Page 90 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘I told you we should get a dog.’ William grinned, skipping slightly to keep up with Alma’s trot as she sniffed at the overgrown weeds lining the path.
‘Not this again,’ Gideon grumbled, digging his hands deep in his fine grey suede coat pockets. Snow clumping on his tense shoulders, his eyes scanning the graveyard before us.
The pale light from the Portium door in the dilapidated mausoleum behind us illuminated the path, making us cast long shadows across the terrain.
‘I didn’t think there were any necromancers left,’ I whispered, tucking my hands deeper into my cloak as I looked up to Emrys as he kept pace next to me. No more relaxed than his brother.
‘There shouldn’t be,’ he answered, looking at where my cloak was wrapped about my body as if concerned it wasn’t enough to deal with the damp, winter air. ‘The more worrying thing would be how Thean has kept a necromancer from the Countess.’
He eyed the voyav where they led our small party to the centre of a cluster of worn stumps I assume used to be gravestones. A voyav that had remained aloof since their warning by the fire.
Necromancy. A magic that valuable would turn the rebellion’s tide against the Council. To tell the Countess would be to enslave that being with the same blood vow that Thean seemed to chafe against. A necromancer was old blood – oldmagic – and whatever loyalty Thean Page had, they seemed to respect such a being’s freedom. Or perhaps they were simply waiting for their usefulness to run out.
‘Bloody bastard couldn’t be buried indoors?’ Gideon griped as he came to a stop, shooting another hateful glance at Thean. ‘You could have found the bastard yourself.’
‘My skill is murder, little witch, not scrying.’ Thean shrugged, but their amusement had dissipated with the statement, making me unsure if they could actually have done it on their own. The being was still as much a mystery as the unfortunate night we’d met them.
Rooting in his pockets, Gideon pulled out the worn coin. It now emitted a strange ghostly glow. He flipped it, letting it drop to the frozen earth. It spun for a moment before it rolled and jumped. Settling finally on a low mound where a small sad stone marked the place, as if nobody had bothered to remember the burial plot.
‘There he is,’ Gideon sighed, turning to hold his arm out to William. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, William.’
The boy nodded with determination, stepping forwards and kneeling next to the coin as his palms glowed green and he pushed his fingers into the lank, frosty grass. He closed his eyes as his summoning grew, making his fingers glow green too, a small rumbling coming from beneath our feet before a harsh misted breath left his lips.
‘There are slabs on top,’ William huffed, sweat at his brow despite the cold. His fingers flexing as the ground rumbled from the roots he summoned to assist him.
‘Someone doesn’t want him dug up,’ Thean observed dryly from where they leant against a grave, clearly unbothered by who they stood on top of. Alma gave a small growl. Probably at the voyav’s commentary that might distract the boy.
‘They do it so they don’t walk after death,’ Emrys answered, brows knotted with thought.
The warning in his words sent a chill down my spine. And that was the last warning before the ground shook and William gave another heave as the roots pierced the frozen earth.
Alma let out a bark, clearly deciding she wanted a better view as she leapt and shifted into a crow, perching on the boy’s shoulder.
The soil shifted, undulating and spilling until the rotten casket rose. Willaim recoiled, landing on his backside as he panted with bright rosy cheeks. Alma gave a disconcerted squawk from being jostled around.
‘Well done, William.’ Emrys smiled tightly as he stepped forwards and used the heel of his boot to knock the remains of the coffin’s measly lid off.
A skeleton lay inside. The innards of the coffin gleamed in the moonlight, covered in a strange waxy substance – I assumed it was the remains of the lord’s body fat that had decayed. I’d read a paper on how grave robbers sold it to traders to extract the residual magic for unsupported healing tonics in the outer markets. A shudder moved through me at the thought, at how desperate this world had become.
Rusted blades and other trinkets appeared to have been dumped with little care. A rustle from the stray papers left at the bottom of the coffin, worm-eaten.
Alma hopped onto the edge of the coffin and then inside, picking through the remains. I knelt in the loose soil, gathering up the pages I could salvage.
‘They look rather useless,’ Thean cautioned with boredom.
I took hold of the pages. The corners were charred, the paper coated in bright white ash from a summoning.
‘They destroyed it,’ I murmured to myself before I allowed my palms to heat ever so slightly, remembering the lyrical mix ofthe incantation at the back of my mind, a song that didn’t need words to be formed. Slowly, with a crack and the lavender hue of my magic, the pages were fully restored between my palms.
Pages of Lord Ramsey’s scribbled madness.
‘How the fuck did you manage that?’ Gideon was suddenly perched over my shoulder, eyes moving too quickly as if his thoughts wouldn’t catch up.
‘I made a reformation incantation.’ I offered the diary up for his consideration. He carefully turned the page, gloved finger running over the scrawl inside.
‘The bastard is talking about the knights’ trove; about the Alder Kings.’ Gideon pointed the words out to Emrys, whose eyes seemed to darken in answer.
The Alder Kings, rulers of the endless dark. Ancient demons with no form. The rulers of this land long before stories had existed. Old stories, too old for me to understand.
