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

by Matthew Buza

  “Yeah, he's already told me enough about this guy and his crazy drug parties.” James pointed at Luke. “He hasn't mentioned you.”

  Father Luke shook his head and looked back at Lazarus. “What are you talking about drug parties?”

  “He told me about the satanic séances you do and the shit that went down. You were slipping him something so he would freak out.”

  “James, I can promise you there's no drug taking on Lazarus's part and nothing was slipped to Isaac. As far as I go I only met Isaac for the first time tonight. I don't know what he's told you, but he was not on drugs.”

  “Then what he said is impossible.”

  “To most people it would seem that way. I'm not going to spend time here trying to convince you of anything. There's not enough time to do that. You're his friend right? I can assure you he's just fine, but he'll likely sleep for the day. When he wakes up why don't you speak with him. His body went through a stressful twenty-four hours. When he wakes up he will seem different, almost like a different man.”

  “What do you mean different?”

  “Luke we don't need to get into this,” interjected Lazarus. “He doesn't need to know this.”

  “What is he talking about?” James stepped forward still brandishing the lamp.

  “Lazarus, Isaac is obviously sharing with him, there's no need to hide.” Luke turned back to James. “James, Isaac will be different. It's nothing physical. He went through an ordeal with us tonight. It required him to reach deep within himself and pull something out of his soul.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? His soul?” James said.

  “James, has Isaac explained everything to you?”

  “Most of it. Stuff he had to do with that guy.” James pointed to Lazarus who was now sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing his forehead with his palm.

  Luke pulled his wallet out and placed down a black card with white etching. At the top in gold print was his name and below was a phone number.

  “I know all of this is hard to believe. It can be a lot to process, but take care of your friend for the next few days. When he is feeling better both of you can come by my church and I can answer any questions you have. This is my card, please call me if you have any issues.”

  Lazarus stood and walked to the door and Luke followed behind.

  James asked, "What happened to him tonight?”

  Luke stopped with his hand resting on the edge of the doorjamb. “Your friend.” He paused. “Your friend finally believed in something and it will change his life.”

  Lazarus interrupted, “Luke, we have to go.”

  Luke nodded and added, “James, one of the hardest things someone can go through is believing in themselves and believing in what they are destined to become. We all serve something or someone. Family, jobs, or faith. Isaac saw, for the first time, the man he will serve. It is true for him and for the rest of us. Take care of your friend, alright? Remember my door is always open to you two. Take care James, and when he wakes up he is going to need a friend. Be there for him.”

  James stared down at Isaac who was sprawled across the bed. His clothes were covered in red droplets and smears of orange. James took a small blanket from the chair and carefully spread it over the large man. The front door shut behind him.

  “I got you bud,” he whispered.

  Lazarus and Luke exited the building and jumped into the black Lincoln that was double parked in the loading zone. It was early and the parking police were not out yet. The two men sat in silence as the early morning breeze whipped through the car. The rain had stopped, allowing the two men to lean out the open windows and enjoy the fresh smell of wet asphalt.

  Lazarus took a long drag of his cigarette. He offered it to Luke who warmly accepted. The nicotine flooded their blood and for the first time that evening the two men could relax.

  “You were very nice to him,” Lazarus said.

  “Well, he's new to this so you have to ease them in.”

  Lazarus took back the cigarette and pulled hard. “Well, you have a better touch than me.”

  It was silent again as they pulled out onto the road. They drove onto the on-ramp and flew down the empty highway. They exited and navigated through the suburban district. It was five minutes later and they pulled up slowly to the curb in front of the church. Father Luke got out and rounded the car. Lazarus let out the last of the smoke in a wide cloud that drifted off in the calm night. He flicked the end of the butt into the grass.

  Luke lowered himself to the car window and Lazarus stared forward. “Isaac had a mark didn't he?”

  Lazarus took a deep breath.

  “He did.” He motioned to the back of his neck. “Right below his hairline. You would miss it if you didn't know what you were looking for.”

  Luke stood up and violently pulled his hands against his scalp. His reaction was all Lazarus needed to see. Luke circled around, a thick fire of anger burning in his eyes. He knew what was going on, he just needed to hear it from Lazarus.

  “Why?”

  Lazarus shook his head slightly. “I only get one shot.”

  “Why this kid?”

  “Before Nathaniel passed, I thought maybe they’ll let me in. That all of this Choicer crap was just that. I'd spent centuries doing their work. I thought that was enough. But then that night happened. You were there! That was supposed to be a straight job. A simple séance. We ask some questions and we send her back. The family goes on and becomes an asset we can use. But it didn't end that way. I had to bury that kid. And then Jalon walked into my office the next day. I could see it on his face. What happened to Nathaniel was meant for me. Not him. Instead Nathaniel died and I'm still here. I knew at that point they were out to get me. Since then it's been one complication after another. I'm lucky I'm still here. So I went for it. I did it. I put Isaac up to that crazy bitch and now I have a hook in that fish and all I have to do is reel it in.”

  “Jesus Christ, Lazarus.” Luke crumpled into the grass in front of the church. "We are playing with explosives here. I thought you had given up on this quest! You don't even know if it is going to work!”

  “After Nathaniel, I went back to the book. I dove in and committed myself to it. I analyzed every piece, every detail and here I am.” Lazarus bit his lip and fought back the emotion. “I know perfectly well what to do.”

  Luke rubbed his forehead and carefully stood up, “I hope you do Lazarus. You are going into a dark world. Give the boy some time and let him rest. It's going to be a hard stretch for him.”

  “I don't have that much time Luke. Everyday I get closer. I need your help.”

  “I knew you coming here tonight wasn’t going to be a benign request.” Luke stood and tapped on the top of the car and walked up the stone path to the entrance of the church. Lazarus shifted into drive.

  The voice came from the church entrance. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

  Lazarus nodded and pulled the Lincoln out into the street.

  ACT 3

  The Broken Soul

  “Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.”

  Genesis 2:22

  Bethany

  Near Jerusalem

  31 A.D.

  “He’s so warm, Martha,” Mary said.

  “I know. Keep his forehead and the back of his neck cool. That's all we can do.”

  The two women sat on either side of a straw bed, their feet shuffling in the dirt flooring of the clay home. The evening light fell through the linen-lined openings. There was a musty smell of sweat in the room as Lazarus lay exposed on his back. He was lost in a wakeful sleep, twitching as torrents of pain coursed through his blackened veins.

  “Do you need more water?” Martha asked.

  “I think that will help, he has such a bad fever.”

  Martha stood and grabbed the small sheepskin bladder. “I’ll be just a few minutes and I'l
l grab some new cloth. There may be some broth we can give him.”

  “Please hurry.”

  “I will.”

  Martha walked through the cloth opening and emerged in the busy campground. Traders and merchants shuttled quickly down the bustling dirt road. Large carts were led by tired donkeys, their heads hung along the dry ground and their noses sending small dust clouds up with each snort. They all moved to and from one direction, Jerusalem. The city was behind a hazy curtain to the west, down the slope of The Mount of Olives. The Jewish villages spread out through the groves of tall trees and followed graded and worn paths. The trees rolled along the hillside revealing the cracks and undulations of the hidden ground below. The view from the slope was grand. In the distance dark clouds piled up on the flat landscape. Pops and flashes gave an ominous feeling, as silent lightning streaked across the sky.

  Martha paused and took in the view. She mumbled a silent prayer that was lost in the commotion around her. Her body rested, swaying gently in the breeze. She drifted as if taken up in the wind like a small sail on a stormy sea.

  The well was just down the road and over a small retaining wall. The stone was gray and dirty and rosemary grew between the cracks with its blue flowers attracting a small swarm of evening bees.

  Her arms pulled and the corded rope piled between her legs. The cool water sloshed in the bucket as she dipped the skin. An old woman stood behind her with two small buckets and a shoulder full of skins. She waited but minded Martha's slow progress.

  Martha turned. “Would you like me to pull the bucket for you?”

  The woman's voice stuttered in a motherly tone. “No, no my sweet. You go and take care of your brother. He needs you.”

  “How did you know he was sick?”

  “Mary mentioned it the other day. We’re all praying for you.”

  “That's very kind of you.”

  Martha stepped aside and let the old woman by. She could hear the soft prayer song as she loaded the buckets. The bucket dropped down the well and splashed at the bottom. The noise shook Martha further, rattling her already spent nerves. She shook off the overwhelming pressure and continued down the path towards her house.

  Cloth rags were stored under the extra chair by the kitchen. She unfolded them and gave them a shake. The dust danced through the air and reflected the evening light. She paused in the room and for a brief moment in the darkness she felt at peace. She wondered if one day she might feel at peace away from the pressure that sat on the other side of the wall.

  She prayed and took in a deep breath. She exhaled and the pressure dropped away.

  “Thank you for that, God.” Martha felt rejuvenated like her soul was dusted clean. She quickly left the house and rounded the corner to the back room.

  She could hear Mary sobbing from outside and fear gripped her. Had she lost him? It had just been a moment.

  She burst into the room and her voice rocked. “What’s wrong?”

  Mary lifted her tiny face and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh, I was just praying and thinking of him.”

  “Is he OK? Is he still breathing?”

  “Yes, but Martha, I'm scared. I'm scared for him.”

  Martha dropped the rags and the skin on the bed and pulled a small stool behind her sister. Her arms wrapped around her shoulders and she pulled her close. She could feel her sobbing and she began to slowly sing a soft song. Her voice carried through the room as they both watched Lazarus sleep. His hands twitched and his breathing was labored.

  “What are we going to do?” Mary said.

  “We tend to him, that's all we can do.”

  “But he needs more. We need to help him, but I don't know what to do,” Mary pleaded.

  “I feel this is bigger than anything we can manage,” Martha said.

  “Call for him. He will come. Lazarus and he are friends.” Mary's face turned to Martha. Her eyes were wide and the tears stacked on her sunken cheeks. Her lip quivered and she buried her face in her sister's chest. “Call for him. Talk to the Rabbi, see if he can convince him.”

  “Even if we ask, I don't know if he will come.”

  “He has to. Lazarus is…” She broke off. “He just has to.”

  A young rabbi lived down in town. It was a ten-minute walk for Martha, but the darkness forced her to hike through the open paths and around the grove. She reached his home and pressed down on her dress, ironing out any wrinkles. She dusted her hands and combed her hair with her fingertips. Her knuckles rapped on the old wooden door and she heard a chair shift and the swishing of footsteps.

  The door opened and she saw a handsome man's face under the dwindling candlelight. Martha was nervous, but the urgency overcame any momentary desires.

  “Rabbi.”

  “Yes my child, why do you come so late?”

  “My brother Lazarus is in need of help.”

  “I knew he was sick, but has it turned for the worst?”

  “He is locked in sleep, his veins are darkening and running black.”

  “Have you been praying?”

  “Of course Rabbi, but he’s been lost to us for a day now. We need help.”

  “I will pray for him, but there is nothing I can do. The sickness will have to work its way. I can come by tomorrow and see if he has gotten better.”

  "I'm afraid he…” She stopped and caught herself. “I am afraid we could lose him.”

  “Don't speak of that, as it may happen. Speak of hope.”

  “That is why I came. We need Him. He can help, I know it.”

  “I’m not sure,” The Rabbi responded, shaking his head.

  “Please, we will pay. We’ll pay your travels. How far is he?”

  “A day's ride by donkey.”

  “Oh Rabbi, please, please help us. Please help Lazarus. He is our only brother.”

  The Rabbi rolled his hand through his hair, “I can go, but I can't promise anything. He’s a busy man.”

  Martha reached out with her hands and touched the Rabbi's shoulder. “Trust me, he will come.”

  The Rabbi nodded and touched the woman's head, “If God wills it, then he will come.”

  Her tears fell slowly against her cheek and dripped down off her chin. Her lips wavered and she buried her head in the rabbi's chest.

  She choked back, “I'll pray every minute until you return.”

  “I’ll leave in an hour. I may reach him by tomorrow.” His hands closed around the woman's shoulders and he could feel the warmth of her face.

  God Is My Help

  The disciples stood atop a barren hill marked by a small grove of trees that rustled in the warm breeze. The trees cast a patchwork shadow over the group. Bartholomew sat within the séance circle, his hand resting tenderly on the dead lamb’s hoof. The remaining disciples stood in a semicircle and carefully watched the subtle movements of his fingers.

  Jesus knelt next to Bartholomew and placed his hand over his shoulder. His voice was firm. “I want you to feel what I feel.”

  “Should I close my eyes?” asked Bartholomew.

  “No, just focus on the feeling.”

  Jesus dipped his head and spoke softly. “It is by His will we can.”

  Bartholomew echoed the prayer.

  “Do you feel a tingling?” asked Jesus.

  The tips of Bartholomew's fingers popped with static and he could feel the hairs rising on his forearm. “I do. Down my arm.”

  “Keep your hand on the lamb and focus. Now, pinch its leg with your fingers.”

  He did and the animal twitched as if life had been forced into the creature. The men surrounding the ceremony were taken aback. Their eyes were wide with amazement and fear. A simple touch had given life to the dead.

  John stepped forward and spoke to Jesus. “Jesus, how can this be?”

  The static stopped and Jesus looked up. “There are two worlds, one of my Father's and one below. Our physical lives are the fabric between the two. All the souls of humanity rest above or below that line.”
He looked down at the creature. “For beasts, their souls live on the line, dead or alive. We have the power to pull that soul back.”

  “The lamb has a soul?”

  “More or less. It's not the same as you or I. Beasts never move from this world and they eventually melt back into the land. For us and others like us, it is easy to pull the beast back to the body. With the right prayer and cadence, we can open up a link between the two. Like a rope that was once severed and is now reconnected.”

  “Can we do this for men?” John asked.

  Jesus stood. He was cold. “Bartholomew, I think we are done with the lesson.” He turned to the disciples and finally addressed John. “The souls of men are hard to fix. They can be close, or trapped far away. The ones outside our grasp could be dirtied by an evil force. We all must remember that. A dirtied soul is a dangerous one.”

  Peter spoke up. “Jesus, would we know the difference?”

  “Yes, you do. After training, you will. We stay away from dirtied souls and the actions around them. We work with the living and channel their fears and possessed spirits for good.” He stared at the men and met each set of eyes individually. “Let's break for now. Bartholomew, you did well.”

  “Thank you.” Bartholomew nodded and followed the rest down off the small hill. Jesus stayed behind and wrapped the small lamb in a blanket. It was heavy in his arms. He walked carefully down the hill to the small camp below. The desert tents were pitched along a winding path that leads to the nearby town.

  Jesus reached a tent along the edge and found the young shepherd boy. “Please prepare this lamb. It made a sacrifice for us and we will honor the Father with it.”

  The boy reached out and took the creature in his arms. “I will prepare it.”

  Jesus nodded and walked down the long row of canvas shelters. He saw the disciples mingling and laughing around a small camp fire. He smiled as he shared in their enjoyment. They had worked hard that day and made great strides in the craft. From the edge of camp, Jesus could hear someone calling his name.