The Undead King: The Saga of Jai Lin: Book One (8 page)

“I did, thank you.” Now that the dirt and blood were washed away from her face, Mercer could clearly see the rosy glow in her tanned cheeks. She wore a new floral print dress of darker hues with a sleeveless bodice that came just above her chest. Her hair was brushed and hung loosely over her shoulders, which were draped in the same heavy cloak that all her Black Wing brethren wore. She smiled at him, and he felt again the way he had the night before, when she had been washing next to him and he had wanted nothing more than to spend the evening finding and counting all her freckles.

“Mercer, I’d like to introduce you to Old Wren. He is our clan elder and chief.”

“Hello, sir,” Mercer said to the elderly man sitting closest to Brook.

“Good to meet you, Mercer. I hear you came along at just the right time to save my Brook here from a band of killim and slavers. I owe you my gratitude.” Old Wren had a deep voice, which rattled like a loose window pane in a thunderstorm. As his name implied, he was indeed old, but still looked like he could scuff with those many years his junior. His beard was white cotton, as was his hair, the little of it that could be seen beneath his black wool cap. His eyes were watery and tired, which may have just been from his being out the entire night before searching for Brook and Crow.

“It was an honor, sir. I’m just sorry I was not able to do more for Crow. There were too many slavers, and they were armed with guns.”

“Yes, yes, Brook told me all about it. By Elon’s grace, they hopefully haven’t harmed him. He’s an able-bodied young man, and would catch them a far better price alive than dead.”

“Pray pardon,” the man next to Old Wren interjected. He had a hard face hidden behind a brick-hued beard far larger and gnarled than Old Wren’s. His eyes were a bright green, the color of pond algae. As they looked him over, Mercer saw within them a glint of recognition, as if the man knew him from somewhere. He continued speaking in such a raspy whisper that everyone leaned a little forward to make sure they could hear him. “Brook here has told us all about the Wandering Bastards and what occurred in the Borderlands. I want to know what happened in Young Poe’s Keep.”

Mercer was caught off guard by the question. He looked to Brook, not sure how he should answer.

“Don’t look at her, boy. Look me in the eyes and tell me what you saw there.”

Mercer turned a searing gaze on the man with the grizzled beard and algae-green eyes. He didn’t like being spoken to so brusquely. “The whole town was killed by dead men. That’s all there is to it. Just who are you to ask, anyways?”

Algae Eyes sat back and made a steeple of his fingers before his face. Old Wren took it upon himself to answer Mercer’s question. “This is Master Sergeant Roderick Solloway, Mercer. He’s from the Fort at Kingston, one hundred eye-spans to the northwest on 23.”

“Yes, I know Kingston well. A place where courage is plentiful but tact is in short supply, or so my father used to say.”

“I see you have the quick temper of your old man, too.” Solloway rasped. He stood up, revealing a bear-sized stature, and came around the table. The uniform he wore was covered in ornate embroidery and stripes of distinction, but worn and dusty from travel. At his hip was a polished old pistol in a leather holster, as well as a long knife. “We’ve met before, Mercer Crane. Many years ago, when your father and I were young men and you were but a child.”

“You knew my father?”

“I knew him, all right. We fought side by side in the War for the Green Lands. I was next to him when he ran that same sword on your back through Godwin’s black heart. I would have died for that man, and he for me.”

“You say you
would
have died for him...”

“I’m… I’m sorry, son. There was an accident a few years ago. He was working so hard, pushed himself to the point where he made a careless mistake in his lab. He was a good man, a smart man. He’ll always be remembered as such.”

Mercer hardly heard what Solloway was saying. Instead, his mind was reeling with images of his family, of the smiles and laughter and love he had known growing up. It had all culminated in a set of white stone graves he had made for Nina and Nan. He’d have to add a third now, for his father.

Purple splotches were appearing in Mercer’s vision, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “Easy there, son. Here, take a seat.” Solloway led Mercer over to the chair he had been sitting in, while Brook brought him a clay mug of water. Mercer looked up into the green eyes of the man who was the bearer of such terrible tidings.

“How did you recognize me?” Mercer asked, his world stabilizing. “If you haven’t seen me since I was a child, how did you know it was me?”

“I’d know Willis and Tiara’s son anywhere. You have her eyes, his boxy chin. Your old man used to talk about you and your sister all the time, so I remembered your name. When Old Wren told me that there was a man named Mercer Crane who’d come here last night, I knew it had to be you. Plus, you’ve got Jai Lin strapped to your back. I put it all together. Now, I’m sorry that I had to give you such awful news, but there are some serious matters that need to be discussed. You’re both saying you saw the living dead in the Green Lands, though they haven’t been seen this far north in almost three decades. You sure they were undead you saw and not some drunk traders from the hills bumbling about?”

Brook bristled. “We’re not lying. We saw killim, as clear as day. A good friend of mine who’d turned almost killed Mercer. I had to stab him through his head. I...” She felt a lump rise in her throat and chose not to continue.

“Solloway, please,” Old Wren said. “This is to be a conversation, not an interrogation. That is what you said to me earlier, right?” Solloway kneaded his closed eyes with his fingers and then let out a big sigh.

“I apologize, Old Wren. Brook, Mercer. These past few weeks have been especially taxing. Things in the Green Lands are falling apart and quick. I thought with Dusty Yen amassing an army against the west that things couldn’t get any worse, but undead in the Green Lands would be just the sort of thing to prove me wrong.”

Old Wren swirled around the contents of his mug, his gaze lost in its depths. “Indeed, things are falling apart,” he said. “Dusty Yen could be on the march any day now. You say the Fort at Kingston is already mobilizing its forces, Solloway, which leads me to believe that the two armies will converge right over our heads and raze the entire countryside to the ground in the ensuing battle.”

“That is the lay of it, Old Wren,” Solloway said. “Unless I can convince Dusty Yen to rethink his foolish war, or kill him, should the negotiations fail. That’s why I’m trying to get east as fast as I can.” Mercer now understood why the large man was so irritable: Solloway was to try and make terms with a warlord whose only response could be to laugh before flaying the grizzled old sergeant alive.

Old Wren continued. “I understand. It was good of you to help with our search party last night, though I know you were tired from travel. You’re welcome to stay another evening if you’d like. I’m sure you could use the rest.”

“There’s no time to rest, Wren. I have to go to Young Poe and see what these two have described for myself. The undead and poison roots… Gods...”

“Poison roots?” Mercer had never heard of such a thing.

“Yes, carnivorous tree roots that have the same desire for flesh as killim. They are extremely dangerous. Brook said she saw them while foraging in the Borderlands yesterday afternoon. Again, things that have not been seen in twenty eight years…”

“Since General Godwin and the War for the Green Lands,” Solloway said. “This seems to mean only one thing, and I don’t like it, not one bit.” Solloway and Old Wren shared a look.

Again, Mercer was in the dark. “What does it mean?” He asked.

Solloway looked down at him, and Mercer could see the fear in the older man’s eyes. “It means that thirty years after Godwin, there is another zombie-tongue. We have reason to think he’s somewhere beyond the Borderlands, in the Blight. Whoever he is, he’s leading a plague of the undead and other creatures of darkness into the Green Lands.”

Brook’s mouth fell open. She looked from Old Wren to Solloway to Mercer, hoping one of them would tell her that this was just one big joke, or that at least there was another possible explanation for all of it. Yet, she had seen too much in the past day to know that none of them would. They were about to be caught between two armies and a wave of undead.

“There is no more time,” Solloway said. “I must continue on. After Young Poe, I’ll go on to the Mountain Road Fork and continue up the Kill Fish Road, take it all the way to the Rip. Dusty Yen is said to be a few eye-spans beyond the bridge, or so I’ve heard. Wren, it would be good if you could send as swift a messenger as you have to the Fort at Kingston to tell them of what we’ve discovered. They’ll get word to the other great cities, so they’ll know how best to prepare.”

“Of course, Roderick. Wait, before you go...” Old Wren stood up from his chair and ambled over to a shelf empty save for some plastic tubs of rice. He moved the rice aside, revealing an iron safe, its black paint flaking, its knob rusted. After unlocking it and mumbling some numbers to himself, the old man turned and threw Solloway a bag of coin. “For the Wandering Bastards. If they are indeed joining with Dusty Yen, then you’ll see them. That should be enough for Crow. Do your best at getting him back.”

“I give you my word,” Solloway said, tucking the bag of coin away. He stood up and came around the table again. Mercer thought the large man was staring straight at him, but as Solloway got closer, he realized that the soldier’s gaze was actually on Jai Lin, the Crane insignia on the hilt peeking over his shoulder. “That’s a warrior’s sword and one of a kind. Your old man ever tell you what makes it so special?”

“No. He only ever said it was specially made for killing dead men.”

“It was, and still is. That sword is unlike any other. It would be useful on the road between here and Dusty Yen.” For the first time since coming below ground into the chamber, Mercer saw kindness beneath the old soldier’s stony facade. Though the man wore the dust of the road like a heavy chain, Solloway was a man of honor and duty, Mercer could see it clearly. No doubt this was why this man had been his father’s close friend, a man Willis Crane would have died for.

“There are many things I feel you should know, Mercer Crane, about that sword, about your father. Things he never got a chance to tell you, or teach you. What do you say? Will you travel with me?”

Mercer hesitated. Solloway was proposing he go east with him on a mission to negotiate for peace; if that didn’t work, they were to try and kill Dusty Yen. What if they failed, if they were caught? He knew the sort of men who were drawn to Dusty’s cause, men with nothing to lose but everything to gain from the plunders of war. The leader of these men would not be the most receptive to emissaries of peace, particularly when said party consisted of a soldier from Kingston and the progeny of two of the most reputable figures the western cities had ever known.

A strong voice in his head, perhaps the voice that had kept him alive for the past three years, urged him to escape from the Green Lands altogether, to head north to the wild country beyond the Aderon Mountains.

Mercer was about to decline Solloway’s offer when his gaze alighted on Brook, who wore a frown so heavy it looked as though her mouth would slide off her face. She scoffed and turned to Old Wren. “There’s no way I’m just going to sit here and wait for Crow to be rescued like a helpless maiden in a fairy tale. He’s my brother. If anyone is going to go after those slavers and get Crow, it’s going to be me. I’m going with Sergeant Solloway.”

Old Wren smiled sadly. “I know, Brook. I expected as much.”

“You did? So... I can go? Is that okay, Sergeant? I can go with you?”

Solloway thought about it for a moment, then grunted. “Old Wren and I already spoke at length about this, after we’d heard that you’d returned to camp safely. You’re obviously quite capable. The road ahead will be a hard one though, one we may not all return from. You’ll see terrible things, I can assure you that. Do you still wish to come along?”

Without hesitation, Brook said, “Yes.”

“Then I welcome your company.” Solloway then looked at Mercer, his one eyebrow arched. “Now how about you, Mercer? Yea or nay?”

The panicked voice in his head was still urging him to flee, but it was being muffled by the part of him he was so close to reclaiming, the lone gleam at the bottom of a dark well, its wind chime sparkle climbing towards a crescendo the clearer it became that Brook was to be joining Solloway on the trip east. He was done fleeing, running. Brook had made him realize that his humanity was not lost, that there were still good things worth fighting for. He nodded.

“There’s a good lad. Then let us get a move on, shall we? Wren, thank you for your hospitality.”

“It was my pleasure, Solloway. Wash up and have a final meal before you go. I’ll have Rainfall attend to your horse and fill your packs. May Elon and the ancestors protect you.” Solloway and Old Wren clasped their hands together and shared a knowing glance before the soldier from Kingston went back up the ladder to the outside world.

“I’ll go and pack my things,” Brook said, starting for the ladder.

“Brook.” She stopped at Old Wren’s voice. Though Wren was taller and his posture as straight as the ladder she had been about to climb, when she turned, Brook was returning his gaze so proudly that they seemed to be the same height.