The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [30]
“That was good,” said the necromancer. “Very, very good. I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, but I think we both understand each other better now, don’t we?”
Awa nodded, slurping up the stew. Already the icicles of hurt embedded in her stomach and chest were melting, and her numb left foot began to itch. She had been rash, but he had been frightened, or else he would not have—
“To make sure we understand each other, I have taken certain measures,” the necromancer said, ladling another spoonful up to Awa’s mouth. She did not take it, looking anxiously at him. “With all the import you put on spirits this and spirits that, I thought it might behoove me to take a little of yours, just so you know that I can.”
Awa felt queasy but knew only the stew could take it away, and reluctantly took the offered spoon. After swallowing, she steeled herself and said, “You can’t. Not unless I give it to you, or I’m dead.”
“No?” The necromancer leaned in. “For one of my skill gobbling up spirits isn’t just easy, it’s profitable. I take their knowledge, I take their strength, I take everything. I could gnaw the spirit off your bones like a fox on a chicken leg, were I so inclined, and then you’d be nothing but a lot of meat on a little skeleton. Believe you me, Awa, that’s far worse than any sort of death you’ve heard of, having your spirit consumed. There’s no coming back from that.”
Awa flinched and whispered, “Do it, then.”
“So brave!” The necromancer stuck out his lower lip. “Or are you just sour, my little Awa? If I ate your soul who would I have to cook my supper, to darn my leggings? Who would I have to learn my many lessons? No no, you stay with me. A little bite to tide me over, though, to convince you I’m serious. Your name would be one thing, not that little evening moniker you’ve given me, Awa—”
She froze. He couldn’t know—
“You don’t know it yourself anymore, do you? Were you so young when you were taken that you never learned it, or did you make yourself forget, maybe to keep your captors from having more power over you? You always were the bright one, Awa, weren’t you? Nothing’s more powerful than a name, a birth-name, and with that you can do all manner of mischief—very clever to blot it out!”
One of her first owners had called her Awa, but she had not forgotten her true name for the reasons he said—she had forgotten because it was easier to pretend she was dead, the same as she had forgotten the faces of her parents, the name of her mother. She made herself forget as much as she could, to make the fragments that would never dissipate somewhat less heartrending. The slavers with axes, the last time she had screamed before encountering the mindless dead—
“Over here, Awa.” The necromancer was snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Don’t look so scared—it’s not your name I’m taking today, it’s something much smaller—I know what you refuse to give me, and so, on principle, I will take it. I will take everything from you if the mood strikes me, Awa.”
Awa could no longer focus on him, instead looking down at the cooling stew. He meant it, she knew he did, and the thought made her long for oblivion, for an end to everything. Was that what he was doing, making her so miserable that the only succor she might find would be through losing herself entirely? She would not fall for it, she decided, she would be strong.
“But to prove I’m a sport why don’t we play by your rules?” The necromancer offered her another spoonful, and she took it. The stew no longer tasted delicious, it tasted like mud and tears. “I know what you’re afraid of, little Awa, I knew the night you arrived what you wouldn’t give me. I let you keep it because you pleased me but I see now I’ve been too lenient, too soft, too much the friend and not enough the parent. So now you give me a little