From the Ashes (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #3)(22)

“The rotting dead. This was Nasurai’s lair,” Fiona replied calmly and summoned a light spell above her hand. Raising her arm she held the light aloft for them to get a good look at their surroundings.

“Nasurai Blackwolf?” Valor asked in astonishment. He barely seemed to notice the tangled bones and rotting flesh that littered the floor of the cave. Jala however, found her gaze fixated on the grisly display and felt her stomach lurching in response.

“The one and only. You just destroyed what remained of him, but don’t trouble yourself over it. Anything that was good in him died long ago. Death saw to that. He was one of her five guardians. With luck I can guide you around the other four so you do not have to fight them,” Fiona replied in a distracted voice as she prodded the pile of bones with her boots.

“I thought the Darklands held spirits. Yet, you aren’t a ghost and those certainly have a bit of flesh left to them,” Jala said weakly, her stomach still complaining at the stench.

“If you are going to vomit, hobble back outside for it, please. There is enough filth in here without adding more,” Fiona said without so much as glancing up. She kicked aside another pile and a wave of putrid air rose from the tangle of bodies. Small white forms wiggling through the rusting armor drew Jala’s eye and she stared in disgust at the maggots until Valor stepped in her path of vision.

“Take out the bottle of brandy I have and hold it under your nose,” Valor suggested quietly before turning back to Fiona. “Answer her question. The Darklands is supposed to hold the souls of the dead not the bodies. Explain why everything we have faced so far is flesh and bone.” His voice took on a sterner note as he addressed her and she stopped rummaging through the pile long enough to look up at him with amusement.

“Ahh. That’s adorable. Does it work in the sunlit lands? When you growl and snarl, do the puppies above cower?” Fiona asked, her tone mocking. “The more powerful of the dead can emulate bodies,” she began, motioning down at herself. “As thus. They are by no means our true forms however. We don’t eat, breathe, or piss as mortals do. We are simply solidified essence, and we don’t like to discuss it. Nasurai however was a demon. One of Death’s little creations. As I said, she has five guardians so those would be greater demons and then all of the little creepy crawlies you have seen would be lesser demons. The ones near the edge of the forest were animals in life. The ones by the boundary where you came in were formerly goblins. The deeper you go in, the bigger and badder they get.”

“Animals? According to the scriptures all animals are innocent in the eyes of the gods and thus pass immediately into the life stream once more to be reborn,” Jala objected, her nausea finally starting to subside. She leaned forward to watch Fiona but was careful to keep her eyes locked on the woman’s face rather than the pile of death she stood in.

“Be sure and tell Death that when you see her. She seems to have real difficulty letting anything return to the life stream. Now these sorry bastards that I’m wading in currently were like the two of you – living creatures that crossed the boundary. A few of them might have actually been heroes who came here to set things right, but most of them had darker purposes…” Fiona’s voice trailed off as she stooped and plucked a rotting leather bag from the pile. Lifting the flap she began to dig around inside, mumbling to herself as she did so.

“Let me try healing your ribs,” Jala said quietly to Valor as Fiona’s attention was distracted.

“Your ankle first,” Valor insisted as he sat down beside her and leaned back against the wall. “My ribs will keep but you need to be able to walk,” he added when she started to protest.

“Don’t heal anything. Every time you cast a spell you give Death an exact location as to where you are.” Fiona cut in, her head coming up sharply. “Give me a moment or two and hopefully we can get you healed. Most come in here a bit more prepared than you two have.”

“Do you ever say anything nice at all?” Jala snapped, her temper fraying a bit at the edges. The pain combined with Fiona’s constant cutting remarks was putting her in a foul mood quickly.

“No, not usually, but then my company is typically snarling demons. Let me adjust over to having snot nosed brats as company and I’ll see if I can be nicer,” Fiona replied dryly, her eyes still fixed on the bag she held.

“Bitch, if you were like this in life, I see why he chopped your head off,” Valor snapped as he took the flask of brandy from Jala’s hand and swallowed deeply from its contents.

“Weren’t you the one murmuring about childhood heroes earlier today?” Fiona grumbled.

“History books don’t capture personalities well. Had they written this particular chapter about you, I believe I would have found another to emulate,” Valor replied.

“Ahh. Here we go. Smear this on your wounds,” Fiona said in a triumphant voice as she produced a bottle from one of the bags. Tossing it lightly to Valor she dropped the bag at her feet and wiped the worst of the grime from her gauntlets onto the trailing ends of her cloak.

Valor regarded the bottle suspiciously and carefully sniffed at its contents. “It smells like a three week dead skunk,” he complained as he shook his head in disgust.

“Well, be glad I didn’t tell you to drink it then.” Fiona replied.

“Bitch,” Valor repeated and carefully set the bottle down beside him and began to unbuckle his breastplate. “I’ll try it on the ribs first. If it doesn’t kill me we will use it on your ankle next,” he said to Jala softly.