The Fallen Tree (Short Story)

THE FALLEN TREE

A Death Mage Tale
by Grant Gougler

1.

An old woman was perched on a piece of shipwreck, watching him cough up water on the beach.

“You’ll burn,” she said.

“Is that a threat?” Maven asked, looking at her through one eye because he was too exhausted to open both. His tattered robe was heavy with seawater.

“A warning,” the old woman said. “Skin as pale as yours won’t fare well in this sun. You must’ve come a long way, skin like that.” She gestured at the shackles on Maven’s wrists. As she did, her rattlesnake jewelry clattered. “Whatever law bound you beyond the reef will not be honored on this island. You’re free here, though the locals won’t like you.”

“Because I’m an outsider?”

“Because you’re a death mage.”

Maven sat upright and looked to the ocean. The ship’s carcass was canted a hundred yards from shore. The tentacles of a dead creature were wrapped around its bow.

“Am I the only one who made it?” he asked.

“There’s another who washed up fifty yards from here, though he won’t be going any farther than that. I found these on him.” The old woman tossed a keyring onto the sand. “I think you’ll be pleased to know he’s in a great deal of pain.”

Maven went to work removing his shackles. “Let him burn.”

The woman cackled. She was as old as the dirt which had birthed her and inhumanly spry. Her long toes gripped the wooden beam beneath her, keeping her balanced in an otherwise perilous position. Maven knew what she was just as she had known his true nature.

“You want something,” he said. “Otherwise you would have killed me by now.”

The old woman extended a scraggly finger to the cliff over Maven’s shoulder. “Up there is an ancient tree. Many nights ago, a fierce wind blew it over, freeing the creature that was imprisoned in its roots.”

“What kind of creature?” Maven asked.

“The kind with many hands. You know of such things, yes?”

“I know they can’t be killed by magic… not directly.”

“So you see my dilemma,” she said. “Every night it scurries down the cliffside and feeds on the livestock. Each day the townspeople grow more frustrated with my impotence in the matter. They hate people like us.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“We are to them,” the old woman insisted. “You’ll need money to buy your way off the island.” She flipped a coin into Maven’s lap. “For your food and supplies.” She flipped another coin. “For untattered clothes.” And a third coin. “For room and board. I’ll buy your way to the mainland once you’ve raised an army to slay the beast.”

Maven gathered the coins into his palm. Two were silver, one was gold. All were crudely engraved with sea monsters and legendary serpents. One of the engravings looked like the very creature which had attacked the ship.

‘Where are we?“ he asked.

The old woman had already vanished by the time he looked up from the coins. He shoved them into his pocket and walked along the beach until he found the warden. The sand around the man was stained by blood.

“It seems our coming here wasn’t an accident,” Maven said.

“Fuck you,” the warden said through bloody teeth. “Kill me.”

Maven picked up a large leaf and used it to shade his pale face from the sun. “My spells won’t work on those who died by my own hand. We’ll have to wait.”

The warden paled. “Oh, don’t use your death magic on me! The gods chose this time for a reason!”

“You showed no mercy aboard your ship.”

“Gods! You’re cruel!“

Maven retreated to the shade of the jungle as the warden wailed. Though the death mage would have little problem finding sustenance among the fruit trees, he refrained. The closer he came to death, the more powerful his magic became. He was feeling stronger, in that regard, than he had in years.

As he indulged in his minor delirium, he discovered the remnants of a campfire among the trees. Surrounding it were the piles of uniforms belonging to the warden’s guards. Maven sat on his haunches and touched his fingers to the charcoal remains. He smeared soot around his eyes and across his lips. Thus was the fashion of a death mage.

At sundown, the stench of the sea monster rolled in with the tide. Maven returned to the beach and shooed the crabs gathering around the warden’s body. The death mage crawled close and breathed into the corpse’s mouth, as if stoking a fire. At the same time, he lazily drew a sigil in the air with his wooden finger. The warden stirred with a horrific death rattle.

“Welcome back,” Maven said. 

“Fuck you,” the warden croaked, the blood on the corners of his mouth beginning to crust.

“You will assist me in hunting a many-handed beast on the cliff up there. All the while you will be bound by my magic to protect me and to do exactly as I say. Once that is done, I will grant you communion with your gods… so long as they possess the mercy to accept a twice-used soul.”

“Fuck you,” the warden repeated. “You’ve tainted me.”

“Up-up,” Maven said, prodding the warden with the side of his bare foot. “You will carry me until we find shoes.”

Maven climbed onto his servant’s back. Phosphorescent sea life crashed onto the beach as the tide claimed the warden’s place of death. In the silver light of the twin moons, they hiked inland toward a treeline silhouetted by firelight. There was a town beyond the trees, consisting of wooden structures and a jankily scrawled network of bamboo aqueducts. Lumberjacks scurried about on scaffolds and ladders, removing the trees and limbs damaged by the recent storm. The servant carried the death mage into an inn adorned with silk banners and spider iconography.

“How dare ya bring that death magic in here!” shouted the innkeeper, a woman whose fingers were knotted by severe arthritis. A chorus of angry voices rallied around her. “We’ll show no hospitality to your kind!”

“I’ve come to slay the beast of many hands,” Maven announced as he climbed off of his servant’s back. “Put up with me for a few nights or live with that monster forever. I really don’t give a shit.”

The angry voices grumbled at one another. At last the innkeeper said, “Well, go on then! Get to it!”

“First, I require your services.” Maven produced one of the silver coins and snapped it to the counter. “I want a room upstairs and I want food and beer delivered to my door. I don’t suppose there’s a gambling establishment nearby?”

“I haven’t enough copper to break a silver!”

“Then keep the beer coming until you’ve made up the difference.” Maven addressed the whole room: “Have there been any visitors before me? Fair skinned? Foreign?”

The locals grunted in the negative. The innkeeper spat defiantly on her own counter. Maven’s eyebrow raised as he looked at the puddle.

“You do realize you’re the one who’ll have to clean that up, right?” Maven asked.

“Eat shit, death mage.”

“Very well. In the meantime, notify me if you see any foreigners. I promise you: they’re much worse than I am.” Maven turned to the warden and handed him the other silver coin. “Find clothes to cover my skin from head to toe. I favor black, of course.” Maven glanced around at the other patrons. “I see the locals wear silk, which will be fine. When you return, you will make sure our gracious hostess doesn’t spit in my beer.” Hastily, he added, “Or piss in it… or anything I wouldn’t want done to it. Sally forth, warden.”

“Fuck you,” the warden said as he left the inn with his orders.

“Is there a way up to the cliff?” Maven asked the innkeeper.

“You could climb the face of it for all I care.”

“I was hoping for an easier path.”

The innkeeper tongued the inside of her cheek with disdain. At last she said, “There is a road that winds up a hill on the back side.”

“See, was that so hard? Give me my key.”

The innkeeper tossed a key onto the counter and turned to busy herself elsewhere, cursing profusely. Upstairs in his room, Maven opened the window and took a deep breath. There was death in the air. It smelled good.

2.

The incessant bell of a funeral procession awakened Maven at dawn. He dressed himself in the black robe and widow’s veil the warden had found. The two men caught up to the procession as its participants, bearing spider flags, marched along the wooden roads in lockstep. Eventually the group arrived at Maven’s favorite kind of cemetery: the kind in which the bodies were all stored above the ground rather than below it.

Four men unloaded a small coffin from a wagon and carried it to a stone tomb. Their clothes suggested they were fishermen, hunters, and lumberjacks. 

“Keep your distance from the horses,” Maven warned, gesturing at the funeral wagon. “Animals get spooked by the undead.”

“Why are we here?” the warden asked impatiently.

“I never miss a funeral.”

“You’re wasting time, death mage. I can feel my body falling apart.”

“Well, that is a side effect of death.”

Maven scanned their surroundings. The trees were large and the branches bowed nearly to the ground. There were limbs wrapped in webbings so thick they looked like large amniotic sacs, each teeming with thousands of baby arachnids. Maven shuddered to imagine the spiders which could weave such durable silk.

“Some of your men made it to shore,” Maven told the warden. “They left their uniforms in the treeline so that they wouldn’t draw too much attention to themselves. They did not leave their weapons. I imagine they’ve been watching us ever since we got to town.”

“Good. I hope they kill you.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to release you from your spell, warden.”

“So? Eventually I would rot and return to the soil where I belong.”

“Not exactly,” Maven said. “Every tiny little grain of you would carry on for an eternity. Even after this world is long gone, your being would swirl around the ether, every piece of you conscious of unending suffering. In fact, I could think of no greater hell than that.“

The warden swallowed. “Gods, is that true?”

“I don’t know,” Maven said cheekily. “I never died before.” The death mage led the warden back to the beach. He pointed to the shipwreck and said, “I want you to drag every last corpse to the shore—all but the prisoners. We let them rest. And bring me a rowboat so that I can fetch some things from my cell.”

“I can’t swim.”

“You won’t have to.”

“Fuck you,” the warden said, removing his chestpiece and sword.

“Don’t shed too much weight,” Maven said, perturbed by the very idea of a seafarer who had never learned to swim. “You’ll need it to walk around on the ocean floor.”

As the warden disappeared into the sea, Maven returned to the shade of the trees. He sensed he wasn’t alone. The old woman, he discovered, was hanging upside down from a tree branch above him.

“Building an army?” she asked.

“Guards.”

“For yourself?”

“For the town,” Maven said.

“Ooo, the townspeople won’t like that.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“That’s because you don’t have to live with them.”

“Why do you?“

The old woman swung, dismounted, and landed on her feet. “I just love being a part of a community, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, commoners aren’t that bad. Sheltered? Yes. Stupid? Very. But… well, I suppose you have a point. But that’s to be expected when your whole life you’ve been conditioned to worship gods who would just as soon spit on you as acknowledge your existence. That’s probably why they hate me so bad: if you pray to my gods, they actually listen.”

“I doubt your gods give much of a shit, either.”

“They delivered you, didn’t they?” 

Maven frowned at her.

“It’s a never-ending negotiation,” the old woman continued, “my gods wheeling and dealing with your gods, their gods… compromising here, putting their foot down there. We’re just the worker bees.” She gestured behind Maven. “Looks like you have a visitor.”

A barefooted man was approaching through a thicket, carrying a crab cage he intended to set in the ocean. The man barreled through sharp branches without any reaction to the pain he must have been causing himself. He seemed momentarily taken aback by the old woman’s presence, though decided it only stood to reason she and the death mage would already be acquainted.

“I hear yer a death mage,” the crabber said.

“I am.”

“This morn’ I saw ya at my granddaughter’s death rite.”

“You did and I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Could ya bring her back?”

“Did the beast kill her?” Maven asked.

“In a way,” said the crabber. “She went out of her way to avoid the areas the beast had been known to frequent and she fell into a tidal pool.”

“I could bring her back,” Maven admitted, “but a drowning… you realize what that does to a person’s body, right? The bloating, the rot….”

“I’ve seen her body, yeah. What would ya need for payment?”

“What do you have?” Maven asked.

“I heard yer going to slay the beast of many hands. Yer gonna need a guide to find it.”

“Then you’ll be my guide.”

“And I hunt.”

“Then we will hunt the beast together.”

“And I will see my granddaughter again?” the crabber asked.

“You will,” Maven said. “I promise.”

“I will gather supplies and meet ya on the other side of town,” the man said. He discarded the crab cage as if it were a piece of trash. It was the act of a man, Maven thought, who did not expect to return.  

“Gather everything in a wagon, but forget the horses. They don’t like the undead. It’ll be later this afternoon before I arrive.”

The crabber bowed and left the way he came.

“You could have told him his beloved granddaughter would continue to rot,” the old woman said.

“I’ll be long gone by the time he realizes it.”

The woman cackled. “It’s a wonder our peoples didn’t get along.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“Just because our gods hate each other, doesn’t mean we have to.” 

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of what your people did to us during the dark times.”

“Oh, get over it. Sure, there’ll be a time we’ll be called upon to fight again, but in the meantime… why not have some fun, eh?”

“Don’t for a minute believe that I’m dumb enough to trust you. I have just as many tricks up my sleeve as you.”

“I know you do, death mage. It’s just a matter of who pulls their trick first.”

The warden emerged from the ocean and plopped the first bloated corpse onto the sand. Maven and the old woman went down to the beach to see. The corpse was riddled with crabs and tangled in seaweed. 

“Did you forget to fetch me a rowboat?” Maven asked the warden.

“I’ll get it shortly.”

“Get it now.”

“Fuck you,” the warden said, returning to the sea.

Maven prepared to bring the corpse back to life. 

“May I watch?” the old woman asked, lowering herself to a squat position. “I just love resurrections… the futility of it all tickles me to pieces.”

Maven breathed into the corpse’s mouth and drew the sigil of resurrection in the air. Now he had two undead servants dragging bodies out of the ocean.

3.

“Gods,” shouted a guard at the watchtower. The words warbled out of her: “Oh, gods be damned! No!“

She leapt from the structure, broke her ankle, and hobbled away, losing her sword as she fled from the troop of undead soldiers. Maven marched his waterlogged servants straight down the wooden mainway, stationing them at key positions throughout the town. Most of the locals locked themselves in their huts. Others gathered enough courage to throw garbage and shout obscenities at the ghastly procession.

By the time the death mage had finished placing his pawns, he was down to three, one of whom was the warden. The crabber was waiting at the stable near the far end of town, which marked the beginning of the untamed jungle. If the sight of animated corpses surprised him, he didn’t show it.

“I prepared the wagon,” the crabber said.

“Good,” said the death mage. “Hitch up these two men and make room for me on the bench.”

“What about me?” the warden asked.

“You will keep pace and push us when we get stuck.”

“My legs will snap before we get anywhere near the top of that hill….”

“Then we’ll drag you the rest of the way, warden.”

“Fuck you, death mage.”

The undead guards grumbled as the crabber fed the leather traces over their shoulders and wrapped them around their waists. He climbed onto the seat next to Maven and winced as he realized he did not know the proper etiquette for urging human horsepower into motion. The death mage took the reins and clucked with glee. The undead tugged the wagon forward, cursing their master under their breath.

“How long until we reach the top?” Maven asked the crabber, handing the reins back to him.

“We’d make it there before nightfall if we had horses. Like this it’s, uh… well, that’s harder to say.”

“It’s important that we get there by noon tomorrow.”

“I suppose it depends on how fast they can climb the hill. Sir, if ya don’t mind me asking….”

“No topic is off limits,” Maven said. “You’re a business partner, not a servant like Warden Dumb Fuck over here.”

The warden grunted as he struggled to pace the wagon.

“I suppose I’m curious how ya plan to kill the beast of many hands,” the crabber said.

“I just want to have a word with it, that’s all.”

“How can ya expect to reason with a beast?” 

“By being persuasive.” Some time later, Maven said, “People don’t trust me. I find it curious that you do.”

“I wouldn’t say I trust ya, but the gods have taken the only person who ever mattered to me. Yer the only one willing to give her back.”

“You’ll burn for that,” the warden said.

“Oh?” Maven asked.

“The both of you will burn and I’ll be laughing as I watch from the hereafter.”

“Warden,” Maven said, “do you know how long you were dead?”

“A few hours, I suppose.”

“And where did you go when you were dead?”

“What kind of silly question is that?” the warden snapped.

“Did you see the hereafter?”

“No, but—”

“Then how can you be so sure it exists?”

The warden’s eyes narrowed and his posture straightened. “You brought me back, death mage. That means I went somewhere, but that’s not for the living to remember. If dead is truly dead, you wouldn’t have been able to bring me back. Simple as that.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Maven said, chuckling. “I honestly don’t know and I find the whole subject pointless. This is all that matters to me.”

The warden leaned forward so that the crabber could see him. His fingernails were peeling off. His lips had begun to retreat, which exposed ghastly gums and crooked teeth.

“Look at me,” he said. “Is this how you want to remember your granddaughter?”

“My reasons for wanting my granddaughter back,” the crabber said, “are none of yer concern.” The crabber looked at Maven. “That is a topic that is off limits for me.”

“Fair enough,” Maven said.

They were deep in the jungle and halfway up the hill when something twanged in the distance. As Maven attempted to place the oddly familiar sound, the crabber rolled out of the wagon and was raced for the cover of the roadside thicket. Maven heard two more twangs as the first arrow flitted through the air and impacted one of the undead guards in the throat. The other two arrows ended up in the knee and groin of the other guard. The two men fell.

“Ambush!” the warden shouted as the wagon rolled backwards down the hill, dragging the two men who were helplessly strapped to its reins. The vehicle crashed into a tree and catapulted Maven onto the dirt road.

A barrage of arrows thudded into the ground all around the death mage as he scrambled for cover beneath the wrecked wagon. From his limited vantage point, he watched the warden cut loose the reined guards before the three of them dutifully advanced up the hill, swords drawn. Maven scooted backwards on his belly and a part of him caught on the wagon’s axle: it was an arrow which had lodged itself in his shoulder blade.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Maven couldn’t reach the arrow within his cramped confines. He considered retreating down the hill and realized that even an incompetent tactician would have stationed a bowman at the ambush’s ingress point—which was probably how he ended up with an arrow in his back in the first place. Staying put, he knew, wasn’t an option, either.

Maven dragged himself out from under the wagon and raced up the hill. He issued a warcry which sounded pathetic even to him. He held his hands up, shielding his face, cringing at the sound of every distant twang. Each time he heard the whisper of an arrow, he serpentined, though he was painfully aware that the arrows which missed him were not intended for him anyway.

“Run, you fools!” cried the warden as he marched up the hill toward the ambushers. “We can’t stop ourselves from fighting! The death mage has commanded us!”

Ahead, the unseen ambushers shouted at one another from their positions among the treetops. The warden scaled a tree, a knife clamped between his teeth, and a man in the branches above him screamed in terror. As the other bowmen focused their fire on the warden, his guards identified their positions. All three of Maven’s servants were filled with arrows, which did little to halt their reluctant though inevitable advance.

Running to the safety of his group, Maven took an arrow to his leg and another in his forearm. He landed on his side, looking downhill. He watched a young woman leap gracefully from a tree, stashing a bow on her back as she approached. She was wearing the silken clothes of a local, which were stained with the owner’s blood. She had been one of the warden’s ship carpenters.

“Your marionettes are distracted,” the young woman said, drawing a knife. “And I intend to cut the strings.”

“Stay back!” Maven shouted, lifting a fist impotently.

The woman laughed. “You were always pathetic, death mage.”

The crabber emerged from the thicket and drove a dagger into the carpenter’s stomach. With the skill of a hunter who had disemboweled many animals, he opened the woman from her navel to her sternum. Her intestines unspooled and she toppled.

“I’m sorry,” the crabber told her, “but this is yer own damn fault.”

One of the enemy’s bows was slung across the crabber’s back and he was covered in more blood than what he had just spilled. With no regard to Maven’s pain, he grabbed the death mage by the scruff of his robe and dragged him to the cover of the trees.

“Don’t touch the arrows,” the crabber said. “We’ll deal with ’em after this is over.”

Maven found he was too petrified to speak. Instead he swallowed dryly and nodded. The crabber disappeared into the thicket once more, navigating the hazards like a bounding cat. As the death mage lay there, heart pounding in his ears, his mind began to process agonizing pain.

Once the enemy’s screaming ceased, the warden’s guards returned and dragged Maven to the broken wagon. There they propped him upright against a wheel. They had to arrange him carefully so that his arrows rested through the spokes rather than against.

“It doesn’t look good,” the crabber confessed, kneeling before Maven. “If we pull the arrows out, yer sure to die of blood loss before we ever get ya back to town.”

“We’re not going back,” Maven said through clenched teeth.

The undead men lined their kills along the road. There were six total, five of whom had served the warden on his ship. The sixth was a local who was acting as their own guide. The crabber turned the local’s pockets out without expression as the warden and his guards stood together for a moment of silence.

“All they wanted,” the warden said, “was to free us of this grisly fate.” He spat defiantly and whirled to face the death mage. “Are you not done with me yet?”

“Not yet.”

The warden flung his sword down and stomped off to be alone. Meanwhile, his guards took turns plucking arrows from each other’s bodies.

“We have to make it to the top of the hill by noon tomorrow,” Maven reminded the crabber. “Cut the arrows off and leave the tips if you have to.”

“These are the arrows of my people,” the crabber said, shaking his head solemnly. “We use them to hunt the tree spiders and rarely rinse them. If I leave them in ya, they’ll fester for sure.”

“So I’m dying?“

“I’m afraid so.”

“Not here,” Maven said.

“Oh, you whiny little bitch,” said the old woman, revealing herself just a few steps down the hill. “I can treat your wounds, death minge, but you’ll have to camp here for the night.”

“We have to anyway,” the warden said, returning. “Wagon’s busted.”

The old woman dug around the contents of the tilted wagon, most of which had crashed onto the ground. She came up with a bronze cooking pot.

“This will do,” she said. To the warden: “Have your men build me a fire and I will collect the spores and herbs I need to brew.”

“We need to bury our dead first,” the warden protested.

“No,” Maven said. “They’re coming with us.”

4.

Maven startled awake beside the campfire. It was nighttime and, if not for the trilling of the tree spiders, it was quiet.

“Relax,” the crabber said. “Yer gonna live.”

The arrows were gone and the mage’s wounds were bandaged. “Where did the old woman go?”

“Who knows? She’s been on this island as long as anybody can remember and nobody knows where she lives or what she does with the tithings she takes in return for her protection.” The crabber stoked the fire. “Try to sleep, sir. Ya shoulda been dead.”

“The closer I come to death, the stronger I get.” Maven struggled to sit upright. “Magic-wise, anyway. Body-wise, not so much.”

“She left medicine for ya to take twice a day, morning and night.”

“Your people know what she is, right?”

“Yes, but she keeps our animals alive and our crops free of pestilence. She keeps our babies from dying at birth. My people have thrived because of her.”

“There’s always a catch,” Maven insisted.

“Everybody knows that, but this island is cruel. Yer forced to take any help ya can get.”

“You need sleep, too, you know.”

“I won’t rest until my granddaughter can.”

“The dead rest better than the living.”

“She was too young,” the crabber said, swallowing a lump in his throat. When at last he regained his composure, he added, “I already lost her mother. Her grandmother. Her siblings and my own. Death has no right to take so much from one person.”

“You must realize by now that I can only bring her back for a short time. You will probably have to watch her die all over again. It will be slower… crueler.”

“I hope to make a deal with the old woman. Perhaps she can fix her.”

“There’s always a catch,” Maven reminded him.

“I don’t care what her terms are. I already had a full life. My granddaughter has not.”

There was a long silence.

“What is it?” the crabber asked. “The many-handed beast that plagues us?”

“A prisoner. That tree was supposed to keep it there forever.”

“Is it a god?”

“Something like that.”

“From the heavens or hell?”

“There are lands in this world that have never seen sunshine. That’s where it comes from, which is why it only comes out at night. I suspect the sun is too much for it. Though, I’m more worried about why it was imprisoned than where it comes from.”

“Who could imprison such a thing?”

“Its own kind, I suppose. Or something worse.”

“Is that why the old woman came here in the first place?” the crabber asked. “Because of that creature?”

“I’d say that’s a good guess. And she probably had something to do with that tree blowing over as well. It must have taken her centuries to break the spell. She’s far more powerful than she lets on, friend. If she merely wanted to kill the beast, she wouldn’t need me. She’s up to something.“

“Perhaps that’s the catch,” the crabber said, mostly to himself.

Maven watched the campfire’s flames dance in the breeze. Even halfway up the hill, the rotten stench of the dead sea monster tickled the mage’s nose. 

The warden approached.

“Shouldn’t you be guarding the perimeter?” Maven asked.

“I wanted to speak with you privately, death mage.”

Maven politely gestured for the crabber to leave, which he did.

The warden sat on a pile of supplies. The fire revealed the face of a gaunt corpse. He was little more than a skeleton now.

“You have enough of my men to slay the beast,” he said. “This time tomorrow, I will be of no use to anyone. I’m falling apart.”

“Yes,” Maven said with satisfaction. “You are.”

“Damn it, death mage! What do you want from me? An apology? You want me to beg?”

“I want you to be scared. I want you to know the kind of suffering you have caused with your cruel ways on your prison ship. I want you to know what it’s like to be subjugated for a change.”

“Gods, I have been cruel….”

“If you think a confession will soften my attitude—”

The warden wept.

“For fuck’s sake,” Maven said. “Get a hold of yourself before your men hear you.”

“The only thing you face up there on that damned hill is death. But I… I stand to lose a lot more than that if you die before you release me of this horrible curse. You described to me a fate worse than hell itself. And now I wrestle with a kind of fear that my prisoners have never known. I don’t even think you, who communes with the dead, could truly understand a sentence such as mine. Listen to me, death mage: I’m not asking you to have mercy on me—I know I deserve everything that has happened to me these last couple of days—but even the worst person who ever lived doesn’t deserve… that.” The warden gestured emphatically at the dead bodies, which were now covered with the wagon’s tarpaulin. “Neither do they.”

“You were right,” Maven said abruptly.

The warden cocked his head inquisitively. 

“If I die,” Maven continued, “you die as well. I was lying to you.”

The warden wiped his cheeks as he processed this new information. “I can die?”

“Yes,” the death mage confirmed. “When a death mage dies, his spells will be severed. The men who ambushed us knew that. That’s why they distracted you and the guards while your carpenter tried to kill me.”

“Oh gods, what a relief!” The warden threw himself into a kneeling position at the death mage’s feet. “Oh, thank you! Thank you for easing my mind!”

“Don’t think for a minute that I believe you wouldn’t change your ways if our situations were reversed yet again. My reasons for setting your mind at rest has less to do with you and more to do with me. I pity you, as much as I wish I didn’t. You speak of unimaginable cruelty as if that is something mortals like you and I are capable of, but it isn’t. Cruelty of that nature is the domain of the gods you worship, warden. And if I were you, I wouldn’t be in a hurry to meet them.” 

5.

By daybreak, Maven was leading an army of eleven including himself. The undead were saddled with all the supplies they could carry.

“Last night you were on death’s door,” the crabber observed in awe.

“Never felt better,” Maven said. “Near death experiences are rejuvenating for death mages.”

A girl on horseback came galloping up the hill at full speed. She came within twenty yards of the undead before her horse squealed, bucked her onto the road, and beat hooves in the opposite direction. Maven laughed as he and the crabber moved to the back of the troop to help her stand.

“Are you alright?” the crabber asked.

The girl, no more than fifteen years of age, looked stunned. “He never did that before.”

“Animals don’t like the undead,” Maven explained tiredly. “Are you a messenger?”

“I am. The guards you left in the city were able to keep the beast at bay last night, but more than half of them fell in the process. That isn’t to say they were killed, because they can’t be, but they’re not gonna be fighting anymore, that’s for sure. My people want you to send more guards.”

Maven laughed at the townspeople’s change of heart. “I can spare no more unless they want me to start recruiting at their cemetery.”

“Gods, I don’t think they’ll go for that. They also wanted me to tell you that they think it’s injured—the beast, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Maven turned his back on the girl and thought better of it. “You should come with us.”

“Oh, no. I need to get back to town.”

“Your horse is gone. It won’t be safe for you to go alone.”

“Sir, I’m terrified to go to the top of that hill.”

“Why? If we fail to slay the beast, it’ll just come down and kill you in town one day. Might as well face it now and skip the anxiety.”

The girl gulped and said, “All due respect, but I’d rather take my chances… these men smell worse than that sea creature.”

“I’m dead,” said a guard. “What’s your fuckin’ excuse?”

The dead men laughed and the girl retreated down the hill.

“Why is it so important to get up that hill by noon?” the crabber asked Maven.

“Because then the sun is at its brightest and, presumably, the beast will be at its weakest.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Maven lied.

The trees thinned and the travelers’ view to the sky opened as they entered the hilltop clearing. It was a bright blue day without a cloud in sight. Indeed, only the sun-faded moons were partially visible in the sky. At the end of the road, they stood on a rocky point high above the beachside, staring at the fallen tree. The tree was many times wider than the tallest man. No ordinary wind could have uprooted it as it had been protected against rot by unimaginable magic.

There was a crater where the roots had been. The base of the tree provided shade to the many-handed beast, which was sitting in the crater, its knees drawn to its chest like a frightened child. Maven commanded his troop to hang back.

As the death mage approached, the beast lifted its head. Its face was composed of many hands and interlocked fingers like the rest of its body.

“Ah,” it said in a thunderous voice, the fingers of its mouth straightening. “Is this my midday snack?”

“I am a diplomat,” Maven said.

“Then why do your companions carry steel?”

“Habit, I suppose.” Maven spread his arms and turned in place to prove he was unarmed. “I carry no steel. You and I both know it would have little effect on you.”

“Neither would diplomacy. You can turn around and run, if you want, but once the sun goes down I will catch you. You may as well stay and keep me company until supper time.”

“Come off of it, man. You’re not eating people. Your kind never has.”

“Oh, how wrong you are….”

“You should know that I have reason to believe that you were not freed from your prison by accident. The ancient woman who lives on this island had insidious reasons for letting you go.”

“Human matters do not concern me.”

“She’s no human. Consider the magic it takes to imprison a creature like you. Now, then: consider the magic required to break it.”

“No mortal could possess such magic.”

“She is mortal, yes, but less so than most. I believe you were imprisoned here because this island lies on a vertex—a place where magic is extremely strong. Which means she is extremely strong here. As am I.” Maven sat on his haunches just beyond the tree’s shade. “You pretend you’re free of this prison, yet you come back here, day after day. One as far away from home as you are can never be free. The darkside is where you belong. And I can help you get back.”

“I would never accept the help of a human.”

“Human, yes, but less so than others.”

“What are you, then?”

“One who deals in things which are dead.” Maven pointed at the base of the tree. With a wiggle of his wooden finger, he commanded the roots to slither down and tighten around the creature’s throat. “Such as the tree above you.”

“What! Magic cannot kill me!”

“It’s not the magic that’ll kill you. It is the tree, which is dead, and therefore I control it. Or maybe I simply put the whole thing back on top of you, imprisoning you for another—oh, who could guess how many centuries this time?”

“Stop this!”

Maven let the roots loosen their grip.

“You’ve made your point, death man. Say what you came here to say.”

“If I kill you, the old woman gets what she wants—whatever that is. If I don’t, she’ll make sure I never leave. That leaves one option….”

“Kill the old woman,” the creature said.

Maven smiled. “She has been accepting tithes from the people here for centuries. With her fortune we could each buy a ship to get us out of here. For you, I will assemble a crew of undead to accompany you to the darkside. They’ll pack it with all the livestock your hungry little heart could ever—”

The creature looked sharply beyond Maven’s shoulder. The death mage followed his line of sight. The old woman was coming up the hill. In her hand was a dagger. The tip of it was dimpling the crabber’s throat, who walked ahead of the woman stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” the crabber said. “She must have cast a spell on me.”

Behind the woman, the entire undead troop stood, swords drawn.

“So you’ve turned my army against me,” Maven said.

“You turned them against yourself,” the old woman said. “I merely released them to their free will.”

“How?”

“I’ve dedicated a portion of my time to learning how to control the dead. It’s the resurrection bit I can’t quite figure out.”

“It’s a wonder our peoples didn’t get along,” Maven said sarcastically.

“I told you it’ll come down to whoever reaches into their bag of tricks first. You have no idea how much power I have learned to wield ever since that beast was freed. Now all I need is for the creature to die so you can make it serve me in death. Then, entire armies will tremble before my might.” 

“If I give you what you want, you’ll have no use for me.”

“You think I can’t arrange for another death mage to come here? What’s another few years after you’ve lived as long as I have? I’m going to kill you whether you help or not. But if you help, it will be less painful.”

“No deal,” Maven said.

The old woman cut a surgical slit into the crabber’s jugular and kicked him forward. She cackled madly as the man stumbled into the death mage’s arms, bleeding profusely. “Here’s your only ally,” she said.

The crabber looked up at Maven, eyes filled with fear.

“It’s okay,” Maven said. “Go be with your granddaughter now.”

The man’s expression turned to one of peace and he went limp in Maven’s arms. The death mage lowered the body to the ground and retreated to the shade beneath the tree, huddling beside the creature.

“Fine,” the old woman said. “We’ll smoke you out.” She walked to the rear of the troop and issued an order: “Burn the tree.”

As the undead soldiers parted to let her through, the warden came to the front line with a torch in hand. He used it to light the fire arrows which were already nocked on the drawstrings of his bowmen.

“Apologies, death mage,” the warden said. “I’d say it pains me to do this, but—” He gave an exaggerated shrug. 

“Fire!” the old woman commanded.

The bowmen released their fire arrows, igniting the roots above Maven and the beast. As the base of the great tree burned, the undead soldiers positioned themselves around it, swords drawn. The old woman laughed wildly.

“I cannot protect you,” the creature confessed.

“You don’t have to.” The death mage tapped his wooden finger to his ear: listen.

There was a piercing shriek, followed by the shouts of the warden’s men. They had suddenly concerned themselves with something making a ruckus in the direction of the cliff. The rocky terrain turned dark and the soldiers fled from what had suddenly eclipsed the sun. Seconds later it came crashing down, splintering into a thousand pieces: the warden’s ship. An enormous deluge of water scattered in every direction, knocking the feet out from underneath the soldiers who hadn’t been squashed. The water cascaded over the flames and left the tree smoldering.

“What magic is this?” the beast asked, craning his many-handed neck.

“Death magic,” Maven said.

The sea monster came scurrying over the tree as easily as it had scaled the cliff. There it had been awaiting its signal: when the sun was at its noon o’ clock position. Its many appendages made short work of the warden’s men, whipping their broken bodies into great, soaring arcs through the air. As the warden retreated, the sea monster wrapped a tentacle around his waist and launched him at the old woman. Their bodies collided so hard that Maven heard the crisp snap of a spine from twenty yards away.

The death mage emerged from the crater, stooping to pick up a loose sword, and made his way down the hill. He came upon the warden’s position first, whose legs and torso had been crushed by the sea monster’s tentacle. 

“Thank the gods!” the warden exclaimed, struggling to prop himself up on the one arm which wasn’t broken. “I knew this was your plan, death mage!”

Maven lopped the warden’s head off with a single slash of the sword. He kept pace to the old woman’s position, a few yards beyond the warden’s headless body. The severity of her injury had rendered her incapable of moving her limbs. She looked like a squashed bug.

The death mage kneeled beside her and said, “You’re not the only one whose magic was strengthened by this place.”

“Go on,” the old woman said, coughing blood. “Finish it.”

“My spells won’t work on things that died by my hand.” He leaned closer and added, “When I bring you back, you will tell me where to find your fortune, and then the scavengers will have your eyes and tongue.” He turned and shouted at the warden’s head, several yards away from its body: “And you, my friend, will be the figurehead of my new ship.”

6.

The many-handed beast’s drunken laughter shook the tavern walls. By Maven’s count, he was an eight-fisted drinker. The death mage couldn’t possibly keep up.

The other patrons kept close to the walls of the room, glaring at the duo from afar. There they quietly grumbled to one another. The innkeeper reluctantly approached with another round of beer.

“You’ve done what ya came for,” she muttered, “so why don’t you and this infernal monster just leave?“

“Because I plan to be here when my friend is buried,” Maven said, snapping a gold coin to the table. “If you really want us to leave, make us.”

The innkeeper reluctantly pocketed the gold and returned to her station behind the counter. 

The many-handed beast roared in amusement. “I never would have dreamed I’d be drinking with a human.”

“Less human than most,” Maven reminded him. “So how did you get yourself imprisoned in the first place?”

“My lover’s old flame was jealous of her new one.”

“Ah, been there, done that. Tell me: What’s the darkside like?”

“It’s dark.”

“No shit?” Maven said, lifting a fresh beer to his lips.

“It’s a different kind of dark. It’s cold and it’s icy and you can see things in the sky you can’t see here, even at night.”

“Sounds like quite the spectacle.”

“You could come with me. It would be the last thing you ever saw, for you would quickly succumb to the cold. But I think someone like you would appreciate its glory. There are many more stars there than you can ever imagine.”

“I’d like to arrange to see that when my end draws near.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but I do not think you are the type who will have the benefit of planning his death.”

“You’re forgiven,” Maven said, raising a toast. “May it be quick and violent.”

The beast grunted in agreement and, after some time, said, “The monster from the sea… how did you…?”

“I resurrected it while the warden was dragging bodies from the wreckage of his ship. I instructed it to scale the cliffside in the morning and to attack at noon.”

“You never had any intention of slaying me, did you?”

“No. And I’m sorry for the hands you lost when you met the town guards. I never intended for that little ruse to be effective.”

“Bah. For me, losing hands is like your people losing hairs: they grow back.”

“Good. You know, I have never been as powerful as I am here. It’s a shame to leave it, but gods, it’s dull.” Maven chuckled. “The people have no idea how bad their town is going to reek when that thing decomposes up there on the hill. The stench will linger for decades.”

“Fuck ’em.”

“These people are fucked,” Maven said, scanning the room conspiratorially. “They’ve relied on the old woman’s protections for too long. They won’t survive without her spells. All it will take is one bad harvest or one bad storm, and it’ll spell the beginning of the end. This town is as good as dead.”

“All things die.”

“Yes,” Maven said, “they do.”