“Paseran was no saint.”
“One thing we can agree on.”
“But he was a god.”
Joshua did not object, although the claim was strongly denied by their teachers. Paseran, Valio, the Shadow — they were all names for the same dark deity. In an age long past, the gods waged war against Paseran. Empires were destroyed and entire continents were closed to the living. Or so the legends told. Now, Paseran was little more than a myth, a scary tale to frighten children at night. But as with all myths, some elements of the tale were rooted in fact, of this Demetry was sure.
“Some say Paseran is the source of all magic within the race of man,” continued Demetry. “If this is true, the pages of this book are not filled with heretical teachings — it is a letter from a grandsire to his offspring.”
Joshua raised his brow cynically.
Demetry waved off the boy’s doubt and reached over his shoulder, turning the page to a dog-eared section near the back of the book. Epicaj’cacanit, read the heading on the page. It was the script of a long dead people from a long dead land, but Demetry knew the translation all too well. Necromancy.
“Sacrilege,” muttered Joshua, his eyes already reading the words to the spell.
“Sacrilege, heresy, sin. Simple words said by simple men who refuse to challenge the established order.” Demetry walked toward the riverbank, waving for Joshua to follow. “This way. Our subject awaits.”
“Our subject?” Joshua’s voice sounded with hesitation, but his actions showed willingness. He hastily scampered after Demetry.
Demetry parted the brush, revealing the carcass of the deer.
Joshua recoiled, raising the cuff of his sleeve to his nose. “A deer? I don’t know.”
Demetry knelt beside the deer, pulling away the limbs and debris that had collected on the poor creature’s body. “I’ve been turning rats since before we met. I turned old Sullivan’s dog after it was gored to death by a boar. How can a deer be any different?”
“It likely won’t be, it just feels, well, wrong. You know what the headmaster has to say about Shadow magic.”
Demetry knew the headmaster’s opinion all too well. He only needed to hear the lecture once to know it would be unwise to be caught dabbling in the dark arts ever again. That’s why he practiced in secret, out here in the forest, far from the watchful eyes of his narrow-minded instructors. Demetry shrugged dismissively. “If we were not intended to use necromancy, why did the gods endow us with the gift?”
“To tempt us.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“It’s what I heard the headmaster say.” Joshua starred down down at his own feet.
Demetry snorted. “The old bastard spouts a lot of opinions about a lot of things. If he is so opposed to Shadow magic, why does he own a copy of the book?”
Joshua stared at the deer. “Will it hurt? I mean will it hurt the deer?”
“Dead is dead,” said Demetry, mostly believing it. “The soul has long since flown. You will be animating the inanimate, nothing more. It’s like floating rocks.” Demetry pointed to the still parted page of the book. “You can do this.”
Joshua nodded and carefully read over the spell. “Yes, I believe I can. But should I?”
“Only you can make that decision.” Demetry settled back against a tree and spread his arms, palms outward, dismissing himself from the choice.
Joshua’s hands were trembling as he knelt alongside the deer and laid the book on the ground. He squinted at the text, reading over a few lines at a time and then practicing the directions. He hovered his hands over the bony frame of the animal, swinging his arms this way and that until he got the motions just right. At its root, magic was all about closing out distraction and focusing one’s mind on the task at hand. The hand motions and words were just a way for Joshua to focus. It was not so different from a monk chanting a mantra during meditation.
“Just like floating rocks,” muttered Joshua, trying to draw confidence from the idea. He made several false starts, uttering the first word of the passage, only to stop suddenly and review the text. Finally, after many careful reads, he began.
“Cotist rit osasrio re epicaj, tocasis rit rapuss...,” sang Joshua, his voice rising and falling to a melody no one else could hear.
Demetry closed his eyes and mouthed the words himself. The ancient tongue was a lovely language and possessed an ebb and flow that the common tongue simply lacked. Demetry was lulled into an almost dream-like state, the words conjuring up images in his head — of life, of death, of rebirth. It was a never-ending cycle, played over and over again for countless ages. All adhered to this endless dance. The stars in the heavens. The trees in the forest. The mortal races that now encompassed the world like ants.
But suddenly, a jarring word fell into the rhythm that Demetry knew was out of place. The vision tumbled away. The stars swirled to black nothingness, the trees turned to ash. The world of men was crushed by oozing black tentacles, and everywhere he looked a dark shadow encroached. Demetry forced his eyes open.
“Osario isifi umusat...,” continued Joshua, oblivious to his mistake.
Demetry’s eyes narrowed. Had Joshua misspoken, or was Demetry simply imagining things? A sharp crackle sounded, confirming Demetry’s worst fear — the spell was failing. The verse had driven Joshua into a trance. Unaware of what was happening, he continued on with the spell. The crackle became a torrent. The forest began to shiver, the limbs and branches vibrating so fast they began to splinter apart. The soil beneath Demetry’s feet began to shift like quick sand. The water in the nearby stream reversed course. Demetry tried to open his mouth and yell out a warning, but his tongue clacked useless in his bone-dry mouth.
The spell came undone with terrifying effect, lighting up the clearing in a ball of white flame. It started beneath Joshua’s outstretched hands then streaked outward with horrific force, catching Joshua’s body and sending ripples of energy surging through his frame. His body whipped and twisted like a noodle in boiling water.
Demetry dove to the ground and threw his arms over his face just in time. The tree nearest Joshua splintered apart at the base, its trunk reduced to kindling. The wind howled, followed by a biting cold that caused Demetry’s breath to catch in his throat. Demetry felt a pain in his scalp, as sharp as a devil ant’s sting, then another in his buttocks and thigh. Thumbnail-sized stones became deadly projectiles, particles of dirt hissed by with enough speed to shred clothing.
“The Guardians protect me,” cried Demetry, praying that he might survive the chaos. Unfortunately for him, necromancy was the providence of Paseran. And as the forest began to fall apart all around him, Demetry realized he was praying to the wrong god.
CHAPTER
III
FOOLS AND FOLLY
THE CHAOS STOPPED AS QUICKLY AS IT BEGAN. The biting chill faded to warmth. The roaring wind calmed to a gentle breeze. Stones that a moment earlier had been whizzing through the air, thudded harmlessly back to earth. Limbs clattered to a rest amongst the underbrush. Only the soft clack of singed leaves drifting lazily to the ground broke the silence.
Demetry cautiously lifted his head. A shroud of dust hung over the land. All was obscured in shadow, indistinct shapes, shades of gray accompanied by deep blacks. Rays of diffused light cut through the haze. It took Demetry a moment to locate Joshua; his body lay oddly contorted, pressed around the trunk of a tree as if he were giving it a hug. He was motionless, his head flat against the bark, his red mouth agape, his eyes fixed upon the heavens.
“Joshua?” managed Demetry, his voice cracking with fear.
The blast from the backfiring spell was forceful enough to knock a man unconscious. Perhaps Joshua would wake up in a moment and be just fine.
Demetry scurried on all fours over to Joshua’s side and pried his friend’s body away from the tree. Joshua’s head rolled limply as Demetry took the boy’s weight in his arms. Panic seized Demetry like a noose. He tried to clean the
debris from Joshua’s cheeks and forehead, but all he managed to do was smear the blood. Demetry searched for the telltale rise and fall of Joshua’s chest, the dull thud of a pulse in his neck, any indication of life at all. He found none.
“It doesn’t happen like this, it just doesn’t,” said Demetry breathlessly. He gently shook Joshua’s body, as if trying to awaken the boy from a deep slumber. But Demetry knew better. Joshua was in the deepest slumber of all.
Dreamless.
Thoughtless.
Dead.
Demetry moaned woefully, his cry sounding like the bray of a stricken animal, and collapsed atop Joshua’s body. How long he lay there with hot tears rolling down his cheeks, Demetry could not say. A heartbeat, a minute, an hour. The sun shifted across the sky. The shadows of the forest crept longer and longer until Demetry found himself lying completely in shadow.
How could this have happened? Joshua was just a boy, a child, really. His life had been cruel from the start, living on the street, begging to survive. How could a boy so pure and innocent deserve such an unlucky fate? He didn’t, he couldn’t. A just god would have never allowed this to happen. The Guardians, the Weaver, Fate — Demetry cursed them each in turn.
Then another thought entered Demetry’s head — a realization that chilled him to the bone.
“The gods didn’t do this. I did.”
Demetry scurried away from Joshua’s body, as if distance might absolve him of his sin. Was he responsible for what just happened? Was he to blame? Demetry’s mind raced feverishly. The world was spinning around him, the shadows creeping, creeping.
He cried out in prayer. “Blessed Ones, help me in my time of need.” His words were hardly a whisper, and they brought him no comfort. He had discovered the book. He had taken it from Headmaster Rioley’s study. He was the one who goaded Joshua into attempting the spell. There would be no forgiveness. Demetry would pay for this crime in blood.
“Blessed Guardians,” he gasped in terror.
Demetry eyed the book. The cover of the Paserani Haote was pockmarked from the explosion, but the pages themselves were still intact. If he acted quickly, he could return the book to the headmaster’s study; Headmaster Rioley might not even notice it was touched. Then he could lie about what Joshua was doing. He could...
Demetry pulled the book closer, reopening it to the dogeared page.
Headmaster Rioley had a favorite quote. “Fear causes weak men to cower, wise men to take action, and foolish men to perform incomprehensible acts.”
What Demetry now pondered was incomprehensible, yes, but there was wisdom there as well, a deep cunning, a path forward that might save Demetry and Joshua both.
He examined the text carefully, reading it slowly, word by word, studying it closer than he had ever done before. He considered the meaning of each word, translating the ancient script in his head. He focused on the rhythmic patterns, noting the words that rhymed and the words that did not.
There was a type of necromancy Demetry had failed to mention to Joshua — soul binding. It tied the soul of the deceased person to their body. The spell had to be performed soon after death, before the soul was able to vacate the body. But if done properly, the body and soul would be bound for all eternity. Sentience would be restored, the flesh would regrow, old wounds would heal. Joshua would rejoin the world of the living. Outwardly, he would appear as he did before. But, as Demetry knew all too well, Joshua would never be the same. A shadow of the afterlife would haunt him forever. Neither dead, nor alive, he would be a being who straddled both worlds, a wraith.
Demetry had performed the spell once before. His subject — a rat. The soul bound rat was different from any other creature Demetry had raised from the dead. The rat would flee when startled and eat when presented food, yet when Demetry held the rat underwater it would not put up the slightest resistance. Something was missing, a key instinct — a will to survive. But that was just a rat. Certainly it would be different with a person. Certainly it would be different with Joshua.
Demetry surveyed the forest. The dust had long since settled. The sun was sitting low on the horizon, painting the treetops with crimson light. The ceaseless babble of the nearby stream was accompanied by the chirp of songbirds. All was green and peaceful. Harmony was restored. Only Joshua looked out of place, his frail body twisted in death.
“You deserve better,” whispered Demetry into Joshua’s unhearing ear. “If I cannot grant you life, I will give you the next best thing.”
Demetry sat upright, steadfast with resolve. This was what had to be done, there was simply no other option. Demetry closed his eyes and began to chant. “Cotist rit osasrio re epicaj, tocasis rit rapuss.” His voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the spell. He pronounced each word with practiced precision, yet in his head, he heard only the same word spoken again and again.
Rise.
Rise.
Rise!
A slow, wretched, gurgle emitted from Joshua’s throat.
Demetry leapt back in fright, his reflexes getting the better of him. He knew it wouldn’t be pretty — the resurrection of the dead never was. Still, he had never gotten used to seeing the dead return to the world of the living.
Joshua began to violently spasm. His muscles convulsed. His back arched and jerked. A low moan welled from deep within Joshua’s chest and a surge of blood came flowing from his gaping mouth, spilling down his cheeks and filling his nostrils. His hands clawed at the earth, digging deep furrows. His legs thudded against the damp soil. Demetry reached for Joshua’s ankle, hoping to halt the boy’s seizing frame. Joshua kicked him squarely in the nose, causing Demetry’s vision to blur in a strobe of light. Then, as quickly as it began, Joshua settled back to the ground and lay motionless.
Demetry rubbed at his aching nose, his eyes welling with unwelcome tears. He ignored the pain, focusing on what really mattered. “Joshua, are you all right? Please, speak to me, take my hand, anything. Show me that you’re okay.”
Ever so slowly Joshua complied, lurching to his knees, then his feet. A trickle of blood steadily dripped from his lower lip, running down his chin and staining his shirt red. His pupils were black pools that spanned from lid to lid. His cold dead eyes did not stray from Demetry’s face.
Demetry attempted to speak, but his voice merely quivered. Whatever hope remained was demented and without reason. “We have to clean you up,” he finally managed.
Demetry timidly reached toward Joshua’s deformed figure, but at the last instant he recoiled, fearful to touch the pale skin. “We can’t let the headmaster find out about this. He can never know. This will be our secret, right? I will be sent away if they find out what happened here. They...” His voice trailed off. They were not alone.
“The gods help me, what have you two dullards done?”
A cold shiver ran down Demetry’s spine. Shep and Hanberg were standing at the edge of the clearing. Shep was squinting at the scene. Hanberg was grinning from ear to ear.
“Damn near burned down the forest,” said Shep, picking up a blackened leaf. It crumbled to ash in his hand.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Hanberg brushed his fingers together like a chiding mother. “Gone and bloodied yourself, I see. You’re not supposed to practice spells off of school grounds. What will the headmaster have to say about this?”
“Nothing,” said Demetry, his voice sounding much braver than he actually felt. “Because you’re not going to say a word. As I remember, you’re the one who bloodied Joshua’s face. Isn’t that right, Joshua?”
Joshua made no effort to reply. Or nod, or blink, or breathe. He stood beside Demetry, swaying silently to some unfelt breeze. Neither of the boys seemed to comprehend the true nature of Joshua’s condition — for now they were both focused on Demetry.
“All I did was shove him in the water,” said Shep, raising his hands, palms outward. “I didn’t do that to his face.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” snapped Demetry.
Hanber
g smirked. “Feeling clever, huh? You’re not as clever as you think.” His eyes wandered to the forest floor. Demetry’s heart stopped. The Paserani Haote. The book was lying on the ground, opened to the spell for necromancy. Hanberg was still too far away to read what was written on the page, but that would not last.
Demetry leaned over and collected the book, trying his best to appear nonchalant. He quickly returned the book to his satchel. “So what? I borrowed a spell book from the headmaster’s library. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t done the exact same thing.”
“Yeah? Well I’ve never gotten caught,” said Hanberg with a laugh. He pointed at Demetry’s satchel. “Shep, fetch me the book. Let’s see what these fools were practicing.”
Shep was on Demetry before he could resist, locking his big burly arm around Demetry’s neck. He twisted Demetry’s wrist painfully, forcing him to release the satchel from his grasp. Shep tossed the bag to Hanberg.
Hanberg upturned the satchel into his hand, pouring out the contents. It only took him half a heartbeat to read the book’s title. He tossed the book aside in disgust, his face contorting as if he had just handled a poisonous snake. “The gods help me!”
“What is it?” asked Shep, his arms still locked around Demetry’s neck.
Hanberg’s eyes wandered to Joshua with newfound understanding. For once, he looked genuinely horrified. “Sinner. Dark wielder. Shadow worshiper,” he hissed, spitting out each title with greater and greater disgust. He leveled his finger on Demetry. “Necromancer!”
Shep threw Demetry to the ground and proceeded to wipe his hands clean on his trousers, as if he was some how tainted by coming into contact with Demetry’s flesh.
“You’re damned, Demetry,” said Hanberg, regaining a degree of composure. “They hang men for the crime of necromancy.” He drew a line in the dirt with his foot. “Shep, make sure Demetry, and this... this thing, don’t go anywhere. I’m going to fetch the school elders. They’ll know what to do.” Hanberg darted off into the woods.
A Wizard's Dark Dominion (The Gods and Kings Chronicles Book 1) Page 4
