Necromancer Awakening

by Nat Russo

  Nicolas stared at him in silence.

  The man had a point. Nicolas knew nothing about this strange new world, and lashing out at things he didn’t understand wasn’t going to help him see Kaitlyn again. Worse, it might get him killed.

  He followed Mujahid up the staircase.

  The room they entered destroyed any doubt the estate held religious significance. Twisting marble columns lined the cavernous room, their tops rising higher than the floating light spheres that bathed everything in an orange glow. Two broad transepts opened like great, arched tunnels on either side of a recessed apse at the far end of the room. A golden altar stood at the center of the apse.

  Nicolas couldn’t believe he’d stumbled across a baroque cathedral in the middle of an alien world. He wanted to study the place to see how far the similarities went. Why would a civilization build a place like this without any of the religious inspirations and symbolism of his own western civilization?

  He wanted to dig. Was there a crypt? Was there an older structure underneath, like at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome? Was this estate part of a larger underground complex or city? What was it about the shape of a cross—formed by transepts, apse and nave—that spanned two worlds?

  His questions would have to wait. Mujahid was already leaving through a large golden archway.

  They emerged into a room that was smaller, yet vast by any standard.

  Golden-framed portraits of men and women wearing long dark-blue robes hung above wooden tables and dainty chairs. The dark-blue scapulars draping their shoulders bore the symbol of the floating person with glowing eyes.

  One portrait in particular caught his attention. A bright yellow creature with an enormous head and cavernous mouth sat with webbed hands folded. Chameleon-like eyes the size of basketballs pointed in two different directions. It wore a form-fitting doublet the same color as the robes, and a dark-blue scapular with a black fringe hung to the middle of its chest.

  The religious imagery didn’t stop with the architecture, it seemed. Catholic clergy back home wore scapulars as well, depending on their status.

  Gold tiles and jewels formed a mosaic on the far wall. Multifaceted stones simulated magical flashes of light. Two tall skeletal warriors on the edges of the mosaic carried blades the length of a man’s arm. They stood beside two men, each wearing the same midnight blue robes as the men in the portraits. One of them looked like Mujahid, but the other was facing away. Each man held a scythe like the one wielded by the statue outside. But the main subject of the mosaic stood at its center. A cyclops, at least four times the height of the men, swung a massive black hammer. Next to it a perfect sphere floated in the air, its shiny surface reflecting the magical flashes in a cascade of gems.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Nicolas asked.

  “I told you it was hard won.”

  “You fought off a cyclops for it?”

  “An old, malevolent creature, with a long history of tormenting the people of Erindor. There aren’t many left, Arin be praised.”

  “Is that other guy your brother Nuuan?”

  “Lord Nuuan, postulant. Remember that. His disposition isn’t as friendly as mine.”

  “You’re the friendly one?”

  Mujahid walked toward a staircase that ran up the side of the hall.

  “Your quarters are on the second level. Mine is on the fourth. Training rooms are on the third.”

  “Those stairs go down too.”

  Mujahid turned on Nicolas. “Under no circumstances will you visit the crypts.”

  “I knew this place had crypts! Can’t I just take a look?”

  “I don’t care what you see, boy. Explaining the death of my postulant will be very awkward, however.”

  Nicolas swallowed.

  “There’ll be a penitent outside your room. If you need more food, ask him.”

  “You said that before. Penitent. I know what it means, but I’ve never heard it used that way.”

  “The undead serve a penance for the evil committed during their life. And so we call them penitent.”

  A shiver of anxiety ran down Nicolas’s spine. The dead were among his greatest fears, and now he was stuck in a world filled with the undying.

  “We’ll speak more about it,” Mujahid said. “In fact, it’s central to what you must learn.”

  They reached the second level, and Mujahid led him to a stone door at the end of the hall. A skeleton walked out carrying a tray.

  Nicolas jumped.

  “You’ll get used to them,” Mujahid said. “Eat. Then get some rest. I’ll send for you in the morning.”

  The room was small and spartan. A bed was pushed up against the far wall next to a stone wardrobe. Next to the wardrobe stood a buffet blanketed with food. The centerpiece was a cooked turkey, but it was unlike any turkey he’d ever seen.

  Four drumsticks?

  His mouth watered, and he tore off a drumstick.

  “Amazing,” Nicolas said with his mouth full. “It tastes like turkey.”

  “What in the six hells do you expect a turkey to taste like?” Mujahid raised his eyebrow.

  “But it has four legs.”

  “I know. It’s a turkey.”

  “No, you don’t get it. This turkey has four legs!” He pulled off another drumstick and held it up for Mujahid to see.

  Mujahid shook his head and left the room, mumbling something as he closed the door behind him.

  It didn’t take long for Nicolas to drift off into a turkey-induced coma.

  The rotting head dripped with melting skin, and saliva foamed from gaping wounds in the jaw, where missing muscle revealed teeth and sinew. Hair in a patchwork of clumps clung to portions of charred skin that hung from the back of the skull. A jagged, severed spine extended below the head, and blood oozed between the vertebrae.

  It pushed itself into the room by coiling and uncoiling its severed spine.

  A scream rose in Nicolas’s throat, and he scooted backward on the bed.

  The head burst into flames, filling the room with the scent of burning flesh, until nothing was left but a pristine skull.

  It rose into the air several feet away.

  “No,” he said.

  “Nicolas,” the skull whispered.

  “No.”

  “Nicolas.” The skull raised its voice and drew closer.

  “Get away from me!”

  The skull rushed through the air, opening its mouth beyond the limits of human anatomy, unhinging its jaws like a ravenous snake as it reached his face.

  “Nicolas,” Mujahid said. “Wake up.”

  Mujahid shook him.

  “What happened?” Nicolas said. His head pounded like he’d been hit by a rodeo belt buckle.

  Mujahid’s eyes flashed white, and a wave of energy entered Nicolas’s body. The headache vanished, followed by the anxiety.

  “This is far worse than I feared,” Mujahid said. “We can’t delay any longer.”

  “Morning already?”

  “I left you two hours ago.”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “The Hall of Power calls, boy, but your lack of training prevents you from doing anything about it.”

  Nicolas leaned back against the wall.

  “Did the skull explode with power, crackle with energy, or do anything out of the ordinary…that is, compared with previous dreams?”

  “It was all on fire and stuff. I could smell it. Disgusting.”

  “This is important. You must follow my every direction.”

  Nicolas swallowed.

  “Do you remember the sick man?”

  “You said he’d failed in the halls, but I don’t know what you meant.”

  “Not just any hall. A Hall of Power. Halls of Power are places where necromancers go to advance their knowledge. They are…mental constructs. And each Hall of Power is connected to yet another by a doorway.”

  “Anyone can do this?”

  “Only those who can wield magic…
people like us. Magi. And only a magus that knows his strength will emerge with his mind intact.”

  “So that guy that failed…he wasn’t strong enough?”

  “Strong, smart, agile, wise, compassionate, merciful…there’s no way to know to a certainty. His priesthood was his own, and only the gods know the attributes he needed to do their will. Suffice it to say he was tested beyond his measure.”

  “I don’t know about this.”

  “Your first Hall should be simple, but there is always a chance of failure.”

  “What do I do?”

  “As in everything, begin by clearing your mind. When your mind is at rest, remember the room with the white door and the black door. The black door leads to your Halls of Power.”

  He imagined the room, and the entrance appeared in his mind’s eye—the ornate door with strange symbols.

  “If something harms you in the Halls of Power, it harms you out here. So protect yourself.”

  “Why does the white door feel wrong?”

  “It leads to a perversion of our magic. Its arcane pathways run orthogonal to ours.”

  “Say what?”

  “Stay away from it.”

  “So I should enter the other one?” Nicolas looked toward the black door. The skull floated in midair beyond the threshold.

  “The black door is the path of the necromancer. But not yet. Tell me what you see.”

  “That skull. It’s just inside the door.”

  “In, out, up, down…these are concepts that have no meaning in the Halls, and you must embrace this. For a necromancer, a thing can be both friend and foe at the same time. This is an important function of our work.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “The skull is your foe. It will attack you the moment you approach it. But it is also your greatest ally.”

  “So do I go in or not?”

  “Calm yourself. Lack of focus will cause the Halls to collapse, and you’ll have to start over.”

  “So I’ll start over.”

  “You haven’t yet entered a true Hall yet, Nicolas. You merely stand on the threshold. If the Halls collapse while you’re inside them, your mind will collapse with them. Do you understand me?”

  “Um…sure?”

  “Oh for Arin’s sake, boy. The skull will attack you psionically. Certainly you know what that means?”

  “I don’t think we have that in Texas.”

  “It means that the skull will attack your mind,” Mujahid said. “But your mind and body are intertwined, so an attack against your mind is an attack against your body. You must never forget this. You’ll have to defend yourself.”

  “But how?”

  “Stay calm.”

  “But how do I defend myself?” A bead of sweat formed on his forehead as he realized he would be alone with that thing.

  “You must answer that question for yourself.”

  “What? How?”

  “Each of us brings something different into the Halls, and the opponents we face use our own minds against us.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” What if he failed? What if he was killed because of some stupid mistake?

  He shot backwards through the ornate door as if a catapult had launched him. He opened his eyes and stared at Mujahid.

  Mujahid swore. “You can try the patience of a rock, boy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nicolas said. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

  “An ever present fact.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Enough with your sorry. Calm your mind.” Mujahid took a deep breath. “Focus on the energy around you. I know you feel it.”

  Nicolas adjusted his position on the bed.

  “No more than thirty feet below you is my ancestral crypt and—” Mujahid stopped as if he had almost let a secret slip. “Power permeates this place.”

  “It’s all around me.”

  “Draw it into you.”

  “How?”

  “Always with the questions,” Mujahid said, and Nicolas’s eyes snapped open.

  Mujahid sighed. He placed his hands over his eyes and squeezed, but after a few moments, he patted Nicolas’s shoulder.

  “I’m an old man, and it’s late at night. And…it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do this. A very long time, indeed.”

  “You don’t look too old.”

  “Boy, you have no idea.”

  Nicolas squinted.

  “The energy around you is what we call necropotency,” Mujahid said. “Some refer to it as death energy. Think of necropotency like a footprint in the snow. A person walks through the snow and leaves footprints behind, yes?”

  “Some deeper than others, yeah.”

  “More insightful than you realize.” Mujahid made a sweeping gesture across the floor with his arm. “The world of the living is the snow. As a person passes from life to death, they leave a footprint behind. Necropotency, death energy, is that footprint.”

  “Let’s say I understand. What exactly does that mean?”

  “Necropotency has life of its own, but it has no direction or purpose. The necromancer must imbue that energy with purpose and direct it toward an end…small tasks like moving an object, healing a wound.” Mujahid pointed at Nicolas’s head. “Taking away a headache.”

  “Summoning the dead?”

  “Oh, Nicolas, that is no small task. That is our very purpose for existing. The undead are the reason Zubuxo has given us this gift. But…we must conquer your first Hall of Power or it will all be moot.”

  “Can I use this necropotency to calm myself down?”

  Mujahid smiled. “The mind finally grasps what has been right before it. Direct the flow of energy to your mind, and let us begin again.”

  Nicolas wasn’t sure how to do this, but he started by seeing if he could command the power to enter his body.

  Power! In!

  He didn’t feel any different. He felt the energy around him, but it wasn’t entering him like before.

  Necropotency, inside me is where you wanna be!

  Nothing. So rhyming wasn’t the answer.

  Abracadabra?

  Still nothing.

  So much for magic words.

  Mujahid stood and paced. “The energy is like a child. You don’t command a child to fish…you show it how to bait a hook. You are the magus. Direct it. Show the power what you want it to do.”

  The energy was all around him, as before. It brushed against him, making the hair on his arm stand on end like some sort of liquid electricity.

  He imagined himself to be the drain at the bottom of a large tub, and visualized the necropotency swirling around the drain and entering him.

  Every hair on his body stood on end.

  The necropotency turned into a vortex that surrounded him and whipped the linens around on his bed. The food that remained on the banquet table flew up and around him, tracing the outline of the invisible tornado of energy. The vortex, and the objects it carried, compacted at a point in front of him and the room grew silent.

  The energy slammed into the center of his chest, along with the food and linens, and threw him back against the wall.

  “I see.” Mujahid raised an eyebrow. “Might I suggest that next time you leave some power in the crypt for the rest of us?”

  Nicolas groaned and sat back up.

  He did his best to get comfortable with his back against the wall. He formed an image, but instead of water pouring into a drain, it was a small creek entering his mind.

  “Good,” Mujahid said. “Now call to mind the entrance to the Halls.”

  The skull hung beyond the black door, as it had before.

  “I’m there,” Nicolas said. He felt different this time. Serene.

  “The skull will attack in a way I cannot know or predict. Trust your instincts.”

  Nicolas forced himself closer to the door.

  “Doubt is your enemy,” Mujahid said. “Doubt will lead you to failu
re. It is you who are the master of your mind. Keep your purpose ever before you.”

  Nicolas stepped through the black door.

  A feeling of wrongness permeated Nicolas’s being. He shouldn’t be here.

  Lord Mujahid told me to do this. So why do I feel like I did something wrong?

  A light source above bathed everything in electric blue.

  He expected an attack when he stepped through the door, but nothing happened. The skull was gone.

  I’m not ready for this.

  The light grew brighter.

  How can I fight something I can’t see?

  As the light intensified his panic faded.

  There’s nothing to fight.

  It comforted him to know he had been afraid of nothing all along.

  I just need to sleep. Lord Mujahid will send for me in the morning.

  The light radiated warmth that made Nicolas want to curl up and sleep. But his bed was missing.

  That’s odd.

  The light was good. It would help him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his bed against the wall.

  But it was gone a minute ago. No, I just missed it, is all.

  He remembered sitting on his squeaky bed at home. Something was wrong that day, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Mujahid had driven him to a funeral, then they went back home for a huge meal.

  That’s…not right, is it?

  Every time he tried to focus his thoughts, it was like trudging through mud.

  The sense of wrongness returned, but the light grew stronger. It called to him, and he wanted nothing more than to bask in its radiant warmth. Everything would be ok in the light.

  But, how can light be coming through my ceiling?

  The warmth grew stronger, but it was relaxing. He sat on his bed and unbuttoned his shirt. This was going to be the most restful sleep of his life.

  The light was his life’s purpose now. It was all he needed.

  He reached into his pants for the picture of Kaitlyn. He always looked at her picture before going to sleep. He could smell her rose-scented lotion as if she were standing right next to him.

  Clarity hit him like a bucket of cold water.

  The light was his enemy.

  He imagined a bubble of energy around his body, and the power left him, forming a barrier that closed around him. The necropotency shielded him from the radiance and cleared the cobwebs in his mind.