Beyond her, the background was a sinister mosaic of the night sky washed in indigo and shifting black trees, their crooked branches menacing beneath the amber shafts of moonlight weaving through, piercing the darkness. A trio of ravens flew overhead. Kylan’s eyes were drawn back to the necromancer stepping towards him. Etched into the tombstone behind her were words that made Kylan pause. Several seconds passed.
Here lies Auralyn, deceitful wife of a foolish mage.
Kylan stood to face his enemy. She laughed, taunting him, and raised her arms, palms supinated towards the night sky. Wisps of jade, pulsing with unnatural energy swarmed around them.
The souls of the dead.
“You were always a pawn in my plan, Kylan. Let me tell you more about it, the part you don’t know.” She moved towards him with slow steps. “I followed your precious Auralyn around the markets and watched her in the village for weeks. I set up as a merchant selling spices, fruits, and wine. She came by my stall and we began talking about pomegranates and winterberries. The next day she visited, I gave her a recipe for crimson honey tea.” The necromancer smiled, running the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Soon after, we became lovers,” She watched Kylan’s expression change. “which, I’ll admit, went on longer than I had intended.”
Kylan’s next breath stuck in his throat. Her words echoed in his ears behind the images replaying in his mind. The day Auralyn caught the scarlet plague, he recalled a jar of red tea on the counter. He could plainly see the sliced pomegranate next to a bowl of water, its seeds floating in a glass of the pale red liquid.
No, there were two glasses. One of them the necromancer had drank from. Or did she?
He had just returned from Silvermoth. The day his wife came down with the sickness flared in his memory. He was brought back to the graveyard by the necromancer’s sultry voice.
“Now you realize I gave her the plague that took her life. I had hoped to find you in the streets near my stall soon after searching for a tonic or elixir to help ease her suffering, but you never left her side.” She laughed. “Kiraak be praised, the gods delivered you to me after all, when you knocked on my door looking for a way to bring her back.” She raised an arm as a blur of green energy passed by her. She pointed a crooked finger at him, the soul wisps weaving through the night air around them.” I knew then that I had you right where I wanted you, and that my plan would soon bear its fruits.” She licked her grinning lips again. “Who knew that fruit would be pomegranate?”
Before Kylan could react, the necromancer thrust her hands forward, commanding the bound spirits to attack. Kylan staggered back, raising a ward spell in one hand and in the other, he produced a spectral blade. The sword pulsed with magic, its warm golden glow a stark contrast to the sullen grey of their surroundings.
“Conjure all the dead you can, dark mage.” He raised the sword in front of him and pointed it at her. “You’ll soon be one of them.”
She began laughing. A soul wisp spiraled towards him. He raised his ward shield to deflect the blow, lifting his sword in the air. He brought it down, slicing through the spirit. Its sundered halves dissipated in the air. Amidst her laughter, he continued to fight, one after another, two at a time, three. She watched from a distance as he cut down each soul she sent in to attack. The words of her story stuck in his mind, taking him back through the sequence of events that led him to stand here tonight. Kylan threw the sword at her, its magical energy changing its form in the air. It did not pierce the necromancer’s skin. The blade curved and twisted, becoming a corded band of ethereal energy. It connected with her throat and wrapped around her neck, binding her in place. She erupted with laughter again. The sound of her voice echoed through the graveyard beneath a sudden burst of wind. It rattled the tree branches, bones of the dead scraping and clicking their melodies to this melancholy dance. Kylan knew it well, moving around her in circles, his spells still holding.
“Betrayer.” Kylan screamed. “You knew my wife would come back as that damned draugr.”
Kylan heard enough. He had said enough. Time for talking was over. He thrust his hands forward, his palms bursting with a silver flash of light that struck her in the chest. The necromancer wrenched forward. When the silver light dimmed, she was standing in front of him, an arm raised towards him. She was holding a dagger carved from bone. From the grey color and similar grooves, it looked like one of Auralyn’s bones. Kylan approached her. She didn’t move. She was frozen in place, a living statue.
The graveyard swirled and receded around them, living shadows absorbing the scenery and withering into the darkness. The cacophony of sound was punctuated by a sudden silence. The dark that surrounded them was illuminated by firelight and they were once again standing in the necromancer’s cottage. Kylan looked around the room. The alchemy table. The bookshelves and unmade bed. He could tell it wasn’t another one of her tricks, though the dirt from the graveyard still soiled his boots. He focused his attention back to her, his voice raspy from the graveyard’s dry, acrid air.
“I paralyzed you. It’s not an approved spell at Silvermoth, but it is effective even against one who sits at Kiraak’s right hand. I can assure you that you’ll remain paralyzed for the duration of what I have planned.” He ran a hand through his beard and exhaled a deep breath. He waved a hand and the binding around her throat faded. He reached beneath his collar, pulling the necromancer’s amulet from around his neck and placed it over her neck, his fingers tracing her skin and lingering at the nape of her neck. The amethyst jewel fell soft over her robes.
Kylan rushed to the nearby bookshelves and searched the necromancer’s tomes for the spell she was going to use. He looked over each shelf, rifling through cabinets and drawers, and moved to her nightstand near the bed. He found a journal on her nightstand near the bed with two large gemstones atop it. They were smooth on one end and rough on the other. One was solid black, the other blood red with dark purple veining. Not considering the stones, his attention on the journal, he placed them into a pocket and picked up the book. The journal was small with a smooth leather cover dyed dark green. The cover’s border was detailed in gold, intricate rune patterns. The center was a triangle-shaped glyph with a horizontal line through it. Kylan recognized the symbol to mean “transcend”. She had a raven’s feather marking her page. Kylan flipped the pages and ran his fingers over the words as he read. He walked over to face her and focused on the words from her journal, each one inked in her own handwriting. He whispered the incantation. He continued whispering, building, until soon he was chanting the arcane phrases.
Kylan performed the spell and waited, stowing the journal within a pants leg pocket beneath his cloak. He wanted this to work. Needed it to work. It was a second chance at life. At love. And it would correct his mistake. The moments passed, drawn out like long breaths.
“Kylan?”
Kylan’s chest swelled at the sound. Her voice didn’t have the sharp edges as before. His muscles ached and his mind was exhausted after everything he had been through, but he heard the softness of her voice. She spoke again. An unrest had settled in so deep he felt it in his bones, but hearing his name this time, hope blossomed within him. He brushed a length of his long, grey hair back and rubbed his eyes. He took in the image of her near the fireplace, the golden-orange glow casting subtle shadows behind her, illuminating her features. He began this journey to get his wife back, even dying for it. But, here at the end of it all, she was back. The necromancer’s body now held Auralyn’s soul. It was Auralyn. Kylan was sure of it. He placed his hands onto the table and stood up, taking slow steps towards her. The amulet around her neck was glowing, its shimmering amethyst light slithering over the pendant’s surface in a purple mist, and then it faded. She was moving from a nearby bookshelf. The necromancer’s silver eyes followed him to where he stood in front of her.
“Auralyn.”
Her eyes met his and her cheeks raised, her lips parting in a wide smile. “Yes, my love. I still don’t understan
d. How am I alive? What did you do?”
Kylan hesitated, hearing his wife’s words in the necromancer’s voice, passing over the necromancer’s lips. He took a moment to collect himself. Her brow was furrowed, eyes longing for his response. He shrugged and exhaled a long breath.
“I used the necromancer’s transference spell against her. She was going to transfer her own soul to my body, essentially becoming me, so that she could gain access to the school. There’s some source of power there that she wants. And only the gods know what she would have done if she had succeeded.” He placed a hand onto her shoulder and stepped closer, taking the gemstone pendant in his hand and raising it before her. “Your soul was trapped in this amulet without a body. I used her spell to transfer your soul into her body, so that you could live again.” The mage smiled and thought about how he could get used to looking into those silver eyes, but a part of him would miss the bright brown eyes he remembered. “By Alivar’s grace, my love, the spell worked. And we have a second chance, you and I.”
She smiled and took a deep breath, testing her new body. She was alive. They stood in the silence, each one going through emotions that they were even here right now, silhouettes against the fire burning behind them. The glow of the flames flickered across their faces and, for a moment, they could have been standing in the tomb again. Kylan was looking at the necromancer’s face, but could only see Auralyn. Even if he had lived a thousand lifetimes, he would want each one to be with her by his side.
She searched his eyes, eventually finding what she was looking for. She leaned in closer to him. Kylan reached for her hand. Her fingers were clutching something metal. She raised her hand in front of them.
“I saw this on the shelf and something inside me was drawn to it.”
The moonstone circlet from the crypt.
The necromancer had cleaned it from the remains of the fire. Kylan took it from her and placed it onto her head, over her hair. She turned, catching a glimpse of herself in the reflection of several glass potion bottles on the shelf. She raised a hand, her fingers tracing over her new face.
“I’m not sure I’ll get used to this new person I’ve become. I mean, I don’t really understand how to be myself in someone else’s body.”
Kylan stroked her cheek with the side of his hand and kissed her. The scent of smoke and lilac filled his nostrils, just like the night he asked her to help him. He kissed her lips. Just like she did to him that same night in this room. But this wasn’t her. The necromancer was gone, only his wife remained.
“My dear Auralyn. You’re still the same to me, no matter what you wear on the outside. And I’m so glad to have you back.”
“And I am grateful that you brought me back, but it’s not like I’ve changed into a new dress. This will take some time to sink in.”
“I know. We will have time to--”
His expression hardened, the lines in his face shadowed by the firelight. He looked around the room of the cottage. “There’s something I need to do, Auralyn.” He said, glancing at the window. It was still dark outside, the middle of the night. Everyone in town would be sleeping.
“What are you doing?”
She watched as Kylan took lamps from the mantle and poured the oil over the table and shelves, and then took her arm and rushed out the door. Kylan cast his eyes up the mountainside to the outline of Silvermoth traced in moonlight and smiled. Something familiar to him on this godforsaken night.
Home.
Kylan looked at Auralyn, the necromancer’s face looking back at him. He swallowed down the doubt and set his eyes to the cottage in front of them. He knew what he had to do. He pulled up the hood of his cloak, its shadows covering his face, and he raised his hands.
“Stand back, Auralyn. I have to destroy it. If you are to live in this body, then the people of Velorra need to think she has died so that we can live without the fear of someone mistaking you for her. She’s no doubt done some horrible things.” She held his gaze, his eyes were intense and bloodshot. “Now that I’ve got you back...I can’t leave this undone.”
Auralyn wrapped a dark patterned scarf in her hands. Her eyes were drawn in fear, but she moved behind him, giving him room.
“Do what you must, Kylan. I trust you.” She said, draping the scarf over her shoulders. She watched him throw several bolts of fire at the cottage, striking the thatched roof and wooden gables. The straw and thin branches caught quickly and the fire spread, burning bright. Soon the cottage was consumed in flames. They watched the fire curl and twist, winding its way around the cottage’s frame. Dark smoke spiraled towards the clouds, blotting out the stars. Kylan and Auralyn didn’t speak for several breaths, each one remembering their dance in the crypt.
The fire roared, its fury claiming the cottage’s interior now, a living, breathing creature crowned with a blaze that lit up the dark of the night sky. Light flickered across their faces, shades of copper and orange. The heat pulsed off of the necromancer’s burning home, drawing sweat from Kylan’s brow and cheeks. The mage’s long hair and wet beard stuck to the sides of his face and neck. Auralyn moved forward and stood at his side. Kylan placed an arm around her, pulling her close. He leaned in close and spoke in soft tones. “Let’s get up the mountain to Silvermoth. We’ll be safe at the school.” He pointed to the castle looking out over the town from the cliffs high above. “I’m just glad it’s finally over. We can move forward.” They began walking, following the dirt path towards the steps in the mountainside. Auralyn turned back one last time to look at the burning cottage.
“What? Who are you?”
Auralyn spun around, eyes scanning the distance, the town of Velorra fully coming into view, and pulled away from Kylan. Houses dotted the landscape along the main path. She was looking for something. Windows towards the forest’s edge spilled warm light out over the darkened ground. Her eyes were wide, face drawn in fear. Kylan turned and held out a hand to her.
“Auralyn?” He asked. “What’s wrong?”
She turned to the side, her bare feet digging into the dry dirt. Her hands shot up to her ears and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“I-I keep hearing a woman’s voice in my head, talking to me.” She opened her eyes and looked left and then right again, moving her hands to her temples, her fingers clawing at the sides of her head. “Now she’s laughing. Kylan, do something, please make it stop.” Her face dropped, eyes wide with realization. “She’s still in here with me.”
Her next words echoed for moments, but seemed like an eternity.
“The necromancer is inside my head.”
A shiver twisted its way up Kylan’s spine. “Oh, no. This can’t be happening.” He remembered when he first awoke, his rebirth granted by the necromancer, and how it was Auralyn’s voice in his own head when their souls had been trapped together in the amulet. Kylan realized that he didn’t replace one soul with another, that the necromancer was also trapped within the body Auralyn now claimed. And knowing her plans, he quickly realized they couldn’t go to Silvermoth.
“I’ll figure this out, my dear. There’s got to be a spell to get rid of her, to sever her connection with you.” His voice cracked in the dry heat of the fire. “I’ll find the spell to have this undone.”
She fell to her knees, clutching her head in both hands. Tears streaked her cheeks, glinting silver in the low moonlight.
“She’s laughing. I can’t stop her laughing.” Auralyn screamed, the necromancer’s voice speaking her words as she relayed the message in her head. “She said the spell you need was in the cottage.”
Kylan looked to the burning cottage and knelt beside her, the events that brought them here weighing heavy on his mind. The spell to unlock this unnatural riddle must lie somewhere within the pages of her journal. He ran his palm over the outline of her journal and the gemstones in his pocket. She didn’t know he had it, thinking it was burned inside the cottage. That was, at least, one advantage he had gained this night, along with his life.
; The necromancer’s body, now Auralyn, was curled up at his feet, groaning. He didn’t want to lose her again, but he had never been through anything like this before. And he did not know what to do next. It seems even in defeat, the necromancer had claimed victory, and they were still her prisoners. The journal mentioned a priest and another stone, aspects of the ritual he had not realized were needed. He would start there and seek out this priest. With any luck at all, he could acquire what he needed and be rid of the necromancer for good.
After all they’ve been through, he owed that much to Auralyn. He owed it to himself.
His wife’s cries faded into the background, the scenery around them darkening. He looked at the amethyst pendant hanging from her neck, his eyes narrowed.
What power did this simple gemstone hold? Did the amulet hold the necromancer’s soul, or was her soul trapped inside the body? Could a body hold two souls?
There were so many things he did not understand. Kylan cursed the dark magic and turned his attention to the fires now devouring the necromancer’s cottage. This all began with fire in the crypt, and it seemed fitting that it would end with fire. If only they could start over, a new life rising from the ashes. The mage inhaled deep breaths of the stale night air, acrid and tinged with smoke. Knots twisted in the back of his neck and Kylan could feel the burden on his shoulders getting heavier. He stared into the flames curling over wooden beams and breaking off against its stone walls. The fire screamed into the night, shattering the silence.
The ruined cottage was an inferno of swirling flames, shades of orange and gold flickered against the deep violet horizon. Lengthening shadows moved like serpents over the burning timber and charred stone. The reflection of the fire burned in his eyes. His thoughts drifted again to the events that brought him here. He considered the weight of his decisions, his actions. In his mind, he was standing in the crypt again, helpless. The necromancer was twisting her bone dagger in his spine, controlling him still, from the other side. Cold crept over his skin at the thought as new questions formed inside his mind.
The Blade Unbroken: Magebreaker Page 3
