The Chill

“You hold that blade as if you truly know how to use it.” Snarled the decaying corpse now helplessly bound to the great gnarled trunk of an Oakwood.

Again the limbless abomination opened its mouth to further its insults, but was interrupted by a great glob of blood and mucus violently working its way out of the creatures throat.

“Hack…guh…ahag…kk..”

The young swordsman finished the roll job of his herb smoke and lit up as he watched the plagued substance project itself from the rotting mouth of the thing, landing only inches from his sandaled feet.

As he dragged long and hard he felt the herb’s magic at work. His vision enhanced and solidified, his mind was steel but fluid, and his adrenaline was calmly working its way back to a milder awareness.

“I bested you,” said matter-of-factly as he pulled another drag. “Didn’t I?” chased by an exhale.

And he had. Though to say he had done so unscathed would be to deny the throbbing pain brought on by the lacerations across his left shoulder.

A gutteral and weak laugh (“Could it even be called a laugh?” Thought the bladesman.) escaped the thing’s mouth. The mucus clogs in its throat were cracking as it did so.

“Bested me eh?” It was barely an audible whisper. “And what am I?” Its speech was now working its way up in volume accompanied by a steadying voice. “I’ve only just turned. I’m but a worm to those who would deem themselves great moths. My transformation has only begun and yet you still were wounded during our…” It searched for the words which would undermine the swordsman’s effort, “small scuffle.”

The young man’s gaze was glued to the things form, studying the rotting torso. The green and yellow flesh was bathed in coagulated blood which darkened its skin to a grim shade.

The cherry of the joint lit up as oxygen was pulled through. “Not a worm,” said with smoke filled lungs, “but a maggot.” He showered the smoke into the face of the sallow thing. This triggered another violent upheaval of blood and mucus this time causing a tuft of hair (not that there was much to afford) to wither and fall to the ground next to the growing puddle of bloody vomit.

Again the laugh (is it a laugh?) was its response. “Perhaps, but even a maggot becomes something more in time.” Now the tightly wound lips drew back and upward to form a fierce grimace. Cracked and rigid black stones stood in the place of what were once teeth. The swordsman thought that there was no doubt they would have shredded his shoulder to the point of uselessness had they struck true as its bony talons had.

Its glistening eyes (all pupil) met the young swordsman’s. “And yet you know this…don’t you?” said with revolting pleasure ever present in its tone.

He did. Every moment he stood in the thing’s presence he felt its dark will slipping its way onto him like a warm blanket that grew hotter until it would no doubt reach the point of scalding.

He took another drag, closed his eyes, and tried on a grin.

A minute or perhaps two slipped by without a sound from either, save for the heavy labored breathing (“How do they breathe?” he wondered) riddled with gurgly cracks and painful heaves.

The thing now wore a curious look. “Why haven’t you done away with me yet? Do you yearn for the relief of my chill? Has the burn already seduced you? The allure of it is impossible to resist. And why should you even try? So that you may remain a weak mortal child with a blade he uses to chop up…” it chuckled and choked, “maggots?” The creature now looked poised somehow. “Quite the legacy you’ve started. The flies of the world will tremble at the sound of your title. Bane of Larvae, Cannin the Maggot Slayer." Once again began its uninvited laughter, and when it saw the look of shock on Cannin’s face (brief though it was) the noise grew to an entanglement of scratches, gurgles , coughs, and heaves that sent the swordsman’s nerves on edge as the warmth grew to a true heat.

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and slid there way down his face into his eyes and into the crack between his now straightened lips. His mind was beginning to grow fuzzy as the heat grew to a feverish state. He took one final drag and stamped out the herb roll.

Cannin was now dizzy and weak, his knees most of all, and he was forced to rest on them while his arms dangled limply to his sides. As he fought the drool and numbing sensation overcoming his mouth, he managed to get out, “You know my name!” and after a deep and calculated breath he demanded, “How?!”

“You know nothing of what is happening to this world maggot slayer!” it bellowed out with an air of superiority. Though it was just a rotting torso bound to a tree, it was now far from helpless. “And you know nothing of how to finish me. Do you truly believe you can kill what is already dead?”

“Undead.” the swordsman replied in a dreamy voice.

The thing barked out another laugh. “You know well that I am no mindless undead.” It stared as if giving the dazed warrior a second chance to correct himself.

The heat was now becoming unbearable. Nausea began its slow and grueling punishment in the pit of his stomach, but he did manage to find the right answer despite the slow death he was heading towards. “Long dead.” was all he said.

The grimace etched itself back onto the creatures face. “That’s right. And the longer I am dead, the stronger I will become young fool. As I said you cannot kill what is dead. What would you do? Lop off my head? Burn my body? Cut out my hollow rotted heart?”

The swordsman only stared and fought to keep his head up and eyes open.

“Destroying this prison, this rotting jail of a body will only make me phantom. Then I would not drain your life but take your body. I would kill your entire family. Gouge out their eyes, cut out their tongues, peel the skin from their bones. I would have you rape your own mother, and at the last second give you back your eyes and all control so you could see and live with what you had done.” The grimace was a full blown death rictus at these last words. “But that is all unnecessary anyway…isn’t it young one?”

The swordsman could feel only two things, the volcanic heat rising in his body and his very life leeched away as it entered the thing opposite him.

“I already have you,” it said with such pleasure. “Come, give me what is mine.”

Cannin rose to his feet slowly and painfully. He took one small step closer and felt a cool breeze wash over the unbearable heat boiling within him. Tears of a terrible kind of relief accompanied the sweat now pouring down face. Not a single leaf stirred. The chill was the work of the Long Dead thing. It made him want nothing but more of the calm chill and he knew how to get it. All he had to do was allow the thing to take him and give in. He took another step and felt summer turn to fall in his body. Yet the sweat never stopped pouring.

“Let me take it all young fool. I can do more with your life than you could ever hope to comprehend.” It’s voice now eerily sounding more human. That of a middle aged woman.

Cannin took another step forward, this time larger, and was within a couple of feet of the leech. Winter felt right around the corner as he stared at the monstrosity in front of him. As it slowly sapped his life away its form was becoming more humanlike. The black stones became yellow teeth. Its pupils shrank revealing blue within white circles. The deteriorated nose was reforming cartilage and a healthier skin tone was emerging. As the swordsman felt the opposite happening to himself he stole a glimpse above its left breast close to the center of the chest. There was a subtle rise and fall, an anxious pumping. It was a live heart.

As the Long Dead thing was distracted by its state of ecstasy its eyes rolled back into its head. Cannin gathered every last bit of his remaining focus and in the blink of an eye drew his sword and drove hard into the thing’s heart.

The squishy flesh cutting sound was immediately chased by the thunk of steel striking into the Oak tree. Then came the multi-tonal shriek as the thing violently wriggled and struggled to free itself from the rope, blade, and tree.

Cannin watched it revert back to its abominable form as he felt his own life force its way back in. Then he let out his own cry of pain as he felt the blade in his own chest.

The creature let out one final bellow as Cannin fell to his knees once again. The creature’s head slumped forward. Its eyes remained open and lifeless. A moment later not a sound was heard.

Relief overcame the swordsman and a waterfall of tears erupted from his green eyes. That is when he collapsed into unconciousness.