by Eddie Patin
"Let's go," Morgana said, slipping through the front door with Lillian in tow.
New Bozeman was full of empty houses. Many of her people had been killed or taken in the night over the last five years since the gargoyle attacks began. Most of the abandoned homes were unfit for living in now—damaged and open to the fog-filled night when everyone else was hiding behind barricades. This particular house used to belong to the Wagner family. A month ago, two gargoyles had burst through the front wall in the middle of the night. Morgana's family manor was far enough away that she didn't hear the screams of the Wagners, but people talked about it for days. When the townsfolk had investigated in the morning—after the fog had cleared and the beasts were gone—only the mangled bodies of the children remained.
Passing through an empty front room full of debris, dried-up blood, and memories, Morgana led her sister down a hall, through the kitchen, and into a dark cellar full of hushed arguing.
"We can't keep meeting like this," a man was saying. "There's something happening. We're being killed in the night."
"It's not us," someone replied. "The Darkness takes everyone, rebel or not. You never know when you're going to—"
"Bullshit! Look at the families that have been dying! They're all part of the resistance."
"They've been putting rebels on those damned crosses; leaving em for the monsters at night!" Another gruff voice added. "They got Brian Stone and his wife and strung em up yesterday, and last night they—"
"I've got to watch out for my family!" someone else said. "We can't keep this up! I don't want to end up like..."
All of the arguing trailed off as Morgana and Lillian entered their midst.
The young woman walked up to the group crowding the Wagners' cellar. Strained faces full of anger and fear stared back at her. Good God—were these the only people left that still cared about the old ways? The men stared at her, strong eyes bleary with worry and heavy, bearded jaws set in quiet anticipation.
"Morgana," someone muttered.
She looked around at her people. Morgana was the last Soloster. They waited, blinking in the darkness, for her to tell them what to do...
"We can't keep doing this, Morgana," Dominic said suddenly. He was one of her closest friends among the resistance; a tall, lanky man who'd come to her with the bizarre and unexpected option of summoning the demon. Fight fire with fire, he'd said. If the Golden Lady's Communion wasn't going to do anything about the Darkness other than hide and pray, then it was up to Morgana and her meager following to figure something out. The necromancer needed to be stopped. "Estren knows!" Dominic said. "No one is sure, but it looks like we're being targeted. The Communion is having us killed—I'd bet on it! Something's going on. We might have a spy..."
"I'm sure you're right," Morgana replied, drawing everyone's attention. "I saw it with my own eyes the other night. We are being targeted."
"How do you know?!" a burly man asked, pulling at his beard. "They can't know who we are!"
"I was out in the street the night the Platt family was killed," she replied evenly. "The Chosen were there, inside his house. They pushed Nathan, his wife, and his two kids outside after the Darkness came, then they stood behind the locked door, watching. There were three gargoyles. They killed him and his sons then took his wife away."
"You were there?!" someone asked. "You saw this?"
"You couldn't have seen the Chosen there," a man snapped. "You must have been seeing things, Morgana! The gargoyles have broken into houses before. "
"That's not what happened," she said. "Estren's soldiers were inside the house. They watched from the windows when Nathan and his older boy were killed. I followed the beasts when they pursued his wife and small child into the alley—"
"You killed the gargoyle!" Dominic exclaimed, cutting her off. He jabbed a long, thin finger through the air at her with his eyes wide open. "That was you, wasn't it?!"
Morgana sighed. She looked back at Lillian and saw her sister-in-law watching passively from the shadow of a corner.
"Yes. I tried to help but they killed the child anyway. They carried the Platt woman away." She expected to feel another swell of despair, thinking back to the scene, but instead, Morgana felt numb. She felt like this life of hers was a terrible dream.
"If what you say is true," one man said, stroking his beard, "then it is only a matter of time before we are all captured and killed."
"We can't keep doing this!" someone exclaimed. "I've got to watch out for my family! I've got to at least pretend to follow the Golden Lady. I don't want them to kill my family!"
There were many murmurs of agreement.
"That's what we're already doing," Morgana said. "It won't make any difference if we—"
"Because there's a spy!" a man bellowed. "Who's the spy here?!"
A second later, the entire cellar broke into a heated argument and Morgana's head reeled from the cacophony of angry, fearful voices and accusations.
"Stop it!" she cried, striding forward and pushing two heavy men apart. "This isn't helping!"
The room quieted back down.
"We can't keep meeting like this," a large, older man named Martin said. "Estren is too powerful. If there is indeed a spy in our midst, Morgana, then we're all marked for death."
"I..." she began, but her mind raced and she couldn't come up with any answers. Instead of the words she needed, all she found was a fog slithering through her brain and a cold nauseous feeling rolling around in her chest. She was so damned tired of fighting. They all were. "I don't know what to do about that yet. I'm hoping that the warriors from the stars have killed the necromancer—"
"But it's been days!" someone shouted. "They have failed."
"This is folly!" another man added. "We need to leave this village and start over!"
"Don't!" Morgana replied, holding up her hands to stop them from falling into arguing again. "We don't know. The best I can figure is that if we can kill the necromancer with their help, then his gargoyles will stop attacking at night, and—"
"You don't know that! We don't know that!" a man snapped. "How can we depend on that?!"
"If the gargoyles stop attacking, then maybe we can pull some of the townsfolk back to our side! When we have enough people, we can take the town back! We can make New Bozeman like it used to be—like when my family—"
She was interrupted again.
"How can people like us fight the Chosen?!" a man named Abraham asked gruffly.
Morgana squeezed her temples with buzzing fingers. This was too much.
"We do it one at a time!" she replied. "If we can fight them in the night—without the gargoyle threat—then we can make careful, methodical strikes from secret. We can whittle down their numbers until—"
"Not while there's a spy in our midst!" someone said.
Morgana sighed and sat down on the steps. She didn't know what to do. She felt Lillian's cold fingers appear around her shoulders and the back of her neck under her hair. When she looked at her sister-in-law, the woman flashed her a sympathetic smile and stroked her shoulders.
"You've done the best you can, sister," she said quietly. "Maybe it's time to move on."
Martin approached Morgana from the group of sour faces in the dark cellar. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder as the young woman held her head in her hands.
"Morgana," he said gently. "We're with you. By God, you know that we are. The Soloster family has always been here for this community. I don't believe that bullshit they say about your brother Owen, but we're in a bad spot, girl."
She looked up.
"Maybe the warriors from the stars can help," she offered, trying not to cry. Morgana felt as if the lives of the entire village hung around her shoulders. Her back hurt, and her head was pounding, and she needed more sleep. "Maybe when they're done with the necromancer, they can help us overthrown Estren...?"
"Those warriors aren't coming back!" someone said from the crowd. "They failed. It's either that, or they to
ok our gold and left."
"Yeah!" someone else added. "There's no way that they can kill the necromancer. He's been—"
The meeting was suddenly silenced when a deep voice like grinding stone echoing from the bottom of the world filled the room:
"The necromancer is dead!"
Everyone startled and gasped, scrambling backwards toward the dark and dusty foundation walls away from a swirling emanation of shadowy vapor appearing in the center of the cellar.
"Oh, God!" someone exclaimed.
Morgana fought a flush of cold fear and a desire to run out of the room up the stairs, but she knew what was happening. She eyed the terror in their midst, afraid, even though she was hoping to see the demon again. Her joints turned to jelly and her stomach became a freezing pit, but as the swirling mass of darkness spat gusts of wind at their faces, she faced the incoming horror. Morgana's hair blew back from her face and she forced herself to stand.
"I have come for he who had summoned me. Dominic Logan, are you prepared to fulfil your sacrifice?"
The men all around the room backed away, pressing themselves into each other and the cellar walls like frightened rats, their eyes wide and mouths gaping. They made sounds of fear. The swirling darkness blotted out the center of the room like a cloud of ink, spinning like a small tornado and vibrating the stone bricks around them.
The roar was nearly deafening for a moment then reduced to a loud drone like a thousand buzzing insects in a strong wind.
Morgana saw the demon appear amidst the shadowy vapors: tall and muscular and statuesque like a dark god with smooth, ebony skin as black as the inky wind whirling around it. Its massive arms were folded over a robust chest. The young woman couldn't see the monster's legs; its imposing body faded into wispy nothingness below the waist. With a stony face that looked more carved than alive, the demon surveyed the room with glowing yellow eyes like burning coals. A deep chill flew from him like an icy wind. The demon's flaring eyes landed on Morgana for a moment then looked beyond her to her left, stopping on Dominic. Its hair—so like flames—whipped around in the torrent of its black whirlwind.
It was Xarzeth the Black. The demon had returned.
The young man stammered. "Y-yes, demon," Dominic said, stepping forward on shaky legs. "The necromancer ... is dead? Truly?"
"Behold."
The spinning cloud of blackness extended in front of the demon's brawny form for a moment, then withdrew, leaving a human head floating in the air; its hair swishing around in the swirling wind.
It was the head of a man, thin and pale with a thin, well-groomed beard cut short and pale blue eyes that lolled, sagging in death.
"That's the necromancer?" Morgana asked, feeling a chill fly up her spine when the demon's eyes fell upon her.
"Yes, Soloster," the monster replied, its voice deep and penetrating, vibrating her bones. "You asked for the head of the necromancer. I have delivered such." Xarzeth's burning eyes fell upon Dominic again—who trembled and shuddered with fear—and went on. "I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, Dominic Logan. Are you prepared to fulfill yours?"
The head suddenly fell and landed on the cellar floor with a squelching sound like a ripe melon hitting stone. The grisly trophy turned away from Morgana and she only saw the mass of the necromancer's long, mousy-brown hair.
The young woman's eyes met Dominic's, who looked back at her with desperation and a touch of madness. The rebel who had summoned the demon now looked terrified out of his wits.
Morgana opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn't come.
Dominic looked back at the swirling, freezing horror. Morgana saw the whites of many men's eyes transfixed in shock as they shrank away around the dark edges of the cellar. "Yes, Xarzeth," he said. "I am ready." He looked back to her again. "Goodbye, Morgana..." Dominic's voice was shaking and brimming with sadness. "I hope ... I hope this helps."
Morgana felt her eyes—cold and raw in the wind of the demon's presence—welling with tears. Her heart bloomed with regret and love. It should have been her. If Dominic giving himself to the demon as part of the deal was the price they needed to pay to kill the necromancer and revive New Bozeman, then she should have been the one to sacrifice. But Dominic was the one who'd found the ritual. He was the one who summoned the demon. Amidst a sea of sorrow in her chest, Morgana found a flicker of hope.
"I will remember your sacrifice!" she exclaimed, suddenly finding her voice.
Everyone stared at the swirling darkness and the young man who approached it. Dominic looked at Morgana's face for a moment longer then turned to face his doom. The great, ebony demon reached out with one powerful hand as his whirlwind of vapors picked up speed and roared throughout the room. The sound became unbearable, buzzing and grinding as the swirling darkness spit dirt and rocks from the floor into their faces. Morgana had to close her eyes against the stinging flurry. A deep, stormy drone swallowed up her senses. Putting one hand in front of her face and holding her whipping hair back with the other, the young woman squinted—searching for Dominic Logan—but he was gone. For the briefest instant, she saw a pink shimmering of light nearly the shape of a man, and the demon began fading into his spinning cloud of inky black.
"Wait!" Morgana called out suddenly. "What about the star warriors?! Where are they? We need their help!"
The cellar roared with the spinning black vapors and Morgana saw all of the rebels pressed against the far walls holding their ears and turning away from the savage gloom. The drone vibrated through her body and the demon did not respond.
"Demon! Xarzeth!" she cried, stepping forward. "Please! We need the help of the warriors from the stars!"
The inky clouds spinning through the room compressed into a pitch-black swirling cyclone then, suddenly, everything stopped.
The cellar was quiet and men were whimpering and moaning in fear all around the walls.
Morgana felt her hair settle around her shoulders.
She stared at the center of the room for several seconds just like everyone else did.
Then she looked down at the necromancer's head.
With her whole body buzzing in stress and fear, Morgana forced herself to move and took several steps toward the severed head. She reached down and picked it up, avoiding touching the gruesome torn flesh and cleaved spine where the necromancer's neck had been cut.
She looked into the face of death. The sallow cheeks and pale, dead eyes looked back at her. The man's skin was cold under her hands. Morgana suddenly wanted to drop the head, filled with revulsion that made her shake all over. Instead, she swallowed her terror and turned to the rebels.
"Is this ... is this him?" she asked quietly to the many gaping, frightened faces. "Did anyone get a good look at him when he attacked and killed my father?" That night seemed so long ago. It was as if another life, back when Morgana still had her family and her fiancé, Bryant. Back when Owen went off to kill the necromancer and betrayed everyone instead, that night after when the necromancer killed her father, future husband, and many more good people, Morgana had been hidden during the attack. She didn't know how to fight at that time; how to wield her father's sword. She didn't even have it yet. She was the youngest of the Solosters.
Someone among the rebels had to have seen the necromancer's face that night. Surely someone could recognize him...
Martin stepped forward, smoothing his tunic. "That is him," the strong, older man said, squinting and staring at the sagging face. "I was in the street with the rest of the guard that night and I saw that foul man fly into town with his magic. It was for only a moment before the gargoyles were around me and I had to fall back with the others, but I am fairly certain ... yes. That is the necromancer."
A tiny spark of hope flared up in Morgana's heavy insides.
She made herself smile. The loss of Dominic to the demon was terrible—she felt his crushing absence like a weight on her soul. She would no doubt have to cry about it on her own later. But it was part of the plan
. The black creature Xarzeth had required the gold and the sacrifice of the summoner to perform the task, and perform the task he did!
"The necromancer is dead!" someone suddenly shouted. She could hear the smile in the man's voice.
The rebels around the cellar started to move again as if released from a spell. Morgana held up the heavy head, smiling and looking around at the rebel's thawing faces. Murmurs broke out all around and she saw some of the men dare to show the smallest bit of hope and happiness.
"Victory!" Morgana exclaimed. "Now, if the gargoyles disperse—God be with us and grant us that mercy!—then we can focus on damned Estren and his Communion! We will have New Bozeman back! We will be a strong town of good people again! We will be prosperous and safe!"
Men cheered and echoed Morgana's exuberance. She felt hands clapping her shoulders. Everyone moved out of their frantic hiding places and met in the middle of the room. Morgana suddenly felt drunk with relief. She wanted to share this rare moment of elation with Lillian and looked back, looking for her sister-in-law's smiling face, but didn't see her. Another man approached from her side and exclaimed many words of comfort and appreciation that Morgana didn't really listen to.
Then Morgana gasped when her searching eyes landed on a golden mask. She saw another, then another. A sudden whirlwind of activity cut into the rebels' celebration and the men stopped laughing. There was shouting and shoving. Morgana caught just a glimpse of the glint of steel, saw it disappear, then reappear coated in bright, red blood.
Adrenaline shot through her like an icy blast.
The Chosen were among them, and they were attacking!
Morgana saw more soldiers pushing down the stairs from the main floor and several of the ones down with them already were beating and stabbing the confused and gradually-reacting men all around her.