A Whisper of Death

by Paul Barrett

  “What about that stench? It’s like-” Marcus stopped, his hands moving as if trying to grab the words he wanted.

  “Rotten onions,” Erick said. “You get used to that too. We need to find the grave of someone who died around seventeen. Can you subtract numbers?”

  Marcus offered a disdainful sneer. “I’m a thief, aren’t I?”

  “I thought ‘thief’ was an insult.”

  “Only when a non-thief says it.” Marcus walked off, glancing at the stones as he passed them.

  Erick shook his head, baffled by the boy’s strange pride. He walked in the opposite direction, reading the dates inscribed on the squat stone markers.

  He soon found one, a seventeen-year-old who’d died in 3857, barely over a hundred years ago. Holding the eye in front of himself, he pointed the pupil toward the ground. He cleared his mind and concentrated on the connection created by the power and blood flowing from his finger. With the eye, he looked through the dirt and into the wormhole-riddled, rotting wooden coffin, where he found a skeleton with a few tatters of clothing. “Zamra oi noromi ast,” he whispered, and the vision changed. Though still a corpse, the body appeared as it did at death, a black-haired boy with dark eyes and skin.

  “Not even close,” Erick said to no one, and moved on.

  The search took nearly an hour, but--with Marcus’s help--Erick found a suitable corpse, taller but close enough for his purposes.

  Erick dropped the eye. Deprived of the Elonsha-infused contact with Erick’s body, the orb shriveled, blood and fluids leaking into the ground until it shrunk to no bigger than a grape. Erick stepped on the dried, withered sphere, and the remaining energy scattered with a powdery crunching sound.

  Now comes the hard part, Erick thought. Ideally, they would dig up the body so he could work with direct contact, requiring far less effort and blood. But such an act ran a high risk of attracting attention, so Erick had to do it the hard way. He sat beside the grave and opened his sack. “This will take a while if you want to get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? This is my daytime. I’ll watch.” Marcus walked several feet away. “But I’ll do it from here.”

  Erick nodded and returned to his task. He removed his silver measuring funnel, its stand, a triangular cork, and the bottle of regenerative. He set the stand down, placed the funnel upon it, and pushed the cork inside the funnel, tapered side down, until the tip protruded past the funnel’s end and sealed the hole. Satisfied, he pulled the top off the bottle.

  “What is that?” Marcus asked.

  “A special mixture of the herbs you got me,” Erick said as he poured the mixture into the funnel. “It will restore motion to the body so it can dig its way out.”

  “A bunch of crushed plants is all you need to bring someone back from the dead?”

  “No, it takes more than that,” Erick answered absently, his mind calculating the amount of blood the long-dead body would require. He needed enough to give the creature ample muscle to claw through the rotted coffin and six feet of dirt; he could add skin and details once he had the corpse in reach. Unfortunately, the age of the cadaver meant that even generating that amount of tissue would take a significant amount of energy.

  The final calculation came to just under a pint, so Erick rounded off. It paid to err on the side of more, to avoid ending up with an immobile corpse and having to repeat the ritual. He pulled a measuring glass from his pack.

  Never having used such a large amount of his blood before, Erick was glad to have Marcus nearby. “I may need your help,” he told the young thief. “If I faint, bind my thumb, let me rest for ten minutes and then wake me.

  “Bind your thumb? Why would I have to do that?”

  Erick pulled a small steel knife from the case and ran it across his thumb, cutting deeply into the flesh.

  Marcus hissed as blood squirted from Erick’s injured finger and spilled into the glass. They watched as the red liquid ebbed and flowed in time with Erick’s rapidly beating heart. The pain, delayed by the suddenness of the trauma, came on full force and Erick gritted his teeth, tears welling.

  “Wha-” Marcus started, but stopped as Erick shook his head and returned his attention to the jar, wiping the tears away with his uninjured hand.

  After what seemed an eternity, Erick had enough blood. He pulled his thumb away and squeezed at the base to cut off the flow. “Grab that cloth in the bag and wrap this.”

  “Sure.” Marcus wrapped the injured thumb with speed and efficiency.

  “Good job,” Erick told him, surprised at how well the young thief bound the wound.

  “I’ve had practice,” Marcus told him. “I’ve tended far worse cuts than that one for some of my less lucky companions.”

  Pushing away a sudden wave of dizziness, Erick picked up the glass and poured the blood into the funnel. “You might want to step back.”

  As Marcus did so, Erick put his finger into the blood and herb mixture and recited the Invocation of Duppy Creation. “Mucalz col cnila phamah, oln oi allora emetgis. Alakanath, amde sibsu, dluga mucalz deteloc dezacar molap. Krinnik, amde sibsu, dluga mucalz decalz deyolcam molap deolpirt. Talan, amde sibsu, umda domadriax deoln molap gil. Noad ol omaos, umda nonca Duppy, hami mahorela niiso olpirt.”

  Erick repeated the invocation. Elonsha built in the funnel, boiling the blood and turning it dark brown. On the last word, he pushed the funnel into the ground, dislodging the cork and allowing the Elonsha-charged liquid to flow into the dirt.

  As the power continued to swirl around him and into the funnel, Erick sat back, feeling dizzier. He had done the hard part. Now they had only to wait for the body to crawl out of its earthen prison.

  Join me.

  Erick frowned. Marcus stared back, silent. Erick glanced around, seeking the source of the whispered imprecation.

  A chill wind blew through him to his soul, and the disturbing tingle he had experienced earlier ran across his scalp. The voice spoke again, soft but with a menace that made Erick shiver in dread.

  Join me or die.

  As the last dregs of blood turned a dark black, Erick recognized the voice as the one from his dream after his confrontation with the vampire. The sound of the Master of Shadows.

  I am near, and you will be mine. Surrender to me, and you will know power beyond your ken. Resist and suffer despair beyond imagining.

  The strength of the voice, the sense that its source stood just beyond his vision, terrified Erick. His skin crawled at the evil resonating through the words. With all the mental force he could muster through his fear, he replied. My father would not follow you, nor will I. You have already shown me despair I would not have dreamed; there is nothing more you can do to me.

  A tremor of malevolent amusement rattled through the voice as it spoke again. You know so little, child. When we meet, I will remind you of your words.

  As quickly as it had appeared, the presence vanished, leaving Erick numb and unsettled, as if he awoke to a world of shadow and creatures always on the edge of sight. The blood ran into the ground, soaked up by the thirsty earth.

  Are you okay? Blink asked in his faint voice. I tried to help, but you’re too far away. I can come.

  Erick shook his head. No, stay there. The worst has passed. He stood. “Now we wait,” he told Marcus in a shaky voice. He walked around to dislodge the feelings of dread, but moved slowly to avoid fainting.

  “How long?”

  “Maybe four hours.”

  “Four-?” Marcus shrugged his narrow shoulders. “You hungry?”

  “Yes,” Erick answered, the loss of blood and exertion of the Ritual giving him an appetite even the disconcerting voice couldn’t diminish.

  “I’ll be right back.” Marcus ran across the graveyard and scrambled up another tree beside the wall.

  Amazed at Marcus’s speed and agility, Erick leaned against the grave marker and rested his head on the hard stone. Despite the gnawing worry at the Master’s seeming closeness, Erick’s unease dissipated, carri
ed away like a dream. Tired and light-headed, he closed his eyes.

  He awoke to Marcus shaking him. A bundled cloth sat beside the thief, a dark sausage sticking out of the top.

  “How long have you been gone?”

  “About fifteen minutes. Sleeping’s the best way to get caught, you know.”

  “Sorry, my thief senses aren’t what they should be.” He sat up from the stone and arched his back, stretching out knotted muscles.

  “Stick around long enough, I’ll fix that,” Marcus told him.

  “No, thank you. I already have your sister teaching me to fight. One new skill is enough for now.”

  “What were those things you were saying earlier?”

  “What things?”

  “All those strange words while you had blood draining out of your body.”

  “It’s an old language called Lonsh, the language of Necromantic power.”

  “But what were you saying?” Marcus clarified.

  “I was calling upon the different gods to provide power to my spell.”

  “What does ‘amde sibsu’ mean? You said that a lot.”

  It surprised Erick that Marcus had picked up words from the Rituals so quickly. “Literally, it means ‘called to the covenant,’ but in the form I used it, its truer meaning is ‘bound by the Covenant.’ It reminds the gods of the pact between them and the Necromancers.”

  “Could they forget?”

  Erick smiled. “It’s Ritual. It doesn’t necessarily make sense.”

  “What about ‘dluga mucalz?’ I picked that up, too.”

  Erick grew alarmed. “Don’t repeat the words from the Rituals. They can be dangerous for someone who doesn’t wield Necromantic power. They give the Inconnu a way into your mind, and that’s the last thing you want.” Erick shuddered as the memory of the recent mental invasion washed through him again. “If I had known you would pick them out so quickly, I would have made you go away. We should discuss something else.”

  “Fine, just tell me what those two words mean.”

  “They mean ‘release power.’ Now change the subject.”

  A mischievous grin crossed Marcus’s face. “Okay, what about you and my sister? You had her in bed yet?”

  Heat radiated from Erick’s face as he blushed, shocked as much by the impropriety of the question as its source. “That’s not your business,” he said, fighting to keep his voice low. “You shouldn’t even be asking such a thing.”

  “So you haven’t, huh? I had hoped being on the island would have loosened those rigid morals of hers a bit. She likes you. I bet she’d let you be her first if you asked her.”

  Flustered almost beyond speech, Erick still managed to blurt out, “Stop it. You’re talking about a girl that I... that I care about a great deal.” He stopped short of saying he loved her, wanting for some reason to keep the depth of his feelings to himself.

  Marcus shrugged. “I care about her, too, but it’s time for her to quit being a prude and unlock the treasure chest.” Marcus winked, his grease coated eyelid making his eye momentarily disappear. “You might as well be her key.”

  Erick liked that idea but didn’t like discussing it with someone he barely knew. “Don’t talk about your sister like that.”

  Marcus cocked his head to one side. “Why?”

  “Because it’s not proper.”

  Marcus smiled. “Right, you grew up a Zakerin, didn’t you?” His tone made it sound as if Zakerin were the same as slow-minded. “That explains a lot. Never mind. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “You’re Zakerin too.”

  “We just happen to live here,” Marcus said. “Our mother’s Straph, or couldn’t you tell that by our skin? And the big city teaches you ways of thinking you wouldn’t get out there on your tiny island.”

  Erick suspected he should be insulted, but he didn’t have the energy and just wanted the conversation over. “I’m going to lie down if you don’t mind watching.”

  “Don’t you want anything to eat?” Marcus asked, unwrapping the cloth to reveal dark bread, cheese, two apples, and a light-skinned sausage.

  “I’m not hungry,” Erick said. Marcus had managed to do something even the voice of Eligos couldn’t: make his hunger disappear.

  “Okay,” Marcus said, tearing a chunk from the bread loaf. “When do I wake you up?”

  “When you see a hand popping out of the ground,” Erick told him, then turned away and curled up on the slightly damp grass. Between thinking about Marcus’s comments and hearing his feasting, it took Erick a long time to fall asleep.

  An urgent shaking woke him. He sat up to find Marcus staring at something, his eyes wide and throat flexing as if he were about to vomit.

  Erick rolled over to see the duppy halfway out of the ground, spindly muscled arms pushing against the mounds of dirt that lay on either side. Erick sat up, pleased to see the creature’s effect on Marcus. It served him right for his remarks about Elissia.

  He had to admit the body was in poor shape, covered by only the thinnest strands of dark red and gray muscle fibers clotted with fresh earth, but such things had ceased to bother Erick long ago. He stood up, feeling better physically, if not mentally, after his rest.

  Marcus stood behind him. “Now what?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  “Now we go back so I can finish.”

  The creature completed its emergence from the ground and stood unsteadily, awaiting instruction. Though one of the easiest gateloah to create, since they were strictly motor function and required no soul, duppies had the disadvantage of being able to follow only one order unless controlled like a puppet.

  After a moment’s consideration, Erick said, “Duppy, follow me.” The revived corpse lumbered over until it stood five feet from Erick.

  “Great Melteth, it stinks,” Marcus said in a wavering voice as he backed away.

  “Deal with it,” Erick snapped. “And you invite trouble by saying the dark god’s name, so stop doing it. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Gladly.” Marcus headed for the wall. Eyeing the skeletal creature lumbering behind Erick, he added, “But I wouldn’t protest too much about dark gods if I were you.”

  Erick frowned as Marcus led them to a different tree from the one they used to enter. This one seemed more agreeable to being scaled; its thick bole angled toward the wall at a reasonable slope and offered several protrusions and knots for handholds.

  Marcus scrambled up the trunk, and Erick followed closely. The Duppy had a more difficult time but managed to dig its fingers into the bark and soon joined them on one of the thick limbs extending beyond the graveyard wall.

  Marcus jumped and landed with his feline grace. Erick dropped his pack to Marcus and, bolstered by the ease of his previous leap, pushed away from the branch. He landed beside Marcus, crouched his knees, and put out his arms. It hurt, but he succeeded in staying upright and not breaking anything.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Erick said, smiling. Marcus didn’t answer but stared at the street. Erick followed his gaze.

  Darius stood there, casually flipping a dagger end over end. Four other thieves stood with him, dressed in black, their faces grim.

  “Well, look what we’ve trapped,” Darius said. “A traitor rat and his mate.”

  22

  Because Eligos was the most powerful, many forget there were three Inconnu. Bolfri the Deceiver and Saburoc the Plague Master aided their brother in causing great misery. Disease and treachery killed as many men as the undead. Perhaps more. Let us thank Caros for his wisdom in seeing two of the three destroyed.

  -Baran, Priest of Caros

  “Can that thing run?” Marcus asked out of the side of his mouth.

  “It will follow me,” Erick said. “I don’t know how fast.” Blink, we need some help.

  On our way, Blink said.

  “How did you find us?” Marcus asked.

  Darius pointed at the small, blond-haired boy Erick had encountered whe
n they first arrived in town. “Calligan is our best tracker. He has an excellent nose.”

  “Then he probably needs it cut off,” Marcus said.

  Darius shook his head. “Not nice. Are you going to give yourself up, or does this have to turn ugly?”

  “It’s going to turn ugly either way,” Marcus said.

  Darius stopped flipping the dagger. The other thieves spread themselves out, trying to corner Erick and Marcus against the graveyard wall. “That’s true. Torin doesn’t want you dead, even though that’s the punishment for traitors.” He smiled, and Erick had never seen anything so frightening. “But accidents do happen.”

  “Let us go,” Erick said, keeping his voice steady. “Or my creature will kill every one of you.”

  “Not likely,” Darius said. “Azinor has told us all about you. Without a mass of corpses, you’re nothing. That thing is repulsive, like you, but it’s not dangerous” He held up the dagger, the point in his hand. “I can kill you from here before you can even give it an order.”

  Having seen proficient Elissia’s proficiency while training with her, Erick didn’t doubt Darius’s skill. “Then go ahead and kill me. I’m not going back with you.”

  “You don’t have a choice about going back,” Darius said. “But I don’t have to kill you. Remember, we use blowguns.”

  Two of the thieves raised blowguns to their mouths. Erick prepared to dodge, although he had no idea which way to go. A glint of steel caught his eye, and one of the thieves dropped their blowgun and screamed. A dagger protruded from his forearm. The other thief fell, a victim to Blink’s tail.

  “Run,” Calligan shouted as he fled.

  The other two thieves ran with Calligan as Elissia arrived, followed by Corby, Callon, and Dere. They all had weapons drawn. Rage struck Darius’ face. He flung his dagger at Marcus, barely missing the boy as he ducked. The blade clattered against the wall.

  “You’re dead, traitor,” He drew his sword and backed away, not running. He pointed the sword at Callon and Dere. “All of you are dead. I don’t care how far you go or where you hide, I’ll find you.”