Necromancer Awakening

by Nat Russo

  The floor had murals too, though they seemed more abstract—sparkling blotches of light in no particular order or shape.

  There wasn’t a single source of light. Instead, the images on the dome walls and ceiling gave off light in all the colors they were painted in, if paint were the right word.

  As they drew closer to the statue, Nicolas could see a large grey sphere hanging in midair. He knew what it was immediately.

  An orb of power. It has to be.

  They stopped when they reached the orb of power. The statue of Death towered above them, menacing in its visage, yet comforting in its familiarity.

  A group of cichlos at the bottom of the statue all wore midnight blue cowls, similar to Jurn, and they were in the middle of a ritual. Another group of blue-cowled cichlos entered from an opening to the right of the statue. Jurn began to speak and gesture frantically, and this time Nicolas thought he heard a familiar word: Zubuxo.

  Encouraged, Nicolas pointed at the enormous statue and said “Zubuxo.”

  Jurn leapt toward Nicolas with a closed fist.

  Nicolas tried to summon a penitent, determined to put a stop to this once and for all, but before he remembered the shield surrounding his well of power, the shout of a deep voice broke his concentration.

  “Jurn,” the voice said. It came from behind Nicolas.

  Jurn backed away as if his life depended on it. He bowed at the waist and spread his arms to the sides.

  Unseen hands turned Nicolas around, gently, until he came face to face with a tall red-skinned cichlos, taller than most, dressed in ornate midnight-blue robes. The skin on his face sagged like an old man’s. Pearls stitched into the material reflected the light of the dome. More pearls covered the massive scythe the tall cichlos carried.

  The old cichlos shouted and Jurn dropped to the floor, prostrating himself before the colossal statue. The orb of power hummed, and Jurn’s undead guard winked out of existence.

  Jurn began to say something, but the old cichlos stopped him.

  When the old one had finished speaking, one of the other cichlos ran to the opening behind the statue. He returned a minute later carrying a white cowl.

  The old one said something to Jurn, and he stood back up. When he was on his feet, the cichlos holding the white cowl forced it into Jurn’s hands. Jurn stared at it as if he were looking at something hideous. Another cichlos stripped the blue cowl off Jurn’s shoulders and led him away.

  “Zubuxo,” the old cichlos said. He reached out and nudged Nicolas, gently, into the circle of cichlos who had formed at the foot of the statue. The cichlos joined hands and began to sing.

  A band of black energy formed among them, passing through each of them and creating an oily black circle of power that caused the hair on Nicolas’s arms to stand on end. The black energy created a wind that whipped their cowls around. When the wind reached a strength Nicolas thought might destroy the entire dome, arcs of black energy flowed out from the seven cichlos, forming a cone over the circle. A beam of oily, black power emanated down from the cone and struck the old cichlos in the head. His head jerked back, and he chanted words that were different from what the rest of the cichlos were chanting.

  The cone rose into the air and picked up speed as it approached the top of the mammoth statue. When it passed the statue’s face it transformed into a translucent bubble that surrounded Zubuxo’s head.

  The chanting stopped.

  The ring of energy vanished, and the air became still. All eyes turned upward and the bubble began to descend. The cichlos forming the circle gasped and started speaking.

  The bubble transformed in midair, shrinking as it descended. By the time it reached the circle, it was the size of Nicolas’s head.

  It stopped mere feet above the circle for a moment, then dove into the center of the circle and enveloped Nicolas’s head.

  Bolts of black energy arced from the inner surface of the bubble and reached into his mind like thousands of tiny fingers. When the sensation ended, he heard shouting.

  “This can’t be,” one voice said.

  “The People will never accept this, Sabba.”

  “Be still and watch, brethren,” the elder cichlos said. “You behold the fulfillment of the siek’s prophecy.”

  “But he is not of The People.”

  “Be silent for now, brothers.”

  It took Nicolas a moment to realize he understood their words.

  “Did it work?” one of the blue-cowled cichlos asked.

  “I can’t be certain,” another voice said.

  “Rest assured, brethren,” the elder cichlos said. “He understands every word you speak.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “He lives.” He turned to face Nicolas. “You live, human sab, do you not?”

  Nicolas had no idea what a sab was.

  “Zubuxo has blessed you,” the old cichlos said. “But we did not expect the prophecy to be fulfilled in this manner. Who trained you in the use of necropotency, and how are you capable of summoning one of The People? This should not be possible.”

  Nicolas shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve summoned something strange.”

  “Find us strange, do you?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I take no offense, hatchling. I seek only information.”

  Nicolas considered mentioning Mujahid, but decided to honor the man’s desire for anonymity for now.

  “I trained under a master necromancer above the lake, for a short time.”

  “A very short time, indeed. Had you summoned a penitent to fight Jurn, it would have ended your life, and we would not be having this conversation.”

  “Jurn,” Nicolas said. “So his name is Jurn. And yours is Sabba?”

  “Do not use that word,” the elder said, and his expression changed. “It holds no meaning for you, and so you abuse it by speaking it. Sabba is my title. I am the high priest.”

  “No one stands above him, human,” a cichlos said.

  The elder waved the cichlos away.

  “I take it this was some sort of test,” Nicolas said. “This black bubble thing on the statue.”

  “You are perceptive, for a human.”

  “Not like it would take a detective. These ones over here acted pretty surprised when that bubble started coming back down.”

  “Blasphemy,” one of the cichlos said.

  Nicolas gestured toward the cichlos who had spoken. “And that one almost wet himself when it hit me and I didn’t die.”

  “The prophecy is fulfilled by a human,” the high priest said. He seemed surprised.

  “I’m tired of no one telling me anything! First Muj—” His anger almost made him slip. “First my teacher, and now you. So if I failed your little test, what then? Another ass-kickin’?”

  The high priest looked Nicolas up and down as if considering something. “You would have been cast out of Aquonome without air or assistance.”

  “Nice,” Nicolas said. “And since I passed?”

  “Let there be no misunderstanding. You do not want to fail the tests that follow.” He turned to the group of cichlos and said “Take him to the siek.”

  Nicolas shook his head. “More guards?”

  “They are not guards, human,” the high priest said. “You have sufficiently demonstrated you are a member of the priestly caste. You are not our prisoner.”

  “You’re saying I can just walk out the way I came and you’ll leave me alone?”

  “Yes. But there is something you should know first.”

  “It involves ass-kickin’, right?”

  “You will never find your cet if you leave this place. The humans cannot teach that which you need to learn.”

  “What the hell’s a cet?”

  “I am not your siek, human. Stay and learn, or leave and remain ignorant. That is my offer.”

  “How can you allow him to decide?” a cichlos said. “If you are correct, then you know what is at stake as well
as—”

  The high priest held out his hand. “The choice is his. That is how it must be.”

  Nicolas closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for Kaitlyn’s face to appear, followed by the impotent longing that raged like a storm in his mind. Mujahid said getting back home had something to do with learning as much as he could about necromancy. But for all he knew the man was already dead, executed by the court in Caspardis. Leaving wasn’t an option. Not a good one, at least. So if a fish could teach him what he needed to know…then he’d learn how to swim.

  “I’ll stay, if I can be taught.”

  The high priest nodded. “Take him to the siek.”

  A cichlos nodded and walked toward the opening behind the statue. He looked back over his shoulder and said “Follow me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They entered a small dome behind three formations of white-cowled cichlos. A blue-cowled cichlos at the head of the group was speaking in a rhythmic, sing-song voice, and with each beat of the rhythm, the students conjured a ball of electric-blue light that pulsed in their hands. There must have been close to a hundred students total.

  Nicolas’s escort held up a bundle of white fabric that unrolled into a set of white robes and a large white cowl, which he held up against Nicolas’s back.

  “This will do for now,” he said. “It’s the smallest I could find.”

  “What’s wrong with the duds I’m wearing?” Nicolas asked.

  The cichlos looked him up and down and Nicolas followed his gaze to his own tattered robes. It hadn’t occurred to him he looked like he’d been flogged, dragged through mud, then drowned in a lake.

  “They are not white, among other things,” the cichlos said, as if giving Nicolas the time of day. “You are a student. You wear white, not brown. Someday you wear midnight-blue. And your boots won’t do at all.”

  “Now why is every damned body in this damned place trying to take my damned boots all the time?”

  The cichlos was unmoved.

  Nicolas pursed his lips, feeling uneasy about having to change here.

  Thank god for gym class, he thought, coming to terms with his lack of underwear. He pulled his robes over his head and let them drop to the floor, leaving nothing on except his brown boots.

  The room grew silent. He looked up and saw everyone in the dome staring back at him.

  “What are you doing?” The cichlos demanded. His eyes spun in circles on both sides of his head. “You change in there.” He pointed to a small room that had emerged from the floor.

  “Really? You couldn’t tell me that a minute ago?”

  He took the clothes from the frantic cichlos and clutched them against the front of his naked body.

  “I’m keepin’ my damned boots,” he said and marched into the room.

  The robes were too long by far, and two men could fit inside them.

  “The siek is expecting you,” the cichlos said. “You may approach him now.”

  “Somebody ever gonna tell me what a siek is? I’m not from around here.”

  The cichlos made a harrumph sound. “I hadn’t noticed.” He turned and walked away.

  “So y’all do get sarcasm here,” Nicolas said.

  The blue-cowled cichlos paced in front of the students, his sagging skin orange with black striations and splotches. He looked like someone in authority, so Nicolas hiked up his robes and started walking.

  Energy entered Nicolas’s mind. Not the sort of energy that would fill his well of power, but fingers of electricity that slid along the surface of his brain. The sensation was unsettling.

  The blue-cowled cichlos stepped toward Nicolas. Arcane energy filled the air like static electricity. When they met in the middle of the formations, Nicolas wasn’t sure whether he should speak. Every time he opened his mouth he got in trouble.

  The cichlos looked him up and down, then huffed. What was it with the cichlos examining him from head to toe every five seconds?

  The blue-cowled cichlos was shorter than the high priest, and his cowl wasn’t as ornate, but one distinguishing feature stood out—a large gold necklace hung down into his shirt.

  “I am Lamil Jiskossa,” the cichlos said in a deep, soothing voice. He was the image of serenity. “I will be your siek. It appears you have much to learn.”

  “Why, because I’m human?”

  “Because you are ignorant.”

  Nicolas opened his mouth to speak but his breath struck an invisible wall and rebounded into his mouth.

  The siek continued in the same soothing tone. “We could have had this conversation in silence, yet you did not hear me. Perhaps you did hear, yet refused to respond. If you did not hear me, then you know little of your own power, which makes you ignorant of yourself. If, on the other hand, you refused to speak to me, then you know little of your place in this world, which makes you ignorant of everyone around you. Either way…you are ignorant. Knowledge and wisdom are the enemies of ignorance. Therefore, it would appear you have much to learn. Does my explanation satisfy your need for logic, human?”

  Nicolas had expected many things but an actual explanation wasn’t one of them. “Yes it…does,” he said. The invisible wall was gone.

  “Yes it does…Siek.”

  “I don’t like to use words I don’t understand.”

  Siek Lamil looked him up and down with one of his independent eyes. After a moment, both eyes came to rest on Nicolas.

  “Then I shall tell you, and together we will decrease your ignorance.” Lamil placed his hands behind his back. “Siek has many meanings. In some ways it means master. In other ways it means wise one, or teacher. You may take your pick. But whichever meaning suits you, you would do well to begin using it.”

  “All it is with you people are threats. Either I succeed, or—”

  “Calm yourself, student. Your ignorance causes you to hear threats where none exist. The danger with ignorance, however, is that it can also blind you to real threats. Ignorance in a priest is a danger to all. Using my title is a sign for others that you have taken your first step on the journey towards wisdom.”

  “You sound like Mujahid.”

  He regretted saying the name as soon as it left his mouth, but Lamil didn’t react.

  “An ignorant person who wields great power, is a dangerous person,” Lamil said.

  “I wasn’t ignorant when Jurn opened up a can of whoop ass on me, Siek.”

  One of Lamil’s eyes turned, and Nicolas followed its gaze until he saw Jurn, dressed in a white robe that blended with his albino skin. There were other albino cichlos in the room, but none looked more like a chastised child than Jurn did.

  “Actually, you were ignorant in many ways,” Lamil said.

  “You can’t be—”

  “I seek to instruct, not excuse behavior. If you were less ignorant of yourself, then what Jurn did would not have been possible.”

  “You’re implying it was my fault?”

  “Strange.” Lamil tilted his head. “You inferred blame from my words. Causality does not imply moral culpability. Do you not know this?”

  Nicolas had to repeat the words to himself. “I didn’t do so well in Philosophy.”

  “Jurn’s ignorance lies outside your cet, and therefore is not your concern.” Lamil’s tone was patient, like a parent teaching a child to use a fork. “It was my poor judgment that elevated him to the midnight-blue cowl of mastery. Your ignorance, though a factor in the causal relationship that resulted in your beating, does not imply you are morally culpable for that beating. No blame. You see?”

  “Uhh…no.”

  Lamil rotated one of his eyes, and with the other he looked up and down at Nicolas. “You each shoulder a unique burden. You would do well to focus on your own journey, and leave Jurn to Jurn.”

  “I keep hearing that word…cet,” Nicolas said.

  “It is the place wherein your inner peace dwells. Knowledge I can give you, like food to a hatchling. But your cet is a place you must find on
your own if you ever hope to achieve wisdom.”

  “Helpful.”

  Both of Lamil’s eyes came to rest on Nicolas before turning to face opposite directions.

  “Dismiss the students,” Lamil said in a loud voice.

  Three cichlos emerged from the formations and called the students to attention. Soon, a continuous line of students left the dome.

  “Walk with me,” Lamil said and turned away.

  Nicolas followed him toward a table made from barrier energy.

  “It is no coincidence that brings you here, Nicolas.”

  “You know my name.”

  “Few things related to the priestly caste happen in Aquonome absent my awareness. But I have known you would come for a very long time.”

  First Mujahid and now this guy. Enough was enough. “Everybody has a prophecy in this dang place, but nobody ever tells me anything. What good’s a prophecy if you keep it secret?”

  “There are many prophecies, just as there are many….” Lamil stopped for a few moments and his eyes spun around in his head. When they came to rest he continued. “Your language is limited. Let’s call them gods for the sake of simplicity. There are many prophecies, just as there are many gods. Some are intended for multitudes of people to hear, while others are meant for the ears of a few or even one. A prophecy meant for one is meaningless to another, and prone to misinterpretation. Therefore it is best left unspoken. The people you refer to are acting appropriately.”

  Nicolas wanted a straight answer, and his frustration levels were climbing. He felt the probing fingers of energy in his mind, and he suspected the siek had something to do with it.

  “You are an impatient person,” Lamil said. “This keeps you far from your cet.” He glanced toward the top of the dome. “I could say the way home for you is up…but we both know it is not that simple.”

  Nicolas’s eyes grew large as he realized what Lamil was implying.

  “In order to find your way home, you must first understand why you left.”

  “It’s not like I got lost wandering around the fair grounds. Something did this to me.”