RESTLESS
SCOTT PRUSSING
This is a work of fiction. All the characters or events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.
RESTLESS
Copyright © 2013 by Scott Prussing Publishing
All rights reserved.
Scott Prussing Publishing
1027 Felspar St.
Suite 2
San Diego, CA 92109
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any mechanical or electronic means without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. The scanning, uploading and distribution via the Internet or via any other means without the written permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law.
PROLOGUE
SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT, an oversized horse-drawn carriage emerged from the gate of an ancient mountain castle. Six sturdy steeds, each one black as the night and bred for this exact purpose, propelled the carriage forward. Thick, specially reinforced springs supported each axle near the wheels, but even so, the vehicle still sank noticeably to the rear.
Even this late in spring, the night air here in the mountains was brisk, chilled further by a light wind that blew across the barren landscape from the north. Partially veiled by a thin layer of clouds, a three-quarter moon spilled pale illumination over the road, providing barely enough light for the driver to see by.
Two servants from the castle rode atop the carriage. The driver was young and sturdy; the other appeared much older. He sat huddled in a worn woolen cloak, his eyes fixed forward in a vacant stare. He knew this late night journey could hold nothing good for him. Behind them, an empty wooden casket was strapped to the top of the vehicle, along with a pair of shovels and a pick.
Inside the carriage, the immense bulk of the Necromancer nearly filled the entire cushioned rear bench. His round, hairless head tilted forward, his chin resting on his massive chest. Whether he was sleeping or thinking, none of the other passengers knew.
The carriage held three other occupants, sitting side by side on the front seat. The black waziri Viktor and Andre sat closest to the doors, with Viktor’s apprentice Jordan sandwiched between them. Like the Necromancer, all were dressed in black.
The trip was a short one, less than a mile from the castle gate along a hard-packed dirt road. The driver brought the carriage to a halt beside a treeless, weed-filled field. Chill shivers of fear ran through the two servants as they climbed down from their perch. Each knew well what this ill-kempt field was used for.
The ground was dotted with low, oblong bumps, the only markings for the bodies buried beneath. This unholy place served as the castle’s graveyard. The Necromancer had dwelt here for many, many years, and he went through servants rapidly. Hundreds of humps told just how many had perished in his employ. Stringy brown weeds poked up from the older graves; the newer ones were topped only by dry, bare dirt.
The two black waziri and Jordan exited the carriage. Viktor left the door open, so that his master could participate from inside—the corpulent Necromancer never stood when he could remain seated. Tonight, everything he needed to do could be done from inside the carriage.
He pulled open the top of a sturdy wooden chest that rested on the carriage floor. Reaching inside, he withdrew a round, gold-framed mirror about twelve inches across. The mirror’s smooth surface was fashioned of the same black material as the magical table back in the castle. It served as a smaller version of the table, far less powerful, but useful nonetheless. Holding his palm over the black surface, he started to chant in a low voice. A dozen floating eyes began to appear inside the mirror, growing steadily brighter with every word he spoke.
When the talisman had been activated to full strength, the Necromancer eased his huge bulk forward until he was sitting on the edge of the seat, his hairless head framed in the open doorway.
“Let us begin,” he said to his henchmen.
Viktor and Andre joined him in chanting a special summoning spell. The sing-song incantation, magnified by the power of the waziri imprisoned within the mirror, caused three faint, nearly invisible beams of black magic to twist upward from the mirror’s dark surface. The beams thickened and spread apart, squirming and wriggling through the night like snakes as they stretched out from the mirror into the barren graveyard, where each dark stream sought out one of the humps in the earth.
The Necromancer and his two black waziri continued to chant. The magic beams penetrated the dirt and steadily weakened the seal that prevented the dead from returning to the world of the living. Tiny volcanoes of dry soil began to explode upward from atop the three graves. Soon, fingers and hands poked up through the ground as the corpses below began to claw their way to the surface.
The two servants looked on in horror as the reanimated bodies dug their way out of the graves in which they had lain. The Necromancer nodded to Jordan, who grabbed the older servant by the arm and led him a dozen feet out into the field. Jordan uttered a brief spell, and the ground around the man’s feet suddenly rose up until it covered his ankles. The dirt quickly hardened, trapping the man where he stood. He screamed and tried to yank his feet free, to no avail.
Jordan returned to the others. Except for the driver, whose face was a mask of horror, they watched dispassionately as three corpses rose from the ground and began lurching toward the trapped servant.
Even in the dim moonlight, they could see the decayed flesh and exposed bones of the newly raised zombies, each of whom had lain rotting in the ground for many years. Low growls rumbled from their hideous mouths as they stumbled slowly toward their quarry. The breeze carried a foul stench before them.
“Bringing the dead to life is becoming easier,” the Necromancer said. “Now it is time to try a few tests.” He turned toward Viktor and nodded.
The renegade wizard knew what to do. He raised his palm toward the nearest zombie and mouthed a spell. A beam of black magic shot from his palm, striking the creature in the center of its chest. The thing staggered backward from the force of the blow, falling to its knees. Seconds later, it rose to its feet and resumed moving forward. The hole in its chest was large enough to see through, but had no apparent effect on the zombie’s efforts.
What passed for a smile crossed the Necromancer’s thick lips. “Impressive,” he said. “Now hit the head.”
Viktor launched another dark beam toward the zombie. This time, it blasted the creature in the face, nearly decapitating it. The corpse collapsed to the ground, where it lay motionless.
“Only a headshot can stop them,” the Necromancer said, more to himself than to his companions. “Good to know, in case we ever need to save ourselves from the creatures. Now we will watch the other two.”
The remaining pair of zombies paid no attention to the fate that befell their comrade. Intent on just one thing—their hunger for human flesh—they continued to lumber toward the older servant, whose screams had dissolved into a series of pitiful moans as he watched the monsters approach.
The two zombies fell upon the helpless man, ripping into him with their teeth and tearing away chunks of his flesh, clothing and all. His agonized screams echoed through the night, heard only by those who had no intention of aiding him. Jordan ended the spell that bound the man’s feet into the earth, and he collapsed to the ground with the creatures still upon him. The younger servant turned away, holding his hands over his ears to try to block the horrible screaming, but it was no use. Despite his efforts, the sounds penetrated his skull, where he knew they would echo in his memory for the rest of his life—however long or short that might be.
The others observed with unfeeling interest, until the Necromancer had seen enough.
“Destroy them,” he tol
d Viktor and Andre. “Be certain your magic does not touch our former servant.”
Viktor and Andre sent carefully aimed beams of black magic shooting into the zombies’ heads. Both fell prostrate to the ground, dead once again.
“Move them away,” the Necromancer commanded Jordan.
The young apprentice hurried across the field. The stench of decay was nearly overpowering. Taking care to touch the two corpses only by the ankles, he pulled them far away from their victim, making sure to place them downwind from the others. He turned back to the dead servant.
Bloody gashes covered the body. His right hand had been bitten off at the wrist and half of his cheek was torn away. Other wounds mangled his torso and his arms. Despite the grievous injuries, his chest still rose and fell weakly. Jordan tried not to let his surprise show.
“He is still alive,” he called back to the others. “Barely.”
“Good,” the Necromancer replied. “We shall wait and see what happens.”
Jordan remained where he was as the unconscious man slowly bled out. The others watched from the carriage.
After five or six minutes, the servant’s breathing stopped. Jordan bent close and carefully felt the uninjured side of the man’s neck with his fingers. He found no sign of a pulse. He stood up.
“He is dead,” he said loudly.
“We will wait some more,” the Necromancer said. “Inform me immediately if anything changes.” He leaned back into the carriage and rested against the back of his seat.
Jordan frowned. The man was dead—what could change?
He knew better than to question his master, though. For twenty minutes they all waited, with the Necromancer out of sight inside the carriage. Finally, he leaned his bulbous head out the door.
“Nothing?” he asked.
Jordan knelt beside the body, examining it carefully for signs of anything unusual. It looked like any other torn and mutilated corpse.
“Nothing,” he replied.
The Necromancer frowned. “So be it.” He turned to the driver. “Get the casket. Andre will help you. Get the tools, too.”
The two men scurried up onto the top of the carriage. The driver tossed the pick and one shovel down, and then he and Andre carefully lowered the empty casket to the ground.
“Retrieve the body,” the Necromancer told them. “We need to observe it over the next few days.”
Andre and the driver carried the casket over to the corpse. The wizard let Jordan and the servant lift the body into the casket and lug it back to the carriage. It required all three of them to hoist the heavy box atop the roof.
When their cargo was firmly lashed into place, they all looked to the Necromancer.
“Rebury the other two,” he said to Jordan. “You can walk back when you are finished.”
“Yes, Master,” Jordan replied, retrieving the pick and the shovel from the ground.
Viktor and Andre climbed into the carriage. Once the door was closed, the driver swung the vehicle around to head back toward the castle.
“Our work is only half done,” the Necromancer told his two wizards. “We are making good progress at calling the dead back to life. For my plans to reach fruition, though, we still need to make them contagious.”
1. FINALLY
“ARE YOU READY?” Rave asked, his voice so soft it was barely more than a whisper.
Leesa rested her hands lightly on his slender hips and locked her gaze onto his beautiful chocolate eyes. She grinned.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been ready for eight months. I hope you’re ready.”
Rave smiled and placed his hands on Leesa’s bare shoulders. “I am—I hope.”
They stood facing each other in their favorite place—high up on a ridge near the volkaane settlement, overlooking the winding Moodus River far below. The June sun bathed them with its warming rays, keeping Leesa perfectly comfortable in her burnt orange halter top and tan shorts. The nearby brook—smaller now as spring faded into summer—serenaded them with a bubbling tune. Colorful wildflowers filled the air with sweet perfume.
Leesa could not imagine a better spot for what was about to happen. Rave had finally become proficient enough at Rammugul for Balin to give him permission to put it to use. He had only one reason for learning the almost forgotten volkaane technique—so that he could kiss her without endangering her. She felt her grin widen as she thought about how much work Rave had put in just so they could kiss for real. She had also spent a fair amount of time getting ready for this moment, though not as much as Rave.
They had kissed in the way they were about to kiss only once before, and that had been months ago when Rave’s fire had been weakened by the strange spell that had welled up from beneath the earth. Leesa expected this time to be even better.
Balin watched discretely from a few paces away, still close enough to intervene if necessary. As usual, the old volkaane was dressed in a homemade buckskin shirt and pants. Dominic stood beside him, wearing his customary khaki pants and black shirt. As far as Leesa could tell, the wizard owned only two shirts and one pair of pants. When you were impervious to the weather and had a magical spell that kept your clothes clean and fresh, you didn’t need any more garments, which was very handy if you had been on the run for a hundred years as Dominic had been. The wizard also owned a jacket, which he wore when it was cold to avoid drawing attention. When it was warm out, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt for the same reason. He kept the jacket and second shirt in his magical wallet, which somehow bent the laws of physics and held more stuff inside it than a large suitcase.
Dominic also had a stake in what was about to happen. Among the many spells he and Leesa had worked on in the months since she had defeated the xenorians was one that made her resistant to heat and fire. While no spell could protect someone from the full force of volkaane fire—not even Dominic’s magic could manage that—the spell would provide some protection in case Rave started to lose control.
Leesa wished she and Rave could have a bit more privacy for what they were about to do, but that was the price you paid when you fell in love with a supernatural vampire hunter whose deadly kiss could fry you to a crisp if you both weren’t extremely careful. She was not going to let the presence of a couple of chaperones interfere with her enjoyment, though—not when she had waited this long. She pushed her long blond hair behind her ears and gave Rave a quick peck on his bronzed cheek.
The two lovers turned to their mentors.
“We’re ready,” Rave said.
Leesa nodded her agreement.
They removed their hands from each other as Balin and Dominic moved forward to assist with the final preparations. Balin placed his index finger against Rave’s neck to judge his heat. Rave closed his eyes and began the rhythmic breathing ritual that was the beginning of Rammugul. Leesa allowed her breathing to match his, since breathing was the key to entering the everywhere/nowhere state necessary for successful magic. She nodded again to Dominic, who grabbed her by the waist and lifted her a few inches off the ground.
“Levictius arrami,” she said when she was safely off the ground.
To avoid disturbing the mysterious and dangerous power that slumbered beneath the earth in this area, Dominic had insisted that Leesa only perform magic while she was not in contact with the ground. No one knew exactly what the fell power was or where it originated—or even how strong it might be if fully awakened—but it dwarfed anything Dominic had ever experienced. A few months ago, a tiny fraction of that power had come to life and severely weakened the magic of anyone in a fifty mile radius. The phenomenon lasted for many weeks before it finally faded away. Dominic was not about to chance awakening it again.
The levitation spell was not a very powerful one, so he thought it safe for Leesa to perform while he held her a few inches off the ground. The fire protection spell was more powerful, though, so Leesa waited until she had floated ten feet up into the air before beginning her incantation.
She smiled down at R
ave, but his eyes were still closed.
“Tempus resisti,” she said.
She didn’t really feel any change in herself when the spell activated, but she had performed this trick many times under Dominic’s watchful eye, using lit matches or heaters to test her success. Satisfied that the spell was in place, she ended her levitation and floated gently down to earth, landing directly in front of Rave, who opened his eyes at almost the exact moment she contacted the ground.
Balin removed his finger from Rave’s neck. The temperature of Rave’s skin had dropped significantly.
“It is done,” Balin said. “You are ready.”
Rave placed his hands on Leesa’s shoulders once again, his touch now only slightly warmer than an ordinary human’s. He had not completely extinguished his fire—neither Balin nor Leesa was about to let him take that big a risk just so they could kiss. Instead, he had lowered his heat to a level that was barely noticeable.
Leesa slid her hands around his waist and looked up into his eyes. A smile curved Rave’s lips as he leaned his head closer to hers. Leesa watched his beautiful eyes until the very last moment, closing her eyes only a split second before their lips met.
She breathed a soft sight when Rave’s mouth touched hers, sending a shiver of pleasure through her body. The kiss began softly, his lips brushing hers lightly. There was no hurry for them now, no timer ready to sound and pull them apart. They were free to enjoy the anticipation, to relish each and every precious moment.
So Leesa was surprised and chagrined when an unexpected feeling of disappointment began to steal over her. For so long now, she had been waiting for the chance to kiss Rave unfettered by any restriction, to give herself into the magic of his kiss without worrying about her safety. But the very magic that made his touch so amazing was dampened now, pushed down by Rammugul. Rave’s lips were barely warmer than hers.
Sensing that something was amiss, Rave pulled his mouth away from Leesa’s. Balin and Dominic looked on with concern, unsure what was happening.
Restless Page 1