued to cloud, becoming clear for a moment and then fogging again. How? “Yeah, a little better... than before.”

“Very good, and your head?”

Again, how did he know this stuff? He let his head rise slowly and took a assessment of the man. “Who are you?”

The man’s grey and black beard moved as he chuckled. “The real question is, who are you?” He may have been grinning but Aiden felt no amusement from the refusal.

“Nobody.”

“Oh? You seem to be someone. You are after all sitting in my cottage.”

Aiden sat back in the chair, comforted by the fact that energy began to seep back into him. It still left him with the problem of the old man’s intentions. Was he luring Aiden, tempting him into revealing what he was? Grim determination steeled within. He would not be so foolish as to give the game away. Infected or not, the will to live was a hard thing to crush.

“Well names aren’t as important as what you were doing out there so early in the morning.” The man alluded.

What was he doing out there? Aiden shuddered at the memory. Turning into a goddamn fiend, old man. If I were you I would have taken a hatchet to my head and ended the threat there. His lip curled into a sneer. Whatever compassion had stayed the man’s hand, it would do him no good when the hunger struck again.

“Well I could take that as a response.” The old man chuckled again, his hands clasping on the table in front of him.

What? Take what as a response? Aiden asked himself before realizing that he must have meant the nasty little smile he had given. But that would mean his mask… Aiden whipped around in the chair, his eyes roving over his pack until he saw it, the black leather sticking out from behind the canvas. Cold dread crept up his spine and before Aiden turned back again he reached up to his cheek.

“Healed nicely, didn’t it?” The old man asked and Aiden’s lips moved soundlessly as he repeated what the man said.

“Take a look.” A flat piece of metal slid across the table to him and Aiden inspected the wound.

The skin had not healed completely, leaving only three lines of red, no more than a needle’s tip wide on his face. The hole where only membrane had remained had filled in, but how?

“Why did you bring me here?” Aiden asked, licking his lips nervously. His hands twitched and he wanted nothing more than to rip the gloves off and see for himself if they too had healed.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The old man was starting to irritate him. Had he no straight answers to give? Not like you’ve been very talkative either, buddy. “Most people wouldn’t help a total stranger.” Aiden felt tense and his feet shifted to allow him to escape from the chair at a moment’s notice.

“I suppose I’m not like most people then, I help when I hear someone in pain.”

Pain? Aiden remember the pain well. Or was he talking about the woman? By the gods did he see her? Was I.. was I.. Even now he couldn’t finish the thought.

“How did you find me then?”

At this the old man gave a hearty chuckle, his arms crossing. “As if I couldn’t follow your screaming.” Aiden’s face must have betrayed his shock. He didn’t realize he had been screaming. “Whatever it was that you were going through, I knew you needed help.” The man’s perpetually jovial face sobered. “You’re probably scared right about now, aren’t you lad? It’s okay, I would be too.”

Aiden’s heart hammered in his chest. He shifted his eyes to the exit. Whatever this man was leading up to, he didn’t want to hear any part of it.

“There are dark things in this world, but some of us are willing to help defeat those things. What I’m saying is I think I can help you.”

That was the last straw. Aiden shoved the chair out from behind him, grabbed his pack and made for the doorway, muttering something about needing to get back to town. He had almost made it when the old man stopped him with a single sentence.

“It will happen again.”

Light crept in through the cracks and struck Aiden’s face. Freedom was only a foot away now, but how long would that freedom last? How long could he run before the hunger came again, the next time making him kill for the sustenance that he needed. Would it really be so bad to hear the old man out? Aiden turned from the door and looked back at him.

“And again and again until you learn to control it.”

His jaw worked and somehow he managed to ask, “Control what?”

The old man uncrossed his arms and turned the chair toward the door. “What happened to that woman out there?”

It was the question he had been hoping to avoid by fleeing as fast as his legs could carry him. “What woman?” He desperately denied.

“The one I found you lying next to with your face and hands bloodied. I thought you were hurt at first, but it wasn’t your blood was it?”

“I didn’t kill her.” Aiden said quickly, his head seeming so heavy suddenly. He touched his forehead to the smooth wooden panel in front of him.

“That’s one question answered. How did she die then?”

Aiden shrugged, shame at admitting his cowardice making it difficult to say. “She was murdered.”

The old man seemed interested now. He straightened in his chair. “Did you see who did it?”

Aiden nodded. “Her husband I think, I was… nearby, in the bushes.”

“And you didn’t help her.”

“Most people wouldn’t help a total stranger.” Aiden repeated his earlier observation, his voice tightening. “And I am definitely not like you.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Aiden turned for the latch again, but his finger hovered. He had to know. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

The old man took this in for a moment before breaking out into a barking laugh. “Kill you? Why would I kill you?”

“You said so yourself, my face and hands…”

“Yes, your hands. That is why I didn’t kill you.” The old man stared at him intently. “I watched your hands, lad. I saw the skin from your wrist extend and envelope the rest of your hand. It was like nothing I had ever seen before.”

His hand twitched again, the evidence underneath leather gloves begging to be seen. “What’s your point?”

“Do you know how you did that? How that gash on your face healed up within minutes? You seemed to be too far gone to realize what was happening but… Has it happened before?”

Aiden shook his head. “No, never before.” He couldn’t stand it. The leather cinch around his wrist released the glove and he slid it off, staring at the re-growth. It was nothing short of miraculous. His fingers curled and none of the bone could be seen.

“How—,” he started to ask, looking back at the old man.

“Take a seat, lad.”

Before he realized what he was doing, his feet shuffled toward the chair. He couldn’t take his gaze from his hand, marveling as the light from the fireplace gave him a better view.

“There are terrible things at work in our world and I don’t just mean the soulless corpses that no doubt infected you.” The old man warmed up, seeming to have the entire speech memorized. “Isn’t it strange that no records hold any accounts of this plague having struck before?”

“It’s never happened before.” Aiden responded.

The old man shook his head. “No lad, it has. Hundreds of years ago, this very same disease rapidly infected our race. People died by the thousands and entire continents were wiped clean. It was not just man who suffered. All forms of life were prey for the undead to hunt and entire ecosystems were destroyed.”

“How do you know that?”

“What I am about to tell you was passed down to me by my father’s father, all the way back to the beginning. This sort of knowledge was common all the way up to a short while ago when the Church decided to ban such tales. Around such time the books keeping account of that part of history was also lost to us and then it only remained to be delivered to the next generation by word of mouth in secrecy.”

“Sounds like a great conspiracy.” Aiden said sarcastically, having trouble believing what the old man said. For all he knew, the man’s mind had degenerated into fantasies through the years. “And is there a council of you keepers-of-forbidden-knowledge too?”

The old man began to sense the sarcasm and his arms crossed.

“Do you meet by moonlight in a copse of trees with the animals of the world, plotting out your next move against society?” Aiden teased dryly.

“You don’t believe me.” The old man said.

Aiden shook his head, standing again. “Sorry, but I can’t. What you’re saying is ridiculous. The Church would destroy pieces of history and let me guess, you don’t even know why they would do such a thing right?”

The old man looked away and Aiden had his answer.

“Look I’m not ungrateful, thanks for dragging my sorry corpse out of that place, but I’m needed elsewhere.”

“There are others like you.” Once again, the old man’s words stopped him in his tracks. “Not many, according to the lore. But enough to combat the undead that plague our world.”

“Like me.” Aiden repeated bitterly. “A fool, who can’t even feed his family?”

The old man’s head shook, sending his shaggy locks swishing around his face. “No, a man who’s immune system is stronger beyond that of normal people. Someone who can resist the disease-- if he shuts up long enough to learn how to keep it at bay.”

Aiden’s lips pressed together and he cursed silently. Damn if he doesn’t know exactly what to say to keep me here. Damn if I don’t have the courage to just leave.

“Just how do you figure I fit that description? You don’t know anything about me.”

The old man snorted derisively. “I know you’ve succumbed to the hunger and managed to fight your way back to sanity. And that I can follow the trail of animals that you ravaged and left behind.

Aiden’s eyes closed, the memories still fresh.

“Did you eat that woman, lad?”

“I…” Aiden choked on the admission.

“I saw her blood on you, did you consume human flesh?”

His shoulders fell and he kept his face in shadow. “Yes.” He whispered.

“What was that?”

Anger and sadness clawed for dominance. “Yes!” He yelled, returning to the table and leaning close with both his hands on the back of the old man’s chair. Let him see. Let him know what it was he let live last night. “Yes I did, and I enjoyed it.” He snarled, the glimmer of uncertainty on the man’s face igniting his temper. “Her blood was smooth and rich and goddamn sweet.” He could have been talking about a fine wine at that moment. Heat flushed his face, making his palms sweat and his cheek slick. “She tasted good, like cinnamon spiced rolls. Her husband made it so easy…” He drew in a ragged breath. “So damn easy to do it. I didn’t have to…” Aiden coughed then, his emotion dampening the fires of his anger and putting only sorrow in its place. Knowing what he did and describing it out loud brought forth the depth of his anguish. He panted, his hand dropping low and it was then he noticed that the wet on his cheeks wasn’t sweat, it was tears.

It was a long while before the old man moved and he did so slowly as if handling a wounded animal. The man’s hand reached up, refusing to move even as Aiden’s face jerked in the direction of where it rested on his arm. “Easy now, lad. Easy.” He spoke in a low, soothing tone. “The worst is almost over.”

Aiden sucked air in through his clogged nose and shook his head in denial.

“Shh…It is. You’ve done well. You’re stronger than I thought and you’ve been through much. I’m here to help you now, so you’re not alone anymore.”

That cracked his resolve. Aiden sank back into his chair, his legs sprawled haphazardly. He didn’t bother rubbing the drying tears away and couldn’t find the strength to look up.

“There are three things that can happen to someone when they become infected.”

Aiden listened numbly.

“One, the person dies but though their soul has departed, part of their brain still functions. The only thing those seek is living flesh. It is that scrap of knowledge that flesh can stop the disease which keeps them going. But it is not enough, they have no soul and cannot live again. Thus they rove attacking everything on sight.”

The old man paused a moment to let the thought sink in.

“The second kind is more dangerous. These are the ones who ride out the disease, only to succumb to the mindless hunger that drives the others. The difference is that these retain their soul, though it becomes corrupted by the continual need for nourishment while their bodies rot. No amount of flesh can be consumed to stave off the rot for these two unfortunate types of victims. The mind becomes perverted as well, developing the ability to control with their will the animated corpses around them as well as being able to communicate.”

The chair creaked as the old man leaned forward, his grey eyes betraying his excitement. “The last are those who are gifted with a strong enough body AND mind to withstand the effects of the disease. Some of these have been known to exhibit no outward signs of being infected and will develop a full immunity to it. The others however cannot fully escape the side-effects. They can be killed but not by the virus as long as they continue to stave it off. Their bodies may rot but the consumption of flesh becomes their reprieve, causing wide-scale regeneration of the wounds. These are the ones built to fight the others for they sense when the undead are near and can break free from the mental commands of the second type. This third plague victim is most fortunate because when bitten or wounded by weapons, the area can regenerate. No amount of plague exposure will advance their condition. In a sense, they are our only hope of finding and defeating the ones already turned.”

“And you think I am one of those.” Aiden said, his throat dry.

“I know you are.”
“How do you know which one though? I could turn at any second!”

The old man shook his head, chuckling. “No lad, you have already survived the test.”

“Test? What test?” But already Aiden knew the answer.

“Do you remember killing all those animals? There were at least four you know.”
Aiden’s green eyes looked for any trace of a lie in the old man’s grey ones. “How do you—,”

“I found the bodies of those four. Not including the woman.” The old man inhaled deeply and rubbed his legs with his palms. “According to what we know, the disease immerses the victim in darkness where it struggles to take over the carrier. If successful, the heart stops and either release the soul or keep it, depending on how strong the will of the person is. Or, the person is able to break through this period and pull away intact. This is what I assume you have already done.”

Aiden nodded numbly. It was true, he knew it was and there was little use in denying it. Perhaps the old man was right and there was something he could do to continue living. Even if it meant being in a state of perpetual degeneration, if he stayed alive long enough, he could figure out a way to help his family. He owed it to them to at least try. “So what now?”

The old man smiled, showing yellowed teeth. He raised himself up from the chair and hobbled over to the bookcase near the fireplace. When he returned, a thin leather-bound book occupied his hand. His fingers caressed the cover that bore no title and he set it onto the tabletop. “My grandfather wrote down all the great mysteries that my family’s bloodline had seen. In there is everything I told you and more regarding the plague.” The old man sighed wistfully. “The only problem is that a bundle of pages has been torn, right as the account of what happened began to tell how our ancestors stopped the plague and returned the world to rights.”

Aiden picked up the book, glancing at the old man’s resigned expression. “I thought you said no one had recorded these events.”

The old man shrugged. “This would be the only living document of such things but the bulk of the information was passed to me as I have passed it to you today. Take the book, read it as best as you can. It’s written in the old style and is often confusing. Do not remove the book from my property however, in the wrong hands that can be a powerful tool.”

Aiden chuckled to himself, calling back to the old man as he retreated down the hallway toward the back rooms. “You make it sound like we’re in some sort of war.”

The old man’s faint response chilled Aiden suddenly. “Who says we aren’t?”

Chapter 12

The moonlit trees raced past him as he ran. His legs held no weakness and his lungs breathed steadily. It was as if he could run forever away from all the things he held dear. The gates of Fairweather had disappeared behind him and yet he continued, jumping over fallen logs and jetting between tree trunks. No path guided him down deeper into the pine forests. Only the sense that he would know where to stop when he arrived there kept him going. It was then that he felt himself slipping into the shadows of his mind. Where he should have known panic at the thought of losing absolute control over his body, instead he found relief. The bitterness and sorrow that flooded him began to ebb. Then the world around him smeared, as if a paint brush loaded with turpentine blended all the colors together until nothing was recognizable. He needed an escape, somewhere to go where his mind could retreat into itself until he was ready to face the reality of the situation. The hunger was eager to take over the task of keeping him alive. It had been waiting just under the surface for the right moment. Aiden knew he should be appalled at what was happening but there was a sort of sweet release in allowing himself the bliss of nothingness.
Strain like the feeling of his legs put to motion for too long, punctured through the darkness. Then it was wet, the slick sensation of a liquid being spilled down the skin. Some part of him whispered that it was good, this feeling, that it was right to have. The heady scent of something familiar filled his nose, telling his mind what his eyes couldn’t see. Leave me alone. Peace.. give me peace. His mind echoed the words, using them as a shield. Tired.. so tired. Need rest. It was as if he ordered these commands to himself but still the awareness remained. Direction over his body had been snatched away but just enough of whatever it was he experienced still leaked through. Again it came, the wetness that streamed down his throat, settling in his stomach with warmth that spread to his entire being. No more. Leave me alone. But the hunger wanted him to feel and know what it was he was designed to do. It would not relent and it sent more stimuli to his mind. In the farthest reaches of his consciousness he had a word for what his body was doing but fear repelled the knowledge.

Soon it intensified as though a numbed limb was regaining sensitivity. The black faded to grey and his eyes cracked open. The world around him continued to meld together in a mass of colors. Then the colors took on definition and his head lolled to the side as he retook mastery over his actions. The wet remained, filling his mouth with pleasure as he chewed on the liquid.

Pleasure that was the word the hunger wanted him to know. His hands grasped something thick and his fingers dug into a matted mass of hair. The object in his hands jerked violently and Aiden knew at once what it was. The sound like heavy cloth being ripped apart exploded in his ears and his eyes snapped to the source.

Crimson burbled up from the creature and recoated his skin. Glossy, like fine paint, he watched the reflection of the moon on the back of his hands as they rose to his mouth. He tried to jerk his head away but where he could move moments before, his head remained in place. His treacherous tongue laved over the surface, lapping up the blood like a dog did fresh water.

Don’t do this. You’re a man not some kind of animal! Put it down and leave it alone! I don’t want this, none of this! He screamed the thoughts mentally, his mouth too busy to communicate out loud. Then his body crouched and just before red consumed his view, Aiden glimpsed the large back paws of what was once a jackrabbit. Teeth sank into flesh and when his mind shouted No!, his body shuddered with delight.

The cycle continued as Aiden was subjected to waves of feeling that drowned out the objection of his thoughts. Quietly, his rejection to feeding began to turn into an acceptance of what would happen no matter how hard he fought. He drifted in and out of waking, each time becoming longer and giving him greater ability. Inevitably, the hunger ignited and raged until he fell back into blackness. Was this what all the undead experienced? If so then perhaps resignation to the situation would eventually allow him enough time to beat back the monster inside. This desperate theory became his only focus. Gradually his eyes opened, giving into the experience.

White and grey streaked across his path and Aiden switched directions to follow it. The long bushy tail of a wolf was easily recognizable for the trapper part of him. Wolf, the word brought forth information about the speed and habits of the creature and his body adjusted its pursuit efforts. The ground raced past, the moon revealing the ditch that lay nestled ahead. The wolf went tumbling, its balance broken and the momentum continuing to propel it forward. Aiden sprang onto it, his blunt teeth clamping onto the thick fur as his dagger-like hands drove into it. Howls of pain and aggression sounded in his ears but he paid it no heed. The wolf struggled, wriggling like a worm on the line. An intense surge of strength pumped through him, channeling to his limbs. His hands readjusted their grip, wrapping around the head and underneath the muzzle. Working in concert his knees shifted to coil his body together as he pinned it to the dirt and twisted its head beyond normal limits, killing it instantly.

His fingers scratched and tore at its hide, opening a hole into the soft underbelly of his prey. Blood gushed out onto the dirt and he bent to suck what he could from the initial rush, the liquid washing over his nose and under cheekbones. He did not stop to savor anything as his teeth chewed through the layers of membrane protecting the soft internals. His mind recoiled slightly and the darkness was back, ready to pounce on him and drag him back into oblivion. The hunger had no time for the petty arguments of right and wrong. It stood posed to reclaim control at any other sign of resistance.

A passenger in his own body, Aiden watched the deed. Soon, he woke as if from a dream, but the ruddy color of dried blood was a vivid reminder that it had been real. The wolf’s remains were no where in sight. Go clean up. His mind ordered. Find water, scrub the red away. He obeyed, finding a small stream nearby. Don’t swallow! The water that had slipped into his mouth had no taste and he spat it back out. Clothes that had been relatively clean now stuck to his skin. Don’t worry about that. Clean your arms and face. When the job was done he sat back on his heels. Time had seemed to stop for Aiden but it was still deep into night. Moisture dried from his hands and he flexed them stiffly, noting the way the muscles continued to shrivel back against the bone. Even with the wolf, rabbit and whatever else he had eaten that night, there was little mitigation to the decay of his body.

Not what you needed. The thought came from outside of him, resonating with the images of himself taking several bites of one animal only to turn from it and search for another. Not enough.

“It will have to be enough!” He snapped the words out loud. It may have seemed foolish to respond to the voice in his head but the action eased the frustration that edged in. “There is nothing else I can do.” He whispered. Standing he checked for his pack and was not surprised to find it missing.

“Where’s my pack?” No answer came in the stillness of the night. “Where’s my pack! Tell me where it is.” His eyes clamped shut and he willed himself to remember. “Tell me, you know where it is so tell me.” The words slipped into a plea and soon the image of a clearing with one gigantic tree and two smaller ones revealed the location of his belongings.

The woods became familiar to him. The scents he had experience matching up with the actual surroundings. He knew when to turn and which part of the creek to cross. It was a long trek back to the clearing but determination refused to let him mark the passage of time. Nothing would stop him from getting back what was his.

Night was creeping slowly into day, the sky beginning to brighten almost imperceptibly. Blues overtook the inky black and he knew it would be only hours before dawn. The clearing loomed into view at the top of the next incline and he broke into a sprint. His pack lay just where he had tossed it and inside his gloves had been wrapped around the mask. He touched his cheek and what was left of his fingers sank into the indention.

The sound of footsteps crashed through the forest and Aiden snatched up his pack. He listened, letting the ambience filter out so he could better track where the footsteps were headed. A path led away from the clearing just to the right and he made his way slowly to the spot where he could see down the hill.

At first nothing showed but then the thick waist-high grasses rustled and parted. The dark of the night made it impossible to identify features but the size and bulk of the figure was that of a male. Behind the man another struggled against his hold as he dragged that one toward the clearing. Aiden, realizing he would be in view shortly, slinked back into the shadows of the bushes. They were near now and there was no way he could escape the thorn bush without rustling the dried up leaves.

“Stop dragging your feet! You brought this on yourself.” The man growled, his voice husky with anger.

The other one whimpered in a distinctive feminine tone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! How many times can I say it to make it right?” She asked, her posture sagging away from him.

He yanked both of her wrists toward him and said with words Aiden could barely hear, “You can never make it right, harlot. I warned you when you married me that if I ever caught you in another man’s bed, I’d kill you.”

The smell of fear rolled off of her and Aiden responded, letting the scent sink into him. His pulse quickened, almost as if he enjoyed her terror. Monster. The thought whispered. Get used to it. He thought back fiercely and continued to watch, knowing with certainty that the man was capable of what he threatened. There was no apprehension, no dread emanating from him that would hint otherwise.

“You-you can’t be serious!” The woman stuttered, now wriggling and trying to break free of his grip.

“I told you I would.” The man repeated, one of his hands taking a hold of both of her small wrists and the other withdrawing a knife from his belt. “And I meant it.”

“N-no! Help!” She screamed over and over, even as he forced her to her knees and swung around behind her. His blade was quick, sawing through her neck with the efficiency of one who had done this deed before.

“Filthy whore.” He spat onto her twitching body. The man looked around at his settings then, suddenly aware of the possibility of being caught. Aiden sat perfectly still, not even daring to breath. For minutes the man stood there, searching in the pre-dawn light. Then he left, breaking into a run down the hill.

Anticipation sizzled in the air around him. Aiden stared at her body, unable to move away. You could have done something. The mental voice sneered. You could have saved her.

“Who knows if she was worth saving?” Aiden replied contemptuously. “She means nothing to me, why should I care?”

Because she was human.

A dark grimace marred his face. “Am I even human?” The question seemed to quiet the objections and he found himself moving toward her.

His boot separated the puddle of blood and the smell of it assaulted him. He fought against the rising tide in vain. Heat rose from within, worming into every cell in his body alongside the disease that caused it. Need clawed at his resolve, whispering promises that this would be different, better than the animals he had preyed upon all night. This was what he needed.

His jaw yearned and his teeth ground against one another. The ruined area just under her chin continued to pour forth her life, shimmering beautifully in the dawn. I can’t, not this. I am still human, I am! Let there be anything but this.

The hunger woke and obliged him with momentary blindness. So that was his choice, to be aware of what he was doing or to surrender to the permanent dark as a mindless undead. But I’m human… the thought followed him even as his hands reach down and tore loose a portion of her neck. I am not a monster! He repeated over and over as he chewed on the meat. His blunt molars ground down on the flesh, treating it like an undercooked steak.

The taste blossomed, shutting out all other thoughts. This was the sweet sensation that he had only barely experienced with the other creatures. It smoothed over his pallet blissfully and he consumed more.

The meat slid down his throat effortlessly but as he digested it something began happening. His fingers flexed in discomfort, balling together. Surprised, he shifted his gaze to his hands and stared as the discomfort turned into a throb that pulsed up his arms. His right arm where the lich had wounded him felt as though someone pounded a thousand tiny needles into his skin. Then the turbulence began within. Agony roiled through his body, doubling him over. It surged like fire through his veins, searing the nerves and sending him gasping for air.

The pain came in waves, cresting like a clap of thunder in his skull. “What’s happening?” He yelled, hoping the snide voice in his head would have an answer. “Stop! Make it stop!” He cried out this time as he collapsed, writhing on the ground. There were no hands any longer, Aiden was sure they had burned off in the flames that ate through him. His arms were next, especially the right one. That arm seared worse than his hands had. “Please stop…” his demands dissolved into a pitiful whine. The inferno reached his face; feeling like someone was grinding a torch into his face. Everything sizzled and everything burned. Deep inside the hunger retreated, satisfied.

Chapter 11

The night air was cold and though the customers in the Dusty Rose Inn’s cramped meeting area pulled jackets tight around themselves, he felt nothing. It wasn’t simply the way his body stopped responding to the outside temperatures, or the way his skinless hands experienced no pain as he shod them with gloves; inside Aiden was empty. Where once he would have circumvented the jostling crowd of drunken men that gathered at the bottom of the stairs, now he pushed right through them. Some sputtered curses and turned to see who would have the gall to shove them but one look at his half-covered face and glassy eyes silenced them. He moved to one of the tables in the darkest corner of the place, sitting by himself.

Why he had come downstairs was something of a mystery to him even now as he watched the patrons through the shield of his hands. There was something about the sharp contrast between the horrifying truth he possessed and the normalcy that the people around him presented.

The smell of greasy roasted meat died as it reached his nose. He knew that smell should have initiated the hunger within in, especially because he had not eaten for a day or more. Still, though he recognized the scent, it aroused no emotion within him. Was this an effect of the shattering news he had received only a few hours before? His hand went out and stopped the barmaid.

“What can I getcha sugar.” The slightly overweight woman asked while putting the upper half of her body onto the table. She stretched toward him and let her fingertips dance along the cuffs of his gloves. Her lips sank into what he assumed was suppose to be an alluring smile.

“House’s dish.” He said quickly, his eyes on her fingers. He watched her attempt to entice him with the fascination that he may give to a bug crawling on the back of a leaf.

“Anythin’ ta drink?” Her voice had dropped slightly in disappointment. Whatever she may have thought, this customer was not going to be interested in after hour entertainment.

“No.” With that final word, her fingers disappeared from sight and he was left alone to the darkness of his thoughts.

Monster; that was what he was becoming. His fingertips curled inside their leather sheathes and he gritted his teeth against the comfort of denial. Hours he had spent telling himself that it wasn’t true, that he would wake from this nightmare. He could not flee from this or ignore it. Had he paid more attention to the warning signs: his constant headaches, the illness triggered by the presence of another undead and his slowly fading appetite, perhaps he could have moved past this point.

No, he shook his head at the thought, what use would it have been for me to know sooner? The torture of watching myself slowly rot? Is this the end or will I be like that lich back in Annadell, my flesh shedding from my bones like a damn snake discarding its old skin? The questions continued, seeking only to stab at what composure he had left. It had been a mistake to come down here. He watched the people as they drank themselves into oblivion as if their circumstances were so dire that it drove them to the keg’s tap.

What could they know? What problems could compare to breathing deep the night air and not tasting the crispness or knowing that in one, final unexpected moment the world would turn to black stealing away all traces of sanity? Like the other undead, he would be savagery defined. No creature too big or small could daunt the instinctual drive to satisfy a nameless hunger. It was why the undead attacked anything that breathed within its vicinity and why, though it feasted on one victim, it was just as likely to turn onto another one. Pain and sorrow meant nothing to the inexhaustible force that spurred the corpses from the sleep of death and back into the world of the living.

How soon, he asked himself as his head sank back into his hands. How long until I turn into one of them fully? Will I be a lich, one of those conniving and vile abominations that used other undead to do their bidding? Will I prey upon those I knew as Kelsie did to me? His breath inhaled sharply and he held it for a moment, fighting off the surge of emotion. Goddess no, I could never do that to her. Elena.. and Jenna…little Alec. Panic rampaged to the surface and he was frozen in place by the fear of what might be. His wife, torn to pieces like that poor donkey in Annadell, the fake images tortured him. All of his life he had spent trying to improve their situation. Through hard work and sacrifice, he had achieved what he had hoped would be a sustainable and comfortable lifestyle. But that, like all things, was only a fantasy. There had to be a way to prevent that from happening; some option that would make sure that he was locked away and would never have the opportunity to do that to them.

Then a plate of meat and overcooked potatoes smacked onto the table in front of him. He stared at it, confused by the presence of food. The low roar of the crowd around him came back into his awareness as he looked around. Bitterness filled him. These people would never have to face the same unthinkable choices that he had now before him. All that was expected of them was that they would put down shiny, worthless pieces of metal onto the bar and shout for another. Worthless, yes that was the word to use for these things that society had deemed as necessary. What amount of money could reverse the horrible effects that he now experienced? And how much ale would it take to bury the hard truth that one day he would be another mindless killer loose on the streets?

The thought roused his contempt. What would these men and women think if he took off the mask and pulled free his gloves, revealing to all what he was? Would they run from him like rats from a flood? Some would spit curses at him, calling him ‘fiend’ and ‘demon.’ A twisted smile raked across his face. The names were strikingly appropriate to him.

The meat disgusted him. Yellow grease oozed from its pores and mingled with the slab of butter that melted from the top of the potato. The substances swirled and turned into a sickly light brown, the same color he had seen spurting from the torn skin on one of the undead he had killed.

“Sugar, you okay?” The barmaid asked, her high-pitched voice clawing through his black mood. His green eyes snapped to hers for the first time and he let all the hate he held toward himself and the unfairness in the world pour through. The wench backed up a few steps, clumsily bumping into another waitress and the sound of breaking glass clattered around him.

She stooped to gather the pieces and when she turned back to his table to apologize, a new smell struck him. This one was so unlike the repulsive taint of cooked meat; this intoxicated him. It wrapped around him like the comfort of a warm fire, shutting out all thoughts of rebellion. As his mind drifted away from his cares, something new awoke within him.

It pulsed through him like a slow drum beat that began to quicken. His blood raced along, eager to follow this new sensation. So long had he been without sustenance that it had ebbed to the edges of his consciousness, waiting for this moment. The ache of hunger made his teeth grind together. His throat was parched, begging for something soothing. Overcome by the sudden onset of this feeling which he had thought was forever lost to him, Aiden risked ruining the magic that let him forget for the moment the troubles that stalked him. His eyes opened and fixated on the source of the smell.

What he saw made him cringe back into the worn seat and for once he was grateful that the mask hid his horrified expression. The waitress’s hand had been cut, and deeply. Bright red and creamy in its consistency, the blood dripped onto the table and sank into the cracks of the wood. Revulsion ripped through him as he realized the full extent of what he had just experienced. Beast. The word echoed through his mind. No, not a beast, the sad thought refuted the notion. Beasts behave through instinct and cannot be accountable for their actions. They don’t think or reason or… he breathed deeply, or enjoy those things. I can’t be a beast. Oh gods, what’s happening to me?

He looked up at the waitress who continued stammering apologies and waved her away. There was no chance he could trust himself to speak at that moment because as she hurried toward the back storeroom, he felt the uncontrollable need to reach out and dip his fingers into the puddle of blood she left behind. His hand moved, twitching toward it and at the last minute he clamped his other hand onto it. “No.” He growled at himself.

A few curious glances from those who watched the barmaid pick up the pieces of glass lingered on him and he felt the twinge of self-consciousness. Could they see what disgusting face hid behind the mask? Did they know now that a monster was in their midst?

I have to get out of here. The conviction behind the thought drove him to move from the booth. His head was turned away from the fire to prevent further people from seeing him. Get out, get away from them. And Elena, I have to stay far from her. I can’t let her see what I’m becoming. The thought of never seeing his love again choked him but he still fished out the copper coins to pay for the meal left uneaten and the room he had not slept in. More than what he intended tumbled from his shaking hands but he didn’t dare wait any longer. He kept his eyes low, tracking the street’s broken cobbles. Around him the shadowy forms of people faded in and out of his peripherals but he could not raise his head. It was still there, gnawing at him now. The hunger had made itself known and it demanded attention. His steps broke into a run and he left the Freeman’s quarter far behind, passing through the city gates and into the wilderness outside with nothing but the pack he wore and the terrible truth that had been unlocked inside. Monster. The word echoed in his head. Yes, that was what he was and there was no going back.

Chapter 9?

There's a gap between 9 and 10 where I havent written out the scene. I dont know why but it happens often. Bear with me. Basically he goes back to the canals and meets up with Kelsey again. She imposes her will upon him in order to advance his infection and he ends up in the sorry state hes in for chapter 10.

Chapter 10

It was a narrow room at the top of the uneven staircase, at the end of the long corridor and in the shanty-like inn that the local drunks and low-lives claimed as their own. The place was generally avoided by the majority of the populace with its porch sloping downhill and broken sign. Glass shards were a minor hazard in a place where the food was stale and entertainment was comprised only of the stage harlots dressed to show more skin than was decent. The only thing genuine in this mar on the city landscape was the pure alcohol and the coin required to purchase it. As such, the Dusty Rose was the perfect hole-up point for the poor bloke whose luck wouldn’t hold and those on the outside of the law. The barkeep had a notoriously short memory and few words to communicate. Long ago the law enforcement had learned the futility in asking the burly, heavy-set man anything.

The bed taunted him from across the room with its singular thin blanket folded and the barley stuffed sack pillow sitting on top of it. He hadn’t slept all night, or rather; he hadn’t felt the need to. Thoughts he could not refute and knowledge he could not deny fought back and forth in his mind. The need to see his family drove his gaze to the door while the demand of responsibility pulled his hand toward his pack. It ate at him, the idea of Elena and the kids so close to this dark spot on the outskirts of Fairweather.

Ringing the city was the Freeman’s quarter where any family or individual could buy a place to live as long as they had no debts to the noble houses. Parallel to Trader’s Street, the cobbled road lead to a circle of houses. He had saved every spare coin possible over the year of their courtship to buy the home outright and present it as proof of his ability to take care of the strong-willed blonde woman he sought. Now, ten years and two children later, the draw of a wool stuffed pallet with warm blankets and floors that did not bow under his weight, became impossible to resist.

He stopped pacing and picked up the black mask from its place on the rickety wooden chair. The seamstress may have been irritated with him, but her pride would not allow a shoddy product to be associated with her business. The dye had completely blotted out any trace of red and the loops had been reinforced with leather at the joints.

He caught his reflection in the mirror, the slash of white against his tanned face reminding him of the unusual wound. Bending over the chest of drawers, he peeled away the square patch. It was festering with a deep infection. The cuts had long since swelled and blended together, looking like a long oval of red skin that periodically oozed. Just seeing it made his nose wrinkle in distaste.

There was no reason for it to not be healing. It just made no sense to him. He fished out the small glass bottle that Mira had given him as he left and removed the stopper. Taking the outside of the bandage, he dabbed onto it a small amount of the clear astringent, breathed deep, and pressed it to his cheek. The initial sting of pain was less this time than in previous attempts. Aiden took this as a good sign that perhaps the skin was numbing. He could give Mira that, her products worked wonders. The area cleaned up nicely and he hoped that it would stay that way. Another patch of gauze on his cheek and he was ready.

The Abbot’s threats stopped him at the door. If he left here now without the mask and someone recognized him, word would be swift in reaching the ruthless clergyman. At least the damn thing is light. Aiden thought as he fitted the straps behind his ears and adjusted the fit of the mask. A few heavy breaths confirmed what he already suspected: the mask’s designer had a warrior in mind when he placed the slats precisely where air could easily pass through the leather and cotton interior.

When he left the room, every scrap of his possessions left with him. It would mark him as a newcomer to the town and as such curious eyes would be on him. He risked so much but the thought of at least seeing her from afar, knowing that she was well, would spur him through the Abbot’s task.

The path leading to the market twisted through this seedier part of town with twists and turns that could lead a foreigner astray. Having already navigated the alleyways, finding the row of warehouses would be the easy part. The Chemist had given him precise instructions on which building to enter and whom to talk to. The hard part would be convincing the man to give him more than just fuel.

A trapper was what he professed to be but that meant more than just snares for rabbits or constructing elaborate cages for the more feral creatures. With the trapping grounds off limits in this fife, and not enough money to pack up his family and escape to another, he was quickly learning the value of ingenuity. There was a loose plan forming in his mind about how best to kill these undead creatures and the slow burning oil was swiftly being replaced with using the chemicals he saw in the Chemist’s lab. He could only hope that the volatile substances would be stored here as well.

The warehouses loomed darkly with the early sunlight still too weak to reach over the roof and illuminate the street below. As such he traveled with his shoulders and head low, keeping a low profile and giving other travelers a wide birth. Who knew what kind of cutthroats and pickpockets roved these streets?

The peeling ambiguous sign reading, “Marthor’s Storage,” caught his eye and he made his way to the entrance. Aiden’s hand paused on the tall door’s handle. There was no room to falter once he passed underneath that sign.

***

Marthor, the proprietor of a private warehouse and owner of the small storefront where he sold specialty goods, had a good feeling about that morning. Up before the sun, he had already summed up the accounts from the previous day and restocked the shop. The warehouse entrance door’s small bell jingled in the quiet and he regretted letting his only employee go home early. The back access was where his more discrete customers picked up their shipments. With somewhat questionable goods passing into and out of his possession, he preferred to let someone deal with the handling of those goods. Ignorance made it easier to gloss over the details when the local investigators pounded on his door. Left with no other choice, he wrote down a final count on the stack of books waiting to be put up for sale and made his way to help what he hoped was his last warehouse customer.

The heavy blue curtain was used to separate his shop and living quarters above it. He shoved it aside, stirring up the layer of dust on the floorboards and came to a halt behind the waist-level countertop. Though he may not deal with these people on a regular basis, he could spot them anywhere. They were the ones that stood alone in a crowd of people. Detached and strictly business, these people exuded confidence backed by a powerful employer.

His last customer turned as he walked through the curtain, watching him from the corner of his vision as if tracking his movements. Male and tall, at least five foot seven or more, the man walked to the counter with slow, purposeful steps. Shadow had cloaked most of his features beyond the basic outline, the candle lamps having gone low in the later hours and it wasn’t until he stepped into the orange glow of Marthor’s personal lamp that the shop keeper saw it.

His eyes grew wide and his breath caught halfway in his throat. Chills overtook him as little voices whispered, “You should have slept in today, Marthor.” In all his years dealing with dangerous characters, only the Protectors could make him wish he had stayed in only legitimate business.

“Are you Marthor?” the Protector said, the mask muffling his words.

He nodded, feeling rooted in place. Normally he would take the lead in such conversations but with one of the church’s secret warrior standing in front of him, Marthor was inclined to let the gentleman speak.

Instead of words, the man produced a tightly rolled scroll and placed it on the counter, the dark red wax stamped with the six-pointed star symbol of the goddess confirming the legitimacy of the document and its bearer. His reluctant hand took the scroll and broke the seal, pealing it open to reveal the words within.

“You work for Master Rosen. I wasn’t aware he had Protectors in his employ.” He stated, somewhat impressed that the man most referred to as “the Chemist”, had enough power to command a Protector to do his bidding. The only other encounter with the warrior’s had ended with him being intimidated into giving space in his warehouse to the church for free. At first he had been angry at the methods used, but the influx of weekly patrons associated with the church had made up for the loss in profit.

“I hope that he has found his last shipment in good order.” Marthor attempted to goad the man into polite conversation but he remained silent, his green eyes cold with disinterest. “Right then, allow me a moment.” Scanning the shipment logs, he found the scheduled daily pick-up.

The oil was kept in kegs on the highest shelf in order to prevent any accidental spillage. Marthor took pride in having designed the pulley system himself. Two industrial strength pulleys, the kind used to lift small boats from the water, were screwed into the ceiling, allowing the thick rope to be pulled taut by the hand crank on the floor level. The keg of oil was drilled onto a wooden platform, allowing the entire setup to be lowered down. It prevented the risk of the keg slipping from a rope harness and crashing to the ground.

The Protector watched this with what looked like a spark of interest, his eyes following the keg’s journey.

“And here I thought you had barrels for that kind of thing.” The man said quietly.

His sudden words caught Marthor off guard but soon he warmed up to the prospect of conversation. “Well we had them in barrels at first on the ground but as my inventory grew I needed to move them up higher. Then it became a matter of minor spills here and there when the lid came off and dripped down the side, so the keg was substituted. See there?” He pointed to the large sealed opening on the top of the keg. “That’s the only thing I need to glue when I refill it. The tap makes for a more precise measurement too and that means less mess and happier customers.”

The man nodded along with him. “Less of a fire hazard then too.” He added and Marthor smiled. The Protector seemed impressed with the contraption!

“Now to get your supply.” Marthor plucked one of the large bottles from the lower shelves and filled it with the opaque amber liquid.

“There you are. I’ll put this on next month’s bill.” He smiled, relieved to have avoided an unpleasant encounter. The man took the bottle and stored it in his pack but when he straightened again, an expectant look crossed what little of his face could be seen.

“Something wrong?” Marthor asked, drumming his fingertips on the countertop nervously.

“The ___ and the ___?”

He could only faintly remember the unusual names and was forced to look them up in the logbook as well. “It says here you aren’t due for that installment until three weeks from now.”

“The Master has need of the substances now.”

“It is expensive stuff and already the church’s bill is over its limit. If I give them to you now, I may not get paid for those.” Marthor stated boldly, not having exaggerated. It was becoming a common practice for the church to demand products and then fight with him over the unbudgeted expenses.

“I sympathize, but it is not my problem. These things are crucial to his projects and must therefore be available in abundance.”

“Well if Master Rosen is in need of something then he must speak with the church’s financiers and make it known. I’m afraid I cannot allow the items to go without some sort of compensation.”

The Protector’s eyes darkened and Marthor shrank from it, remembering the last time he had gone against one of them. Then he sighed and the dangerous look left his face. The man put both hands on the counter and leaned against it. “Come now, Marthor. If you are as smart with your business as you are with that contraption, then you will not lose coin on these deals.”

“If you have any ideas then out with them, I have exhausted myself going against the church on these matters.”

“Think about the effects of the plague. With major roads closing, it becomes more difficult to get your wares, right? So present to them an inflated estimate of cost to get things like those fine cheeses and specialty foods that you import.”

“But those items haven’t become hard to come by yet.”

“Bear with me, Marthor, you need the coin and I need the goods for my Master. I like you and I’d like to keep this relationship with you friendly.”

“Of course..”

“Threaten their luxuries and watch how willing they become in raising the budget. You and I both know that the church has a dizzying amount of money stored away. You just have to make them spend it.”

Marthor took this proposition in with careful consideration. Having done business with the church for years, the financial advisors didn’t even ask for his logbooks at the end of the year, relying on that trust to keep the shopkeeper honest. It would be an ugly scene to see if the church found out he was lying to them but after all, they were the ones forcing him to take a loss on his profits! If nothing else he could say he had been coerced into it by this Protector and let him take the blame.

“Alright then, I have only a small amount of it left but it will have to do.” At the Protector’s nod, he left to retrieve the two chemicals.

Aiden couldn’t believe his luck. Since the moment he had walked into the store and saw the way the proprietor stared at him, he had a feeling there was something he could use in this situation. Then when he was mistaken for a Protector, Aiden found the leverage he could use. It wasn’t difficult to keep quiet and let the man come to his own conclusions.

While the shopkeeper disappeared behind the blue curtain, Aiden took a better look at the box of goods yet to be put on the shelves. Side by side, one container held small flasks no bigger than a cup and the other thin test tubes. He plucked one from each box and inserted the tube into the narrow neck of the flask, a clever grin spreading on his face as it fit with just enough room for a rag to keep the tube from breaking. This would work as a delivery system for the two explosive chemicals. His mood fell, remembering how difficult it was to get the man to agree to giving him the substances for free. Working quickly, he slipped three of each container into his pack. He dismissed the temporary twinge of guilt and returned to the other side of the counter.

The man came through the curtain not a moment later, carrying the sealed jars. While Marthor may have thought it wasn’t much of the products, Aiden knew there was more than enough for what he planned on using them for.

Chapter 8

As the second largest church in the fourth fife, the grounds were kept with meticulous care. From the rank of novice initiate to the common priest the cleaning and gardening was everyone’s responsibility. The church was set in the center of town with roads leading in the four cardinal directions. From the sky, it would appear as if the roads continued straight through the church it self, dividing it into quadrants that centered on the courtyard. Severely geometric in the way straight corridors cut the large quadrants into smaller rectangular areas, the only relief from the sharp angles came from the garden retreat. The working areas of the church were cold stone and wide square windows, but the plants in the garden were only lightly pruned. This nourished the beautifully organic shapes that put the mind at ease. With the stars as its only ceiling, small oil lamps hung in strategic places to highlight the night blooming flowers. The grass was kept lush and green during the warmer months. Some areas of the church may be off limits to the local populace but the garden was not one of them. The quiet serenity was known to lull the most unruly babies to sleep and it was therefore popular amongst mothers.

His hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, Aiden avoided the gardens at all cost. Taking twice as long, he walked all the way around the area to reach the clothier. It was almost noon and with the spring temperatures there would be many families enjoying a picnic on the many tables provided by the church. The Abbot’s threats lingered in his mind like a filth he couldn’t wash off. He would not go anywhere near a place where someone might recognize him. It was too risky.

A flash of color out of the corner of his eye pulled him from his dark thoughts, although it did not dispel the mood. He turned just in time to see a short priest stepping out of the clothier’s room.

“I’ll ‘ave it by tomarrah, love!” A sweet female’s voice chased the priest into the hallway. The man flushed and waved, before walking on.

Fishing the parchment scrap out from his pocket, Aiden entered the room. Judging by the muted priest’s garments, the bolts of brilliantly colored cloth was not what he had expected to find. Wall to wall, folded yards of fabric from the un-dyed wool bought locally to the more exotic imports, there was cloth everywhere. Bins of scraped and cured hides sorted by shades lined up underneath the long wooden counter. Behind the counter, a woman held up two long swaths of brown fabric to the large open window, her head cocked to the left and then to the right as if she were trying to decide something. Not wanting to be rude, Aiden cleared his throat intentionally.

“Hmm?” The woman seemed to hum more than actually respond to him. She swiveled on the chair, a wide smile overtaking her small face. “Which do ya think hon?” The cloth fluttered down onto the countertop.

Aiden stared first at her and then at the samples. They both looked brown to him. “Uh, that one.” He pointed to the right.

“Oh no, no, no…” She made a sharp ticking noise while shaking her head. “Couldn’t possibly wit ‘is skin color.” The matter decided, she put the cloth away and smiled at him again. “But that’s what they got me fer, now in it? What can I do fer ya?”

He tossed the parchment down and waited for her to read it. The woman seemed out of place, showing no outward signs of her rank in the church. “You a priest?” He ventured as she read the note carefully.

Her head shook, sending the little brown curls jostling about her face. “Me? Hah! I’ve no desire tae be anythin or anywhere but in here sewin. The Abbot himself hired me out from Dulan.” She smiled again, proudly gesturing to the cramped room.

“Dulan?” Aiden asked, the name completely unfamiliar.

“That be in the second fife, ya know. Near the mountains.”

“I see.” He responded, wondering if perhaps all Dulan people spoke with her lilting accent.

Outside, the church’s bells bellowed through the hallway, signaling for noon mass. She uncrossed her legs and hopped down from her stool. The countertop seemed to engulf her diminutive form as her elbows barely cleared it. He stood well above the structure, feeling very tall next to her.

“A mask it be then, but not red?” Her hand reached up and tugged at one of her short curls. “I donna have any other colors already made. Hmm… Black will have to do fer ya then. Just what do ya need a special mask for anyway?” She glanced up at him as she picked through a low shelf packed with jars of dye.

Nice as she may have been, Aiden kept his silence and met her inquiring gaze. Divulging as little as possible about his mission was the key to survival. After a moment she seemed to get the point, her friendliness fading noticeably.

“Whatever it be then, try these on an tell me what fit ya.” Her tone had become brisk as she tossed a few masks onto the countertop and went back to sorting through the dyes. “Don’tcha sneeze or cough into them either or that be the one ya get. I don’t have the time ta be remaking a new fit.”

Aiden picked up the first, his fingers running along the inner ridge that acted as a buffer between the leather and his skin. Inside the mask had been lined with a durable cotton and he could see where the ridge separated and allowed for the liner to be removed for cleaning. So carefully blended into the smooth surface, it was impossible to determine where the slanted holes had been drilled. Only by holding it up to the light did he see how the openings had been strategically placed for optimal air flow. One after another he tried on the masks, tightening the cotton loops around his ear in order to find that perfect fit.

“Well?” She demanded, coming back to the counter with a pot in hand. “Which one Protect-I mean, sir?” She had a smug look on her face, as if she had let it slip that she knew why he was getting a mask.

Aiden scowled from behind the leather and took it off. “This one is the best.” The idea of being associated with the Protectors was unsettling. The church’s secret specially trained watchdogs, the Protectors were used to quell rebellions and turn the tide of battles. The masks they wore came only in red to both identify them and hide their true identity. With a history of brutality and cold-blooded executioner tactics, the populace had good reason to fear them.

She held out her hand for the mask and he leaned over the counter. “I am not one of them, I assure you.” Her eyes rolled in a disbelieving manner and waved her hand dismissively.

“Come back in an hour.”

Aiden sighed, feeling very tired of the constant animosity. For a church that worshiped a merciful goddess, the inhabitants were often too wrapped up in their own affairs to lend some of that kindness to those who needed it. Hoping that his next stop would be less irritating, Aiden headed toward the nearby staircase and ascended to the second and uppermost floor.

This level was lined with opened windows to allow the cool winds funnel in and down throughout the complex. Interspersed were closed and unmarked doors. He was hesitant to walk up to the first door and bang on it until someone answered. Beyond being a rude act, he felt the need to keep a low profile.

By chance, an acolyte turned the corner sharply and came rushing toward the stairway. “Excuse me.” He intercepted the acolyte and the young woman looked up at him, with her features pinched and agitated.

“Are you even allowed up here?” The acolyte demanded.

His mood soured further. When would the accusations end? “Yes, I’m allowed up here. I’ve been sent to speak with the Chemist, but I don’t know where his quarters are beyond the second floor. So if you could cut out the attitude and point me in the right direction, I would be grateful.”

The acolyte drew herself up with indignation but she held her tongue. “The Chemist is down the hall to the left. His door is marked with a carved ‘C’. I assume you know what a ‘C’ looks like?” She looked down her nose at him and he resisted the urge to reach out and strangle her.

“I can read, since that is what you are asking.” He replied through tightly clenched teeth.

“Good day to you then.” The girl strode past him without looking back.
“Goddamn priests.” He muttered under his breath.

The Chemist’s door was only a short walk from the stairway and Aiden did not hesitate to abuse the wood with his fist. He paced outside, ruminating over his frustrating encounter with the Abbot. How much more would have to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe?

His arm propped up against the wall, Aiden leaned in close, straining to hear anything beyond the oak door. Alone in the hallway, he raised his voice to whomever occupied the room. “Excuse me—,” the rest of the sentence choked off into silence as a wave of nausea rolled over him. His eyes clamped shut and he let his head hang low. All he could do was take short gasping breaths. Unable to think, he couldn’t judge how long it was before the door creaked and swung open.

“Can I help you?” A muffled male voice greeted him. Someone’s arm clasped around his shoulders and Aiden was helped into the Chemist’s laboratory. “Here now lad, take it easy.”

A strong mint smell penetrated his nose and he cracked his eyes open. The sickness faded rapidly and he began to take normal breaths again. “What was that?” He whispered to himself.

“That’s what I was wondering myself.” The muffled reply grabbed his attention and Aiden looked up at the tall man standing no more than a foot away. He couldn’t help but stare.

The man wore long gloves, like the ones you would expect to see on a lady dressed for the Noble’s Ball, but in the place of fabric was what appeared to be fine goatskin. Picking up where the gloves left off, his shirt sleeves had been rolled back to the elbows while the shirt itself was tucked into his trousers. Unusual attire for a priest, Aiden had expected some sort of robe. What kept him staring though was the man’s face, or rather, the lack of one. A porcelain mask covered his features completely. The surface had been carved to resemble a slight smile, as if the man was eternally at peace with himself.

Aiden shook his head, feeling very rude. “Um, Sorry… I’m looking for the Chemist.” He forced himself to look elsewhere. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The man’s chuckle carried out from behind the mask and Aiden found himself smiling in return. There was something about this priest that put him at ease. “Of course I do.” His hands went out to the sides. “The Chemist would be what they call me for the work I do here. Now that you know who I am, perhaps you will return the favor?”

“Oh, yes of course.” Aiden grinned, standing as he extended his hand. “Ai-Alden” He said, almost forgetting to use his other persona. “What work is it that you do anyway? Forgive my ignorance, I’ve just never heard of a chemist before.”

“Then I am delighted to be the one to tell you! I am something of a researcher and botanist rolled into one. When the botanists stop at preparing salves and such for wounds; I continue on by applying heat to the solutions. My goal is find stronger and faster working medicines so that we can heal people better.”

Moving aside, he allowed Aiden to see the complex network of tubes and beakers that boiled quietly on the working table. The items on the table were arranged neatly and as Aiden looked around the rest of the room; he gathered a sense of order to this place. A fastidious man himself, Aiden felt he could be comfortable here.

Aiden took a closer look at the experiments in progress. He may trouble comprehending the complex network of tubes and wires, but he could certainly appreciate the close attention to detail required. Behind him, the door opened a crack and he could just see the long braids of the Chemist’s latest visitor.

“Excuse me a moment, Alden.”

Aiden simply nodded. As he moved from one end to another, the contents changed from the large experiment in progress to the square trays that held spare parts and lastly to what seemed to be an unfinished setup. That interested him the most. The Chemist did not strike him as the type of man to abandon a project for any reason.

A circular and shallow dish holding what could have been water lay directly beneath a small wire tube stand. Behind that, a wooden block had been carved out to hold glass testing tubes and all were empty but one. Curiosity pulled at him and Aiden plucked the tube from its holding position. Turning it from side to side slightly, the grey viscous fluid coated the sides of its container. So engrossed with the substance, he didn’t hear the door shut.

“By the goddess man, put that back!” The Chemist shrieked, rushing to the table, his hands wringing nervously as Aiden set the tube back into its wooden post. “Move away from here, you could have killed yourself! Don’t you know to stay away from unknown solutions?” He demanded, berating Aiden sternly.

Feeling sheepish, Aiden did as he was bid. “What is that stuff anyway?” He ventured as the Chemist checked the stability of the containers.

He received the closest thing that a man with no facial expressions could get to a glare for an answer. Soon though the man’s resolve broke and he reluctantly answered. “The grey fluid is (something), and it is stable when combined with most other substances. This,” He tapped the table near the dish. “Is (something), a good base liquid for most salves and balms. However when combined the two have an explosive reaction.”

Aiden shifted on his feet, not quite understanding why a man who specialized in medicines was researching explosives. Just as he was about to ask, the Chemist provided his answer.

“Now why would I care for a thing like that, hmm?” He glanced back to see Aiden’s shrug. “I’ve found that when the reaction occurs it produces a residue which, when broken down further, can be made into a wonderful corrosive and corrosives have many practical applications. I think that if I can get the ratio correct, the substance will forgo the reaction and simply produce the corrosive. So far however, too little does nothing and equal portions create such a violent eruption that it shakes the whole second floor.” He chuckled to himself at the amusing memory.

“Can’t you.. contain it?” Aiden prodded.

“Well of course, that is what this blast glass is for.” He lifted up the table’s draping cloth and revealed a thick rectangular box made to fit over the ceramic plate. “I received that just yesterday however.”

“(something) and (something) don’t mix, got it.” Aiden said, observing the rest of the room in an attempt to steer the conversation back to what he was there for. Just as he was about to inquire about the oil, a familiar snuffling sound crept to his ears. In one of the darkened corners of the room, he could just make out the flash of metal mesh. The longer he heard it, the more convinced he was of the sound. He made a beeline for the corner finding a tall and slender wire cage, big enough for a man to stand inside.

“Ah, watch your fingers.” The Chemist’s strange warning made Aiden pause in mid-stride. Ignoring the chemist’s warning, he searched within the cage and could just make out a huddled form. Faster than he was able to react, the form lunge toward him. *BANG!*, the cage shuddered from the contact. Inside, the clouded eyes of a plague victim stared at him. Its mouth chewed on something and when its lips drew back, pieces of what must have been a cockroach dribbled down its chin. Claw-like fingers with razor sharp points at the end jabbed through the wire mesh and it shook the metal violently.

Aiden knew what those fingers meant and suddenly the source of the nausea became disturbingly clear. The Chemist had a pet lich. Here? His mind raced angrily for answers. In here where it can break out and ravage this whole place? He must not know what he is dealing with!

“Ahh I see Albert is awake again. For a while there I thought he was going to be a good little boy and sit quietly while we chatted.” The Chemist shrugged, thinking nothing of the dangerous growling that came from within the cage.

“I didn’t know they slept.” Aiden sneered, hitting his palm against the cage and gaining some satisfaction as the thing inside shrank from him. Now it was the Chemist’s turn to feel the extent of his anger. “What kind of sick game are you playing here?” Aiden’s voice had deepened as his temper wriggled out of control. “I guess it’s not bad enough for you that these things are out there killing people. Now you want to give it a whole playground with lots of priests to destroy.”

“Please let me explain…” The man tried to say.

Aiden’s lip curled in disgust. “You don’t even know what this is, do you? It’s a goddamned lich!” He answered his own question, railroading onto his next point. “Get another undead within a mile of it and you’ve got a serious problem on your hands.” He spat the words, his hands gesturing toward the cage and then the door leading out with tight movements. And if those infected priests get out, they have the whole of Fairweather as a hunting ground.

The Chemist seemed to take a new assessment of him. The friendly mask remained but his posture had straightened and his arms had uncrossed. “My dear Alden, I did not know you were so familiar with these poor souls. Just where did you come into contact with another like that one?”

His glare could have shattered glass. “It doesn’t bloody matter where I know it from. The point is that it isn’t you who will suffer. Hell, that thing will probably just kill you outright. The others though won’t have it so easy.”

“I am surprised that you would think of me as so irresponsible when you have only just met me. Did I not tell you that I was working on medicine in my research?”

“What’s your point?” Aiden interrupted.

The Chemist held his hands with palms facing outwardly, asking for a moment to state his peace. “Think, Alden. How am I to figure out what that turns people into these monsters if I do not have a specimen with fresh samples? I am trying to discover the source of this disease and then hopefully a cure.” He sighed from behind the mask, sounding as though he was growing tired of explaining himself. Aiden was sure that he was not the first to voice such opinions.

“And consider please that the wards placed around the cage are both inside and out and checked every day to ensure stability. If the metal did break apart, the monster would still not be able to leave confinement. Really the cage is just there to give it something to do while I work on breaking down its organic fluids.”

The seals, Aiden had forgotten completely about the potent effects of the seal against the undead creatures. A warding seal was placed in the corners of entrances and exits, linked together to create an invisible barrier to the undead. The origins of the wards were a closely guarded secret of the church and none but select priests could learn the art.

Rumors of a clandestine sect of priests circulated often when conflict was on the horizon. It was said that those priests understood the warding seals better than any other and had been able to reverse the effects of them to be used against anyone. These shadow priests had never been proven to exist, but there was always the hint of truth to any myth.

You idiot. Aiden berated himself. Of course they already knew all of that. Who are you to think you can tell these guys how to handle the situation just because you’ve come into contact with a few dead walkers. He sighed and started to apologize when the Chemist stopped him with a raised hand.

“Your concerns are both valid and surprising. I have met few people who could correctly identify the undead in there. Tell me, how did you know?”

Aiden shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Every few moments the lich would move and he glanced at it. After a while it seemed as though it only moved when he looked away, like the beast was toying with him! He could only glare at it while he answered. “I’ve come across a couple of these things now. The ones that can talk are the ones that control the others.”

“But how did you know that was what it was? It hasn’t spoken yet.” The Chemist pressed.

Aiden shrugged, thinking it better to demonstrate his point than simply state it. He took of his pack and withdrew a long piece of dried beef. “Here you go, you disgusting little maggot.” He shoved the beef halfway into the mesh and held on as the lich seized it and pulled. Showing an amazing amount of strength, Aiden was forced to use both hands as he forced the creature’s fingertips into view.

“See those? The fingers how their just bones with no flesh at all?”

“I’ve seen others like that…” The Chemist argued.

“Sure but look how the bones taper to points. None of the other ones I’ve seen have those kind of weapons. Besides,” He released the jerky, letting the beast have it. “Bones that thin shouldn’t be able to be sharpened like that. I don’t know how they do it but the last two I’ve seen both had the same type of hands.”

It was impossible to tell the Chemist’s reaction to his information. His voice had gone carefully neutral as though he tried to hide any emotion. “And you’re sure those others were liches”

Aiden nodded. There was no doubt in his mind. “They both spoke.”

The Chemist seemed to grow more interested. He invited Aiden to sit at the small dining table set alongside the far wall away from the cage. “Please, tell me what they said to you.” He retrieved a bound stack of parchment papers and flipped to a clean page.

Concerned about revealing any more of his encounter, he dragged a hand through his hair and shrugged. “Really I don’t remember much, I was knocked out shortly after seeing the first one and the second I ran as fast as I could in the other direction.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “The only thing I can recall hearing is something about submitting to it. Other than that, the damn things can’t talk very well, but they did try to say something I guess.”

The Chemist’s unwavering stare pinned him and Aiden had a feeling he wouldn’t get away so easily. The man was after the truth behind the plague and that meant gathering every possible clue. Aiden was unhappy about having to hide the rest of the details but he figured that if they were pertinent, the Abbot would probably share them with the man doing all the research.

“Look I’ve got to get going. I’ve got this thing to do and I can’t be late.” Aiden mumbled the excuse, standing quickly and going for his pack.

“Of course.” The Chemist agreed. “Alden?”

Aiden shouldered the pack and avoided meeting the man’s eyes.

“I am sorry that monster in the corner startled you earlier. I know these days are hard on the good folk outside of these walls, but I assure you we are looking for the cure and that we will find it soon.” He offered his gloved hand in farewell and Aiden took it.

“I hope that you do.” Aiden responded quietly, finally looking up at the man. “I’ve got a family who’s counting on you to succeed. If the plague spreads any further south…” He let the notion hang in the air. The biggest town to the south was the one he was standing in at the moment. Fairweather boasted four times the amount of people that Haybridge had. The chaos would be unimaginable.

There was nothing else to say on the subject and the Chemist simply nodded to acknowledge Aiden’s plea. “I haven’t let you speak yet on why you came to my door in the first place.”

Surprised by the question, it took Aiden a moment to figure out exactly why he had come as well. “Oil,” he answered. “I need the kind of oil used in the sconces for this project I’m working on for the church. I have authorization here,” He dug through his pockets, looking for the scrap of paper. “Just a moment, okay?”

“That’s quite alright, Alden. I trust your word.”

Out of all the encounters he had been subjected to today, this one was leaving him with a smile. The man in front of him seemed to regard him as an equal and it had been a long while since someone had used the word ‘trust’ in regards to him.

“The oil we use is not stocked here. A time ago there was a fire in the armory where we did store it and it took almost a week for the flames to burn out. Since then we have made an arrangement with a local dealer in town who brings in a weekly supply for our use.” The Chemist picked up a small scroll from a bin of similar scrolls and handed it to Aiden. “Here, I give these to my assistant so that she may pick up bottles of oil in my name. I go through oil regularly so the dealer will not think much of you taking some.”

Aiden was speechless for a moment. He took the scroll with numb fingers and nodded. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble really. If you come across anymore liches, Alden, just use the oil and light them up. It’s the most effective way to get rid of the undead.”

Aiden grinned and said his goodbye, stepping back out into the church’s cold corridor. Robed people walked by, looking at him curiously but no one bothered him further.