“Also, look on the back: tiny runes. Those runes are a powerful spell, crafted by one of our most skilled magic-wielders many years ago; it makes the arrows impervious to the vast majority of magics.”
Linaera frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“It means that you cannot directly act upon it – like with telekinesis. It also means it can go through wards. Although we hunters cannot take out a battalion of mages, we have a fighting chance if we get cornered by one.”
“That’s pretty impressive, let me try.” Linaera concentrated on the shaft; but as predicted, it did not move.
“Well, what do you know? It should be well into the air by now. But as impressive as that is...”
“It’s no good against our enemies, is it?” Deriën filled in.
“Deriën… how are we going to beat him? He’s so powerful… like some sort of God. He can raise the dead, destroy some of our most powerful mages with ease, even elves are in danger from him. What can we do? I’m not even that powerful, and your arrows have proven ineffective against the dead.”
“Be strong, Linaera,” Deriën soothed. “As you say, bad things can happen to anyone.”
THIRTY SIX
Linaera was dreaming.
She was in the middle of a room. The room was huge and lavishly decorated. A fire burned in the hearth, a fire of roaring fury and dangerous power. There was a baby at the other end of the room: it was crying.
Linaera turned to see why. The shadows parted; a monster was revealed.
A monster that had killed her friend. Its malice-filled eyes glowed with that dangerous unnatural light – they were ready to commit unimaginable crimes. It smiled; its teeth were sharp like fangs. It said no words, but Linaera was already running.
She was running and running, but not fast enough. The thing turned.
The dream ended in a scene of horrific red.
***
Linaera woke up.
She was gasping, cold sweat all over her body.
This is not good, she thought to herself. Her eyes adjusted to see that Deriën had gone; only the sound of the breeze could be heard.
She quickly walked out of her underground shelter, surprised to see that the weather was a joyful, if rather chilly, sunshine. It reflected off Deriën standing in the middle, looking rather lost.
“Hey, Der?” Linaera asked, unconsciously referring to him by the nickname Gadalthal had used.
“Oh, hey Linaera. I see you’ve woken up?”
“Yes. What were you doing here?”
Deriën blinked.
“I don’t really know. Waiting for you to wake up, I guess.”
“Oh. You couldn’t sleep either?”
“No. Something about this place gives me the creeps.”
“Me too. Let’s go,” she suggested.
With both of them working together, it didn’t take them long to be on the road.
***
Time went past, along with its companion, distance. The landscape gradually changed as the characters continued on. Originally, only the desolate plains had existed: now, small, stubby hills could be seen emerging on the Eastern side. They were covered in vegetation, and even if their plan hadn’t included it, the duo would still have gone there to escape the barren landscape.
The sun, although devoid of warmth, had at least managed to cool Linaera’s fears. She had not mentioned anything of her dream, and she hoped that Deriën hadn’t caught on either. But she wasn’t sure: Deriën never gave anything away. It was why he was a good hunter, she suspected.
Deciding to break the silence, Linaera asked:
“You didn’t really tell me who lives in these hills.”
“They didn’t teach you?”
“Not really, no. Our teacher mainly thought of the hills as ‘dull’. We weren’t required to learn anything about it. I guess…”
“That it didn’t concern you? How strange. I would have thought the humans would be keen to know others around them – or is this feature only found in us elves?”
“No, we experience the desire to band together as well. I guess that someone doesn’t want us to know about it.”
“Indeed. But anyway, let us move on from here; I feel that the mild weather we have experienced thus far will not last for very long.”
“How do you know?”
Deriën gave her a queer look.
“Right. Elf. I get it, don’t worry.”
Deriën merely shook his head, and continued on.
***
Linaera trudged. By now, they had gone deep into the hills; and although she was glad to be out of the plains, she wasn’t jumping with joy at the new landscape either. She had never really been aware of it, but: travelling through elevation is hard. Especially when having to carry what seemed like a bag of bricks.
She pocketed the necklace. For some reason, the thing lent her strength. She figured it was something to do with it being the only thing she had bested the necromancer on. And escaping with your life, she thought dryly, but that’s of secondary importance.
Deriën stopped briefly. As he looked up, Linaera realised his words had been prophetic: more storm clouds could be seen on the horizon. They rumbled, determined not to be ignored. As if that were possible.
“This weather isn’t natural, is it?” Deriën asked.
“No. I’ve never heard of a winter being quite so violent. Even in summer, you don’t see so many storms. And we’re actually quite far south, but you can see melting snow around us.”
“Aye, the necromancer’s power is perverted.”
“Believe me, I know.”
“We will have to find shelter soon, you know.”
“At least there are forests.”
“Indeed.”
Linaera followed Deriën. He began walking towards the brown that dominated the tops of the hills – for the forest here were deciduous. A breeze flickered through them, making them wail with melancholy. Somehow, although she was no expert, Linaera knew that this forest had a very different feel to that of the elves.
This didn’t seem to concern Deriën.
The moment they entered its dark depths, he began to relax, instantly becoming more at home. His shoulders loosened; his eyes, they darted around less. It really was a remarkable change.
I guess open spaces really do make him uncomfortable.
“Should we make shelter?” Deriën asked.
Linaera thought, stroking the necklace distractedly.
“Deriën, now don’t take this the wrong way, but I think there might be human dwellings around here. A hunter’s cottage, or something,” she said. She instantly regretted when she saw the way he winced.
“I shouldn’t have said that. But anyway, my point still stands.”
“I don’t know Linaera… human houses?”
“Don’t worry: we don’t live in mudhouses. Maybe you should try it.”
She could see he wasn’t 100% convinced, but he relented.
“Very well then. A human house it be.” His remark was punctuated by now less-than-distant thunder.
They hurried along. But as Linaera had predicted, people did live here; she quickly spotted a cottage.
The thing was small, more like a cabin really. Its roof was thatched, its windows small, and its door uninviting. Linaera spotted the cracks on the windows and the lack of smoke from the chimney.
Abandoned, then, she thought. She was just glad that there was one.
Deriën was looking at it the way an alchemist might observe poisonous mushrooms growing in a flower field.
“Do you really live in that?”
“Elves,” Linaera muttered. She put on a show of confidence, and walked towards the door. Deriën dragged behind her.
The door opened with a displeased CREAK! Inside, a pale grey light illuminated the clay floor. There was a rug in the middle, although it was rather dirty. Some beds were crouched around an empty fireplace.
Deriën looked mildly
surprised.
“Well, I have to admit it isn’t quite as bad as I thought it would be.”
“This is just a poorman’s cabin, you know. Other houses have marble flooring, soft beds, underfloor heating…” She trailed off.
Boy, I never expected to be nostalgic about the academy. Linaera, you really have gone to new lows.
But Deriën seemed to understand.
“It’s okay. You’ll be home soon.” Linaera muttered something incoherently.
Outside, the steady pitter-patter of rain could be heard. Soon, it became the thrum-thrum of hail.
“Anyway, you better go find some firewood before it gets too bad out there.”
“Yes. A moment.” He quickly left his bags – although he kept his weapons – and went outside.
Linaera sighed, dumping herself on the beds. Surprisingly, they weren’t made from straw, indicating that this person did have some wealth: no peasant could afford feather mattresses.
She began playing around with her magic. She had been practising before, but now she wanted to try something a little harder.
She opened her bag, revealing the necklace, glorious as ever. She lifted it up, examining each feature carefully: the way the light sparkled off the jewel, as if lit up by inner fire; each intricacy of the chain, being more minute than mere human fingers; even the colour of it, too intense to be real. She spotted some vague writings on the inside of the jewel, which looked somewhat like the runes she had seen on the arrows before. Strange that I haven’t noticed that before, she wondered. She put her doubts to one side, resolved to copy the necklace as best she could.
She began concentrating, and all of her woes – her dreams, her worries, her fears – were put aside. The object resolved itself. Power began building within the room as Linaera chanted the spell she had been taught; and, sure enough, an image began to form.
It was vague at first, merely the impression of something greater. Linaera concentrated some more, applying a greater portion of her power; the edges solidified. But the centre remained stubbornly blurry and formless, a physical manifestation of Linaera’s inability.
With a sigh, she cut off the flow of magic, and put her trinket back in its place.
“That’s an impressive trick you’ve got there,” Deriën commented beside the door.
“I know,” Linaera said simply.
Silence followed.
“Okay, I guess you wanted to make a fire?”
Linaera suddenly noticed his arms were full of wood.
“Oh, yeah, okay. Put them in the fireplace.”
Deriën did as she commanded, and with a flick of the wrist, Linaera set it into flame.
“This thing is so strange. I recognise the material on the roof, and I’ve heard your windows are different, but otherwise…”
“Is it the bricks?”
“The red stuff?”
“Yeah, that’s it. It’s made from clay; you can dig it underground in many parts of Arachadia. That’s then heated up in a kiln to harden it.”
“It must be so inefficient to burn all that wood.”
Linaera shrugged.
“There is plenty of wood.”
Silence descended once again. It was broken by a sudden BOOM! of thunder. Darkness had fallen; the light of the fire illuminated the windows – they were being covered in snow, slowly, tauntingly.
Linaera jumped into bed, wrapping the blankets around her. Even with the now roaring fire, it was cold.
“Do you think Neshvetal can attack us via the weather?” she asked.
“I should hope not. Else we are all dead.”
***
Linaera smiled as the sun beat on her.
Some distant part of her wondered at how she had gotten to the beautiful green fields around her, which shone in the majestic light of the sun. Hadn’t she been in the middle of a snowstorm? And wasn’t someone meant to be with her?
She forgot all of that when Neshvetal came along.
He walked calmly towards her, smiling such a pleasant, unhurried sort of smile. He was still wearing his black robes; but somehow, that didn’t make him look out of place – only another part of the continuum.
Linaera was not afraid. She wasn’t even surprised at what came out of her mouth.
“Hello, father.”
“Hello, daughter.”
“It’s a beautiful day out here, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed. Tell me, Linaera, why are you here?”
“I… don’t know. It is awfully pretty out here though, isn’t it?”
But Neshvetal wore a sad smile on his face.
“You will figure it out eventually, I’m sure.”
With that, he turned around.
“Wait? Where are—” But he had already disappeared.
Linaera was momentarily confused. Then she saw someone: John.
Here, he was wearing casual white robes; golden leather sandals; and a happy expression. His eyes twinkled as Linaera walked towards him, aghast.
“You’re here!”
“Where did you think I was?”
“You were… you were gone.”
He considered that.
“I guess you could say that.”
“So are you alive? How did you come back?”
John smiled. He whispered something, but Linaera couldn’t hear, so she went closer to him.
“What did you say?”
“I’m dead, Linaera.”
Linaera didn’t understand.
Then something happened.
It was subtle at first, something not quite right in the mirage of bonheur around her. John’s jaws were a little too big. He opened his mouth like he was yawning.
And yawning. And yawning. His mouth became impossibly large, hideously malformed. The skin stretched, and decayed. Long teeth grew out of them. Two sets of them, the mark of an ancient beast.
The rest of his body followed suit – within moments, Linaera was staring at a monstrosity from the darkest part of her subconscious.
She screamed. And screamed.
The thing that was John simply laughed.
***
Linaera awoke with a loud gasp. She was boiling; the covers were stuck to her sweat-drenched skin. She opened her eyes to see the embers of the fire still burning. And Deriën staring at her like she had just grown wings.
“Would you mind telling me what just happened?”
“It’s a nightmare, stupid. Haven’t you ever heard of one?”
“Of course I have. What I want to know is why are you having such dreams?”
Linaera finally broke. Tears spilled out of her eyes, leaving Deriën bewildered.
“Linaera… what did I do wrong?”
“It’s not you! Don’t you understand? It’s me. The nightmares are of the necromancer, Deriën!”
But Deriën didn’t understand.
“It’s perfectly normal, Linaera. You did live with him for weeks in captivity, after all.”
“No, Deriën. The dreams are of a different reason all together; it is because I am connected to him. I dream of him and the horrific things he has committed… because I am his daughter.”
Deriën stood agape. Linaera didn’t blame him.
She continued crying.
“You see? Why did you think he would choose to let me live, after all? It’s not like I’m anything special.”
“So the way you cried for Gadalthal? The way you asked for help? Was that all an act? Did you kill Gadalthal?”
Linaera laughed, now beyond reason.
“Oh, I would never give him such a victory over me. My emotions were, and have always been, genuine. I really don’t care if you leave right now – I would do the same if I were you.”
But Deriën did not do this.
Instead, sat on the bed, next to Linaera.
“Linaera… whatever deeds your… father, may have done – well, I don’t care. Gétris always told me that people don’t get to chose how they’re born. And I’ve a
lways agreed with him. Come.”
Linaera didn’t even try to resist. She cried herself senseless on his shoulder. The storm screamed around them – they were located in the eye, two teenagers in the middle of a situation as involuntary as the tempest around them.
Eventually, Linaera’s tears began to lessen. The shudders going through her body disappeared; she began to notice things she had not noticed before.
Cinnamon. Cloves and pine needles. Something so instinctively… Deriën. Why have I never noticed that?
She relaxed, becoming acutely aware of Deriën beside her. He really was thinner than any human his height should have been, yet he was harder than the very walls that surrounded them. In fact, Linaera would have traded the two any day.
“Are you alright now?” he asked, ever so oblivious.
“Hmm.”
Without quite realising what she was doing, Linaera curled her hands around his shoulders. Without quite realising what he was doing, Deriën went in closer.
Deriën had gone silent.
As the storm raged and howled around them, Linaera was oblivious to its fury. She did what she had never, ever dreamed of doing.
She kissed him.
At first, his lips parted reluctantly. They were soft; warm as burning desire; sweeter than the honey of rich bees.
She pulled back a little awkwardly.
“Linaera, are you sure about this?”
Linaera decided he should shut up, so she kissed him again.
And so the two, once lonely survivors of terrible tragedies, now became united in the throes of passion.
THIRTY SEVEN
Linaera awoke. The light was a golden yellow; and were it not for its lack of warmth, Linaera might have thought it the beginning of spring. Alas, if only it were so. She wished for spring – she wished to spend the sunlit days in Deriën’s arms, and see the newborn green by his side.
The elf in question sat looking at her, one eyebrow raised.
“Awake, are you now?”
“Hmmm.”
“How was… last night?”
“It was... great, actually. I needed it. And I’m so glad... that through all of what I told you, you loved me still.”
Deriën shrugs, as if to downplay his actions. “Of course I still loved you, Linaera; we do not choose our parents. His evil is not yours. And you, fair maiden,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, “are worthy of love.”
The Necromancer: New Edition: Republished 2016 Page 31