by M. D. Grimm
A battle cry ripped from my throat, echoing as the necromants’ had. I surged into the air, using pure force to shove the lingering necromants off me. They circled below me, a swell of death and decay. I used an air tunnel to keep myself out of their reach and flew high in the sky. With part of my magick keeping me aloft, I used another part to form my spell. Multitasking with magick was difficult and dangerous, but my focus was unbreakable. My entire world had shrunk down to exterminating that which should have stayed dead.
The sensation of my own blood running down my skin, the pungent scent, the warm stickiness against my clammy skin, only served to harden my will. With several words spoken, I created a large blade of pure force, glinting in the light of the cold sun.
I spread my hands, the blade attached to them, sharp and unyielding. I swept around the necromants and descended slightly, but still remained above their heads. They jumped up, trying to grab my legs, but the air tunnel kept bouncing them back. They were snapping and drooling like rabid dogs, their filmy eyes bright with hunger. But the skulls were the most frightful -- the red lights shining out of those black eye sockets were what nightmares were made of. Their hands strained and clawed, but I was out of their reach.
I raised the blade, smiling slowly. It took a lot of energy to keep the blade intact, since it was made of pure force.
But I hardly felt the drain on my magick -- all I felt was the exhilaration and anticipation of seeing all those dead heads go flying.
I brought the blade down and swept it over the necromants, using more magick to guide it to its targets.
The blade shifted and bent, slicing many of them at the neck. It didn’t matter if they were standing, crouching, or jumping to avoid the blade. The blade bent to slice as many necks as possible. One third of the army was gone, but that only made the other portion stronger. I could see the spirits of violence, which looked to be nothing more than red lights or mist, enter the remaining corpses.
I swept the blade down again, but the necromants were now faster and more cunning. They dodged and rolled, or managed to jump over the blade. I snarled and swung the blade again. I caught some who just weren’t quick enough.
But at this rate, I would spend too much time chasing after them. I knew I was already taking too much time. Aishe needed me to the south.
I landed on the ground, and the necromants howled with delight. The blade vanished. I stood before them, daring them.
“Come on then!” I shouted, flames dancing up and down my arms. “What are you waiting for?”
They came like obedient dogs. Their thirst for death was often stronger than their sense of survival. I created small blades of force and shot them at those nearest to me, decapitating them swiftly. The bodies fell, useless and lifeless once more. But the spirits continued to move, making those few left the most terrible.
My hands never stopped moving as blades kept appearing, as they kept slicing. I then began to create blades out of fire, simultaneously decapitating and burning the corpses. But there were too many. They just kept coming.
But I never gave up. It wasn’t an option. Aishe needed me.In the back of my mind, I knew I was using heavy magick too quickly. But there was no alternative -- I was one mage against an army of walking dead. My adrenaline was zinging through my body, keeping me from slowing down. I surged into the sky once more, blood loss from the wounds on my leg and shoulder making me dizzy. But my wrath focused my will. I moved my hands in a circular motion as I glared down at the horde underneath me. They circled, anticipating what I would do next.
I began to murmur words of magick, merging air with pure force, creating a flat, transparent disk. It was large enough to cover the swarm beneath me. I had to use the elements around me -- the magick in the air, the magick the Mother had created -- if I was to accomplish this.
Unless my focus was perfect, using magick outside myself, channeling it, was difficult, even dangerous. I’ve done it in quieter settings during peaceful times. But this was neither.
I sent part of my own magick outside of my body. It clawed at the magick around me, drawing that foreign power inside me, fueling me. The foreign magick didn’t merge with my own. It wrapped around it, touched it, but never fully became one with it. It wasn’t supposed to; it was magick that had been born outside of myself -- magick that had no vessel. It felt like I was stealing something, taking something precious, but I couldn’t concern myself with that. My time was limited. I directed the foreign magick, channeling the air, twining it around my own.
Panting, my heart racing, I flew higher. The air tunnel beneath me was a howling whirlwind, sucking some necromants into its torrent. I continued to rise, the altitude making me light-headed. Before long, I paused and laid my hands flat on the disk. The necromants looked like a black stain upon the ground -- a stain on my planet. One I had to rub out. Bracing myself, I said a word, and the air tunnel holding me up disappeared. I used gravity and my own speed to dive back to Karishian. The disk was the only thing between me and the necromants -- who I meant to squash like the vermin they were.
I let go seconds before impact, but the necromants weren’t prepared. The disk slammed down to the ground, the rest of the necromants smashed beyond hope of recovery. The earth resonated with the impact; it trembled and groaned. I was sure the citizens of Happy Valley heard the resounding boom. Maybe even the north kingdom. The ground buckled and cratered around the impact site as dirt and debris were flung high into the air, covering the mess.
I stumbled and fell among the dead and broken, flecks of dirt, blood, and other unsavory things covering me from head to toe. The disk vanished, leaving nothing but smashed body parts leaking bodily fluids. The corpses now crushed and useless, I watched the red lights of the vengeance spirits flood out of the bodies. They rose above me and swept past, heading south.
Damn it! They were going to merge with the army Aishe was fighting.
Staggering to my feet, I had to take a moment to breathe, my hands gripping my knees. I coughed as I inhaled dirt and nearly gagged as it tasted like rotting flesh. My nose still held their scent, and I had a moment to think of a gloriously hot bath. My head pounded, but the magick still churned and bubbled, wanting more. I let that propel me forward. There was no time for rest. I still had wrath inside me. I still had a job to accomplish.
For good measure, I created the blade once more and decapitated the remaining corpses. Then I gathered all the corpses by harnessing the wind again. I formed them into a large and towering pile. I sped around it, flames shooting forth from my hands. The bodies were consumed, and after checking I hadn’t missed anyone, I sped to the south.
***
The second army came into view, and for a moment I feared the worst. They were fighting beside Vorgoroth’s tree line, and I could see the dead of both sides lying on the ground. But I soon became heartened to realize that my side was holding their own, despite the added strength I had inadvertently given the necromants.
I circled the battlefield, gauging the numbers left for me to deal with. My side hadn’t made a dent; they still swarmed toward Vorgoroth in a horde of frenzy. My warriors were just barely defending Vorgoroth’s borders.
But that’s what I had asked them to do. Nothing more, nothing less. The wichtln were illustrating what deadly predators they were, and the truls were clubbing every necromant in sight on the head, smashing their skulls. That was just as good as decapitation.
The boygles were the most successful in battle. They were speedy, small, and worshipped violence like it was a god. They enjoyed ripping and tearing things to pieces.
The little monsters dodged and leaped out of the reach of the necromants’ grasping hands. Their shrill cries echoed around the plains, bouncing off my mountains.
The burrowers apparently had some sort of toxin in their pinchers because every time they bit any part of a necromant, that corpse would turn sluggish and eventually fall, only to be either decapitated or eaten by a swarm of burrowers. The trees were even holding their
own, their branches swatting and smashing the necromants to the ground.
I continued to circle, trying to fight the lethargy I felt creeping up. My magick wasn’t used to me pushing it so hard so fast, and I berated myself for not working harder on my endurance. I forced myself past the exhaustion and contemplated quick options to get rid of these abominations. I struck on an idea as my eyes landed on Aishe, who was fighting with graceful efficiency. He seemed to have run out of arrows and was now using his short sword to chop off the limbs of the necromants. I found joy in watching him dodge and twirl out of reach.
His movements were quick and efficient, never wasteful or overdone. The necromants just couldn’t get the upper hand on him. I had to shake myself out of my musings -- this was war! Admire him later.
I rose higher in the sky and touched my throat, speaking a word and amplifying my voice.
“RETREAT TO THE FOREST!” I bellowed.
My army quickly obeyed me, and the trees managed to keep most of the necromants from following. I swept down and grabbed the wind once more, using it to shove the necromants away from Vorgoroth’s border. The corpses were flung off their feet, landing hard on the ground and rolling some distance. But they sprang up again with little effort. Before they could charge again, I took a deep breath and took a cue from the Mother for my next act.
I created a tornado. It roared with ferocity, the dark storm clouds raging, the lightning inside it cracking with crimson malevolence. It mirrored my own wrath. It grew exponentially, becoming a nightmare of nature, roaring with beastly ferocity. There had been tornadoes where I had grown up, and I knew the horror and majesty of their nature. They were a weapon of the Mother, one she used indiscriminately.
It wasn’t easy for a mage to actually create a decent replica of an act of nature, to create something the Mother was solely in charge of. I risked a lot to do it, and I used the majority of my remaining magick to accomplish it. But it was the quickest way I could think of to dispose of these parasites.
I channeled magick from the air and the storm clouds above me, as I had done before. I held tightly on to one end of the tornado, sweat pouring down my face, into my eyes. I gritted my teeth as I flung the larger end at the necromants. Controlling a force of nature, even one I had created, was no easy task. I knew I was spreading my magick too thin, doing multiple large spells at once. And all of them required endurance. My focus was wavering, the lethargy catching up with me. Not yet. Not fucking yet.
My wrath had not spent itself. I brought up memories of the past, letting myself remember. My grip on the tornado tightened.
The suction of the tornado was unbeatable. One by one, the necromants were sucked inside, spinning around like dolls in a whirlwind. Lighting struck some, and their howls were swallowed up by the roar of the beast I held in my hands. The sky darkened above me, as if the Mother knew what I was doing, as if she approved of my actions. She let her own anger against these abominations show.
Landing on the ground, I staggered but kept my balance.
My muscles straining, my magick screaming, I swung the tornado around. It sucked up the remaining necromants who had been running away along the plains. I closed my eyes, my muscles bunching painfully and my magick becoming hollow. Clinging to my wrath and my will, I growled a word, and the tornado’s clouds and wind were set on fire. White flames bloomed in the violet torrent and searched out the necromants. The fire clung to them eagerly and devoured them greedily.
I could feel my magick ebb, my control breaking. With one last push, I created blades within the tornado, slicing and dicing the necromants until they were nothing but body parts. I cracked my eyes open and noticed the red spirits of violence shooting out of the tornado. I had a moment of panic before I saw them fall into the ground -- back to the underworld.
With a breath of relief, I changed the shape of the tornado, slowly forming it into a large force bubble that held the remains of countless corpses. I lifted the bubble over my head, pumping enough magick into it to keep it solid for several moments after I let it go. With my last burst of magick, I threw it across the field. It flew a fair distance before dissipating. Pieces of corpses landed and lay strewn across the field, still burning from my fire. The fire would melt the remaining snow, but I doubted it would set anything else ablaze.
The field looked like a massacre had taken place, a war that rivaled those of history. But not for long -- the fire would get rid of the evidence. It would burn until all the corpses were nothing but dust.
Light-headed, winded, and still bleeding, I turned to the forest. I only managed one step before collapsing. Now that it was all over, my adrenaline had left me and so had my strength. I began to shake violently and broke out into a cold sweat while inside I flashed red-hot. Nausea swamped me, and my vision spun. My gut twisted and clenched as if someone was tying my intestines into knots. I managed to roll onto my back and stare up at the cold and cloudy sky.
I couldn’t move my limbs; they wouldn’t obey my orders.
When I searched for my magick, a surge of agony made me cry out.
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. My head throbbed like it was being hammered.
“Despite my hatred for you, I am impressed.” My eyes popped open. Dyrc was standing right next to me, looking down with a smug smile. “There aren’t many mages who would dare to create an act of the Mother. And fewer still who could do so with such talent.” Dyrc stepped closer.
“And that’s just one more reason to hate you.”
“Shame...” I managed to say, but my mouth wouldn’t obey me any more than the rest of my body did.
“Shameful?” Dyrc said, tilting his head. “Perhaps. But the Council will understand. They said to get Rambujek from your filthy hands using any means. They’ll know I did it for the greater good.”
I just stared at him, unable to comprehend his words. My mind was shutting down. My body had already deserted me. I was falling into a magick fever, and he was gloating.
Oh, the Council would be very happy with him -- so happy when he destroyed me that they’d probably kill him just to keep everything secret. He had committed the taboo after all; necromants would never be sanctioned by the Council.
And he’d die proud, wouldn’t he? A martyr. The mage known for killing Morgorth, Dark Mage of the East. He disgusted me.
“Now that we’re alone, and you’re helpless...” Dyrc raised his hand, and a ball that shone like a star appeared.
It hovered over his palm. I could barely feel any fear, the fever burning through me. It created pressure just behind my eyes and made my vision spin.
“Goodbye, abomination,” Dyrc grinned and lifted his hand. A strange whistling met my ears. I watched dumbly as an arrow came out of nowhere and stuck itself into his wrist. The ball vanished, and Dyrc staggered away from me, gripping his arm and crying out in pain.
Swift footsteps came closer, and then Aishe appeared and planted his feet on either side of me. He stood over me, pointing another arrow at Dyrc.
“You come near him again, and you die,” Aishe said, his voice colder than the wind. I tried to speak. I tried to stop him, to tell him to run. But my body was shutting down, and the darkness was soon pulling me under. I faded in and out several times before surrendering completely. The last thing I heard was him saying my name, and then I knew nothing else.
Chapter Eight
I woke up in bed. My vision was back to normal, and I could hear clearly. A cool cloth was trailing down my arm, and I turned my head slightly, seeing Aishe in the dim candlelight. My head still pounded viciously from the fever, and I was still too weak to move.
“You’re awake,” Aishe whispered, leaning closer.
I smiled but didn’t speak. My throat felt clogged, and I had slight difficulty breathing. Love and worry were in those clear green eyes, and it killed me that I couldn’t reassure him. He continued to dunk the cloth into cold water, which was in a bowl by the bed, and wash my naked body carefully. My muscles ac
hed; my skin was sore and felt scraped raw. My insides were tightly bunched, and my lungs still burned. My throat was as dry as a desert. I was sure Aishe had healed the bites of the necromants with his own brand of healing magick, but I could still feel them, a dull ache.
I watched Aishe as he washed me and the memory of him standing up to Dyrc replayed again and again in my mind. What had happened after I blacked out? Why didn’t Dyrc kill Aishe? It wouldn’t have taken much for a mage of his age and skill. So why were Aishe and I alive and safely home?
I cleared my throat, but the clog remained.
“Easy,” Aishe murmured. He wiped my brow before kissing me gently. I closed my eyes, his lips impossibly soft against mine, and I felt his hands pressing gently on either side of my head. Tingling suffused my head, and I groaned in relief when the pain of the fever was cut in half. It was enough to allow me some peace, some time to think.
I looked into Aishe’s eyes and tried to show through my own how much I blessed his coming into my life. Aishe slipped a hand under my head to tilt me up slightly and brought a goblet to my lips. I sipped carefully, despite the desire to gulp. At first the water hurt going down my dry mouth and throat, but soon it became soothing. Then Aishe laid me back down and set the goblet gently on the table.
He smiled slightly before lying next to me, his hand on my chest. We were silent for a short time. I didn’t know how long I’d been out. Was it the same day? I still had to meet Nanna, and I hadn’t decided what I’d do about the stones.
“I thought I lost you,” Aishe whispered, close to my ear. I swallowed. He curled closer to me, and I desperately wished I could hold him, comfort him. Explain to him what was happening to me.
“I don’t know what I would do if--” He broke off and buried his face in the pillow next to my head, crying silently. His body trembled, his shoulders jerked, but he made no noise.
I struggled against the lethargy of my body and managed to raise one hand. I clasped it around Aishe’s hand on my chest, and our fingers linked. I had to remember just how much he had to lose if I died. He was the reason I had hope for the future, the reason I enjoyed life, and I supposed I was the reason he hadn’t taken his own life by now.
