by Kell Inkston
“A few hours.”
“That so?”
“Why?”
“In my time it couldn’t have even been twenty minutes. How ponderable,” Love says, raising a short laugh from Order.
“You know how other places work, not every plane follows Omniverse time.”
“Very true, Ranalie; enjoy your dreamtime. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest to go ahead though. I have this handled.”
“Eh, thanks, you too, Meeo; and yes, I suppose either way will work. Up to you,” Order says with a relieved smile.
At that, Love asks one of the guards for directions, is given such, and then turns from the group with a bow of the head. She leads the necromancer to a private room with a table and two chairs, and sits down opposite to it. By this point the necromancer is being very cooperative, and has a completely different, almost confident disposition.
From her person Love takes out a nice little note pad and rainbowy pen and clears her throat with the grace of a white crane raising her foot from the water.
“Right, here you are. I suppose you would be the sort that would rather write than speak, so here’s a little pen and paper for you. Are you ready?” Love asks as she pushes forth the rainbow pen and cat-themed stationary. The necromancer, a cloaked amalgamation of mysterious horror, looks over the stationary shaped like a fluffy mainecoon with its dead, lifeless mask and picks up its writing utensil with a white, skeletal hand from its cloak. It promptly writes a check mark, and flips it to show Love, who smiles in response.
“Oh, very good. Now, I’d like to ask you about the recent murders that happened here. A few fairies and elves and such, you know, those were the ones that died, and it seems that one of the assailants was without a doubt one of your buddies.” The necromancer begins crafting its response in ridged, wild handwriting, appearing like the branches of dead trees that reach out for the living.
“I am aware,” the necromancer writes. Love nods.
“Neat. So do you know why?”
“Yes.”
“Mhmm, so why-” Love halts her question, being interrupted by long, much louder laugh from the necromancer. It continues on for a moment, finding something so hilarious that it concerns its interrogator. She tilts her head a bit to the side, and is about to ask a question when the necromancer writes again.
“Go on,” it writes. Love pauses a moment, nods and smiles, and then speaks.
“Well, I suppose I was going to ask what is so funny to you, necro-person?” she asks with a wide, cloudy gaze.
“You knights do not know how well the cards have been played. We’ve won.”
Love hums in thought. “Is that so?”
“Yes, I was laughing because I just received word.”
“Word from whom?”
“My fellows of the everlasting existence.”
“Well isn’t that nice. I suppose they care about you, then?”
“As one limitless creature to the other, we feel great pain when one of our own is destroyed.”
“Hmm, well it’s always good to have some friends that can relate to you then. So, what did they say?”
“I’m shocked none of you have noticed their activity. I was notified that two of my kin have stolen into this palace and spirited away two of your resting knightlings,” the necromancer writes. Love reads over the note, and looks back up to the necromancer with pool-like serenity. Though she seems calm, the necromancer hears a rise in the volume of her breath.
“Where are they now?”
“They are awaiting their deconstructions by our lord’s command,” it writes, “deconstruction” being the term necromancers use for when they tear creatures to get at their singular, sortable parts.
“Oa ... it’s near?”
“Very near. I would show you where our lord is if you are willing to cooperate,” the necromancer writes, underlining “willing to cooperate” two times right as it finishes. Love thinks a moment and then smiles back.
“I would be interested in cooperating, but one question, if I may,” she says with an amiable, friendly nod. The necromancer laughs and writes a quick question mark.
“How do I know that you’re not just fibbing to make me go check on them so that you can escape?”
“Fortunately, my kin tell me they were interrogated before they were knocked unconscious. The male’s name is Lain and the female Aoline. Lain is from Kanvane, who studied in Ragnivan in the fiel-”
“Well, I suppose that’s enough, I believe you. I will follow,” Love interrupts lightly. The necromancer nods, and regrips its pen.
“You will tell no one, bring no one, only the two of us; we leave immediately,” it says. Love nods.
“So be it, let’s be on our way,” she says as she gets up from her chair. The necromancer draws a smiley face to show its pleasure towards the situation, and follows her to leave. Love and the necromancer make the turn to the final hallway, only to find an obstacle.
Standing stoically in the warm night air is Law, watching the three bound minions as they grumble to each other and occasionally trade jabs. To most his expression would seem blank and responsible, but Love knows very well that this is the face he makes when he’s down about something. Usually there’s at least a glint of humor in his eyes, but there is no joy to be found.
Love thinks a moment on how to pass him, and then carefully casts her selected spell. She takes the hand of the necromancer, and it promptly disappears from sight. Leading it by the hand, she approaches Law, meaning to pass.
“Good evening,” Love greets. Law looks over, and his gaze quickly lightens up.
“You’re back. I’m- ... When did you return?”
“Just a few minutes ago, but I’ve been given another assignment so I’ll be heading out again.”
“... Really?”
“Yes. Is everything fine on your end?” Law looks over to the side.
“Well yeah. Apparently Aoline le- well, it’s nothing really, just a little trouble with these Minions here. Listen, I need to, I guess, say I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know. I just ... I thought I’d fixed that part of me.”
“Well I’m still improving too, so we can be sorry together.”
“It didn’t hurt, did it?” Law says, looking aside.
“Yes, it hurt,” Love says with a snide smile.
“Ah, wel-”
“But I don’t mind, as the honor of raising such a fine young lad as yourself is more than worth the price.”
“…Thank you, Meeo.”
“Oh, Hosy, no one’s around that would care.”
“F-fine ... mother,” Rayull says, with an awkward tone. This quickly raises a laugh from cooking Minion and snickers from the other two; the moment Law begins to turn his head to the three they silence themselves.
“There we go. Now I’ll just be on my way. I suppose I’ll see you in a bitty bye,” Love says with a smile and a nod. Law grins.
“Yeah, see you,” the dragon kin says in a way Love finds altogether lovely. With a casual wave off she leaves, feeling secure in her deception.
“Oh, what exactly is this mission by the way?” Rayull asks, stopping Love before she gets to the keep doors.
“Some top secret recon, so don’t you tell anyone, alright?” Love says. Law huffs.
“Come on, like the minions are going to rat to Chaos?”
“I suppose you’re right. Okay; Order wants a bottle of Wist White,” Love says, issuing another round of snickers from the Minions.
“I should have known. Is she usually like this?”
“Usually worse,” Love says with a secretive coo. Law clears his throat, and looks about as if embarrassed.
“Well, alright. I guess whatever works for her ... I love you,” he adds, watching the Minions in the corner of his vision. Love smiles, nods back, and exits the castle with the concealed necromancer. The necromancer now takes the lead, and draws her through the quiet nighttime streets
, and then into the woods.
Everyone in the Fairland keep is at ease, unaware of the danger, but it seems for Love that her night is only just beginning.
Chapter Fifteen: A Bad Deal
Well out of sight from any chance onlooker, Love lifts the veiling magic off the necromancer and it continues to lead her through the thick woods to the North. The walk is fairly long in the dark, thirty minutes, and afterwards the two reach a long clearing. Love notes a distinctive drop in temperature as they step out into the field, and there is an eerie feeling about the atmosphere.
She’s experienced enough to know death has a scent, and this place is rife with it.
The two of them step out a good ways, and then the feel of the ground changes. It sounds like the duo is walking on piles of sticks, rather than earth. Love can still feel some soft grass under her shoes, but it’s only placed there to fool the absent minded. The necromancer steps to a certain spot on these boards, and waves a hand.
Slowly, creakingly, a hatch made of crude wicker and sticks opens by itself. The necromancer steps aside and points down. It’s pitch black below. Love stares a moment, says “okay” and descends. The hatch closes behind her in the darkness.
The next thing she feels is the invisible grasp of the necromancer’s abyss-home, the conjoined magic influences of all of the necromancers combined, attempting unsettle her. The hallway lights up to reveal spiraling, nightmarish passageways, hewn roughly with foliage, wood, and the occasional strip of sinew. Even though she’s alone, she can feel the breaths of thousands upon her, all attempting to weigh her down and push her off her game. All around her she hears moans, cries, and the lightest hints of intelligible speech through the thick walls. It’s as if she’s stepped into a nightmare, in which nothing makes sense except for the terror of one’s environment, and the threat of the unknown, slowly bearing its teeth for the kill. Her calm disposition is steadily cracking, her eyes widening to alertness and teeth clenched securely to focus herself on her task; and then, it speaks.
“COME DOWN,” its voice forcing up through floor after floor of madness. To Meeo, its voice sounds like a weapon being strewn through a corpse without mercy, each syllable being yet another agonizing laceration. Meeo checks to make sure her feet are on the floor, and then sets off down the most illuminated hallway; the others are dimly lit, to appear non-existent to provide clear direction to the deepest pit of the abode. Through the godless lair Love walks, past the screaming of the glowing symbols, objects, and spirits surrounding her. She descends the first floor successfully, entering into another layer of insanities. Love is overcome with a feeling of assailment as she goes down the next hallway, composed of objects and items. It is as if she is being searched and inspected by an army of hands, scoping out everything up to her very soul, what they must surely desire most from her. She hears music as she passes various doors and openings, filled with noises both arcane and terrible; the sounds all blend into a cacophony of weight, each note accommodating another with incredible accuracy, as if harmonic in their discord. Love does her best to hold her mind to her task and ignore the atmosphere, but even then she cannot ignore when the necromancers pile on layer after layer of confusion and fear. She’s certain they’re attempting to break her before she gets to it; they must need her for something, and that’s why they’re trying to dull her sense of reality— to cloud her judgment.
She pushes to the end of the second hallway and descends. The unintelligible speech sharpens into coherence; it is a thousand voices, singing: “The dead will return by the hands of the first,” again and again. The blackened chorus goes on and on, never stopping as Love forces each foot forward with direct, intense focus. The entire structure about her, even the air, is vibrating violently as she descends another hallway. She feels something soft under her and realizes that its flesh. The entire hallway is human matter. As the floor writhes and tangles at her every step, she forces herself down yet another floor, the volume of the singing increasing, and any light decreasing. Floor after floor she descends, meeting new horrors by the droves, finally to the ultimate floor. Everything is pitch black. The singing by this point sounds, and feels, as though its coming from every direction, both from around her and from her core. She stumbles across the hallway, ignoring the ear-shatteringly-loud voices in the darkness and pushing on to the final door, very old and made in archaic fashion.
Suddenly the singing stops, and the atmosphere returns to normal; not quite the right word, more like the feeling one has right after waking up from a nightmare, and wondering if it’s over; a dreadful anticipation.
This room is cold, large, and quiet. At the edge of her vision she can see something moving, just out of what she can recognize as a figure. The enormous silhouette breathes, and Love can feel a long, icy breeze come forth. What looks like not just a forest, but a massacre, and a ruined building all twisted together heaves forward, raising its head to inspect its guest. The hideous amalgamation of matters, masked with the fashioned skull of a great forest spirit looks over Love with a saneless, soul-devouring gaze.
“HEAR MY WORDS,” Oa, who is both first child of Ohkiij and the first of the necromancers, speaks with its masses of stolen vocal chords. Love can hear the voices of men, women, young and old in Oa’s voice, torn from the throats of thousands.
Love, usually a calm and collected kind of woman, the kind that sees a person’s demeanor as half of their value, is shaken to her core. Tremors run through her body as she looks upon the defier of death and mincer of millions. The shame in it all is that she knew already she’d meet Oa, here and in this way, and yet she doesn’t feel ready for it. She takes a moment to control the shivers running down her spine, takes a breath of icy air, and speaks herself.
“Very well,” with only a slight uneasiness in her tone. Love can hear the eerie laugher of a thousand stolen voices gurgling from Oa’s long, thick throat.
“AS YOU KNOW, I HAVE STOLEN SOME ONES DEAR TO YOU AND OTHERS LIKE YOU. I WILL RETURN THEM, UNHARMED, SHOULD YOU COMPLY TO MY WISHES,” Oa says, the stench of dirt and blood permeating each word.
“I would have presumed as much. Whatever could it be that you’d want?”
“I DESIRE TO STEP INTO THE FAIRY’S HOME, SLAY THE KING AND QUEEN, AND BE THE GUEST AT THE HIGH TEA MYSELF. YOU WILL WITHDRAW YOUR KNIGHTS, BE IT THROUGH ORDERS OR DECEPTION, AND I WILL STRIKE IN THE NIGHT. IN RETURN, I WILL GIVE YOU BACK YOUR TWO FLESHLINGS, AND YOU WILL HAVE MY WORD THAT I WILL BE A LONG FRIEND OF THE KNIGHTS. WE HAVE FOUGHT LONG, AND WE DESIRE NOT ITS CONTINUATION. WHAT SAY YOU?” Oa says, each syllable emitting a nauseating quake vibrating through Meeo’s body. Love does not respond, and Oa reaches forward a hand from the darkness; judging by the angle of its arm in regards to its face, Love imagines Oa to be well larger than a tower.
In Oa’s giant hand woven from metal, flesh, and foliage, lies Aoline and Lain, unconscious and in their natural bearings. Love spots over the hearts of both of them is a magical seal burnt in right below the left breast. “TO ENSURE YOUR COOPERATION I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY TO CHANNEL ONE OF MY OWN GREAT SPELLS UPON THEIR HEARTS. SHOULD I DISCOVER ANY KNIGHT AT THE FAIRY PALACE TOMORROW, I WILL ACTIVATE THE SPELL, AND THEY WILL LOSE THEIR LIVES, ALONG WITH ANY NEAR THEM; FOR A GREAT MAGIC EXPLOSION WILL DESTROY THEM ALL. I HAVE PERFECTED THESE SPELLS FOR YEARS, AND YOU CAN BE CERTAIN THAT ALL OF LIEFLAND WOULD BE BUT DUST SHOULD EVEN ONE OF THEM DISCHARGE. BE YOU DISOBEDIENT, YOU MAY AS WELL EXPECT MANY MORE DISAPPEARENCES OF YOUR KIND. NOW, YIELD TO MY WILL, AND DO AS I SAY,” Oa booms, plopping the two naked teenagers on the ground and forcing its masked face forward into Love’s.
Love, pondering the proposition, makes the uncomfortable realization that Oa’s mouth could accommodate about twenty of her. She pauses; simply staring into the dark purposeful eyes of the creature, and does her best to keep herself together.
“I suppose I could do that,” she says as calmly as she can. Oa smiles, not that Love can see its face, but she can hear the objects and flesh churning
together from behind its mask.
“YOU WILL NOT REGRET THIS DECISION,” Oa says. Love nods.
“But I suppose it is worth asking. What do you intend to learn at The High Tea?” she says while looking over the walls of necromancers surrounding her, peeking just out of her vision.
“I HAVE WALKED THIS OMNIVERSE WE SHARE FOR MANY AN EON. I HAVE LEARNED HOW TO CHEAT, COMMAND, AND GIVE DEATH, BUT NOT HOW TO REVERSE IT. SHOULD I BE GIVEN KNOWLEDGE AT THE TEA, I SHALL REQUEST THESE METHODS. THEN FINALLY I CAN COMPLETE MY LIFE-LONG GOAL.”
“Oh, and what might that be?”
“YOU ARE SO CURIOUS?”
She nods. “If you do not mind.”
“I WILL TELL YOU NOT. YOU, A HUMAN OF EVEN THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGED CANNOT COMPREHEND THE MEANING AND IMPORTANCE OF MY MOTIVATIONS. SOON, I WILL HAVE BACK WHAT I HAVE DESIRED, AND WE CAN DIE THE WAY WE WERE MEANT TO,” Oa says.
Love thinks on its words, and gradually, a smile crosses her face. Suddenly she feels more comfortable in front of her enemy, as she sees there is still a shred of what it used to be inside of that wreckage of flesh and things.
“Hmm, Oa, were you a human once?”
“I WILL INDULGE NO QUESTIONS.”
“Oh, is that so? Even if you need me to get The Knights to leave so it’ll be easier for you? If you want me to cooperate, I feel I am at least owed some sort of discussion of things,” Love says, crossing her arms right in front of one of The Royal Knight’s greatest foes. Oa is quiet a moment as it looks over Love and then laughs, sending another wave of chills down her spine.
“YOU WILL DO AS I SAY BECAUSE I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU IF YOU DISOBEY ME.”
“I would imagine you would have done it by now if you were so confident.” Some of the necromancers shake or quiver at her words, disgusted in their failure of weakening her resolve and logic before she reached their master. There is a long, cold breath coming from the stolen skull of the nature spirit.
“... YOU SPEAK TRUTH,” Oa admits.
“I promise I’ll keep it a secret too- how’s that?” Love says, issuing another heart-freezing laugh from Oa.
