Part 8: I'll Be There
As the crew of the Yggridsil prepared the ship for takeoff, Sigurd and Billy marched straight up to the bridge, the taller man shouting orders and giving final commands. Since Bart's coronation, the first mate had been named Captain, finally, and everyone jumped to his command alone, now. The Young Master was greatly missed by the crew, but understood that Bart had other responsibilities now, lots of them. In the bustle, however, no one noticed a cloaked figure stealing onto the ship from belowdecks. Even if someone spotted the stranger, there were too many things to be done and done quickly to get to Nisan for the Nisan Mother's safety to worry over one individual who didn't stand out immediately.
Bart took his time in getting around, forcing himself to be patient for once. There was no way in hell Sigurd was taking Billy and leaving him behind in Aveh. Margie was his cousin, too, and he'd always been the one to get her out of trouble in the past. So he was a king now, that didn't change a damn thing. One thing nice about having practically grown up on the decks of the Yggridsil, was that Bart knew every nook and cranny of the ship, including hiding places no one would ever think of looking in. And that's where he headed now, to the storage area and a particular vent that lead up to his old room. If he wasn't there, who would think to check his room? Besides, he kept it locked unless it was one of those rare times he was actually on board the Yggridsil these days.
The vent was dusty, and twice Bart paused to cover his mouth and try not to sneeze. It had the ironic tendency to tickle his nose whenever he was near a grate, with people down below, of course, who would have heard him. Though it made his sinuses hurt, he continued forward anyway, giving in to the urge once he crawled out into his old room and got the opportunity to dust off. The moment his feet met the floor, the ship lurched slightly, suggesting lift off. He'd arrived just in time. Now, so long as he kept quiet, it should be smooth sailing to Nisan. The king smirked to himself, so much for making him stay in Aveh.
By the time the Yggridsil made it to Nisan, it was well after dark. Billy and Sigurd disembarked and headed straight for the cathedral. There were lights on in the main hall, but the Sisters had already been evacuated from the religious structure, send into town for the time being. Citan, Fei, Elly and Emeralda were all gathered near the stairwell that lead down into the mausoleum. Clothing tattered, gore splattered, all four of them looked as though they made repeated attempts to infiltrate the tombs, only to regroup above again when things got rough.
"Thank God you're here, Sigurd," Citan said wearily, approaching the pair as they drew near. "It is not good, my friend. It seems that Edbart has the ability to reanimate the dead continuously. As soon as we've cut them down, he is bringing them back again. A vicious circle. I fear he may do the same to the rest of your ancestors, but we had no choice but to retreat."
Reaching out, Sigurd grasped his old friend by the shoulder, "Are you all right, Hyu? Billy and I will go in now. Billy has experience with undead, perhaps with his help we can lay this all to rest. You four should stay here, you look like hell warmed over."
Citan chuckled, adjusting his glasses before patting the taller man's hand, "Yes, Sigurd, we're fine if not a bit tired, but no. You should not go in alone, not even with Billy's expertise. We will all accompany you, if for no other reason than to help you get out should things prove insurmountable."
Fei and Elly nodded almost in unison, Emeralda merely held a steely determination in her eyes. Of the four, she appeared to be the least injured or harried. Sigurd looked at each of them before submitting with a nod. "Very well, let us make haste then, I dare not think about Margie's state at this moment if she has been a prisoner this long." If she were even alive, still, though Sigurd refused to believe otherwise.
Billy drew his pistol as soon as they entered the mausoleum, walking past the older relics of bygone eras and former kings. The one thing that convinced him of Stone's blatant hypocrisy was the fact that he still retained the powers that had been taught to him. Gifts from God, he had been lead to believe. Manners of dealing with those who were no longer among the living, but choose to feed on flowers not yet faded. These things remained with him, even after his faith had been shattered. If God did not exist, or if he were the created god of the Ethos, then Billy was sure he'd have lost such talents as quickly as he lost his faith. Margie pointed that out to him, once. The realization set him on the road to spiritual healing and understanding. A long road, for certain, but it sure beat wallowing in the brambles of doubt.
Edbart and his undead minions had not left the corridor near his tomb, the animated corpses of the refugees stumbling about like zombies. Most were missing something, an arm, an eye or two, chest cavities torn asunder and inner organs eaten away or half dangling toward the ground. The sight was disgusting, but nothing Billy had not seen before. They surrounded their master, the tall frame of Edbart startlingly similar to Bart and Sigurd, as if each of them gained a few of his features. Billy immediately sensed their true nature, even that of Bart's father, dead yet living, animated beyond the grave. They weren't even like Wels, who had been humans before experimentation, these were all true zombies and Edbart was something else entirely.
"Everyone stand back," Billy commanded, holding a hand out to gesture for them to stay behind him. "They cannot be killed by normal means. Knock them down and they will get back up. Destroy by fire, or holy magic."
"Fire is a specialty of mine," Sigurd replied with a touch of a smirk, battle stance ready. He alone did not step back at Billy's command. The others retreated slightly, though Citan stayed at the head of the group, hands glowing in case either needed immediate curing.
"Use caution, friends," the doctor warned, "If you die, Edbart will then use you against us."
"We have no intentions of dying today, Citan," Billy replied and the dance began as he fired his pistol at the first zombie. Edbart mutely gestured for all his minions to swarm them, only their slow movements saving Billy and Sigurd from being immediately surrounded and overwhelmed. The optical whip cracked again and again, the lithe form of Yggridsil's newest captain dancing in and away as he attacked, fire scoring his targets to cause wounds that eventually made them drop one after another. Billy concentrated all his faith into his pistol, each bullet a shot of holy magic straight into his targets. Between them both, bodies began to litter the floor between them and Edbart, though they did have to give up a little ground as the zombies continued to swarm over their fallen comrades. Sigurd cried out once as he came in too close, arm slashed by a crude knife to draw blood, but Citan was there in a moment, curing the wound before it had much time to bleed. Billy just kept his distance, his firearms providing him an advantage in not having to be close to his targets in order to strike. It almost seemed as if they would win, Fei and Elly cheering them on as the numbers thinned significantly.
So when those they'd just lain waste to began to get up again to resume the battle, Billy felt his jaw drop open. Sigurd even paused, though only a moment, for if he'd dallied a second more he'd have become zombie food, the whip cracking defensively in order for him to withdraw back to the others.
"That's impossible... how can they resist holy magic?" Billy cried in dismay, also stepping back to regroup.
"It's Edbart, somehow he is able to continue reanimating them," Citan sighed, "And we cannot get in close enough to engage him. We tried several times today."
"Then let me in," came a voice from behind. Everyone turned to see Bart standing there, his whips still coiled at his side as if he had no intention of using them.
"Bart!" Billy cried, even before Sigurd could sputter out an admonition to his wayward and disobedient brother.
"He wants me, Billy, Sig. I have to end this."
"No!" Sigurd shouted adamantly, knuckles white on the pommel of his whip, "God dammit, Bart, can't you listen for just once in your life?"
But, turning to look at the zombies, all of them realized they had halted their advance and even parted like the red sea, a direct path to Edbart, who stood at the center. The former King appeared almost human then, arms outstretched toward the sunhaired youth that was his youngest son. "Bartolomei... I knew you would come."
"Father..." Bart whispered, the expression on his face changing to that hypnotized vacancy Billy recognized. Just as the youth began to step forward, Sigurd grabbed his arm to jerk him back.
"No! Father, don't you recognize me? It's Sigurd, Shalimar's son! If you must have one of us take me!"
"Sig, no!" Bart cried, coming back to himself for the moment, jerked out from under Edbart's control. He tried yanking himself free from his brother, only to be pulled in against the taller man in an even tighter grip. Sigurd was not about to lose his baby brother now, not after defending his life for so long.
The former King paused, staring between oldest and youngest son in confusion. Regal brows of gold furrowed together and then he reached out again for Bart, "I want my son. Bartolomei, come to me."
Sigurd cursed under his breath, refusing to let go of the boy struggling against him, backing up as yet again the zombies resumed their forward movement toward the group. "Everyone back... we can't defeat him like this, there must be another way." At the same time, he could only lament poor Margie's fate, if she still lived she was probably terrified. But, amongst the groups of animated corpses, he saw nothing that looked like her. It inspired enough hope to believe that she must still be alive.
"Dammit, Sigurd, this isn't going to end unless you let me go!" Bart yelled, finally breaking his brother's grasp, backing up a step and dashing off before Sigurd could grab for him, his hand closing on air. Billy could only stare, mouth hanging open without him even realizing he was screaming Bart's name. Everything seemed to slow down then, every second, every heartbeat stretching out into infinity before painfully moving into the next.
Bart raced right through the corpses, completely untouched. None of them so much as turned in his direction. They halted their slow progression forward, however, standing there abjectly with gangly limbs hanging at their sides and dead gazes staring at the group hungrily until the king had passed, and then they gathered in to block the path, separating Bart from everyone, severing any ability to save him. Citan grasped Sigurd's arm to keep him from rushing forward blindly. His eyes were wet, expression sickened. "Hyu, let go..."
"No, my friend... Bart has made his decision. Your young one is a grown man now, Sigurd. He seems to know something we do not. And now... we cannot get to him anyway. Your suicide will not aid him."
Bart felt himself go into autopilot, going off instinct rather than logical thought or any sort of plan. He knew what he was doing... right? His father, Edbart IV, stood with arms outstretched and embraced the youth the second the distance between them closed. "My son, my son. I knew you would come to me. God how you've grown. When last I saw you, you were but a baby."
He felt alive, Bart could feel the heat from his touch, the strength in his grasp. For just a moment, he could forget that Edbart couldn't possibly be alive. He was reunited with his father at long long last and now he could be with him for all time. Drawing back, he smiled into those regal blue eyes, eyes that matched his own. "Father, it's really you. What... what did Shakhan do to you?"
A pained expression replaced the joy at the reunion and Edbart averted his gaze, drawing back further with his hands resting on Bart's arms. "It is a long story, son. But we are together again and no one will ever separate us. We will be together forever."
It was a smidge of blood on Edbart's tattered blue robes that redirected Bart's attention, reminded him of his goal in coming here. "Father... where is Margie?"
"Margie? She is alive, with her blood, we both will live for an eternity, you and I, father and son. Together."
"Father... we can't do that," Bart replied quietly, stilling the innate desire to cry out against the act. Edbart's brows furrowed again, confusion in his expression.
"What do you mean? Don't you want to be with me? Shakhan took everything from me. Tell me he did not take you, too."
"No, father," Bart replied quickly, "Shakhan never ever took me from you, I used to dream of you at night that I would somehow find you alive. But... you're not alive, are you. This body, this existance, this is not what you want is it. It is what Shakhan gave you."
The struggle behind Edbart's eyes gave away the indecision inside of him. The peaceful ruler battling against the inner will to survive. Bart continued, reaching to grab his father's hands, "Maison always spoke fondly of you and admonished me for not being more like you. You were always quiet and kind, he said. You were never violent to others, you wouldn't harm a soul if you could help it. Do you want to go on like this? Needing the blood of others to survive?"
"No... I..." Edbart squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lowered himself to his knees, hands still captured in Bart's. The youth crouched beside him, touching at his golden hair lovingly.
"Father... let's end this."
Edbart raised his chin, looking Bart directly in the eye. "Give me peace, Bartolomei. Please."
Wordlessly, Bart pulled a dagger out from his belt, the one he'd grabbed for this moment, hoping this encounter would go as he intended. Never taking his eyes off his father's face, he buried it to the hilt in the man's chest, watching him jerk, those regal features stilled in a moment of pain and then relaxing again, a smile fluttering across his lips just before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed in against his youngest son.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Bart grasped his father's body, feeling the warmth go cold almost immediately, "I love you, father. May God finally let you rest."
In that moment, every animated corpse suddenly collapsed to the ground, each soul at last allowed to depart. Citan could not hold onto Sigurd a second longer, the taller man bounding over the corpses in his path to reach the spot where his brother cradled the body of their father, who had at last been allowed to die with dignity. Billy wasn't far behind him, both surrounding Bart on each side, embracing him as he released his father, setting him on the ground gently and crossing his arms over his bloodied chest. The tears that flowed were unbidden, but they came anyway, streaming down like liquid diamonds between the three.
"Bart... don't you ever scare me like that again," Sigurd whispered, wiping at his face as he got to his feet again. "We need to find Margie... did he tell you where she was?"
Bart shook his head, still clinging to Billy as the two tried to still their tears. "No... but she is alive. She may be in his tomb."
By this time, Citan and the rest had approached, and Sigurd disappeared into the tomb, no longer afraid now that Edbart was truly dead and his control over the undead broken. There was a squeal of fear and surprise and that suddenly shifted to one of joy and relief. Margie, from the sound of it. Bart got to his feet and with Billy trailing behind him, raced into the tomb in time to see Sigurd pulling their cousin out of the crypt, her arms flung around his shoulders to hold onto him. "Bart, Billy! Oh God I'm so glad to see all of you!" As soon as Sigurd put her down, she raced toward Bart and threw her arms around his waist, reaching then for Billy to draw him into the embrace.
"Margie are you all right?" Billy and Bart asked almost in complete unison. They looked up at each other then and couldn't help but grin. Margie didn't even seem to notice, breathing out a sigh of relief.
"Yeah... he didn't hurt me, but he he he... all the refugees..."
"Shhh," Bart soothed, touching her dark hair and smoothing it with his hand, "Let's not talk about it yet. Come on, perhaps we should get out of here."
No one, it seemed, disagreed with him on that point.
(Continued soon... no, I'm not done yet.)