Severed Souls by Terry Goodkind Read Free Book Online

or unable, to contain what was below. The whitish figures stood out of the way of the corpses twisting and pulling themselves up from the ground. It was as horrifying a sight as Gerald had ever seen, much less imagined.
    Some of the corpses beginning to emerge were dark and desiccated. Their joints popped and snapped and cracked as they ripped at the shrouds cocooning them, tearing them away. Beneath the shrouds, the remnants of clothes had been stained with decay and then as the bodies dried and shriveled, the clothes bonded to the hardening flesh so that they were almost one.
    Other bodies were slimy and bloated with decay, their clothes soaked through from the ooze coming from the breaks in their flesh. Their wet shrouds came apart like wet paper. In their struggle to pull themselves up through the ground, moldering flesh snagged and tore. Great wet chunks were pulled off them, leaving bones exposed.
    Through splits in the flesh of some, Gerald could see gooey masses of maggots writhing beneath the blackened skin. Others of the dead were little more than skeletons with scraps and bits of sinew, flesh, and remnants of clothes holding most of the bones together. Some were so decayed that the effort of trying to emerge from the ground was too much and what was left of their bones crumbled in the attempt. Other graves were resting places where any traces left of the dead were beyond rising.
    But a great many were sufficiently intact to emerge through the muddy ground. Many of those growled in anger at the ground trying to hold them back. They snarled with menace as they tore themselves away from the confinement of their graves, their eyes all glowing red. Gerald could only imagine that such a sinister crimson glow was the mark of an inner fire of occult powers animating them.
    He stood frozen in fright as he watched the dead—the dead he had put to rest in the ground—leave their eternal rest and come back out of the ground. He recognized many of them, some by their faces, some by their clothes—remembered who they had been in life, anyway. Many were decomposed and decayed beyond recognition, so he didn’t know who they had once been.
    Now they were something else other than what they once had been. Now, they were the dead husks of departed spirits. Those husks were now somehow returning to the world of life. Gerald didn’t think, though, that their spirits were returning as well. These seemed to be spiritless bodies driven by magic, not the power of the Grace and Creation.
    For a moment, he thought that perhaps he had passed away and maybe he was actually dead, and he was at last seeing the mysteries of the underworld revealing themselves to him.
    It was a fleeting thought, banished by the stench of the dead. He was all too alive. At least for the moment.
    As the newly escaped corpses rose up they stood among the chalky figures, waiting along with them, staring with those terrible, glowing red eyes as the last of the dead were finally liberated from their graves. He noticed then that the dark painted eyes of the chalky figures resembled some of the dead, those who were little more than skeletal remains with their big dark eye sockets in their skulls, except the dead had a red glow back in those dark recesses.
    â€œLead the way,” Lord Arc said at last once the ground had stopped moving and all the corpses who could had emerged.
    That’s who the man had said he was—Lord Arc. Gerald had never heard him called “Lord Arc” before. He had always heard that the leader of Fajin Province was “Bishop Hannis Arc.” It couldn’t be anyone else. It had to be the same man.
    As frightened as Gerald was, he was not about to question the change of title. “The way, Lord Arc?” he asked. “What do you mean?”
    â€œWhy, the way to Insley, of course,” Lord Arc said. “I have yet to visit the place. Seeing as it is one of the towns in my empire, I thought it