Necromancer

by Graeme Ing

  “So pretty.”

  They were, but I wasn’t about to admit that, or that I was jealous that they had sought her out. Instead, I walked forward until, fifty feet later, the way was blocked by a mound of earth and heaped bricks. A brackish pool of sewage had formed, knee deep, backing up until it spilled into smaller side pipes no wider than my hand.

  “Guess this is as far as we go.” Ayla flicked ash from her hair. “I’m not complaining, but I do need a bath.”

  I pushed and probed the blockage. There had to be a clue, some kind of trail. Sewers didn’t just explode and set fire to the neighborhood. Maybe Hallum had been right about the alchemy stash. Maybe the smugglers had been using the sewers. I placed one hand against the blackened wall. Something hot enough to boil water had passed through here last night.

  Running water echoed far below in the depths, and I dipped my head toward the overflow pipes, pinching my nose against the stink of sewage. If I couldn’t get past the blockage, maybe I could get below it. I drew energy from my core and fabricated a tiny ball of purple magic between my fingers. It rotated slowly, sparking and flickering. I tossed it into the pipe and the magic ball fell in silence.

  “What are you doing?” Ayla asked.

  “Shh.” I closed my eyes.

  Five breaths. Ten. Then my Probe spell burst and the magical echo washed through my mind. I tensed against the flood of tastes and smells: sulfur, water, copper, urine, shit. There! The same primordial power I’d sensed two nights ago. Hallum was wrong and I’d been right. Whatever magic had destroyed the street was way down there. Or had been.

  I turned to Ayla. “The trail is cold here, but we can pick it up in the deep sewers.”

  “How deep?”

  “Right down to the Gold River at least.”

  She shook her head. “What’s that? Are we going there now?” Her eyes sparkled.

  Did this girl never give up? I was tired of babysitting her.

  “Enough for today,” I said. “Bath time.”

  I waded out of the disgusting pool and peeled the sticky, dirty hem of my robe from my calves.

  “You’ve been there before, right?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “That’s all right then.”

  “Last time I was lucky to make it out alive.”

  “W-what do you mean?”

  I sloshed back uphill, not caring how much smelly sludge I kicked up.

  I needed to see Phyxia.

  That evening, I left Ayla with Mother B. and joined a throng of people meandering down Kand Hill. My destination was the Lantern District, a happening nightlife area that clustered around the base of a steep rock outcrop standing where the River Malik flowed into the harbor. Its heights twinkled with the multicolored hues of street lanterns and faery lights strung along its narrow walkways and winding stairs. An unlikely collection of houses and structures covered the rock, clinging precariously from its near-vertical sides. At its base, the crowds poured into the tunnels that honeycombed the interior, like an army of bugs returning to the hive.

  Inside the rough-hewn caverns, I stopped to buy fresh roasted jit-nuts, Asibrian cheese, and a bottle of brandy—an expensive import, of course. Phyxia had sophisticated tastes. Lantern smoke collected in the arched tunnel like a dark storm cloud. It reminded me of the burning street, except that it bore a sweet, floral scent.

  I started up the main stairway that spiraled lazily upward, crammed on both sides with stores carved into the rock. Goods and wares overflowed onto the steps, laid out for everyone to see: rugs, clothing, pottery, trinkets, canes. An endless supply of grubby urchins milled about, thrusting items into the hands of passersby. None dared to hinder me as I swept past. Let them cross themselves or mutter a prayer behind my back.

  The curve of the stair gave me an opportunity to glance back. On the bottom step stood the man I was certain had been tailing me since home, a short, wiry man who hid his head beneath a wide-brimmed hat. I bristled. He tried to conceal himself behind an elderly man with a young tart on his arm. It wasn’t the same man from the ruined street, but they dressed alike. Some form of silly uniform? I didn’t recognize it.

  All right, let the game begin.

  Having gotten a good head start up the stair, I turned into a side tunnel. Got to be quick. I hurtled deep into the rock then up a narrow staircase. A labyrinth of tunnels and alleys opened up before me. Should I hide and wait for him to tire and leave? He probably wouldn’t. I raced from one tunnel to the next, ducking my head in places, moving higher into the residential areas above the stores. His boot steps echoed behind me.

  I sucked in breaths, not daring to stop. Had he taken a shortcut? There was no way I would lead him to Phyxia’s door. I took a sharp left, left again and headed down, determined to find another way up. He wouldn’t expect that. My aching legs screamed at me.

  Blessed cool air washed over me, and I emerged onto a tiny walkway perched on the rim of the rock. It was a long way down. Sightseers edged away from me. My heart pounded and I panted like a dog. I’d lost him!

  He stepped out of a low archway opposite, his large hat now strapped to his back. How had he gotten ahead of me? He was good. We faced each other, me sucking in air and he looking as if he had barely exerted himself. His sheathed rapier was obvious beneath his long coat. He wanted me to see it. He wasn’t Guild, so whom had I crossed now?

  The sightseers stepped between us, oblivious to our standoff. I seized the moment to race back into the tunnels. Behind me, I heard angry shouts and the sound of a struggle, and it gave me a moment to turn a hard right, sprint along a narrow tunnel, and upend a stack of baskets. They bounced down the hallway and my pursuer’s curses echoed in the tight space.

  I arrived at the base of a dimly lit set of stairs, which looked more like a ladder. I clutched my chest, fearful that my heart would pound its way out. I hesitated long enough to fish a silver Mikk from my purse and then I heaved myself up, both the handrail and I groaning. At the top I wobbled into an open courtyard, panting and wheezing. The only light came from Lunas high in the sky. A gigantic, wide-armed man with his belly hanging over his belt buckle guarded the single exit tunnel. Thank Belaya!

  He cracked his knuckles—deafening in this isolated spot.

  “Targ,” I spluttered. “Behind me…tail.”

  I flicked the silver coin his way, and his huge bearlike hand reached out and caught it. Without a word he stepped aside. I pressed against the stitch in my side and pushed myself on, into the tunnel.

  At the sound of a sickening crunch, I glanced back to see Targ launch himself at my pursuer, who barely had time to draw his rapier before Targ’s belly crashed into him, smashing his back against the wall. Bones cracked and the man uttered a prolonged groan. I winced. Rumor had it that Targ was half-Uk. I could believe that. He made a great gatekeeper for those like Phyxia who hated uninvited guests.

  Good game. I always played to win.

  I exited the tunnel and negotiated a labyrinth of narrow alleys, until I arrived at a wooden door bathed in the flickering blue glow of everfire. My legs wobbled like jelly, so I perched on a low wall and breathed deep until my thumping heart settled.

  What in Belaya’s name had Hallum and I stumbled upon? Was he being followed too? Where did Ayla fit in? Her appearance seemed far from a coincidence. Phyxia always had answers.

  I pushed on her door. It clicked open and I slipped inside.

  Shadows filled the low hallway. The door shut behind me, and the uneven floor creaked as I crept cautiously forward. The hallway sloped downward from the door. I pictured her hovel sliding off the cliff and plummeting into the streets far below. Somehow, the dozens of similar shacks stacked on top of each other held them all in place. A house of cards. I carried my groceries into the main room.

  A petite woman, five feet tall at best, stared out an open window, her back to me. I watched her for a long moment. She wore nothing but a flimsy, almost see-through chemise, even though the room was icy
cold. I shivered under my heavy clothing and watched my breath steam in the air. Her chemise clung to her every luscious curve.

  My stomach fluttered. Did she enjoy teasing me?

  “You brought me jit-nuts,” she said in a quiet, distracted voice.

  She turned and stepped into the warm glow of a pair of floor candles. The stench of umber wax hung heavy in the air. A smile spread across her narrow lips, which parted sensually.

  “You’re always so thoughtful, sishka,” she said.

  Her pale hair glistened like silver, cascading from two partings that formed at the base of two horns on her head. Not the brazen red horns of a lazoul, but feminine and short, speckled with green fur. How I longed to caress them, but dared not and knew I never would.

  “And brandy,” she added, as I pulled the bottle from my sack. “Sit and let us share.”

  She perched on the edge of a hard wooden chair, allowing me to sink into the more comfortable couch.

  One didn’t rush Phyxia. I was anxious for answers but knew she would tell things in her own good time. It was a ritual. I fidgeted and forced myself not to sigh.

  To calm my jangling nerves, I poured the roasted nuts into a bowl, set out the pungent cheese that I had bought, and uncorked the brandy.

  Her fine-boned, childlike hands snaked into the bowl and she crunched the fire-hardened nuts. At intervals her slim ears twitched, accompanied by an eye tic that could be mistaken for winking. I adored her quirks. Her presence relaxed me, made me feel safe.

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?” she asked. “Misguided you?”

  I paused, brandy glass halfway to my mouth. An ominous start.

  “Why, are you about to?” I said.

  Her eyes laughed, mesmerizing me with whirlpools of blue and hazel and brown.

  “No. Not in all the time I’ve known you,” I said.

  “Remember that.”

  A shiver ran through me, not entirely from the chill air.

  A smile quivered on her lips. “Ask your question.”

  I sighed. “I’m at a loss on how to advance in the Guild. Fortak wants everyone to fear us. It shouldn’t be about that. The Guild is doing it all wrong. Am I being arrogant?”

  I took a sip and swirled the warming liquid around my mouth.

  Her ears twitched. “Humans judge too easily. Such matters require the perspective of decades. Don’t concern yourself with such trifles. Be who you are. History will judge, not your peers.”

  I dipped a jit-nut into the soft and creamy Asibrian cheese, and savored the exotic burst of earthy, herb flavors. She talked about decades like I would a few lunars or solars. How many aeons old was she? Had she really lived through the Age of Chaos?

  “When will you tire of this discussion?” she asked. “He is old and you are young. The future is yours, not his.”

  I helped myself to more cheese.

  “Your question?” she asked.

  “I’ve got a problem.”

  She chuckled, a melodic sound. “Only one?”

  “Funny. This is outside my purlieu. The dead I can handle, the living not so much. This chit of a girl just became my apprentice.”

  “You could use the company.”

  Why did everyone think they could run my life better than I?

  “I don’t need a girl tagging along. It isn’t play, what I do.”

  “She could watch your back. Another set of eyes and ears could come in handy.”

  “But—”

  “You have a rare talent, sishka. It’s your duty to pass it on. There are few who care for your trade as you do.” She gazed at the worn rug at our feet. “The world has become darker, the Iathic light long faded.”

  The floor candles seemed to dim. Her glance swept the room as if only now she grasped the reality of her decrepit surroundings. Why did she continue this masquerade? I loved her as a mentor—actually, I just loved her—but what was a being like her doing here, talking to a mere journeyman?

  I shook my head for clarity and gulped my brandy, letting it burn my throat.

  “You’ve never suggested that I take an apprentice before. Is there something you’re not telling me, like I’m heading for a sticky end?” I laughed.

  Her ears twitched and a smile spread across her petite face. She remained silent.

  “Um, this is when you scoff and assure me that I’m being silly.” I gestured for her to interject. “No? Great. I think I’d spend more time watching her back. Unless she’s some Gods almighty necromancer like my dearest mother.”

  I threw my hands above my head and exhaled hard.

  “Cut the crap.” Her eyes spun like a demonic vortex and her horns flashed red. “I don’t like this sarcastic streak that you culture. Stop hiding behind it and give the girl a chance.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  As quickly as her anger had risen, it faded, and she smiled. I refilled her glass with the expensive amber liquid, and slid another wedge of creamy cheese onto my tongue.

  “Could you harm a friend?” she asked. “If much depended on it?”

  Chewing gave me time to think about that. “Could you?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation in her voice.

  “Why? Am I going to have to? Is this something to do with the girl?”

  “Choices are all we have, all that we can depend on.”

  I gripped the arm of the couch. Talking to Phyxia was hard work. She was a fabulous mentor but had a way of making me feel inadequate. Is that what “the perspective of decades” does to you? Where was she going with this?

  She raised her hand, fingers outstretched. “Ask what you came here for. Don’t be shy.”

  I studied her immaculate manicure, a detail very much at odds with her decaying surroundings. My gaze drifted to her breasts, rising and falling beneath her chemise. We never had a chance, the two of us. Continuing upward, my eyes met hers. Color wafted around her irises like inks in water, as serene as I had ever seen them. The edge of her lip curled up. So inviting. Heat burned in my cheeks.

  “Say it, sishka.” Her whisper was barely audible.

  Did she mean my longing or my question? I chose the easy road.

  “Something monstrous, something…ancient is loose in the city. Everyone dismisses it, but you believe, don’t you?”

  A beatific smile lit up her face. Greens and blues tumbled in her eyes.

  “There we are,” she said. “Why couldn’t you have started with that?”

  Women! I could have started with that but she’d have steered me onto other things. I gritted my teeth.

  She sipped her brandy, staring at me all the while.

  “What is it?” I asked. “This entity.”

  She shrugged.

  “It’s important, isn’t it? I’m right to seek it out?”

  “Don’t ask a question you already know the answer to. Choices, sishka.”

  “It’s going to strike again. I know it is. How do I find it?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Cannot, or will not?” I slammed my hand on the arm of the couch. “Damn it! You’re the only one I can talk to. Don’t be so coy. What if it burns the whole city down?”

  A tiny frown furrowed her otherwise perfectly youthful skin.

  “You know what I am,” she said. “There are matters in which I cannot intervene.”

  “I need something solid. Anything. Even a hint. Who…what is it? Why did it burn a meaningless street to the ground? Why did it stop? What will it do next?”

  She sighed and her frozen breath hung in the air.

  “I’m sorry, sishka. I can only help those who cannot help themselves.”

  I brought my glass to my mouth and savored the brandy. Who can say what a creature like her can see of the future.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you,” I said. “Forgive me. That was incredibly rude.”

  “You’re passionate about your convictions, but be careful. Others have been damned for doing likewise. Remember the legend of Caradan.”<
br />
  Why mention that old ghost? I drained my drink.

  She crunched noisily on jit-nuts. Then she stood, a movement of effortless grace, and glided back to the open window.

  I blew out my breath. My visit had been for nothing, just a handful of cryptic phrases. I leaned back in the couch, neck muscles clenched. All right, so she wasn’t always relaxing—sometimes she could be damn infuriating.

  But always right. What was she trying to tell me? I slapped my forehead with my palm. Think, Maldren. What’s she hinting at?

  The next morning, I slouched alone on the south side of Canal Street, and squinted against Solas hanging low in the sky, framed between two buildings. A ragtag market was setting up on my side of the canal that ran down the center of the wide street. In half an hour the place would be crawling with people.

  My head throbbed from last night’s brandy. I drank it only with Phyxia and somehow I always ended up doing most of the drinking. If only I’d thought to grab a mug of mulip this morning.

  The only clues I’d found at the burned-out street were the hints from my Probe spell. The cause of the fire still eluded me, and what evil magic lay behind that malevolent smoke? I rubbed my nose. To reach Gold River I’d need a bargee guide, and that had never been a fun experience. I squinted across the canal at one of their favorite taverns.

  I’d been in The Downpipe a couple of times, not enough to have friends there. The two-story building stood sandwiched between two tenements, its bowed roof threatening to collapse, though I’d been saying “any day now” for five solars. Grimy moss clung to its facade, taking hold in the eroded point work, and when it rained, the whole wall oozed and dribbled water. Frankly, the whole thing looked like it belonged in the sewer.

  I cracked my neck to one side. This wasn’t going to be easy. It was as good a morning as any to get beaten up, I supposed.

  After checking on my knife concealed in my boot, I climbed the steep, stone bridge that crossed Rat Canal. From the top of its high arch I could see through the narrow streets to the harbor, six blocks away. From the corner of my eye, I spotted one of those damn spies slink into the shadows of an alley. I’d need to deal with them sooner or later.