Nordstrom Necromancer: A New Adult Dark Fantasy Inspired By Norse Mythology

by Amy B. Nixon

  I kept going back. He kept stepping forward.

  “Vampires, who will drain you in a manner of minutes! Djinns, who will make you lose your sanity with the snap of their fingers! Lowlife Skinwalkers, who will transform into your beloved pet dog and gut you in your sleep! Demons and Mares, who will toy with your body like it’s a marionette doll!”

  There was nowhere to step anymore. I had hit a wall.

  “And then there are the necromancers!” He snarled the last word, as if it was the most repulsive thing on the planet. “Power-hungry, soul-sucking, blood-spilling necromancers! Similar to the likes of this lot right here! The Nordstrøms are doing everything they can to repair the monstrosity they’ve been inflicting for centuries! The Velands are long gone! The last shred of the Dustrikke legacy is a scared child, drowning herself in self-pity! You’re a disgrace to a bloodline that evokes reverence and veneration just at the mention of the Dustrikke name!”

  His fist shot through the air. I instinctively turned my head to the side, expecting it to land somewhere on me. But his punch landed inches away from my face with such force, the wall behind me trembled.

  It took me a few moments to realize it wasn’t the force of his blow that had made the wall shake. I was the one who was shaking, overtaken by rapid tremors, racing through my core and making me quiver like a fragile aspen sapling.

  With a growl, he withdrew from me.

  “You’re a damn Dustrikke! Start acting like it!”

  ***

  That night was the first one devoid of demons. The island was quieter than usual, most of the castle’s residents had left for the holidays, and I lied awake, listening to the silence. No monstrous gurgling sounds. No claws scraping rocky shores. No girls screaming in agony and horror.

  Brühl was right. I had only gotten a glimpse of the real world, and had already started acting like I’d seen the end.

  Aurora had kept standing her ground on that fjord, even though she knew she couldn’t perform the spell properly without seeing the Nøkk. She hadn’t even bothered listening when I had told her she was transforming into a soulless creature. Aurora, the heartless bitch who killed necromancers for the kicks of it, was trying to save us, all of us, and trying to not harm the Nøkk in the process. The Nordstrøms are doing everything they can to repair the monstrosity they’ve been inflicting for centuries. While I lied in my bed like a helpless, useless child.

  Sleep came late, and my dreams were a black emptiness, showing me what I already knew – Brühl’s words weren’t just some crap he had blurted out in blind rage.

  So, the next morning, I went to the library and took every single book from Section RA1 that responded to the word Dustrikke. I wasn’t sure if I was doing it as a way of searching for something to hold on to. Something to keep me close to my aunt. Like when I had spent months listening to my parents’ favorite songs right after they died.

  I spent the following days researching my family. And I finally understood why everyone here was in awe of my last name. It wasn’t only because it was one of the original three necromantic bloodlines.

  My ancestors had indeed been casters worthy of everyone’s veneration.

  Their contribution to the supernatural world through scientific research on the care for numerous magical creatures was unparalleled.

  Moreover, they had increased the population of one of the rarest magical creatures in Midgard – something called a Noody. It had the ability to absorb almost any poisonous substance, then store it in the stinging spikes on its back, so it could inject the poison in its prey, or in any predator coming after it. The Noody was an amphibian creature, smaller than a common hedgehog, and the innermost membrane of its spikes held detoxifying liquids, which prevented the stored poison from invading the Noody’s body. Even a tiny extraction of this detoxifying liquid could boost the antidotes for most poisons.

  The Noody and other scientific achievements left aside, my ancestors were badass. They had fought against those necromancers and supernatural creatures who’d gone bloodthirsty in their cravings for power in Midgard, as well as the bad guys beyond it.

  Geira Brekke hadn’t mentioned the Dustrikke name when we discussed the Dark Ages for the Dökkálfar. But the books chronicled how Dustrikkes from two generations had given their lives while fighting to end the Dökkálfar enslavements.

  And during Nazi occupations in World War II, my family had fought in the humans’ battles not only here, in Scandinavia, but all over Europe. I couldn’t imagine someone willingly going into battle, let alone a world war. Then again, Freya had created necromancers during the Viking age exactly with the idea that they could balance out senseless bloodshed and murders.

  I found some information on three Dustrikke brothers who were part of the Varangians – the elite Varangian Guard of emperors in the Byzantine Empire. Varangians were comprised of Scandinavian immigrants who served not only as protectors of the royal family, but also as highly valued advisors for warfare. I wasn’t versed in European history. Still, I was sure the Byzantine Romans wouldn’t have entrusted their emperor’s life in foreign hands – especially pagan hands – for nothing.

  During the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Dustrikkes also fought against supernatural forces. I remembered Brühl’s words from November – that some necromancers went dark and enslaved all sorts of creatures, using them for blood magic and other crap. Then I remembered Dann’s explanations about the Nordstrøms’ atrocious deeds.

  The books didn’t mention Nordstrøms among the ones my ancestors had fought. If Dann and Aurora’s family had indeed done such shit, it made sense for the books to lack information about it. It was called Nordstrøm Island, after all. They’d scrub their reputation clean and prevent us from reading about the dark side of their history, right?

  If I was looking for a way to get closer to my aunt or to keep holding on to her memory, I had definitely chosen the wrong way. Because I had achieved the exact opposite – reading about my family only made me feel like I had disappointed her on an epic level.

  ***

  Days kept rolling, and I spent them in the library, tiring my brain and eyes to such an extent, I was too exhausted to cry at night.

  The handful of people spending their holiday here weren’t deprived of a proper Christmas dinner, as the note I received from Administration hinted. With no intention of mingling with others, I did the usual – returned books to their proper shelves and got new ones.

  My plans for Christmas Eve derailed when my eyes landed on someone. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against a bookcase a few steps away from the reading areas in Section RC3. I was looking for an old fifteenth century book about magical creatures, written by two of my ancestors, but I forgot about it when I identified the figure.

  Vee Selvig.

  Don’t mix with the mutt. You have a name too, Dustrikke. Whose do you care to preserve? Hers or yours?

  Heimir Aagard’s words spun in my mind. I had no idea why he, like Vee herself, had kept trying to push me away from her from day one.

  Vee was staring straight ahead, despite the open book on her lap, apparently not aware of her surroundings. I hesitated for a few seconds, then slowly approached her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked quietly. She jumped on the spot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking to me!”

  Her whisper was so quiet, I barely made it out. Instead of walking away, I put my stack of books on the floor, kneeled down, and produced half a smile.

  “Everyone is at dinner, so no one will see me talking to you.”

  She glanced at her fingers, chipping her nails. The nail plates were translucent, showing purple skin underneath. Seriously! How could anyone want to harm such a creature? Sure, I wasn’t used to her kind, so she was an extraordinarily mesmerizing sight for me. But her Dökkálfar beauty was stunning nonetheless. How could someone ever use her kind for blood slavery and other similar practices?

  I t
ilted my head, trying to attract her attention. Up to this day, she hadn’t given me any sign that she had read my note. There was obviously something dangerous she was afraid of, otherwise she wouldn’t have run away both times I talked to her in November.

  “Thank you for trying to be friendly, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

  “Vee, what’s going on? Why do you think someone will hurt me if they see me talking to you? Does it have something to do with Heimir Aagard?”

  She mumbled some inarticulate sounds under her nose, still keeping her head down.

  “What did you say?”

  “Berserkers,” she whispered, only a hint louder than before.

  “What’s that?”

  She finally lifted her head, looking around. Her cheeks were glistening, but not because of the white freckles contrasting against her dark purple complexion. She was crying.

  “Gatherings of fanatics and pureblood zealots. Murderers, who want to cleanse the world from… impurities.”

  “Impurities?”

  “Hybrids like me.”

  “Why?”

  She fixed her eyes back on her lap. “Because I’m an abomination, and I’m also someone who should be in chains.”

  “Chains? The Dark Age for Dökkálfar is over.”

  “Not for them.”

  “So, these Berserkers or whatever they’re called, they will come after me just because I’m talking to you?”

  “They will if they see you, and they will see you, because someone is always watching.”

  “They’re here? On the island?”

  She shook her head, but didn’t reply. I grabbed her hand, overtaken by familiar impatience and thirst for answers. Answers that never came.

  “Vee, please tell me! You have no idea what it’s like to be constantly expecting some threat, and at the same time not knowing what exactly to expect!”

  She pulled away. “I know what it’s like.”

  I immediately regretted my actions.

  There was so much in her that reminded me of myself. Not just the embarrassment or the hurting, but the way she kept to herself and drew back from physical contact. She put up walls and refused to talk, much like I did, but for the first time ever, I was on the opposite side of those walls. And I had absolutely no clue what to do.

  “It’s better if you don’t know about the things outside.”

  Her words caught me off guard.

  We were supposed to be preparing for the world outside. The Council had instructed Brühl to teach me, despite his relentless and inhumane methods, because he was – according to them – among the most powerful Elemental practitioners on the island. My mentor’s outbursts were fueled by my lack of knowledge and overemotional side. My family had hidden me on purpose from the supernatural world. The reason I was here was to stay safe while preparing exactly for whatever it was I was hiding from.

  “What have you seen outside? Did these Berserkers do something?”

  “Please go! Heimir’s family has someone who’s always watching. They’ll know if you’re mixing with mutts like me.”

  Don’t mix with the mutt. Of course! It made sense for the most openly racist guy I had seen to come from such background. After all, he had mentioned his family had used a Draug as a nanny.

  Vee finally looked at me with her big, round, violet eyes, and I saw the fresh tears she had been hiding.

  “Hey, I’m not scared of Heimir Aagard and the likes of him.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t be,” she said quietly, no longer fidgeting with her hands. “But there are worse things than Berserkers you should be scared of. Berserkers are blinded by their rage towards creatures like me, and they kill everything they deem unworthy, but they have a point.”

  “I’m confused. I thought you were afraid of them.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid they will hurt you if they find out you support the mixing of pure blood.”

  “Then why would you say they have a point?”

  “Because other creatures deserve to die.”

  She said it in one breath, almost like she’d blurted it out without really wanting to, because a moment later she clasped her mouth with both hands. I stared at her, unsure of what more to say to make her believe me. She was obviously afraid of these murderers, but she was even more terrified because of something else.

  I thought about the Nøkk. Part of me finally grasped it – why she kept to herself, never fought back, endured the laughter and the bullying, and spent her holidays locked up in this place.

  The most heavily warded place in Midgard.

  “Someone has hurt you,” I said slowly, scanning her violet irises for confirmation. “Some creature outside this castle.”

  Her thin, fragile-looking shoulders trembled. She wiggled in her spot, drawing as far away from me as possible.

  “Was it Berserkers? Other necromancers?”

  Her watery eyes remained fixed on me as she shook her head. Before I could ask her again, a tear rolled down her cheek. She gasped, touching her face. Once again, I immediately regretted my words and actions.

  “Vee, I’m sorry if I came out too harsh and forward. I didn’t mean to press the subject. I really am sorry. I just saw you sitting there and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Thanks to the countless questions in my head, I hadn’t thought even for a second how I shouldn’t have poked in somebody else’s past.

  Her eyes grew wider. She took her hands off her face, then pushed herself up so fast, her movements became a blur.

  “Please don’t talk to me.”

  A second later, a breezy whiff of air spun around us, and she was gone.

  I went back to my room long after midnight, still thinking about Vee. She had thanked me for trying to be friendly. I didn’t want to be friendly. Having friends meant having more people who’d end up being disappointed in me. More people who’d end up being dead.

  I didn’t want to mourn. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to hurt. I didn’t want to feel.

  All I wanted was to shapeshift into a fucking bear and hibernate through the most wonderful time of the year because it was anything but wonderful.

  ***

  New Year’s used to be one of my favorite holidays. I didn’t make resolutions, but I loved the beginning of every year and how it held so much potential for new adventures. That was what my parents always said when I was growing up – the new year will bring new adventures.

  I loved seeing the festive decorations all over San Francisco and the stunning fireworks reflecting over the waterfront. I used to count down the last seconds till midnight with such excitement. Even after my uncle passed away and it was just me and my aunt.

  For the first time in my life, there weren’t any fireworks, overbooked clubs, drunken people singing on the streets, among hundreds of thousands of San Franciscans welcoming the new year. A loud chiming signaled the first seconds of January, probably coming from the gigantic clock tower perched atop the castle’s central wing. As I listened to it, I wondered if the guards, house spirits and other island residents who were spending their holiday here felt as alone as I was.

  Some part of me kept saying things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

  I had spent twelve years with my parents, seventeen with my uncle, and the rest of my life with my aunt. I wasn’t a poor orphan who had lived a miserable life. I wasn’t deprived of my family. Kids all over the world had it so much worse.

  The same part of me kept whispering my so-called friends hadn’t done nearly as bad as other people’s frenemies had. And that same part kept noting that even though my exes had cheated, abandoned me or made me a laughing-stock for some stupid bet, they could have abused me in far scarier ways. After all, The Phallus Who Shall Not Be Named had only cheated on me. The one before him got into my pants over a bet that he could pop the cherry of the last seventeen-year-old Goth virgin in our high school. And the other guys weren’t nearly as bad.


  But that was just a tiny grown up part of me, overshadowed by all the anger, frustration, heartache, embarrassment and exhaustion. The same feelings I had hoped I’d leave behind by moving here. They had only increased in weight over the past couple of months.

  And when that clock ceased its chiming, the twelve seconds I had spent not thinking about those feelings disappeared into thin air, leaving room for something else – my very first resolution.

  I promised myself I was going to be better.

  I was going to start paying more attention to my exercises with the guards, I was going to practice harder, I was going to stop letting my emotions get the best of me, I was going to outgrow the childish little girl.

  And I wasn’t going to let my aunt’s death be in vain.

  Whether it was Berserkers, Amyria, Carlynderians, malicious spirits or vicious Nøkk that I was supposed to be running from, I was going to learn how to cope with them.

  Which meant only one thing – I had to start following Brühl’s advice and learn how to think like a necromancer.

  And so, I took out one of my notebooks, flipped a page with a Spirit Trap, and took a deep breath. I had no phone or printed pictures of Doran or Edor Dustrikke, let alone some of their personal belongings to help me connect with their spirits. But I was a Dustrikke, like them, and I couldn’t waste more time by digging for a portrait or painting somewhere in the castle.

  “Doran,” I said quietly, closing my eyes, cleansing my mind of everything apart from thoughts of my ancestor.

  After a few seconds, I peeked at the pentagram. No apparition.

  “Doran,” I repeated, this time keeping my eyes open.

  Nothing.

  “Doran Dustrikke.”

  You’re more powerful than you think.

  “Doran, I’m calling you.”

  You’re a damn Dustrikke. Start acting like it.

  “Doran Dustrikke!” I raised my voice, staring at the pentagram.

  You are a necromancer, a damn powerful necromancer, and you must learn how to think and react like one.