Saturday 14 April 2018

Chapter 43. Part Two: Interview with the Necromancer

Thanks for stopping by to read this week's installment! The normal caveats apply.




Katherine looked up at him. “So what now?”

“You did ruin my jacket.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. I have a lot of money, I think.” It seemed like an odd thing to say, but that seemed to be par for the course with Katherine.

“Money from horribly murdering people, or something?” Stirling guessed

“No, it was left to me.”

“I guess that’s alright then. Well, since I’m not exactly turning people away who want to join me in the fight against the forces of evil, I guess we can work together. Welcome to the team. You walk in front though.”

“Sure.”

There was a long beat as they looked at each other.

“So you want to pack that thing away?” she asked, nodding at the shadow whip still in his hand. “Your algere is showing.”

“Huh?”

“You’re creeping me out,” she clarified, “and between us, I’ve got enough baggage to deal with without adding more stress,” she said tapping her temple.

“Oh, right. Shields up.” He began the mental process of hemming in his deathly aura.
“What was it you called it, Algeersomething?”

“Algere. It’s an old term.”

“What does it mean?”

“The original word meant, to feel cold. It ended up being used to describe the aura around a necromancer. I don’t remember it being so strong. It has been a long time since I’ve been around any of your kind though, and my memories aren’t exactly reliable. Why, what do you call it.”

“My Frakezone.”

“Your Freakzone?”

“No, it’s a step past freak to frakey. You know, like Johnathan.”

“What?”

“I’m superfrakaey,” he said doing his best Rick James imitation.

“You’re odd.”

“And you’re not a fan of Rick James or Star Trek.”

“Whatever. We should move,” she said, beginning to walk through the gravel lot toward the broken fence. After last night, the Guild will know there’s a necromancer in Vancouver. Their diviners will be on the lookout for you. It takes some effort, but they can track you by your algere.”

“They can?”

“They did it during The Dust Wars and nothing has changed that would make me think they can’t do it still.”

“You could just say, yes.”

“Then, yes.”

“Fuck.”

“Did you know about that?” he asked Magnon as he trotted over to the bent gate in Katherine’s wake, making sure to keep her in front.

“There was suspicion during the war, but we were never completely sure. I’m curious how she knows such an important Guild secret though. If we can find a way to get the information out of her it could be really important. Sharing Guild secrets is beyond dangerous. Just happening to hear them can get you a death mark. We’ll have to be subtle when we question her though.”

“Hey, so, how do you know so much about the Alchemist Guild?”

“Smooth, Stirling, ”

“That friend who Knox killed was an alchemist. I picked up a lot from her.”

“Ouch, didn’t mean to open up fresh wounds. Sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Ask her who it was.”

“Who was your friend, by the way?”

“Elanor of the Red.”

Magnon emitted an abbreviated squawk from his spot on the fence and Katherine cocked an eye at him.

“Looks like your crow knows who that was,” she said with a bitter grin. It was the first smile Stirling had seen her make and it wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Elanor of the Red was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of necromancers up and down the west coast of North America and all across the Aether. She was a certified nightmare. She was on the Guild’s version of a ruling council. I’m not sad to hear she’s dead, but it brings up a problem.”

“What?”

Magnon hesitated a long moment before responding. “If I tell you this, you can never repeat it. This is a secret that literally thousands of people have died for.”

“Roger that.

“No.” As before with the crow, the mental link carried more than just simple meaning. Accompanying the word was a sense of loss, pain, and deep, deep, rage. It was so strong that when only the barest edge of it brushed at his mind and Stirling lost all sense of himself. When he became aware again, he was face-down in a tuft of frost-wilted crabgrass on the side of the road.
He looked up to see Katherine looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. She offered him a hand up, and he was so rattled that he took it without thinking.

“Sorry, still a bit clumsy,” he mumbled at her. His jaw felt like it had been hit with a lead brick.

“What the fuck was that for?!” he sent to the crow who was resting on a roof ledge ahead of them.

“This is a topic where I won’t, I can’t, accept a flippant answer, this is beyond serious.” grated back Magnon’s mental voice. “You think that what you’re facing right now is bad? It’s not. Your pain and suffering up to this point amounts to a fart in a tempest—less than that. You are one single person who has lately had their life slightly inconvenienced.” Stirling considered arguing that a sucking chest wound was a bit past inconvenient, but decided to let it pass. The crow appeared to be upset. “Imagine the lives and dreams of literally thousands of people just like you. Now imagine all of them murdered because there was the slightest possibility that they might be aware of this powerful secret. If you can’t treat this with the seriousness and reverence it deserves, I’ll wish you well and leave you to your own devices.”

It didn’t take Stirling long to decide. “I won’t say I understand in the way you do, because I don’t, but I’ll give you my word that I’ll treat this as though my life depends on it though.” He tried to push his sincerity along the connection to the crow. He wasn’t sure how well he managed since sincerity had never really been a thing he'd been all that good at, but it seemed to do the trick because Magnon’s voice began speaking in his head again.

“The bodies of Alchemists at her level are so heavily saturated with Panacea that, for all intents and purposes, they’re immortal. The fact she’s dead means Knox knows that, given the right circumstances, necromantic magic can undo Panacea.”
“So?”

“So, that secret is the main reason the Dust War was ever even fought to begin with.” Magnon took the mental equivalent of a deep breath before going on. “You have to understand, the Alchemists have built their power and influence by selling health and long life. It’s the ultimate currency in the arcane community across all the worlds of the Aether. Money, precious metals, gems, none of it means anything next to the ability to extend life. If it was ever known that the effects of Panacea could be nullified, there would be doubt and panic all across the Aether.”

Stirling mulled through the implications of what Magnon had said as he walked.

“Did your crow fill you in?” Katherine called over her shoulder.

Stirling had fallen a few paces behind as he thought and he jogged to catch up. “He recognizes the name,” Stirling told her casually.

“But you don’t?”

“I’m new to this, I still have my junior necromancer training wheels on.”

She snorted.

“So, it looks like you already know about my talents, what’s your knack?”

“Good question,” she said but didn’t elaborate.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not being vague or anything. I’d hate for there to be a lack of trust and understanding between us. You might hurt my feelings.”

“Out of curiously, which of the Thirteen is he?” she asked out of the blue, pointing a finger at Magnon.

“Huh?” was the best rejoinder he could come up with at the sudden shift in conversation.

“I mean since it looks like we’re trading personal information.”

A sense of profound shock tinged with fear cut through the mental connection he shared with the crow. It wasn’t as strong as the emotional feedback he’d felt at the news of Elanor’s death and Stirling barely missed a step. When the crow did speak, the voice in Stirling’s mind was thready and weak. “Be very careful here, knowledge of the Thirteen is something that is only held a tiny handful of people. This woman either knows more than she should or…

“Or What?” Stirling asked silently.

“Or she’s someone who shouldn’t be slumming it with a fledgling necromancer, that’s for sure. What’s really concerning is that she’s not afraid to let us know she knows.”

“I’m going to say that being rational isn’t her strong suit.”

“That doesn’t make this situation better.”

“So, what? Think I should run?”

“Are you kidding? Did you see her bend that pole? Besides, I believe her when she says she’s got a grudge to settle with Knox of the White. As long as she keeps that in mind we’ll probably be alright.”
“Probably?”

“Possibly, yes.”

“So what should I tell her, then?”

“Tell her the name you gave me. I don’t think there’s anything she could gain from knowing who I was, but I didn’t think she could know about the Thirteen either. Let’s play this smarter than we have so far.”

Stirling gave her what he thought was his best clueless expression, but in reality, it made him look like something in his fridge smelled off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. His name’s Magnon though.”

“Maybe now it is.”

Stirling shrugged in reply. “If he decides to share his personal information with you that’s going to be up to him, I’m not Mark Zuckerberg here.”

Sunday 8 April 2018

Chapter 43, Part One: Interview with the Necromancer

Hey everyone, thanks for stopping by to read this week's installment of the rough draft! The usual warnings apply. Hope you enjoy!






Stirling’s first reaction was to dash away, but after all he’d been through in the last day, the best he could do was to flop onto his chest, his legs quivering and useless beneath him.

I have no legs, and I must run. He rolled over and hefted the fist-sized stone he still held in his hand. He eyed it speculatively and threw it at the courier. It was a feeble throw, and it struck the fence five feet to the right of the woman before rolling away.

“Run!” Magnon urged him.

“Don’t you think I would if I could!” Stirling shouted back at the circling crow, frustration welling up inside and making the words come out angrier than he intended.

Magnon meanwhile, began diving at the woman and buffeting her head with his wings.

“Wait!” she cried, bringing her arms up to fend off the bird. “I’m not going to hurt him!”

“I have three big fucking holes in my best winter jacket that say otherwise,” said Stirling over his shoulder as he began to crawl away. He didn’t know if it was the burst of adrenalin at seeing her, or if he was just feeling that sick, but he was finding it hard to coordinate his limbs. Time to step up his game. He began to loosen the tight mental barriers he habitually kept in place.

“I’m sorry, alright?!”

“You’re sorry you tried to kill me or you’re sorry you stuffed me in a barrel to die?”

“I’m not in the best mental headspace right now,” she said, fending off another attack.

“Normal people try aromatherapy or exercise before they move all the way up to homicide!”

“Enough!” The sound of flapping behind him stopped and Stirling turned his head to see that she’d snatched Magnon out of the air and was holding his wings against his body. He didn’t look injured, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

He was pecking at her fingers for all he was worth but it didn’t appear to be having any effect. She was wild around the eyes, and having her hair styled by an attacking crow hadn’t done anything to make her look any more well-adjusted.

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d start by crushing the life from your emissary here,” she said between gritted teeth, giving Magnon a little shake. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you, alright?”

Magnon stopped pecking at her fingers and cocked an eye at her. His voice projected calmly into Stirling’s head. “Hey, Stirling. I’ve been thinking. Maybe you should sit down and talk with her. Grab a coffee or something”

Stirling hummed the opening bars to Gloomy Monday and familiar cold began to flow off his body. It was like stepping into a cool shower after a long, sweaty day of hard work. The weakness and shakiness washed from his limbs and he stood easily with a sigh of relief. He pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and faced her.

She looked him carefully and took a half step back. “You seem… improved,” She said.

He exhaled a lazy plume of breath into the air, it was dense and white. “I’m feeling much better, thanks.” A puddle next to his foot, still half-filled with the previous day’s rain, began to rime over with ice.

“Why don’t you let the crow go and we’ll talk. Deal?”

The courier suddenly looked a lot less sure of herself. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I’m just a bit surprised at your sudden recovery. You were close to passing out five seconds ago.”

“I was, now I’m not. Listen, between the two of us, I’ve got the most reason to not trust what you’re selling.” He fingered the hole in the front of his jacket. “If you want to talk, we’ll talk, but first you have to drop. The fucking. Bird. Alright?”

The woman carefully placed Magnon on the ground. As soon as he was free, he flapped back to his spot on the fence.

“Great! Now, what was it you wanted to say? It might not look like it, but I’m actually pretty busy.”

She took a step in his direction and as she did the light in the parking lot dimmed. A thick whip of shadow dropped from his palm to coil on the ground next to his boot. The gravel turned white with frost where it touched.

She held up her hands up in front of her. “Hey! I just want to talk!”

“I can hear you from there. Honestly, you probably don’t want to come closer anyway. I’ve been told that I can make people uncomfortable when I’m like this and I’m pretty fired up right now.”

“Fine. I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

“You said that part already.”

“Yes I did. I did what I did because I recently had someone close to me murdered using… your, um,  kind of magic,” she said, indicating at the black whip in his hand. “When I felt you using it at Strangefellows, I sort of lost control.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. “I was wrong.”

“Well, that’s very big of you to admit. Are we done having this Hallmark moment?” The cold was already beginning to make the long muscles in his legs quiver. He hoped this wouldn’t take long.

“Wait! I think we have a mutual cause. I think the person who killed m-my friend also kidnapped your Rebbecca.”

Stirling narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know about that?”

“You were talking with your crow and I have really good hearing. Listening to you talk was how I decided that you probably didn’t deserve to die.”

“Probably!? I probably didn’t deserve to die?!”

“It’s nothing personal, I’m not in the best head-space right now. I’m honestly not a hundred percent sure of a lot of things.”

“Uh huh. So other than freakishly good hearing and a willingness to stab first and ask questions later, what other qualities would you bring to the table?”

She looked around and pointed at the gate as though for permission. Stirling gave her a bemused shrug. She walked to the gate, gripped the vertical steel pole with both hands and calmly folded it in half.

“Well there’s that, I guess,” Stirling conceded.

Stirling looked over at Magnon and indicated with his whip hand in a puff of cold fog, “Is that normal? I mean even with the rest of us freaks?”

“No, that’s definitely not normal.”

“Good to know.”

He turned back to where the courier stood waiting. “What’s your name? I just can’t keep thinking of you as Stabby Gabby the Homicidal Bike Courier.”

“Katherine. You can call me Katherine,” she said, returning to her spot.

“Alright, Katherine, you’ve advanced to the bonus round. Say I agreed to go in with you on this tag team malarkey. What do you see as your final goal in the enterprise? What do you really want out of this? Bonus points will be awarded for the words, ‘massacre,’ and ‘viscera’ in this question.”

“That’s dark.”

“Necromancer,” he reminded her. “I’m supposed to be darker than a Goth locked in a box at midnight. Now answer the question, Claire.”

“Honestly? I just want my own life,” she said, her voice was dull as winter overcast, “but knowing Knox is out there and free of consequence for all he’s done is like trying to pretend everything’s fine with a nail in my foot. It’s all I can feel and think about. I don’t think I can enjoy anything or even grow as a person until I know he’s been repaid for the harm he’s caused.”

Stirling started to reply, but Katherine continued over him with a note of surprise at her own words. “Do you know, if I could make a fire from my own heart, I would use it to slowly burn Knox to the ground, inch by inch, and smile the whole time. I don’t think I’d even be sorry that it was my heart. Isn’t that a strange thing to say?”

“Yes. Yes it is, and you call me out for being dark. How about this though, we leave our hearts where they are and use Knox’s heart as kindling instead? Sound reasonable?”

Katherine shrugged noncommittally. “As long as he burns.”

“It’ll be a squad goal,” he said.

Sunday 1 April 2018

Chapter 42, Part 2: Death, the Universe, and Everything.

Hey all, Happy Easter! Here's the conclusion to chapter 42 in all of its rough draft glory.

If you find you're enjoying this twisted little fable, why not tell your friends? I'm attempting to hit the ground running by building an audience in anticipation of the happy day this finally gets edited and published. Having people already in place who like the same messed-up stories I do would be a huge benefit.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!






Bone leered at him for an uncomfortably long beat before being finally pulled by his wife out of sight.

This couldn’t be happening. This was his mess, not Rebbecca’s. He wanted to scream, to bring them back, anything to make them wait. Each footstep receding in the distance was a spike of failure driven into his conscience.

 Stirling willed himself to stand, but in the confines of the barrel found the best he could do was to latch the fingers of his right hand on the edge of the opening. It was a start. After a monumental effort, his left hand followed. That left him panting with a cold sweat prickling out all over his body. He heard the sound of a metal rolling door closing somewhere in the warehouse with a muffled thud. Fuck!

About the only good thing about his situation was that whatever was making him feel ill wasn’t getting any worse. After some wiggling, he found he was able to rock the barrel, the contents sloshing thickly around his ankles. Once, twice, three times, before the barrel slipped off its wooden pallet and crashed on its side to the cement floor.

Stirling was decanted with much of the remaining contents of the barrel with a noisome sploosh. It felt about as good as it sounded.

“Here we see the miracle of birth on the African Savanah,” he wheezed to himself in an overblown Australian accent, his cheek pressed against the cold floor.

He braced himself on the toppled barrel and slowly got to his feet. The room tilted around him and it took him a long pause before he felt he could move without falling over. He searched the nearby racks for the medicine bottle, but it was gone. Presumably, it rested in Rag's had pocket now.

He staggered down the deserted aisles of empty barrels using the empty steel racks to steady himself him as he went. On the far east wall of the warehouse where the series of loading bays. The sound of a truck pulling away from the lot drifted inside.

He didn’t think he’d be able to lift one of the rolling doors, but thankfully there was a side door and he stuck his head out just in time to see a large moving truck turn right onto the street and accelerate away. It was nearly obscured by a swarm of souls swirling in its wake. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught sight of Rebbecca’s form once or twice in the swirling mass. Double Fuck!

He sat down heavily on the cement stoop. What now? He could slowly feel his strength coming back, but he wasn’t going to be hitting the gym anytime soon.

Magnon glided from over the building to land on the top of the chain link fence that surrounded the property fifty feet away.

“Wow. Look at you. If you were anyone else, I’d consider eating you before you went bad. What happened in there?”

“That redheaded temptress of darkness lied to me!” he spat a last glob of blood out of his mouth. “She said I’d get a second chance, but when she sent me back from that miserable little office I was right in the middle of dying again. Now look at me,” he said gesturing down at the bloody mess that was his entire front. “On top of it all, they made ‘Becca into one of those gin and she just left with the rest of them on that truck,” he said gesturing weakly toward the road.

“Woah there. Let’s back things up a second. If Merciful Death didn’t bail you out, how are you here? You look pretty alive to me.”

“Well, it’s no fucking thanks to Emily!” He said “Emily” like other people would say “rancid slug semen.” “I’m talking to you right now because I pulled my own spuds out of the oven.”

“And just how did you manage that?”

Stirling used the stair rail to pull himself to his feet with a grunt.

“There was a medicine bottle filled with this red shit next to the barrels. One of the spirits in there said he thought was Panacea, but that it had something extra added. I don’t know what else was in it, but it definitely had some of my own magic in there. I had it in my pocket when I went into the barrel. Right when I was about to die, I took a little drink. Fixed me right up.”

He began to walk drunkenly toward the exit of the parking lot. The gate was a chain link panel on pneumatic tires, which Madame Rage and Mister Bone had been good enough to lock up after them when they left. Damn their security-minded eyes.

“Until it didn’t. You don’t look that hot.”

“I don’t feel that hot. Whatever that stuff was, the hangover is even worse than it tasted, and it tasted like I rimmed a skunk. I feel absolutely wrecked.”

He chose a baseball-sized rock from the ground, took a feeble swing at the lock, and nearly dropped it out of sheer fatigue.

“Maybe she knew it was there and she sent you back so you’d have a chance to drink it.” The crow didn’t sound all that certain.

He swung the rock again and connected, a small scuff appeared on the steel body of the lock.
“Sorry, I’m not buying it. It was sheer luck that I even remembered I had that bottle in my pocket. She backed out on the deal. Only explanation.”

“Sure, sure. So what are you going to do now?”

“I heard them saying something about Memorial Park and Asphodel. They have ‘Becca with them, so that’s where I’m going. Some assholes just need killing.”

“You’re doing it again, you know.”

He cocked his head up at the bird, panting. “Doing what?”

“Reacting to them.”

Stirling took another unsuccessful swing with the rock. “I fail to see what else I can do. They have one of the few people I actually give a shit about. I’m going to go and try to get her back.”

“How about a real plan, unless you really think the “Hulk smash” strategy is really the best thing going forward.”

Stirling glared at the bird and hefted the rock. “Talky bird have clever mouth, Stirling fix and smash with rock.”

“All I’m saying is that thinking your way through a problem is a great way not to get stabbed and stuffed in a barrel to die.”

“Can’t you go and do something useful like get me a Red Bull or something? You’re so chatty.”
He swung at the lock again and sent the lock swinging on the chain, still undamaged. “Besides, I’m a linear thinker. I see a problem and I fix it.”

“How about extending the line a bit further along than your immediate next step then? Your ancestors developed the gift of abstract thought and planning. Let’s put some of that to work.”

Magnon actually had a good point, and any excuse to sit down was difficult to resist. “Fine. Let’s think this through.” Stirling slid down to sit at the base of the fence. He wasn’t making any progress with the lock anyway. "Rag, Bone, and the funky bunch have yanked out Rebbecca’s soul and hijacked her body for their own nefarious ends. I need to get her soul back into her body. I’m also nearly positive that their boss, Knox, used the magical energy I put in my hunting decoys to make the potion that made it possible.”

“It’s actually called an Alchemical Philter.”

“And that changes the problem, how?”

“It’s fine as long as you’re happy going around sounding like a slack-jawed rube.”

“Let’s save the editorializing for when we have the time, sound good?”

“It’s your show. How do you think you’ll be able to help her?”

“I know where Memorial Park is. I can make a plan on the way.”

“That’s a good start. Did you also know that Memorial Park is the location of the main portal to Asphodel?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Do you remember what Asphodel even is?”

“Isn’t it that place you go when you die, or something?”

“Or something. It’s also the biggest cultural and commercial hub in the Aether.”

“So what are they going there for?”

“That’s a great question. Maybe we should find out.”

Stirling jerked away from the gate as the lock shattered next to his ear. Magnon launched himself away with a squawk of fear.

Stirling rolled on his side in the gravel to find himself looking up into the face of the bike courier who had nearly killed him in the warehouse. Triple Fuck. This day just kept getting better and better.