Necromantia: Vol. 1-3 (Three Book Set) Read online

  NECROMANTIA:

  The Necromancer’s Apprentice

  Volumes 1-3

  By

  MATTHEW BUZA

  Copyright © 2016 by Matthew Buza.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information, contact: www.matthewbuza.com

  Book and cover design by Matthew Buza

  Book edited by Arial Buza, Emer Garry, and Anna Hogarty.

  ISBN-10:

  ISBN-13:

  First Edition: January 2017

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I hope you enjoy the journey. When you are finished, please take a moment and head back to Amazon and leave me a review. It really helps me to establish myself and for others to find the book. Please head over to my website to sign up for my mailing list and check out what other books I have available. I wish you the best.

  www.matthewbuza.com

  www.amazon.com

  The following book is a combination of three separate works:

  Necromantia: The Necromancer’s Apprentice Vol. 1

  Necromantia: The Smoke Within Vol. 2

  Necromantia: The Broken Soul Vol. 3

  ~ Special Thanks ~

  Inspiration can often come from the strangest places. That couldn’t be more true regarding this series of books. After I completed my first novel, I was looking for some inspiration for a short story. I went onto Reddit.com, and specifically the subreddit, /r/writingprompts. I was paging through, looking for something that might spark an interest. I found this post, a 2015 writing prompt with no comments. The title of the writing prompt:

  “You are a modern necromancer, and while you’re an invaluable resource for the city detectives, you want more out of your life and power.”

  I thought the concept of a modern-day necromancer, which is normally a medieval/fantasy character, would be an interesting topic. I was hoping for a short story. After some character development and world building the short story ballooned to a novella, then into a book series. It was a writing prompt gone wild. As I write this, I am working on additional threads within this world that will likely lead to future books. I would never have guessed that something as small as a writing prompt would trigger an urban fantasy series. In the end, it was a blessing in disguise. I’m sincerely thankful to /r/writingprompts for enabling this work of fiction.

  www.reddit.com/r/writingprompts

  Get an account and subscribe. It’s a wonderful community that produces entertaining fiction all day, every day.

  For my wife and daughter

  ACT 1

  The Necromancer’s Apprentice

  Do not participate in the unfruitful deeds of darkness, but instead even expose them

  Ephesians 5:11

  Beyond…

  Ester Grey lay suspended face down on the invisible wires beneath her shoulders and waist. Her arms dangled into the endless swirling black smoke. The boiling underworld glowed a faint red, backlit by unseen fires and fueled by the souls of sinners. Waves of warm and cold air rolled over her naked body. Her dry and folded skin and sagging breasts hung through the mesh as if her body were slowly melting through the supports. Beyond her vision the world spanned endlessly in a smoky expanse that disappeared into a featureless horizon.

  She had screamed her voice hoarse. Slowly breathing in the black smoke that had no smell or flavor, her lungs tightened as if chemicals were softly burning her insides. The smoke was never ending. It boiled, rising and falling before her as if she dangled above a lake of fire. The swirling was all she saw. The initial terror of her predicament gave way to an inescapable monotony, a boredom that grew more intense with every moment.

  Time was lost to her. For all she knew, she had been marooned on this floating island for hours or months or years. This world never shifted between day and night. It was an endless wakeful state. She was tired and her eyes were crusted over. She felt as if she was ready to drift off to sleep at any moment, but relief never came. She needed a drink. She needed one bad. In her previous life she always ended the evening with at least a small glass of wine.

  She scanned the horizon and shifted her weight, bouncing lightly on the wires. It was smoke as far as she could see, just smoke. Above the burning plane was a starless black sky. The dull black dome curved overhead and blended with the distant horizon.

  Ester felt the first tug against her back, and then the pain as if someone had dug hooks into her loose flesh. She desperately coiled her body and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her old and sagging skin lifting like tents up toward the dome above. Something pulled against her, removing decades of slack that had accumulated. Her skin reached the limit and her body jerked as she lifted off the wires, which had etched permanent lines in her chest and legs. She shifted and turned her head to the sky behind her. There was a small slit in the black dome as if someone had drawn a scalpel over it. This world had been pierced, and for the first time she saw a visible imperfection. Flames licked the edges of the opening.

  Her body slowly lifted toward the imperfection. She could feel the rising heat as the flames popped and crackled above her.

  “Help!” she cried out. “Help! Please help me!” Her voice echoed over the smoking expanse and disappeared over the edge into nothingness.

  The swirling smoke directly below her parted, revealing the horrors beneath. She could see an open lake of fire surrounding a small island. A featureless black mountain pushed up from the center of the island to the edge of the smoke. The curtain had been pulled back and the inferno below sent a wave of heat that struck her in the face. Her mouth hung open as she fought for air.

  Ester saw a figure staring at her from the mountainside. Its face was like a lion’s and draped with long brown hair that flowed in the hot breeze. Beneath its long-necked body were six legs with cloven hooves. As Ester closed in on the opening in the dome, the creature broke toward the mountain peak. The six legs worked in a circular fashion, tearing at the ground at fantastic speed. Rocks tumbled down the mountainside as a plume of dust lifted in the creature’s wake.

  The creature reached the mountaintop. Two lanky arms unfurled from beneath the creature's mane. The three-fingered hands reached for a long spear dug into the rock side. As it pulled on the shaft, a chain of fire fell from the end. The fire ran along the ground and wrapped around the creature's hoof. The creature set the spear in his hand and reared back, throwing the black shaft towards Ester. She could see the sharp tip as it flexed and bobbed in the air. The long chain of fire chased behind, still tethered to the creature's leg.

  Ester shifted her head quickly and her body rolled. The spear grazed her leg leaving behind a bloodless open cut. The spear fell harmlessly back towards the mountaintop. She could hear the anger in the distant howls that came from the creature as her body reached the fiery opening. The heat danced on her back and she could feel her skin boiling as she was pulled through.

  Thirty Minutes Earlier...

  Foothills of the Cascades

  Northeast of Seattle

  1977

  Lazarus stood in the clearing with this hands resting on his hips, his heel slowly digging into the loose sandy earth. The smoke from the fire mixed with the r
otting smell of the surrounding pine forest. The old trees swayed gently in the evening breeze, their interwoven branches rustled and clapped in rhythm as insects and frogs added their melody to the evening song. His fingers thumbed a long line of beads that emanated from his pant pocket. The thumb and forefinger counted through the beads in a rhythmic pattern. His lips pulsed as he whispered in an unknown language. His eyes were transfixed on the smoke as it rolled and climbed up to the stars above.

  He had been called different names over the many years. He enjoyed the creativity in describing his profession. Those terrified would pull from old tropes, satanist, witch, and blasphemer. Others would marvel at his accomplishments and abilities. They would be more respectful, Prophet, Saint, or a God. In some respects, they were all true, but he always preferred his official title, necromancer. Lazarus enjoyed how it sounded as it rolled off the tongue. It required the face to wince softly when spoken as if causing the pain to speak it. But for him, the name carried a dense weight when spoken. It stopped conversations and controlled meetings.

  Behind his profession's curtain was a life beyond anything laypeople could imagine. He could touch and taste other worlds. Planes of existence relegated to an old dusty book and cheap stories told on Sunday morning. For a chosen few, he transformed myth into reality. He was a speaker for the dead, that bridge to the other side, resurrector, and if commanded, a warrior for the cross.

  Ahead of Lazarus, a thin young man dressed in a black shirt edged in red crouched in front of a pile of kindling. His hands fumbled with the small axe as he split the wood, guiding the metal down the grain and growing the pile with every strike. He tossed a piece into the fire and it grew red, illuminating his face and thin beard.

  “Nathaniel,” Lazarus called out, “we need to make sure the candles are placed opposite the fire, on the corners.” He pointed at the boundary encircling the fire pit.

  “Yes sir,” he answered.

  “With what we're doing tonight, I'll need to maintain a perimeter. The family should be here soon.”

  “I'll get right on it.”

  The fire sat in the middle of the clearing surrounded by sand. Along the edge of the fire pit, a large red ring was spray painted onto the ground. Six torch stands were placed inside the circle and a green triangle was painted outside the ring. Lazarus walked the edge of the circle observing Nathaniel working. The young man carefully placed new kindling into the fire and topped up the candle stands.

  Nathaniel had been his apprentice for nearly two years. It was a struggle at first; he was wholly unprepared for the challenges of the position. Lazarus had been patient. He taught Nathaniel biology and Latin. He helped guide him through his first resurrection, cast out his first spirit, and execute a flawless séance. They still had years of training ahead, but Nathaniel was proving an effective apprentice. Nathaniel placed the last of the candles onto the stands and lit the wicks.

  “Give me the fire incantation,” Lazarus asked.

  Nathaniel stepped out of the circle, lifted his arms, and slowly recited, “I conjure thee, O fire, by him who made thee and all other creatures for good in this world, that thou torment, burn, and consume this spirit. I shall burn thee in the immortal fire and bury thee in immortal oblivion; unless thou immediately come and appear visibly and affably, friendly and courteously here before this circle, in this triangle, in a form comely and fair. Thou shalt make rational answers unto my requests, and perform all my desires in all things, that I shall make unto thee.” He paused to catch his breath. He looked back at Lazarus and motioned with his hand, “Then I toss in the bleaching powder to make the fire blue.”

  “And your stance?”

  Nathaniel opened his legs, bending slightly at the hips, his left arm in front with palms up, and his right arm high above his head. “I present the palm and the powder is hidden in the right.”

  Lazarus walked over nodding. “Correct. But remember, and I can't stress this enough, we are showmen. This is an art. You need to accentuate and sell yourself. Fingers tight.” He pressed down on Nathaniel's hand. “Sharp lines. Always sharp lines. When you sag the arms and fingers, the guest will lose confidence. Always, always remember, we create memorable experiences. The delivery must be tight, the performance perfect.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nathaniel nodded sheepishly.

  In the distance, a cracking and popping sound moved through the pines. Nathaniel and Lazarus turned to the black wall of the forest edge. “I believe our guests might be arriving. Finish the preparations and I'll greet them.”

  The party carefully stepped over the downed blackberries as they emerged from the tree line. Their faces glowed orange from the fire. A priest led a man and two women behind him. They crossed the clearing and approached Lazarus.

  The priest put out his hand. “Good evening.”

  Lazarus reached out and took up the gaunt man's hand and smiled. “Father Luke, how are you?”

  “I'm a man of the cloth and I don't get out hiking much. This little trek was a test of my will,” he chuckled.

  Lazarus smiled. “I understand. It's important we ensure a peaceful process.”

  The priest nodded, looking down to the ground and rubbing his temple gently. “No, I understand, I understand.”

  “Have you met my apprentice, Nathaniel?”

  “No, I haven't.” Nathaniel came around the circle and reached out a hand to Father Luke. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  Nathaniel's soft voice responded, “Likewise, sir.”

  The priest turned to the nervous group behind him and motioned with his arm. “Why don't you guys come up here and introduce yourselves? Alright…alright. Lazarus, my old friend, this…this here is the Grey family. They are the surviving family members of Ester.”

  The tall man with broad shoulders approached Lazarus. “My name is Jonathan and these are my two sisters, Casey and Baye.” Lazarus greeted each of them. “You will have to understand this is all very strange to us.”

  “That is completely understandable. People experiencing their first communication will often be nervous. It's normal to be a little apprehensive. I want you to know that we're professionals and we'll make sure your experience is smooth. Even Father Luke has attended a number of séances over the years.”

  “Father Luke explained some of this to us earlier. I just have to ask, will we actually be allowed to speak to her?”

  “The short answer is maybe. But let's give you a little tour and maybe I will be able to get a better answer in a few minutes when she arrives.”

  The group slowly walked down to the center of the clearing. “This is where we will be working tonight. The setup is simple but effective. In the center here is the Seal of Solomon. Notice the triangle at the top and the candles forming the points of the star.” The family members nodded. “This is the portal we hope to pull your mother through. The configuration can be crude or extravagant. I once saw a seal in a small church in France adorned with marble and polished brass. It was quite beautiful. Since we are outside tonight, we will have to make do with a simple setup. While it is simple, it is no less effective in what we are trying to accomplish.”

  Nathaniel rounded the site and approached carrying an armful of red fabric. Lazarus clapped his hands and smiled as he pulled a red scarf and placed it around his neck. “As this is a ritual, the design is key. We see that with the seal here, but we will also need to be wearing the colors. Red is key and represents the resurrection and allows us to open the window to the other side. We have enough for everyone tonight so please pass them around. Just place them over your neck to hang down across your chest. The colors provide protection, but also welcome you and your soul into the ritual.”

  Jonathan's hand rubbed the back of his neck as his voice hesitated. “Lazarus, this is very interesting, but it does feel a little off. I've been to Sunday school when I was a child and this seems like something those nuns would object to. Are you talking about a resurrection? Whose resurrection?”

&n
bsp; “Well, Christ of course. The red represents the blood of Jesus. We need to pull your mother's spirit across. The portal requires red. Just think about the Eucharist, the body and blood of Christ. It is all symbolic but has real meaning.”

  “This is just different. Not at all what I expected.”

  “Jonathan, I can assure you we are on the good side. In my field, we run into this all the time. People often confuse things like Satanism and popular culture with reality. I am part of an old tradition. A very long line of Necromancy.”

  “I believe you, but this is all new to us.” The two sisters nodded in agreement.

  Lazarus turned and addressed the three, “This is a moment of deep faith for me, you and all of us here at the ceremony. We'll see and maybe touch someone who has been lost to the other side. That is not a moment you or I should take lightly. You are privileged to be part of this. You will be shown something that only a few get to see, proof of an afterlife. Many would interpret that as a miracle. My hope is that you will be able to speak with your mother. It's one of the pleasures of my job, seeing the light in the eyes.” The three nodded. “Why don't you three take a moment and get your minds in the right place. You can pray and think about your mother and what you may want to say to her. I will step aside for a moment to speak with Father Luke.”

  “Thank you, Lazarus.” Jonathan turned to his sisters and quietly spoke to them.

  Lazarus escorted Father Luke to where Nathaniel was completing the final preparations. “They are a tough crowd. I thought you prepped them.”