Broken Pieces: A Tale of Romance and Necromancy

[10]

Standing in the graveyard, under the light of the full moon, Aris watched as Raizia worked.

They had found a spot in the graveyard where the grass was thin, revealing hard-packed dirt, baked from the summer rays. Raizia was meticulously dragging a long stick through the dirt, drawing patterns in the ground.

A containment circle, she had told Aris when she had started. To trap the dark spirit.

And what if it doesn't trap it? Aris had asked.

Raizia had stared at him for a long moment before finally saying, It has to.

A chilly wind whispered through the graveyard, making the hairs on Aris' arms stand on end. He looked at the nearest gravestone. Desran Yellan, it said. He had died over 10 years ago. And tonight, he'd rise again—or rather, some part of him would. His soul was long gone, Aris now knew.

Raizia finally dropped the stick and dusted off her hands, apparently pleased with her work. "Okay," she said, "let's run through the plan one more time before we get started."

Aris nodded. His throat felt tight. In the heat of battle, he was usually calm. But in the realm of the supernatural, he felt like a child afraid of the dark. "First we'll summon the dark spirit. Then we will trick it into the containment circle, to bind it there. And then we'll raise Mr. Yellan from the dead, opening a portal to another world, and cast the spirit back from where it came."

"Exactly," Raizia said. "Simple."

Aris knew Raizia was being upbeat for him; they both knew this wouldn't be simple.

"Should we get started?"

"One question," Aris asked, realizing something. "When we summon Mr. Yellen, he's... he breaks your rules of necromancy. Which is the point since we need to open that portal but... Doesn't that mean there will be consequences? Like... another finger?"

Raizia didn't say anything for a moment, but Aris had the distinct impression that she had already realized this and had accepted her fate. Finally she said, "It might not be a finger. Could be the tip of my nose, or an ear, or a toe."

"Raizia—"

"It's okay," she said firmly. "I know the risks. I've accepted them. Besides, we'll work quickly. The faster we send the spirit away, the faster we can stop the resurrection, and the more of me will remain."

She held out her hand, waiting for Aris to grab it so they could begin to cast their spell. Instead, he slid his hand behind her back, pulled her close, and tilted her head up so he could press his lips to hers. He lingered in their shared kiss before pulling away. And then—only then—did he take her hand.

"Okay," he said. "Let's do this."

Raizia squeezed his hand. "Focus," she whispered, and then she began to chant.

As she invoked the ancient tongue, Aris closed his eyes. He could feel her magick flood through him—intoxicating, heady, but now familiar, like a friend returning home. He twisted his right hand into the symbols Raizia had taught him, guiding her magick, calling on this darkness, drawing it to him.

The night had already been cool, but now the temperature dropped. The wind picked up, making a harsh sound as it beat at the trees. And then, suddenly, there was a stillness.

Aris opened his eyes, and what he saw nearly made his heart stop.

Standing about twenty feet away was a human-sized shadow. It was made of the deepest black that swallowed all light and sound. Even the moonlight twisted as it drew into the shadow, disappearing into its dark depths, vanishing helplessly into this black hole.