The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [34]
“Yes indeed.” The necromancer glanced at the cauldron and Awa quickly fetched him his tea, the sweet anise smell reminding her of Omorose. “The heavens will spill fire down on our lowly world, or so the peasants will fear. Those bastard charlatans will be at their devices, of course, plotting their charts and making up their reasons. Claptrap!”
“Oh?”
“But pretty claptrap,” the necromancer said, and Awa thought he cast her a strange glance. “Fancy a little stargazing with your old master? I can point out the few alignments that matter to us.”
“Of course,” Awa said too quickly, wondering how much her face showed. “That would be, ah, yes please.”
The necromancer eyed her carefully. “Or maybe I’ll sketch them here, and have you look alone, and then tomorrow we can go together and see if you’ve done your work.”
“Yes!” Awa realized she had almost shouted, and blushed. “If that’s alright, I like trying first. The spirits are hard to read up there, so it’s a challenge. Fun.”
“Fun,” the necromancer repeated, and retrieved his book. Using the long quill taken from some strange bird with an eye hidden in the feathers, he began sketching several constellations on that first blank page. He used no ink but as the quill touched the book sparkling red stars appeared, and after Awa had nodded at each one he closed the tome. She knew that same page would be blank the next time he opened it, just as it always was.
Setting down his book he raised his palm into the air. The bear towering over him opened its mouth and the bandit chief’s skull rolled free and landed in her tutor’s hand. He placed it on the table and sent it spinning across the table to Awa, who caught it easily. “Suppose you can have that old layabout back.”
“Thank you,” said Awa, a little guilty for not feeling more excited about it. “Can I go now?”
“Aren’t you going to call him up?” asked the necromancer, blowing on his drink and taking a sip. “I’m rather curious to see if you’re able.”
“Oh?” Awa blinked. She had already raised dozens of skeletons at his behest, and grew ever more paranoid at his odd behavior. “His bones are where you left them, so why don’t I tomorrow?”
“Alright,” said the necromancer, “he’s your friend. Give him back to me, then.”
Walking around the table, she saw him eyeing her spirit and wondered as she always did what he saw there. For Awa the spirits were but scraps of shadow, big ones for the necromancer and the bandit chief, little ones for most of the bonemen, but who knew what he could read in a spirit. She would have to see how big Omorose’s spirit was; she had never really looked. Then Awa caught herself, horrified to be thinking of her mistress with his gaze upon her, and forced herself to wonder about fire from the sky, which made her think of lightning, which made her think of the night they arrived, which made her think of—
“Well?” He was looking up at her, and Awa realized he had already taken the skull from her hands.
“Oh.” Awa swallowed, half expecting him to seize her arm and ruin her life again. “I’m feeling odd, may I go?”
“Off with you.” The necromancer waved her away but she knew he watched her back as she left.
Awa knew she had to pull herself together if she wanted things to last, and, preoccupied with upbraiding herself, she stumbled over the bandit chief’s spine in the dark. That guilt rubbed at her again, but guilt is no match for hunger and Awa trotted across the glacier, her other friend forgotten as Omorose greeted her at the mouth of the hut. Awa had stopped putting Omorose down when she was absent, knowing that if she let Omorose return to her natural death the process of decomposition would resume at its usual pace, whereas in an undead state the corruption was greatly slowed. Omorose remained fair as ever to Awa, the least objective of beholders.
They sat against a rock with their feet jutting over the abyss, Awa’s pallet dragged out to cushion them as they watched the stars. The celestial fire the necromancer had mentioned was not lightning but falling