The Necromancer's Nephew Read online

  Tinjin cleared his throat loudly. "If I may continue..."

  "Sorry, Uncle," spoke several at once.

  "Well... to get to the point, I would like to take my nephew Garrett as my apprentice and would put it to a vote of the Brotherhood."

  Garrett looked up at Uncle Tinjin in amazement. He had never really expected to be allowed into the secretive cabal of necromancers. While he had often assisted Uncle in the many unpleasant daily tasks involved with bringing the dead back to a semblance of life, he had never been allowed inside Uncle's secret workshop beneath the manor house. Corpses went in. The doors were shut. When they opened again, zombies came out. The idea that he could ever do that kind of magic made his head swim.

  "An excellent idea, and an excellent choice!" Zara said, "Let all in favor say so."

  The dining hall resounded with the voices of every necromancer present.

  "That sounded unanimous," Cenick said with a smile.

  The necromancers pressed forward to shake Garrett's hand. Tinjin stood back for a few moments to let them offer their congratulations, then he shooed them away as he knelt on one knee before Garrett.

  "Let the first gift be from me then, my boy," he said, lifting a glittering chain from his pocket. At the end hung the talisman of a true necromancer, a golden medallion cast in the shape of a horned skull. It matched the talisman that Tinjin wore in every detail. Uncle placed it over Garrett's head and laid the heavy pendant on the boy's chest.

  Garrett tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't come out right. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, and he saw the same in Tinjin's eyes as well.

  "Welcome to the Brotherhood, Garrett," Tinjin said, smiling as he placed his hands on Garrett's shoulders. A chorus of welcomes sounded throughout the room.

  "All right," Zara said, "now that he's in, I can give him my present." The roguish young man stepped forward with a slim book, bound in black leather, and placed it in Garrett's hands as Uncle Tinjin stepped away.

  "Thanks!" Garrett said, opening the cover to read the title page. "A Treatise on the Use of Vital Energies in Performing Wild Magic."

  Uncle Tinjin groaned.

  "You probably shouldn't read any more of that particular book out loud," Zara said with a nervous chuckle, "just to be safe."

  "He's going to be learning real necromancy in my house," Tinjin said.

  "I know," Zara said, "It's just a bit of casual reading... for his spare time."

  Cenick gave Zara a stern look as he stepped forward to offer his gift. Garrett flinched as the savage-looking Neshite knelt before him. Though he knew Cenick to be a kind and gentle man, the boy still found the necromancer's appearance a bit intimidating. Cenick's tattooed face softened with a faint smile as he produced a thick leather belt and wrapped it around Garrett's waist. The scabbard of a curved jungle knife hung to one side of the belt.

  "Don't put all of your faith in magic, boy," Cenick said, "Sometimes the best solution is a sharp blade."

  Garrett nodded and thanked Cenick for the gift. One by one, the other necromancers stepped forward to offer little tokens of their friendship to the boy. Soon, a half dozen undead servants entered the room carrying steaming plates of roasted meat, and the men's attentions turned to the food and to talk of the war.

  Garrett did not care much for war talk, but found it an impossible subject to avoid. Every day new reports came in of lands and forces lost to the relentless Chadirian horde. He chose at least to stand nearest to the most optimistic of the war-talkers, Maximilian Zara.

  "Have you heard? The Sisterhood is going to allow necromancers to travel with the army," Zara said, his eyes flashing eagerly.

  Uncle Tinjin only grunted in response, a wary look on his face.

  "I think Zara's most excited about the young priestess they've put in charge of this little expedition," Cenick said.

  "It's not like that," Zara laughed, "You have to see this as an opportunity."

  "I know exactly what sort of opportunity you're thinking of," Cenick said.

  "No... I mean, she is rather attractive, I'll give you that, but think of this, the Sisterhood is finally willing to admit that we actually exist. They want to work with us side by side. We could see how their magic works firsthand!"

  "What do you think, Uncle?" Cenick asked.

  Tinjin's face darkened. "If the Sisterhood is asking for help, they must be getting desperate."

  "Then it's high time we get in there and show them how real necromancers deal with a problem!" Zara insisted.

  "With wild magic?" Tinjin asked.

  "Come now!” Zara said, looking slightly offended, "Ask Cenick here about the time a little wild magic knocked that hungry hill troll from off his back."

  Cenick nodded. "True enough, although you did drain an entire flask of essence doing it, and singed the shirt and most of the hair off my back in the process."

  "But it worked!"

  "Technically, yes."

  "There you have it!" Zara said.

  Garrett did his best to hide a yawn with the back of his sleeve. Tinjin noticed.

  "It's getting late, Garrett," Uncle said, "You'd better get to bed."

  Garrett groaned, but knew better than to argue. He gathered up as many of his gifts as he could carry and said goodnight to everyone.

  "Oh, before you go," Tinjin said, "you have one more gift." He pointed toward a table in the corner of the room upon which sat a smallish object beneath a cover of red silk.

  "What is it?" Garrett asked.

  "It arrived for you earlier," Tinjin said, "I believe it is a gift from your young vampire acquaintance."

  "Marla sent me a gift?" Garrett asked.

  "That or a severed monkey head, judging by the size and shape," Cenick said, "You'd better go and check in case it is. It's not a good sign when a young lady sends you a monkey head. Trust me on that."

  Garrett laughed politely, though he could never be certain when Cenick was joking.

  Garrett hurried to the table and lifted the red cloth. Beneath it lay a little silver birdcage, a birdcage containing something extraordinary.

  "A fairy!" Garrett said.

  The tiny creature, no bigger than Garrett's thumb, lay at the bottom of the cage. She glowed with a warm light that shifted in hue from pink to purple to orange. Her wings, as delicate as a dragonfly's, fluttered with a faint whirring sound as she looked up at him seeming to wake from a restless sleep. She watched him with uncertainty in her lambent blue eyes.

  "A real fairy!" Garrett exclaimed.

  "A very fine gift," Uncle Tinjin remarked.

  "Indeed," Jitlowe said, "only the wealthiest of the Zhadeen can afford to keep such pets."

  Cenick made a rude noise. "It is not a pet!" he said, "A fairy is a potent and elder spirit. Garrett, you are fortunate to have been given such a companion. You must give it a name, and give it quickly to seal the bond."

  Garrett stared back, flabbergasted.

  Zara laughed. "You heard the savage. Think of a name, Garrett, double-quick!"

  Garrett's exhausted brain reeled as his eyes darted around the room, searching for inspiration. They fell on one of the many witchfire sconces that lit the room.

  "Lampwicke!" he blurted out.

  Cenick smiled, and Zara nodded in approval. Garrett looked down at the fairy, and she tilted her head to the side, studying him.

  "That will be enough for one evening," Uncle said, "Garrett, take... Lampwicke upstairs and get to bed."

  Garrett had to leave most of his gifts downstairs, but he managed to make it to his room with Lampwicke's cage in hand, Zara's book tucked under one arm, and Cenick's knife on his hip.

  He was able to kick off one of his shoes before he slumped across his bed, already asleep.

  Chapter Four

  Garrett kept waking up in his old bed in the room above the stairs in the little house above his father's bakery. He knew it was a dream, but each time he made himself wake up and found himself once again nestled benea
th that soft patchwork quilt, he wished more and more that it was real. He wondered if maybe he could make it true just by wanting it and believing hard enough.

  He sat up in his dream bed and looked around the room, marveling at the clarity of the vision. Garrett's heart ached to see sunlight shine through the little window upon the wooden planks of the floor. His old desk sat against the wall, cluttered with a young boy's treasures. The wooden sword that Grahm had carved for him stood proudly in the corner. The smell of baking bread filled the room, and his mother's voice echoed up the stairs. She sang to him in a strange language, a sad melody in lilting, beautiful words he could not comprehend.

  Garrett woke up again.

  The gray gloom of dawn crept in between the shuttered blinds of the room in the necromancer's house. Garrett rolled over onto his elbow in the bed, rubbing at his eyes. Something hard dug into his hip. He still wore the knife Cenick had given him, belted around his waist. Then he blinked, wondering if he still dreamed, for the strange and beautiful song continued.

  The fairy sat in her cage on the corner of his bedside table, singing.

  Garrett sat up and listened. He did not know what the words meant, but they filled his heart with a joyful longing for a lost home. The fairy sat with her back to him, looking toward the dim light of the window. She shone with an inner glow, a brilliant, pulsing light that one moment was the color of sunlight on a meadow, the next, the color of a cloudless sky.

  Garrett watched and listened, desiring to neither distract nor frighten her. He knew that he would see again those visions of lost home if he closed his eyes for a moment, but he dared not let them shut. Going there and coming back again would break his heart.

  At last her song came to an end. Her light faded into a soft pink glow, and her head bowed in silence. Garrett wiped a tear from his cheek.

  He cleared his throat, feeling inexplicably ashamed. "Good morning, Lampwicke," he said.

  The little fairy turned to look at him, her light flickering like a candle flame caught in a cold draft. For a moment, a shadow fell across her, and only her shining blue eyes blinked up at him.

  Garrett drew back, worried that he'd frightened her. He smiled and said, "Thank you for the song. It was really good."

  Lampwicke's wings fluttered as she backed against the far side of her cage. She watched Garrett warily, but her blushing glow had returned.

  "I didn't know you could talk," Garrett said, "I don't understand what you were saying. Do you know how to speak Gloaran?"

  Lampwicke stared up at him, her eyes narrowed.

  "My name's Garrett. I only named you Lampwicke because I had to think of something fast. Do you have a different name that you go by?"

  She tilted her head slightly, one of her tiny pointed ears pricked up beneath her short violet hair. Her lips moved slowly, testing the word before she spoke it, "Lampwicke."

  Garrett grinned. He wasn't sure what came next. He'd never had a pet before. Companion, corrected Cenick's voice in his head. He tried to remember the time that Grahm had brought home the wounded raven. Father had said that it would probably die, and Grahm shouldn't set his hopes too high. It had lived though, and Grahm was proud to have proved Father wrong. Grahm and Garrett had fed the bird every hour, taking turns staying awake at night. Birds didn't eat much, but they ate often.

  "Are you hungry, Lampwicke?" he asked.

  She looked up at him, her face a mask of incomprehension.

  "Wait here," he said, "I'll get you something!"

  Garrett ran downstairs, lightening his step slightly when he saw Zara sprawled across the couch in the hall. He had one of Uncle's favorite books draped across his face, muffling his snores.

  Garrett pushed open the kitchen door as quietly as he was able. The kitchen zombie lifted its head expectantly as Garrett entered. It had no official name. Uncle Tinjin didn't believe in naming zombies. Other necromancers often gave nicknames or titles to their undead creations, but Uncle called it pointless sentimentality.

  Garrett was careful to never let Uncle catch him doing it.

  "Good morning, Tom," Garrett said.

  The zombie creaked into motion, stepping from the gloomy corner where it spent most of its existence. Garrett stopped it with a wave of his hand.

  "I don't need any help Tom, thanks," Garrett said. He hastily gathered a bit of fresh bread and a handful of grapes from the pantry. He briefly considered the sausages hanging from a peg on the door, but he couldn't imagine a fairy hunting for meat in the wild. He grabbed a teacup and a bottle of water and headed upstairs.

  Daylight, as much as could ever be expected, lit his bedroom by the time he returned. Garrett set the food on the table by Lampwicke's cage and opened the shutters. People moved through the street below. Garrett squinted his eyes and tried to envision monstrous skeletal creatures lumbering down the same lane, but the previous night's events seemed little more than a bad dream now.

  Garrett returned to the cage and stooped to unfasten the tiny silver latch. Lampwicke's eyes went to the door of the cage. Garrett hesitated. What if the fairy got loose and flew away? What would he tell Marla?

  Though he might find a way to fit the bread and grapes through the bars, the teacup would never go. Garrett bit his lip and opened the cage door.

  Lampwicke flew toward the opening, a blur of light and buzzing wings. A bright flash and a bang filled Garrett's room. Suddenly, Lampwicke lay on the floor of the cage, clutching her shoulder and writhing in pain. A scent like the wind after a thunderstorm hung in the air.

  Garrett stood, mouth agape. Vampire magic bound Lampwicke to her cage. She could no more pass through the open cage door than Garrett could through a stone wall.

  "I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I didn't... I..."

  Lampwicke glared at him, her eyes full of anger and hurt.

  "I just wanted to give you something to eat," he said. Garrett tore off a piece of bread and pushed it through the cage door. Lampwicke hopped to the far side of the cage, still massaging her arm with her other hand. Garrett poured a little water into the teacup and set in inside the cage as well.

  Lampwicke watched him but made no move toward the bread or water. Garrett pulled a grape from the bunch and placed it next to the bread. As he withdrew his fingers, the grape rolled free, wobbling to a stop at Lampwicke's feet.

  The fairy looked down at the fruit. She glanced at Garrett again to assure herself that he had not moved. Then she knelt and passed her hand across the smooth skin of the grape. She smiled, leaning forward to wrap her arms around the fruit. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as though savoring the scent of it.

  Garrett brought one of the grapes to his nose, sniffing. He smelled nothing. He popped it in his mouth and crunched it. It tasted like an ordinary grape.

  "It's all right to eat," he said, putting another grape in his mouth, "Shee? Thar goot."

  Lampwicke's eyes rose, no longer angry. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  "Garrett," Uncle called from downstairs, "breakfast."

  "Oh, sorry," Garrett said, hastily shoving the rest of the grapes into Lampwicke's cage. She fluttered clear of a rolling grape, looking slightly annoyed. Garrett thought of closing the cage door, but it seemed rude somehow and rather unnecessary.

  Garrett started out the bedroom door, pausing as he realized he was still wearing the shirt he'd slept in. He hurried to grab a fresh one and was about to pull the old one off when he realized that Lampwicke was watching him. He froze.

  Garrett sidled out of the room, changing quickly in the hallway. He tossed the old shirt back through the door and headed downstairs.

  Uncle Tinjin waited for him at the breakfast table. The kitchen zombie poked sluggishly at a mound of raw bacon piled in the center of an iron pan by the fire. Garrett sat down, just as a bleary-eyed Maximilian Zara staggered into the room, looking about as alert as Tom the zombie.

  "You could have let me sleep," Zara mumbled, vainly attempting to smooth his unruly brown h
air with his hands.

  "Sleep late in your own house," Uncle Tinjin said without looking up from his tea.

  The zombie shambled over to set a plate of cold biscuits in front of Garrett.

  "Thanks, To... " Garrett said, almost saying the zombie’s name before Uncle's look of disapproval cut him off.

  "So, Garrett," Zara said, "how does it feel to be an unholy agent of the dark powers?"

  "Huh?" Garrett asked, stuffing a biscuit in his mouth.

  "A necromancer, Garrett," Zara laughed, "Now that you're one of us, you're going to have to start taking your role as a merciless harrower of souls more seriously."

  Garrett blinked at him.

  "I'll take you out shopping for fiery crowns and implements of torture after breakfast."

  "What you do after breakfast is your own business," Uncle said, "but this young man has work to do."

  "Work, work, work," Zara scoffed as he poured himself a cup of tea, "I suppose that's one way to spend your day."

  "You should try it sometime," Uncle said.

  "I keep meaning to..." Zara said, gulping down his tea, "I just can't seem to fit it into my busy schedule."

  "What is it, exactly, that you do with your time?" Tinjin asked.

  "Research, dear Uncle, research!"

  Uncle Tinjin snorted.

  "Speaking of which, " Zara said, "I have some research to attend to at the Temple this afternoon."

  Uncle's shaggy brows furrowed. "Be careful, Max," he said, "It was not that long ago that the Sisterhood hunted us as heretics."

  Zara flashed his crooked grin. "Never fear, Uncle. I'll be the one doing the hunting this time."

  Uncle set his teacup aside and looked Zara in the eye. "You don't know what they're capable of."

  "And they don't know what I'm capable of," Zara said. He pushed back from the table suddenly and stood. He assumed his most aloof expression and bowed floridly. "I'll leave you both to this work business. Others need my wisdom too, and I must away."