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

by Matthew Buza

  “Yes, but I assumed that was normal.”

  She slowly crossed her legs. The curves of her thighs pushed through the satin material and her hands pressed the dress free of wrinkles. “He has a flair for the dramatic.”

  They rode in silence. Lazarus thought about Jalon and the decades they had spent together. He had been cautious all this time, always watching, and waiting. Samson's words were with him after this many years. Lazarus had not stopped looking for Cilas. It started with just a name and slowly grew into an obsession that lead him to this coach.

  “What should I expect from Cilas?”

  “Expect a man that believes he has no equal.”

  “Among necromancers?”

  “Among living things on this planet.”

  “He is confident?”

  “Yes, but just be yourself. Cilas can see though a cheap facade.”

  “Is that what you think I have?”

  “Lazarus, I'm not paid to analyze people. You ask me questions and I'm happy to answer.”

  The coach slowed to a stop. The driver hopped down and opened the door and assisted Malusha to the stone path. Her feet glided gently over the street and up onto the walking path. Lazarus ducked his head as he emerged into the rain. The street was bustling with activity. People hid under umbrellas and danced around buggies and market stands.

  The two men bordered Malusha. “Lazarus, follow us.”

  The trio disappeared into the to the back alley, their bodies lost as they melted into the shadows. The stone walls lifted up from the street and arched high above Lazarus's head. The rain all but stopped as he rushed after his guides and into the alleyway. The walls narrowed as they twisted and turned through the hidden maze between the buildings. Lazarus always felt two steps behind and jogged to keep pace. The alley turned once more and they found themselves standing before a large oak door lit by two oil lamps. The door's purple paint stood out against the dirty stone walls and stacks of empty wooden crates.

  Malusha leaned into the door and spoke. “Wir haben Herr Lazarus.”

  There was a soft whisper from the door and a loud series of clicks. It opened and Malusha motioned with her finger. Lazarus like a trained dog bent to his master's will and followed the woman into the building.

  They guided him through a large ballroom. They seemed to have arrived in the middle of a party. Men and women wore suits and elegant gowns, with powdered wigs, and black masks edged in purple covered their face. Conversations slowed to a whisper as he passed, their hidden eyes following Lazarus as he shuffled behind Malusha. The crowd slowly parted like the Red Sea allowing the group to pass freely. Lazarus could see the respect they showed for the woman, some bowing gently as they stepped out of her way.

  Cloth-covered tables were lined with cured meats, desserts and glasses of champagne. The guests’ teeth chewed behind their masks while sipping the golden liquid from their glasses. Lazarus noticed their hands were covered in jewels and gold. These people were rich and they were guests in this back-alley home, Cilas's home. Music played from the stage and the squeal of violins and cellos slowly drowned out the murmurs that followed in his wake.

  They left the party behind them and turned down an empty red hall towards a plush plum door. Along the wall were faces of old men painted in oil on canvas. Names were etched into brass plates and fixed at the bottom of the mahogany frames. Malusha looked back and saw Lazarus carefully examining the images.

  “They all came before Cilas,” she said.

  Lazarus asked, “All of them were necromancers?”

  “All of them. They go back to when the Romans first took over this area.”

  Ahead the door clicked and opened by an unseen hand. The two guards stopped at the entry and allowed Malusha and Lazarus to pass through. The room was large and adorned with polished brass artwork, and Italian paintings hung on the walls. Spread across the room were ornate chairs finished in purple velvet and receiving sofas sitting on colorful Persian rugs. The room was lit by rows of candles and oil lamps that hung from metal fixtures between the paintings. Along the far wall were a long series of tall bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling. Each shelf was densely packed with grey and green leather bindings. A rolling ladder was set in the middle and a fair-skinned man in a robe reached for the top shelf and pulled down a book. He dusted the cover and climbed down.

  The man glided across the floor, the finished ends of his robe dancing in the air.

  “Malusha, is this our friend?”

  “Yes, Cilas. This is Lazarus.”

  Cilas carefully burrowed his feet into purple slippers as he crossed the room and grew larger in stature, each step adding height to the flamboyant man. He reached Lazarus and towered over him, then bowed gently. “Welcome to my home, Herr Lazarus.”

  He spoke in a heavy german accent.

  Lazarus smiled and nervously reached out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope I am not interrupting you. It looks like you have a party going on outside? Are they expecting you?”

  “No. They are friends yes, but I am not expected. They are just being entertained. I assume your trip was uneventful?”

  “Yes, it was. I want to thank you for inviting me and your correspondence over the last year.”

  “Well, Lazarus, it’s always a joy to meet another man in the order.” His hands tightened the straps on his gold-laced robe. He shifted across the open room and found a seat in a red leather chair before a small fire. He motioned, “Lazarus please sit. Malusha my dear, could you please fix us a couple of drinks. And when you are done please go and see Jonas about tomorrow.”

  She bowed her head slightly. “Yes, Cilas.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Now Lazarus you’ve been cagey in some of your messages. I want to understand more, but first a question to you?”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect, but how is your faith?”

  “My faith?” Lazarus was surprised at the question and he caught himself before answering, “It’s unwavering.”

  Cilas smiled, revealing a large span of yellowed teeth. His face was lit by the red flames and he pulled out a tin with rolled cigarettes. He silently offered to Lazarus who waved him off. “Well spoken, like a true necromancer. Unwavering faith.” He chuckled. “I like that. How about our mutual friend, Jalon?”

  “He is as most would expect, a seraphim.”

  “They're all very dedicated to their jobs. I think that’s why they need us. They need some type of mortal that can identify and soften the message to the laymen. They can be rigid, like a corpse. They need a softer, more delicate touch. That's why they need us.”

  “I haven’t thought of it that way, but now that I think of it I can’t imagine Jalon talking to a normal person.”

  Lazarus shared a nervous laugh.

  “And yourself? How are you taking to the profession?” asked Cilas.

  “I’ve been told I am still young, that my perspective will change the longer I'm around. It’s hard to believe after nearly sixty years. How long have you been in all of this?”

  “Let's just say I've seen a good part of this millennium. I've been in this world for a long time. I have my fortune, which you can see around you. But like all mortals we drift in and out. Times are more challenging now, and with our current predicament, having no seraphim, we are making our own way for the most part…”

  “…Malusha mentioned. How did you come by that?”

  “It’s a long story meant for another day, but it’s safe to say our seraphim got into something he shouldn’t have and found a darker side. We’ve been allowed to run autonomously.”

  “And the payments?”

  “We still pay our debts and earn our…pocket change. We are not shut out. It just operates a little slower than we want. How about yourself? When is your projected finish?”

  “I think at my current rate, it will be sometime in the late twentieth century.” Lazarus laughed.

  “Excuse me for the
forward question, are you in this through work or choice?”

  “Choice.” Cilas’s eyes lifted slightly as Lazarus finished. “It’s the reason I have been trying to get ahold of you.”

  “I don’t meet many people that are Choicers.” Cilas leaned back in his chair, his face dipping into shadow.

  “I've heard it’s rare.” Lazarus added.

  “It is very rare, but I have seen it in my time.”

  Malusha returned with two glasses of scotch. Small cubes of ice rested at the bottom.

  “Thank you, my sweet.”

  Lazarus looked at Malusha and was momentarily lost in her eyes. “Thank…you.”

  “It was no trouble. I’ll see to Jonas now,” She said.

  Cilas smiled. “Thank you, my dear.”

  Lazarus turned to the woman as she walked, her hips swaying gently. “Will I see you again?”

  She stopped and turned back for a moment. “That's up to you.”

  “I will look for you at the party later?”

  She smiled gently and brushed her hair over her ear. “It’s possible.”

  She glided away and left through the door. The sounds from the party peeked past her and Lazarus could hear the ruckus as glasses clinked in the distance. The door shut and the two men were left alone next to the fire.

  “You should know that she’s a strong woman.”

  “I can see that.”

  “She likes lilies.”

  Lazarus nodded silently and looked in his glass. “Ice?”

  “A treat from our friends up north. I have it brought in and stored. So, what have you come to ask?”

  “Did you know Samson?” Lazarus paused. ‘’He was a necromancer in my region of France.”

  “Yes, he ascended a long time ago.”

  “He was my teacher…I mean that I was his apprentice.”

  A genuine shock came across Cilas's face. “You were Samson’s apprentice? Well, that is a surprise. Why have I never heard of you?”

  “I was pulled in late in his cycle. He was a dozen or so miracles away from completion.”

  “I remember reading second hand about his payoff in a letter. He was a good man and it brought a smile to my face to see he had made it.”

  “I agree, he was very good to me, even though I came on so late.”

  “Who finished your training?”

  “Jalon.”

  “A necromancer trained by a seraphim? Now…now that is something special.”

  “It wasn’t easy in the limited time he was there.”

  “Sure, but he must have shown you some special things. I could only imagine the secrets you know.”

  “I spent a long time waiting for him to show up and give me guidance. It was more boring than anything. He would disappear and I would be left to read dusty old books filled with old spells and demon descriptions. Actually, the first night I was brought in I worked on a demon removal with Jalon and Samson.”

  “A demon on your first night? They threw you into the fire, literally.”

  “It was a shock. I still have nightmares about that night. At the end of the session Samson pulled me aside and gave me your name. He said that I should get in touch with you about my, Choice, status. I spent years waiting. I finally found you and we started to share the letters. I believe Samson thought you could help me.”

  “Samson always went out of his way to speak with Choicers. I could never understand it. He must have known someone that was affected. He spent a number of years gathering old documents and relics, studying them to see if there might be a solution.”

  “He said that they’re doomed, but alluded to a fix. Something that you might know.”

  “A fix? Well…” Cilas shifted his attention to the fire and sipped his drink. “A fix.”

  “Is it true? That they’re damned? I assume you know. Are they killed before the debt is paid?”

  “What is it worth to you?”

  “Worth?”

  “Yes, worth. What is it worth to you, this extended life you’ve been given. Many would take that with damnation.”

  “I didn’t want this life, but it was the only rational option available.”

  “I know the choice, but you have to think about what this all is worth?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s been a pattern. Death is eternal we all know that, but life has its own pains. If you escape the debt but remain alive that means…”

  “Life eternal?”

  Cilas nodded his head. “Yes, life eternal. Forever walking the mortal plain.”

  “No heaven or hell? Immortality. Is that what you're talking about?”

  “Yes it is. The ultimate vanity. You can work for Jalon until you pay off the debt or are killed in some séance. Heaven or Hell are the options…”

  Lazarus cut off Cilas. “But there is a third option? I thought necromancers were watched. My location was known. How could I elude that?”

  “For the most part you are watched and tracked. They need us, but they don't trust us. You can escape and remain outside their view.”

  “Live in the shadows?”

  “They can see into the shadows, I'm a testament to that. I talking about not casting a shadow to see. Invisible. Well that assumes it is possible. Samson thought it was. I can promise they would hunt you to the ends of the Earth.”

  Lazarus looked down at his drink and whispered, “Eternal life.”

  “Eternally on the run, but yes, eternal life.”

  “Samson told you how to do this?”

  He paused, smirking. “Maybe.”

  “Please…tell me.”

  “You need to think about what you’re asking. It’s not an easy road.”

  “I understand.”

  Cilas stood quickly and crossed the room. He pulled back on a worn book. The shelf clicked and the row of books gave way to a hidden safe. “I can give you only the map, but you must walk the path yourself.”

  Cilas turned the dial and the safe opened up. In his hand was a small faded red book. The canvas jacket was worn on the corners revealing the wooden base beneath. Cilas crossed the room with his arms outstretched and presented the book like a newborn child.

  “Samson gave you my name, and now I give you your namesake.”

  Lazarus took the book and ran his fingertips over the textured surface. Faded in gold print was his name, Lazarus. He looked up to Cilas. “My name?”

  “Same name, but not you. Can I ask you what your original name was? I assume that French mothers are not keen to name their boys after one of Jesus's miracles?”

  “Etienne.”

  It stuck in his mind. He hadn't heard that name in years, but it came so easily.

  “And who gave you Lazarus?”

  “Samson.” Lazarus’s mind remembered the fury in Jalon’s face when Samson spoke. He wondered if the book he was holding hinted at that anger.

  “I thought as much. He knew about this book.”

  Lazarus opened the cover and thumbed through the pages. The text was in Latin and elaborate drawings danced through the margins. “What is this?”

  “You’ve studied the New Testament?”

  “I have, extensively. Jalon forced me to memorize large passages.”

  “This is one of the old gospels, non-canon. It is called The Book of Lazarus. As told by John. He got his own book, but this one was left out. You will find some details that differ from his official account. Deeper into the meaning of the man we call Jesus.”

  “How so?”

  “Just details, places and time lost. Read it and see for yourself.”

  “And this is the key to eternal life?”

  Cilas laughed. “You have a better shot at eternal damnation than eternal life. There is a way that you may find freedom. I've been told it’s in the text.”

  “You haven't read it?”

  “No, it's a liability and I don't need it.”

  Lazarus fixated on the words. The pages felt like worn canva
s, like fabric that was too thick but worn soft. His eyes quickly scanned the text seeing passing references to Jesus and Bethany. Lazarus ran his finger over the words, direct quotations of Jesus. He knelt his head and mouthed, “This is the word of God.”

  Cilas’s eyes followed his lips. “No, they wouldn’t say that. Not today. It’s heresy and blasphemy to have this. Trust me, Jalon will treat it as a deviant act. Protect it and keep it safe. Have a place that is you own, read it when he is gone.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  Cilas smiled. “Good, yes, well… I don’t run a charity as you can see.”

  “I understand that.”

  “I take coins.”

  “Debt coins?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many.”

  “For this book, one hundred.”

  Lazarus put down the book as his voice pitched. “That is nearly two decades of work!”

  “I understand, but it cost me more than you can imagine.”

  “I’ve only brought five with me. I’ll have to wait then.”

  “I will take your coins. Consider it a loan. You’ll pay me and until the debt is cleared, you will be at my call.”

  “I now have two debts to pay?”

  “I'm nicer than that seraphim.”

  Lazarus knew it would take forever to pay Cilas. His rate with Jalon was slower than he first expected. Miracles were assigned at a snail’s pace.

  He could still see Samson’s face from that night in the barn. The urgency in his eyes, but after what seemed to be a lifetime of searching, he had finally found Cilas. He didn’t trust this man, but the book might be his only option.

  “How can I trust you that this book will help me?”

  “You can't.”

  “Then I gamble?”

  “There are risks in life and you are living one. You can leave the book and take your chances with Jalon. It doesn't matter to me.”

  “No. I will take it." He reached down and picked up the book and tucked it under his arm. “I’m in debt to you.”

  Cilas’s face pulled back, revealing a maniacal grin. His lips pulled taut into white horizontal streaks. “Then we have a deal and you have your book.”

  University of Washington Track