Sun slowly fell behind the horizon, sending the last rays of its light through the frosty window in the castle’s side. Weakening and bending after the initial intrusion, it barely managed to light the room inside.
It was simple and small, with the same boring cold walls of stone and few furnishings. A double-sized bed took over most of the already limited space, its white canopy shifting against the draft of an unknown source. Ahead of it, a robed man leaned in a chair, rocking back and forth ever so slightly, as he read a thick leather book. A tiny candle waited on a small round table to be lit, likely forgotten by the guest who kept humming a terrific tune.
----------------------------------------
Savage demons have arisen
To herd and hunt the silver crow.
As you faint and hear the grimy yowl, -
That is death… its frigid scent.
The lustrous wings get clipped by rigor,
Heart of passing locked by storm.
Nature hurried for revenge and penance,
To whomever riddle went.
As the aim escaped in hurry,
One should know to never worry.
Here it comes, the Grim of Reapers,
Just to end the wish of dreamers.
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Without a moon to disperse its shadows, the world slowly plunged into eternal darkness. Flipping page after page, he giggled at the words he hummed over and over again, before finishing the book and switching it for another.
The immortal mind was truly the blessing of undeath, allowing him the perfect memory a mortal could only wish for. Unfortunately, it only worked on the memories he gained since… death, leaving his previous self as a vague reminiscence. Still, the stone walls, long hallways, gold and silver, pushed onto him this weird sense of déjà vu, something he already experienced, perhaps. It bugged him more than it should’ve, even his reading was affected. Every ‘diligence’ or ‘practice’, even ‘knowledge’ stirred inside his non-existent chest.
“How foul…”
In the castle’s library he found many new books. Some were about biology, basic calculus and arithmetic, or economy, but most covered the history. The undead did not care about any of it, he only wanted practical things, but still chose to skim through just to know the basic history of the human world.
Reading through the thick books only proved what Magus already knew. Humanity was weak and only managed to survive due to its sheer luck. There were multiple events where it was almost wiped out, the most famous of all being the Battle of Many Names, closely followed by The Great Catastrophe for which they fully blamed demons.
What piqued his interest the most was the battle though, as even undead took part in it, with orcs, goblins and other monsters he never heard about as allies. He could not even begin to comprehend why the undead allied with the living. Maybe it was a tactic of some sort?
Whatever it was, they lost and in the end humanity won. The Goblin King Gob, the Orc Warlord Turbag and the Lord of Giants Vemir were slain on the battlefield, the lesser leaders being forgotten even by the records. Apparently some human called Hero slayed them and after six months even landed the finishing blow on the last leader of the alliance, the undead king, Lord of Undeath. The ancient city Nekros was burned, the undead armies turned to dust, and the immense treasures and artifacts robbed to be fitted on crowns or forever locked away in the human treasuries.
All of it happened in but a year 700AE, shaping human history, and, as the book said, it was ‘the busiest year of humanity’.
Magus could not help but chuckle at the joke. Hiding records was not easy work after all. He was confident that they only managed to win by sending waves after waves of men to their deaths at such a rate the undead could not even begin raising them, while the Hero was just someone made up to give hope. Humanity could not give their trust to an army after all, but a single figure was different. The proof of this lied everywhere in form of religion. It was so spread out that even small households possessed some kind of makeshift shrines…
It was disappointing that his predecessor failed, but the insight it gave was immeasurable. Again, humans doomed themselves with their collection of knowledge. If he wanted to erase them… he’d have to balance the scales. That’s the message he got. The Lord of Undeath had a hundred-thousand-army after all. Getting such numbers undoubtedly took him hundreds and hundreds of years and he still lost.
As the undead immersed in the world of words and careful consideration the dusty door suddenly burst open.
The book fell as the bony hand scrambled for the silver mask.
“You should be more careful,” spoke a black haired beauty, closing the door behind her. “This is unlike you.”
Indeed, the undead creature kept making mistakes since coming to the city. Even if he noticed the detection dulling from all the humans he was unable to do anything about it. On top of that, the living kept pestering him and his predictions were always slightly off. He couldn’t help but think that the strategy of taking over a Dukedom was flawed from the very beginning and that going for a smaller noble would’ve been safer, easier and faster.
“It’s fine. You only passed because you’re allowed,” he said and lit a candle, ordering the two undead guards to refuse anyone inside. What a blunder. “How did it go?”
She squinted and grimaced at the weak light, but the simple question brought an even more frightening look, making the undead feel unusual disappointment as her pristine beauty slowly drained from her face.
“Bad.” She jumped on the bed, rolling around on it like a child. It was old and hard, but that didn’t bother her one bit compared to the exhausting travel she had to go through up until now. “That old fart has the Holy Mark, I think.”
A loud sigh came from her tender lips as she added. “My aura didn’t work on him.”
The undead already guessed that her ‘aura’ was a type of pheromone only the succubi emitted to attract the males of a race, but let her continue nonetheless.
“With the limit off it should’ve kicked in as soon as we entered that room, but even after he brought me to his study and we were left alone it didn’t work. So annoying.” She roughened her hair in anger. “He kept asking about that woman.”
“At least we aren’t being suspected.” He picked up the book and dusted off the page. The word Hero stuck out like a sore thumb. “Though staying like this is dangerous. Make sure to succeed next time.”
“Yes, yes.” She stared at the ceiling, thinking god knows what.
“Now that we’re at it, you might as well explain how your magic works.”
The undead understood the benefit of magic and wanted to learn as much as he could. None of the books in the library had anything on it, sadly, and the memory of that child having a grimoire kept bugging its undead soul every time he thought of it.
“There’s nothing special about it. I just stimulate the brain, forcing it to see things. For this to work I must be in direct contact with the person. If I am any further I can only make them see things, but can’t control what it shows.”
“Pretty simple, but weak... How did you tame that human then?”
“Well, the human mind is weak.” She shrugged as if it was obvious. “After repeated use it weakens and just gives in.”
If she wanted she could probably turn a person into a vegetable by overwhelming their brain, but there was no point of doing that unless she wanted to get rid of them without spilling blood, also it would take several days, if not more, to do.
“I know that much. What about your...?” He pointed at his head.
“My horns? I hide them under illusions, though they’re very much there. Here, let me show you.” She took a book out of the pile on the floor and placed it on her head. Although it seemed that it would fall the book leaned on the side at a weird angle, as if ignoring gravity or hovering. “I can’t really explain how it works with words, but I just bend light around it and this is the result…”
He didn’t quite understand and wished to ask more, but then felt a group of humans deviate from the usual route and head straight for his room.
“Hide.” He put the mask on. “Under the bed, quickly. Humans are coming.”
***
Lucy lied inside her bed unable to sleep. The great canopy of her wide bed slithered like a snake above her head, the patterns of tapestries putting her mind to contemplation and denying her any sleep. Snakes, fiends, demons and monsters were woven into the fabric, as if to purposely make her never forget the true reality of the world.
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She turned and twisted, wrapping herself in the thick sheets, but still felt sharp as if it were the day. Today, during the private lesson, she could not focus on whatever her tutor, some noblewoman from the east, said. She even dosed off quite a few times during the excited solo-debate about the prospects of her future, which probably had a hand in this development.
Figuring that there was no point to lying about, she sat up, feeling the chill of winter’s night, and left her bed. Freezing coldness met her bare feet as she scrambled to find her shoes in the darkness. After failing to do so, she wrapped herself in a sheet and went to the fireplace. It’s red embers barely held onto their light, but after a few tries she brought them back to life.
This freezing fortress was her home, which strangely reminded of her father. A cold and ruthless man, and no better a father. He did not care and, especially after her mother died, began to neglect her, behaving as if she was only part of his court and not blood. Only in matters of education did he meddle, but even that was out of self-concern. He was eager to ship her off somewhere in a few years when she’s of a marriageable age. Why was his ambition so strong in that old body? She only hoped to not become like him.
Staring at the crumbling firewood she tried to imagine herself in a happy family, but realized she couldn’t. How would that even look?
It’d have to be a place where no hag would look after every inch of her body and dare to forbid her from dressing herself or combing her hair. The family wouldn’t tell her what to do and how to act, and she would be the one deciding her own future… How come a simple farmer ticked all these boxes but not a noble?
Politics, history, geography, etiquette and everything else was so… small. Too far from reality and the world she lived in. This freezing cage and it’s garden – was her world, not some Caratian prince and his ‘innumerable assets’, not the people she should care for and definitely not the power of an aristocrat.
No. What she wanted was to know herself better. Why was she gifted with this power, both healing and magical? Many went as far as calling her a saint, why was that? Who decided it for her? Would a saint be locked inside a stone castle, away from the people she was ‘born’ to serve?
None would answer even if she asked. After all, mice cannot see an eagle’s view. But… there was someone that could. That man. He must know.
She met him in the garden for just a brief moment, but in that small of time she knew and felt that he has seen from the heights of gifted. The proof was the power seeping through his very being, it was like something she has never seen before. Even her body, already gifted with powers, did not radiate such strength.
Nodding to no one, she dropped the sheet on the floor, took the silver book and left her room, silently walking past the guard who was always quick to doze off. It’s not the first time she sneaked out at night, though it was always the garden she went to, not a guest.
She knew where the mage resided as the maidservant couldn’t stop blabbering about him and the room he was given. It was in the servant wing of the castle, quite unfair considering he was a guest, but as usual the politics got the best of man, ridding him of manners. Though, in a way, it was for the best, as less guards patrolled that part of the castle…
…or so she thought.
Walking through the dark corridors proved that it was not the case. There were even more guards than usual. Had they been brought from outside? Recently a large troop of soldiers was sent out, so surely her father didn’t have this many to spare?
Whatever it was, she quickly reached the intersection leading towards the servant wing. A guard stood there with a lantern, visibly tired and anxious. It didn’t take long before he left for some business and she took the chance to slip past. Dependent on her poor night vision, she stuck to the wall on her left, passing one, two, three… four doors.
That’s when she almost stumbled into the sight of the two great knights standing still in front of a wooden door. They were unmoving, as still as statues, and did not speak with one another. Their, presumably steel, plate armor was dented, dirty, and even in places beginning to rust. Very few gaps were on their visors, forbidding the keenest eyes, while one of the weapons gave off intense power.
It was a magic item. She has heard of magic swordsmen in the past who used powerful artifacts and items as weapons, but knights were unusual. No lord would give such an item to a servant. Of course, just having plate armor didn’t mean one was a knight, but theirs had coat-of-arms, albeit deteriorated beyond recognition.
As she fixed her nightgown - she knew it was quite unbefitting of her, but didn’t know how to dress herself - the door creaked open and the masked man peered out of it. A candle glittered in his hand as he looked around for a moment, soon making eye contact with her through the darkness of night.
“So it was you,” he said after the initial awkward stare. “What do you want?”
“I-I’m here – how can he see me? – for… this.” She lifted the grimoire.
The masked man stared for a moment, before inviting her inside. Looking at the dark room and taking into account the peculiar look of the mage, she considered going back to her room and forgetting ever trying this, but the curiosity got the best of her.
“I apologize for bothering you,” she said and walked inside. The room was small, most of its space claimed by the massive bed, which was too impressive, not something a servant room should ever have. Did her father order it to be brought here? “Were you about to sleep?”
Magus closed the door and checked the pocket watch on his wrist. In the dead silence even she could hear it ticking away.
“Yes.”
“I see… Sorry.”
The interaction with him always felt awkward, but she quickly forgot about it and began exploring the place. She circled around the room, trying to discern the character of the man. Everything was simple, without change. No bags, a pile of books, a messy bed… Not much to work with.
“Sit here,” said Magus, pulling back a chair with the usual screech. Such a way of catching her attention was interesting, not rude and natural. It’d seem that even with all the awkwardness, he was canny when it came to socializing. “And pass that book over.”
… or not. Lucy didn’t like the tone. It was monotonic and the voice was a dry mess, but the bossy approach was the most annoying. No one will order her around, he has no right to… though she is a guest, kind of, in a weird, twisted way.
With a grouch, she sat in the chair, but didn’t give the silver book.
“You,” she pointed at the opposite chair. If he wants to play like this, let it be. “Sit. I’m here for guidance.”
He sat down obediently, surprising her. It was the first time in her life someone actually listened without a word of resistance. Even servants grumbled silently when she bossed them around.
“Right, then…” She opened the book and turned it towards him. “How do I do this?”
It was a section on the very basics of magic control, that’s where all spells began, apparently. But how does one begin to control magic? Sure, she could feel it surging within her body, but that was only natural, just like the heart beating in her chest. It’s not something she could control at will.
The mage leaned forwards and looked at the page. He finished reading it so quickly it looked as if he only took a glance, or perhaps he knew the contents already, and reached for her shoulder. Lucy did not resist, although it did feel awkward and scary.
As soon as the cold glove touched upon her skin, an intense burn began to swell up, soon spreading throughout her body. It was… impossible to put into words. It felt as if blood pumping through her veins, but more intricate and denser… magic. Like particles or dust, it moved, spilling out of her palm in a misty cloud. The temperatures dropped as the feeling of wonder overtook her.
She can control it!
***
The undead stared at the little girl in wonder as she grinned and giggled, playing with the icy figures she created. Her control was mind-blowing. What took him days to master she reached in but moments. Such talent was frightening, considering she’s a human, or was it the effect of the ‘gift’? Though it seems the talent was not omnipotent, as her efficiency lacked greatly. The power, mana as it was called, that he set in motion for her, surged like a wild storm, burning away at a formidable rate.
She didn’t generate and didn’t use the already-existing mana from the air. What will happen once her vessel depletes? Magus was eager to see.
The girl was too immersed in her childish tantrum and didn’t notice him taking the book, or maybe she allowed it as a way of compensating. He quickly skimmed the pages, strengthening old knowledge with new.
It seems that humans categorized magic into four branches: designated, inborn, ritual and wild.
The concepts were easy to comprehend. Designated was taught, inborn depended on the race, wild was anything the dumb humans could not explain, while ritual was… intriguing. A spell that required multiple casters? That sounded powerful. So powerful in fact, that the undead put it at the top of its mental-list of dangers to look out for.
Reading further, he found out that humans typically ranked spells in tiers, which basically represented the actions one needed to do for the spell to work, and that they needed to chant. Them having to sing seemed ludicrous. Even that little girl already used magic without a single word…
Used…? He paused the reading in wonder as a crazy theory suddenly popped into his skull. Was chanting different from using?
As he lowered the book and was about to ask the child what chanting was, she suddenly began to spasm and fell from the chair. The previous figures of ice crumbled into dust as she heaved on the floor. Blood trickled as she coughed, and soon began the screaming of agony.
The undead didn’t waste a second and jumped closer to her, eager so see what reaction takes place after the living run out of mana.
He grabbed her neck, feeling around for the blood current. The pulse was non-existent, as if the vessels suddenly clogged. Investigating the eyes, he saw that her pupils constantly expanded and contracted, while the tears from her wails slowly crystalized upon exiting the gland. Like small stones they pattered onto the ground.
Sticking to her skin, he followed down to her shoulder and arm, soon reaching the hand. The tips of her fingers were cracked as nails slipped off with but a slight touch. It was unnatural, not something that would happen from low temperature. A purple color, almost that of a gem, glistened in between the cracks, under the skin. What was it? He wished to pry it open and investigate, but the blood in her throat gathered at the ever-increasing rate as she started choking on it. The liquid overflowed, spilling like a waterfall and staining her thin clothing.
Her dying would be disastrous and would ruin his plans. Cursing in his mind, he began to swirl the mana around him, taking it from the air and forcefully infusing her body with it.
After a slight pause, a minute according to his watch, her blood began pumping again as the cracks slowly closed and her tears continued unimpeded.
“How. . . peculiar,” he said, omitting the hoarse weeping from entering his head.
Blood still trickled down her lip and she had trouble breathing, but then… a weird, terrible and sickening feeling came over the undead. This evil power coated her body, healing internal injuries and regenerating the missing fingernails. It was heinous and…
“I-I,” she still heaved in panic. “. . . m, must go.”
She ran, forgetting the silver book, as blood dripped off the soaked nightgown, leaving a trail of red dots in her wake.
“Well, that was something,” spoke Iphis, finally free to leave the coldness of the under-bed. “You sure know how to cause trauma. Good job on not killing her,” she teased.
“Get out,” he picked up the book, ignoring her taunting. “I have. . . A lot to think about.”