Birth of a Necromancer (Dark Fantasy) (Patreon)

AN: This story is set in my Dark Tidings setting.

Ædil knew that his mumbling was going to get him killed one day. His mumbling had gotten his knuckles whacked by his mother’s soup spoon more often than he could count while growing up. It was his mumbling that caught the eye of the figure opposite the campfire.

The cloaked man had come into Ædil’s village on a warm summer day, sitting in a wagon with his dull eyes roaming over the villagers. No one had ever met him, but everyone recognized the sigil on the side of the wagon, the white horned skull of the Ordos Muerkon. It had been nearly four years since the last corpse wagon had come through, and the mortuary was running out of room.

Somehow, Ædil was roped into helping the mortician move the bodies that met whatever criteria that the corpse collector had. The first two bodies were easy, being little more than bones. Then the remaining five were much harder. The last one…Ædil could barely bring himself to move his father’s body into the wagon. As he always did when he became anxious, he started mumbling. Nothing in particular, just words that he wouldn’t remember.

“Boy,” the raspy voice came from behind Ædil as he stared into his father’s dead, lifeless eyes.

A four-fingered hand on his shoulder forcefully turned Ædil around, the hourglass-shaped eyes of the magdul corpse collector boring into his own. The two locked eyes for several minutes, the young boy’s looking into the old goat’s. Eventually, the corpse collector seemed satisfied with what he saw, for he stood up and pulled a small pouch off of his belt and tossed it to the mortician.

Turning back to Ædil, the corpse collector gave the boy a command, “Boy, take me to your family.”

Fear gripped Ædil’s heart. He had heard stories in church, of those that the Ordos Muerkon took an interest in. The necromancers were tolerated by the church far more than any other kind of mage, but no one wanted to have one in their home. They would take people from their homes to the Necropolis at the base of the Corpse-Wall. There they would mingle with heretics and heathens, cultists and the demon-blooded.

Nevertheless, Ædil led the grim-faced necromancer to his home. A simple stone building with a thatched roof, there were dozens like it in the village and countless in the kingdom, but it was home all the same. Pulling open the door, Ædil looked inside for his mother.

Seeing her stirring the soup that would be supper, Ædil walked in while saying, “Mother, there’s someone that wants to talk to you.”

Moving away from the cooking fire, she took in the sight of her son and the massive necromancer. Next to her son, not even in his teens, the magdul was a formidable figure. Tall enough that he had to stoop inside her home and as broad as a mighty oak, the intimidating appearance was only enhanced by the bones decorating his dull bronze armor. One of his curling horns was broken off at the base, and a tuft of white hair at the end of his long chin sprouted like a beard.

Her observations were interrupted as the necromancer asked, “May I sit?” with a tired, resigned tone of voice.

Shaken from her stupor, her face flaming in embarrassment, she hurriedly muttered a quiet, “Of course, of course,” as she motioned to her late husband’s dining chair. Making his way to perhaps the only chair that would support his massive size, the necromancer seemed to ignore the humble trappings of the house around him.

Carefully sitting down in the wooden chair, Ædil thought he heard the necromancer hiss but dismissed it as his ears playing tricks on him, the necromancer looked at Ædil’s mother and declared, “I wish to recruit your son into the Ordos Muerkon.”

Neither mother nor son spoke for several minutes, unsure what to make of the declaration. They were simple peasants; the most that they knew of magic came from the sermons of Solar Necilotl at the church. Nearly all magic were tools of Hell, only the Ordos and the Solarus-Inquisitorius used magic that was not innately evil and corrupted.

Seeing that they were in shock, the necromancer explained, “I will not lie. Life on the Corpse Wall is not an easy life. We are always on watch for the next wave of demons to emerge from the slopes of the Burning Wound. The gateway to Hell within the volcano cannot be closed, we have sent hundreds of teams to try over the centuries. The dead cannot be corrupted by the demonic magics, which is why we use them. ‘With the dead, we defend the living.’

“Your days will begin before sunrise and end after sundown. Your meals will be mostly bland. You will see more death and horror than any soldier or knight can claim. You will have nightmares beyond anything you can imagine. However, your brothers, your sisters, your village, will not be overrun. Come with me, and you can do your part to save them from death and worse at the talons of demons.”

Ædil stared at the necromancer. Could he leave his home? His family? He was a simple farmer’s son, how was he supposed to save anyone?

“You think my son can learn your magic?” in the quiet of the home, the voice of Ædil’s mother cut through the silence like a knife.

“I cannot say how powerful he will become, but yes. I believe that your son has the potential to become a necromancer,” with that, Ædil knew that he would be leaving with the magdul corpse collector.

[hr][/hr]

The rest of the day was a blur. Ædil couldn’t tell you what was said after that, or how long they rode before moving off the road to camp as the sun began to set. Before today he was a simple farmer, due to wed Glidila, the blacksmith’s daughter, in a week. Now he was on the road, never to return. It was only when a brace of rabbits was turning on a stick over a campfire that Ædil came out of his mental haze.

The magdul was out of his bronze and bone armor, and to Ædil’s shock, he seemed to be much smaller out of it than he was while in it. Though fit, his skin seemed to be loose, almost like it was hanging off his bones. Ædil started as the necromancer began to hack before turning his head and spitting out a mess of blood and phlegm.

Seeing that his new recruit was watching, a small smirk spread across the necromancer’s lips, “Finally in the here and now I see.”

Chuckling at the flush gracing Ædil’s face, he continued, “Don’t be embarrassed, I was out for two days when I left my clan. I suppose that I never gave my name. My full name and  title is Corpse Collector and Ahkron Cestan Catis Kergilan. Just call me either Ahkron Kergilan or just Ahkron. What’s your name boy?”

“I-it’s Ædilotl Sithlasson. Everyone just calls me Ædil. What’s Ahkron mean?” as the words left his lips, Ædil went pale as he wished that he could keep his mouth shut.

“A rough translation to the common tongue would be teacher or mentor, though you’ll be referring to everyone outside of your class by that when we finish my loop and make it back to the Mausoleum.”

Ædil became confused, didn’t recruits go to the Necropolis? He had never heard of a place called the Mausoleum.

Seeing the confusion on Ædil’s face, Ahkron gave a small chuckle before he was wracked with coughs. Turning his head, he spat out another disgusting mess of blood and phlegm. Turning to look back at Ædil, he gave a rattling sigh before taking a swig from his waterskin.

After gurgling and spitting out the mouthful of water, he spoke again, “To answer your unasked question, the Necropolis is simply the largest of what is unofficially called the Big Three. The largest fortresses and outposts along the Corpse Wall. The Mausoleum is the primary training ground for new recruits. I will teach you a few things as we travel, but that is where you will truly learn the art of ossomagia and vaitamuerkon. Bone magic and animating the dead.”

Ædil only heard part of Ahkron’s explanation as he stared at the bloody mess that the old goat had spat out, his realization coming out in a horrified whisper, “You’re dying.”

Ahkron laughed in response, . Not a chuckle like he had given before, but a deep, booming laugh. As the laughs calmed to a chuckle, he managed to say, “Of course I am dying, I am more than sixty years old. With the side effects of our magics it is amazing that I have lived as long as I have! I am one of the oldest living members of the Ordos Muerkon as it is. How old are you? Ten? Eleven?”

Glaring indignantly at Ahkron, Ædil growled, “Twelve winters, this is my thirteenth summer.”

“Ah, I imagine that you were due to be wed to a blushing bride soon?” Ahkron’s tone took a teasing note. However, Ædil was too angry to notice.

Standing furiously, Ædil turned and walked out of the camp. He ignored Ahkron and his increasingly angry demands that Ædil return. He was going back home. At least that was the plan until a massive arm picked the young boy up and hoisted him up over its shoulder like a sack of grain.

Kicking and beating at the unknown person that picked him up, Ædil paused as he realized that he was hitting metal and bone. As they entered the firelight, Ædil screamed in shock and horror upon seeing that he was being carried by the man’s empty armor. Without ceremony, the armor dropped Ædil at the hooves of a calm Ahkron. Somehow, that expressionless face was more terrifying than if he had been shouting.

Looking up at the armor, Ahkron gave a simple command, “Continue to patrol.”

As the armor turned and left, Ahkron turned his gaze to Ædil. Still as expressionless as before, he calmly stated, “We do not wear bones on our armor as decorations. To do so would be a terrible waste of potential soldiers. Consider this your first lesson: never waste a potential soldier. Bone-Dancer armor like mine is a carefully crafted undead that allows us to move in ways that our bodies cannot, to lift weights that are beyond us, to weather impacts that would rip us in twain.

“Regarding your ill-conceived temper tantrum, I will overlook it this one time. Try something like that again, and I will not be lenient. Do you understand?” as Ahkron asked his rhetorical question, the light of the fire seemed to fade, as if it was terrified of the unassuming magdul.

Unable to speak, Ædil rapidly nodded. With that, Ahkron’s mood seemed to suddenly shift, a cheerful smile on his face as he turned to the fire and pulled the rabbits off the spit. The light of the fire snapped back, the oppressive haze of Ahkron’s flexed magic dissipating.

[hr][/hr]

Neither had spoken much since Ædil’s return the night before. Ædil had a restless sleep, unable to find a comfortable position on the dew-covered grass, and awoke foul-tempered and irritable. His mood was not improved by Ahkron’s own bright and chipper demeanor.

The highlight of the morning, by Ædil’s take, was Ahkron putting the armor on. The belt peeled away from the leggings like a scab, while the gauntlets came away from the arm guards with a wet sound not unlike when pulling the hide off of a stag. The whole suit of armor was a scabbed, disgusting mix of bone, flesh, and bronze.

After the two had finished breaking down the camp, Ahkron began teaching Ædil the basics of magic: “Understand that we will be well past Ravenmoore before you begin attempting actual spells, but I see no harm in providing you with some basic theory. The most important thing to understand is this: all magic has its price. The intensity of that price depends on the magic being used. A general term for it is Magic Rebound. Whenever a spell is cast, some of the spell's effect is sent back to the one who cast it.

“Magic that draws upon natural power, the magic of witches, possesses the most intense and potent Rebound. A simple spell to promote crop growth is liable to convert the caster's hair into grass. All of their hair: eyebrows, head, arms, pubes, nose, you get the idea. While the spell itself may only last an hour or so, the effect of the spell can linger for days. Even worse, if the caster uses the same spell repeatedly, the time it takes to regain her hair will increase. It is possible to destroy someone's ability to grow hair forever just by using a spell once. This is one of the reasons why magic like ours works better: necromancy has the lowest Rebound out of all known forms of magic. That, combined with the fact that demonic magic cannot affect dead tissue, is the main reason the Ordos Muerkon enjoys the freedoms it does.”

Ædil tried asking questions, but Ahkron cut him off, saying, “There are some things that even a child should know. First, there are four primary types of magic. The first is necromancy, which manipulates life force, bone, and dead flesh. The next is witchcraft, which manipulates the natural world. Third is the magic of priests, magic of light and fire. Finally is demonic magic, which warps and twists both the mind and living flesh.

“There are ways around Magic Rebound, the most common being to spread it among multiple casters in a ritual. Which is the source of the Burning Wound: two hundred years ago a ritual was performed that opened a permanent gateway to Hell. The Ordos Muerkon and the Corpse Wall were formed to keep the demonic hordes from overwhelming everything.”

The lessons, both history and magical theory continued, Ahkron’s voice filling the air as they traveled.