The Necromancer

by Rhiannon Frater

  The Necromancer

  Rhiannon Frater

  This short story originally appeared in Zombie Tales From Dead Worlds

  and serves as a prequel to the upcoming novel, The Unblessed Dead.

  Aura carefully kept to the shadows in the high rafters above the main room of the meeting house. The roughened wood scraped against the arch of her bare feet, but she wasn’t deterred by the threat of splinters. She didn’t fear losing her balance or falling either. The fourteen-year-old was adept at sneaking around.

  Below, her father and the other leaders of their settlement spoke in worried and sometimes harsh voices.

  “We lost the entire wheat field,” Crofter Morgan said in heated tones. His dark face was hidden beneath his wide-brimmed hat. “The dead are now up against the secondary fence line. We’re scrambling to reinforce it, but I doubt it will hold. If we lose the soybean field…”

  “Can we move any resources from the southern farms?” her father, Governor Cole, asked in a calm voice.

  “We’re already stretched thin. The dead are up against our first fence,” Crofter Louise replied. She’d taken off her hat and clutched it in one hand. Sweat stained her work clothes and matted her long blond braids. The green emblem of the Crofter guild on her shoulder was smudged with mud.

  Oil lamps cast undulating waves of light across the darkened room but left the rafters swathed in darkness. The high-peaked roof and the crisscrossing beams were Aura’s sanctuary. No one ever bore witness to her balancing precariously above their heads during the evening meetings. During the day, she remained hidden behind the banners of the various guilds strung along the slanted ceiling. For hours, she’d spy on the discussions of the leaders, but no one ever knew she was there. Whenever she was scolded for rushing off, she’d just smirk. No one knew where she went when she escaped her tutor. It drove her father mad, but she thought he deserved some misery.

  “At least they’re not up against your secondary fence,” Crofter Morgan snapped, even though Louise was his equal. The north and south farms often quarreled over resources.

  “We can’t lose the chickens after the disaster with the cattle. It’ll take years to recover the numbers lost,” Crofter Louise replied. “We can’t afford to turn over what little resources we have. We must ensure our own fences are secure.”

  The murmur of the other council members filled the room. On the table before them was the layout of the Bridgetown Settlement. Aura craned her head to see the concentric circles expanding outward from the main town to the wide fields enclosed with high fences. Each ring that was cut into sections provided one more circle of defense against the hungry dead.

  “I just don’t understand where this herd came from,” Headmaster Ferris said, shaking his head so that his long white hair undulated around his shoulders.

  Aura didn’t care for him one bit. It was his decision that she should be tutored instead of attending the primary school. That edict had altered her life and isolated her within her father’s compound that housed the meeting hall. She resented that she was punished when it was the other children who’d been cruel to her.

  “What does it matter?” Reverend Nora asked. Brushing her thick gray chin-length hair from her long face, she stared upward, but didn’t see Aura. “They’re here. We must deal with them.”

  “We should’ve traded with The Republic for weapons,” Commander Christophe declared in his deep voice. The man’s craggy face and watery blue eyes always frightened Aura. “We don’t have enough armaments to fight off a herd this size.”

  “The Republic already took all our copper,” Governor Cole responded irritably. “What other currency can we use since they refuse anything other than precious metals?”

  “The gold we have locked away,” Commander Christophe answered, waving toward the tapestry that hid the safe that contained the treasure of the settlement.

  Immediately, heads started shaking.

  “Absolutely not,” Headmaster Ferris said loudly.

  “It’s all we have if we have to evacuate to the Enclave. How will we purchase the king’s help and safe refuge without it?” Crofter Louise protested.

  “If the undead knock down our fences, I would much rather have armed men and women at the ready than depend on the king,” Commander Christophe retorted. “We are independent people, not his subjects.”

  Aura crouched on the beam to get a good look at the leader of the settlement’s small militia. He was dressed in his regular black uniform and gripped a silver cane in one giant hand. He didn’t need the cane. It was only an affectation.

  “What if we were to take a little bit of our gold and summon someone who could truly deal with this situation?” Reverend Nora lowered her gaze to stare at each person in the room one by one.

  “Those frauds? Never!” Commander Christophe snarled.

  “They can’t be trusted,” Headmaster Ferris declared.

  “What if they won’t come?” Crofter Louise asked.

  “Has one ever come out this far west?” Crofter Morgan wondered.

  “I’d rather not call upon the services of… such a person,” Governor Cole, her stubborn father, said, his long fingers nervously touching the edges of the map. His lowered eyes hid his fear.

  “But a necromancer can lead them away,” Reverend Nora said, her voice wise and gentle. “A necromancer won’t cost more than weapons and will bring real assurances of resolution.”

  “No,” her father answered in anunyielding tone. “No. We will secure the secondary fence and hold the dead back. We lost one field, but we have others.”

  Aura narrowed her eyes, not believing what she was hearing. How could her father not call in a necromancer when the dead had already destroyed one field? Yes, there were at least three years of grain stored away, but food was precious in this dead world. Trade with the king’s Enclave was what brought luxury items into the settlement. The large viewing screens in the public entertainment hall and the extensive library of films, shows, and plays were all gifts from the king’s court.

  “Cole, you can’t be serious.” Reverend Nora looked at him with disbelief.

  “Absolutely. Necromancers are…” He faltered, struggling for words.

  “Surely you’re not afraid of those gifted with such a wondrous ability? God gave them to us to help us endure the plague of the dead!”

  “How can you say they’re from God?” Headmaster Ferris shook his head adamantly. “They’re unnatural! And not trustworthy!”

  “We’ve all heard the stories.” Crofter Louise wearily sat down in a stiff-backed chair that ringed the table. “How the necromancers bring down the dead on the human settlements just so they can fleece them for money.”

  “Or how they may have started all of this! Isn’t it a strange coincidence that the necromancers made themselves known just as the plague of the dead took over the earth?” Crofter Morgan slammed his palm against the top of the table. “I will not hand over our gold to one of those… criminals!”

  “No one knows why the plague started,” Reverend Nora reminded Crofter Morgan. “And the necromancers did not reveal themselves until hundreds of years later.”

  “Well, they could have saved us if they had come out sooner!” Crofter Morgan glowered at Reverend Nora.

  Instead of responding in anger, she shrugged. “Maybe the reason why humanity still exists despite the destruction of our old civilization is because of the necromancers worked for our benefit from the shadows. Did you consider that?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Governor Cole said in a tired but unyielding tone. “I will not call upon the necromancers.”

  Aura frowned, scampered along the rafters, then crawled through a small air vent to make her way back to her bedroom. How c
ould her father refuse to call upon the necromancers when the dead were at the walls? Did they have to lose more fields before her father would listen to reason?

  Crawling into bed, Aura flipped her long blond hair over one shoulder before settling beneath the covers. Her fingers playing with the golden tips, she stared into the darkness.

  The panic along the secondary perimeter was tangible in the cold morning air. The farmers, militia, and field workers scrambled to reinforce the shuddering fences. The blackened, rotted hands of the undead gripped the metal lattice and shook it savagely. The big steel pylons that held the mesh in place were still upright despite the softening of the earth by the seasonal rainfall. The activity of the humans only riled the undead more. Hundreds, maybe thousands, were trampling the soybean field beneath their putrid feet as they slogged toward the fence.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Miss Aura,” a field worker said, stumbling across her hiding place behind a tangle of brush against one of the granaries.

  “I just want to see,” she answered, shrugging.

  The man with the sweaty face and vivid freckles on his tanned skin was about to answer when a cry went up. He darted away, clutching his pitchfork in his hands. Medics in their white and red jumpsuits scrambled to carry away several wounded men and women from the fences. Aura scaled up the side of a tree, hoping to get high enough to see what was happening. As her bare feet and fingers found traction and she pulled herself up, she heard more screams coming from below. Finally perched near the top of the oak tree, she was able to see that a part of the fence was dangerously close to collapse. Both militia and farm workers beat back the howling undead creatures with electric prods, farming tools, and spears.

  Meanwhile, Commander Christophe growled out orders at the militia as they scrambled to erect mobile turrets. The stench of death, human sweat, and fear drifted on the cool morning breeze. Aura wedged herself into a crook of the tree and gnawed on her nails while anxiously watching.

  Trucks bearing large metal sheets rolled into view. People from the Ironworkers Guild clung to the sides of the vehicles, their heavy protective gear making them appear alien and frightening.

  “All workers back from the fence!” Commander Christophe ordered through a bullhorn.

  It was difficult to see exactly what was going on in the churning mass of frightened humans below. As the crowd thinned, Aura saw the ironworkers carrying the large metal sheets to the sagging fences. The turrets whirred to life and then spewed hot metal bullets into the undead masses, shredding rotting flesh and bone.

  Biting her lip with excitement, Aura’s fingers dug into the branches of the tree so she could lean forward and witness the ongoing slaughter. While the militia held the horde at bay, the ironworkers began bolting the metal sheets to the pylons.

  Below her perch, Crofter Morgan and Crofter Louise rushed toward the Master of the Ironworkers Guild.

  “Will it hold, Master Teresa?” Crofter Morgan shouted above the ruckus.

  The large olive-skinned woman gave him a thumb up, her arms rippling with muscle. “It’ll hold for now. But if this horde grows, we’ll be in trouble. We don’t have the resources to reinforce all the fences!”

  “We need to call in the necromancers,” Crofter Louise declared. “We can’t wait!”

  Watching the adults below her, Aura sighed with relief. If the council demanded the necromancers come, how could her father ignore it?

  Bowing her head, Fabiola closed her dark eyes and listened to the murmurings of the dead. Her hands rested on her knees, and her spine curved as she lowered her upper body toward the floor. The dead whispered louder the closer she drew to the ground, but their language was incoherent and chaotic. The plague that had reformed civilization and made the dead walk the earth had also affected those who had passed over. Confusion and madness disturbedthe energies of those killed by the dead.

  “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” Fabiola whispered.

  “You will not fear your king?”

  Snapping upright, Fabiola’s connection with the spirits of the deceased faded. “Who let you into the sanctuary?”

  “Who’d keep me out?” King Maximilian retorted in a sardonic tone.

  When she twisted about to look at him, he was wearing the charming smile she’d expected to see on his finely sculpted lips. Dark hair swept back from his handsome face, the monarch leaned against the wall, dressed in jeans, a blue shirt, and heavy workman boots.

  “I’m trying to put the spirits to rest,” she grumbled, then stood. She wasn’t about to be at his feet during a conversation. A quick pat of her palms against her black hair revealed that her twists were still holding, then she cursed herself for checking. There was no point in trying to impress him anymore.

  “But they’re not listening, are they?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “No, they’re not,” she sadly admitted.

  For hundreds of years, the necromancers had attempted to put to rest the millions who had died in the advent of the plague. For years, they’d failed. At the higher levels of the Necromancy Chantry, there were many arguments as to whether or not the necromancers were actually detecting the sentient remains of the dead or just echoes of their terrible deaths. All the necromancers suffered severe migraines from the nearly constant noise. Some went mad. Fabiola had a headache, but she was more than willing to pin it on the thirty-five-year-old man standing in front of her and not centuries-old dead people.

  “Why do you keep trying?” Max tilted his head down to study her expression. There was nearly a foot difference in their height.

  Brushing the dust from the floor off her very dark skin, Fabiola shrugged. “Because everyone deserves some peace.”

  Max lifted his eyes, staring up at the large alter that dominated the chapel. After the plague, most of the religions of the world had faded into obscurity to be replaced by one that contained the more positive principles of the old. A statue of the faceless God holding aloft the world stood before a stained glass window adorned with a red rose. The statue depicted hope in the unseen Creator. The rose represented beauty and pain in life. Fabiola wore the dark red trousers and tunic of the Necromancer Order along with a silver rose pendant around her neck.

  “I’d like some peace, Fabiola,” Max said at last, his words heavy with emotion.

  “Don’t come to me for it. You made your choice,” she answered, both cross and weary from the never-ending struggle between them.

  “I had to marry Bella for the sake of the Enclave. You know that.”

  “Whatever,” Fabiola answered, shrugging a thin shoulder.

  Bella was the daughter of the President of the Republic. The Republic had resources the Enclave needed to keep their technology in working order. Meanwhile, the Enclave had the necromancers the Republic needed to keep their lands secure from the dead. In a throwback to centuries past, King Lucas and President Riley had created a marriage pact between their two children. When his father had passed away, Max could have overturned the pact, but had instead honored it, breaking Fabiola’s heart and making Bella his queen.

  “You and I both know Riley would have cut us off.”

  “We could have cut him off first, right?” Fabiola glared at the man she’d loved so much yet had also devastated her hopes and dreams for a future with him.

  “They have their own necromancers now. The only reason Riley is maintaining the pact is because his daughter is queen. You know this, Fab.” Max tried to draw close to her, but she took several quick steps away from him. The hurt on his face was reassuring, satisfying, and yet heart wrenching.

  “Is the baby yours?” The pain born of the Enclave’s celebration the last few days was nearly unbearable when she said the words. She was so damn tired of hearing about the royal baby.

  “Yes. DNA tests prove it. We’ve done our duty. Now Bella can go back to ignoring me and spending all her time with her boyfriend.”

  “And you expect to spend your time with me
?” Fabiola scoffed at him. “Really, Max?”

  “I was doing my duty,” Max protested.

  This was the exact same argument they had every time they saw each other. Fabiola was tired of it, but didn’t know how they could ever move past what she felt was a deep betrayal of their love. “I do my duty, too, but it doesn’t put a knife into the heart of someone I love.”

  “Fab, it killed me to hurt you. But I told you then that the marriage was for show only. A political move to keep the Enclave safe. How many times must I tell you?”

  “Don’t tell me anymore, Max. Just don’t. You fulfilled your duty and married someone you didn’t know and love. So be happy with yourself for doing your duty. And now you have a baby with her, so pat your back again.” Fabiola wished the pain would just go away. Max being wed to someone else meant they could never be married, never openly show their love, and never have children that would inherit Max’s titles or power.

  “We didn’t even sleep with each other, Fab! I’ve been totally faithful to you! The baby was conceived by in vitro. How many times must I tell you that?”

  “But everyone in the Enclave believes you and Bella are this blissful couple! The perfect king and queen of humanity.”

  “It’s all propaganda.” Max ran his fingers through his thick dark hair, his green eyes haunted with despair. “It keeps the citizens entertained and hopeful. Life is hard, Fab.”

  “Yeah, Max. Life is hard. Get used to it.”

  “Cleric Fabiola, I hate to interrupt, but we received an inquiry about possibly assisting the Bridgetown Settlement,” a voice said from the doorway.

  It was Irene, one of the adepts of the Necromancer Order. The teenage girl bashfully ducked her head while staring at the king through her eyelashes.

  “Bridgetown? They rarely ask for help from anyone,” Max said, obviously surprised.

  “Things must be bad if they’re considering it,” Fabiola replied, brushing past him.

  Max caught her wrist, his skin so white against her ebony. The warmth of his fingers stirred deep feelings of yearning, but she fought the impulse to respond.