Whimsical Tales of Woe

Necromancy: The Give of Life

Part Eight (Part II): Necromancy; The Give of Life.

(WARNING: Descriptions of death and violence)

As stated in last story; this is a direct sequel to chapter seven. I highly recommend reading that first, it is short (only around 1300 words) and provides some context to the characters.

Prompt: Julian gets to see his master at work as they are over run by undead.

§

It was impossible. The man standing beside him could not have been more than a decade older than the young mage.

But that cannot not be true. Julian knew his master to be older than even his father. A man who had travelled and seen things he never could have fathomed... before now.

"What are we going to do about this, Professor?" Julian asked pulling out his own pouch. It was not ash like his teacher's was. Julian's pouch was filled with red sawdust; he had another in his belt with a mixture of Elm and Walnut. He had found the combination worked quite well for his needs.

Foxhinckle had once laughed at him, informing the newly graduated man that if he took a match to the contents of his pouch, Julian would be useless. His response had been that he would light his pouch on fire in retaliation. The quip had earned Julian a lecture in the process of converting calcium carbonate into carbon dioxide and how this could only happen at incredibly high temperatures. He had brought that on himself.

Foxhinckle had been even more distraught when Julian stared at him blankly. He'd thrown his arms up in exasperation and asked what they had been teaching him in The Tower. He often joked that they packed his head with sawdust so he could use it to refill his pouch.

The man beside him was not that man. He was not a has-been sorcerer. Julian knew that now.

They were stuck; wedged between the city walls and a horde of people that were quite literately falling apart. But what the undead army lacked in strength, they made up for in sheer number. Julian threw out a handful of redwood and mumbled the words that were now familiar to him. Even as his mouth formed the unnatural letter shapes, his mind knew their meaning.

"Grow, burrow deep and bring life from whatever nutrients you can find." Nine of the undead advancing on him halted a moment, as if still able to somehow feel the tiny sprouts that were growing from their open chest cavities and limbs. Even as quickly as Julian made them grow, it was not enough to slow the masses of them. More and more scrambled over the others.

"They don't stop." He said in equal measure amazement and despair.

"Yes, I'm afraid you'll find it is rather difficult to kill what's already dead. Same way it's hard to burn something already burnt."

"How do we stop them then?" After five years away, Julian had forgotten how much his Master's replies could grate on him. No longer a juvenile, he had grown accustom to people giving serious answers when he asked something.

A steady hand landed on his shoulder. The Fox, as Julian had heard him spoken of by his peers, wore no mage gloves, apparently it was not by choice. He needed to touch his materials directly to activate them. Julian glanced at him and saw in his light grey eyes, an idea. It was the same look he'd seen countless times, but there was an edge to his teacher's face that many would shrink away from.

"Keep them off my back; I need to get to the one controlling them." The Fox told him in a strong voice. His features were sharp, noble even, and Julian would have been called a lair if he claimed this man was once a grouchy old man. This is what happens when you dabble in death. And it seemed his old professor had been doing more than dabbling in years of late while they were apart.