Delver Magic I: Sanctum's Breach - Jeff Inlo (the best motivational books .txt) 📗

of branches remained somewhat stunted at ground level, but they increased as one looked skyward. They created a complete blanket of green which could block out the sun with ease. Ryson’s eyes faced little difficulty, for they could adjust to even greater darkness, but for his own desires, the forest held little for him to see.

As the delver entered Dark Spruce upon this day, he did so with only slight arousal. The forest held out no special enticement. It only offered the trail of the quake; slightly uprooted trees and shifted broken soil. The traces of the disturbance granted only a slight distraction from the monotony of Dark Spruce, and he walked and climbed for half the morning before he found anything of true interest.

As the sounds of Pinesway faded from his acute hearing, he began to pick up the faint traces of a pungent odor. As he raced onward, he discovered larger pockets of the objectionable scent lingering about. It piqued his curiosity, called for his attention. The smell hung heavy in the air. It smelled of rot. The decay, however, was out of place. It was not the decomposition of the forest which created this odor. It was simply too powerful to be the emanation of rotting leaves or grass.

As the stench became more prevalent, so did the delver’s curiosity. Ryson stopped. He paused to take a greater sample of the air through his nose. His nostrils flared. He turned about to sniff the light breeze which filtered through the branches overhead. Part of the rank odor became unmistakable. It held the ghastly smell of rotting flesh. Perhaps an animal, a large animal like a deer, died somewhere nearby. Yet, the smell also contained traces of another scent, an odor which separated itself from the decay. Unique in its properties, Ryson could only liken it to the static smell of a summer lightning storm. Even the very air which contained the stench seemed charged.

Unable to distinguish anything more from the odor, Ryson pushed forward, but he moved with a mind to this new mystery. His concentration shifted away from the quake, and the instincts which are his as a delver began to guide him. The secret behind the stench became his mission.

As he stepped forward, the scent did not always become noticeably stronger. In certain places, it remained constant and Ryson found it difficult to choose a direction. More than once, he circled about his current position before selecting a path. To the delver’s satisfaction, the smell did not dissipate. It continued to beckon him and overpowered anything else which might call to his attention.

With thoughts of the quake almost extinct, the delver began to break in a southern direction. With his nose in the air, he paid little attention to the growing thickness of the trees. Greater coverage of branches overhead blocked more and more of the sunlight. The ground stretched out before him, etched with crusty, bark covered trunks and obscured in shady darkness. He continued to move with the fluid grace befitting a true delver. His stride carried him faster than the running of a frightened rabbit, and his ability to step lightly over uneven ground kept him from stumbling upon the bulging roots.

With Ryson’s attention fixed solely upon what his nose revealed to him, he relied little upon his sight. His vision simply aided him in crossing the forest, until it revealed to him the object of his search.

Ryson stopped immediately. His senses erupted as the unimaginable stood before him. The stench leaped in potency, at least tenfold, and there was no doubt that it was indeed the outpouring of rotting flesh. But this, this was no deer. It was a man, or what was left of one.

The degree of decay was staggering. The flesh cracked and shriveled, split and oozed. The stench and the pus attracted insects of all sizes. Flies, big and small, buzzed about like a shifting, black cloud. They landed on loose flesh and scurried about exposed bone. Hundreds of fluttering insect wings created a crescendo of a hissing sizzle.

This lonely traveler, pioneer or scout, must have been dead for weeks, maybe even months, such was the indication of the decay. Yet, it stood. It stood like a frozen ice sculpture or a stone statue. It stood and gazed at Ryson with one lifeless eye. The other had rotted completely away. Ryson could see into the empty socket, and he could look upon the edges of the skull which surrounded it. The left side of the body apparently decomposed faster than the other. Upon the same side as the vacant eye socket, most of the flesh around the arm was missing. Much of the left forearm bone stood revealed. The oozing flesh also hung loosely about the left hand.

In the other hand, which remained more or less intact, the fingers grasped a long thick branch. Its tip had been shaved into a fine point. Though the spear-like weapon remained firmly in the grip of this half-corpse, half-skeleton, it hung suspended in the air and offered no explanation as to what allowed the corpse to remain upright. The dead sentinel stood of its own accord, upon its own two decaying feet.

Ryson turned his disbelieving eyes back upon the face. He noticed the lips had rotted clean away, revealing a ghastly grin. The sight was too much, and the delver forced himself to turn away.

As he did, his ears caught the sound of unsteady footsteps. Ryson lifted his head, and noted the flash of movement coming his way. With great speed and balance, he jumped aside before understanding his plight. As the breeze of a slashing stick passed over his shoulder, he refocused his attention, though he could not fathom his dilemma. It was the spear of the corpse which slashed at him, and it remained in the same rotting hand.

“Godson!” The delver exclaimed in shock. He took retreating steps as the corpse turned itself slowly. Ryson watched in horror and disbelief. The decaying body was moving.

The corpse, however, defied logic, defied reality. It redirected itself back at Ryson and again swung its shaft with malice. It voiced no sound. Only the crackling turn of exposed bone echoed from its figure, and that was nearly drowned out by the hum of flies which followed in a dancing swarm.

Ryson’s speed again helped him escape the attack, but little helped his mind escape the horror. Even as he stepped out of harm’s way, he could not truly comprehend what he was seeing. He moved out of instinct. It saved his life, but it did not restore the hold of his senses.

As this living corpse turned and faced Ryson once more, the delver made every attempt to rationalize his predicament. Perhaps this thing was not yet dead, perhaps by some miracle it held onto the smallest spark of life. How else could it move toward him? How else could it attack, unless it somehow remained alive? But this was impossible. There was no blood flowing from the open wounds, there was no sign of breathing through those sinister teeth. Nothing like this could live, yet still it moved.

Before the corpse could make another attempt at the delver’s life, Ryson finally gained greater control of his own movements. He began to step away and use the surrounding trees as cover. He scurried about like a lost child while he assessed this preposterous situation and questions steamrolled through his mind.

“Who are you?” he demanded with only a hint of panic in his voice.

The creature did not respond. It only circled about the trees hoping to get a clear shot at its prey.

Ryson tried to maintain his composure. He checked his fear as he continued to move, using his speed to his advantage. He kept a safe distance and at least two trees between himself and the corpse as he watched the creature carefully. The more he watched the more confused he became. With muscle and tissue missing from many parts of its body, movement should have been impossible. But apparently, these facts held little meaning. The creature continued its prodding, unyielding attack. It proved its ability to turn, move, and fight even as rotting flesh dropped off its visible bones.

Unable to find any understanding in what he witnessed, Ryson made another attempt to communicate with this atrocity.

“What are you? What are you doing?”

The creature made no sound. No words or even groans escaped its rotted mouth. It offered no explanation for its existence, extended no reason for its attack.

Ryson inhaled deeply, hoping to ease his growing terror. His lungs filled with the stench polluted air, and he coughed it out vigorously. His eyes watered as he fought off the sickness which filled him.

In this moment, the corpse moved with a swiftness it previously hid. It darted from behind one tree and found a position within two body lengths of its target. Nothing but open space stood between it and the delver. It veered back before hurling its pointed shaft with deadly intentions.

Ryson, still choking out the foul air, dropped to the ground instinctively. The spear grazed his hair before gliding well out of reach. His hand flew to the top of his head to check for injury. After brushing his fingers through his hair, he pulled his hand to the front of his face. No blood.

Sprawled over the hard ground and protruding roots, Ryson remained vulnerable. He tried to roll backwards away from the last known position of the corpse. He barely turned at all when his motion was brought to a dead halt. His back hit a solid tree trunk with a resounding thud. He gulped back a sting of pain. His eyes widened in panic as he realized he was prone and backed against a tree, hardly an enviable position to avoid further attack.

With a swirl of his head, he picked up sight of the corpse. It made no attempt to retrieve its spear. Instead, it moved unerringly towards him, apparently ready to block any attempt of escape.

The delver bit back his own terror. Using his great agility, he swung his legs about and came to his knees. He was about to spring to his feet with the intention of climbing the great tree behind him when the corpse unexpectedly leapt forward.

The creature actually flew across the air with a powerful bound. The impact was heavy. It sent the delver back into the trunk. Upon contact, the corpse immediately took hold of its quarry. Even as the two combatants deflected off the tree and went rolling, the frightful attacker maintained a grip on its intended victim. The cloud of flies now swarmed over both the corpse and the delver as the two became a united mass of flailing limbs.

Ryson used the momentum of impact to continue rolling to an area of open ground. He dug his knees, elbows and feet fiercely into the dirt and propelled himself with all his strength. He pounded a free hand into the midsection of this thing and dropped a heavy shoulder into its chest.

The energized carcass showed no sign of pain. It hung tightly, and it slowly moved its grasp closer and closer to Ryson’s throat.

The delver felt the pointed, hard bones of the creature’s left hand. They dug first into his side and then into his chest. His mind ached with panic. He whipped his own hand to his belt. His fingers opened his pouch deftly and reached inside. He pulled his dagger free and jabbed it into the center of the corpse. He pushed forward with all his might until every inch of the blade buried itself deep within the rotting skin.

The creature had no reaction. It did not slow its own deliberate assault. Within a heartbeat, it had its putrid hands