The Forgotten God

Chapter Twenty-Six

The crow flew brazenly over the decrepit scenery, occasionally offering a mocking cry if it spotted movement. A piece of paper, a feral cat, nothing more.

The wing of the Falcon brings to the king, the wing if the crow brings him to the cemetery.

Through its eyes, Am-Heh was watching the shambling forms of his resurrected servants, unimpressed at their progress and already considering replacing them with some of the living. A taxing project but one that would yield far more stable results.

Their pace was unsteady and their limbs weak. Decay set in so easily in the damper ground, even with the protection of the wooden surround. In the sands of Egypt, the body became like leather, hardier.

Quietly he surveyed the ground, still allowing the overhead images to remain in mind, quite a skill and one that could be highly disorienting the first few times.

The rain and lack of care had made some areas a quagmire and he could almost see the bodies beneath slipping from their crude beds to huddle together as the mud forced them out.

Dignity in death was not a quote that made any sense.

To think that the stumbling female had once danced on west end stages and performed to whistling gentlemen in the less modest theatres was almost unbelievable.

A former socialite and part time entertainment, she had become a retiring grandmother in later years to seven grandchildren and held in high regard in charity circles.

Now, along with a man who had been a hard grafter in the mines, she moved to do what she would never have thought of doing. Or at least her shell did. Her soul, wherever it lingered would doubtlessly be unimpressed by the need for death and flesh.

Their condition did not go unnoticed by Ash or Marie and a slight ray of hope emerged from the growing darkness that surrounded them.

"They'll fall apart getting in," Marie said quietly "or even if they don't, they aren't the rabid Walking Dead monsters."

The connoisseur of zombie films and programmes, she knew what she was talking about.

"My bet is that they'll follow," Ash answered glumly "that thing isn't stupid, more's the pity. He wouldn't be a God if he was."

"I don't know, some were pretty dim when it came to certain areas,'" Mr Montford countered, his eyes fixed on the objects he'd recovered, cradling them tenderly as if they were new-born kittens. They were just as precious to him, relics of the past and the life he loved, the tools to teach the future. "Finding the weakness is somewhat tricky though."

"If he has a weakness, I think Isaac is it, or part of it." Marie and Mr Montford starred as Ash spoke the thoughts he'd been holding onto. He gave a shrug, unperturbed by the looks. "Why would he have taken him otherwise? He seemed to recognise him. If he wasn't a weakness then he'd have ripped him apart, he could have done." He gestured to the sticky wounds coating his employers face. "Look what he did to you!"

"You do have a point. However, unless we know about where he came from or speak to Isaac, then we might know. But the way things are, that's doesn't seem likely."

The dull thud echoed in the room as the male corpse bumped into the door outside. It faltered back as though drunk before walking into it again with whatever force it had.

He was well built from the hard works in the bleak pits and even though his muscles and limbs had wasted away during his slumber he still held a degree of power, those old habits never truly dying.

A grunt left compressed airways each time, eventually becoming frustrated. It could sense the power from the relics that its master had commanded it to retrieve and smell the sweet flesh its rotten teeth craved.

"Just knock their heads off, if they get in," Ash's gaze fixed itself on the door "think of it as practice."

The scent of decay leaked through the keyhole and under the heavy door and made his stomach contract painfully. Working alongside relics and mummified bodies he had hoped his nostrils were used to any sort of unpleasant odour, but the reality of decomposition had always been masked by equipment and the embalming herbs.

The woman's peeling fingers curled as she scratched at the thick glass, snapping off the remains of her once beautiful nails. Mouldering lips drew back as a frustrated groan left her.

Above a crow soared.

Am-Heh growled softly. He needed more of them. Two against three, especially such weak specimens would get him nowhere. That feeling of failure fell over him like a dark cloud, for the love of Atum he should have thought of that immediately when he saw them.

"Find me a newer burial area," he commanded coldly, his words echoing in the crow's mind. "You ought to know for you feast upon the dead. You should be able to find their scent even beneath the earth."

He plucked a roaming scarab from the earth, holding in his clasped hands gently but firmly. When the crow spotted a more suitable place for mindless servants the beetle would be sent. It was the symbol of rebirth, emitting its power as it burrowed into the earth, radiating to the dead and summoning the soul back to the body.

The crow worked fast, driven by the blood that stirred in its veins, feeling the might of a God who they had silently thought of but never served.

The crematorium was a place often watched by beady eyes, never finding titbits of flesh but enjoying what people did drop. Seeds from plants, crumbs from foods, often couple with the scent from the burners which their sensitive nostrils could pick up.

The raised mounds with plain wooden markers haphazardly stabbed into them, indicated the latest residents. Unable to have anything more ornate until the ground had settled over their final bed.

Without the aid of amulets, their renewed life would be short, but Am-Heh hoped it would be enough to have them complete his demands.

A soft silver light embraced him as he travelled without a step to the new place, bowing his head in dark prayer to evoke the powers needed, strong and dark, flowing out like rich molasses as they gained strength.

"...the fury I cast at thee, rouse ye for me. The drowned, the dead, let your soul and your form live for me."

He placed the scarab down, the beetle immediately being to glow, racing towards the nearest mound and plunging beneath the surface like a fox desperate for the meat.

The reaction was subtle at first. A low hum, a soft creak, muffled by the weight of earth. Then, it began to radiate light, a dull lustre of a lone candle, growing larger and brighter until the grave seemed to be on fire.

The sound heightened, the creak becoming a screech, higher and higher until it could burst the eardrums. Then silence. Just the eerie, heatless fire.

Am-Heh watched as the earth began to sink in, clawed from beneath, and soon fingers reached from the dirt, blood seeping from torn nails and knuckles that had worked madly to escape the mahogany prison.

As it rose up, he studied it. The bones prominent against the fragile skin, wasting with clear signs of decay. The eyes were gone, remnants of the optical orb stuck within the socket.

"Follow the scent of those dead before you," Am-Heh commanded coldly, wrinkling his nose as the corpse tilted its head, the fragile bones cracking and creaking. "You will obey the commands they have been given and others will follow." He smiled, giving a flash of brilliantly white teeth. "Many others, I hope. You will not last long but your work will go far."

Even as he spoke the earth seemed to be breathing. The shells of long-gone souls trying to escape their prisons, their groans stifled by the compressed dirt.

--

Aiden lay groaning on a stained mattress in what had been a warehouse. Out of business and unable to find a buyer the owner had let the building, once stripped of anything or value, to disrepair. It had soon become a home for squatters and the homeless and the smell of unwashed bodies and w**d were engrained along with the filth in the cement walls.

One or two had tried, in the beginning, to keep it decent. Painting pleasant images to decorate the grey, industrial walls, cleaned the limited working toilets. But one bad seed infected the entire orchard and those good willed souls had been beaten by addicts and oafs, resigning themselves to the grime until they could move on in the hope of finding help or somewhere better.

Now the shell was an echoing dump. Dust and debris coating where machinery once resided and the office rooms devoid of any sense of order.

Smashed furnishings, abandoned personal belongings littered amongst the rubbish of food cartons and discarded needles. Forever cold, the windows broken and boarded provided little defence against the whistle of the city winds.

Aiden had arrived a year ago. He had left home in lieu of his family calling the police after he had threatened his sibling and mother in a d**g induced rage.

The only blood had been his own, smearing the floor as he grabbed the wrong end of the kitchen knife. He wouldn't have harmed them; he'd even yelled that at the drunk who called himself a father. In his addled state, his bleary eyes could barely focus. The fridge would have received the wounds, not the pair cowering before it.

'Maybe that's what you're afraid of! Your precious booze being murdered!' He yelled as he resisted the urge to punch him. 'Manslaughter of Guinness, wouldn't that make a good headline?'

Still, the last word had been his father's and he left before the day was out.

Sometimes he still missed them. His mam and his kid sister, or brother, he couldn't remember which it was now. Maybe there was one of each, he'd been gone long enough.

Lord, he missed them now! Missed, the feel of that old bed and those itchy blankets they insisted on using. Even that pesky cat who saw fit to wake him early every darn morning.

Most of all, he missed the feel of his mam's hand, stroking his forehead and telling him in that soothing voice that he'd feel better soon. As long as he did as she told him, of course.

Even imagination wouldn't create that. It only enhanced the phantom pain in his missing leg. The stub burning and seething, flowing down into the limb that was no longer there.

Kyle and that...that...thing was no comfort. Just sitting after washing and binding it. looking at him in disgust and impatience.

"Wha-what do you want anyway?" Aiden finally bit back his pain "I ain't got any w**d and I haven't got any weapons except for a nail in a board! Owed my dealer, didn't I?"

"I need slaves," Babi answered, hopping closer. "Ones finer than you. These...dealers...you speak of. They take what you cherish? What you need? They would be better than one like you, your blood not fit to stain the floor of the latrines." He ran a finger over his brow in mock tenderness. "You will remain safe if you comply. However unworthy I see people; I reward them if they serve."

Kyle bristled and looked away, biting back the complaints. He had summoned this beast to reward and serve him. Not the other way around.

Black magic had a backlash, he knew that, but this was beyond. Even demons, both knight and king, were indentured servants until their caller's death.

"I am not a poxy demon."

Kyle jolted and looked up to meet Babi's furious eyes filling his vision. He hadn't heard him or sensed him come so close and ice froze his spine.

"I am a God. I am served. If you do as I bid your reward will consequently be far greater than what any pesky spirit can provide. If you don't then I will hasten your death."

"I wasn't complaining!" Kyle scooted back "this is just strange, OK? We don't do slaves anymore, the police do you for it! Human rights and all that crap."

"Slaves in my day were well kept," Babi snorted "it meant food and a home and a lot preferred it. Better if you had a soft master. Mine worked, they worked hard and toiled furiously, but they were given more than they needed."

He paused as a strange sound caught his attention. A soft, mournful moan, unlike the painful and irritating groans from the human opposite.

This was sad. Lamenting. A sound of a soul bewailing loss.

"The scent of death piques my hunger," he whispered and leapt away, scaling the wall to the window with gallant ease. Peering through a c***k he could see nothing but the aura of magic and summoning was strong. "I have a true rival again, how delightful!"

His shrill laugh pierced the ears as he clapped his hands, rocking back on his heels precariously. The ledge splintered and sent down another shower of wood chip and stone, making Kyle pity whoever had been unfortunate enough to bunk there.

"Now we shall see how worthy you are!" He stood up, the light behind him glowing and giving the air of a ghastly apparition, Godly indeed as he stared down at them. "You will lead me to harness my army again! And I promise you this world will be yours for the taking!"