Rigor Mortis

Chapter Eight: Resurrection Sickness

I awoke to darkness. My mind was mercifully numb and my body was sluggish, so I made no attempt to crawl out of the wonderfully soft bed. Though there was no pain, it felt as if every hair on my body were standing on end, creating an unpleasant tingling sensation. My eyes ached and my mouth was horribly dry. It was then when I knew I was thirsty that I made an effort to study my surroundings. I was in a room, with plain, bare walls and heavily draped windows. Two other beds occupied the room and it reeked of mold. I realized that I was probably in an inn. I tried to guess what time it might be, but there was no sunlight to give me a clue. Disoriented, I didn't even want to fathom how I ended up here...

The door creaked open, letting in painful rays of light. I blinked away the sudden assault, only to see Vorador standing in the doorway. He was dressed as usual, like an excessive nobleman, but the fine garments were torn and shredded in places. I could not read the expression on his bestial face, so I resolved to say nothing until he spoke.

"It's good to see that you are at least conscious," he said at last. His tone was as unreadable as his face.

"Where are we?" I asked and my voice sounded weak and pathetic to my own ears.

"An inn in Nactholm," he replied.

"How long have I been asleep?" I queried.

"Nearly a day."

A day! Recent events came rushing back to me, threatening to crush my eggshell mind. The escape from the Citadel...traveling to Vassurbunde...fighting with Moebius...and the lurching, blasphemous forms of the hungry thralls...

"What happened?" I demanded and went to spring out of bed. I realized that my clothes had been removed and I stayed under the blankets, feeling absurdly embarrassed.

"I followed you from the Citadel, seeing as how Janos charged me with protecting you two," he replied and the anger in his voice was evident. "I decided to let you go ahead and visit your family and allow you to get rid of your pathetic homesickness. I did not foresee Vassurbunde being entirely infested with zombies. I arrived when I could, but I was a bit too late," he explained. "I barely managed to save you." He strode closer to me, and I shrank back ashamedly into the covers. Vorador ignored my silly human gestures of decency and held my chin in his clawed hand, peering into my face with unknowable emerald eyes.

"What?" I asked, after a time.

"Look into the mirror and you will see for yourself," he said and handed me a clean pair of clothes. They were quite similar to the ones I had been given by Moebius...

"Where's Moebius?" I asked suddenly. A pained look flashed in his eyes. As soon as I saw it, it vanished.

"Where is he?" I demanded again.

"He's dead." Vorador growled and looked away.

A silent moment passed between us. Moebius was dead? He had died, trying to save me from the undead horde...the horde that was bound to me and was never going to do me any harm...suddenly I had a loathsome and terrible idea and I knew what I had to do...

"I want to see him," I said.

"Why?" he asked, and I hated him for what he was implying.

"He's...he was my friend. Please, Vorador," I begged, "I won't do anything...improper. I would never...curse him to unlife," He sighed his response and shrugged.

"The next room down the hall..." he muttered and left me alone. Slowly, in a daze, I dressed, and entered the dim hallway. The walk to the next door seemed to be as long as my whole journey here and with a trembling hand, I opened the door. On a bed like mine, lay his body wrapped in a linen sheet. I drew away the folds so that I could see his face. It had been cleaned of all the gore. His features were relaxed and peaceful as though he were sleeping and the mere sight of it angered me. This was not him! He never looked so placid! His face was always contorted into extremes, either of transcendent laughter or of unfathomable anger. His eyes should be lit with a fervor that went beyond all normal standards. What was this cruel trick?

"Moebius...I'm sorry," I began, for I would be the only one at this funeral. Though sorrow consumed me, I did not feel the onslaught of tears and I was thankful. "It was all my fault. I don't know how you knew it, but yes, I did reanimate my grandmother. She bit my father...I didn't even think about it when I left. Mother thought that he was under an odd fever. He was...he became a zombie, like it said in the book the previous Necromancer wrote. A bitten human will become a zombie, thanks to the 'foul humors'...the secretions of the body. I should have figured it out sooner...why my letters were getting no reply...Vassurbunde had been plagued. And it's all my fault."

"But I will do what's right. I've sent the zombies back where they came so they can't hurt anyone any more. Now all that is left...is you. You were bitten and when you rise from the shroud, you won't be human anymore. You'll just be a puppet of the foul trick. Moebius, you were my only friend...and I think it'll always be that way...I'm sorry." With that said, I sat back on the other bed and waited for the monstrous thing to happen.

When it did happen, I was still unprepared, for this time it was different. I beheld the head rise and his eyes open in terror, and watched the thin lips part as if for a scream too frightful to be uttered. He sat bolt upright, and in that familiar face dwelt more stark, teeming, mind-shattering fear than all the rest of my bizarre life has ever revealed to me.

He turned his stricken sight upon me and finally managed a whimper. He whimpered and hugged himself, still wrapped in the shroud. Then it was he who was crying, weeping violently without even trying to conceal it. He was whispering to himself and I dared to get closer to understand.

"...so stagnant...it was churning but it was still stagnant...he promised me I wouldn't go back there...he promised...the monster in the abyss nearly had me...but he said he wouldn't let it get me..."

"Who is 'he'?" I asked, unsure as to the nature of the trembling creature before me. It was as if he finally noticed my presence and he stared at me long and hard, his eyes full of secrets no man should know.

"God," was all he uttered. Then it seemed as though he returned to himself. The raving light came out of his face and he wiped away his tears.

"Moebius...?" I said, wondering what exactly I had raised.

"What?" he replied.

"You're not a zombie!" I exclaimed and threw my arms around him. His skin was horribly cold, but I didn't mind. "You're alive! You're alive!" He held me for a time, sniffing away the remainder of his irrational tears. Finally, he gently pushed me away.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"An inn in Nactholm. Vorador found us and brought us here," I answered. "How is it that you are alive?"

"Was I ever dead?" he replied and I would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so grave.

"Yes! You had no pulse and you weren't breathing...you were torn to shreds before my eyes!" I cried.

"But here I am," he said, smiling distantly. "What of your mother? Your family...were they...?"

"Everyone is...resting peacefully now," I said and realized everyone I ever cared about was gone...except for him. I told him of why Vassurbunde had been in the state it was in, and of what I had discovered but not understood in the ancient tome. He said he was proud at how I managed to send them all back to the dead and he seemed to lay no blame upon me, though in a way I had halfheartedly wished he had. I needed to be absolved by someone...anyone.

"We should have never left the Citadel," I finally muttered.

"Nothing is for nothing," he said. He held my face in his now-warm hands and made me look at him. He peered into my eyes and smiled.

"What is it?" I asked, thoroughly bewildered.

"Your eyes...look in the mirror."

Frustrated with this, I walked over to the dusty, cracked mirror and peered at the reflection. Staring back at me was a gaunt faced, black haired boy...but one with the eyes of a blind man. No, I thought again, not quite the same...the pupils were gone and the irises were a silvery white which shone with a slight luminescence. On any other occasion, I would have been horrified but I was growing weary of the feeling. I shrugged my shoulders and turned back to face my friend.

"Can you still see the same?" Moebius asked and I nodded. "Janos said that we might undergo some physical changes. Honestly, I was expecting something more drastic. Good thing, eh? It's better than growing huge bat ears...oh hello Vorador."

Moebius grinned wickedly at Vorador, who had come in to see how I was doing...or what I was doing. The vampire gasped at the miraculous recovery and then let out a hiss.

"How are you alive, boy?" he demanded, "You were very dead an hour ago and I'm beginning to think it was better that way,"

"I got better," he replied and I never laughed so hard in all my life.