The Necrosopher’s Apprentice

by Lilith Hope Milam

  “But first you must complete the spell,” Osric said, his head tilting to one side as he pointed at the blade that laid atop the pillar.

  Yes! Once the spell is complete, nothing will stop Pure Humanity!

  Morrow hunched over the pillar and picked up the blade.

  “For the spell to work Primus, you must die,” Osric explained, “and all Eldervost must die with you.”

  The old man smiled and nodded. The young vicar was right! But how did he know? It didn’t matter, now was the time! So many years, he had held the Harbinger at bay for so many years. It was time to spill his own blood for the salvation of his people!

  He laid the back of his hand on top of the phylactery and placed the tip of his knife against his wrist. He positioned the blade to avoid the tendons and thrust it in. As the blood began to run down his arm, he tried to switch the blade to his other arm. The pain dulled from the thrill of being so close to completion, but it was still difficult to grasp the hilt of the dagger.

  He maneuvered the blade’s pommel to rest on his belly and the tip of the blade on his unscathed wrist. As if he were hugging the dagger, he squeezed it into his other arm. He couldn’t grasp it to pull it back out though. He had to get his blood flowing!

  Bringing up the hilt to his mouth, he bit into its leather wrapped handle and drew out the blade, dropping it from his weakening jaw to clatter on the stone floor. Hot blood splashed his face and ran down his neck. It wouldn’t be much longer! Pure Humanity was well on its way to triumph! This would work!

  Soon he would feel the minds of all the people of Eldervost join and be guided by his own. Together, under his care, they would at last transform into Pure Humanity. One will, one purpose!

  He tried to remember his decades-old plan. His memory was so muddy now. Something was wrong. He didn’t feel the rush of human minds coming to him in communion. It was like he was being sucked instead into an undertow. Like he was slipping into everyone else’s thoughts.

  Sharpe grasped the pillar with blood-slick hands and slid down onto his knees. His head swam. He looked at the young cleric, puzzled at how this happened.

  Osric clapped his hands and laughed. “You never knew! But we did! We always knew! You’ve never been alone with your own mind ever since you have known us. Ever since you found us so many years ago in the hands of those feeble cobolds, we’ve known your intent. We’ve known and made sure your actions have always benefited us.”

  The Vicar pointed at one the Sentinels. “You! I speak with the Authority of the Harbinger now! I command you to break the circle!”

  The guard obeyed and walked up to the chalk line, dragged his foot through the white powder. With no way for Sharpe’s will to be contained and transformed by the spell, the last of his mind spilled out as his consciousness joined every human’s in the once Grand Duchy of Eldervost.

  Osric walked forward and looked down at his dying master. “Don’t think of this as betrayal, think of it as your reward.”

  He squatted down and dipped a finger in the blood pooling around Sharpe’s body. He then drew the sigil of the First Born on the man’s pale forehead, a circle crossed with long diagonal lines.

  “Yes, we knew what you were like all along,” he explained, “but in the end, we couldn’t allow you to remain in the way.”

  “We are of our word though. You will serve us in the new kingdom. And you get your heart’s desire too! Your people are saved, just…” he paused, “not how you intended. An entire nation bound together instantly? Such an amazing resource! We couldn’t allow it to fall into lesser hands.”

  The light began to fade from Morrow Sharpe’s eyes. “Don’t you worry. We will care for you and your people as if they were our own.”

  24

  The jailer held his lantern out, minding the stairs. Getting to work was the worst part of his job. No one ever cleaned these stairs and years of slick mildew made the descent treacherous. It wasn’t made any better with that idiot guard, Poul, always following too close on the way down. Like now.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, get the blazes off my heels!” he yelled at his coworker.

  “I’m afraid I’ll slip, Dehn,” Poul said.

  “I’ll sure as the darkness slip if you don’t back off!” he replied. “Now stop following me so close or I’ll send you down the fast way!”

  “Okay! Alright!” Poul placated, and slowed his steps.

  At the bottom, Dehn pulled a heavy keyring off his belt-hook. He smiled as they jingled a mocking tune. Often he would sing while jostling them when he’d leave for the night. Each taunting syllable would get their own shake of the keys.

  “I’m. Go-ing. Home. Hav-ing. A. Beer. And. Shag-ging. Your. Wife!”

  He gave a happy little shake of his keys at the thought and unlocked the door. It creaked and echoed down the passageway. The dungeon’s stench rolled over him like a heavy blanket. Every damn day it stung his nose. It took hours to get used to it and clung to him all the time.

  Poul strained out a nervous whisper, “I don’t know about this Dehn, I don’t want to get in trouble with the Vicar.”

  “Will you shut up Poul,” snapped Dehn. “Darkness take the Vicar, that moist wad of weed,” he swore. “We have never kept a sub-human prisoner alive yet and I don’t give a spit and yank if it’s the Vicar’s pet!”

  He pulled his keys back from the door and swung it open. “I’m tired of this crippled beast’s stink and I’m not gonna mind him any longer.”

  Dehn hung his key ring back on his belt and pulled out his club with a slow, unpleasant scrape. He tapped it against the wall as he approached the cowering bugbear.

  “Oof! The stink coming off it! I don’t even need that lamp to find it. Still. Shine it over here so I can see what I’m doing,” he said.

  “Gads, you look a fright! Don’t you worry though, it won’t matter soon enough.” He leered at his prisoner, imagining the cruelty he had planned.

  Asman, fearing the blows that were sure to come, covered his throbbing head in his hands and curled up even tighter around himself on the cold floor.

  “I thought you fleabags were some sort of mighty breed of fighters?” The jailer jabbed Asman hard with the end of his club. Asman tried to turn away, but there was only so much corner he could fit his large body into.

  Dehn brought down several blows on Asman’s arms, waiting for the moment the bugbear lowered them. Then he’d start in hard on his head.

  The lantern light began to weave and sway. “Dammit, Poul! Hold that lantern up! I can’t see where I’m aiming at,” barked Dehn.

  “I don’t feel so good Dehn.” Poul rocked on his heels a bit where he stood then leaned against the wall.

  “Man up, Poul. The smell ain’t that bad,” said Dehn. But all of a sudden, he wasn’t feeling right either. The blackweed in his mouth began to turn sour and his stomach felt tight. Was he going to puke? By the Spirit, he was!

  He looked around the cell and his mind raced, panic creeping up the back of his neck. What was going on? His body felt like it had to purge everything he'd ever eaten.

  Poul slumped to his knees and the lantern hit the floor, its light rolling across the ceiling. Heaving on a, he began to vomit and shit himself.

  Dehn couldn’t hold himself back any longer either. His body was trying to squeeze its innards out. It felt like it was never going to stop, even after his guts had emptied themselves out. Dry heaving, he tried to crawl out of the cell, but he was growing weaker and weaker. He slipped in the pool of the filth they had made and couldn’t get back up.

  In the corner, Asman was finally able to lower his hands and he turned his head slowly, listening. What had happened to them? Were they dead? Unconscious?

  Crawling on his hand and knees, he felt his way towards where they lay. He felt their sick on the floor and did his best to avoid it, but it was everywhere.

  Reaching out, he found one of the humans and turned him over. He found his mouth and opened it. Loweri
ng his ear, he listened, waiting for the air to brush his cheek.

  Nothing.

  He had never heard the cell door close behind them either.

  Feeling his way to the wall, he levered himself upright and kept one hand out to guide his way.

  Then he saw something in his blindness.

  At his feet, a dark purple glow began to form. The light swelled, slow as a moonrise. It was moving along the floor, growing, like a fog rolling in from the ocean.

  The fog then began to coalesce into more recognizable shapes. No! It wasn’t shaping itself. It was gathering itself into the bodies of the humans.

  He knew that if he was going to escape, he had to do it now.

  Keeping one had on the wall, he bent back down quickly, reached out and searched the bodies. He found what he had heard before, the keys on the jailer’s belt. He knew he couldn't come back if another door barred his way.

  Heading in the direction he’d heard the humans come from before, Asman felt his way down the corridor of the dungeon and began the long climb towards fresher air. Where would he end up?

  He knew from their conversations that they were somewhere beneath the temple, but where was that in the city? He didn’t have a plan or any way to make one. He would have to just take things as they came. First, he had to get out of the dungeon. One step at a time, using his hands for support and guidance on the steps as if he were climbing a ladder, he ascended the steep stairs.

  At the top, Asman sucked in a breath through his nostrils and strained his ears to detect anyone approaching. All he could hear was emptiness and his own shuddering heartbeat. Where were all the humans?

  Across the landing, his hands found the worn wood of a door. It had a rough, wooden, stationary handle, but when he pulled it, the door didn't budge. He ran his fingers over the wood to find a keyhole. It was there, a simple hole carved into the door. He couldn't feel any metal and his fingers were too big to sense the shape of the lock.

  His hands shook as he attempted to match the right key to the door. He tried one, then another. No luck. The rattling of the keys sounded like clanging bells in his ears. He feared that he would be found at any moment. His large fingers fumbled as . he moved to the third key and the ring fell from his grasp. It hit the stone floor with a metallic clatter. The clamor echoed out into the chamber behind the door and down into the stairwell. He stopped. His heart was pounding in his ears so loudly that he was sure it would give him away more even than the noise of the keys.

  Keeping a hand on the door, he squatted down and patted the floor. Where did they go? His chest grew cold at the thought of the keys plummeting down the stairwell. Had they hit the bottom?

  His fingers finally brushed cold metal. He felt his heart skip and he let out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. He picked the keys back up and, after a moment, found the correct one. It slid in and turned. The clicking of the lock resounded in the silence. He waited again for the slight noise to raise an alarm.

  He shivered at the thought of finally leaving, then opened the door. Stepping through, he exited the stairwell. His senses felt like razors cutting through the air around him. He could tell that he had entered a cavernous and empty room. It was as if the world had disappeared along with his sight. He took a deep breath, hoping for fresh air at last. The acrid smell of defecation was so intense that he could taste it and he stopped to retch, hunched over with his hands on his knees. The wave of nausea subsided and he felt that he could continue if he kept his breathing shallow and tight. Still, there was no avoiding the stench.

  He took a few steps forward, straining to sense what was around him. His hands met cold polished stone curving around and away. A pillar? He must be standing behind it, hidden from the rest of the chamber.

  Following it slowly around, he saw a massive dark purple glow in front of him. It covered the floor. He stopped cold. Why could he see this light, in the dungeon? Both his eyes were gone. Was this a hallucination caused by the damage?

  He stepped toward where it emanated from and realized it was the same foggy glow again that coalesced into the shapes of bodies just as it had below. But instead of two guards, there were almost a hundred human figures scattered around the floor of what must be a large open chamber. They were also the source of the stench.

  He couldn’t see the floor or any of the room around him. He only saw the shapes of the bodies lying in various wretched positions, all unmoving. Each one of them was composed of a dark purple glow. How was he able to see them, he wondered again. Why? Did it have anything to do with those strange dreams he had been having for months? That's what the violet light reminded him of anyway.

  But before he was able to guess further, a voice spoke above him, “Why it's our guest! We were coming to see how you were doing. How did you make it out? No matter, we’ll have you back in your room soon enough. Guards!”

  Asman tilted his head back to face the voice and saw above him the same mass of glowing worms that he envisioned when the Vicar took his sight. Had that been real as well? Was this real?

  From below where the Vicar figure stood, two shapes stepped into view, glowing brightly with writhing purple auras. They approached where he stood and Asman could tell from their stance that they were each holding something long. Spears or pole-axes most likely.

  The guards split up, one coming straight on and the other moving out to one side. They were going to flank him! He wasn’t sure how to keep his ragged attention on them both until the guard to his right stepped behind him and into his blind spot. To Asman’s surprise, he could still see them both!

  They were on either side of him now and he could still see them without turning! He realized it was the same for each of the bodies that lay on the ground. He felt like his mind was a single, all-seeing eye, gazing in every direction at once.

  The realization distracted him enough to allow the guards to get within striking distance, but he snapped out of it as the one behind him attempted to thrust whatever weapon he bore into Asman’s back.

  He twisted his exhausted, aching body towards the attack, allowing the tip of the weapon to pass behind him. The guard was within reach and Asman brought his claws around in an arc, slicing through the human’s neck. Asman saw his attacker’s head fall to one side and flop in an unnatural manner to hang down his back. It had been only partially severed. The guard’s glow dimmed to match the bodies that lay all around them, then blinked out of existence.

  The other guard took the opportunity while Asman watched his first attacker’s light die to also try to stab him in the back. Asman saw the jab as if it had happened right in front of him.

  He stepped to the side and elbowed the guard in the face. He felt his arm connect with a helmet, followed by a muffled crunch and scream as the guard fell to his knees.

  Asman turned and stepped over the guard. He grabbed the top of the helmet with both hands and twisted hard. This too was followed by a crunching sound, but the screaming stopped. Another light snuffed out.

  He heard clapping above him and he returned his focus to the Vicar. “Oh, that was amazing! Now how were you able to sense them? We really must know. But it looks like we’ll need someone more capable of subduing you. Perhaps someone closer in size?”

  From his left, Asman saw yet another purple figure step out from some hidden recess. Where was he keeping these goons?

  “Servant! Collect your comrade and bring him to us!” the Vicar commanded.

  Comrade? What was this? The figure was large and glowed black with a corona of violet. It stood his height and shared his build, but an odd shape writhed where its back should slope. The smell of it wafted across the death stench of the humans, familiar. It growled deep at him. He took one more sniff, trying to identify the scent. No. It couldn’t be.

  “Uncle?” he gasped.

  “What was that you said?” the Vicar asked. A tone of understanding came over his voice. “Oh my, you’ve been looking for him?”

  The human laug
hed high and piercing. “All this time you’ve been with us because you were looking for this sub-human freak? Well, now you have found him. What a beautiful time for a reunion!”

  The beastly figure stepped towards Asman. The growl in its chest grew and twined with another sound. A chittering, wet noise, like so many wet teeth biting against each other.

  Asman saw the figure clearly as it closed the distance. It was his uncle. It was Buchak. But his body was joined to a writhing mass of thick, worm-like tentacles.

  His uncle stalked towards him with a shambling, broken gait.

  Asman stumbled backward. His heart could only handle so much. He needed to get away from this insanity. He didn’t care which way he headed. He had to get away! He stumbled over and kicked through bodies until he ran hard into a wall and fell on his back, groaning in renewed pain.

  The Vicar laughed maniacally as Asman rolled over and staggered to his feet. Upright, he searched the wall he hit with shaking hands. There had to be some way out of this horror!

  His frantic fingers brushed against wood. From behind, he could see the lurching mass staggering towards him as he hunted for an escape. There!

  He found a large ring fixed to the wood and pulled. The door swung open and fresh air washed into the large chamber. He battered his shoulder as he staggered through and fell outside.

  He could hear a breeze whistling and the splashing of a fountain in front of him so he headed in that direction. There were as many bodies out here as in the temple, which seemed to be male, female, and young humans. Shining purple shapes in a sea of black. Wait. Were they growing brighter now?

  What had been his uncle howled from within the temple. He had to keep moving!

  The foulness was not as thick outside and he could breathe easier. Where could he go from here? He didn’t care, anywhere away from this nightmare. Despair gripped him beneath his terror and confusion. He had failed. His uncle was gone.