“That area of the continent is wild and untamed. Dangerous. You can’t go there, Fabiola.”
“Yes, I can,” she grimly answered. “It’s my duty.”
When Aura slipped into her father’s office, he barely glanced up from his computer. Tossing her long blond ponytails over her shoulders, she skipped toward his desk on her bare feet.
“Aura, where were you this morning? Your nanny said you weren’t in bed.”
Flopping into a chair, she dangled her long legs over the armrest and tugged the tattered hem of her sundress over her knees. “I went to see all the zombies.”
“We don’t use that word,” her father said irritably, his stern face forming a scowl.
Aura rolled her eyes.
“And you shouldn’t be entering such a dangerous area,” he continued, but in a perfunctory manner. Governor Cole only acted like a father because he considered it an obligation to her deceased mother.
“They fixed the fence, but I think it might fall down.” Aura eyed her father thoughtfully. “We might need a necromancer.”
Long fingers rubbing his furrowed brow, her father answered, “We can handle the dead ourselves.”
“Really?” Aura gave him a doubtful look.
“We lost two fields out of twenty. A minor setback.”
Aura tugged at the loose threads dangling from her skirt. “How many fields do we have to lose before you call for help?”
With a weary sigh, her father regarded her with a sorrowful expression. “Most of them. We don’t bow to the Republic or the Enclave. We stand apart. Independent.”
A thread came loose in her fingers. “It’s okay to ask for help.”
“Aura, go do your homework. And wash your feet and put on some shoes. You’re not six years old, but a young lady.”
Aura stomped across the office and made sure to slam the door behind her.
Fabiola stared across the vast city toward the high granite walls in the distance, aglow in pinks and yellows from the setting sun. From the balcony of the superstructure where she lived, she could see most of the city to the south and the ocean beyond. The palace, a replica of one that used to exist in a country beyond the sea, was aglow in lights. The Enclave was still celebrating the birth of a future king. The newsfeed was filled with coverage, and she couldn’t stand to have the screen on anymore. Her flat was dark except for the single candle on her meditation table. She loved the serenity of the coming night and welcomed it.
Clad in a filmy white robe, a gift from Max long ago, she enjoyed the tranquility of silence in her mind. High above the ground, the voices of the dead were quiet. Max had pulled many strings to get her a flat high above the earth once he realized it gave her relief from the constant chatter of the dead. She hated that he entered her thoughts so much, but it was nearly impossible to forget him when his smiling face adorned the screens on nearly every street corner.
It wasn’t Max that weighed heavily on her mind tonight, but the face of the young girl who had called the Order. Fair haired, blue-eyed, and angelic in appearance, the terrified teenager had wept while begging the Necromancers to come and save the settlement her father governed.
“I don’t know how bad it will get before he asks for help,” the girl whispered through tears. Somehow, she’d accessed her father’s private computer to place the call. “Can’t you come now? I’m sure we can find a way to pay you. I don’t want to die!”
The message had cut off abruptly. Most likely the girl had heard someone approaching her father’s office.
Of course the Necromancer Order wouldn’t be able to assist the settlement without coming to an agreement beforehand. There were stringent rules created to protect necromancers when venturing into areas that weren’t under the banner of the Enclave. In the past, some of the independent settlements had kidnapped necromancers.
The voice of the young teenager haunted Fabiola. The desperation in her voice, the tears in her eyes…
Fabiola could walk among the ravenous dead without fear, but others lived in terror of their broken teeth and gnarled, claw-like fingers. Hopefully, the governor of the settlement would reach out for help soon.
Before it was too late.
Aura listened to the wail of the sirens from her perch on her windowsill. The flashes of light against the blackness of the night were probably from the turrets along the third fence line. The arcs of red fire in distance were distress flares. Aura had witnessed them long ago when her mother had died when the dead had overrun a fence line near the solar panel fields. Chewing on her nails, Aura anxiously watched the mayhem and listened to the raised voices within the compound.
The door to her bedroom slammed open. Her father’s burning eyes and strained face were barely illuminated by the lamp next to her bed. Stalking across the room, he grabbed her arm and wrenched her away from the window.
“I think the zombies got into the fields—” she said, pointing outside.
Silently, Governor Cole dragged his daughter up the hallway to the stairwell. At the bottom of the steps, he opened up the panic room and hurled her inside with the families of the men and women who guarded the compound. Aura stumbled, then fell hard on her bottom. Glaring at her father, she saw the fury and fear in his face as he palmed the controls that shut the heavy door.
Twisting about, she stared at her tutor and his family sitting on mats. “Do you think he’ll call the necromancer now?”
The screens above the train platform flashed images of the ravaged fields of the Bridgetown Settlement while the newsdesk hosts appeared somber and concerned at the latest disaster outside the Enclave. The coffee shop was filled with travelers watching the latest reports and making comments in worried but excited voices. Fabiola and her entourage sat in silence around a small table, sipping their hot coffee and picking at their breakfast while awaiting the arrival of the high-speed train.
Irene, the adept, nibbled at the corner of her egg sandwich. “How many fields did they lose?”
“Fifteen,” Anthony, Fabiola’s personal guard, answered. He was a young man with rippling muscles and a mass of dark hair. Necromancers were rare and treated like celebrities. Sometimes people swarmed the necromancers when they were in public, so guards were necessary.
“Are we going to starve?” Irene’s question seemed foolish in the face of so much food in the display counters, but the fallout from the lost fields would not be felt for a year or two. The Enclave traded with many independent settlements, but the Bridgetown Settlement had been the major supplier of wheat. Whenever there was a bad crop, the shortages were felt in the Enclave.
“I doubt we’ll starve. There are other agricultural settlements and the Enclave’s hydroponic gardens are having a good yield,” Fabiola replied. “We may just end up with less… of certain items.”
“They’re saying it might be bread.” Irene sighed. “I hate bread shortages.”
The high-speed train whispered into the station and came to a halt at the edge of the platform. The doors slid open and disgorged a batch of new residents to the city from the passenger section and supplies from the remaining storage cars. Fabiola watched as she ate her oatmeal sprinkled with blueberries and brown sugar. The world continued on as though hundreds more hadn’t joined the ranks of the dead. The ticker at the bottom of the newsfeed kept running the names over and over again. The Bridgetown Settlement had suffered more loss than just their precious fields.
When the royal guard appeared at her table, Fabiola wasn’t surprised. She recognized the two men and two women from her previous public interactions with King Maximilian. Immediately, the other customers in the coffee shop began to whisper excitedly. Not only was a necromancer among them, but possibly the king himself. Fabiola silently slid to her feet, pulled the hood of her robe over her cloud of dark hair, and signaled for her entourage to follow.
Fabiola was aware of the crowd’s interest as she strolled toward the private lounge used by upper level emissaries. Necromancers always stood o
ut in their dark red attire, but the fact she was flanked by the royal guard in their sleek dark blue uniforms with silver braid trim made her procession even more exciting for the bystanders.
The doors opened to the foyer of the lounge, and instantly, the guard and her entourage dropped away, leaving her to continue alone into the inner room.
Max was pacing inside. Dressed in a dark gray suit, it was obvious he’d been at some sort of official function. He hated dressing up, preferring to be casual when out of the spotlight.
“You didn’t even tell me you were going!” he said, starting in the middle of a conversation he was already having in his head.
Fabiola couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“How long have you been arguing with me before I actually got here?”
Max stopped and checked his watch. “Uh, about fifteen minutes.”
“Who’s winning?”
“Fab…”
“Max, this is what I do.”
Her former lover lurched forward, seized her upper arms, and leaned down to press his forehead to hers. “Fab, let someone else go.”
As always, his touch was difficult to ignore or deny. “I can’t. I’m the only necromancer who can handle a herd of this magnitude.” Fabiola was unquestioningly the most powerful of all the necromancers since one of the Order’s leaders, Lillibeth, had disappeared years before.
“You’re doing this to spite me,” he said, though he didn’t sound like he believed that.
“I have lives to save. The Bridgetown Settlement is close to being overrun.”
“There are dangerous settlements out there. Outlaws…”
“I can control the dead, Max. I can fight off outlaws with an army of them.”
“But what if…”
Resting her hands on his neck, she could feel his quickened pulse. He was afraid. “Max…I have to go now.”
“What if they shoot down your copter?”
“Max…”
“I’ll divorce Bella.”
“Max…”
“I’ll arrange for her to be compensated and—”
“Max, with the loss of Bridgetown’s fields, we both know you can’t afford to anger the Republic.” Though it crushed her heart to admit he was right, Fabiola was beginning to see how Max had made the right choice for those who lived in the Enclave. Yet, her heart was unwilling to admit it.
“I’m always lecturing you about duty, yet I can’t bear for you to go out there and risk your life.” The king’s bitter chuckle and glistening eyes revealed the depth of his despair.
Fabiola kissed the corner of his lips and pulled away before he had a chance to deepen it. “I have to go.”
“If I could go with you—”
“You’d be a liability.” Fabiola stopped near the doorway. “I’d be distracted. I can’t afford distractions. That’s how necromancers die.”
Sweeping out of the room, Fabiola motioned for her small entourage clad all in black and red to fall in behind her. Clenching her hands tightly at her side, she hardened her heart and focused her thoughts on what she had to do.
Aura’s fingers gripped at the roof tiles as she scrambled across the slanted top of the meeting hall. She’d seen the necromancer’s copter land at the town square, but the crush of the crowds had made it impossible for her to get closer. At last, she resorted to climbing to the highest point in the compound so she could see the procession below.
The petite necromancer cleric was surrounded by her entourage consisting of another woman and three large men. Aura wondered if they were adepts or guards. Commander Christophe and his militia surrounded the small entourage keeping the cheering townspeople at bay. When they swept by the large boards covered in the photos of the victims of the disaster, the necromancer stopped to bow her head and light a candle. Silence immediately fell over the crowd.
The wet roof soaked Aura’s dress, but she didn’t care. This was real power. The necromancer demanded respect from all around her because of her gift. Meanwhile, Governor Cole had to campaign every six years to hold his position. He could be ousted and returned to his former position in the Tech Guild. Aura smirked at the thought. Her father always acted like he knew everything, but he knew so little.
As the procession neared the compound, Aura slipped down the tiles to the open window she’d emerged from. Scampering on her bare toes, she hurried to reach the rafters of the meetinghouse before the welcoming ceremony started. The pale yellow dress her father had made her wear was smudged with dirt and sodden, but she didn’t care. He’d wanted her at his side during the welcoming, but she’d slipped away from her tutor and escaped. Aura would much rather watch from the rafters than be trapped at her father’s side, pretending they were a happy family of two.
Crouching behind the Ironworker Guild banner, Aura nibbled on her thumb and waited.
Only a few minutes passed before the council and her father entered the room. They took up their positions on the raised dais and murmured among themselves. When the necromancer entered shortly thereafter, Aura pressed her knuckles to her lips and watched with rapt attention.
As usual, her father’s speech was boring, the platitudes were self-serving, and it all felt like an enormous waste of time. The necromancer stood quietly through most of it, barely moving. It was difficult to see her face since she wore the hood of her cloak over her dark hair.
The minutes ticked away.
The words droned on.
Then, very purposefully, the cleric tilted her head to stare directly at where Aura was perched. The very dark eyes, full lips, and ebony complexion were startlingly beautiful and not what Aura had expected. The teenager continued to watch, certain that the necromancer wasn’t actually looking at her hidden in the shadows. But then the necromancer raised one hand and pointed.
Aura froze.
“Come down,” the necromancer cleric called out as the room stilled.
Aura didn’t move.
“Now,” the necromancer commanded.
Frightened, Aura scrambled along the rafters.
“You didn’t tell me that you had a necromancer already in your midst,” the woman said to Aura’s father.
And Aura’s secret was revealed.
Fabiola studied the dirty young girl before her. It was the same one who had attempted to summon the necromancers for help. Blond hair tangled and limp with rain, dress soiled and white limbs smeared in mud, the daughter of the governor stared at her with frightened blue eyes. The dark greenish aura of her powers wafted around her body, invisible to all other eyes but those of a necromancer.
The meeting room was empty except for the cleric, Governor Cole, and Aura. The council hadn’t even protested when Fabiola had ordered them out along with her entourage.
“How old are you?” Fabiola asked at last.
“Fourteen,” Governor Cole answered.
“I asked her.”
The girl smirked at her father, hatred in her eyes. “I’m fourteen.”
“When did you start to bleed?”
“How is this—” Governor Cole started in a heated tone.
“I will send you out if you continue to interrupt the business of the Necromancer Order,” Fabiola said sharply.
Governor Cole bobbed his head once and pressed his thin lips together.
“Answer the question, Aura,” Fabiola insisted.
“Two months ago. The doctor says I’m a late bloomer,” the girl replied, swinging her legs back and forth so her toes brushed against the wood floor.
“Most of us are,” Fabiola admitted. “Our power ages us more slowly than others.”
“Are you old?”
The question amused Fabiola. “I’m twenty-eight. I’m not old. Yet.”
Aura continued to swing her feet. “My mom died when she was twenty-eight.”
It bothered Fabiola that she had missed the obvious before. “Your mother was Lillibeth.”
“She went by Beth here,” Govern
or Cole muttered.
“Your daughter is the offspring of the most powerful necromancer that walked the earth and you didn’t tell the Order?” Fabiola shook her head in disgust.
Governor Cole’s anger was vivid on his flushed face. “She’s not one of you. My wife took suppression drugs so that she could be normal and so could her children.”
“Suppression drugs only dull the senses. They don’t change what makes a necromancer,” Fabiola retorted. “How did Lillibeth die?”
“A fence fell. The dead took her.” Governor Cole suddenly looked very old and weary. “She managed to push Aura onto one of the solar panel platforms before the dead reached her. She died saving our daughter.”
“She died because she denied what she was.” Fabiola shook her head sadly. “What made you think Aura wasn’t a necromancer, too?”
“She didn’t save her mother,” Governor Cole replied, his misery clear. “She would have saved her if she was a necromancer.”
Aura’s toes continued to skim the floor, never missing a beat.
Fabiola couldn’t imagine being a necromancer without guidance or compassion from a mentor or parent. She wasn’t sure if Governor Cole resented that his daughter hadn’t been able to save her mother or if he resented his wife for taking the drugs that allowed her death. There seemed to be little love between the father and daughter.
“I will need to take Aura with me when we leave.”
The teenager instantly smiled, her face transformed into a great beauty that closely resembled that of her mother.
“You can’t, Cleric. She belongs here.”
“I can. And will. She’s in puberty, and her powers are growing. Why do you think the dead were drawn here?” Fabiola regarded him with thinly disguised contempt. “Her power calls to them. You’re lucky you’ve lost only a few hundred lives along with your fields.”
Aura’s legs stilled and her hands clenched the armrests.
“You can’t blame her for this… disaster,” Governor Cole protested, but the suspicion that lingered in his eyes when he looked at his daughter spoke of his hidden fears.
“It’s not her fault. She’s untrained. She has no idea how to control the dead. They’ve come because of her power. They’re trying to reach her.” Fabiola pressed her palms together and rested her lips against her fingertips. It was a meditation she did to contain her anger when it was about to get the best of her. “Today, I will remove the dead from your area. Tomorrow I will take your daughter with me to the Necromancer Chantry in the Enclave. There she will be safe while we teach her to contain her power. She can choose to return when she’s older.”
The Necromancer Page 2