by Jen Kirchner
The fog that normally sat atop the river was thin and low, and I could see the ferryman on the other side. He knew I didn’t need his assistance crossing the river, so we simply waved to each other. I was the lord of this strange, deathly domain. I needed no help to get around.
I looked past the thick cluster of souls that were gathered on the ridge and gestured. A cloud of black ether burst around me and I materialized, almost instantaneously, farther out on The Floor, roughly between the white tree and the Styx. Souls were stationed at random places around me, their forms twisting and changing shape with wisps of gray ether peeling off of their incorporeal forms and dissipating. My sudden appearance frightened everyone nearby. Souls tried jumping or running away, forgetting that they couldn’t move because they were drifting inexorably toward the point of no return. Their shadowy masses jerked and flailed in panicked motions, trying to get away from me.
I jogged away from any souls and looked around. I was standing on a vast stone floor. Slender cracks ran through the stone and descended into pitch. On previous trips I had investigated the cracks but found nothing special about them. There certainly wasn’t anything in the immediate area that would bring Mouth back. Maybe I’d have better luck elsewhere?
I gestured again and traveled to an area far left. Souls clustered together more heavily here, but otherwise it was more of the same. As I turned to gesture myself elsewhere, a flash of movement caught the corner of my eye. It was obscured by souls, so it was hard to see clearly. Whatever it was, it was dark and rising up like a fountain. I gestured myself toward it.
The movement was a shadowy mass still in the process of forming. Black flecks swirled around the base, growing taller and fuller. Within seconds, the last of the flecks settled, solidifying into a pillar about as high as my chest. Whip-like tentacles sprouted all over its body and swayed as if a gentle breeze stirred them. They stretched out toward nearby souls, pulling small flecks of energy from them. It took me a few stunned seconds to realize I was staring at an actual necromancer power. I was curious to know what it was doing but wasn’t sure how close I could get. Was it hostile? Would it be bothered by my presence? I took a half step forward…
The power whirled, its tendrils flying and wrapping around it like a cyclone. The power had no eyes that I could see, but my knives gave me the same sensation—it was staring at me. I took two steps back.
The power charged, lifting its hefty, black body from the ground and cruising through the air with its tentacles flying behind.
Startled, I backed up, but not fast enough. The power was easily overtaking me. I turned to run and nearly collided with a drifting soul. I tried to spin away, but I tripped. As I fell, instinct took over. I gestured and looked to another point far away on The Floor. A black cloud burst around me.
When I landed, I hit the ground hard and skidded across the stone on my hands and knees. While I didn’t feel any pain here, I knew what I had just experienced would translate to physical soreness later. At least I was safe now. I climbed to my feet and turned—
—and found myself face to face with the pillar. It must have jumped with me. I took a hasty step backward, but the power floated within inches of my feet. Just before we touched, it stopped.
I took a step back. The power followed. I stepped to the side. Again, the power followed. I felt like I was having a heart attack, but at least it wasn’t trying to assault me.
My curiosity returned. I wanted to study this power, but how? Necromancer powers were obviously mobile, so they couldn’t have coordinates like the other channels’ powers. That must be the reason necromancers have to move their powers from The Floor into the fourth channel. One of my knives might know a trick to let me study it. I gestured the command to release my soul. A cloud of black particles burst around me, but nothing else happened. I tried it again. Still nothing. My hands gestured more quickly and my movements became panicked.
Somehow, this necromancer power had attached itself to me. Either I would have to find a way to disconnect myself from it, or… I felt sick as I considered the alternative:
Absorption.
I didn’t know if I could move it through my body and into the fourth channel without killing myself. My knives knew what powers were small enough to absorb without blowing up, but I couldn’t get back to my body to ask. My only option was to head back to the Styx. The power wouldn’t be able to cross the water and would have to let me go.
I hoped.
I brought my hands up and turned toward the Styx, preparing to send myself across the water, when a strong tremor rumbled beneath my feet. From this distance, it was hard to see the cluster of souls lined up along the ridge, but I thought I saw a huge gash cut out of the dark line. I couldn’t see what had caused the cut, but it was dark and low to the ground. Souls that stood in its path were mowed down and seen no more. Whatever it was, it was also heading my way, fast. I gestured myself out of its path, though not far. I wanted to see what was going on. Of course, the necromancer power came with me.
So did the dark mass, veering from its original course. As it grew nearer, I could begin to make out a glossy, writhing blob. I moved again. The necromancer power followed. So did the blob.
I still couldn’t figure out what it was. It was dark and fluid, and it moved a lot like water. As it got closer, I got a much better look. I felt my stomach plummet to my feet.
It was the Styx itself and it was heading straight for me.
There was no way I could outrun it.
I gestured again, both hands flying, fingers twisting in complicated signals. Instead of being turned back, the water split into two tentacles, circling around for a coordinated attack. I took off running while gesturing every command I could think of, trying to repel the river. Nothing worked. One of the tentacles cut me off. I dug my heels in and came to a hard stop. The necromancer power that followed wasn’t as quick to stop and collided into me.
Pain registered dimly in my head, a signal from my distant body. Dark matter started to force its way through me. I tried to push it back but couldn’t. Locked in a struggle against the onslaught of energy, I fell to my knees. The two tentacles of the Styx circled completely around me and began to close in. Unable to run, I gestured myself to the first place that came to mind: the white tree.
Attached like a parasite, the power came with me. I had absorbed so much of it that the tentacles were gone and the pillar was only half as tall. It looked like a melted candle. Ragged and in pain, I looked back. The Styx was changing course, swerving toward my new location. I couldn’t fight both the necromancer power and the water at the same time. I was in pain and scared that I was going to explode, but I couldn’t hold out any longer.
I gave in to the necromancer power. My mouth opened in a silent scream and I gestured again, frantic to get back to my body. It didn’t work. I tried again. And again. The last of the power rushed in all at once and—
A thousand tiny lights flew past me. I was lying on the linoleum of my laboratory. I could feel the power bottled up inside me. Wasn’t it supposed to drain into the fourth channel? I had never felt such pain in my life. I tried forcing the energy out of me and pinged the channel so hard it gave me a headache. I pinged it again, harder. The surge of power within me swelled. Stubby shouted at me from the underwear drawer.
Push!
I did. The power rocketed out of me and into the fourth channel, roughly shoving Mikelis’s enormous magical consciousness to make room. The pain stopped. My skin tingled. My heart pounded in my chest.
The channel rippled. Mikelis’s magical consciousness swarmed mine, probing my new size. When his consciousness retreated from mine, my worst fears were realized: Mikelis didn’t know it was me. He thought I was a new necromancer.
The channel rippled again, this time with anger. At the same time, a low rumble shook the foundation of my house. A perceived attack was being answered by a stronger power, and it was heading straight for the house.
The room lurch
ed and the lights flickered. I scrambled to my hands and knees and dove under the table. The low rumbling became a deafening roar and I heard every protective spell around my house disintegrate. An angry blast hit the panic room wall, trying to force its way in. The four posts in the corners of the room hummed loudly and their embossed runes flashed white. The spell Mikelis had sent couldn’t get past the posts, but it also would not be turned back. Stalemated, the assault had only one way to go.
A horrible silence descended. My head turned upward as if I could see through the ceiling and into my kitchen. A thunderclap erupted above me, followed by the sound of glass shattering, metal twisting, and wood exploding. Something terrible groaned, and I distinctly heard my counters smashing into a million pieces. The noise went on for what seemed like ten minutes. Silence fell abruptly afterward.
I felt a startled poke in the channel as if to say, “Was that you?” I hurt too much to respond.
Frantic scratching and bumping came from the other side of the door. I rolled out from under the table and scrambled to open it. A streak of black fur shot through the room and retreated to the farthest corner. To my relief, Nadia looked scared but unharmed. I struggled to my feet and ran upstairs to the kitchen.
As I neared the room, my footsteps started to slow. Smoke hung thick in the hall and I could barely see. Once the smoke started to clear, I could see the room had been completely leveled. Sunlight poured in from the window and illuminated the particles that floated in the air. Cabinets had shattered and broken into splinters, marble counters had been reduced to pebbles, and even the appliances were twisted beyond recognition. The doors had been torn off the refrigerator and pantry and everything in them had burst and cooked in the hellfire Mikelis had sent. I gagged on the scent of broiled meat and curdled milk.
I stopped in the doorway, mostly because the rubble was so high I couldn't get into the room. I fell against the door frame, clutching my aching sides and stomach, and stared at what remained of my favorite and most expensive room. The channel pinged again.
I turned away. I ran down the hall to the family room, picked up the phone, and hit the speed dial. It took a few rings, but Dad finally picked up.
“Eliana?”
“Dad, I know what’s killing the unauthorized communities.”
TWELVE
After what just happened, I was convinced voodoo master Ruairí O'Bryne was siphoning necromancer powers from The Floor. The unauthorized communities were bound to the Styx through a voodoo spell, and when the powers were sucked up, the massive energy surge killed them. That had to be one hell of a spell. I didn’t understand why anyone would want to do it. Only necromancers could use the powers they took from The Floor. No matter how many necromancers Ruairí O'Bryne could sacrifice, he’d never fully be a necromancer…or so I thought.
No Council member had investigated the unauthorized communities more or tried harder to solve their mystery than Dad had. If anyone could figure out the missing pieces to this macabre puzzle, it would be him.
“Honestly, Dad, if I hadn’t absorbed that power, I never would have figured it out.”
“Eliana,” he said, sounding tired after my explanation, “go back to the beginning. You were where?”
“The Floor,” I repeated. “And when I turned around, the Styx—”
“Eliana, stop. Are you making a joke?”
I took the phone away from my ear and made a face at it, as if Dad could see the look I was giving him. I put it back up to my head. “Why would I do that?”
“Legends exist of necromancers who could project their souls to The Floor, or even make spells, but I have never done so nor met anyone who could.”
A legend? This was something I did nearly every day. Was there something wrong with me? He must have known where this conversation was going because he fell silent. Neither of us said anything for a long minute.
Finally, I said, “Dad, I have something to tell you.”
“You have been to The Floor and you can make spells?”
I threw up a hand in exasperation. “Maybe we should have talked about necromancy when I was a kid. Then this wouldn’t be such a shock.”
“I tried broaching the topic when you were young, but you never wanted to speak of it. You always cried when I brought it up. You have no idea how hard it is for me to see you cry, especially at that age—”
“I know, Dad.”
“We thought it best if we waited for you to ask questions, but you rarely did. If you recall, you had regular therapy sessions after your necromantic induction.”
“Yeah, with Heraclitus, who, by the way, is the worst child therapist this planet has ever seen. I know he’s one of your oldest and closest friends, but damn, Dad.”
“He was one of the most brilliant minds of his time. He still is.”
“Really? Because his explanation for everything is everyone sucks.”
“Well, he is Greek, and you know he loves you very much. He certainly does not think you suck.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to stave off a headache. “How come I can project to The Floor and you can’t?”
“I have no idea. My knives never taught me how, so I must confess it has never crossed my mind.”
I couldn’t help wondering why my knives had told me. Maybe they were tired of waiting for me to kill someone. “Are you saying I’m doing something freakishly bizarre?”
“Of course not. I am just not sure why there is a difference between you and me. Perhaps it is because we chose separate paths as necromancers. This is the result of your choice.”
He was talking about sacrifice, which was never a debate for me. I wouldn’t do it, period. It also wasn’t a topic I felt comfortable discussing, so I changed the subject.
“Ruairí doesn’t get necromancer powers by siphoning them directly, right?”
“No. Though he has killed many necromancers and gained many of our powers, he will never become a true necromancer. Besides, he would have to siphon an entire power to use it. He obviously isn’t doing that because so many immortals are killed by the surge. The power is being distributed.”
“What could Ruairí possibly gain from that? He’s not getting any of that power for himself.”
“No, he—” Dad’s words cut off. I felt an “ah ha!” moment happening on his end, and I was dying for him to clue me in.
“What? What is it?”
His words sent a chill down my spine. “It is a pyramid scheme.” His voice became clearer and more intense. I heard shuffling on the other end. Dad paced when he was excited. “Ruairí is not trying to gain necromancer powers through this scheme. He is trying to enlarge his capacity for necromancy.”
I frowned. “I thought that happened automatically every time he killed another necromancer. He takes them back to his secret lair and forces them to kill until they have slightly more power than he can handle. That’s what stretches his capacity—and he can get a couple of new powers while he’s at it.”
“Yes, but necromancers are rare and enlarging our capacity is a time-consuming process. We cannot continually absorb powers without killing ourselves. The Styx is a faster way. It converts necromancer powers directly into energy and funnels it through the web.” His voice was excited now. “This way is dangerous, so he has put layers of immortals between himself and the brunt impact. Ruairí is behind a cushion of immortals, receiving a small dose.”
I sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “Even if he increases his capacity, where would he get enough necromancer powers to fill it?”
The pacing stopped. “You know where, Eliana. Only one necromancer has ever escaped Ruairí’s grasp. And he has not forgotten.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Mikelis.”
“Yes. Mikelis was young when Ruairí found him. Only seventeen, I believe. Ruairí sent cronies to capture him, but before they could force Mikelis to kill anyone, he escaped. I am sure you have heard this story from someone else.”
“Grandpa told me, b
ut he didn’t say Mikelis was seventeen. How did he escape by himself if he wasn’t yet a necromancer?”
“An immortal rescued him and hid him for a week. When Mikelis returned home, he found his family had been slaughtered as punishment for running away. Instead of emotionally crippling Mikelis, it did the opposite.”
“Everyone’s heard this part. Mikelis went crazy.”
“No,” Dad said. “Though everyone likes to believe otherwise, he was not crazy. Mikelis knew that the only way Ruairí would ever leave him alone was to become the very thing Ruairí both craved and feared.”
“A necromancer capable of every kind of destruction.”
“That is why Mikelis became immortal and spent two centuries hunting down and sacrificing Ruairí’s followers,” Dad said. “He turned himself into a monster that Ruairí would not dare cross. But apparently Mikelis underestimated him. We all did.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “We have to stop Ruairí , Dad.”
“Yes, but we have to be careful. I do not want you openly investigating this in case your identity as a necromancer becomes known.” His voice dropped to a low, warning tone. “Eliana, Ruairí O’Bryne will stop at nothing if he discovers your true identity.”
I thought about Veronica and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I had an urge to tell Dad the real trouble I was in so he could help me, but Luucas and I had agreed to keep our deal a secret. If I mentioned Veronica, I’d have to explain everything. My only option was to catch her and put this behind me.
“I’ll be careful, Dad, but if we can find the spell that’s controlling the Styx, we might also find Ruairí. We can end this.”
“Do not do anything yet. I need to look into this further. Focus on your television performance and I will search for answers.”
“One more thing, Dad. Can you ask Marcus to come over while I’m out? I need new protection spells around my house.”
