Birth of a Necromancer 043

“This again, huh. It’s been a while.”

Ash’s consciousness was drifting through the vast, empty void. There was no specific destination in his mind; he had decided to let the dark currents take him to whatever place they had planned for him. Long since had he realized that the shadows did indeed have thoughts, ideas—plans, for him, specifically.

Slowly, the black flame, which served as the elf’s bodiless avatar, drifted toward a place where the darkness did something Ash hadn’t thought possible. It thinned out—gave way to lighter shades of black—gradually becoming more like regular, bleak shadows. The kind of shadows you might find in a dark wine cellar or in a poor, lightless neighborhood.

Like a leaf being carried by a current of rainwater, the young elf’s flame was carried through the dark, which now seemed completely normal—warm, almost, when compared to what laid behind Ash.

The necromancer noticed something strange; a feeling his mind wouldn’t normally grant passage into his thoughts.

 Had he had any lungs, he would’ve sighed—taken a moment to breathe in the atmosphere.

Truth be told, his thoughts had been a jumbled mess of emotions and recollections ever since he had been reborn. He couldn’t recall if it’d always been that way, but there was something within him that told him that confusion had always been part of him.

“I wish I could remember, though,” his bodiless voice muttered. “I wish I could remember what life was like before the Church came along and turned it into… into this.”

If he had arms, he would’ve gestured toward the shadows around him, but all his avatar could muster was a defiant flicker. Ash hadn’t thought about it—he’d never had the chance to reflect properly—but his memories of life before being brought to the church in the forest were relatively scarce; nonexistent, actually.

“When did I forget?” he wondered, “What happened to my memories?” he pondered.

He knew he had loathed his time as a slave, but he couldn’t remember. All there was left of his recollections were memories thereof; traces of the times he’d spent praying for the death of that nobleman—“What had his name been?”—who had forced him to do things—“What’d he make me do?”—that humiliated him—“I don’t remember…”—tormented him—“How?”—made him feel inferior.

“Why can’t I remember?”

Ash realized he’d been rambling the entire time. Sanity apparently didn’t equal clarity. He was just about to fall to his metaphysical knees when he realized something had appeared before him, as if brought forth by his confusion and search for absolution thereof.

It was a doorway, standing in sharp contrast to the world around it. Ash couldn’t remember seeing a single thing as white as the faded paint on the wooden door, which almost glowed because of the sheer contrasting nature of its color theme. However, the strangest thing about it wasn’t the fact that it had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, but rather that it gave off the exact same vibe as that which the snowy forest had been emitting.

“What’s hiding behind you?” Ash asked the door, almost seriously expecting an answer. His invisible fingers were reaching for the ire-covered brass knob, nearly getting as far as touching it before a lock suddenly materialized, subsequently locking itself with a metallic click.

The young elf wasn’t deterred, though. He now knew exactly why Evitagen had loaned his body for a while.

“You never just tell me these things, do you?” Ash mumbled. “If you wanted me to go on a damn journey to find myself, or whatever, you could’ve just said so.”

“Are you sure that’s the reason why he took your body, though?” came an oddly familiar voice.

Ash’s immediate instinct was to whirl around, as the voice was coming from behind him. He couldn’t, though—for obvious reasons.

“Excuse me?” the young elf called out, “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” came the reply, this time a whisper into where his ear would’ve been.

“Nefaria. It’s been a while.”

“You’re a difficult one to impress, aren’t you? I can’t say I’ve ever met a man who can stay calm in the presence of a goddess.”

“Maybe I just don’t regard you as gods,” came the answer. “What do you want?”

“I see you and Evitagen have reached The North. How do you guys like it there?”

“I love it just about as much as you seem to love dancing around the subject.”

The horned redhead laughed pleasantly, “You do not seem fond of meaningless chatter, Ash—I hope it’s fine to call you Ash. It’s unfortunate, really; chatter, and dancing around issues, are among the things I do best.”

‘I see why Evitagen doesn’t like her,’ Ash thought to himself.

“What’s that?” Nefaria asked, still smiling.

“Nothing. Carry on.”

Nefaria fiddled with a corner of her red and black dress. She suddenly seemed to have lost all interest for Ash, who found himself waiting for her to finally tell him why she had come. He cleared his throat multiple times, but couldn’t get her to face him. Her captivating eyes were completely absorbed in the intricate design of her dress.

“Well, if that was all, I’ll be leavi—”

“You’re boring,” she then suddenly said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an incredibly boring, young man,” she repeated. “Men your age are supposed to be opportunistic. Why aren’t you asking favors? I’m a goddess; men your age would ask favors of all sorts, want most profound desires fulfilled. You, however, appear completely uninterested in such things. Empty, is how I would describe you.

The woman’s voice was completely different from her usual, seductive tone. It was nothing but a small change in her voice, but it was enough for Ash to sense it and be impressed by the skill with which she was able to control her voice.

“I’m sorry, but my sense of purpose is still developing… according to Evitagen.”

“That. That right there is what I don’t like about people like you. You have none of the qualities I like in a man. You’re an indecisive, charmless fool who’s quick to do as he’s told.”

“Is there a point to these insul—”

“Stop it with the questions!” Nefaria shouted. “Don’t you think you lack proactivity?”

“What, n—”

“Don’t answer that! You’re exactly like his last project… I even told him not to bring someone like you here ever again.”

Ash knew he’d been told not to ask questions, but that comment wasn’t just something he could ignore.

“What do you mean ‘last project’?”

“Before you came along—long before you were even born—Evitagen had a partner, much like yourself. He was a man from some western country, the name of which I can’t be bothered to recall. That mask-freak used to be a lot different back then. He would come talk to me every now and then, and even visit those of us he doesn’t particularly care for these days.”

The horned beauty took a sip of her tea, leaned back in her chair, which followed her movements—shaped itself to maximize comfort, no matter how she laid or sat in it.

“Evi would come talk for days, months, even years without ever leaving my side. The subject never mattered to him, as long as he had someone to talk to. But then he changed.”

Ash couldn’t imagine Evitagen being anything other than the unfeeling, condescending prick of a demon he’d always known him to be.

“What was he like, back then?”

Nefaria took another sip and sat up straight, “He was a charmer—an eccentric—so unlike his current self. And it’s all that little imp’s fault,” she said. Her eyes were colder than Ash could remember ever seeing them. “You see, Evi isn’t all powerful. For you, he probably seems so, but in reality, he is one of the weaker residents of this world.”

“E-excuse me. What?!”

“Wasn’t I clear enough? Evi isn’t exactly strong; if he was, I wouldn’t be able to call him nicknames. He hates that. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about him.”

Ash couldn’t help but be a bit shaken. Very shaken, actually. To him, Evitagen was the pinnacle of power—to Ash, he’d always been the physical embodiment of power. Someone who was always the strongest in the room.

“I don’t believe you. I saw him beat you before, which means he has to at least be stronger than you. Or maybe you’re just that weak.”

“That’s more like it,” she whispered. “That anger, that denial, is what I want to see. You have man-like qualities, after all. Maybe you too can be seduced, given the right sort of”—she slowly reached for where Ash’s face would’ve been—“persuasion.”

“But no. Not when you’re simply aiding Evi in converting my faithful followers.”

“I’m not following…”

“For your information, the reason that masked freak of nature took your body isn’t because he thought he’d help you for a bit. He stole it away when your mind was weak, so you wouldn’t notice his intention. All so you wouldn’t resist.”

“I asked him to help me!” Ash shouted.

“Yes, you most certainly did. But as you know, your physical body is tainted with his madness. Any decisions you make are made under his subtle influence, even though his grasp of your mind is weak.”

“You make it sound like my decisions aren’t my own, Nefaria.”

The horned lady’s eyes were intensely staring into the young elf’s own. She wasn’t answering, but her piercing, ice-blue stare gave away her thoughts on the matter.

“What… What use could he possibly have for my body? I mean, if he’s half as powerful as I think he is, he should just be able to appear and conduct his business.”

“For him to appear in your world, he needs a substantial following there. Until quite recently, his only nourishment was your devotion, your fear and reverence, which, quite frankly, isn’t nearly enough for him to manifest for long enough to do anything meaningful,” she said and rose from her chair, which disappeared the second she stood up. “That all changed when he stole away your body, though. Currently, he’s busy converting my followers; my nourishment. He’s stealing away my power, and you’re enabling him to do that. Because you’re weak, and because he’s smart enough to capitalize on that fact.”

“What exactly are you trying to say here? Are you suggesting that I politely tell him to stop doing what he’s doing?”

“No. I’m saying the time for being polite is gone. I want the old Evi back, and you’re going to help me achieve that, starting with bringing your own, sane self back.”

Ash, who hadn’t exactly been the proactive party in their conversation, felt something disappear within him. The excitement Nefaria had made him feel was completely gone, for some reason. His flickering avatar calmed down completely.

“Oh, I see,” he began, “you’re just in it to make me do something for you. Trying to tempt me into backstabbing Evitagen, huh. Unfortunately for you, I will not betray the one being that ever believed in me. Not now.”

Nefaria’s gaze grew colder.

“You probably thought you had me figured out just now. But the fact of the matter is that I feel saner than ever. Brought up a slave in a hyper-capitalistic kingdom, with no goodwill to spare for the likes of an elf like myself, I had to claw my way to where I am now. I had to die by the hands of people I trusted, in order to become what I am now.”

The flicker was returning to the necromancer’s avatar, along with a strange, warm light spreading from its dark, flaming core.

“Sure, I may not be the sanest man alive, nor the happiest. But unlike you, I will not be an ancient step on the staircase of life, born to be forgotten by all of creation. Unlike you, I will be remembered by the people of the empire I intend to make out of this frozen wasteland to which I have come.”

“Ah, one has to wonder what kind of goddess truly cares about a lowly elf’s opinion. Could you be a self-conscious goddess?”

There was no response other than the slow spread of her smile, which looked faker and faker by the second. Her hands were clawed, and looked like they were aching to slit the necromancer’s throat.

“That won’t be necessary. Save your bloodlust for your last disciples when they finally turn their backs on their goddess.”

He now found himself lying comfortably on his back with an unfamiliar roof above his head. He didn’t even question where he was. Ash was lost in thought revolving around a single, undeniable fact; he had just started a war with a powerful enemy. That didn’t feel too bad, though.

“You’re awake, huh?” came a rusty man’s voice from the corner of the room.

“Who—” he began but was cut off by a series of violent coughs, followed by blood flowing freely from his mouth. “What happened to me…?” he whispered.

The young elf’s vision was blurred, so he couldn’t see whoever was sitting in the corner.

“The Warped One, who until just recently resided in your body, told me you would feel the repercussions of the spell he used on me,” he replied and got up.

“Evitagen used a spell on you—wait,” Ash had to pause for a second, “how long have I been out?”

“A week or two. Maybe two and a half—I’ve been resting, myself.”

“You’re saying… I’ve been asleep for nearly three weeks, and nobody waked me.”

“The Dark One was very clear in his instructions. You are not to wake the boy,” he quoted. “I gotta say, I envy you. If I had somehow earned the full attention of a god, I’d be pretty pleased with myself.”

Ash got on his feet, and stood face to face with the man. His vision was getting better by the second, so he quickly made out Sven’s facial features, despite his slightly obscured vision.

“Tell me, Sven, what exactly went down while I was out? Where am I right now?”

The tribe leader raised his ginger eyebrows and nodded toward the door, “Why don’t you stop asking these questions and”—he took a long, deep suck on the pipe—“go live a little?”

“Sure, make the cripple—”

“Oh, stop being such a wimp. Stop complaining and get out.”

So, without much of a choice, Ash awkwardly made his way to the door, with the help of the redhead’s crutches, opened it and was greeted by a marvelous sight.

He found himself by the sea. It was cold, and the wind was sending snow flying everywhere. A kilometer, or so, away, he could see his ships at anchor with his undead minions going to and from them, carrying with them various construction materials—wood, stone, and even iron. All over the place, there were villagers from the Nordmaend tribe, who were either playing in the snow, talking to one another, or even helping the dead with their tasks, although some were visibly uncomfortable with being so close to the mindless automatons.

As a smile spread on the young elf’s lips, he realized that the madness still hadn’t returned to his mind even after waking up.

Chapter end