The Necrosopher’s Apprentice

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The Necrosopher’s Apprentice Page 11

by Lilith Hope Milam

With a slight shudder, he finished, "...Asman."

  "A moment, please. May I ask your name?” He smiled again, hoping this time to provoke an answering smile from the old man "Only fair that I don't go around yelling 'Hey human!' There might be confusion in that as well."

  Taking a deep breath, eyes closed, he answered, "I am District Warden Woothward Baumwolle of the Mercantile District of Port Myskatol, Seat of the Grand Duchy of Eldervost."

  "Ah!” chuffed Asman. "So, you also know a thing or two about ceremony!"

  "Indeed," the old human huffed, frustrated at Asman’s attempts to bridge the gap between them "Now, our journey?"

  "Oh that's easy, I expect that your party came up by flatboat?"

  "Yes, an unpleasant and cramped journey and the reason why we are inquiring. Can we not go back by road?"

  "Ah, you see, we bugbears aren't known for our road building. In fact, this path to the river we're taking is one of only a handful of byways throughout our territories.

  Most of our lands are swamps, marshes, or everglades. The easiest ways to get around are by raft or coracle. Since we have such a load, we've obviously got to go by raft. Fortunately, it's all downstream from here until we get to Lake Jalpak, so this part of the journey will be quick."

  The warden's pale features washed out completely as Asman spoke, his mind replaying the trip across that lake. Tales of the Jalpak’s typically flat, calm nature had all been lies. The construction of a flatboat did not make the situation better as most of the trip was spent wading in ankle deep water that kept washing over the sides.

  "Then, we'll cross the lake and afterward wind our way through the Oorutkan Everglades. In all, it shouldn't take us more than a fortnight," Asman finished.

  The warden’s shock was evident. "A fortnight?! But our way here only took three days!"

  "You must have come around the way from Oguurthaan. Too marshy for heavily loaded pack animals. No, we'll have to wind our way through the everglades and that alone is a difficult journey because of how the tides shift the sands every day. We'll need a good guide for that."

  "All this just to get blackweed to Eldervost...” the Warden said, his voice trailing off in a combination of terror and amazement.

  The caravan reached Parom Town around supper time and the humans broke off to make camp on the outskirts of the settlement, away from bugbears. Baumwolle gave Asman instructions as if he hadn’t always known what he'd be doing on arrival.

  "Bugb... Asman," he explained as if to a child, "You are to secure our transport for our cargo and ensure there will be suitable accommodations for the vicar."

  Asman did his best to ignore his condescending tone while he considered the logistics of the float to Lake Jalpak. "The longest rafts we can hire are twenty-footers, which should be enough to haul the bales and our gear".

  "And where will we stay while on board?” the warden asked, looking back at his companions.

  "I imagine where most people do," Asman replied with a shrug. "There's not a lot of extra room on one of these things, especially with a big load, but the bales are surprisingly comfortable."

  The human sputtered, "That won't do! You'll have to hire two rafts, a smaller one for the vicar will suffice, you can ride with the cargo.".

  Asman grunted and thought, "Waste of expense, but separates us? That's all well with me.”

  "You will use some of this for payment," Baumwolle continued, reaching into his robes. He pulled out a small bag and tossed it to Asman.

  He caught it and could immediately feel its weight and the small disks it held. He brought it up to his sensitive nose and could smell the brass coins that they used in Eldervost.

  He tossed it back, grunting, "Those will do you no good here. You might be able to spend it with the goblins, in the Kazan markets. But this far south, regular folk barter goods and services."

  "What?!” shrieked the human, panic blossoming in his eyes. "This is Duchy coin! It represents the might of the Grand Duke, of Eldervost, and the Assembly!"

  Asman shrugged. "Folks here aren't that impressed with your Duke or his coin, you'll have to pay for the rest of this trip in goods."

  "Goods?” Baumwolle said with a confused look.

  Asman jerked a clawed thumb towards the mules. "Your blackweed. You've got half a ton of it, that’s plenty, even for Eledervost I imagine, and it is worth much more than your tiny metal chips in these parts. I think I could haggle the trip to Lake Jalpak for half a bale for one raft, but it will be a whole bale for two."

  The warden’s head swiveled from the coin in his hand, to the vicar, to the bales of blackweed yet to be unloaded from the mules. "But what about when we get to the lake?"

  "That'll depend on a few things,” Asman said, counting off on his claws, “how big a raft we take, does the pilot regularly go to goblin ports for trade, is he from Kazan or Chainek?”.

  "Chainek?” the nervous old man asked.

  "The other big town on the lake. Folks from there never take coin."

  He paused thinking about what his uncle had told him of his journeys, and continued calmly, "So that will cost anywhere from four to six bales. I’m just guessing though, I'm not sure, haven't made that trip yet."

  "Of all the low life, uncivilized…” Baumwolle snapped. "Fine! Just take care of it! But we can't lose any more than seven bales on this trip! Make sure of it!"

  The old man stomped off.

  By evening, Asman was able to negotiate transport with two raft pilots for the price of one bale of the vicar's blackweed. At dawn, the pilots swam across the river to a well-maintained stand of pole pines. They selected six of the straightest amongst the rows of cultivated trees, each at least forty feet high. Then they cut and rolled the timbers down onto the river and bound them together into two rafts.

  The twin bugbear pilots, Bakcha and Jigach, punted the rafts back across and helped Asman load the bales.

  "Never seen one of them humans before," said Jigach to Asman looking at Vicar Osric. "Are they supposed to be that damp looking?"

  "And that tiny?” said Bakcha.

  "I'm not sure," answered Asman, "I at least hope that they aren't all as unpleasant to deal with. I'm heading to their island."

  "Like at the center of Lake Jalpak?” asked Jigach.

  "There's good fishing there!” exclaimed Bakcha.

  Asman chuckled, "No, from what I remember, their island is as big as Lake Jalpak."

  The twins stopped to think about those implications.

  "What? That big? But that just doesn't work out! It’d fill up the lake” exclaimed Jigach.

  "And there wouldn't be any more water left for the island to float in!” said Bakcha.

  ✽✽✽

  Osric shivered in the night air. Curled up in a ball, his robes weren’t quite enough to keep him warm in this Assembly-forsaken muck of a country. He wondered what time it was. It was always hard to tell in the middle of the night and his mind had grown numb from lack of sleep.

  A shiver ran through his body. The kind that wouldn’t settle. A chill that felt like a shard of ice stabbing and freezing deep within him. He hated the feeling, the insufferable shaking. It made him feel weak, but worse it made him look weak.

  He’d been trying so hard to hide his weakness. The doubts would always creep in the middle of the night and the only way to rid his mind of the nagging voices was to cut them away. To drown them in pain and wash them away with blood. But not here, he couldn’t do that here on the back of this raft. Not in front of the other Assemblymen and definitely not in front of those disgusting subhumans.

  He cracked an eye open to steal a glance at the other humans that were forced to accompany him. He saw the clear night sky. The red, yellow, and green of the star clouds spread across the firmament with Lytule and Grutule coming up over the horizon. To the west, the sun had finally finished setting; the coming of summer meant longer days and eventually endless ones as the sun remained above the horizon at all hours.

  Of cou
rse, he Primus hadn’t trusted him to accomplish this mission alone. It was obvious his travel companions were so much better than him and he had no way of matching their purity. It seemed to come so naturally to everyone else!

  And those filthy bugbears! How he wanted to bathe in boiling water and scrub his skin off after sleeping in their camp! Everything he wore reeked of musk and sweat. Now he had to depend on them to get back to the ship and back to Eldervost. Disgusting!

  His gaze traveled reluctantly to the three subhuman beasts at the front of the raft. Thankfully, he was upwind of them. The pilots were still up and navigating late into the night. No doubt their mouths were full of that foul blackweed to keep them alert.

  His mind returned to his own foulness To his weakness. His failures. His disgrace and hardship. Why must he suffer so much? Why was everything so difficult for him? He hoped that the Primus would finally show him some favor after completing this mission. He had to be successful! He had to be strong! But it was so hard!

  ‘Quit whining! You are so pathetic!’ he thought to himself.

  He couldn’t bear it any longer, he dug his sharp thumbnail hard into a half-healed gash on his forearm arm. The raw skin felt cold beneath his fingertips, as cold as every other part of his body right now. He pressed into the skin, peeling a scab away. Blood welled, the burn of pain the only hope of warmth on this cold night.

  Another shudder jolted him, like an icy cramp from bad humors. It faded after a few minutes and he cracked his eyes open once more. Clammy sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped from his armpits. Disgusting. He was sure the guards were eyeing him. Snickering.

  Yes, that is likely.

  Startled, he gasped, covering his bloody arm. Where had that voice come from? His head was clear now. That was not the voice of his own self-loathing. Had he been dreaming? It felt like someone had spoken words next to his ear.

  Closer, Broken One, we are in your mind.

  Thudding in his temples drowned out the voice as his heart pounded with fear. He sat up, pins and needles filling his legs with the onslaught of blood and adrenaline. His teeth chattered and his muscles convulsed as he searched the dark around his sleeping pallet. Where was that voice coming from? His head began to ache from the spasms juddering his teeth together. Then he saw it.

  A figure hovered behind them a few feet above the river. It appeared to be wearing an Assembly robe like his, but the hood was up and darkness filled it.

  Come to us and converse. It would not do to have your companions see us together.

  Osric felt a force surround his body and he was lifted above the timbers of the flatboat and the two crafts drifted downstream. He wanted to scream out for help, but his jaws were locked by the same force that suspended him. Once the rafts were well down the river, the hooded figure spoke in an audible voice. He wished now it had continued speaking in his mind. Osric’s skin crawled as a voice comparable to sand chewed between old teeth and slapping wet meat vibrated the air.

  You are a servant of the Primus? Yes? it asked, not wanting an answer. We have been watching you.

  “W-who are you? How do you know the Primus?” Osric stuttered, held motionless over the cold drafts of the river. This time it was out of fear instead of chill. The memory of the hooded figure in the Primus’ meditation chamber came to him. A dread thrill filled his heart and he was held firm by the creature’s magic. His shuddering has nowhere to go.

  We are the Harbinger. We are Saorsa. We have been Servant and Master of your Primus for many years, said the figure, the hem of its robe glided over the water’s surface as it neared him.

  Your Primus is proving… weak and slow, it said, and we fear the days of your Assembly, and thus his use to us, are numbered. But we would desire a new Servant Master, if the Primus were to fail us.

  Osric’s arms raised out in front of him and the sleeves of his robe slid to his shoulders. The creature had exposed his scars and scabs for viewing.

  Such beauty. We see that you crave control. We see within you a hunger for power over yourself. We agree that this is the most worthy form of control to seek.

  His arms were lowered and his sleeves fell. Tears welled up in his eyes. How could this creature have known? He tried so carefully to hide his painful ambitions. The fear and anxiety that his knife and anger helped him hidden began to crack through.

  His will burst open. He sobbed, “I am so tired of being weak.”

  Yes. We see that. We can fix you, the Harbinger floated closer still, the blackness within the hood engulfing his vision. If you agree to be Servant Master when the time comes, then We can fix you. You would be fit to control and serve, Master Servant.

  “Yes, Harbinger!” Osric cried through his tears, “Yes Saorsa! Yes!”

  The figure reached out its robed arm and as the sleeve came back, Osric could finally see what was inside. But he did not flinch It was what he saw inside himself that was hideous and this perfect horror, far better than any rusty blade, would finally take it all away.

  A mass of worm-like tentacles caressed his face and he felt something inside himself shift. His scream echoed over the water and into the night.

  ✽✽✽

  Warden Baumwolle woke with a start. He looked around him, rubbing crust from his eyes. The guards were still sleeping. But the vicar was sitting up, cross-legged, facing the sunrise, tears streaking his face. Smiling.

  “Vicar? Are you well?” the Warden asked, voice quiet, cautious. His gaze resembled a rabbit’s, after just spotting the fox. The smile on the vicar’s face widened. This trip was going to work out perfectly. Everything would be different from here on.

  “Indeed. Come closer Baumwolle. We want to discuss our plans for this journey.”

  ✽✽✽

  It had been a long day on the raft and Asman was ready to be off the river. The Eldervost contingent and their constant complaints about the heat had his nerves on edge. He pulled some blackweed out of his pouch, he’d only been away from the curing barn for two days and he could feel the aggression returning under the trying circumstances.

  "Where do they even get the idea that they can treat me like a servant to fetch and step for them?” He stuffed a damp wad of the shredded brown leaf in his cheek and clamped his teeth down hard on it.

  It was bad enough they wanted him to haul their belongings like a slave, but to find them food for their journey? After several minutes of condescending talk from the warden, Asman threw his hands up and stomped off to find them the roots and greens they preferred. It was easier to just do his bidding than argue, at least it got him away from the whiny, pink, tiresome creatures.

  The food they wanted hadn’t been available in Parom Town, so Asman had to waste a good hour foraging in the nearby fields for something he hoped they’d shove in their mouths and choke on. By noon, the only thing he had been able to find was a patch of hogweed. He had done his best to pull them out by their roots and not get the burning sap on his skin, but this was an especially juicy growth. Now hours later, the humans were stewing their plants for dinner without even a thank you.

  He allowed the blackweed juice to settle around his teeth and felt the familiar calm run down the back of his neck. Feeling more composed, he reminded himself that once they arrived in Eldervost he would be rid of them and free to find his uncle.

  Soaking his hands in the cold river water near the helm by Bakcha and Jigach, Asman was glad to have company other than the humans. For most of the day, he had been learning more about their home village and the variety of drink that their father brewed.

  Although their conversational skills left much to be desired, Asman was glad to talk to someone that didn't either view him as an outcast or a pariah. He grew to appreciate their simple tastes.

  "You two, you said there are good fish around Aral Island? So, I guess you like to fish?” he asked.

  Bakcha looked at Jigach then back at Asman, "Do we like what?” he replied while shifting the raft around one of the many bends in the r
iver.

  "Do you like to fish?” Asman said a little louder, thinking that he might have spoken too quietly.

  "What do you mean do I like to fish?” Jigach said, both of the brothers’ brows creasing with further confusion until he blinked his eyes and his face smoothed. "Oh! Do you mean if I like to catch fish?"

  "Err, yes?” Asman said a little confused.

  The twin bugbears laughed. "Then why didn't you say so?!” guffawed Bakcha, placing the punting pole towards the back, further steadying the course of the raft. "Imagine that! Trying to be a fish!” The brothers laughed again.

  Asman learned that the twins' had problems distinguishing the nuances in various conversations and their range of topics focused only on simple things like 'catching fish,' and 'how far we can spit blackweed juice', and 'how much we hate those Lake Jalpak guild pilots'.

  "What can you tell me about them?” Asman asked, "Why do you hate them so much?"

  "They are always trying to cheat us out of our money!” Jigach said, gazing down the river with a hurt look on his face.

  Bakcha, the more assertive of the two, thumped his pole down into the water harder than needed causing the raft to drift a little too close to the shore. "One time, one pilot refused to pay for two rafts because he said that because we were twins that meant we were the same person and should only get paid once."

  Jigach looked at Asman as he corrected his brother's steering, putting them back into the center of the channel. “I know we're not that smart and stuff, but even we know that ain't fair."

  Asman looked back at the humans, now eating their root mush, understanding how the simple bugbears felt about their mistreatment.

  “I'm fortunate,” he thought, angrily, “in just a few days I'll be free of these humans. These two gentle simpletons will suffer like this for the rest of their lives.”

  The river wound its way through the pine barrens. The trees were so close together and the river's course so meandering that it was impossible to know what was beyond each bend. Eventually, the river straightened and began to run out a narrow course towards a dark shape looming above the trees.

 

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