Necromantia: Vol. 1-3 (Three Book Set)

by Matthew Buza

  Lazarus placed a small book on his table and turned towards the door. “Read that book. It's the first book in your studies. Take a few days to try and process all of this. Jalon expects you at the next session. You need to try and be there. You know where I am if you need anything. I suggest you start to read a bible at night. I would start with the Old Testament. Jalon is more of an Old Testament kind of guy. I think it is the rules and violence. He likes that stuff. I will see you at my place.” He turned and left the room.

  Isaac picked the book up from the table. The book was a dark charcoal gray color. Cracks from age were etched throughout the title and cover. Across the front of the book was a pentagram and the words “The Key of Solomon” wrapped around in a circle. The book felt warm in Isaac's hands as if it radiated some internal energy. He dropped the book back down onto the table and shut the front door.

  On the ground in front of the fridge was a single white feather left behind by Jalon. Isaac picked up the feather and ran it through his fingers. The silk hairs danced and seemed to shimmer in the pale light.

  ACT 2

  The Smoke Within

  All these evil things come from within, and defile the man

  Mark 7:23

  Death and Birth

  Tarare, France

  1779

  Claude's fingertips reached into the red-hot oven and rolled the golden loaves. His free hand gripped a small metal rod and he scraped away stubborn dough that caked to the hearth. He was coated head to toe with a fine white flour and with each step a white trail followed. He was a young man with a thin frame and dark hair. He had been apprenticing with the baker for nearly two years. Baking wasn’t Claude’s first choice, he had grand expectations of studying abroad or working overseas. Deep inside he wanted to lead men and seek out adventure, but he was stuck in this bakery chained to the ground to fulfill his father’s expectations.

  The job was filled with subtle tasking and the boy struggled with the steep learning curve, but over time he relaxed into the position and learned the craft. His arms were thick with muscles, each bicep and forearm built by the early morning frenzy that consumed the old stone bakery.

  The brick oven sat in the center of the room and its exterior walls were lined with sheets of proofing bread. Inside the dough the desperate yeast fought to multiply, licking up the radiant heat and bringing life to the dough mounds.

  From behind a stone rolling table a gray-haired man rummaged through a basket of rolling pins. “Claude, where are the pastry rollers? I can't find them in the basket. What’ve you done with them?”

  Claude responded with his timid voice. “They are on the drying rack. I made pie crusts earlier. They should be by the sink.”

  “We have too many orders for me to be hunting down my own tools.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Claude could hear the old man grumbling under his breath as he pressed through the drying dishes. His hand settled on the rough and faded pin. He crossed the candlelit room to the flat pressing table. His hands wasted no time as he divided the dough, rolling uniform balls across the table, and pressing down to form a row of flat disks. He dusted, lifted, and stacked the cake forms on the side of the table.

  “Claude where are you with those loaves? We've got customers waiting.” His voice dug into Claude's head, a mixture of teaching and anger.

  Claude knew it was early and most of the town was still sleeping, but he respected the old man and nodded his head. “Sir, I'm removing the last of them now, and I'll be on my way.”

  “We’re late today. Do you know why?”

  “No, sir.” He could feel the discipline coming.

  “It's because we are not focused on the task. You must improve your time and output. It’s the focus, the focus! It’s the only way we stay successful. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I do.” He had heard this countless times, but it was his job to listen.

  “You must master this process before you ever move out on your own.”

  “I understand that. I am trying.”

  The old man huffed and returned to rolling out pie dough.

  The old man was hard on the boy, but for good reason. He knew that Claude had talent and would one day run his own bakery, but he lacked focus and consistency. Stuffed pastries used to boil over in the oven while unsalted bread cooled on racks ready for delivery. The boy was better now, rarely making mistakes and often catching the old baker in a few of his own.

  “Are we ready?” said the baker.

  “I’m just finishing up.”

  “Use the large cart today, we’ve more than normal and you’ll need the protection from the wind. It’s cold out there this morning.”

  “I know. I saw the snow falling earlier.”

  “I would imagine we’re going to see more today. Now, watch that ice as you go up the hill. The horse will struggle on the outside, so keep to the cobblestone along the bridge.”

  The boy already knew this, but allowed the lesson to continue. “Yes, sir.”

  Claude carefully stacked the remaining loaves into the basket and walked out through the doors to the stable. He connected the cart's chains and leather straps to the horse. He opened the rear doors and Claude began to shuttle fresh loaves onto the wooden racks. When he was complete he closed up the cart and went back inside. He carefully wrapped himself with a deep wool coat and scarf. A cap covered his hair as he turned to the old man. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Don't forget the delivery sheet. Check off each residence as you finish. We can't afford to miss anyone.”

  “Yes, sir.” Claude stuffed the paper into his jacket.

  “Be careful out there, there’ll be lots of ice.” The man's voice had changed, almost soft and caring. Claude smiled and nodded before leaving through the back door.

  Claude leaned into the wooden railings; the stable doors always stuck in the winter. His body strained before the door broke free from its icy bondage. The air was cold and the surrounding alley was poorly lit and fell away into absolute darkness. The only light was a hand lantern that swung from an old iron nail driven into the wooden timbers that edged the house. The wind blew the falling slow. The light caught each snowflake as it blazed across the opening like a meteor streaming across the sky.

  Claude trudged through the snowdrift that gathered along the door. He cracked the reins and the horse pulled the cart out of the stable and into the snow. The horses paused as Claude hopped down into the shin-high powder and shut the stable door before continuing on down the covered gravel road.

  The cold bit hard at Claude's face. He lowered the brim of his hat in an effort to shield himself, but ice crystals gathered along his brow and edged the wool scarf. Claude's lungs burned as he pulled in the frigid air. Each exhale gave his chest relief as the vapor fog engulfed his face and obscured his vision.

  The first deliveries were quiet. His customers greeted him dressed in warm coats holding small candles. Their eyes told him it was too early to make deliveries, but they were grateful for the fresh bread. Their days were just beginning, but Claude's was nearly complete.

  He steered the horse and cart around a sharp bend and turned towards the hill. He crossed a short cobblestone bridge that spanned a small ravine and cut through the side of the forested hill. The road flattened as the wooden wheels pressed through the snow and slid over the hidden ice. He came to a stop at the edge of the bridge in front of a small stone house that was alive with activity. He had reached the blacksmith's house, the only other person who worked as early as the bakers. Claude stepped down and pulled the cold baguettes from the cart and made his way to the open shed. There was a squat man dressed in simple trousers and a red shirt with sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His arm was thrust into a large kiln that glowed white-hot against the cold and desolate landscape. The man's melon-sized forearms sat inches from the burning fire and his free hand thumbed the metal hammer as it gently bounced against his thigh.

  Claude
stepped into the shed and felt the temperature rise dramatically. It felt like a warm summer afternoon.

  “Good morning. I’ve a fresh bread delivery.”

  The blacksmith's voice was raspy. “Good morning, Claude. You can set it down on the table.”

  “I can bring it inside if you like.”

  “No, no. Just put it down and I'll take care of it. I'm about done here.”

  Claude walked over to the empty table and placed the bread down. “Early start to the day?”

  “More like a…a late ending to yesterday.”

  “I understand. What are you working on?”

  “Just more armor. Nothing but more armor. I’m just happy to be in front of this fire sweating, than in that cold.”

  “Yeah, even the horse is not happy and she has a thicker coat than I. Let us know if you want something different with your delivery.”

  “Shall do.”

  Claude turned and lifted the collar of his coat as he walked through the imaginary barrier and into the freezing early morning. His feet crunched under the building snow as he walked back towards the cart. His foot dug into the support and he lifted himself into the seat. It had only been a short minute and his cold bottom found a new layer of snow to press into his already wet pants. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath exhaling his frustration into the morning air.

  He told himself to hang in there just a few more stops.

  He reached for the reigns and noticed a series of footmarks in the virgin snow. They led down from the forest edge and across the road to the back of his cart. There was a soft rustle and Claude knew he was being robbed.

  He carefully stepped down into the snow and circled around the side of the cart. The light from the blacksmith's shed dropped long shadows over the snow. He could make out the shape of two legs and hunched shoulders digging in the cart. His heart pounded in his throat as he approached. He could hear panicked breathing as the figure tore into the bread stocks. He rounded the corner and saw a young man with rotted clothing that hung from his thin shoulders and hips. He was the beggar from town, no older than Claude. He felt remorse for the young man, but couldn't allow him to steal from the baker.

  Claude's voice was firm. “Etienne, you need to stop.”

  Etienne's body convulsed and turned quickly to Claude, his mouth still full with fresh baguette. His bloodshot eyes were wide and desperate. Claude could see the hunger eating at him. His cheeks were sunken and his lips dry and cracked.

  Etienne's voice struggled. “Please…I am starving.”

  “Put the bread down.”

  “Please, just a little. I don't need much.”

  Claude took a step forward towards Etienne. “You need to put the bread down and come with me.”

  “Please, I've had my fill. I'll just leave now. No…no one has to know… Please.”

  Etienne quickly reached into the cart and grabbed a fist full of rolls and stuffed them into his pockets. He turned and broke into a sprint crossing the small bridge. His tattered clothes, filled with holes, flapped in the breeze.

  Claude yelled out, “Stop! Thief!”

  Claude gave chase and closed the distance. His strong and powerful legs kicked up showers of snow. Etienne looked back to see Claude's wide eyes and outstretched hands closing in. He quickly changed direction towards the edge of the bridge and dropped to his knees to cower against the short stone wall. He felt Claude's hands grab onto his shirt as his body's momentum continued. Claude slid over Etienne's back and towards the edge of the bridge. Claude held onto the shirt and pulled Etienne back as he fell over the stone railing.

  Etienne was pinned against the bridge as Claude's full weight pulled down on his shoulder. Claude's voice was panicked as he screamed out, “Pull me up!”

  “I can't! I'm stuck!”

  A soft ripping sound came from the shirt as cold air rushed down Etienne's back.

  “It's tearing! Don't let me fall!”

  Etienne reached back and felt Claude's hand still holding the loose bunch of fabric. His hand closed down on Claude's wrist. He spun his body as the shirt tore free. Etienne reached back but it was too late, as Claude's wrist broke free.

  The world slowed for both boys as Etienne stared into Claude's eyes as he fell into the ravine. The heavy snow fell slowly between the separating pair. Claude's eyes grew wide as he realized he was falling to his death. He let out a muffled scream before striking a large rock and somersaulting face down into a shallow creek. His legs twitched for a brief moment and then he was still.

  Etienne looked down over the stone railing at the corpse in the creek. His world had shrunk to nothing. His eyes narrowed, focusing only on the body. His hands gripped the stone as snow quickly collected on his shoulders and in his dark hair. He felt empty inside like a tide pulled out to sea leaving behind innocent creatures to be pecked and eaten by shore birds. He had just killed someone. Whether on purpose or by accident didn’t matter. It was his actions that lead to this moment. Short cramps swarmed through his stomach and caused him to retch. He leaned down between his legs, gasping for breath.

  The blacksmith stood on the road, still holding his hammer. He jogged to the edge of the bridge and looked down. He raised his eyes towards Etienne. “Don’t you move boy.”

  Etienne’s voice sputtered trying to make sense of what had happened. “It…wasn’t…I didn’t mean to do this. I…I just.”

  “Silence! You’re coming with me.”

  “It wasn’t my fault, he slid off me and over the edge.”

  “Was it you stealing his bread? Huh? Yes or No.”

  “It was an accident…I didn't push him over.”

  “You took his bread. It is your responsibility.”

  Etienne raised his hands to the blacksmith. “Please, you have to understand. I was hungry. It…it wasn’t my fault. I swear. Please.”

  The blacksmith lunged at Etienne, but he was too fast as he slid under the man and sprinted down the road. The blacksmith caught himself on the stone bridge and turned to see Etienne disappear into the tree line. He picked up a cold bread roll from the snow and squeezed it in his massive hands. The man looked down to the ravine and back to the tree line.

  “You run boy!” His thundering voice echoed across the bridge. “They’ll find you!”

  Etienne heard the blacksmith’s yell fade through the forest, as he sprinted past fallen trees and snowdrifts.

  The Snow Stops

  Etienne was near exhaustion, and his chest burned from pulling in the frozen air. He coughed out thick clouds of vapor as he jogged through the empty forest. The darkness was absolute and forced him to stay on the worn trail that connected the outer farmsteads to the main road. The cold penetrated deep into his exposed skin. He felt the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders like a mule strapped to a loaded cart.

  He stopped to catch his breath, arching back and closing his eyes to the world. He listened for the blacksmith, or any other person who had now joined the chase. There was only silence. He knew they wouldn’t venture this far without some type of light. The forest was hard enough on a clear sunny day, but the cold would easily take a lost man. Etienne was used to the darkness, scavenging for food and shelter, but tonight was cold enough to scare him. He knew he needed to continue moving, if for no other reason than to stay warm and to try to find shelter. He knew at daybreak the town would be out looking for him. There would be hounds tracking his scent. He had time. Time to get away. Just a few hours to put distance between himself and the horror left behind. For now, he continued running.

  Etienne broke through the forest and into a wide clearing. It was an open field covered in a white snow blanket as far as he could see. With each floundering step through the knee-high snow, he could feel his body growing weak. The snow's penetrating fingers reached through his soaked clothes and carefully pulled away the last bit of energy he had left.

  Etienne stretched his eyes wide and scanned the sparse horizon. Ahead on the edge of a
shallow hill was a small barn. From the look of the wide doors it was a storage barn for silage. If he could make it across the field he knew he would find some relief buried in the winter bales. He crossed the field avoiding the leftover stalks that were now frozen spears waiting to catch and impale him.

  After shoving his weight against the frozen door, the ice broke free and Etienne slipped in. He quickly crossed the main floor and took up residence along the back wall, burying himself between two large stacks of hay. He pulled loose hay up to cover his body. He could feel the chill subsiding as he breathed into his warm cocoon. His chin stopped chattering and he could feel his body slipping off to sleep. His mind still wrestled with the images of Claude falling from the bridge. He saw his face, the fear and horror in his eyes as his last seconds of his life drifted like a snowflake to the creek below. In his mind Etienne drifted above the bridge and saw himself looking down over the stone railing. This new perspective gave him a momentary peace; judgement was left on the young man below. It was all he needed to drift off to sleep.

  Etienne woke the next day still buried in the stack of straw. His neck was sore from sleeping at an awkward angle and short spears dug into his arms and neck. He reached up and softly rubbed his shoulder and let loose a small yellow avalanche of straw onto the ground. Auburn light poured in from cracks in the barn and illuminated the wood grain along the back wall. He slowly emerged from the haystacks, stretching his back and dusting off his tattered clothes. He peered through the cracked door and out across the frozen field. The sun was setting in the evening sky and he realized he had slept the day away. The cold bit at his cheeks and he knew it would be another long night.

  A small snowdrift had built up against the barn and required what little strength he had left to open the door. He slid out and stumbled into the snow. The evening clouds were building and he thought there would be more snow. At this time of year it might snow every night. Etienne reached into his pocket and pulled out a cold stale roll and slowly ate. He was lost in thought as the evening sun fell below the tree line and the last light of day drifted off his face, leaving him alone against the cold wooden building.