Necropolis (Book One of Book One)

by Penn Fawn

  He wrapped a bit of cloth around the end of the tree branch he had brought along with him.

  “Please help. Prepare one for yourself too,” he said, addressing Nyeusi, who did as he was told.

  “Hold them close to catch the fire,” Kifo said, and he passed his branch to him.

  The former proceeded to rub two sticks he’d been mindful of bringing with him for precisely that purpose. He did so until he saw smoke and got a fire going. He used it to ignite the cloth they’d wrapped at the end of their poles.

  “Good,” he said, looking at the fire. “Now we can go.”

  They were a mere couple feet past the cave’s entrance when a sea of stirred creatures poured out of there.

  They gasped for breath then ducked.

  Theirs was a reflexive action, as was the movement of their arms that weren’t engaged.

  They’d instantly released their grip on the lit branches. These fell to the floor but continued to provide light while they held their arms aloft.

  Hearts raced, and they all but dropped their captive.

  So spooked, focused, and fixated were they on the excited colony that it took a few seconds before acknowledging the blinding sea of darkness above, and in flight over their heads, were bats.

  In time they finally exited, and the two looked at each other.

  Their captive, now on the floor, slept as soundly as could be with fire blazing at the end of a branch, mere inches from his face.

  Nyeusi got hold of it and moved it away from him. Their prize, he mused, is one he almost burned.

  Kifo got his branch and they moved no further before noting there was something black lying on the floor on their left nestled against the cave wall.

  They drew closer and felt a mixture of emotions when they now clearly saw it was a horse.

  “You were right about your hunch,” Nyeusi said.

  “So, I see,” Kifo replied, “unless there are other horses here aside from his.”

  “There are no others. You know as well as I that it is an animal alien to these parts. He is the sole person who has one.”

  “Is it alive?” Kifo asked.

  “Looks like it is, but barely,” Nyeusi replied.

  Kifo looked at the scrawny animal with scorn.

  “Remember what I told you when we get in there when we meet him,” Nyeusi said.

  “Right,” Kifo replied.

  “Unless you have some desire to perhaps meet an untimely death, don’t dare say a word unless you’re called on to speak,” Nyeusi said.

  “Trust me. I won’t. I’m not trying to get into any trouble, especially none of a supernatural or other nature,” Kifo replied.

  “Good,” Nyeusi said. “Are you ready?”

  “I am,” Kifo replied.

  “Good. Let’s go,” Nyeusi said. “Let’s get our bundle and be on our way.”

  What he so cavalierly referred to as our bundle was the captive who was still fast asleep. They got hold of the pole onto which he was bound, placed the ends over their shoulder, and Nyeusi led the way into the cave.

  “I was hoping this would not be as deep and elaborate as anything that we have back at the Black Mountains,” Kifo whispered.

  “You thought wrong,” Nyeusi replied, and Kifo began to feel warier of the weight they carried juxtaposed to encountering the necromancer.

  “I’m wondering how much longer this might take now,” he whispered.

  “Well, I didn’t think he’d be near the mouth of the entrance,” Nyeusi said as softly as he could. “Nor did I think he’d be at the entrance waiting to welcome us with open arms. What I’m beginning to wonder is if he’s even here or if we should have explored the first fork we saw as opposed to this one.”

  “But recall we saw his horse outside,” Kifo whispered.

  “That’s right,” Nyeusi whispered. “Where is my mind today?”

  Kifo’s face grew long.

  “What does it tell you? Do you get any sense of his presence here at all? You said you could feel such things,” Kifo whispered.

  “I’m not ashamed to say I’m beginning to question that,” Nyeusi replied.

  “Who goes there? Who dares enter here?” a voice echoed through the hallway.

  Their hearts raced, and they stood frozen.

  They looked about them but could not see from whom the voice came.

  “Answer, lest I strike you down where you stand!”

  Cold sweat appeared on Nyeusi’s forehead.

  “It is Nyeusi. The dark one, sworn to you by the mark of an innocent’s blood. By blood did my father deliver me unto you, and by blood do I seek deliverance.”

  An unnerving period of silence followed.

  A figure wrapped in a hooded black garment made out of burlap appeared from around a corner and walked slowly toward them.

  The garment covered him from head to toe. The length of it dragged on the ground, and his hood was pulled so far in front of his face that neither man could get a glimpse of his features.

  There was a double edge battleax in his right hand sharpened to lethal perfection. He held it firmly and close to his side, and it glistened in the light their torches provided.

  He stopped when he was a few feet away.

  “My time here has been long. My experiences? Too many to commit to memory. How can I be assured I know thee?” he asked.

  “If not by name or sight, by taste surely. My infant twin sibling’s blood and body were offered to you as nourishment so that in my hour of need you may know me. Our taste is the same, and by that, it matters not if you recall my name,” Nyeusi replied.

  “And, what proof have you of this?” the necromancer asked.

  “The supplicant asks whether he may present an offering?” Nyeusi replied.

  “He may,” the necromancer said.

  Nyeusi retrieved a small earthen vessel from his person. He sliced the inside of his left hand with his knife, let his blood collect into it, then he stepped forward and held the dia before him.

  The necromancer took it, brought it to his pale lips, and the second after he sampled the content, Nyeusi’s self-inflicted wound healed instantaneously.

  His blood, some of which had dripped onto the floor, immediately vanished.

  The scrawny horse, the bag of bones that lay on its side at the cave’s entrance, immediately became stout. It got on all fours and walked away from the cave in pursuit of some healthful exercise.

  “I know thee, son of Eyin. What is it that has brought you here seeking me?”

  “The need for deliverance,” Nyeusi replied.

  “And, from what do you seek deliverance?” the necromancer asked.

  “The scourge,” Nyeusi replied. “It has multiplied a hundred if not a thousandfold upon our lands. We seek the power to contain it, and as such, my accomplice and I have brought you a sample so you may recall this foe.”

  The sample he mentioned awoke from being under the influence of whatever Kifo had him inhale earlier.

  He was on the cold floor, on his side. He saw a hooded figure in black conversing with Nyeusi, who continued his supplication. He noted he bore a double-edged ax in his right hand, and his appearance was shrouded in mystery.

  For sure, he said to himself, he never saw any Shetani dressed like that, or was he one of them at all? Or, might that figure be the necromancer, he wondered, the alleged practitioner of dark arts and lord of the underworld he had so often heard mentioned.

  He noticed Kifo was in the picture, off to their right.

  He combed his mind to recall his last memories before awakening, provided he was awake.

  His heart began beating violently.

  He acknowledged he was not dreaming.

  The last of what he could recall before he became unconscious was Kifo attempting to stifle him, or so he suspected was his intention.

  But where or what is this place of darkness he found himself in now?

  Why was he on the cold floor with his arms and legs b
ound? Those were questions that tormented him.

  Unsure of what to do, he thought it was best to be silent.

  His heartbeat thumped like a drum pounding in his ear.

  He broke into a cold sweat and tried to compose himself enough to listen to what Nyeusi discussed with the figure draped in black. The figure who wore gloves and shoes plated in finely worked pieces of metal.

  The gloves were made from interlocking pieces that moved harmoniously with every movement of his fingers. The pieces above the knuckles revealed four spikes when he made a clenched fist, and at the tip of his shoe was a spike so devilishly pointy, it could puncture and mortally wound a man or beast unfortunate enough to be the recipient of a kick from him.

  None of what he and Nyeusi discussed sounded familiar to the captive. The old-fashioned manner in which they spoke did not help him get a better grasp of what most of it was about.

  He was able to discern, however, Nyeusi apparently wanted some kind of advice or help from him about safely and reliably transporting a large body of his men over an area with limited resources. Requesting this help, as far as he could tell, required a sacrifice.

  “After what you put me through today, I hope when it is your turn to die, it will be long, slow, and exceedingly painful,” he said, in a desperate attempt to combat the terror he felt was threatening to drive him to madness.

  His voice startled them, and all eyes now focused on him.

  “How dare you speak out of turn in the presence of our lord?” Nyeusi barked.

  “What lord?” he snapped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care. What is clear to me now is you planned to bring me here for some type of ritual sacrifice, and your executioner seems more than ready for the task.

  “So, on with it then, you scoundrel! I’m not going to cower and shrivel over you and your filth and your hate-filled intentions anymore.”

  Nyeusi directed his attention to the necromancer.

  “The time has come to make our offering to you,” he said.

  “Very well. Fetch it and follow me,” he replied.

  Nyeusi and Kifo once again got hold of the pole from which their bound captive had been suspended and carried, placed it over their shoulders, then followed the necromancer as he ventured deeper into the meandering pathway of the cave’s interior.

  He led them to a chamber in which an ancient prototype for what would be called a guillotine was kept.

  Hitherto, the captive had never seen such a device. He had a feeling it was meant for use on him notwithstanding, although he was ignorant about how that might be, or how one operated such a thing.

  The creatures behind its conceptualization and construct were not men but rather the goblins that once resided within the caves.

  Those goblins, like goblins in general, were every bit as bloodthirsty as ghouls for man-flesh. The guillotine was a novel spectacle among their communities as an aid in their food preparation.

  Nyeusi and Kifo placed their captive onto the floor and undid the rope near the base of his hands. They ordered him to stand, and he offered no resistance when they then placed his arms behind his back and rebound him near the base of his hands. He offered no resistance when they took him and placed him stomach down onto the guillotine bed.

  They brought the piece of wood meant to meet its counterpart together, given that his head and neck extended beyond the length of the bed.

  At this point, he felt assured of how the device was to be used now. Surely, the sharp and angular blade above him, he said to himself, would be dropped onto his neck.

  He felt his captors strap and fasten him firmly onto the slab on which he lay, so there was no chance he could stir to any significant degree, and what he now hoped for most was for the nefarious affair to be over.

  The necromancer stood several feet away from him. Nyeusi, who got hold of the rope which held the blade aloft, looked at him for a sign of when to release it, and the last image their captive saw was the hooded figure give a thumbs down gesture.

  The normally stoic Kifo’s felt like his heart skipped a beat after hearing the sound the blade made after it was released. The captive’s head now lay in a container, and blood poured from the neck of the victim’s torso.

  Kifo was quick to remove the head from the container and put it aside, while Nyeusi watched the torso tremble under restraint as blood continued to pour from its neck.

  Neither was stoic about what took place, but they were ever mindful the necromancer could not do his work if he were not the recipient of a sacrificial offering.

  He needed to sample the element he was called upon to affect, not once, but on any occasion he was requested to render his services.

  Nyeusi was granted a look into his crystal ball after he made an offering, the necromancer’s stone as it was known.

  From there, he saw the alarming extent to which the scourge continued to exterminate the wildlife and destroy the habitat in the world beyond the lair.

  “You are to return here in three days during the middle of the day,” the necromancer stated, and how he spoke sent a chill down their spines.

  He was not next to them, yet his voice sounded as though it were coming from someone at their side, whispering into their ear.

  “He would be stripped from his flesh then,” the necromancer added, “and, his bones dried and ground into a powder.”

  Kifo swallowed, and his saliva felt like a lump of something solid going down his throat. Mindful of his accelerated heartbeat, he tried to breathe in a normal relaxed manner again.

  The necromancer stated he would provide them with a vessel containing the powder, and he would give a specific set of instructions regarding how it should be used.

  On the day they were to march toward the village of men, they were to whip it into a paste by adding a bit of water.

  They were to then dip their finger into it, then use that finger to place a mark across the forehead of every man and beast they were to engage.

  He added, “Have no fear of it being insufficient, stating they would soon discover its contents would not diminish or end until they used it on the last party they intended to employ.”

  He further instructed them to observe the powder will behave like a pigment once applied. It would not disappear until they’d completed their mission.

  His parting words, however, was using it would not guarantee a victory. Still, it would enable them and their animals to last a month without suffocating from thirst or want of water.

  “I was hoping for more,” Kifo said shortly after they set foot outside of the cave.

  “More?” Nyeusi returned.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “More of what?” Nyeusi asked.

  “I was hoping after all this, whatever he supplies us with will guarantee a victory,” he replied.

  “Oh,” Nyeusi said. “That,” he added.

  “Not so for you, huh?” Kifo asked.

  “Well, maybe it will,” Nyeusi replied.

  “And, you’re happy with that?” Kifo asked. “An uncertainty? After all this?”

  “How long do you think we can last during our intended mission without refreshment or supplies?” Nyeusi asked.

  “Not very long,” Kifo replied.

  “So, there you go. The powder will be a great help.”

  Kifo thought about it.

  “You still don’t seem too convinced,” Nyeusi said.

  “Oh, I am.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Mm, the tone of your voice, I guess. Your body language.”

  “I’m sure the powder will help, but I couldn’t help but think about the fact that he vanquished an entire city singlehandedly.”

  “We don’t know for sure how that came to be,” Nyeusi replied. “And, it’s not our place to ask.”

  Kifo listened.

  “What, how, or why he does what he does will always be a mystery. He will forever be a
n enigmatic figure,” Nyeusi added.

  The crow that was dispatched with a message for the men of the north continued toward Yagan, which aside from Kimbilio, was another safe haven for men that existed after the fall of Sanctuary.

  Tazama was the fellow sitting just outside the cave entrance located at the region’s highest mountainous peak when he thought he heard the voice of a familiar friend on the wind.

  He got on his feet and looked intently at the sky, toward the direction he thought he heard the sound come from.

  Jogoo, the crow, called out again, and Tazama caught sight of him.

  The former, mindful Tazama was not fluent in Crowspeak, landed on the rock next to him and excitedly uttered some words in that language notwithstanding.

  Tazama, aware any visit from his feathered friend could only mean he was there on a serious errand, looked at his leg and noticed a bit of paper attached to it.

  “I see you’re here on business as usual,” he said.

  Like Jogoo, meaning being mindful of the language barrier, he was sure to speak a bit slower than he usually did. He took greater pains to articulate his vowel and consonant sounds.

  Jogoo, who understood a little bit of what was called Manspeak in his tongue, crowed back at him, stating he was correct.

  “Very well,” Tazama, who understood him replied, for he knew the sound crows make to say ‘yes,’ in their language.

  “I won’t keep you long then,” he added. “I will fetch Bosi immediately because I remember you don’t much care for coming inside or being inside caves.”

  Jogoo crowed once more, stating he appreciated this, and Tazama understood him as soundly as he did when he communicated with a pet wolf or dog.

  He departed.

  The former paced about in the usual manner crows do while musing over how paradoxical a creature Tazama and his ilk were.

  Clearly, or so he asserted, they did appear to possess a reasonable degree of higher intelligence. Why they were against putting this to use in a manner that was ultimately beneficial to themselves and those things and other creatures around them, was a question that addled his mind.

  Tazama returned with Bosi.

  Four other men who were with the latter when Tazama brought news of Jogoo’s visit came with him.