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After everyone cautiously steps onto the wooden platform, its purpose becomes clearer. Zombies walk over and grab what turn out to be wooden handles, lifting us and the “raft” off the ground.
“A zombie-powered carriage,” Felix mutters as we begin to move.
“A litter,” Dylan says. “I’d get used to zombie-powered things if I were you. We’ll see a lot of it soon.”
At first the ride is rocky, but then we reach a relatively even terrain and it feels like we’re floating. When we exit the big canyon, we gape at the gray mountains around us like a bunch of tourists.
“What the hell?” Ariel exclaims, looking at Nulen.
I follow her gaze, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
If you unfocus your eyes, Nulen is just on a chair. But if you look closely, it’s clear that his chair is made entirely of people. Dead people. Each zombie must’ve twisted like a contortionist to make the structure.
Noticing our attention, Nulen speaks in Dylan’s direction.
Before she can translate, the zombies that aren’t part of his chair begin to move. Some kneel, some twist around, and soon, eight more macabre chairs join Nulen’s human throne.
“He said ‘take a seat,’” Dylan says. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”
We all stare at our “chairs.” I don’t know about the others, but if it were a choice between a gun to the head and this furniture, I might just opt for the gun.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Stanislav plops onto one. “Clever,” he says. “The soft belly of that woman makes a cushion.”
Right. I’d gladly choose the gun.
Stepping as far away from the “furniture” as I can, I pointedly stand and watch the mountains to keep my mind off my battle-fatigued muscles.
“I have a surprise,” Valerian says, approaching me.
Startled, I turn and see him holding a hygieia device.
Wow. I can’t believe he’s managed to keep it through the whole ordeal. I’ve got to say, he’s good at the suck-up game. If it weren’t for the masks, I think I wouldn’t kick him in the balls if he tried to kiss me right now.
Eyes crinkling above his mask, Valerian sterilizes a large circle of the platform beneath us.
“Thanks.” I sit cross-legged in the middle of the circle. “If you want, you can join me here.”
Is he looking smug? It’s hard to tell with the cursed masks.
He sinks to the floor a perfect distance from me, and just like that, the landscape around us seems more romantic than gloomy. That is, until we leave the mountains and see a field of some kinds of native vegetables.
A field that’s crawling with the masked dead.
I guess if you don’t care about the eek factor—and that’s a big if—it makes sense to use this free workforce on difficult agricultural tasks.
As we keep riding, we spot a herd of goat-like animals that graze inside a pasture that’s walled off by zombies. Later, we see zombies performing even more functions: fixing roofs, chopping down trees, and even building a pyramid the size of the ones in Giza, but with creepy designs carved into the sides that remind me of the masks that the zombies wear.
An hour after the dirt road underneath us becomes paved, we enter a village.
A big village.
“Are all those pale people alive?” Ariel asks, studying the crowds that stare at us with unabashed wonder.
Dylan exchanges some quick words with Nulen. “He says they’re predominantly human, with just enough necromancers to keep things running. You can recognize his kind by the leather clothing they wear. The humans revere them—hence all the waving.”
Indeed, the majority of the people are wearing clothing made of cotton-like material, with only an occasional leather-clad figure here and there.
Nulen says something else.
“We’re stopping for a meal and a sleepover,” Dylan explains. “He’ll stay in special necromancer quarters, while we’ll rest in an inn designed for humans.”
No one objects, and when we reach the town square, our zombies lower the litter to the ground, allowing us to step off.
Dylan has another quick exchange with Nulen. “We go there.” She points at a large structure to the side of the square.
Felix looks around dubiously. “Don’t we need money or something like that?”
When Dylan translates this question to Nulen, he looks at Felix disdainfully and delivers what sounds like a tirade.
“We won’t need money to stay at the inn,” Dylan says. “The owner is a necromancer, and the staff are helpers. That means that food and drinks are free, as are the lodgings. In general, all basic human needs are provided for on Necronia, free of charge.”
Around us, I spot people reverently nodding when they see Nulen’s outfit. Not surprising, given what we’ve just learned.
“They really love their necros here,” Fabian says, echoing my thoughts.
Stanislav nods. “There’s a good word for that: necrophilia.”
We chuckle as we head for the inn, but then we spot a herd of zombies on our tail.
