The Necromancer's Grimoire

by Annmarie Banks

  “And you know how much I attend to the feelings of others.” He bent to kiss her again, but she put a hand on his chest.

  “The time for that is later as well. One squall and these sailors will toss us all overboard for bringing bad luck to their ship.”

  “I do not swim,” he said. He drew back from her and turned to put both hands on the rail and look out to sea. “But I would go overboard rather than see you separated from me. Again.”

  “Peace,” she said, for she could see the squall beginning to form behind his eyes. “We will go to Attica. I will find the priestess. She will show me how to read the book, and I will force the necromancer to release those he has in thrall.”

  He frowned at the waves. “If you don’t kill him, what keeps him from grabbing what he wants when your back is turned? You cannot use your life to be his jailor.”

  “She will tell me.” But his words reminded her of another mystery. She put her hand over her belly. The necromancer wants something from me.

  They were interrupted by DiMarco who must have been watching their conversation from his place across the deck. He nodded a greeting to them both.

  “I could see you are plotting. I would know the future.”

  “We discussed landfall in Greece, and the necromancer,” she answered.

  “The sultan’s sorcerer will be the topic for some time to come. Have you told the baron about the Templars’ mission?”

  Montrose barely turned his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  DiMarco ignored him. “We must have a plan. I insist on being included.”

  “I have a plan.” Nadira heard her own words fall flat.

  DiMarco was not deceived. “You need more practice traveling to the necromancer’s realms. So far you have not strayed far from this world. His world is vast and requires a different focus. In your travels you could think of your body and return safe to its warmth. In his world you will have many bodies. There is a danger you will not return to this one.” He pointed his chin at her. “It will die if you are gone too long.”

  This brought a violent reaction from Montrose. DiMarco found himself in the big man’s grip, his tunic and vest twisted in his hand and the alchemist was lifted to his toes. He held tightly to the Hermetica and his elixirs.

  “Do not speak of her death, old man.”

  DiMarco’s hat fell to the deck behind him. He was not cowed by the Englishman’s fury, but his breath was cut off and his words were forced. “I must teach her to defend herself against this evil. You cannot. The friar cannot. The Templars are injured. This priestess may never materialize. The necromancer is there. He is real. He waits. She must learn quickly or be lost.”

  Nadira put her hand on Montrose’s arm. “Put him down.”

  He did. He said, “I have wondered, Senore, why you have not made this journey yourself. You, who possess these wondrous elixirs.”

  DiMarco retrieved his hat and squashed the velvet back on his head. “I have gone there and do not wish to return,” he answered with a wary eye on Montrose.

  “You are a coward, Senore.” Montrose had both hands on the rail again to keep them from DiMarco’s neck.

  “I am,” he admitted. “But you would not be so eager to return, Baron, had you been there either.”

  “I have been in hell. “ Montrose did not elaborate and Nadira knew he was thinking of Richard again. There was a particular cast to his eyes that was unique to thoughts of his brother. She put her hand on his back as she turned to DiMarco.

  “You do not need to explain to me. I saw it all when I was inside your heart.”

  “Then you know I speak the truth.”

  “Yes. And I agree.”

  Something touched her and she turned, looking for William. He had been at the bow, now he was somewhere else. She found him, sitting cross-legged leaning against the gunwale across from them, the Grimoire open on his lap, and his head bent down in study. The book had told her he was reading it. The two men followed her gaze.

  “And your acolyte…” DiMarco murmured. “He is naked to the necromancer. How will you protect him?”

  “He is not naked. The book protects him.” She shook her head slightly. “It likes him.” The two men turned to look at her, amazed.

  “The book feels?” DiMarco looked down at the Hermetica in his hands.

  “That one is different,” she tried to explain. She touched the lapis lazuli jewel in the center of the Hermetica’s cover. “This one beckons. It is like the herald calling in the streets. All may hear, but few answer. Those who answer must pass through the trials of the endpapers. Those who emerge transformed then go there…” She nodded toward William. “Those that do not…” she looked meaningfully at DiMarco. “You know where they go, Senore.”

  His face melted into despair. “Are there second chances?” he whispered.

  “Of course,” she said. “You are going through your second trial now.”

  He looked at Montrose. “We have all tasted the book but you, Baron. Tell me who is the coward now.”

  Nadira’s eyes went wide with these words and she stepped quickly between the two men, but the expected reaction did not materialize. Montrose’s hands remained firmly on the rail, though his knuckles had turned white.

  She answered for him. “He was not called by the book.”

  Montrose turned his eyes to DiMarco. “Give it to me.”

  She felt the back of her neck tingle and a chill as it seemed her blood turned to ice. “No.” She pushed DiMarco and the Hermetica away from Montrose. “Go, Senore. Take it. Go. Quickly.” She was shaking and not from the chill. DiMarco did not obey. He had a nasty smile on his face.

  She tried logic on Montrose. “You must be able to read it, my lord. You cannot read.”

  “No. I do not need to read it. I only need to eat it.” Montrose had his eyes on DiMarco.

  He is correct. The Grimoire was speaking to her now.

  Do not encourage him, she said to it. What are you doing?

  DiMarco handed the Hermetica to Montrose. She tried to intercept it, but Montrose raised it high over her head and turned his back on her. He strode to the hatch and disappeared down the ladder before she could close her mouth.

  “What have you done!” Her eyes flashed at DiMarco and with a wave of her hand knocked him to the deck in a tangle of snarling red threads. Sparks flew from his body with the intensity of her rage.

  The shouts from the sailors brought Piri flying from his cabin. She was quickly surrounded by angry and frightened faces. Piri pushed through his men to stand tall before her. “Sultana!”

  She could see DiMarco getting to his feet behind Piri and picking up the wood case that held his elixirs. A sailor handed him his hat. She tried to calm herself but she could not control her breathing. She felt faint. William appeared at her elbow.

  “Nadira,” his voice was soft. He spoke in English to hide his words from the others, “The Grimoire tells me that my lord, the baron, is hungry.” His eyes were wide and dark. “But he cannot go…he cannot. You cannot let him. He will not come back.”

  “Senore,” she said to DiMarco in a darkly shaken voice, “If he does not come back you will feel how the touch of the necromancer has tainted me with his corruption.” She opened and closed her fingers and heard the sparks snap, eager to send the crackling shards to DiMarco’s heart and rip it in two.

  “Lady, if he does not come back,” the alchemist adjusted his hat, “you will thank me.”

  “Sultana!” Piri insisted, “What is this? The frenki fight on my ship? I will not permit it.” He looked at each of them. “Go below and do not emerge unless I have sent for you.”

  This was a command she was eager to obey. She turned and made her way through the hatch into the darkness and thick air of the deck below. The Templars lay sleeping in their hammocks near the bow. Montrose was easy to find in his hammock amidships near the water barrels. The Hermetica lay beside him. She snatched it up and held it to the small shaf
t of light that came through the overhead port. She flipped the pages to the end. How much did he eat? William’s tear had left only a few fingers’ width of speckled papyrus remaining of the end papers. She turned the pages until she found the place where the papyrus pages should be. She saw he had ripped the rest of it out. She raised stricken eyes to his.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why?”

  His lips curved at the ends. “Because of what I heard in your voice as you told DiMarco to keep the book away from me.” His eyes were very dark, now, as the speckled papers worked on his body. Soon the blue would disappear and he would too.

  “What did you hear?” She whispered, putting a hand to his cheek. He looked at her and she heard the answer in her heart. She shook her head at him. “No, my love. I would never doubt your courage. Did you not just say you would jump into the sea? Did you not show me you would carve your way through an entire battalion of janissaries?”

  “That is not courage,” he told her.

  “It is,” tears blinked from her eyes. “It is. But this is madness. You do not have the weapons nor the skill for this.”

  “Then that is where the courage is. You will not face the necromancer alone.” His voice was soft now and the blue of his eyes was replaced by the darkest black. He blinked, then closed them with a long low sigh as though all the air was leaving his body. She waited, holding her own breath to see his chest rise and fall again. William appeared on the other side of the hammock.

  “He did it.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” He looked at Nadira. “What happens to someone who cannot read when they eat the book?”

  She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “I don’t know.” Montrose was breathing so slowly now, she had to put her hand on him to feel the air enter his body.

  “You have to go after him,” William said. “I will stay here to watch over the both of you.”

  She looked at him. “Oh, no.”

  He nodded. “You have to.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to project herself after him. Nothing.

  William reached across Montrose’s chest and touched her arm. “No. You have to take an elixir. He has gone far. Very far. You cannot catch him from this world or the next. Your tendrils do not extend that far. You have to go beyond. He has no map. Soon he will be lost.”

  She opened her eyes. “The Grimoire tells you this?”

  “No.” He looked at the Hermetica resting on Montrose’s boot. “I went there. I remember. I called for you to come to help me, but you did not hear. You were too far away.”

  “But you came back,” she said.

  “A map appeared when I asked for help.” William touched Montrose’s forehead with his finger. “The baron will cry out for help and what will appear for him?” William’s face was sad with the memory. “He will need a guide. What if one appears…” His face was stricken. “And it is not you? The necromancer lives there in those worlds.” William did not have to say more.

  Nadira turned away from the hammock and then turned back to Montrose. She took a step toward the hatch, then back to the hammock. She wavered and turned to their baggage, then decided on the hatch. Not the hatch, the stern. The bow. Fresh air. No…

  William said sharply, “Nadira!”

  She looked at him.

  “Those intense emotions erase all your abilities. You know this. Calm yourself. You are fluttering. I see your mind swirling.” He reached for her and squeezed her wrist. “I will get an elixir from DiMarco. While I am gone you must lie down and calm yourself. Be calm. Peace.”

  She took a deep breath. He was right. “But I cannot trust DiMarco. He may give you the wrong potion.”

  William took his hand from her wrist and pulled the Grimoire from inside his tunic. “Oh, no he won’t.” His eyes flashed at her as he turned away and disappeared in the gloom of the lower decks.

  She rubbed her face as Montrose often did. It was soothing and brought her focus back. She made herself inhale as deeply as she could and let the air out slowly, instructing her fear and anxiety to leave with her breath. When she felt she could think clearly again, she put her hands on Montrose’s shoulders and using the bulkhead as a prop for one foot, heaved herself into his swinging hammock and lay on top of him. She wriggled until she was beside him, the ropes swaying with her. She put an arm over his chest and hugged him to her. He lay very still, but his eyelids had begun to twitch.

  By the time William returned she was calm and had that floating feeling she associated with her journeys. William held a tiny ampule up for her to see. “He gave me this one and the Grimoire says it is the right one. Take it.” He unsealed it and handed it to her. “All of it, Nadira,” he said with resignation. “He is gone far away.”

  She did, and touched his hand as she handed the vial back to him.

  “Bon voyage,” he said, his eyes worried. “I am here to look after you both,” he reminded her. “Go.”

  She felt as though shot from a cannon, and the speed with which she flew blurred the images of the sea and the ship around her. She reached out for Montrose, and when she did not feel him, she sent tendrils out like a net to snare him wherever he might be.

  She found him. The blur and the motion stopped. She was in the midst of cultivated fields. Stone walls crawled up and down rolling hills and a silver river snaked along the low places. Sheep grazed in the green pastures. She could feel him and knew he was there somewhere. Her feet touched the ground and she turned, scanning for him.

  A black and white dog sniffed at her ankles and waved a fluffy tail. She looked down at a pair of gentle brown eyes. “Where is your master?” she asked. The dog turned its head back to the flock. Nadira saw the shepherd some distance away sitting on the steps of a stile, leaning on his crook. She followed the dog toward the sheep, intending to ask about Montrose, but before she could get herself over one of the walls the sun was blocked and the light went out. The dog began barking and the shepherd stood. She looked up.

  Something large flew past them. Large enough to cast a deep shadow. Not a bird. It was larger than a bull and longer than a tree. Nadira watched as it circled the flock and landed gracefully between the shepherd and the sheep. It looked like a flying lizard. It had a long face and rows of sharp teeth. The dog beside her crouched low, its ears drooped and it whimpered.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  The dog looked up at her and said, “It is a dragon.”

  Nadira tilted her head. “Well then.” She climbed on the wall and sat. The dog jumped up next to her. She put her hand on his back and stroked the soft fur. “Let us wait and see.”

  The shepherd was armed with only his crook. He took a defiant step toward the beast, crook raised in a defensive position. The dragon marched in the grass around the frightened sheep, its shining eyes obviously focused on selecting just the right one for his meal.

  It completely ignored the shepherd.

  As she watched, the shepherd took on a more familiar shape. He grew taller and armor appeared on his arms and legs. A helmet encased his head and the visor closed over a pair of dark blue eyes. The crook became a broadsword. The dragon raised its head, the sheep forgotten.

  “Oh, I understand now,” she leaned toward the dog. “He must slay this dragon. Very well, then. He shall.”

  “You think?” the dog raised its ears and looked up at her.

  She smiled. Montrose swung the great sword and the dragon danced away from the deadly arc. It raised itself up on its hind legs and stabbed at the knight with its talons. Montrose leaped to the side and his shoulders bunched as he brought the sword up and over with a side swipe to the beast’s haunches. The dragon roared and flapped its huge bat wings.

  “Oh, did you see that backswing?” she asked the dog, clapping her hands. “Beautiful. The baron is so beautiful. And so strong. And look at the way he uses that sword. Like an extension of his arm. All grace and power. Magnificent. He is absolutely magnificent.”

  The dog shook
its head.

  She continued her eyes bright with excitement, “It is like a dance,” she leaned toward the dog conspiratorially, “but one of the partners must fall.” The dragon lifted into the air for a few seconds before coming to the grass again, its injured leg dangled uselessly. The sheep had fled to the far corner of the pasture and huddled against the wall there. The dragon roared its anger and hurt. Montrose moved in again, the high arc of his blade aimed directly toward the monster’s heart.

  “He does not play,” Nadira informed the dog. “He will not spar with his enemies. I know this, I have seen his work. Many times.” She nodded to herself. “He is all business when it comes to death.”

  The dog barked once.

  The dragon saw the blow coming and leaped high on its one leg. The sword struck it lower, in its abdomen instead. It roared and slashed at Montrose again, this time catching him on his right side with one talon as the sword swung past and stripped the armor like it was paper. The sharp claw ripped him up the side from his hip to his shoulder and exposed his ribs, white bone and red blood. The man fell to the grass and the dragon leaped, its mouth open for the kill, long fangs ready to crunch the man, armor and all.

  “No!” Nadira shouted and the dragon stopped, puzzled. Its big eyes blinked once, then it crouched and with great effort leaped up. With two mighty flaps of its wings it was in the air.

  The dog shook his head. “Now look what you’ve done,” it said sadly.

  Nadira clambered to stand on the wall as the dragon flapped toward her. She extended one arm and tried to generate a ball of light or threads or…she looked at her hand. Nothing.

  “This is not your journey, Nadira the Reader,” said the dog. “It is his.”

  “I am not going to let the dragon eat him!” She cried.

  “Why not?”

  The dragon was two flaps away from her, it had its mouth open and the one talon from its good hind leg extended as though it might snatch her up with it. She had one hand out toward the dragon, the other outstretched to steady her on the wall. The dog’s question threw her off balance in more ways than one. Then the dragon’s head snaked out and its jaws opened wide. She heard Montrose’s voice behind the dragon. He shouted, “No!”