The Necromancer's Apprentice

by R. M. Prioleau

  The Necromancer's Apprentice

  by R.M. Prioleau

  *

  E-Book Edition

  The Necromancer's Apprentice

  © 2010 R.M. Prioleau.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Art by Sarah Ellerton.

  First E-Book Edition: April 2011.

  Visit the author's website at: www.rmprioleau.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any manner without the express written permission of the author. All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The Na'Darod manor sat forty miles south of the city of Lakis, in Caristan's sparse countryside. Laced modestly with withering ivy, the greystone structure was confined within the boundaries of a wooden fence which snaked a path through the trunks of the surrounding white birches. The fence showed much age, with many planks having been reduced to rotting wood over the years, rendering them useless.

  In the early years of our family's history, the Na'Darod manor was a prosperous farm, producing the finest wheat and corn. Every mid-autumn for subsequent years, the manor's perimeters were graced with eloquent auburn tones of the foliage that painted a picturesque example of the season's hidden treasures. The temperate winds carried the scents of fallen seeds and a promise of another prosperous harvest.

  This year, however, the autumn skies saw the Blood Moon more often than usual; thus, the harvests did not come. The farmlands surrounding the manor were mostly barren, dusty specks of voided life. Likewise, the birch forests around its perimeter were reduced to hollow, white-striped trunks protruding with death-tinged branches. The earth was dry and thirsted for the rains once more, but it had been months since the lands were graced with a single drop and everyone in Caristan felt its impact.

  The nest of straw embraced my thin form as I lay on my back and stared up at the clouded, orange and crimson skies of autumn's dusk. The evening winds began to whistle through the fragile shafts of the dried wheat and eventually brush over my pale face. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the sounds of my hungry belly were heard growling in protest of the meager dinner from earlier. I sighed and shut my slate-grey eyes, attempting to ignore my body's ever-growing demands. Since the drought, my body began to wither and many times I wondered for how long I would be able to endure.

  Beyond the sounds of the wind and rustling wheat, I heard footsteps approaching. My eyes slowly opened, shifted towards the sound and gazed upon a feminine silhouette. The trim of her long, flowing dress flitted through the soft breeze of the impending night.

  “Jasmine?” the young, feminine voice called out.

  A thin smile crept upon my dry lips at the familiar tone of my elder sister's voice. I sat up from the nest of straw and gazed upon her slender form. The white, ruffled house dress she wore concealed her lithe frame. Slender, pale hands carefully smoothed out the excess creases in the soft, laced fabric before her amber eyes regarded me pointedly through the strands of ebony locks that draped across her young face.

  “You know that Father does not approve of your being out here alone whilst the Blood Moon has risen.” Her voice was scolding, yet filled with concern.

  I pouted at her words and averted my attention towards the horizon. As it were, the crimson-touched moon had already begun peeking over the distant hills of the countryside.

  There were folklores and superstitions derived from the Blood Moon, which occurred very rarely over the course of several centuries. Its very existence was generally perceived as a prophecy of misfortune, affliction and death. Since the Moon's recent visit just two months ago, those ‘prophecies’ had apparently begun to fulfill all throughout Caristan.

  I was neither one who believed in superstition or coincidence; I rather saw the Blood Moon as a beautiful work of art. When the Blood Moon rose, the skies were alive again, casting its copper-stained light over the drought-stricken country.

  Father was a superstitious man who believed in such fantasies as creatures of darkness swooping down during the night of the Blood Moon to feast upon innocent souls. He had especially grown wary when Mother had fallen ill not long after the Moon's first sighting. Coupled with the season of drought, Father was completely convinced of the dismal future that we would all soon see.

  “It is still early, Violet,” I replied wistfully, then shook out the excess straw that found its way into my snow-white hair. “I wish Father were not so paranoid of age-old myths.” Violet watched me and pursed her lips. The sound of wind rustling through the amber fields carried the illusion of footsteps approaching, which made Violet nervously glance over her shoulder towards the manor. When she was convinced of not being followed, she returned her attention to me.

  “It is not just the Blood Moon he worries about, Sister,” she spoke quietly. “Mother's condition has worsened.”

  I sighed softly. “Honestly, Violet, I cannot bear to see Mother's sickened condition any further.” I chewed on my bottom lip and envisioned the image of Mother's frail, skeletal body, bed-ridden and in a comatose state.

  “But, you have not seen her all day.” Violet tilted her head slightly and looked rather surprised at my response.

  “Something is literally eating away at her very soul and it is evident that none of us are able to help her.” I had not realized how cold my response truly sounded until I saw Violet's expression fall. She had always cried for Mother, but I could not. Those tears remained frozen since the night of the first Blood Moon and subsequently, ebbed as the months drew on.

  The growing tears in Violet's wavering eyes were eminent when she found it harder to speak on the subject.

  I frowned bitterly at the spectacle and warned, “No, Violet. Don't you dare cry. I hate it when you cry.”

  She gazed at me pleadingly, trying to hold back her tears. “I'm sorry, Jasmine,” she choked. “I'm trying to stay strong, I really am. Please ... Please go and see her for me.”

  I could not help but comply with her innocent and distressful tone of voice. With a soft sigh, I reluctantly stood up and further brushed away the excess straw from my dark burgundy dress. “All right ... I will.”

  Violet smiled graciously and extended her silky, fair-skinned hand out to me.

  I took her hand and we made our way back to the manor, following the narrow, shadow-inlaid path created through the wheat fields. A small, chilly wind whisked over the exposed skin of my upper back, which the silken strands of my snow-white hair had barely touched. I faltered in my steps, looking over my shoulder as if someone were touching my skin, only to find nothing but the dancing shadows of the wheat fields made by the coppery glow of the Blood Moon above.

  Chapter 2

  The front door of the manor quietly creaked open as Violet led me into the house. The scent of leftover dinner – boiled cabbage – still wafted through the air, which was already heavy with despair. The house was quiet and dimly-lit by several candles which were placed strategically throughout each of the rooms. Cloves of garlic and silver talismans embezzled with the Goddess's holy symbol adorned the doorways of many rooms, including my own.

  As I walked past my room, I hastily ripped away the dam
nable things with a frown of resentment towards Father's radical superstitions. Violet observed me silently as I carried them to the living room and flung them into the fireplace. After observing the flames consume the items, I heard Violet's footsteps draw closer.

  “Come, Sister,” she whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder in a subtle gesture to lead me upstairs.

  I turned to her, still frowning bitterly, but allowed her escort.

  When we ascended the final stair, she withdrew her hand from my shoulder and strode over to one of the closed bedroom doors, from which the flicker of a brighter candlelight could be seen beneath. She knocked softly to announce her presence then entered the laced-white room.

  Once we were inside, we found Father standing at Mother's bedside, gazing over her sadly. He didn't seem to notice our presence at first.

  “You will be all right, Lily, Dear,” I heard him whisper.

  It was then his attention suddenly drew towards me and Violet standing by the door in silence. His eyes were anxious – almost fearful of our presence. I could only assume that it was due to his unnecessary – and rather ridiculous – superstitious display around the house, which I simply scoffed at. Around his neck, he wore a clove of garlic coupled with a silver-inlaid charm of the Goddess's holy symbol. Tied to his belt was a small, silver dagger, its clean blade reflecting an elegant glow from the room's light. He held up a green-tinged apothecary in the form of a small vial, in which he was preparing to administer to Mother. Behind him was a table lined with various medicines and homemade remedies, all of which had seen much use.

  My eyes drew away from Father and traveled to the bed where Mother lay deathly still. Her skin was almost as white as the sheets and her once-beautiful face was now thinned and bony. Auburn curls danced along the edges of her face as she slept peacefully. The faintest rising and lowering of the sheets covering her was the only indication that death had not yet consumed her. When I had seen her long enough, I turned my father silently.

  He rubbed a small cloth along his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat before speaking to us in an exhausted tone. “Girls, Lily is not responding to the medicines and I don't know for how much longer she will hold on. The curse upon our family – our lands – is evident. We may be forced to leave the farm and travel north to Lakis in order to find the healer we need.” He paused and looked at Mother sadly. “My only concern is ensuring that your mother will be strong enough to endure the long trip.”

  I blinked in surprise. “Leave the farm?!” I had known this place all my life, not daring to venture beyond the birch forests.

  Violet's mouth fell agape and she looked at him in disbelief. “Father!” she exclaimed. “Do you realize what you are saying?!”

  “There has to be another way ...” I muttered.

  Father looked at both of us in turn and then sighed. “Your mother is dying. We will not find a cure by remaining here. Her life depends on us.”

  “We cannot risk any further harm to her body, Father,” Violet protested, shaking her head. “Such a long journey will only worsen her condition.”

  Father huffed. “Do you think I am not aware of that, Violet? This is all we can do for now – for her sake. Her body is not recovering; this is the only option we have at this point.” He paused and noticed my flustered expression. “I know you don't want to leave this place and all of our family's history behind, Jasmine.”

  I glared at him, pursing my lips bitterly. “Grandpa entrusted you with this farm when he died eleven years ago,” I spat. “We all worked hard to maintain it like he would have wanted. Now you want to simply abandon it?!”

  Father's gaze hardened at my words. “Believe me, Jasmine, this decision was not easy. However, your mother's health is my priority and I will not let this damnable blight take her away from me. Please understand my reasoning.”

  I regarded him coldly. His words barely touched my mind and it showed in my firm stance and head held aloof, as though expecting him to further explain himself.

  His hardened gaze never left mine and he continued in a sharp, more frustrated tone. “Jasmine, don't think I'm not aware of your resistance and hesitation in all of this. You were born and raised on this farm. For sixteen years, this place has been all that you've known, but there is a bigger and far more dangerous world outside these walls. Your mother's condition is not a normal sickness – it is a curse from the Blood Moon. Therefore, it is imperative that we take her to an appropriate physician in Lakis.”

  I opened my mouth to speak out against his superstitious banter, but, instead, held my tongue. By the stern look in his hazel eyes, I knew it would be a futile attempt to convince him otherwise. After sighing helplessly, I gave him a faint, reluctant nod.

  Father regarded the two of us once more and sighed heavily in frustration. “We will set out in two days,” he instructed. “This will give all of us ample time to prepare. Travel lightly and take only what you need. I do not know when we will return.”

  I was the first to leave the room once he had dismissed us. Mother was not dead; but somehow, the air was heavy and rank as though death itself was looming nearby. I sought solace in the small confines of my bedroom, where I stared idly out the window at the Blood Moon, which was already nearing its peak with the approaching late hours.

  My eyes drifted away from the skies momentarily and focused elsewhere around the room, trying to decide what to pack for the trip. I adored my books, which were lined neatly on the wooden shelf in one corner. In another corner, the door to my wardrobe was slightly ajar, revealing the laced fabrics of some of my favorite dresses. At the foot of my bed was a large wooden trunk, locked and secured. Atop the trunk was my beloved feline, Periwinkle, who slept soundly in a curled, onyx-colored, furry ball. Overall, my array of material possessions was oddly scarce. My family had always thought it strange for me to be the only child who was content with very little. I had long-since accepted the fact that I was unlike most children. My heart was morbid – devoid of such emotion and lust towards that which could not be taken so easily beyond the boundaries of life and death. In the end, I found peace with myself, knowing that I truly had nothing of value to lose in this empty life.

  Chapter 3

  The two grievous days that followed seemed like an eternity. Stepping outside of the manor for the last time, there was an empty void that swept over me and lingered eerily. We all packed what little belongings we were able to – excluding my own – and loaded a small hay cart. With Mother unable to walk long distances, we placed her comfortably within the nest of hay in the back of the cart.

  Violet, unable to bear looking at her, finally broke the uneasy silence after regarding Father with a distressful gaze. “Father,” she requested sharply, “I would like for Jasmine to keep watch over Mother while we travel. It is not often they spend time together these days, after all.”

  He raised a thin brow at her request then finally nodded; however, it was obvious in his eyes that I was the least of his worries. After waving us off dismissively to get situated in the cart, he went to the barn to gather the two remaining horses we owned.

  Before the drought, we kept six horses, along with three cows, eight goats, seven chickens and three pigs. We were regrettably forced to either sell the other animals for food money, or slaughter them for our own food; however, Father was adamant about keeping at least two horses in case of an emergency.

  I frowned at Violet for her sudden outburst once we were alone and said flatly, “That was unnecessary.”

  She licked her lips in thought then met my glaring eyes. “Was it?” she contested. “I think you are deliberately distancing yourself from her and I don't like it. She is our mother and she needs us more than ever.”

  “I am not ‘distancing myself’ from her,” I protested with narrowed eyes. “While I hold no objections to wanting to spend the last days with her, I do not want my memories of Mother to be tinged with the despair and suffering that currently afflicts her.”

&n
bsp; Violet silently regarded my words in disbelief. Without further argument, she shrugged and reluctantly climbed in the back of the cart to sit at Mother's side.

  Death was an uncomfortable feeling that Violet tried to embrace, unlike myself. I knew it would not be long before Mother would submit to the Eternal Sleep; it was eminent in her eyes, her body and all our failed efforts. Those few pleasant memories of seeing Mother's healthy, smiling face all those months ago were now replaced with a corpse-like image of the woman I used to love and adore.

  We set out early in the morning before the sun had a chance to rise above the distant birch forests along the rolling hills of the countryside. I looked back at the stone-inlaid structure of the manor with sad eyes, not knowing if I would ever return here again. Part of me wanted to stay in this familiar place I had considered a sanctuary all my life; yet, another part of me felt adventurous and curious of what the rest of the world had to offer.

  Violet sat beside me, gazing blankly at the manor. “This is a mistake ...” I heard her mutter under her breath.

  Not bothering to respond to her quiet musings, I averted my attention to Father, who worked silently to secure the two horses to the front of the cart.

  The animals were thin and greatly malnourished, with their lower ribs visible beneath their tanned bellies. With much of their strength already depleted, they staggered about weakly. I had my doubts about them getting us very far and I shared the same pain I saw in Father's eyes as he watched his beloved animals suffer almost as much as Mother.

  When he finished, he made one final check of the cart before grabbing the reins and standing alongside the animals. “All right, let's be off.” His voice was choked with pain.