Sanctuary

by E. Edgar Price

  *****

  The cabin was much larger than Benji expected. It stretched into the mountain. The right wall and part of the room were cut into the stone like a cave. There was a door directly opposite the entrance leading to the waterfall and two large windows beside it were opened to the waning sunlight. A pallet of fur and blankets occupied the far right corner and small, roughly made stools were scattered about. It smelled damp and musty.

  Thana led Benji over to a large wooden contraption threaded with strings dominating the space beneath a window. Black cloth was taking shape amid the string and Benji assumed it was some kind of loom, which would explain the strange wooden sounds Benji heard. Apparently the Necromancer had been weaving when Benji knocked. She shuffled as she walked and Benji noticed she wore no shoes.

  Thana pointed sharply to stool near the loom and commanded Benji to sit. She took her own seat at the loom and began working again. “You have invaded my sanctuary for a selfish want,” she accused. Because of the din created by the loom and waterfall, Thana had to speak very loudly to be heard. “Defend your request,” she demanded. Benji was so startled by her dictatorial manner, he couldn’t respond. “Speak, boy!” the woman ordered.

  Feeling more than a little like a frightened hound, Benji gathered his courage and obeyed. Thana might be the only person who could bring his mother back. “My name is Benjamin Rose,” he began. “I’m the grandson of the Keeper here and I need you to bring my mother back. Her name is Annie Rose and she died before she was supposed to.” The weaving woman snorted, but didn’t say anything. “I know you’re a Necromancer. I’m here to see if you will do what I ask.”

  The Necromancer cackled. “All who come to me speak thus,” she laughed, her voice breaking and glacial. Benji cringed, but didn’t know what to say. Thana quieted and went back to her weaving, ignoring Benji. As he watched, he was startled to see the strange woman begin to cry. A stream of steady tears ran down her long face and her eyes were transfixed on the loom. Despite her tears, Thana’s expression was hard and unforgiving. Maybe she was seeing someone die, Benji speculated.

  “So will you do it?” Benji finally demanded.

  Thana stopped her activity and shifted to face Benji. Her purple eyes gleamed wetly and regarded him with blatant amusement, like a spider playing with a fly. Benji resisted the urge to look away and repeated his question.

  “Will you bring my mother back?” he asked.

  “All things have a price,” Thana told him, “this is no different and the cost is high.”

  Benji vaguely recalled reading something about the high cost of raising the dead, but he didn’t have any gold or anything. “What do you want?” he asked warily.

  Thana cackled again. Her laugh sounded like knives cutting flesh, sharp and liquid at the same time. “Boy, you have much to learn of value,” she said. “Price is not arbitrary, it is a balance. What I receive from you must be the value of what I will give you. Do you have a life to offer me? Perhaps your own?” Her eyes became dry and serious, the laughter abruptly halted.

  Benji never considered that she would ask for his death in return for Mom’s life. It made sense, but despite his determination, it wasn’t something he was willing to give up. He shook his head. “I’m not going to kill anyone, least of all myself,” he answered. “What else do you consider equal in value?”

  Thana looked him over shrewdly. “Before a bargain is struck, I will give you a warning,” she said. She folded her long, gray hands across her lap. “You are young,” she pointed out. “You have no real knowledge of what you ask.”

  Benji tried not to be frustrated by this answer. “I know what I’m asking,” he said through his teeth. He tried to relax his jaw. “I want you, a Necromancer, to bring my mother’s body and soul back from the dead.”

  Thana nodded, but continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The balance of the world depends on we who live in it. Ones such as me have more control over that balance than a simple human boy.” Her obvious disdain made Benji even more tense and impatient. “My power is a great abuse of nature,” she explained solemnly, “it disrupts the most elemental law of this world: what lives must also die.”

  “You won’t die,” Benji interrupted. “You’re an Immortal.”

  Thana sighed, a watery, gurgling sound. “I will die,” she said sadly, her voice cracking and sliding like melting ice. “My kind dies much, much more slowly than yours,” she said. “The first Immortal ever born to this world has not yet died, but she is bound to the same laws as you and I. She will die in time.”

  “Even if that’s true,” Benji countered, defending his purpose. “My mother died before she was supposed to. Her death was an accident caused by someone else. It was senseless and irresponsible and she deserves to be alive.” Benji looked as directly as he could manage into Thana’s purple gaze. He wasn’t playing a game. He was serious, though he suspected the Necromancer didn’t think so.

  “That may be,” Thana said after a long pause, “but, nevertheless, what you ask will disrupt the universe in a way your mind will never comprehend. To bring the dead back to life is considered the gravest of sins against nature and it has never done much good for mankind.”

  “Look,” Benji addressed the thin woman, too frustrated and impatient to be polite, “I get what you’re saying. But this is truly the right thing to do. The cycles, the balance, the whatever,” Benji gestured wildly in irritation, “that was screwed up because my mom died in the first place. Bringing her back will only set things right.”

  Thana only chuckled in response, making Benji grind his teeth in annoyance. The roar of the waterfall reverberated through the cabin. It felt like Benji was hearing blood rushing through his ears instead of water. The sound seemed to swell in the silence, becoming louder and more unbearable with each passing moment. Thana had to listen to him. She knew he was right.

  Finally, Thana spoke and the noise in Benji’s head subsided. “I have a need that can be met in this transaction,” she told him. “If you are determined in your course, then I can be persuaded to raise your mother and bring her back to you.”

  “What?” Benji demanded. “What do you want?”

  The Necromancer answered gravely. “I need a thread.”

  “A thread?” She needed thread? Huh? Had Benji missed something?

  “This is a shroud,” she gestured to the black cloth on the loom. “I see death, all death. I see dying trees, dying animals, dying men,” her voice became weepy again, sounding like wet broken glass. “The world is constantly dying before my eyes. Even as I look at you now, I am watching the death of another.”

  “What does that have to do with the shroud and thread?” Benji asked cautiously. Thana was beginning to creep him out. She was crying again.

  “For each death,” her watery voice intoned, “the shroud grows. One day, it will cover a dead world. But I am far from finishing it.” She raised her hands towards Benji, turning them so he could examine the ashen appendages. “My hands cannot weave fast enough, but a certain thread would finish this instantly.” She seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time. Benji found it even harder to understand her. “A thread of the soul, freely given, will complete my trial,” Thana concluded softly.

  Beneath the din of the waterfall, Benji wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “The thread of a soul?” he asked.

  Thana nodded. “The soul has many names, but it can be given or taken. It is the element of being that powers all thought, all love, all hate.” Thana touched the center of her chest as she spoke. “The soul has no true form, but it can be taken piecemeal and imbued with certain properties. I propose that you, Benjamin Rose,” she decreed “offer up a piece of your soul to create a thread that will end my work here.” She lapsed into silence, waiting for Benji to speak.

  “Don’t I kind of need my soul to be whole?” he asked. “If I gave you part of it, wouldn’t it kill me or something?”

  “It will not kill you. You will survive on
ly missing a small piece,” she said. “The loss will manifest as a vague ache, like a pricked finger, that is all.” She waved away the potential discomfort. “You will be no different, hardly less than what you are now. And you will have your mother.”

  Benji considered this. He didn’t know anything about souls. This seemed complicated, but it also fit Thana’s trading stipulation. Giving up part of his soul was worth saving Mom. But he worried this might be some sort of trick, even if it did seem logical.

  “If you bring my mom, I give you a thread from my soul?” Benji asked the Necromancer.

  “No,” Thana replied sharply. “If you give me the piece of soul, then I will bring your mother back.”

  “I don’t think so,” Benji said, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to trust that you’ll do what I ask once you’ve gotten your thread?”

  Thana laughed in little huffs and puffs, like bubbles popping out of her chest. Her body shook, but her voice was firm. “I may have some power, and I have certainly retained my knowledge, but I have not the power to bring your mother to you,” she explained ruefully. “That takes more energy than can be gathered in a brief moment, more energy than I could possibly obtain by myself. The thread would give me energy, as well as help me in my labors. With its power added to my own, only then can I do what you wish.”

  That sounded reasonable. After all, Thana was cursed. That probably dampened her abilities to some extent. It still didn’t sound like a great deal, though. “Isn’t there anything else you would consider of worth?” Benji wondered.

  “A life for a life, service for a service, or the payment I have requested. Those are the only options,” she told him firmly. “You can grant me no service equal to the one I will give. You will not kill. The only thing left,” Thana shrugged her narrow shoulders making her sagging skin tremble, “is the thread. Or you could always leave,” she added. “One would not fault you for giving up such a venture.”

  “No!” Benji said quickly. He wasn’t giving up. He had a lot of doubts about this, but he smothered them in anger. He couldn’t just let Mom stay dead. What would happen to his family without her? Look at what already happened! He had to do this. “Alright,” Benji said. “A piece of my soul for the life of my mother.”

  “We are agreed?” Thana asked.

  “Agreed.” Benji watched as she shuffled over to a moldy basket on the other side of the loom. She rummaged through it and then stood to display a square of cloth and small sewing needle.

  “First to seal the bargain,” she said coming back to Benji. She grabbed his hand and he let her stab his finger. When the sharp pain receded, Thana handed him the needle and bade him do the same to her. Her fingers felt waxy and her blood welled up black and thick. She pressed her injured finger into the cloth and Benji did likewise. He hoped he didn’t contract some sort of disease from this exchange.

  When Thana stood back, but did nothing more, Benji asked, “Now what? What do we do next?”

  “You must say that you give the thread of your soul to me freely and in full knowledge of what that entails,” she answered.

  Benji’s voice shook a little when he replied, but his resolve was strong. “With full knowledge and of my own free will,” he intoned, “I give you a thread of my soul.”

  Benji was about to ask what he was supposed to do next when Thana lunged at him. He crashed to the ground with the Necromancer on top of him, pinning him down. She had the needle grasped in one hand and poised it high above his chest. Sunlight glinted off the sharp point and Benji began to struggle. He tried to push her off, but she brought the needle down swiftly. It pierced his chest with a sickening silence. Benji screamed. The pain was intense and immediate. It grew and grew, and through the haze of it, Benji knew he had made a mistake. This isn’t right, he thought, not right at all. Then the pain swept him away.