Necromancer Awakening (52 page)

The island grew brighter all around him, and he had to shield his eyes.

“Gods in paradise,” Yuli said. She was staring up into the sky.

He followed her gaze, and when he saw what she was looking at, he lowered his head and offered a prayer of thanksgiving.

The barrier was gone.

But something else was happening—something so unexpected, so beautiful, that Mujahid could only stare and laugh.

Hundreds of people appeared on the shores of the Pinnacle, cichlos and human alike. They seemed disoriented, glancing around and staring at their bodies, as if they were getting used to their own limbs. Many had begun to laugh and cry. Others embraced one another as if reuniting with long lost friends.

It all made sense now. The barrier never killed anyone. It
took
them. And now it had brought them back…everyone it had ever taken.

For the first time since coming to terms with Mordryn’s disappearance, Mujahid wept.

“Commander,” one of the Tildemen shouted. “The Council is boiling the sea.”

Mujahid knew that wasn’t right. As soon as the barrier collapsed he sensed the magi stop casting. He faced the dock.

Waves crashed against the shore where no waves had existed earlier. Something was disturbing the sea from underneath.

A wall of water rose up from the sea and struck Mujahid and the Tildemen.

Man-sized objects shot out from the sea as if giant crossbows were fired from just below the surface. Water rained down, obscuring Mujahid’s vision as the objects kept coming.

He wiped the water from his eyes.

Dozens of undead cichlos were shooting out of the water, landing on the docks, and charging the staircase.

In the midst of the churning water, blue-cowled cichlos were emerging and walking up onto the shore, directing their penitents.

The necromancers emerged from the water, and it wasn’t long before they were battling the Council magi in a direct confrontation. The Council was in full retreat, fleeing back up the steps and into the Pinnacle, but that didn’t stop the cichlos from chasing them.

An old cichlos necromancer climbed out of the water next to Mujahid. It had been years, but Mujahid would know this cichlos anywhere.

“Siek Lamil,” Mujahid said.

Four undead cichlos materialized next to Lamil and charged into the battle, followed by four more, then four again.

Mujahid examined the siek for signs of insanity. No man could withstand twelve summonings in the span of seconds.

Lamil harrumphed. “Were you planning to assist or stare at me for the remainder of the battle?”

“How did you do that?”

“What is the Prime Duty of a Necromancer?”

Mujahid smiled.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

The god Arin stood resplendent in his golden winged helm. His brilliant, white armor reflected the Erindorian sun, and he radiated an aura of peace.

Tithian dropped to one knee.

Nicolas was uncertain of what to do, so he dropped to one knee as well.

Two other beings materialized. The first was a woman who radiated a scent of fresh cut roses. Brown hair cascaded down to her shoulders in tight curls. Her eyes were a piercing blue that glowed with an inner light. The second was shrouded in darkness and wore a cloak made of shadow. He couldn’t see the being’s face, but he had no doubt it was Zubuxo, the God of Death.

Arin squatted next to the orb fragment and picked it up. An expression of pure fury passed across his face, but the aura of peace returned.

Arin stood. His eyes, rust colored a moment ago, flashed a brilliant yellow. They cycled through every color of the rainbow before returning to rust.

Every hair on Nicolas’s body stood on end, but nothing happened from what he could see.

Arin spoke, and his voice was soothing, as if all the cichlos of Aquonome were singing in unison.

“Why are you unable to channel, Archmage?” Arin said.

“Arin,” the woman said. “Now is the time for mercy.”

Nicolas had no frame of reference for what he was witnessing. Were the gods of Erindor, Terilya—and who knew how many other places—really standing before him? And what did this imply about his own beliefs?

“You cannot channel, Archmage, because your son is a greater magus than you are,” Arin said. “We did well to choose you, Nicolas.”

Arin’s eyes were kind, but they were sunken as if weary from witnessing millennia of joy and horror.

“I sent the Barathosians to teach you the true nature of vitapotency,” Arin said. “You paid them back with murder.”

“Arin,” the woman said.

“You didn’t capture us, you vain man,” Arin said. “We went willingly into the barrier so that it would feed on us instead of the countless unborn.”

“Arin,” the woman said.

“You traded my words for your own twisted version, all while invoking my name with mock piety.”

“Arin, please,” the woman said.

Arin turned and his countenance changed. The aura of peace radiated from him again.

“There were others on your path, Nicolas,” Arin said. He extended his arms and the scent of saltwater filled the room. A cool sea breeze danced across Nicolas’s face.

Mujahid, Yuli, and Siek Lamil materialized in the room.

“Siek?” Nicolas said. He couldn’t believe it.

Mujahid and Yuli fell to one knee when they saw the gods. Lamil bowed his head but did not kneel.

Nicolas’s heart sank. He’d promised the cichlos he’d help them, but the orb was destroyed.

“You amaze us,” Arin said to Nicolas. “Even in your moment of greatest loss, your heart turns to the plight of others.”

The woman reached out to touch Arin. Tears pooled in her eyes.

Arin faced her. “Have you ever witnessed anything like this in Erindor before, Shealynd?”

So that’s who she is.
Shealynd, the Goddess of Love.

Arin closed the distance between them and gently grasped Nicolas’s upper arm.

Flesh and blood. He feels like any other man.

Tithian and the others bowed their heads lower.

“Do you see this man, Zubuxo,” Arin said.

Zubuxo removed the shadowy hood covering his face. The god had the appearance of an old man, with a long white beard that ran down to the center of his chest, but his eyes were two black orbs.

“You know my mind,” Zubuxo said.

The archmage floated off the floor, pulled toward Arin by some divine force.

“So many cry out in anger, victimized by your atrocities,” Arin said. “So many are doomed to live out their penance in the six hells because of the damage you did.”

“Please,” Kagan said.

“You owe a price too great to count,” Arin said. “You will be cast into the hells for eternity, and you will serve in whatever manner the Mukhtaar Lord deems worthy of your wretched nature.”

Nicolas shouldn’t be bothered by Arin’s judgment, but he was. Kagan had caused a lot of evil. He should be happy to see Kagan get what he deserved. But eternity was a long time.

Kagan’s mouth was open as if trying to scream, but no sound escaped it.

“Take him,” Arin said.

Nicolas remembered the argram, the first creature he’d ever successfully summoned. As evil as the creature’s acts were, acts which resulted in the downfall of a civilization, he had made some small progress during his time with Nicolas.

“Wait,” Nicolas yelled.

Kagan hung in midair, a look of horror on his face.

“I’ve seen more than enough evil, Arin,” Nicolas said. “And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that no one is beyond redemption. Tossing him into hell is just revenge, as far as I can tell. It doesn’t help him, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna help the countless people he’s hurt.”

Shealynd smiled.

“What are you asking of me?” Arin said.

Nicolas took a deep breath. “If the Prime Duty of a necromancer is to raise the dead and help them achieve purification, then how can I sit back and watch someone be thrown away because of the evil they’ve committed?”

Lamil placed a hand on Mujahid’s shoulder and smiled.

“Yes,” Kagan said. “That’s mercy. Don’t throw me away, my Lord. You’re a good son, Nicolas.”

Nicolas gave Kagan an icy stare. “You’ll pray for hell after you hear what I’ve got in mind.”

“I’m listening,” Arin said.

“Make him my penitent,” Nicolas said.

It was Zubuxo that smiled this time.

Kagan’s eyes widened. “No. Not that. Don’t make me live like that.”

Arin lowered his hand. “So be it.”

“No!” Kagan yelled and became silent as if someone had cut off his breath. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor of the sanctuary, dead.

“Rise,” Arin said.

Nicolas felt a rush of power sweep past him toward Kagan’s body, and a faint blue necromantic link appeared.

Kagan’s corpse stirred, awkwardly at first, like a newborn horse trying to stand for the first time.

“I believe this is yours,” Arin said.

The necromantic link detached itself from Arin and rushed toward Nicolas. When it struck him, it formed a bond in his mind. Kagan was there, at the opposite end of that link, powerless to act against Nicolas’s will.

“And now you must decide, Nicolas Ardirian,” Arin said. “I would have you inherit your birthright. Serve us as Archmage. Help us restore this broken world.”

Mujahid turned to Nicolas and smiled.

“But know this,” Arin said. “The worst is yet to come. The Barathosians will return, and their intentions will not be to teach and guide this time. They will come to kill and conquer because of Kagan’s sin, and I will not take away their free will.”

“But…can’t you convince them to stop at least?” Nicolas said.

Arin smiled and glanced toward Kagan and back again.

Nicolas understood. Even the word of a god wasn’t enough to stop human pride from doing its worst.

He could turn down the offer and let someone else worry about the future. He could try his best to move on and forge some semblance of a life in this alien world. But
Kaitlyn
was his entire world, and that world was gone forever. If he was going to pay the price of that future, then he would take nothing less than the salvation of a world in return.

Shealynd looked down, as if deeply troubled.

“I’ll do it,” Nicolas said. “But there is one thing I would like to change, if I may?”

“Give it voice, and we will see if it lends itself to change.”

“My name,” Nicolas said. “I don’t want to be associated with Kagan or his dynasty. I have no interest in perpetuating that name, and I don’t want to think about him every time someone says it.”

“And what would you be called?”

“My name is Nicolas Murray.
Murray
is the name of a good man. A decent man who didn’t have Kagan’s sort of evil in him.”

He thought of Dr. Murray and smiled. He bet the old man had no idea he’d be the start of some dynasty on an alien planet somewhere.

“So be it,” Arin said. “You will be the patriarch of a new dynasty—the Murray dynasty.”

“Arin,” Shealynd said. Some form of voiceless communication passed between them.

“I will not,” Arin said. “What you wish is not wise.”

“Zubuxo,” Shealynd said. “You above all know the intimate secrets of humankind. What is the one thing that keeps the greatest of evil at bay?”

“Love, Goddess,” Zubuxo said, without hesitation. “Those who require the least purification possess it in great quantities.”

“Nicolas loved Kaitlyn so perfectly, that he let her go when Love of others demanded it,” Shealynd said.

“Arin,” Zubuxo said. “You object.”

“The children were taken for a reason,” Arin said. “But this is your gift to give or take. Not mine.”

Children?
What children?

Shealynd smiled.

“Nicolas Murray,” Zubuxo said.

When the God of Death spoke, a fire rose from the center of Nicolas’s being, and it was as if a red hot brand touched his mind, burning something indelible into the recesses of his consciousness.

A new symbol of power took shape in his mind in the form of a door. But it was different from the other symbols in more than appearance. It had a power source of its own, like a built-in energy well.

The fire vanished, and the pain along with it, but the door glowed in his mind’s eye.

You are a good and faithful priest, and you will rise to heights you have not fathomed,
the voice in his mind said.
Trust in the Mukhtaar Lord, for your life will depend on it someday. I have granted you a gift given to no other human. Use this gift wisely.

“I will,” Nicolas said.

Mujahid looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

Arin tossed the last remaining piece of the great orb to the floor, and it broke into dozens of smaller pieces with a loud shatter.

“I will recreate the orb,” Arin said. “Once more will it light the way across a treacherous sea. But it will not be alone.”

Lamil looked up.

“Its twin will reside in Aquonome,” Arin said. He looked at Lamil. “Your chimeramancers will not have to make the great sacrifice after all, Lamil Jiskossa.”

Lamil had never mentioned chimeramancers, although he
had
implied the orb wasn’t the only way back to Terilya.