The Scythe and the Blade

Chapter One: The Cardinal

The shrill howls of the cold wind knocked impatiently at the door, its rusted handle chiming with it. It was a cool night for the Necromancer; his kindlewood fire would not keep him warm much longer. The sun was not set to rise for hours yet, but sleep was no longer an option. Dressed in his long leather robes, the Necromancer sat up steadily from his stiff bed. The moonlight lit but one side of his face and the firelight danced upon the other. Quietly, Gladius Rockfell grabbed a candlestick and dipped it into the fireplace. He placed it gently in the corner, then sat down at his bed and opened his book. It was filled with symbols and markings foreign to most of the kingdom. He studied them patiently, tracing each a dozen times over. When he had finished, he grabbed his heavy black boots and his long black coat from the door; the one he did not like to wear, for he only wore it on serious occasions. He was not proud of his profession, nor were the common people, but to deny what he was would be a sleight to all his mother raised him to be. The Necromancer pushed back his thick black hair and flipped up his collar, then picked up his scythe, labelled with his initials, and left ever-so-quietly so as not to wake his mother for such grim business.

The Necromancer walked steadily through the mud, careful not to dirty himself. The irregular placements of lamp posts were scattered along his path, lighting his way to the site of the ritual.

"Gladius," a woman said in a hushed voice, "I brought what you asked for."

He could not see her features well in the lighting, but Gladius could tell she was frightened. He had met her briefly before, but not under such discrete circumstances. She held out a pouch of gold coins for him. He counted them.

"Forty five? The price was forty gold coins."

"To ensure you do a good job," she told him.

"You can ensure that yourself," he assured her. "I do not accept payment until after the job is done."

"I'm afraid today will be different," the woman said, her voice cracking with sadness. She looked down to a large hole that had been dug from the ground. Inside was a large coffin, enough to comfortably fit two people side-by-side. On the right side lay the body of a young boy, pale and lifeless.

"Where is the sacrifice," the Necromancer asked sternly. "The ritual cannot be performed without a soul to trade."

"I know," sighed the woman. "That's why I won't be able to ensure that the ritual goes smoothly." She paused for a moment and began to sob. Gladius was tempted to console her, but held himself back.

"This is what you want?"

"It is," she muttered, wiping her tears. "When he wakes up, tell him to go see his father."

     The Necromancer nodded in accordance. He held out his hand and assisted the poor woman as she climbed down into the coffin with her son.

"Thank you," she whispered genuinely as he closed the lid of the coffin.

"You're a good person. Your son will do great things," replied Gladius.

Then he set down his scythe and picked up a shovel that lay next to the hole. He filled it in, patting it down until it was flush with the ground. Picking up his scythe again, the Necromancer used it to draw a circle in the dirt surrounding the coffin. Inside this circle he drew various foreign symbols found from his book. He looked up at the incoming storm clouds, waiting for them to come close enough.

After a long pause, the Necromancer raised his scythe to the sky and said authoritatively, "In the name of Mortalias and in honour of your son, I sentence you, Mary Ellenway, to trade your soul to the Afterlife, where it shall be held in exchange for your son, Jonathan Ellenway, to go free and roam the world of the living as he once did, someday for his soul to be united with yours once again."