Raising Dead by Aaron Dennis
the remnants of bones and other tools in the cavernous room. As hours passed, and the bone meal dried, Gaulder busied himself with pouring over the arcane texts. It was rare to ever see Cormaire doing the same. How old is he now? Two-hundred something…?
The texts revealed little of which Gaulder did not already know. Mostly, they provided detailed rituals for healing. Cormaire simply applied the practices in a contradictory way. If one knows how to heal, he knows how to damage. Other texts held incantations for menial magics such as casting spells of fire, or spells which reveal peoples’ tracks. Useful for a man of normality, but I am seeking much more than that.
He had not noticed Cormaire’s return. The old man stitched the corpse’s skin back together with cat intestines.
“Come here, boy,” the wizard demanded. Gaulder shut the tome and placed it back on the shelf before approaching. “Listen to my words, and know them.”
He was never one for repeating himself. “Oh, darkest of rituals….” Then, he paused for a moment, his open hands raised on high. “Let it be known there is no final resting place. Grave servitude is what I demand.”
The area around Cormaire’s form started to darken. “Take into your form this air. It is not wind, but the breath of life; my breath.”
Gaulder cocked his head to the side. For the first time ever, as he had witnessed raisings before, he noted an ephemeral tendril slowly emerge from the deceased’s abdomen, the place where the flower rested. It gave a subtle, indigo glow. During Cormaire’s pause in the incantation, and while the tendril continued to emerge, another tendril—one from the necromancer—came forth. It was black as night.
“What was yours to command is now mine—your life, your thoughts, your needs.” Still, the space surrounding Cormaire grew darker. It was as though the darkness was consuming him. Gaulder scarcely saw his master anymore. He was little more than a gritty voice. “Facets of life. Mere reflections of the soul are mine to manipulate. Rise. Rise. Rise! I command it!”
At the climax of the spell, the body on the table stirred. Cormaire grew silent, and the darkness diminished. Both men’s tendrils returned to their bodies.
“Stand, revenant,” Cormaire demanded. The man came to his feet. “Gaulder?”
“Sir?”
“Did you see it?”
“The connecting link?”
“Naturally,” Cormaire replied.
“I did, Sir. I thought they were going to touch, but….”
“Nonsense. I could not possibly affect his connecting link with mine. I can, however, affect the world with my link in a manner which causes the world to affect his link.”
“Perplexing,” Gaulder commented. Cormaire shrugged with indifference. “Now, you send this monster to secure the life stone from Etmire Abbey?”
“Certainly. He is ready.”
“If I may, master,” Gaulder pried. “I fail to see the need in sending one undead thief to steal what can be taken by force with a legion of lesser zombies.”
“Revenant,” Cormaire called, momentarily ignoring his apprentice. “You will look into my memory and know this location.”
The old man walked to his creation, placed hands on his face, and brought his eyes close to the monster’s. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Do you see it?” The monster nodded. “Now, you will look into my memory and see the item I require. Do you see it?” Again, the monster nodded. “You will utilize your experience as a thief and recover this jewel. Though you were weak and slow as a man, you are quick and strong as a monster. Go!”
The revenant groaned and darted out of the sepulcher like a mountain cat. Gaulder remained staring at his master, knowing full well that, in time, an answer to his question was coming. Finally, Cormaire turned to him.
“It does not do well to bring down a wall to smash a gnat. Subtlety, my boy.”
“I don’t understand,” Gaulder complained. “I wish to…but what good is all this power, and what good is immortality, if you are to remain in this dreadful place?”
Cormaire nodded slowly for a moment. He drew back his hood, sat down on a wooden chair, and looked up at the ceiling. Gaulder was slightly nonplussed and cocked a brow.
“It is often I ask myself such simple questions,” the wizard answered. “Working with unlife is not about power…not as misunderstood by so many, who wish to rule kingdoms. It is about control, mastery.
“I started on this path many years ago. I cannot recall a time in which I did not wield magic, but raining fire upon nonexistent enemies was never my concern. Mine was a quest to unravel the mysteries of life and death.
“What dusty tomes I perused in the great library called Lycaeum provided little knowledge, yet we have all—or rather those of us who deal in magic—have all come across a zombie or two, so I ventured off in search of necromancers. As you no doubt have found out yourself, it is difficult to track one down. I found an old man by following a ghoul back to his lair.
“This old man, his name was Baulder, was in need of an apprentice, a liaison, if you will, into the common world. Over time, many necromancers are hunted down and slain by stalwart warriors or priests who claim to aid the forces of good, but what is good, really?
“I recall asking Baulder why he worked alone. Because a den of necromancers exudes too much power, and whole townships will unite to slaughter them. That is what he told me, and that is what you need to know. Certainly, working closely with a necromancer has its benefits; raising many undead without the constriction of time, but then those items required in doing so are quickly depleted.
“It is simply safer to work alone. We are often calloused individuals anyway. Most of us prefer the company of our creations. Necromancers, in general, do not strive for power, but control over our own destiny.”
Gaulder scrutinized his master in reverie. “Is this why you seek immortality?”
“In part, yes,” Cormaire replied. “At its core, mine is a desire to create the perfect rendition of man; an undead who is not dead…a simulacrum, like the wizard in my favorite story. As it stands, these creatures I have made do not question the world around them. They have no recollection of lives past, or concerns of the future.
“Gaulder, my boy, what has brought this line of questions?”
The apprentice smiled, shrewdly. “I’m an orphan. All of my family has been slain. I have witnessed nothing but death and despair my whole life, yet there is a legacy from ages past. By sitting in darkened corners, and listening to those who are unaware of my presence, I have come to learn that my own family was comprised of great necromancers. There is nothing else for me to do with my life.”
“Yes,” Cormaire whispered.
“Tell me more of this simulacrum.”
“Clean up this mess, and I will tell you.”
Gaulder nodded before busying himself with sopping up blood. While he grabbed a bucket with clean water and some cloths, the master related his knowledge of creation.
“The simulacrum is a living being, though composed of pieces of the dead. His heart beats, his mind ponders, and his connecting link with the universe allows him to bend the forces of intent to his will as does that of the living. Moreover, this creature can be altered time and again in any fashion.
“A powerful necromancer can provide his simulacrum with additional organs, limbs, inhuman appendages, and anything else imaginable. The problem lays in the very essence of living. To clarify; an undead has no soul. It is dead, yet the body remains functioning because of the creator’s will and magic. Given enough time, any zombie will rot away. Even my revenant will eventually fall to pieces.
“The simulacrum wields regenerative properties. It is unclear whether it ages, or eventually dies from such, but if a living man can attain immortality, why not the simulacrum?”
Gaulder wrung out bloody water from his rag before scrubbing down the stone worktable. “This is simply about pushing the limitations on man then?”
“Yes,” Cormaire hiss
ed. “I must discover this process, and I must perfect it.”
“To what end?”
Cormaire leaned over in his chair, and rubbed the back of his head. “I cannot answer that. It is an ache in my very soul. I simply must do this.”
Gaulder stood still. The wavering candlelight continued casting fiendish shadows about the dark lair.
“Have others achieved immortality?”
“Naturally,” Cormaire replied.
“Where are they? Have you met them?”
Cormaire turned to glare at the apprentice. “No, but it does not do you well to question my judgment.”
“Apologies,” Gaulder said. “That was not my intent, master. I am but eager to learn.”
“That is enough for now. When the revenant returns with the life stone, we will speak more.”
A truth revealed
The revenant returned to the sepulcher in a poor state. Missing an arm, and with rotting face, it stood almost ready to keel over. In its remaining hand was an unremarkable, gray stone.
“Give it,” Cormaire demanded. The beast ambled over and relinquished the stone. Cormaire’s grin shown from under the edge of his hood. “Now, go consume flesh.”
The revenant groaned and left the lair. Gaulder arched a brow while watching the proceedings. Cormaire brought the stone near candlelight.
“I had expected some kind of shiny bauble,” the apprentice commented.
“The life stone is named so because it is a piece of the old world; a time before man. When the Gods walked the Earth, they did as
The texts revealed little of which Gaulder did not already know. Mostly, they provided detailed rituals for healing. Cormaire simply applied the practices in a contradictory way. If one knows how to heal, he knows how to damage. Other texts held incantations for menial magics such as casting spells of fire, or spells which reveal peoples’ tracks. Useful for a man of normality, but I am seeking much more than that.
He had not noticed Cormaire’s return. The old man stitched the corpse’s skin back together with cat intestines.
“Come here, boy,” the wizard demanded. Gaulder shut the tome and placed it back on the shelf before approaching. “Listen to my words, and know them.”
He was never one for repeating himself. “Oh, darkest of rituals….” Then, he paused for a moment, his open hands raised on high. “Let it be known there is no final resting place. Grave servitude is what I demand.”
The area around Cormaire’s form started to darken. “Take into your form this air. It is not wind, but the breath of life; my breath.”
Gaulder cocked his head to the side. For the first time ever, as he had witnessed raisings before, he noted an ephemeral tendril slowly emerge from the deceased’s abdomen, the place where the flower rested. It gave a subtle, indigo glow. During Cormaire’s pause in the incantation, and while the tendril continued to emerge, another tendril—one from the necromancer—came forth. It was black as night.
“What was yours to command is now mine—your life, your thoughts, your needs.” Still, the space surrounding Cormaire grew darker. It was as though the darkness was consuming him. Gaulder scarcely saw his master anymore. He was little more than a gritty voice. “Facets of life. Mere reflections of the soul are mine to manipulate. Rise. Rise. Rise! I command it!”
At the climax of the spell, the body on the table stirred. Cormaire grew silent, and the darkness diminished. Both men’s tendrils returned to their bodies.
“Stand, revenant,” Cormaire demanded. The man came to his feet. “Gaulder?”
“Sir?”
“Did you see it?”
“The connecting link?”
“Naturally,” Cormaire replied.
“I did, Sir. I thought they were going to touch, but….”
“Nonsense. I could not possibly affect his connecting link with mine. I can, however, affect the world with my link in a manner which causes the world to affect his link.”
“Perplexing,” Gaulder commented. Cormaire shrugged with indifference. “Now, you send this monster to secure the life stone from Etmire Abbey?”
“Certainly. He is ready.”
“If I may, master,” Gaulder pried. “I fail to see the need in sending one undead thief to steal what can be taken by force with a legion of lesser zombies.”
“Revenant,” Cormaire called, momentarily ignoring his apprentice. “You will look into my memory and know this location.”
The old man walked to his creation, placed hands on his face, and brought his eyes close to the monster’s. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Do you see it?” The monster nodded. “Now, you will look into my memory and see the item I require. Do you see it?” Again, the monster nodded. “You will utilize your experience as a thief and recover this jewel. Though you were weak and slow as a man, you are quick and strong as a monster. Go!”
The revenant groaned and darted out of the sepulcher like a mountain cat. Gaulder remained staring at his master, knowing full well that, in time, an answer to his question was coming. Finally, Cormaire turned to him.
“It does not do well to bring down a wall to smash a gnat. Subtlety, my boy.”
“I don’t understand,” Gaulder complained. “I wish to…but what good is all this power, and what good is immortality, if you are to remain in this dreadful place?”
Cormaire nodded slowly for a moment. He drew back his hood, sat down on a wooden chair, and looked up at the ceiling. Gaulder was slightly nonplussed and cocked a brow.
“It is often I ask myself such simple questions,” the wizard answered. “Working with unlife is not about power…not as misunderstood by so many, who wish to rule kingdoms. It is about control, mastery.
“I started on this path many years ago. I cannot recall a time in which I did not wield magic, but raining fire upon nonexistent enemies was never my concern. Mine was a quest to unravel the mysteries of life and death.
“What dusty tomes I perused in the great library called Lycaeum provided little knowledge, yet we have all—or rather those of us who deal in magic—have all come across a zombie or two, so I ventured off in search of necromancers. As you no doubt have found out yourself, it is difficult to track one down. I found an old man by following a ghoul back to his lair.
“This old man, his name was Baulder, was in need of an apprentice, a liaison, if you will, into the common world. Over time, many necromancers are hunted down and slain by stalwart warriors or priests who claim to aid the forces of good, but what is good, really?
“I recall asking Baulder why he worked alone. Because a den of necromancers exudes too much power, and whole townships will unite to slaughter them. That is what he told me, and that is what you need to know. Certainly, working closely with a necromancer has its benefits; raising many undead without the constriction of time, but then those items required in doing so are quickly depleted.
“It is simply safer to work alone. We are often calloused individuals anyway. Most of us prefer the company of our creations. Necromancers, in general, do not strive for power, but control over our own destiny.”
Gaulder scrutinized his master in reverie. “Is this why you seek immortality?”
“In part, yes,” Cormaire replied. “At its core, mine is a desire to create the perfect rendition of man; an undead who is not dead…a simulacrum, like the wizard in my favorite story. As it stands, these creatures I have made do not question the world around them. They have no recollection of lives past, or concerns of the future.
“Gaulder, my boy, what has brought this line of questions?”
The apprentice smiled, shrewdly. “I’m an orphan. All of my family has been slain. I have witnessed nothing but death and despair my whole life, yet there is a legacy from ages past. By sitting in darkened corners, and listening to those who are unaware of my presence, I have come to learn that my own family was comprised of great necromancers. There is nothing else for me to do with my life.”
“Yes,” Cormaire whispered.
“Tell me more of this simulacrum.”
“Clean up this mess, and I will tell you.”
Gaulder nodded before busying himself with sopping up blood. While he grabbed a bucket with clean water and some cloths, the master related his knowledge of creation.
“The simulacrum is a living being, though composed of pieces of the dead. His heart beats, his mind ponders, and his connecting link with the universe allows him to bend the forces of intent to his will as does that of the living. Moreover, this creature can be altered time and again in any fashion.
“A powerful necromancer can provide his simulacrum with additional organs, limbs, inhuman appendages, and anything else imaginable. The problem lays in the very essence of living. To clarify; an undead has no soul. It is dead, yet the body remains functioning because of the creator’s will and magic. Given enough time, any zombie will rot away. Even my revenant will eventually fall to pieces.
“The simulacrum wields regenerative properties. It is unclear whether it ages, or eventually dies from such, but if a living man can attain immortality, why not the simulacrum?”
Gaulder wrung out bloody water from his rag before scrubbing down the stone worktable. “This is simply about pushing the limitations on man then?”
“Yes,” Cormaire hiss
“To what end?”
Cormaire leaned over in his chair, and rubbed the back of his head. “I cannot answer that. It is an ache in my very soul. I simply must do this.”
Gaulder stood still. The wavering candlelight continued casting fiendish shadows about the dark lair.
“Have others achieved immortality?”
“Naturally,” Cormaire replied.
“Where are they? Have you met them?”
Cormaire turned to glare at the apprentice. “No, but it does not do you well to question my judgment.”
“Apologies,” Gaulder said. “That was not my intent, master. I am but eager to learn.”
“That is enough for now. When the revenant returns with the life stone, we will speak more.”
A truth revealed
The revenant returned to the sepulcher in a poor state. Missing an arm, and with rotting face, it stood almost ready to keel over. In its remaining hand was an unremarkable, gray stone.
“Give it,” Cormaire demanded. The beast ambled over and relinquished the stone. Cormaire’s grin shown from under the edge of his hood. “Now, go consume flesh.”
The revenant groaned and left the lair. Gaulder arched a brow while watching the proceedings. Cormaire brought the stone near candlelight.
“I had expected some kind of shiny bauble,” the apprentice commented.
“The life stone is named so because it is a piece of the old world; a time before man. When the Gods walked the Earth, they did as