63

He Knows Death

Candle stared out at the empty fell, happiness burning inside her like a warm ember. This was what it felt like to know your Ancestors, what it felt like to be loved. She blinked the moisture from her eyes and sucked in a deep lungful of briny air, the smile refusing to leave her face.

It was done. Her demon was dead and she was free and alive. She held her finger up in front of her face, creating a tiny flame that danced on the tip. How beautiful was the warmth, how precious the light. How many years had she longed to be able to make such a thing? She would never need to fear the darkness again, she would carry her lights with her wherever she went. It was a heady thing to contemplate.

Thoughts of the darkness inevitably drew her gaze east. Blowing out the flame on her finger, she turned her back on the sea and looked over towards the dense bulk of the Night Enchantments, rising black against the starfield. Somewhere over there was a cold stone Keep squatting protectively over the Necromancer's catacombs. It was almost time to go home – but first, she had promises to fulfil.

Her wings made short work of the distance from the beach to Fhord Dhall. With one eye on the ground, she circled the craggy fortress from on high. She had expected to find the Keep boiling with activity, but all was quiet and peaceful. Only the distant howl of a disturbed wight broke the silence. After some thought, she landed some distance off in the lush green meadow that sat snugly between the peaks. Her weight left a dent in the smooth of the mosses, and the bones crunched beneath of claws. She lost no time transforming into her smaller, more discreet human form.

As always, she was surprised at how large the world seemed when she was a girl. Looking around her a bit nervously she coaxed the mist out of the damp earth with a rune and persuaded it to wander the valley with her. With the tendrils of moisture trailing about her, she felt less exposed. For good measure, she cloaked herself in a rune of illusion – nothing fancy, just a veil of darkness. Anything more complicated would be difficult to maintain for any length of time. Satisfied with the cover she crept towards the castle.

The Night was quiet. Walking softly under the infinite sprawl of the starfield made her feel small and insignificant. In an odd way, it was comforting. The idea that everything was in its place filled her with a deep peace, even if it meant her place was an unimportant one. She might not be able to do much, but she would do the little she could. One step after another she padded across the mossy green, each pace releasing an earthy scent.

Her peace was short-lived, however, as she came upon a vast rip in the fabric of the earth. Trees and shrubs were uprooted, giant slabs of earth and stone stood leaning at drunken angles. Dark earth lay exposed and churned up in wild clods. The whole scene looked as though some mad giant had rampaged across the valley, gouging fistfuls of soils and flinging them about. The devastation was worse than she had remembered, but then, her mind had been on other things.

She had half expected to return to upheaval. Her fight with Belias had been both destructive and noisy – it was impossible to imagine that the Necromancers had not noticed. Staring down at the gaping black hole, she could see where a large section of the catacombs had caved in as she had ripped her way to freedom. And yet there was only silence and moss.

Hesitating on the edge of the gaping hole she took one last look at the hulking stone Keep. Abandoning her mists to the air, she slipped down into the hole, sliding downwards and doing her best to avoid skinning her hands in the process. The hole seemed unguarded and the way was quiet and dark. She half crawled half slid through the mess she and Belias had made, clambering over toppled stones and wincing when they shifted beneath her touch. After a claustrophobic few minutes, she found herself back in the catacombs. She made a witchlight and let it chase away the shadows, a smile tugging her lips as she surveyed the mess. There was no sign of Zephi, so hopefully the small girl was uninjured. Only the bones stared back at her. It made her uneasy. She had expected something or someone to be in her way. She had expected a fight.

Picking her way across the debris, she found herself back in the tunnels. She struck out in the direction she thought would lead her to the cells. On a whim she made her witch light blue, and it danced around her in merry abandon as she strode the tunnels on light feet. How different did it feel to walk the tombs confident in the knowledge that she would never be alone in the dark? An imp chittered at her from a high ledge and she bared her teeth at it. It pulled back into the shadows until just its eyes gleamed in the dark.

It was not easy to find her way back through the labyrinth of the tombs but eventually she found the humans were where she had left them - dejected and dirty in their cell. They leapt up and crowded around the bars when they saw Candle exclaiming and shuffling in their excitement.

"Quietly, now," warned the man Candle dimly recognised as Abenathi's uncle. "We mustn't cause a disturbance, you all know that. They will come."

The prisoners all fell silent, pale faces staring out at Candle with painful expressions of hope.

"Stand back," said Candle, "and I will break the lock."

"How?" asked Abenathi's younger brother, looking at her with barely concealed scepticism. But before Candle could reply a small figure launched itself at her in a flurry of red hair and thin limbs.

"You came back!"

Zephi buried her head in Candle's chest and started to sob, her arms curved tightly around Candle's waist. Candle patted Zephi's head awkwardly, trying not to inhale the child's hair.

"I said I would."

"We need to hurry," said another of the humans, a young mother, "if you are going to get us out of here." Anxiety was written in every crease of her brow as she stood with a babe on her hip and a pair of toddlers peeking through her ragged skirts.

"Did you find the key?"

"No," said Candle, setting Zephi gently to one side. "Stand back, everyone, and please don't be afraid."

The humans retreated to the back of the cell, their eyes wide. They stood in a huddle, clinging to each other in the dark.

"You too, Zephi," said Candle and the little girl retreated into the passage with a reluctant huff. Once there she turned to watch Candle, folding her arms over her chest and tapping her foot impatiently.

Swallowing, Candle looked up at the craggy ceiling of the passageway. It looked high enough to accommodate a dragon – just. She didn't want to injure anyone by collapsing another section of the cavern, and she did not want to make more noise than necessary. So far, her luck had held.

A soft noise drew her attention down to the cave, and her heart sank. A solitary Necromancer stood in the archway, robed in silver velvet and a haughty expression. The neck of his robe was lined with rich white fur that made his shoulders appear broad and bulky. The metallic gleam of his antlers reflected the blue light, while his high cheekbones cast deep shadows against the pale of his face. His lips were thin and disapproving, and his tone when he spoke was curious, rather than alarmed.

"What are you doing out of the cell, human? How did you get out?"

He took a step forward into the cave and Candle successfully resisted the urge to shrink away.

"I was never in. And I'm taking all of these people away with me."

"What an absurd statement," he replied. His voice smooth and dark, like honeyed mead. In other circumstances, it might have been pleasant to listen too, the kind of voice to lull you to sleep at night. But Candle could only imagine the kinds of nightmares this man could inspire. He had no qualms about his place in the universe, Candle thought, her throat suddenly dry. He knew he was an apex predator.

"You are the creature that Ronove was hunting?" he asked. "The one that made such a mess in the Black Star Tomb? You don't look capable of causing such a stir, but then appearances can be deceptive." His red hair swung in a smooth sheet as he looked back over his shoulder, frowning. "Murmux? Where are you, you useless cretin?"

When only silence answered him, and the Necromancer sighed, turning back to Candle.

"Oh well, if I must, I shall deal with you myself."

He started to sing under his breath, a dark tune without words that tickled the edge of Candle's consciousness. The melody was unpleasant, uncomfortable even, a calling, wheedling song that was strangely compelling. Candle heard Zephi stir in the shadows behind her.

"He's going to wake the dead," she hissed. "Stop him."

She started forward, as the Necromancer broke off his tune, flashing his teeth at her. He stood aside to allow two men into the cavern, or rather, two bodies, that had once been men. It was immediately clear that they were both dead. Their eyes blazed an unnatural blue. Both of them were young men, fair-skinned and pale of hair like the humans whimpering in the cell behind Candle. Both of their heads hung at unnatural angles, and they were both missing fingers. Candle could feel the weight of all the people watching her, the human's pale faces gleaming with sweat as they pressed themselves as far away from Candle as possible. The fear in the air was palpable.

The Necromancer pointed at her lazily, and the Skinwalkers heads swivelled around, eyes fastening on her.

"Please, Ancestors," Candle said, under her breath. It was a phrase she said, out of habit, a thousand times. She said it without thought or expectation, and so she almost fell over when a chorus of voices whispered in her ear.

We are with you, child.

What are you waiting for, Cai whispered in her ear.

She transformed into her dragon body, the rush of magic making her gasp. Her wings scraped the outer edges of the walls, and she struck the Skinwalkers with her tail, sending them flying. It did nothing but momentarily deter them, they were soon up and advancing once more. Salt and iron to kill them, make sure their hearts were cut out and burnt to a cinder. She remembered the lesson but she also remembered Jotham, a lifetime ago on the beach below the Old Man of Sterlester. It was an easy thing, to pull energy from the thousands of openings and archways that were dotted throughout the tombs, from every crossway, from each body caught between this world and the next. She gathered in the magic till her body was trembling and then conjured the rune Jotham had used.

The Skinwalkers were engulfed in the torrent of blue fire. It burnt so fiercely that it melted the stones around them. She knew the heat had to be high enough to melt bones and destroy their hearts. If not they would merely rise again and again, so she kept pouring flame onto them until the temperature in the confined space rose to an unbearable level.

Panting she stopped, praying that she had done enough. Leaning forward with some satisfaction she examined the two piles of cinders floating atop a rapidly cooling pool of melted rock. That was all that was left of the Skinwalkers' mortal remains.

The Necromancer grimaced and wiped the soot off the ruff of his beautiful velvet with disdainful fingers. Candle as she drew in another lungful of magic and air, preparing to unleash it on the man, but before she could, he drew a bone from his pocket. With quick, deft fingers he set alight the moonsilver runes that were inscribed upon it. The runes ignited, flaring to brilliance and he tossed it onto the floor with a clatter.

The solitary smoking torch guttered and flickered out. The shadows deepened and then crowded inwards as spirits gathered at the corners of the cave jostling and watching. An area of ink-black shade detached itself from the rest and flowed into the fallen bone. A shade rose, assuming the shape of a person. In the cell behind her, Candle heard a boy let out a ragged sob.

The dark spirit looked up at Candle, regarding her with Abenathi's sorrow-filled eyes.

"Kill her," said the Necromancer.

The shadow that had so recently been a living, breathing boy surged towards her, looked up with round, beautiful eyes.

"I'm sorry," it whispered and then sank his shades' teeth into her scales, tearing at her side with inhuman fingers. She screamed and flailed, trying to shake him off. It hurt. It hurt badly. Candle had very little room to move, and she backed up as far as she could. Fire had no effect on the shade, and when she swiped at it with her forearm, her claw swept right through his body. All she could feel was a slight chill. She bellowed and tried to dislodge him but there was nothing of substance to grab onto. Candle scratched herself with her claws and twisted, howling her pain.

A small figure hurtled past her, red hair flying. Zephi leapt on the spirit, and her dagger flashed in the light as she drove it through the misty shade. It reared backwards, looking uncomfortable, dodging away from the iron in her blade.

"Destroy the bone," Zephi shouted. For a moment Candle couldn't think what the girl meant, then she remembered the silver-runed bone the Necromancer had tossed on the floor. Her sharp eyes spotted it and she was on it in a moment. One more plume of blue fire and the bone disintegrated into ashes. The shade flickered and melted into the mist.

"Goodbye, Abe," came the sad farewell from the cell behind Candle.

We will pray for his spirit, she said, later.

She turned towards the Necromancer who had gone paperwhite. As she bore down on him she had the satisfaction of watching him scramble backwards, fumbling in his pockets, looking, Candle assumed for more bones. He found nothing, and tripping over the hem of his velvet he drew out a long silver blade. Candle snapped at him and he retreated into the passage, holding up the narrow, wicked-looking blade. It looked ornamental, a thing designed for sacrifice rather than fighting, although she could see the edge was sharp. Candle wondered if this had been the blade he had used to carve up Abenathi's body. The thought enraged her.

Get behind me, Zephi, she warned the little girl who was standing too close. She snapped again at the Necromancer and then cast guw. The Necromancer dodged her first light lance, but it was a close call and he was clearly not used to moving quickly. He managed to slice a thin ribbon of crimson across her neck but her second hit true, impaling him with a spear of luminous energy. He fell back, pinned against the wall, clutching at the glowing spear that protruded from his chest. The light died from his eyes and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he sank to the stones. Candle poked at him with a claw, to make sure he was dead. He didn't move.

"Burn it," said Zephi.

"The brat is right," said a voice from the shadows. Murmux emerged from the passageway, looking down at the crumpled body of the Necromancer. He nudged it with his foot and then turned to look up at Candle, a smirk on his lips. "Burn it or it won't stay dead."