I flinched as Dad’s hand landed on my shoulder.
I blinked to see he’d snuffed out his magic, and he was eyeing me worriedly, his gaze flickering back and forth, keeping an eye on how close the risen dead were to us.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
He frowned. “You know I really hate it when your Pops claims that when it’s not true. Not you too. Especially not with this. I know how nervous this makes you, that it’s one of your major fears about Necromancy and—”
“No, Dad. Really, I’m actually good.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m nervous still. But I’m willing—and able—to do this. I know I need to. I know how dangerous it would be if something happened and I tried to do this on my own, how truly dangerous this spell is to others who aren’t us. Me having a solid handle on it will also hopefully assuage some of that fear out there toward me. Like the Temperance situation. No more clueless kid, possible accidental world-killer, right?”
“Win, that’s not how they—”
“Can they—are they in pain? The risen dead over there, I mean?”
I stared out at them dragging themselves across the beach, grunting and moaning. Loose flesh hung from their bones, their rotting and shattered frames. Their eyes were glazed over with what Dad calleddeath haze.Their clothing was frayed, dirtied, in pieces mostly, some just barely covered because it had decomposed in their graves over time.
Animated Fleshwork.
Everywhere they walked, a sweep of blackness flooded out—black magic poisoning the environment. I’d learned that it didn’thappen with Ambrose because his control was another level, and the way he wielded and held his power was of a more pure nature. A true rarity for any black magic user. And the opposite of what those corrupted sorcerers who’d raised these beings traded in.
There were forty of the risen moving across the beach.
Dad had said that it was a lot for a first-timer using Risen Reckoning to deal with, so he’d help out in a big way, leaving me just a few, enough for me to perform the spell at least.
If left unchecked, Animated Fleshwork would just continue on forever. Dad called them“vessels for carnage and heresy.”The longer they remained roaming, the more of a strain it was to the integrity of the Valley of the Dead. It was a violation to the balance, to the delicate fabric of life versus death that existed in the supernatural world.
Dad’s answer to my question broke through my thoughts.
“Win, we’ve gone over this. You’re well-versed in the intricacies involving this area of Necromancy. It’s just the spell we need to work on now.”
“I know, but… are you sure… they really can’t feel… they’re not—”
“They’re in distress, but they can’t feel pain the way you and I can, the way living beings can.”
“But I’m not a living being, am I?”
He went rigid at my words, pain etching his features. “Of course you are.”
“You know what I mean. I’m more like them than—”
“Absolutely not. You’re in no way whatsoever…this. You’re not Animated Fleshwork.”
“Animated Death,” I muttered. “Living Death.”
He flinched at my words. “That’s not—”
“In distress, you said?”
“Yes. This risen state is unnatural. They’re no longer at peace. The death raisers yanked them brutally out of that. They don’t have full cognitive function, but they’re deeply unsettled. Returning them to death state is a mercy. As much as the spell may make that seem otherwise, I promise you that’s the case.”
I nodded, then called my Wraith frost, making him jolt in surprise.
“What are you doing?”
I thrust both hands out, sending a wave of it toward the Animated Fleshwork.
