Dais of Undead

Ashlasha, the tree of the grand banquet hall. It is the place where anyone may come to feast within its loving trunk or bathe in the sunlight on the canopy treetops. Young or old, impoverished or affluent, everyone climbs its roots to enjoy meals made from nature's wealth. It's where people come to celebrate, and where I go to work.

Today, however, the hall has been reserved. I and the cooks scurry about the kitchens to prepare for the evening meeting. The hall itself is at the base of the nearly 500-foot tree where we work by jumping and weaving through the branches and built-in dens. Silverware and vegetables fly, entering and leaving our hands as we need in a controlled maelstrom.

I feel the mistress's presence above me. She floats down and settles on a nearby branch, crossing her legs. Lady Silam is one of the next in line of her family and a provost in magical services. She has a look between disgust and impatience.

"Human nobles are coming this time and I need you to prepare the meat." She touches her temple. Please don't take this to mean I'm picking on you, but you're the only one who can stomach it."

I smile. I have my knife ready. "Yes ma'am."

. . .

My heart, no, my soul, sparks a new vessel into existence.

I feel like I'm buried. The spaces between them tell me it's something else Do I have a body? I want one.

Just like that, I feel my limbs. They're numb, cold, but I should be able to move them. Arms, legs, and torso twitch against a heavy weight. It ripples, an undulating pile of body parts. Ah yes, flesh. My fingertips can feel it everywhere. Other things too, sand, clumps of dirt, maggots. They're as cold as I am.

Is this all there is in the world? World. World, name, memories, I should have those things. They aren't coming back. I'm hit with an enormous migraine. Focus on something else. My head is capable of things besides remembering. Seeing, tasting, breathing, hearing.

Silver light slivers past the dark limbs. Saliva and stones clog my throat and mouth. My ears hear the throbbing inside my mind. I can't get the things in my mouth out, it's too tight here. I must climb, get to the light.

Wriggle, worm up. I use my arms and move the skin, the scales, and the skull. My fingers grab and dig into something sticky. Yes, even the eyes.

Quicker. Tight spaces are bad. I kick with my legs, swim. I'm trying to get to the surface before I drown. The light gets brighter as I travel upwards.

I reach the top. The light is bright for a moment. It comes from a jewel in the dark sky, surrounded by bright twinkles. The thing I could not remember. It was the moon.

I dig the rest of myself out while staring at the moon, fixating on it. Those rocks are still in my mouth. They're getting annoying.

I regurgitate them. I cough and make disgusting noises as I eject the garbage from my being. The light isn't enough for me to tell where I am or how high this hill is. The air is crisp and tastes of death.

My body still feels numb, annoying. I touch my legs to check that they're there. My legs, they're different. My left leg is smooth, five toes. This foot is normal. My right leg is scaly, and the toes aren't toes, they're claws. They are three claws, two in front one in back. The claws close when I flex my muscle. Not normal.

My are arms aren't the same either. One is thicker, stronger, while the other is bendy and loose. My right-side weighs more than the left. Disgusting.

I want to say that word, disgusting. My mouth should be able to. I feel my cheek muscles moving, tongue curling.

"DDDDDdduuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaa."

Wrong, all wrong. The sound should be a word, not a moan. My gums feel dirty from it. Everywhere feels dirty. I must clean myself in water, a river. I know what that is, I can form the image of crystal-clear water.

I coordinate my parts to try to stand steady. I hear my bones creak as they move. I'm standing on one foot. My legs are different heights, the right taller. I lose my balance and fall.

I tumble downward. My face kisses the hands that fail to catch me. Something hard and woody ends my fall. The air changes. Pollen pollutes the air I inhale. I can't move. No, it's just difficult to. The pollen paralyzes me, keeps me sedate. Need to fight and get away.

The roots mistake the corpses for fertile soil. Leaves and twigs hit my face. The way my core leans on the tree tells me I'm on a steep incline.

Something snags my wrist. A root or vine crushes it and scrapes my body against the hard bark. The pain scars my back red and forces me to gargle throat noises as the roots throws me like filth down the hill.

I roll and pick up momentum. I bang against the corpses as they kick me into the air. I skip two, three times, then plummet into a chasm.

I hear wind as the air lashes my sides. Black hair, my hair, floats in the sky and dances while the moon sings with the stars. How lovely. I could get used to this performance, but I hit rock bottom and black out.

The sun opens for act 2 and tries to blind me. I protect my eyes with my arm. Once my eyes adjust the details becomes clear. My right arm has giant veins running through it. It's thick, meaty, and green. I look to my other arm, where I see the rocky floor and people sleeping. The left arm is smaller and entirely a different color, beige to slightly yellow. My wrist is red from the plant. I don't know why but I don't like how my arms look. They are not even.

I appear to have fallen into a deep ravine. Shrubs and short trees grow on outcroppings. Hanging off the sides of the cliff are arms and legs.

I hear moaning behind me and I turn my head and see a person. He's wearing rags, showing pure bone on his legs. The back of his scalp is a tangle of hair and skull. Black insects crawl down his neck. He's moving and shambling around, like me.

Hello. Can I ask you something?

"Hggggggh, Krrrrrrrrrr."

What I'm saying still doesn't feel right. Can he not hear me? I try getting up, but something stops me.

The pain starts as soon as I see it. A sharp rock has impaled my stomach above my bellybutton. I try to scream, but it comes out as a gurgle. Moving around only makes the situation worse. Black ants and maggots squirm out from the widening wound.

It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt. It's not that big, it's the size of my palm.

Using my hands and feet I push up slowly from the spike. Blood from the inside wets and makes the rock feel slick. It drips under and pools on the ground. The pain is agonizing. It gets easier as I pull myself off the rock. I clench my teeth, hoist myself and twist onto my chest. Bugs crawl over me as I get up.

Something tugs at my back. A long trail of intestines leads from the hole to the rock. Black ooze and juices drip from the thing. I twist notches until it rips off in a gooey spurt. I wipe my hands on a nearby wall and get a good look at my body.

On one side of my chest, where the weak arm is, a huge sac of flesh dangles and at the end is a zit like thing. The other side is green and hairy, like an ape. Split between the middle and collarbone are stitches that connect the two colors of my skin together. The stitches get disorganized as it goes to my legs, splitting into different paths. The scaly leg is a lot bigger than the skin one, and I must practice walking off balance. In between the legs there is a perturbance of a tube with thin strips of skin beneath, as if more is supposed to be there. I feel my neck has the same stitches.

The man is going somewhere. I walk behind him and tap his shoulder to get his attention. He continues walking, pretending like I don't exist. I go in front of him to block his path and he stops.

His face is torn off. His eyes are a pus infested mess and his smile is missing more than a couple of teeth. I touch my face while he goes around me. My face isn't like that, thankfully.

Moans come from a cave. As I follow the man I sense something coming from there. It makes me feel refreshed. As I get closer the numbness in my limbs goes away and the pain from the hole stings. The rocks under my feet hurt the skin foot.

Inside the cave people and flies collect near veins of a glowing green mineral. The man with me joins the group. I push past the lethargic bunch to get to the heart of the crystals. Waves of positive energy wash over the me like cool rain. I can stay here awhile.

I'm getting bored. The atmosphere is nice but there are too many bugs, too much noise, and nobody knows how to hold a conversation. I think I'll take one of these nice crystals. Balancing on the wall, I scrape a chunk of rock with my scaly leg and pick it up. It's mostly rock, but the little flowers of green are enough for me.

What am I supposed to do now? I have no idea where I am so I should get my bearings. I really want to cover this hole or get some shoes.

Someone grabs my arm. I turn around and see a female wearing a tattered dress."Uaaaaaan" Her face is all bone and she has little hair.

I attempt to talk. "Hrgg"

The woman reaches for my rock.

"Hey, I found this fair and square," I think to myself. I raise it above my head.

She goes forwards and I trip backwards. We fall together with her on top of me. She's crawling, trying to get my rock.

Can you get off me please. "AAaaaah." My mouth isn't even trying to mimic what I'm thinking.

"Cuooor," she responds. Can she understand what I'm saying?

She isn't stopping. Her stinky breath is running up my nose. I push her face away.

Her neck snaps.

Her head is still attached to the base by a few tendons, but the bones break. Her arms flop on my face. I flip her on her back. I'm sorry, I didn't it mean to do that. Can I fix this? I nudge her head into position. She doesn't move. She's dead as dirt.

It was an accident I swear! Her family will be mad. Should I tell them? How can I? I don't know where they are and I need to worry about myself. Not one of the others seems to notice. What a harsh world we live in. Now that she is dead, she won't mind if I pick through her clothes. Her dress is too small for me, so I tear off the skirt. I tear and wrap strips from the rest to make myself clothing. Hmm, reusing clothing feels familiar.

I pick a direction and walk. The sun boils my skin and the rocks scorch my feet. I get used to walking off balance and can pick up the pace. When one of the locals tries stealing my rock I backhand them with my green arm.

The path widens and the walls became less straight but rather curved like a canyon's. I'm trapped when the sun falls. The sky quickly turns down the lights for the moon and the stars. They are my only source of entertainment, not including the refreshing rock.

I can't seem to fall asleep. The locals bumble around even at night. I don't even feel tired, so why do I have this feeling that I should sleep? I wish I could walk while in the darkness but I'm afraid I'll trip and hurt myself.

Footsteps, tap, tap, tap, tap. They sound scratchy and light. A chill goes down my spine, something is coming. Can't see it. Is someone after my rock? I sit against the wall and hold still.

A snout looms in front of my face. I feel hot breath hit my chest. Forelegs like a dog and something like a head. Pus slicks onto ground as I hear extremities jerk from the beast's body. It brushes up against my cheek. Feelers made from mashed fingers and hands. The skin is crumpled and wet. It wiggles up and down my body, not caring about the rock. The feelers recede and the footsteps start again. I listen to it going away, then faint on the spot.

I wake up the next morning feeling quite refreshed. The beast is nowhere to be seen. There isn't anybody around except for the sleeping ones. Perhaps it was just a friendly beast marking its territory.

I continue my march to the unknown. The earth did not cool in the least and I'm baking beneath the hot rays of the sun. The air feels stuffy. My throat is getting parched and the inside of my mouth cracks.

The strange thing is, I feel no thirst. I could kill for some water but I have no urge. The image of that river returns to me.

On the ground I notice one of the sleeping ones is very bloody. I tiptoe around him, as to not wake him. His belly is split open and I can see his internal organs and lower ribs infested with fungus that looks like bleu cheese. The organs are under a pool of blood. It would be a nice drink.

I dig my hands in the entrails and shovel them. The juicy bits squish and fall apart in my hand as I scoop out the lungs. The black pancreas and liver, the torn apart heart mingled with bits of broken ribs. The body is like a soup where the intestines are the soggy noodles and the gall bladder beans. I cup my hand and scoop blood into it. I raise it to my quivering lips, gazing into its beauty. I gasp and drop it. I saw someone in the blood.

If I look at the blood at just the right angle I see a wavering image of a person. When I move, it moves. When I bring my hand into view, the person gets a hand too.

That's my reflection. That is me. It isn't an ugly mesh of skull and rotting flesh but a fully formed female face. I have a V-shaped hairline, bangs, long eyelashes, a unibrow, a sharp nose, dull yellow eyes like gemstones, and a sharp chin. How do I know this face is female? I touch my cheek and it feels wet. I look at my reflection, and see the blood on my check. There's blood on my hands. What have I done!?

I wipe my hands on my rags, making them bloody. I run from the corpse, putting one foot in front of the other as best I can. Why would I do something so abhorrent? Am I monster? No, no, no. I am an elf. I stop. No matter how far I run I see corpses and zombies everywhere. I'm not like them I.. I'm different. Why do they look whole while I don't?

I don't get it. Why do I care about drinking a person's blood? Touching those things in the body feels repulsive now. Nobody seems to care that I do. They're dead! Of course they don't care. Am I dead?

The thought makes my head hurt. Oh gods it hurts. Make it stop. I gag and throw up nothing. The inside of my head wants to burst. At least my interest in water went away.

The walk is forcing me to ponder things, like my gender. My face is one thing, but what of my other parts? My right leg is reptilian, I think. My arm is connected to my head with no stitches. There is a part of my body that has a boob, so it corroborates my status as a lady. My right arm is orcish. I don't know how much of me is male parts and female parts. If my body does have male and female parts, then does that mean I'm both genders and I'm all those races? Should I take a majority percentage, or only count the most important part - the head? It doesn't matter, because nobody is around to confirm or deny. It's frustrating to have spotty knowledge of things.

I continue onward. The mountains on the side of the wall smooth to a narrow road that leads to a solemn keep.

I see no one on the ramparts, and the iron wrought doors are broken to pieces. The brick walls are half crumbling and are covered in green vines. Even if decrepit, it seems to be a fine place for a good view.

The hike didn't take long and I stand face to face with the wreckage of the doors. I see the sizable building acting as the hub of this place.

Tumble weeds and dust greet me as I enter the courtyard. I check the stables and find dirty piles of straw hiding rats, and occasionally horse bones. The doors to the hold are similarly large and knocked open, so I enter easily.

The few broken windows that allow light in enable me to see a large banquet table. Rusted silverware and sacks of flour were thrown on the floors. At the far end of the is a grand fireplace with heaps of ash. There are several doors leading to different places. The kitchens are barren. The basement has a winery with no wine.

I find and climb stairs to the next floor. This room is much smaller. There are weapon racks holding spears, bastard swords, shields and other weapons. They are all thoroughly rusted. Bunk beds are lined next to each other. It appears this was a barracks of some sort.

I find a door containing what I want most right now. A library of dusty books. A reading chair and desk are there as well. I pop one open and check the words.

The language is archaic, but I can read well enough. It's also written in a human tongue. I'm surprised I know how to read human languages. Actually, I also know how to speak human now that I check my mind. Maybe I was an interpreter in my past life? I take a fleeting glance at the collection. Most of them are about combat training and battlefield tactics. Not finding a map anywhere, though. I suppose any map I did find would probably be outdated.

I really should check the ramparts before reading anything in full. I leave the keep and find a stairwell in one of the corners of the keep. Cobwebs and moldy crates are on wooden platforms as I go up. When I reach the top I see something truly awesome.

Miles of plains are strewn with bones of armored soldiers. Tattered banners stand flapping in silent wind. I can't see an inch of grass over the forgotten battlefield. Some of the banners have a blue Pegasus while others have a red hawk on them. Some of the fallen solder are interlocked as if still in combat. Shields and swords lay embedded in the earth with them. The battlefield stretches over the hills and far into the distance.

Outside from where I entered the keep, there is a dense forest of weird looking trees. Their roots are disproportionate to their small height, covering the ground in gigantic roots. The tree trunks are thin and tall, waving in the air like antennae. Their leaves have sharp needles. I don't see any of the undead there, but the shifting scenery shows little creatures hiding in the undergrowth. Far, far in the distance I see castle buildings. A place I can travel to, when I'm ready.

I see something far away, on the battlefield side. Movement of some kind. I squint to make them out as best as I can. A group of people are trudging through the refuse. Can't tell if they're human or elfin. I think they're heading my direction. I hope they're living beings, so they can tell me what I am. It shouldn't be hard for living beings to figure it out. After all they probably have their memories intact, and are alive. Why have I lost mine, and what am I? I keep looping to that question. I should preoccupy myself with something else.

I return to the library and read one of the books. I learn about fighting techniques with the spear, how to put on armor, and basic conditioning exercises. It would be interesting to try my hand at fighting. I study as much as I can before it gets too dark to read.

I hold one of the rusted spears in my hands. It's a simple wooden stick with a metal shaft and point. The rusted metal made the balance a little off, but my imbalance is a greater problem. When I thrust my right-side forward it causes me trip. I go outside and practice hitting the wooden posts set up. I quickly check the battlefield again and see a light coming from a fire. I keep at it until the morning comes.

Four men collect their gear once the sun shows its morning light. Simon stamps the fire out once they are prepared. He wears full plate armor and carries a gleaming halberd. "Oi Havard, how long you figure till we get there?"

The leader of the 4-man band puts a hand above his eyes and steps on a pile of corpses. "To Miyrir, I'd say about a week." He points at the keep closer to them. "We won't be sleeping until we reach there."

"Aw you kidding me," Carver whines. He's stuck carrying the bulk of the group's supplies.

Havard crushes a skull under him. "Can't risk resting without the skellies ambushing us." Just then they all hear bones rustling around them. Dead soldiers rise from the muck to surround and fulfill their duties. The four live men arm themselves and put their backs together.