by E. E. Holmes
The Initiation, as Siobhán had explained in class, was the ceremony during which the Novitiates and the Apprentices were officially pledged to each other. As I’d listened to her that morning, glancing across the aisle to Finn and his ever-brooding expression, the thought of the Initiation filled me with nothing but dread.
“You must have had a Caomhnóir assigned to you and Mom when you were Apprentices. What was that like?” I asked her.
“Oh, it was pretty awkward,” she said, and then laughed at the look on my face. “Look, I know the Caomhnóir are hardly pleasant to have around, but they do a good job of blending into the background, for the most part. And they really are an important resource to have if a dangerous situation arises. Most of the time, you won’t even have to acknowledge each other’s existence.”
“But it just seems so unnecessary!” I said. “I mean, Siobhán even said that many of the circumstances that necessitate the Caomhnóir don’t even exist anymore! What are we supposed to…do with him?”
“Do with him?” Karen asked.
“Is he just going to follow us around all the time like a shadow with a mood disorder?” I asked.
“No, of course not,” Karen said. “The truth is that you will rarely see each other. Caomhnóir aren’t needed on a regular basis as they once were. Think of him as an emergency contact —someone who will be on-call if you need him to deal with a ghost-related situation. In the short time your mother and I were assigned to ours, we probably only saw him a dozen times outside of classes.”
“But he’ll still have to move wherever we are. He’s English, but when we go back to America, he’ll have to move there too, won’t he?” Karen’s smile faded. “Yes, he will. There are rules about geographic proximity.”
“So he will have to uproot his entire life and move across the ocean to sit around and wait for an emergency?” I asked. “No wonder he hates us.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t…” Karen began, but trailed off delicately when I glared at her. “You will all adjust, including him. The Caomhnóir know what they are getting into.”
“The longer we’re here, the more I realize I had no idea what we were getting into,” I said.
“That’s probably how Noah’s feeling right about now,” Karen said with a sigh.
“What do you mean?” Hannah asked. “He doesn’t know why we’re here, does he? I thought you weren’t allowed to tell him.”
“No, he doesn’t know why we’re here, and that’s the problem,” Karen said. “I’ve never had to say a word to Noah about the Durupinen, because it’s never been a part of my life since I’ve known him. Ever since your mother performed the Binding, my Visitations had stopped, so there was never any reason for him to know. But now that our Gateway is open and I’m seeing spirits again, I have some explaining to do.”
“Are you actually allowed to tell him?” Hannah asked.
“Over the centuries, the Durupinen have learned that certain concessions have to be made if we are to carry on normal lives.” Karen saw the incredulous look on my face and laughed. “Okay, somewhat normal lives, then. The point is, I have permission to fill him in on a very basic level, enough so that he won’t go looking for answers himself and finding out what he isn’t supposed to know, sort of like Jess has been able to do with Tia and Dr. Pierce. We don’t want Noah stumbling onto this information by accident.”
“You mean like Grandpa did?” I asked.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean,” Karen said, a bit hoarsely. She kept her eyes on her food, probably to hide a sudden onslaught of tears. “Our mother chose to reveal nothing to him. He was a very religious man, and she was afraid of losing him. I’ll never understand why she married him in the first place, knowing how deeply he would abhor everything we stand for, but I guess you can’t choose who you fall in love with. Anyway, we all know how that turned out. Secrecy is important, but so is the survival of the bloodlines, and we can’t carry on if all of our personal relationships fall apart because of the lies.”
“What do you think he’ll say?” I asked. “I have absolutely no idea,” Karen said. “But ready or not, I’m going to find out.” She pushed her plate away as though its contents suddenly repulsed her. She put an arm around my shoulder and gave me an affectionate squeeze, which I ignored the impulse to shake off. Then she walked around the table and did the same for Hannah, who returned it with a smile. “You know how to reach me if you need me. I’ll be back in two weeks, three weeks at the most.”
And so we were abandoned to the wolves, but we barely had time to notice. The classes instantly became so intense that we were buried up to our necks in reading. There was so much to learn and so much to digest, that I found I could barely spare a thought for the silent treatment and dirty looks we were still receiving at every turn. I could safely say that when I finally got to return to St. Matt’s, I would have written enough papers and taken enough tests to graduate twice.
Celeste piled book after book on us to read, chronicling the history of the Durupinen from the earliest records until the present time. The first book, which we read the first week, covered the initial organization of the clans, beginning with the initial attempts by the Durupinen to identify and organize themselves, including the formation of a rudimentary Council and the selection of a High Priestess. The election process was a bitter one, fraught with much fighting and political intrigue, and it was even suspected that one of the candidates was poisoned. The story of our past was just as intense and full of conflict as any ethnic or religious group in history, which prompted my curiosity.
“I can’t understand how we’ve been able to stay so secret,” I said, hand in the air during Celeste’s Friday lecture. I was clenching and unclenching my other hand which had seized up from the intensity of my note-taking. “All of the religious texts out there, and not one of them mentions the Durupinen. How is that possible?”
Celeste looked up from the notes she was using and leaned forward on her lectern, eager for a discussion. “How do you mean, Jessica?”
“I mean, why hasn’t any other major religious text mentioned us? We’ve been around at least as long as some of them, and much longer than others, and we’ve had run-ins with them all over the world. How is it possible that we’ve escaped mention?”
“Anyone have any thoughts on that?” Celeste said, looking around encouragingly.
“It’s our code of secrecy,” Peyton said at once, her tone indicating that this should be obvious to everyone and, by extension, that I was an idiot. “We have a foolproof system in place that prevents the world from knowing about us.”
“A good point, Peyton,” Celeste said, “but is it really foolproof? It is comprehensive, certainly, but there have been breaches, sometimes devastating ones, as we will be learning.”
“And it’s not true that we don’t get mentioned,” a girl with long, dark hair said from the front row. “There are references to witches and paganism all throughout religious literature. Just because they didn’t know the specifics doesn’t mean that they didn’t discover us sometimes.”
“But those aren’t necessarily the Durupinen,” Brenna said. “The references are vague, like you said, so we can’t know if they were talking about Durupinen or Wiccans or some other pagan group. They may not even have known.”
“People are afraid of the unknown. It is one of the reasons people cling to their religious belief systems so strongly. I’m not passing judgment here,” Celeste said quickly. “Many people in this room probably identify with a religious group, isn’t that true?”
Several people nodded, glancing self-consciously around as they did so. The dark-haired girl was fingering nervously at a gold cross she wore around her neck.
“Perhaps I ought to clarify something for you all, as I think it bears repeating,” Celeste said. “We are not a religious group. We have emerged all over the world throughout the centuries, including women of many different faiths, and many of no faith at all. I think Jess’ question can best be addre
ssed by posing a different question; what is the quintessential difference between us and the people who have written every major religious text in history?”
No one answered. We all looked at each other. Finally in the pressing silence, Hannah raised her hand.
“Yes, Hannah?”
“We’re women,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Celeste smiled. “Yes, indeed. History has been written and interpreted almost exclusively by men. Every apostle, every great prophet and soothsayer and philosopher, from the dawn of recorded time, all men. It is staggering and unjust, but there it is. Very few women have ever been accorded a place of real importance in religion. At best, we are the helpers and the nurturers. At worst, we are the temptresses and the subservient. Is it so very hard to believe, then, that we should be excluded from the annals of spirituality for this most important role?”
No one spoke. The weight of the truth of what Celeste was saying settled on all of us, a mantle we could not shrug away.
“We do not exist in defiance of religious tradition. We exist alongside it, and so if any of you consider yourselves to be women of faith, I hope you will not feel you must give up this identity in favor of your new role. In fact, you may find that your faith is the one thing that helps you to get through the more trying times that you will face as one of us.” She turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “Does this in any way answer your question, Jessica?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, left with far more to digest and wonder about than my original question had even allowed for.
“Now, today we will be introducing a topic which will dominate much of our early history and provide the source for most of the conflict that threatened our continuation.
“Before our systems of concealment were in place, as you have read, we operated more or less in the open. We did not shout about what we did, but we did not strive to hide it either, especially from those close to us. We used our abilities to help those around us, to comfort and to provide closure in the most difficult times. We used our gifts as they were meant to be used, for the good of the spirits we served.
“But abilities such as ours breed a number of responses in the people who learn of them. Some people are afraid. It is natural to fear, and therefore demonize, what we cannot understand; that fear has underscored many of the persecutions of the Durupinen over the centuries. But fear is not the only, or even the most dangerous, response to our gifts. There were those who looked at us, and what we could do, and what they felt was not fear, but greed — greed for the possibilities of what could be, if our powers were harnessed, twisted, and used for means other than those for which they were intended. I speak, of course, of the Necromancers.”
I had another one of those increasingly frequent moments when I felt like I was having an out of body experience as I watched Celeste turn and write the word “Necromancers” on the blackboard behind her. I’d read enough to recognize the term, even if it was usually used in fictional settings. Oh, who the hell was I kidding, my life was one big fictional setting now. I copied down the word and braced myself for more unpleasant reality.
“The records of interaction between the Necromancers and the Durupinen begin early in the 10th century, though it is safe to assume that they were around before such records were created. The Necromancers began as an academic collective; men who were seeking understanding about the true nature of our souls and what happens to them when we pass from this world. They were quite harmless at their inception. They collected and compared philosophies on the subject from around the world, pooled the ideas of all the great thinkers and religious documents. They were also some of the first to consider the idea that the principles of scientific enlightenment could be applied to matters of spirituality. With the introduction of this idea, they began to experiment.
“Their experiments, at first, were again, fairly harmless. They studied the art of séance and other methods of spirit communication. They practiced rudimentary forms of paranormal investigation and exorcism. When these experiments yielded little conclusive evidence, they delved further. They toyed with grave robbing and reanimation. They first studied, and then endeavored to recreate, the myth of zombification.”
I looked over at Hannah. She was scribbling furiously, but with a troubled expression on her face. She looked up at me and frowned. My head was flooded with images of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster, and a smattering of gruesome details I’d held onto from Hitchcock movies and various news stories about serial killers. I suddenly found myself wishing I hadn’t eaten such a hearty breakfast.
“The term Necromancer has been used in a variety of ways over the centuries. It has been generalized to refer to anyone who practices witchcraft or black magic. More specifically, it refers to one who attempts to communicate with the dead, in order to gain knowledge of the future. Both of these definitions are inadequate to describe what the true Necromancer does. A Necromancer is one who seeks to reverse death. He seeks dominance over the realm of spirits, to exert his control over them and use them for his own ends. Once the Necromancers learned of the Durupinen and our abilities, their goal became more focused and specific: to take control of the Gateways and their power.”
“But why?” Mackie asked. “What is the point of trying to do any of that? It’s so …” She stopped, mouth open, the appropriate word eluding expression.
“Morbid? Disturbing?” Savannah suggested. I was surprised to see that she was, for once, paying rapt attention. The gossip magazine she’d brought along for entertainment lay forgotten, drooping off of her lap, and she was leaning forward in her seat, staring at Celeste.
“Well, yes,” Mackie said, nodding. “But the word I was looking for is pointless. You can’t access a Gateway without the Durupinen’s cooperation, and even if you did, you can’t reverse it. It doesn’t work like that.”
Celeste did not speak right away, but her silence was deafening in itself.
“Wait, can you? Can you reverse a Gateway?” Mackie asked, seemingly horror-struck. Her expression was mirrored all around the room.
“A Gateway has never been reversed,” Celeste said, and I couldn’t help thinking she hadn’t quite answered the question. “But that did not stop the Necromancers from trying. Their attempts to interfere with the Durupinen during the 10th, 11th, and 12th centuries were so persistent that it necessitated the formation of the Caomhnóir system.”
Hands all over the room scribbled down this information. So it was the Necromancers’ fault I was stuck with Finn Carey for the rest of my life. If there’d been one in the room, I’d have punched him.
“So where are they now?” Savannah asked. “Should we be worried?” Her tone was playful, but her grin was rather forced.
“Focus your worry elsewhere,” Celeste said. “The Necromancers were disbanded and their infrastructure destroyed in the early 13th century. They were utterly routed, and their library of research was burned to the ground. This castle houses a number of artifacts preserved from those times, relics of the Necromancer scourge of 1226. We will be taking a little field trip to visit them after you’ve completed your reading for this week, which will cover the history of the Necromancer/Durupinen relationship. And on that note, here is your assignment for the weekend.”
Celeste dismissed us after unleashing upon us a crippling amount of homework, which left Savvy muttering a number of choice British phrases which I didn’t know, but could deduce were inappropriate for polite company.
“She can’t really expect us to read this by Wednesday,” Savvy said, shaking the fat new volume in our faces. “She’s barking if she thinks I’m going to spend my whole weekend buried in this.”
“And you’re barking if you think you can pass her class without doing the reading,” Mackie said.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware this whole Apprentice thing would be quite so much like…school,” Savvy said. “If I wanted to learn history, I would have gone to university.”
“It’s pret
ty crazy history, though, isn’t it?” I pointed out. “What about all that Necromancer stuff today?”
“Yeah, the Necromancers are downright creepy. Wait till you see the stuff downstairs,” Mackie said. “There’s artwork and robes, and these masks that look like skulls. And there are all kinds of equipment they used to experiment on bodies—like medieval torture devices.”
“Sounds like a great field trip,” I said.
“I don’t know, I think it makes sense,” Hannah said.
“What makes sense?” I asked.
“To want to know how it all works,” she said, shrugging in an offhand sort of way. “It’s the universal question, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “But their methods just sound so … unnatural.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Hannah agreed. “I’m just saying that I understand why they were so fascinated. I mean, don’t you wonder what’s on the other side of the Gateway? Doesn’t it bother you that we are in charge of something that we don’t fully understand?”
Mackie looked a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, sure. Everyone wonders about it. But it’s just how it is. No one finds out what’s on the other side until it’s their turn to go.”
“I’m just saying I understand the fascination the Necromancers had with it, even if they did go too far,” Hannah said. “It’s tempting to think that we might have the power not just to send people over, but to bring them back. Imagine never having to say goodbye to people.”
No one said anything, maybe because we just couldn’t think of what to say. I thought of all the people I’d said goodbye to — my mother, Evan —and what I would have given to have them back. Maybe the Necromancers weren’t as crazy as they sounded. I shook my head, expelling the thoughts like so many irksome flies. It wouldn’t do me any good to dwell on things like that, especially here.
“Have you two decided what you’re going to do tonight, since you don’t have to come to the First Crossing?” Mackie asked us when we reached the top of the stairs.
