There is no way to survive death.
Visiting The Necromancer's Realm
"What the hell?" muttered Alex.
"Get up, we're leaving," I announced as I started to get dressed because, after all, I couldn't show up at a necromancer's house in my pajamas.
"Where to?" he growled. "At this hour? Are you crazy?"
"No, I just found out I'm not crazy," I replied.
"Hurry up!", I added, as I managed to hit him in the face with the clothes I had thrown at him.
Five minutes later we were waiting outside our front door in full battle gear: T-shirts and jeans. Soon Alice and Des arrived.
"What are we going to do at 12:30 a.m.?" asked the wolf, still grumpy.
"We're desecrating corpses, isn't it obvious?" the most shocking thing was that Des said it with actual delight.
Off we went, all of us except Alex, who was still gaping on the doorstep, and I thought there was a strong resemblance between him and a beached fish. Had we not been in this situation, I might have laughed at the look on his face.
"Are you afraid?" asked Des with a cocky smile.
"I'm not afraid!" Alex declared defiantly, "I just think it's all a bit scary."
"They're the same thing," the hunter chuckled.
"Well, they're not!" Alex protested.
I admitted to myself that Des knew the wolf perfectly well. We walked slowly through the deserted streets at night. The street lamps were doing their best to light the night, but the darkness proved to be a tenacious beast and would not relent.
"Where are we going?" I was waiting to hear Alex ask this very important question. "Seriously..."
"To the next cemetery," Des answered lightly, "to the best of my knowledge, the nearest necromancer lives there."
"What is a necromancer?"
Summoners, corpse snatchers, death gods, there are many names for these creatures — no one really knows what they are. There is a rumour that if you visit this particular cemetery at midnight sharp and make a request out loud, the Necromancer will appear and grant it under certain conditions. However, when we reached the cemetery and Des spoke, nothing happened.
"Appear before me, Necromancer!" he repeated.
"It is long past midnight," Alice declared, "Let us try tomorrow!"
The hunter nodded. And I had to listen to Alex whine the whole way back. Alice and Des stayed with us just in case, but the ghost didn't appear to me again during the night.
(...)
The next day was tense. Somehow no one could find their place in the quiet of the tiny apartment. Even Des didn't try to seduce Alice every five minutes — for which I secretly thanked heaven — so the situation was quite serious.
In an attempt to spend the time usefully and look up the identity of the ghost boy, I got all the school's yearbooks I'd had so far out of a dark corner of my wardrobe and had a good look through them. I found nothing. Damn this vampire hocus-pocus! Why does all information have to disappear once a person is kidnapped?!
Then late at night I sat on my bed, pulled my legs up, and buried myself deep in the pages pretending to read without any care about the world. It was about half an hour later that I realized I was holding the book upside down when Alex pointed it out to me. In response, I muttered something about reading normally being boring, turned the book over, and was about to resume my 'reading' when something flew into my window.
Alice almost had a heart attack. He looked as white as if he was about to faint. Alex looked at the window as if a mountain troll was about to crawl through it, then almost immediately put his hand to his nose and turned spectacularly green.
"It's a news raven," my brother declared.
Des continued to calmly sit on my desk and did not seem inclined to move for at least the next century. Since no one was to spare me and do it for me, I got up and walked over to the window. Only then did I realize that the bird was dead — only it hadn't died from the impact. I could see why the wolf had been holding his nose so fervently, as the animal must have been dead for over a week. The best proof of this was the disgusting white worms that were coiled in its eye sockets.
As soon as I opened the window, the bird leaped to its feet and began to gag. A sheet of paper fell from its beak onto the sill. It cawed and then flew away as if nothing had happened.
I flicked a worm away from the rolled-up sheet of paper and, disgusted though I was, picked it up. I smoothed it out but there was not a single letter on it.
"Dear Mr. Dénes Roubál, Dear Mr. Benjamin Garai, Dear Mr. Alex Szalai, and last but not least Dear Mr. Shaytan! Tonight, at exactly midnight, I will be able to receive you. Please, if the time is convenient, do not be late! Sincerely, the Necromancer."
I heard each word in the depths of my skull in a loud, booming but meek voice. Is that the voice of the Necromancer?
"You heard it, didn't you?" Des jumped down from the table with glee, "We're in for a particularly dreadful night!"
He said all this as happily as if he had just announced that it was going to be Christmas every day from now on. Alex shuddered. I wondered if the Necromancer was sending everyone a special bird, or should I feel honoured?
(...)
We arrived at the iron gate of the cemetery at exactly eleven fifty-nine.
"Listen, necromancers are very cunning creatures," Des said, "I'm sure he'll try to kill us once or twice. They are notorious for their poisons."
"Are you sure this is necessary?" Alex asked.
He certainly didn't want to meet any more revived animal corpses, not now, not for the rest of his life.
"Don't worry, necromancers are hospitable," Alice consoled him, "I'm sure he won't send dead ravens after you."
The seer's watch began to tick wildly, which meant one thing: it was midnight. A mysterious mist descended on the cemetery as if by magic, almost out of nowhere. The air was heavy, humid, and incredibly difficult to breathe.
Out of the murky haze, a dark figure emerged as it drew closer and closer to us. He walked slowly and deliberately, his soft footsteps echoing through the air, and then he stopped a meter away and lifted his top hat off his head.
"Greetings," he said, "Come in!"
He bowed slightly, and at the same time, the cemetery gate creaked open. Des was the first to move at a leisurely pace, and we slowly followed him. The Necromancer turned around and led our little group inside. A small crypt stood in the middle of the cemetery, its wooden double doors opened as soon as we got close enough. Seriously, is this where he lives?
I was very shocked when I crossed the threshold of the place, as I found myself in a cozy hallway. The candle on the wall was lit immediately, and the Necromancer unzipped his long coat and threw it on the rack. Neither of us started to undress, the place was colder than it was outside.
The hall led into the living room, where the Necromancer kindly offered us a seat. Alice and Des occupied the black leather sofa, Alex one armchair and I the other, and the Necromancer sat down opposite us in the third.
The room was decorated in a clean, antique style. On the wall behind us, I caught a glimpse of a large mirror, beneath which was expensive, exquisitely carved furniture, covered with a red tablecloth. Various candlesticks and green eosin objects decorated the space. In addition, on the wall, an old antique clock clicked loudly — the kind of clock that is incredibly expensive and has to be wound so cunningly that it is not worth buying at all. On the glass table in front of us were a variety of tea cakes on a pre-prepared tray, glasses on a tray beside them, and a yellowish glass kettle with a metal dragon on the end of it.
"A cup of tea, anyone?" The Necromancer asked meekly, "Relax, it's not poisoned. After all, it wouldn't do me any good if you died before the contract was signed..."
For some reason, I felt that the sly grin on his lips was in stark contrast to what he was saying — after this, neither of us had touched the food or drink.
The Necromancer had dangerous green eyes, vivid, the irises flickered sometimes, and, unusually, I had no idea how old he was. Although he looked no more than thirty, his eyes radiated centuries of knowledge and wisdom. His hair fell in a long, blood-red stream from under his top hat. He was dressed formally, with a bow tie, like a real businessman.
Des laid the diary on the table, open at the exact moment of the last entry.
"We are dealing with a truly fierce specter," he declared.
The Necromancer took one brief glance at the diary and then ignored it.
"Vengeful ghosts," he said, "Do you have any idea why they haunt you?"
He asked me the question, looking me straight in the eye with those supernatural irises.
"How did you know?"
The Necromancer smiled. "Although they are not always seen, that does not mean, ghosts disappear. They are always there, watching. A small horde of them has gathered on my doorstep, and indeed, they all want you."
My face probably reflected clearly the fear I felt, for our host quickly added:
"Don't worry, they can't cross my threshold without my permission."
I nodded slightly.
"Since you are being haunted, dear Mr. Shaytan, I'd like to conclude the deal in private," he added.
My eyes widened, I caught Des's look of protest and saw him open his mouth to speak, and then I heard a click and my friends disappeared without a trace. One moment I could see them, the next they were gone — even the sofa and Alex's armchair were missing from the room. The space seemed a little bigger, so I instinctively felt smaller. The clock continued to click deafeningly...
"Where are my friends?" I asked, with ill-concealed nervousness in my voice.
"This place is my realm, so I can manipulate it however I want," the Necromancer answered, "Don't worry, Shaytan, they're waiting safely, and once we've done our business, you can leave with them," the Necromancer assured me, and it did not escape my attention that he was no longer so formal with me.
A look of recognition flashed in his eyes, and he quickly added:
"Do you mind?"
I shook my head.
"So, getting back to the problem," he continued, "Do you have any idea why you've got such a massive amount of vengeful ghosts on you?"
"No," I replied, "The boy I met... I wasn't even aware that he was dead."
The Necromancer folded his hands and rested his chin on them — only then did I notice his long, black claws.
"I'm not sure how much knowledge you have of vengeful spirits..." he looked at me questioningly.
I shivered at the look in his eyes — he probably noticed it too, because the corners of his lips curled upwards for a moment.
"I didn't even know they existed."
"No wonder," said the Necromancer, "Only those who are haunted are aware of their existence, for only they can see these spirits. Usually, they haunt their killers, so your case is unusual my dear Shaytan," he sighed deeply. "The situation is worrisome. These ghosts suck away the life force of the haunted person to strengthen themselves. This is not so taxing in the case of a few spirits, but in your case, if you are not careful, it could be fatal. Vengeful ghosts will simply drain every drop of life out of you."
That doesn't sound good at all. Not at all. In fact, I think it scared the hell out of me.
"So, if this keeps up, I'm just gonna die?" I blurted out.
"You summed up your situation very well," the Necromancer nodded with a charming smile.
"We have to do something!" I said.
Although my tone was a little disrespectful, the Necromancer showed no sign of being offended.
"We will do something," he replied, "But it will not be free."
The businessman spoke. For some reason, I had the feeling that this was going to be very expensive for me.
The Necromancer was contemplating for a moment. He studied me for a long time with those disturbing green eyes, looking for something in me and penetrating my soul as no one had ever done before. I was embarrassed by that inquiring look.
"My average clients usually have a choice of two things: sell me half of their remaining life, i.e. pay me with their life force, or give me their body after death," he said.
Well, I didn't like that one bit. I didn't want to give him half my remaining years. I wanted to live, not just half a life.
"I think I'll make an exception this time," he nodded a few times. "Yes, I think it's for the best."
"What?"
The Necromancer's sly grin widened.
"Dear Shaytan, I think you have a future that is worth keeping an eye on. I believe you will make great progress," he explained, "You see, the eyes of a necromancer see much more than those of humans, monsters or other creatures. We are not wrong, believe me."
"What do you see?" I asked.
I was suddenly really curious to know the answer.
"I see souls," he answered.
"You see my soul now?" I was shocked.
The Necromancer nodded.
"And what is it like?"
"What excitement is there in knowing everything?" he asked with a gentle smile, "It's special, I can tell you that much."
"What am I paying you for your help?" I asked. "Necromancers serve the god of Death, don't they? Do I have to take someone's life?"
The Necromancer's eyes glinted with a truly disturbing light as his smile widened.
"Not quite," he said lightly, "We actually serve the Sun Goddess, yet we get our power from the God of Eternal Night. A delightful duality, isn't it?"
The Sun Goddess and the Night God. The pillars of my world's religion. Although the churches are not as popular as they were in the old days, they still have a pretty decisive influence. The Sun Goddess is believed to be the bride of the God of Eternal Night, and the Night God is the Sun Goddess' only husband.
It is for this reason that the Sun Goddess has bestowed the most extraordinary creatures on the Night God, who, as a token of his gratitude, when these wondrous beings grow weak and old, bestows upon them the gift of death, so that they may be reborn again to life strong and glorious.
The Necromancer was pondering for a moment, then pursed his lips again in a sugar-coated smile.
"Well, I'm doing you a favour, so from now on you're in my debt," he declared, "If I ask you for anything in the future, whatever it is, you can't refuse."
I considered the matter. For a few moments, I remained silent and considered what a Necromancer could ask of me, while he watched me intently.
"You won't ask for the life of my wife or my first-born child, will you?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Of course not."
"All right, then," I nodded.
The Necromancer's face lit up — much like a child's Halloween excitement, but his broad grin was somehow sinister, and I sensed that he carried danger. Still, I could not turn back after that.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. My eyes widened, and I watched almost in awe as an ever-longer parchment appeared in his hand.
"I, Gironde Mehisto, hereby sign a contract with Mr. Shaytan," he announced as the parchment stopped growing, and then a quill appeared in his other hand. He signed a line at the end of the contract, then ran one claw along the tip of his thumb and pressed it to the paper. When he finished, he handed me the parchment and the pen.
"Feel free to read it over, I've got time," he said with a grin, and although I didn't see the joke in it, he seemed to have said something very humorous to himself.
The contract was written in old-fashioned, stretched-out, scribbled letters that seemed almost illegible to me. Anyway, I skimmed it through, and I didn't detect any fine print in what I could make out and understand. The other blank line at the bottom of the parchment was just waiting for my signature.
It was just one word, just seven letters, and just a moment. Then I touched my thumb to my canine and quickly pressed it to the page before the wound closed. When I took my hand away, the page glowed with a golden light, then curled up on its own and jumped into the Necromancer's hand. The man looked as happy as if he had just received the best Christmas present ever.
"Pleasure doing business with you," that's the corny phrase you always hear when you bet on the wrong horse.