Page 142 of Wind Rider

It took almost three weeks to make their way from the first Saleesh village to Day Dam and the mouth of Lost Lake. In those weeks Death’s army grew from one hundred men to more that five hundred. Long gone were the ragtag boats and rafts they’d begun in. They were replaced with slick, easily maneuvered canoes and larger, luxurious boats the priests used to travel from village to village. And the newly acquired watercraft were loaded with supplies stolen from the Saleesh—blankets, robes, wraps, iron pots, pieces of glass, and so much food that they had to leave some behind to rot with the bodies of the women and children. It was macabre to see Death’s minions swathing themselves in the delicately wrought jewelry the talented Saleesh had been so good at creating. The entire army took on a blue tint so that at first glance one might think beauty, and not death approached—but a closer look at the reanimated corpses that made up the bulk of the army and any thoughts of beauty or goodness quickly dissipated.

Ralina named the living corpses Milks, after the color of their eyes. They were like nothing she could have imagined possible. Their bodies had died. Ralina had witnessed the deaths of many of them. But at the first Saleesh village Death had summoned spirits—ghosts—and they had truly reanimated those dead bodies. Moving forward from that first village, the ghosts followed the army, hovering around Death’s opulent boat like mist swirling from the ancient pines on a winter night—waiting for the next Saleesh village to be taken so that they could enter the newly dead and walk again.

The Milks were strange things. They were no longer dead, which was obvious because their reanimated bodies did not decay. They ate. Theyslept. They even talked, though they used odd words Ralina didn’t understand, but when she came close, listening, to a group of them they quit speaking, so she couldn’t figure out what they were saying. They also seemed confused about the state of the world around them. One night when they camped beside the river between Saleesh villages Ralina had asked Death what they were, and His answer chilled her to the bone.

“They are the specters who have haunted the Umbria gorge for hundreds of years—since the destruction of the ancient world.”

“You mean they’re the ghosts of the people who built the cities and the bridges?” she’d asked.

“Indeed,” He’d said.

“But why are they haunting the gorge?”

Death had shaken His massive head, His antlers casting eerie shadows behind Him. “They do not know—though they do all have intense feelings of guilt and of incompletion.” He’d shrugged and smiled His terrible smile. “It is fortuitous, is it not? Unfinished business caused them to haunt this place for centuries, making them susceptible to my call.”

“So, you did call them to you?”

“Of course, Storyteller! I sensed their presence the moment we entered the Umbria, and I began communing with them. They are difficult to communicate with, but the one thing they have made clear to me is that they could not rest until they completed something.”

“Something?”

He took a long drink of a huge wooden mug His Attendants kept filled with the rich red wine the Saleesh had stockpiled. “As I said, they are difficult to communicate with—even now that they live again.”

“I’ve noticed they don’t talk much,” Ralina said carefully. Death had already proven to be highly protective of his Milks.

“It is one of the things I appreciate most about them. I like to believe that they all lost their faith in the gods when their world was destroyed. Perhaps their unfinished business is the need to follow the will of a true God. And my will commands them to come with us to the Plains of the Wind Riders. There they will defeat all who attempt to stand against me.”

That was all Death would say about the Milks. Ralina suspected that was because He didn’t know any more about them and the God didn’t like to appear anything but omnipotent. But Ralina watched everything. She noticed everything.

The Milks had cliques. They congregated in the same groups and rarely mixed with outsiders. They were all men. Not one woman was reanimated—nor one child. And they had night terrors, so that their screams and cries of fear echoed across the river every single night as they continued to journey upriver.

Canines hated the Milks. That was the one happy outcome of the Milks’ presence. They were always hovering around Death, which meant that after trying unsuccessfully to coax Bear to join her on the God’s boat while He told her stories about the twisted, nightmarish utopia He imagined their future to be, Death announced that the canines were too skittish to be close to His new army—which relieved Ralina immensely, as she could then leave Bear with Renard, Daniel, and Kong whenever she had to attend to the God.

When they finally arrived at the last Saleesh village and the mouth of Lost Lake, Ralina already knew what was before them. She’d befriended Brother Joseph—though “befriend” was not an entirely accurate word, as the young Saleesh man had gone completely mad. He slept as much as Death would allow—all curled in on himself. He ate little and cried often. When he was in Death’s presence he couldn’t force himself to stand, so he knelt before the God, stuttering his answers between sobs and hysterical laughter.

As Brother Joseph was, indeed, an expert on the river and he guided them well, Death didn’t seem to mind, but Ralina felt terribly sorry for the young man—who wasn’t even as old as Renard. She’d asked Death to allow Brother Joseph to remain with her outside the villages while Death and His army consumed them, and the God had readily agreed, thanking Ralina for thinking of it and saying that it would be a waste of time if Brother Joseph was accidentally killed and He had to choose a new guide. So, as Ralina, Renard, Daniel, and Brother Joseph waited with the boats during the destruction of the final Saleesh village,the young Brother had explained what was to come on the Lost Lake crossing.

“There are devil creatures that dwell around the islands and the ruins of the dead cities—Mouths and Monkeys. They work together, so you must avoid those things,” Brother Joseph said.

And after he explained exactly what Mouths and Monkeys could do, Ralina completely agreed with him.

“But how long will it really take for us to cross Lost Lake?” Renard had asked him.

Along with stuttering when he was afraid, Brother Joseph had developed a tic that tended to become worse whenever he talked with Death, and now his head jerked spasmodically to the side, betraying how disturbed just the idea of the lake crossing made him.

“Months,” the Brother said, his neck and head twitching to the left. “Some—sometimes you will go days w-without s-s-seeing land. And th-th-the islands are not a respite. M-M-Mouths and Monkeys are there.”

“But you’ve never crossed the lake?” Renard asked.

“N-no. I-I-I’ve never b-been away from my r-r-river.” Brother Joseph worried the edge of the left sleeve of his robe, which was already frayed from his anxious fingers.

“Hey, try thinking about the lake as nothing more than an extension of your river, which is the truth. Lost Lake was made when Day Dam broke, so a good part of the water did come from the Umbria.”

“B-but our s-stories s-say the earth o-opened and w-water spewed forth. Th-the M-Mother saved us.” Brother Joseph’s gaze turned downcast and he chewed his lip. “B-but S-S-She must not l-love us now. S-She did not s-s-s-ave us from Death.”

Ralina opened her mouth to speak platitudes, but found she could not. Brother Joseph was right. The Mother hadn’t saved them. She hadn’t saved any of them.

The next day when the armada entered Lost Lake, the sky was clear and deceptively beautiful, as if it didn’t know that Death was spreading across the world below.