Historical Zombie Horror
The Black Death continues its relentless march across Europe. Entire villages vanish, kingdoms tremble, and the undead Mortecarni spread terror wherever they appear. But Brother Maurice refuses to surrender.
Joined by unexpected allies, including a gifted young healer, Maurice races to uncover the secret behind the creatures before it’s too late. This time his faith is tested more than ever as he struggles with religious doubt.
Set against the devastation of fourteenth-century Europe, Revelation combines historical horror, plague fiction, medieval suspense, and supernatural terror in a gripping tale of survival and sacrifice.
Excerpt
(Warning: graphic content)
The interior of the church was dark; the years of grime prevented much of the outside light from shining in. It was like any other lesser church and more than likely served a small community nearby. Looking around in the gloom, I could see the altar at the front, but also signs of a struggle. The cloth had been torn from the altar and was lying in shreds on the floor in front. Candlesticks and crucifixes also lay scattered, and my heart nearly stopped as I saw the communion plate broken in pieces on the floor. I took a step toward the front of the church when Hugh’s arm stopped me. He pointed to the corner of the room, to the right of the altar. We weren’t alone.
Judging by the robes and cowl, here was another monk, kneeling in prayer, his hands hidden inside his wide sleeves. We’d been so quiet when we’d arrived that he’d obviously not heard us, so focussed on his prayers was he. I looked at Fala, who just shrugged.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Brother.”
When there was no response, I took a few steps toward the monk, not wishing to startle him by coming up on him too quickly. I knew from experience that, at times, one’s devotions could take away all of one’s senses; nothing else could be heard or seen, or even existed, except you and God. “Brother? I’m sorry to disturb you.”
I looked back at Hugh and Fala, who stood in place, watching the exchange. They were both frowning and Hugh nodded to urge me forward. I turned and approached the man, who still hadn’t moved.
“Brother?” The stench hit me when I was less than a foot from the monk, and I wondered that we hadn’t smelled it upon entering the church. Horrified, I stepped back and soon had my sword in my hand. Raising it, I used the tip to carefully move the man’s cowl from his face.
At first the monk, for surely by the clothing this must have been another man of God, remained staring forward. I could see his tonsure, much like my own hair, running just above his ear, and his beardless face. Then he turned his head to look at me and I staggered back at the sight. What should have been the right side of his face was instead a raw, gaping hole. The entire half of his head was missing, with jagged edges of flesh outlining where the missing part used to be. His eyeball was still held firm by his socket but, beyond that, there was only exposed tendons, muscles, a tongue that had begun to swell and bulge from the gap, and bits of cracked skull fragments embedded in the white flesh of his brain.
Hugh and Fala had both seen me recoil and came forward, swords ready. I waved my hand; there was something odd about this situation. Why wasn’t the creature rising? Growling? Attacking? I took another step toward it, still with my sword prepared, but all the mortecarni did was raise a bloodied arm at me in a feeble attempt at a strike. It then returned to its original position, staring forward, kneeling, hands folded back into the sleeves.
A thought came to me, like a flash of lightning. No, it couldn’t be.
Was it praying?
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Copyright Kelly Evans
Kelly Evans - Author 