ruined individual turned what had once been its face and eyes this way and that. After a moment, it lurched from the fire to advance upon the crowd. Small flames danced along its shoulders and licked the remnants of its winding sheet. Fine flakes of blackened skin and fabric drifted from its limbs in miniature storm clouds. The citizens retreated. Many turned and sprinted for the path. Among those remaining, fresh screams broke forth as a second corpse sat up amid the flames. This one was identifiably female, with streaming grey hair frizzled by the heat, and sober garments half burned away, but otherwise almost intact. As she slid down from the summit of the pyre, then stood to follow in the halting footsteps of her predecessor, it could be seen that only the whites of her eyes showed beneath her drooping lids. Her jaw hung slack, and the cast of her face was distinctly blue. Her inclusion in the pickers’ cargo had been no mistake. She was unmistakably dead, or perhaps more properly termed undead. Such was the expression used in the accounts of the worst of all plagues, the pestilence of legend known as the “walking death.”
The tales were so ancient, so shrouded in myth and superstition, so rife with exaggeration and impossibility that many contemporary rationalists had simply dismissed them. The skepticism had persisted through weeks of rumor, speculation, and increasingly frequent claims of undead sightings. The present spectacle dictated reconsideration, however. And if it was true that the dead plague victims could rise and walk, then other aspects of the old stories might also be true. The apparent intent of the undead to spread disease, for example—perhaps a reality. The stubborn animation of the corpses, proof against almost any damage short of utter dissolution—perhaps true. And then, those unsettling stories of silent, shared understanding among the walkers—perhaps even they, too, contained some truth.
When a third smoking remnant dragged itself from thepyre, the courage of the witnesses failed and nearly all fled the scene. Only a handful of the coolest ascended to the rim of the excavation and there remained to watch at a safe remove.
For a time, the three undead stumbled about in apparent aimlessness, their steps wavering and uncertain. But soon their mastery of their bodies increased and their movements acquired assurance. When they could walk without faltering, the three turned as one and made for the path. Though their pace lagged, their aspect was oddly purposeful.
The alarm of the spectators deepened. Laying hands on the limestone fragments strewn throughout the vicinity, several citizens commenced a bombardment. Rocks rained down on the undead, briefly retarding their progress. One sizable chunk struck the head of the grey-haired woman, smashing her to the ground. For a moment she lay as if truly dead at last. Then her skinny arms lifted to shove the rock aside, and she rose to her full height. Her skull had been crushed, reducing most of her head and all of her face to pulp, but these injuries hardly impaired her. Her eyes were gone, but she seemed to experience no difficulty in finding her way, as she followed in the wake of her smoldering companions.
At this, the nerve of the lingering citizens broke, and all retreated. The undead appeared unconscious of human activity. Silent, unhurried, inscrutable, the three of them made their unopposed way up the path. Upon reaching the summit, they paused at the edge of the pit as if in voiceless conference. For long moments they stood motionless as mundane corpses. Then, ruled by shared or simultaneous impulse, they resumed walking. They were headed east, toward the heart of the teeming Spidery. Their pace was steady and their intent, if any, a mystery.
Vinz Corvestri did not understand how it came about, and deliverance took him quite by surprise. When his cell door squealed open and the guards marched in to unlock his fettersand present him with
The tales were so ancient, so shrouded in myth and superstition, so rife with exaggeration and impossibility that many contemporary rationalists had simply dismissed them. The skepticism had persisted through weeks of rumor, speculation, and increasingly frequent claims of undead sightings. The present spectacle dictated reconsideration, however. And if it was true that the dead plague victims could rise and walk, then other aspects of the old stories might also be true. The apparent intent of the undead to spread disease, for example—perhaps a reality. The stubborn animation of the corpses, proof against almost any damage short of utter dissolution—perhaps true. And then, those unsettling stories of silent, shared understanding among the walkers—perhaps even they, too, contained some truth.
When a third smoking remnant dragged itself from thepyre, the courage of the witnesses failed and nearly all fled the scene. Only a handful of the coolest ascended to the rim of the excavation and there remained to watch at a safe remove.
For a time, the three undead stumbled about in apparent aimlessness, their steps wavering and uncertain. But soon their mastery of their bodies increased and their movements acquired assurance. When they could walk without faltering, the three turned as one and made for the path. Though their pace lagged, their aspect was oddly purposeful.
The alarm of the spectators deepened. Laying hands on the limestone fragments strewn throughout the vicinity, several citizens commenced a bombardment. Rocks rained down on the undead, briefly retarding their progress. One sizable chunk struck the head of the grey-haired woman, smashing her to the ground. For a moment she lay as if truly dead at last. Then her skinny arms lifted to shove the rock aside, and she rose to her full height. Her skull had been crushed, reducing most of her head and all of her face to pulp, but these injuries hardly impaired her. Her eyes were gone, but she seemed to experience no difficulty in finding her way, as she followed in the wake of her smoldering companions.
At this, the nerve of the lingering citizens broke, and all retreated. The undead appeared unconscious of human activity. Silent, unhurried, inscrutable, the three of them made their unopposed way up the path. Upon reaching the summit, they paused at the edge of the pit as if in voiceless conference. For long moments they stood motionless as mundane corpses. Then, ruled by shared or simultaneous impulse, they resumed walking. They were headed east, toward the heart of the teeming Spidery. Their pace was steady and their intent, if any, a mystery.
Vinz Corvestri did not understand how it came about, and deliverance took him quite by surprise. When his cell door squealed open and the guards marched in to unlock his fettersand present him with
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