The Necromancer

by Katerina Martinez

  I swallowed and approached. “Damien?” I said.

  Damien took a deep breath, as if he had come up for air, and turned his head slightly toward me.

  I remembered then how we had met—I mean really met—on the slope of a riverbank, and suddenly I knew what he was thinking about. Or, rather, who he was thinking about. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, “You?”

  “I’m fine. I just thought… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for me back there.”

  He shrugged. “You would have done the same.”

  “I know, but… I don’t want you to think that I took it for granted.”

  “I didn’t think that. We’re friends, and I care about you.”

  I believed him, too. Damien made me want to pull my hair out when I found out about him and Natalie, but after I calmed down about the whole thing I realized that we hadn’t been that close for that long to begin with. We had what most people would consider to have been a good run and that was it. Natalie was the one who had really been wronged, and that was hardly any of my business.

  Looking at Damien now—as a friend—felt natural. We shared a memory about his sister. Not just a memory, either. We had both been through an ordeal together. We had a ghost story that we could tell our kids and that they could tell their kids. We had a story. No. We were the beginning of a story. The first chapter in the tale of my life as a True Witch. That’s what we shared. And that’s why I linked my arm around his and rested my head on his shoulder.

  Damien’s breathing was hard. I could feel his heart beating heavily in his veins. But it wasn’t for me. It was for Lily. I wondered if he could see her face in the black water before us. I wondered if he was recalling happy memories, or reliving sad ones. I had done both, and I was starting to realize that it wasn’t a coincidence either. I was starting to think that, maybe, it was the water.

  Bonk.

  The sound startled me. It was so close! That’s when I saw it. A wooden boat, maybe ten or twelve feet long, had sailed into the rock and used it to stop. The current was moving across, but the featureless boat was as stiff as a board; as was its pilot.

  “Hello?” I asked, approaching. My heart was racing now too, but I kept myself calm and showed no fear. No surprise.

  In a voice like a puff of dust, he said, “Need a ride?”

  I noticed movement from the rest of the group. They were starting to get up, but it was the gypsy woman who came up beside me first. “We do,” she said, “We seek to cross your river.”

  “A ghost and four breathers; this I have not seen in some time.”

  “Will you let us cross?”

  “If you pay the price.”

  “Name it,” I said.

  The figure extended a thin, bony hand wrapped in loose, pale flesh and clutching a chalice. It gleamed even in the darkness. Silver, maybe? “You must pay the blood toll, but it will cost you.” he said.

  Damien stepped up and took the cup before I could speak. “Fine,” he said, and he flicked a pocket-knife open and went to cut his palm, but Frank stopped him.

  “No,” Frank said, “Not you.” He looked at me. “Amber.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Sailing at the front of the ferryman’s boat across an endless dark sea was like something out of a Lovecraft book. The water lapped at the boat’s hull, gently licking the wood—kissing it—as the boat cut a path through the river of Bone. I still didn’t understand why it was called such. Maybe there was no meaning behind the name, but how could that be? To my logical mind, this inconsistency didn’t make any sense.

  All I knew about the river of bone was that it appeared as an ocean and that Damien and I had reflected on the past; on something that hurt, and something that made us happy. I wondered if the others had, too. None of them were speaking. They, like me, were fixed with the strange stillness of the water. Mesmerized by the way its surface rippled and sparkled despite the lack of ambient light.

  At the front of the boat Damien scanned the water with his torch. Meanwhile I was sitting across from Frank, Collette and Madame Aishe. They all seemed pensive, all except for Madame Aishe. I got the impression that she was nervous. Scared, even. If I hadn’t learned from her that the dead can die again, I wouldn’t have understood.

  But I did.

  I flexed my cut palm, felt the throb of pain, and looked over at Frank. “Why me?” I asked.

  Frank tilted his tall neck down and met my eyes. “Why what?”

  “Why me and not Damien?”

  “His blood wouldn’t have cut it. No offence.”

  Damien wasn’t listening, and if he was he hadn’t acknowledge what Frank had said.

  “How did you know, though?” I asked, “How were you so sure?”

  “Because of what you are.”

  “Seriously? Because I’m a sorceress?”

  Frank nodded. “Don’t you understand just how rare and powerful your magick is? I mean, it isn’t just your magick. It’s your blood too.”

  Collette nodded in agreement. “A true sorceress does not come but once in a hundred years. The last sorceress I knew of was a German witch. She was a hunter of evil, a champion of light. Her magick was a beacon for European witches to live by.”

  “She sounds awesome,” I said.

  “She was, but she was soon overcome by enemies. Sorcerers make many of those.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It iz fine, I did not know her. Only of her.”

  “Have there been any American sorcerers?”

  Frank shook his head. “Not that I’ve read about. But if any sorcerer came to the States it would have been to escape whatever enemies he made across the pond.”

  “Ah, but one sorcerer did come to the Americas,” Collette said. “A sorcerer’s magick is passed through the blood.”

  “So you’re saying that my mom or my dad could be sorcerers?”

  “A parent, yes, perhaps. But the Power can lay dormant for generations and suddenly awaken. Zere would be little way of knowing besides tracing back your family roots.”

  “Remind me to hit the books when I get topside,” I said to Frank.

  Frank nodded.

  “So I guess that’s why your magick is on the fritz then, huh Frank?” I asked.

  “It isn’t so much on the fritz as it’s… stunted. But there’s an element I could tap into if I wanted to sully myself with it.”

  “What element is that?” I asked.

  “Shadow,” Collette said.

  “Shadow? That’s not an element I’ve ever heard of. Fire, water, earth, wind, and spirit, sure. But not Shadow.”

  “Like the Goddess, Spirit has three faces,” Collette offered, “A light, a neutral, and a dark. We call the dark Shadow.”

  “And the light?”

  “Lunar.”

  “Why am I only learning about this now? This isn’t in any of the books I’ve read.”

  “There are some books you just can’t find on amazon, sweetheart,” Frank said. “Think about it. Wiccans call it calling the quarters—not the fifths. Humans don’t know the real truth.”

  I had to think about that for a moment. When Damien first told me about True Witches he had mentioned that the religions of the day all took something from the truth about magick. Resurrections, Gods, miracles; everything came from one single truth about the world and the universe as we know it. Magick exists.

  And if Magick exists, anything and everything is possible.

  But it also meant that no single religion held all the cards. Wicca seemed to be the closest to the truth, at least to me, but how did that account for the miracles performed by Catholics? Or the truths the Abrahamian religions knew about the invisible dark forces that haunt humanity? Forces that I had come into contact with personally.

  “I need to know more about this,” I said, “If I’m a sorceress I need to trace my line. I need to know who I am and what it means.”

  �
�It means zat you’re rare, zat you’re powerful, and zat you must take special care to protect yourself,” Collette said. “I said before that zere are people who would take your power and exploit it. I meant it.”

  “It also means that you’re like a sponge for magick, and that your power is as easy to mold as play doh,” Frank said.

  “But… why? I mean, if we believe in fate, then why me?”

  Frank shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me. All I know is that Damien and I are about as useful down here as fucking car ornaments. We’re counting on you to make sure we don’t get killed so that we can figure this out with you—isn’t that right, Damien?”

  Damien barely managed to look back. He nodded, but I could tell he was still miles away. Madame Aishe sat next to him, but she wasn’t saying much either. She was staring into the water as we cut along its surface at a slow pace. The ferryman was masterful with his oar, swinging right along his left side and left along his right in a fluid motion to keep the ship sailing quietly forward. It was almost mesmerizing to watch his hands move with such precision. Though, strangely enough, the rest of him didn’t move at all.

  I shuffled closer to Damien and Madame Aishe in my seat, ran my hands through my hair to tighten the pony tail on my head—my hair was sticking out all over the place, I was a mess—and rested my hands on my lap before directing my gaze at Madame Aishe. She turned, as if she knew I was looking, and faced me.

  “Why do they call this the river of bone?” I asked.

  Madame Aishe glanced at the surface of the water once more, then back at me.

  “Bones are a symbol for memory, here,” she said, “Like bones, memories don’t ever truly decay. They may be buried, lost to time, and forgotten. But they can be excavated, cleaned, and picked up again. This river washes old memories and brings them to the fore, so that the dead cannot forget the living.”

  And so that the living don’t forget the dead, I thought. I hadn’t said anything but my mind had drifted to the memory of my grandfather, Jacob, and my grandmother Violet. I was equally close to both of them, but I lost them one after the other—my grandfather to a heart attack, and my grandmother to a broken heart. I wasn’t sure why they had come to mind until now.

  “There are many rivers in the Underworld,” Madame Aishe said, “Great rivers with strong currents and strange properties. Their main purpose is to carry lost souls from one place to the next, but they also connect large towns and serve as landmarks.”

  They carry lost souls, I thought, and I blinked away the tears. Now I knew what Damien was looking for.

  “Damien,” I said. He turned his head and glanced at me. “She’s not in there.”

  Damien didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to.

  “We helped her move on. Lily moved on.”

  He nodded, and I was sure that part of him trusted me enough to accept what I was saying as truth. But I could see the want in his eyes even in the faint glow from the lantern resting at the center of the boat. He wanted to see Lily in the water. Maybe to talk to her one last time, to say one or two last comforting words to her. To tell her that he loved her, maybe, or that he missed her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, from out of nowhere.

  “Sorry for what?” I asked.

  “For what I did to someone as good-natured as you. I’m sorry, Amber.”

  I was rooted. Struck silent. What could I say? What should I say? “It’s okay,” I said.

  “It isn’t. I did you wrong, and I need you to know that I’m sorry, and that I’ll never lie to you again.”

  “We’ve all got our issues, Damien. I don’t need you beating yourself up about this any more.”

  Damien nodded, but his look was solemn. “I won’t. I just needed you to know.”

  “And I do. For what it’s worth, I had a great time with you. Natalie is a lucky girl.”

  Bonk.

  No one saw land approaching from the black. Damien may have seen the stiff, rocky shore if he weren’t looking at me, but we all lurched in unison, surprised. All save for the Ferryman, who simply stopped moving mid-stroke and waited for us to depart.

  Madame Aishe was the first to stand and disembark, followed by Frank and Collette—who dropped two lead coins on the deck before stepping ashore. I was the last to leave, Frank and Damien both waiting to help me off as they had helped Madame Aishe and Collette.

  When I looked back the Ferryman was pushing off, drifting silently into the black. The lantern on the prow glowed for a moment as the boat whispered away along the quiet river, and then the light was snuffed out as if by fingers made of darkness.

  “We must hurry,” Collette said, “We are running out of time.”

  And she wasn’t kidding, either. No sooner did the words leave her lips that she doubled over, clutching her stomach, and dropped to her knees with a loud thud. I rushed to her side, as did Frank and Damien, to stop her head from hitting the rock but we weren’t fast enough. Blood trickled from the wound on her left temple and, suddenly, the Necromancer didn’t seem as fresh as she had been a moment ago. It was as if all of the energy in her had been sapped from her body in one giant breath.

  The underworld giveth and the underworld taketh away, right?

  CHAPTER 20

  “Collette,” I said, cradling her head, “Can you hear me?”

  She nodded, weakly.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I think so. I… just… felt weak.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I… I think… it knows. It knows we are here, zat we have made it zis far.”

  I glanced at Frank and scanned his concerned eyes. Here we were; four witches and a ghost, barely aware of our surroundings, where we were going, or how we were going to get out of this mess when it was all finished. Because, yeah, that was something we would have to do. I shuddered at the thought of having to cut myself again to bleed for the ferryman.

  “Do you know where it is?” I asked Collette.

  “I think so. But I need a moment to concentrate.”

  We helped her to her feet and gave her a moment to think. The gypsy seemed uneasy, which was a strange sight to behold given that she was dead. Although here, with us, she didn’t look all that dead. I wanted to ask her, many times, how she had died - ask her to explain her story to me - but I didn’t think it was appropriate. Would she take offence to the personal nature of the question? I mean, you can’t get much more personal than asking someone how they died. Can you?

  “Madame Aishe,” I said. I would ask her, but I would do it carefully.

  She turned to me. “Yes?”

  “I’ve been wondering—”

  “How I died?”

  “If you don’t mind telling me, of course. I just… it isn’t very often I get to talk to a ghost.”

  “I understand,” she said, “It is a question often asked in the Underworld. Everyone wants to know how you died.”

  “So, how did you? And… when did you?”

  “My death happened yesterday,” she said, “Although since in the Underworld time has no meaning, yesterday could be a month, a year, or a hundred years ago.”

  “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “It would be impossible for me to know.”

  “And do you remember how it happened?”

  “An illness,” she said, “When I was alive, medicine was not easy to come by. A strong fever could take one’s life just as easily as one can snap their fingers.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago, child. I don’t need sympathy. Death, in any case, is not the end. Only change. Many people forget that.”

  I knew this was true, since I had found plenty of life down in the Underworld so far. Their existence here was the same as the one I had in the world of the living, only—I guess—this life had more magick in it.

  “Why didn’t you stay?” I asked. “Did you have any unfinished business?”

  “I did stay for a tim
e,” she said, “My brother… he was with me when I died. And as I crossed the threshold I held on to the idea of watching over him, of protecting him, and accompanying him through his life journey.”

  “And your will alone was strong enough to keep you here?”

  She nodded. “The dying will is a powerful thing. I remained here, lingering in the world of the living. I watched him mourn, find his happiness, find a wife, and have children. But when the fever came for him, I was powerless to stop it from claiming his life.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.

  “I watched him float away from his body and disappear into the woods, lost and disoriented. I couldn’t call him fast enough. With his life severed, my business was done. The floor opened beneath my feet and I was dragged down into this place.”

  “Do you know where he is now? I know many years have passed, but—”

  “No,” she said, “I do not know where he is.”

  Madame Aishe fell deathly silent. Watching her now, she almost looked like a statue, standing perfectly still and staring into the darkness above us. I craned my neck up to see what she was looking at but the endlessly high ceiling of the cavern swallowed all light and for a moment I wasn’t sure whether I was looking up, or down into a bottomless pit. I supposed it didn’t really matter which. In that moment I felt like I could fall upwards, or that something could descend to get us all – like those spiders from the town we had passed through.

  I hadn’t noticed that we had started walking again until I smacked my knee on a protruding rock and almost went over. A bright flower of pain opened up and I bit my lip to stifle the moan.

  “God dammit,” I said, groaning anyway.

  “Are you okay?” Damien asked.

  “Yeah, fine, it’s just so damn dark in here.”

  “We should have grabbed some of those torches back at the town.”

  “Yeah, we should have. Although I’m not sure where we could have found some.”