Necromancer Falling: Book Two of The Mukhtaar Chronicles
Page 49
This couldn’t be real. How could there be a world without Kaitlyn in it?
Maybe it didn’t have to be like that.
“Maybe I could—”
“Don’t say it,” Mujahid said. “Don’t even think it.”
“We raise penitents for their sake, boy, not our own,” Nuuan said.
Nicolas’s head felt heavy, and he squatted on the ground, resting his head in his hands. “How did you know what I was going to say?”
“You think there’s a necromancer alive who hasn’t thought about raising a loved one to ease their grief?” Nuuan asked.
“But she needs purification too, doesn’t she?” Nicolas asked. “I’m sure it won’t be long!”
Nuuan and Mujahid shared a look, and some silent communication passed between them.
Nuuan squatted next to him.
“There’s nothing I can say that will make you feel better about this,” Nuuan said. “So I’m not going to try. I know you loved her. But don’t let your grief paralyze you. There’s a Nicolas that doesn’t drown when he’s bound in chains and dumped in a lake. A Nicolas who brings down a tyrant when Mukhtaar Lords have failed to do so for decades. That’s the Nicolas we need here now. As cruel as I know this sounds, your grief must wait. Hell isn’t a place one should tarry.”
As if punctuating his sentence, the massive winged creatures roared once more.
“Hell,” Nicolas said. Didn’t they understand? Hell might be a place to them. But it was a gaping wound in his soul that would follow him wherever he went now.
Everything—Nuuan, Mujahid, the path, the winged creatures—took on a surreal quality. It wasn’t that they’d become less real; the path was solid under his boots, and the oppressive heat had him sweating like a summer day in Zilker Park. It just didn’t matter.
He was detached from it.
Separate from.
Nicolas stood. “Yeah, I’ve seen a statuette like the one you mentioned.”
“It’s made from a substance called hellstone,” Mujahid said. “From this very plane.”
“And you think Hasat’Tan is involved?”
“No,” Nuuan said. “But whoever is responsible knows there way around down here. And they’re getting more powerful every day. We need you to ascend to give the rest of us a fighting chance.”
“And how the hell am I supposed to do that?” The only thing Nicolas knew about ascending was you either succeeded or died trying. No one failed and lived.
“That’s not something we can simply tell you,” Mujahid said. “I can take you to the threshold of the Rite of Ascension, but it’s for you to discover how to ascend.”
A figure emerged from the sulfurous mists, in the direction of the winged creatures. A tall, thin woman, dressed all in white, from the look of it. But she was too far away to see any details, other than her long, straight white hair.
Nicolas shifted his weight, and one of the stones beneath his foot howled.
“And will somebody tell me what in the name of Zubuxo’s shadowy anus I’m stepping on?” Nicolas said.
Nuuan grinned. “Maybe he does have it in him.”
“Compressed soul,” Mujahid said. “Hasat’Tan has a singularly cruel sense of retribution.”
The woman drew closer much more quickly than Nicolas was expecting. She wasn’t wearing white at all. It was her skin, brilliant white, like the white-washed walls of the imperial palace in Dar Rodon. But her eyes were solid black…all three of them. Her legs, purely human above the knee, became less and less human the lower they went, ultimately ending in hooves.
“Your welcome is wearing thin,” the woman said. Her voice was hypnotic. “My father told you to leave. Why do you linger?”
“Lilith,” Nuuan said. “I’d say it was a pleasure…if it were a pleasure.”
Lilith continued, one slow, silent step at a time, placing one hoof directly in front of the other as if she were walking a catwalk. For whatever reason, the compressed soul cobblestones didn’t react to her.
“Your father will have what he requires,” Mujahid said.
Lilith glanced at Nicolas and smiled.
It wasn’t the smile of a person who was content, or happy to make an acquaintance. It was the smile of a person who’d been savagely hurt and saw their vengeance within reach. Her solid black eyes made it impossible to judge her real intent. It was one of the most chilling things Nicolas had ever seen.
“Who is this?” Lilith asked. She changed direction slightly until she was walking straight at Nicolas.
As she stepped forward, Lilith struck an invisible barrier and hissed as her skin sizzled.
“What is this?” she said.
Green light, dim, but growing in intensity, spread out along the ground from where she’d collided with the barrier, until it formed a circle around Mujahid and Nuuan, twenty feet in diameter.
“How dare you erect a ward in my father’s domain?”
“The deal is done,” Nuuan said. “Once every Erindorian decade, a Mukhtaar Lord will escort your father into the seventh plane. There he will be permitted to remain a single Erindorian day.”
“Then take your charge and leave before I have his soul extracted and compressed.”
An oval, the height of a man, opened within the green circle. Nicolas had felt no power released.
Mujahid placed a hand on Nicolas’s shoulder and guided him toward the newly formed portal.
“I’ll attend to the bargain,” Nuuan said. “If I’m right, we should know the moment Nicolas succeeds.”
Nuuan stepped out of the circle and followed Lilith back toward the winged creatures.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Nicolas said.
Mujahid faced Nicolas, both hands planted on Nicolas’s shoulders.
“We can’t stop fighting now,” Mujahid said. “Please, make Kaitlyn’s death mean something.”
Nicolas had no intention of stopping now. He stepped through the portal, and hell vanished behind him.
The room they stepped into was cavernous. Polished black marble walls towered above a dais that supported a gem-encrusted shrine at its center. The dais—also carved from black marble—was at least eighty feet square, surrounded on three sides by stone walls, upon which hung portraits of men Nicolas couldn’t identify. Four twisting, obsidian columns—they reminded Nicolas of Bernini’s Baldachin, which surrounded the main altar at Saint Peter’s Basilica—each held a torch of flameless golden light at the platform’s corners. Multicolored wisps rose from the central shrine through an opening in the second floor, which was ringed by golden bars that caught the flameless light and cast a warm glow across the black marble. Two winding black staircases, one on each side of the dais, rose to the second level and met at a podium, upon which rested an open book, three feet long by four feet wide.
But the strangest thing of all was an unsupported marble staircase that floated in mid air, ascending back from the podium, toward an elongated oval frame. The ornate golden frame was twice the height of a person, and rippling water formed a mirror-like surface from one side of the frame to the other.
Nicolas didn’t recognize the room, but he recognized the ambient scent of the place. He was certain they were somewhere in the Mukhtaar Estate.
“Do not deviate from the path I take,” Mujahid said. “This is the Room of Ascension. There is magic here even I do not understand.”
Mujahid led Nicolas onto the platform and stopped in front of the shrine. He glanced at Nicolas and gestured to remain silent.
“In the days of the prophet Habakku,” Mujahid said, “the god Zubuxo anointed the Mukhtaars to ascend above all other priests. Today we seek the anointing of the goddess Shealynd.”
“Why Shealynd?” Nicolas whispered.
“Never mind why—”
“Because your love for my daughter leads Mujahid to conclude I’d be open to the idea,” a woman said.
The cavernous room filled with the scent of fresh-cut roses.
The goddess Shealynd emerged from behind one of the pillars. Her brown hair curled down to her shoulders, and her piercing blue eyes glowed with an inner light, matching the hue of her dress.
“And he’s absolutely right,” she said.
Nicolas was gobsmacked. First, Mujahid reveals he’s Kaitlyn’s father, and now the goddess Shealynd claims to be her mother?
As Shealynd approached, she transformed. Her sky blue dress turned crimson red, and her brown curls brightened until they matched. Gone was the inner glow to her eyes, but they remained piercing blue.
“Shealynd,” Nicolas said.
“Call me Mordryn in this form.”
Mordryn held out her palm, and a small box materialized in a flash of blue light. She opened the box and retrieved a narrow vial of viscous liquid that looked like olive oil.
The box vanished.
“Come,” she said, as she walked toward one of the great marble stairs.
“Tell me what you see, Mordryn,” Mujahid said. He and Nicolas followed her up the stairs.
“You asked me the same thing the day you stepped over the threshold.”
“And your words brought me comfort. I seek the same comfort now.”
When Mordryn reached the top of the platform, she turned.
“People call us gods,” Mordryn said. “Perhaps we are, relative to humankind. But we’re not omniscient. I said the words you needed to hear that day. Words that gave you the best chance of success. And I will do the same for Nicolas today.”
Mordryn placed her arm in Nicolas’s and guided him toward the floating stairs that ascended to the golden oval frame. She stopped at the foot of the stairs next to a short marble post, removed the stopper from the vial, then placed the stopper on the post.
“Though my anointing will allow you to survive the journey to the Plane of Magic, it will not guarantee your success. You will face many tests. Each one will require something different. Something only you possess.”
Nicolas closed his eyes.
Despair threatened to paralyze him as thoughts of Kaitlyn returned, but he couldn’t let it in. If he gave into it for even a minute, he’d be finished.
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
“But I don’t even know what to expect,” Nicolas said. “Not even a little. No one has told me anything about this. I knew more about the Halls of Power before the Awakening than I know about Ascension.”
“The best thing you can do to guarantee your success,” Mordryn said, “is to be yourself. Be true to who you are. Let nothing tempt you to be any different. It’s said that to ascend, one must embody the ideals of Mukhtaarian philosophy. You wouldn’t be standing here if you didn’t. All you have to do is be yourself.”
“How long will it take?” Nicolas asked.
“For us, perhaps days,” Mordryn said. “For you? Days. Years. Decades…there’s no way for me to know for certain. Like the namocea, though you may be gone for an age, you’ll remember who you are when you return.”
“If I return.”
“Don’t say that,” Mujahid said. “You will succeed. You must.”
Mordryn turned the bottle over onto her fingers, set the vial on a post, and massaged the liquid into her hands. She pressed her thumb against Nicolas’s forehead and drew a symbol, though he couldn’t see what it was.
A low, pulsating hum emanated from the top of the stairs. The rippling liquid in the oval frame vanished, leaving only a patch of nothingness. Above the frame, a golden plaque appeared. And on the plaque, the Mukhtaar symbol—a figure in a meditative pose, arms outstretched, with light radiating from its eyes—flared into existence.
“It’s time,” Mujahid said.
“Remember,” Mordryn said. “Be true to who you are.”
Nicolas climbed the marble steps. He let the tears well in his eyes as he embraced his pain. Gods knew, he’d had so much of it this past year. With every step he climbed, he absorbed more of it. Welcomed it. Basked in the torment. He couldn’t be true to who he was and push the pain away. He couldn’t be himself and deny how much he’d lost in such a short time.
Pain was part of what defined him now. Not the pain of the flogging posts that once made him pray for death. It was the pain of the soul…the kind that made him pray for oblivion. His suffering would make him strong.
The tears flowed freely as he climbed the final step and stared into the nothingness.
Kaitlyn’s face stared back at him, smiling. It was the way he’d always remember her. There’d never come a day he wouldn’t carry her with him. She was his cet. His inner peace. She was his strength.
And into the Rite of Ascension he’d carry her.
In the year 141 (BCE), Nicolas Murray stepped over the threshold…
A Humble Request
Life seems to get busier every year, and the thought that you’ve invested some time in my scribblings is a humbling one. Thank you, sincerely, for spending your invaluable time in the world of Erindor.
If you enjoyed your journey with the Mukhtaar Lords, the cichlos, even the Barathosians…I’d like to ask you to take one more moment to leave a review on Amazon, or any other venue of your choice. And please tell your friends! I will owe you a most sincere debt of gratitude.
Many thanks,
Nat
Pflugerville, Texas
May 2016.
Acknowledgements
Book 2 of a trilogy is always a tough one. It’s the middle section of a larger, overarching story, yet it has to be a story unto itself. Necromancer Falling was no different. It wouldn’t have been possible without an army of people.
I have to point the first finger at Joan Reginaldo and say “Thank you for making me a better writer.” I can always count on her honesty and objectivity, and it remains an ingredient of incalculable value in the spell I weave to create Erindor and its inhabitants.
My colleagues in software engineering, John Boyd, Ian Mitchell, and Adam Takvam. Thank you for humoring me and allowing me to spend time talking about my crazy stories when I (we all) should be working.
I’d like to offer a special thank you to David Steiniger, another colleague of mine, who also happens to be a subject matter expert in firearms of all shapes and sizes. No, you don’t understand. David travels to historical reenactments all over the place with a collection of antique firearms you wouldn’t believe! David spent a lot of time chatting with me about matchlocks, flintlocks, and others I can’t even pronounce, all in the name of getting the details right. Those details brought many scenes to life that otherwise would have been missing that special something.
Erindor wouldn’t have the depth it has today without the input of my good friend and fellow necromancer, Joe Smithey. Not only is he responsible for Nuuan, he also taught me a thing or two about shrillers. I’ll keep bugging him to write that shriller-centric novel he keeps talking about.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my lifelong friend and “brother from another mother”, Mike D’Onofrio. Mike and I have known each other since elementary school. He created the original Aelron character in EverQuest (full name: Aelron Addonis). He was a vital member of our Enchanted Circle guild, and I gleefully bastardized his character for my own purposes.
My beta readers; Julia Byers, Raymond Clarke, Michelle Dalson, Katie Drake, Ken Hughes, JC Steel, Ian Tennant, and Thomas Weaver. Thank you all so much for time and input.
Lastly, I simply cannot do this without the support of my family. This may come as a surprise, but most writers have day jobs to pay the bills. My family happily allows me to spend my “off” time writing crazy stories and swearing at my laptop.
About the Author
Nat Russo was born in New York, raised in Arizona, and has lived just about everywhere in-between. He’s gone from pizza maker, to radio DJ, to Catholic seminarian (in a Benedictine monastery, of all places), to police officer, to software engineer. His career has taken him from central Texas to central Germany, where he worked as a defense contractor
for Northrop Grumman. He’s spent most of his adult life developing software, playing video games, running a Cub Scout den, gaining/losing/gaining/losing weight, and listening to every kind of music under the sun.
Along the way he managed to earn a degree in Philosophy and a black belt in Tang Soo Do.
He currently makes his home in central Texas with his wife, teenage son, mischievous beagle, and newly rescued Shepherd mix.
Official Website: http://www.erindorpress.com
Amazon: Nat Russo on Amazon
Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nat_Russo
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/NatRussoAuthor
Twitter: @NatRusso
Newsletter: Sign up for the latest news!
Also by Nat Russo
Necromancer Awakening (Book One of The Mukhtaar Chronicles)
The Road To Dar Rodon
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE