Era of Wrath (Chrim Chronicles #2)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Leodis Fynce

Every day and all day, the sky was ashen in Chrim, so much so that I had not once seen it turn blue.

The locals didn't smile no more like they always had in the years before, and the cobbled streets were emptier than I had ever seen them, devoid of laughter and footsteps and vibrant chatter. Only the wails of the wind lingered. Those few who did walk the streets hurried home with their face kept down. A thick sense of fear and despair hung in the air. It felt like the eerie calm before a storm.

A storm they did not know I was about to bring upon them.

The clacking noises of Farren's iron limb hitting the pavement broke the silence and soon a narrow stretched shadow appeared beside mine, one that leaned on a tall cane. Without saying a word, she came to stand next to me on the roof and we both gazed down upon the town full of little lights and gloom. Tonight was the night the Fynce line would rise again, if all went well.

It had been only a year since I had been resurrected and taught the ways of a necromancer. An older man with little meat on his bones had sat beside my coffin, staring down at me with beady black eyes and white hair slicked back. From all the Fynce graves, he'd picked mine. For what reason I still did not know.

It didn't matter, as I was finally out of Purgatory; a godforsaken place where even the trees were alive and strong enough to crack your bones. There were no rules there, no allies and no friends, nothing but an endless battle where you had to run, fight, and hide. For the past three-hundred years I had done nothing but fight the War of the Wicked, and here back in Chrim it was no different. War never ended, it just changed shapes and took breaks to sleep. It was awake now, as was I.

"When do we begin?" Farren asked.

For a brief moment I turned my head to glance at her. The hood of her white sweater was pulled over her head and her black and blue hair fell down from the sides. Every day she seemed to heal a little and piece her shattered soul together, but she was still a long way from the strong Farren I had first laid eyes on. Perhaps, that was a good thing. "As soon as the clock strikes three-twenty-one," I replied. "Not a minute too soon or too late."

Farren shuffled her good foot and swayed a little, then regained balance with the help of her cane. All the while, I pretended not to notice her struggle. She wouldn't want me to. "Necromancy really is bizarre," Farren said. "Nothing like witchcraft or magic. It's so..." She swallowed hard, so hard I could hear it. "Unholy and vile."

"Thanks, Farren."

"I don't mean you are vile or unholy." Farren cleared her throat and sniffed. "But, you have to admit, you being back alive after three centuries is very unholy, a vile act that goes against all the laws of nature."

A pang of anger struck me. Of all people, this wicked little witch was the last who had the right to call me an abomination. "So, what's your point, Farren?" I turned to face her. "Where are you getting at? Don't you think I know that I'm not supposed to be here?" I shook my head and turned away. "A lot of vile acts happening around here. Like, you slaughtering dozens of the town's council is pretty unholy, too, Farren."

Her eyes burned on me, from the corner of my eye I could scarcely make out her staring at me. "Nothing is as unholy and vile as raising the dead, Leodis. But..."

"But what?" It came out more loud and harsh than I'd intended, but she had no right to say these things.

"But I'm glad you're here." A smile crept up her face when I looked at her in surprise. She pursed her lips and swallowed. "I'm glad this vile and unholy act has brought you here among us, giving me the chance to meet you."

For a long time I stared at her, then I smiled back and gave her a nod. "I'm also glad for the chance of knowing you, Farren." I took a deep, audible breath and looked away with a grin. "Considering I'm three-hundred years older than you, though, you really ought to show me some more respect. In my days the youngsters would kiss the hand of their elders instead of calling them unholy and vile."

"In your unholy dreams, Fynce."

"A man can always dream, Van Velsen." I stretched out my hand and hovered it near her lips. "Are you sure you won't kiss it?"

With a chuckle, Farren slapped my hand away. "Do it again and I'll kiss it with the blade of my hatchet."

My grin disappeared in an instant, replaced by a deep frown. From beside me, I heard her silent gasp as she realize what she'd done. That used to be my hatchet, the one I'd crafted with my beloved fiancé Liliana Girard. An ache spread from my heart across my every being as I was sucked into memories from a past era. The feeling of Liliana's fingers squeezing mine as she gave her last breath made my hands ball into fists. Though I cherished every memory I had of her, I'd rather not be reminded.

"Do..." Farren paused as her voice pulled me back into the present. "Do you want it back?"

My eyes slid to the hatchet tucked inside the holster on her back. It still looked the same; the iron blade she had forged still shined, adorned with the flowers she'd carved in the iron, it's edges standing sharp as I remembered, all of it molten together with the spear-shaped stone handle I crafted, which was dipped in a coat of silver and decorated with curling lines. It was a hatchet of stone and steel merged, like Liliana Girard and I were.

Looking down, I shook my head. "Keep it. It's not mine anymore. Hasn't been for hundreds of years." I glanced at her and forced the smallest smile. "It's yours now and I can't think of a better owner." After a silence, I added in a broken voice, "Take good care of it, please."

Hours passed by, most of which I spent with my brother. Mikohn. Cyril. I still wasn't sure what to call him. We played videogames where we were a cars, warriors, and funny creatures. The new era was hard for me to adjust to, but I did so in wonder. Most of all, I was just happy to be spending time with my brother instead of being chased by merciless men out to chop me in pieces only to unify me and chop me up over and over again. Three-hundred years I'd been stuck there, three-thousand years wouldn't be enough to make it stop haunting me.

The clocks struck three when we found ourselves at the mouth of the Cave of Bones. Far off inside of it flickered orange flames. The town was fast asleep as I pushed aside the draping vines and held the bundle in place as the others went ahead. Drops welled up on the skull covered walls, trickling down the empty eye sockets and carefully arranged bones and dripping onto a thin stream of water that flowed to the other end of the cave.

The bones of my family lay no longer in a pile, instead they were laid on the cold stone and stretched as far as the eye could see. A sad look came over Cyril as he observed the hundreds of bones scattered around, the saddest look I'd ever seen on him. He'd had gone off to war when it happened, when he returned he not only had been turned into a vampire but also lost all the family he had. Next to him stood Torill, her thick brows furrowed and her long, red hair bundled into a braid, stroking my brother's arm as she stared down at a tiny skull that had belonged to a newborn. Farren leaned all her weight on her cane and seemed to be lost in another world as she regarded the aftermath of the massacre, with a slight frown and tight lips her expression stood blank and distant.

The girls scattered around the dried flowers and monkey kidneys, as the spell required, while Cyril lit candles. At twenty past three, I raised my hands and prepared myself, Cyril and Farren holding down the scroll containing the spell beneath me. There were only sixty seconds, yet it seemed to take an eternity before it finally struck twenty-one past three. The words flowed from my tongue, a language I didn't even speak, as black mist emerged from my palms and drifted down to the bones, hovering above them like clouds.

From outside I heard loud thunder strike the mountain we were in, and I heard the rocks crumbling down. The mist lifted the hundreds of bones and brought them to one another, and we watched limbs unite with carcasses and skulls. The spell was done, in silence we watched as the skeletons began to shuffle around, moving and attempting to walk.

Two loud thumps came from behind me. I turned around and saw the collapsed bodies of Farren and Torill. A smile crept across my face. Cyril kneeled down between their still bodies and turned their heads.

"What happened to them?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," I said, and kneeled beside him. "It's part of it, they'll wake up."