A Year Less Three Days, page 3
He had done it for love. But what he had done had been so very wrong.
It had been ten years ago when he first saw Sterling. Back then, Necromis had been called Kinwill, and he had been the only son of a man who owned the livery stable in the small town where he lived. He had been tending to the feet of a fat grumpy mare when he first saw Sterling. He was pretty, with silvery hair and grey eyes, as full of mischief as a kitten and the apple of his master’s eye. That had been when Kinwill had learned what a slave was. He had never known that it was possible for human beings to own other human beings. But it did not seem such a bad thing; Sterling was clearly adored and well cared for.
Kinwill often saw him in the town where he grew up, and he and Sterling became very close. His master would let Sterling come to visit, and Kinwill learned something else that summer. He learned to fall in love. One day, he went to Sterling’s master and asked his cost. The man gave him a price, and Kinwill set out trying to raise it. But not all of Kinwill’s methods of raising the gold were honest, and he was caught stealing from a man in a tavern. He was sent to prison, and when he emerged three years later, Sterling had a new master—one who did not let him out to play with the filthy son of a stable owner and a criminal to boot. This new master would not sell, and the few times Kinwill saw Sterling, it was clear the life was being slowly sucked out of him. He was faded and grey and sickly, and it was obvious he would not live much longer.
Kinwill could stand it no more. He went to the dark temple deep in the woods outside the village and sacrificed meat, wine, and all the gold he had earned at the temple of Bonecracker for power and wealth.
“This is not enough,” said the demon. “What else will you give me?”
“My life. I give you my life!”
That seemed to satisfy it. He slew the son of a stable owner on the spot, then raised him from the dead.
“You have a new life now,” Bonecracker told him. “And a new name. From this day on, Kinwill is dead, and Necromis stands in his place. Go to the edge of the forest. A house awaits you that is yours. You have eight years to remain above ground and achieve your goals. Then your bones are mine.”
“And Sterling will be there?”
That was when Necromis realized that bargaining with demons had to be done carefully.
“You asked me for wealth and power. You did not ask me for your little slave boy. But perhaps you can still win him.”
Necromis felt anger rise up in him. “You knew I did this for Sterling!”
“But that is not what you asked for.”
Necromis had wanted to kill the monster, but there was little chance of achieving that goal. He found the house by the edge of the forest and the monstrous horrors that would serve him now. But he had no name and no station. All he had was wealth, and Sterling’s master refused to sell him to a man with no standing. Necromis did what he had to in order to earn favour and recognition, but by the time he achieved them, Sterling was dead. Necromis found himself locked in a nightmare world of undeath, where once a month he had to dine on the flesh of others to sustain himself. It would have been bearable had Sterling been by his side, but he was lost in a pit of other bodies, thrown away as if he had never meant anything to anyone.
As if he had not been worth the life of one stable owner’s son.
Necromis found a new goal in life: the utter destruction of the man who sold Sterling, and the man who killed him. Necromis slowly amassed power the way a tsunami amasses the waters of the sea and unleashed it with a wild vengeance, destroying each of them utterly, leaving not even their families. He took their lands, their holdings, and eventually their lives, storing them in dungeons so that he may sacrifice them at his leisure when he needed to feast. It had taken him three years to kill them all. For the following five years, he had hunted the unwary, catching them when he could, keeping them hidden, and finally killing them when need arose, all the while managing to cloak himself in an air of propriety and nobility. Not even Necromis’ own servants knew what he truly was—at least, not the human ones. And the monstrous ones were kept carefully locked away and out of sight.
Over time, however, Necromis lost his taste for murder. Those who had harmed his beloved were dead, as was his beloved himself. And in the sixth year of his undead existence, he went to Bonecracker to forge a new bargain. He met with the demon by his fire before his temple in the dark woods, bringing the latest offering of bloody bones. As Bonecracker snapped them to lick the marrow, Necromis spoke what was on his mind.
“I wish to change our bargain. I know I cannot leave it, but…”
The demon licked its lips and grinned at him. “Would you like to leave it?”
“I would like to leave it and keep all that I have, yes.”
“Then let us play a game! Or rather, a better game! You admit Sterling’s death was your fault.”
Necromis raised an eyebrow. “I admit at the time I was naïve as to the ways of monsters.”
“Monsters, he says! Hah! And where did these fine bones you bring me come from? I may be a demon, but I do not see you shudder when the hot blood falls upon your pretty white skin. You are just as much a monster as I. That is what will make my challenge so much fun. I will release you from our bargain, if you can make a slave fall in love with you.”
That sounded deceptively easy. “And that is all? Why do I find that hard to believe?”
Bonecracker grinned. “Because he cannot be just any slave. He must be angry and broken and tortured. He must be filled with hate and darkness, and you, my little white knight…” Bonecracker pointed a rotting finger at Necromis. “You, who are so full of bitterness and hate yourself, must reach into your blackened being and find the kindness needed to win him. And he cannot be a man who chooses the company of other men above a lady. That’s cheating.”
Necromis stared at the three-headed monstrosity as it gnawed the bleeding bones he had brought to it. “How is that cheating?”
“Makes it too easy.”
That was when Necromis knew he was in very deep trouble indeed. Sterling’s death had destroyed something within himself, and the subsequent murders required to sustain his undead existence had done nothing to make matters better. And to win a man not like himself? Necromis had a fleeting urge to tell the demon to simply take him to the underworld now, but it passed.
“All right. I’ll play your game. How long do I have?”
“Until the eighth year of your unlife. If you have not done it by then, well…”
“Very well. I will try.”
“Good! Have a bone!”
Necromis stared at the splintered femur Bonecracker offered him. “Later, perhaps.”
“Come come, have a bone. The marrow is still warm in this one.”
Bonecracker waggled the femur at him. Necromis shrugged, then accepted it along with the bargain. It was his only chance to escape his own world of darkness. But not without what he had earned. What he had given his own life for.
* * *
He washed away the worst of the blood, then descended a stone stairway from the balcony to the garden, stepping into a small, heated pool to wash himself while the rain fell and the lightning cracked. Then, once he was cleaned and his hair washed, he walked, nude, back up the stairs to the balcony and down the hall to his private chambers. He entered the room and paused, sniffing. No stink of urine this time. He cast a glance to Lias and found him sitting on his small bed, staring hate at his master. Necromis smiled faintly.
“If you were this beautiful, you would not bother with clothes either.”
Lias rolled his eyes. Well, at least that was an emotion other than blind hate. Necromis locked his bedroom door, then walked to a wardrobe to get himself a nightshirt. After he dressed in the simple garment of white cotton, he seated himself before a mirror to brush out his long white hair.
“Let us play a game, you and I. One that does not involve you spitting, biting, or pissing.”
Lias stared at him, his expression telling Necromis that he had little interest in any games. Necromis began braiding his long damp hair back. In the morning, it would be dry and wavy, forming an elegant mane. As he braided, he spoke to Lias.
“It’s called the ‘Let’s Make Friends’ game. Do you wish to play?”
An empty tin water pitcher flew by, narrowly missing Necromis’ head. Necromis paid it absolutely no mind as he preened.
“I am assuming that is a ‘no.’”
“Let me go!”
Necromis finished the single long braid in his white hair and bound it with a ribbon. “Lias, you bit my hand, pissed on my tapestry—on my heraldic crest, no less—and threatened to kill me. What sort of fool would I be to let you off that chain?”
Necromis heard Lias pick up a second metal object. Without looking, he pointed a finger at him.
“Lias, if you hurl that chamber pot, I swear to all that is dark within myself that I will skin you alive and bathe you in salt.”
The pot was set aside. Good. The fool did have some modicum of self-preservation after all. Necromis picked up a bottle of very costly scent and began dabbing it on himself.
“You’re awfully pretty for a man,” said Lias. Necromis could tell that Lias did not mean it as a compliment.
“I broke the lower jaw off a demon-drake in battle with my bare hands,” said Necromis. “If I marched to war in a full ball gown and glass slippers with bows in my hair, grown warriors would still shit in their armor at the sight of me. One does not become a knight of the Order of the White Bear without certain abilities. Therefore, I can be as pretty as I damn please. And you’re just jealous.”
“Of what?” Lias sounded genuinely surprised.
“That you’re not pretty.”
“I’m no woman!”
Necromis looked to the man on the small bed. His black hair was wild, and his eyes were almost liquid blue. He was strong from years of felling trees and hauling lumber, and even after all the beatings and torture and starvation, Necromis could tell this was a very attractive man. All he needed was some feeding and healing. He smiled faintly.
“No, you certainly are not. You are definitely a man.”
Lias stared at Necromis sourly. “You touch me, and I swear that, while you may violate my body, you will not be pretty by the end of it.”
“Lias, I have no intention of forcing myself on you. None. Not because I don’t think you are lovely, but because it is wrong. What joy is there in using an act that is supposed to be of love and bonding to inflict hurt, hate, and humiliation? I would not do that to you. The only way I would have you in my bed is willingly.”
“That will never happen.”
Necromis glanced to an ornate gold and porcelain clock, noting it was past midnight. Well, I have a year less four days now to persuade you otherwise.
“Are you hungry?” asked Necromis.
“I will never eat again.”
“I did not ask you if you intended to eat. I asked if you were hungry.”
“What does it matter if I have no intention of eating?”
Necromis picked up a pair of metal gauntlets and put them on as Lias watched. “Because you’re going to eat whether you like it or not.”
Necromis picked up a covered dish and lifted the lid, setting it aside. There was a very small pile of strange-looking, greyish-black moss; a type of lichen that grew on certain rotted logs deep within the darkest swamps. It was known for its powerful sedative effects. A tiny amount would sweeten Lias’ vicious disposition, at least long enough to get dinner into him. Holding a few small sprigs of the moss in his fingers, Necromis turned to Lias and smiled.
“Open wide.”
Lias raged against his chain, spitting, biting, swearing, thrashing. At one point, he almost managed to subdue Necromis with the chain, but the powerful knight freed himself. Using his own weight, he forced Lias to the floor and shoved the moss down his throat, his fingers well protected from Lias’ teeth by the gauntlets. All that was left for Necromis to do then was pull back and watch the moss take effect. Lias choked and coughed, staring at Necromis.
“I will kill you. This I swear on the grave of my wife Elyssa. I will see you dead by my hand.”
“Someday, perhaps,” said Necromis softly.
He watched as Lias snarled and raged, gradually weakening, becoming slower, soon hardly able to hold up his own head. Necromis removed his gantlets and walked over to Lias, moving him from the stone floor and onto his bed. Necromis seated himself on the bed as well, Lias’ head in his lap. He smiled, toying with the black hair.
“There now, this is much nicer.”
Lias blinked, blue eyes following the paths of invisible creatures. “You do mean to rape me.”
“No, I intend to do something far more cruel. I intend to comb this hair of yours.” Necromis reached up to pull the ornate ribbon of fabric attached to a bell, summoning a servant.
“What are these creatures I am seeing?” asked Lias. “Rabbits and birds…”
Necromis drew out a comb and began gently picking at the formidable knots in Lias’ hair. “Tell me about them.”
“I see rabbits,” said Lias in a near-whisper. “They are dancing in a field of wildflowers, and there is sunlight. I see trees, and birds, and clear water in a pond… what magic is this?”
“It is no magic,” said Necromis gently. “It is a natural effect of the herb. It soothes the heart and shows us things that please us. Any sight you wish to see, it will show it to you.”
Lias’ eyes watched unseen wonders. “I see my daughters dancing in the meadow with the rabbits. I see a great grey wolf, but he means no harm, he has come only to drink cream from a pail. Little Sunni is riding him like a pony. She is my youngest. Why are you pulling my hair?”
“I am attempting to comb it, but never has a knight been thus defeated before.”
“The ghost of my first wife will show up to tell you that you are wasting your time.”
Necromis smiled faintly. “You loved her.”
“She was my world, a true lady, well above me in station. Why she graced me with her love and gave me children, I do not know. I was unworthy of her.”
“Clearly, she did not think so,” said Necromis.
Lias struggled briefly, as if trying to escape, but ultimately collapsing once more. “Don’t speak of her, you bastard. You show me all this to weaken me, to force me to feel some friendship for you. I do not know why you wish for me to call you friend, but it will not happen. I will not give in to your freakish whims.”
Necromis felt a violent rage well up inside himself, and, in that instant, he nearly killed Lias. But something held him back. Some voice of reason, almost lost to him these days, told him that Lias was his final hope. He could not keep killing off his slaves out of anger, then wasting time seeking a suitable replacement. Lias was his last chance—he was angry, bitter, despondent, and favoured women. Necromis had to stand his ground against his demonic tendencies if he wished to end this curse.
“What is so freakish about wishing to have your friendship?” asked Necromis, still carefully picking at the black hair despite his urge to tear it out at the roots.
“No man buys another man and forces him to feel companionship for no reason.”
“You are right,” said Necromis. “I am lonely. A slave cannot betray you.”
“I do not believe you. I believe no one anymore. I have been dragged from my home and sold like meat time and time again. Men have forced themselves on me, chained me, flogged me, and one even put me in a walled yard from which I could not escape in order to better teach his son to use a bow on a moving target. I will hate you until I die.”
“Or I do,” said Necromis softly.
If Lias heard the remark, he gave no indication. Necromis continued to comb the wild and matted black hair until a servant arrived. Merrigale set down the tray of food she was carrying, then turned to face her master, hands on her rather broad hips.
“My lord, what are you doing?”
“Combing my slave’s hair and failing rather miserably at the task.”
“Some sweet-oil will ease out the tangles. Have you tried it?”
Necromis examined a particularly wicked knot. “Actually, I’m wondering if it would not be easier to simply shave the whole thing off.”
She rolled her eyes. “Have you any tasks for me?”
“No, thank you. I’m just going to comb out these knots and then try to feed him before the herbs wear off.”
“Master, may I speak?”
Necromis pulled something live and wiggling out of Lias’ hair and held it up, studying it. “I’ve certainly never been able to stop you in the past.”
She brought him the glass bottle of sweet-oil. “Master… I know you have never spoken to me of the slaves you have brought home, nor is it any of my affair, but… but time and again, I see you buy the worst of the worst and then try to win their friendship for reasons that are very much your own. But each time… I see you make the same mistakes.”
“Mistakes? Don’t be ridiculous, I am a knight of the Order of the White Bear. I’m perfect.” Necromis watched sourly as the stopper on the top of the bottle popped off and dumped the costly contents all over Lias’ head. “Save for when I am accidentally spilling too much oil all over my slave.”
Merrigale fetched him a towel. “I know not why it is important to you to win their friendship, but there can be no friendship without trust. How can he trust you when you drug him and then discuss shaving his head?”
“Well, if I do not, he bites!”
“Of course, he bites. He’s probably terrified!” The matronly woman sat down on the floor beside the low bed and helped to dab up the spilled oil. “You must show him he has nothing to fear. Show him what a good and kind knight I know you to be, what all your servants know you to be! That you would never hurt a soul without just cause or to defend your king.”
Or to buy myself another thirty days of life, thought Necromis. “Merrigale… I am really not certain I know how to do that. And that has been the whole problem. This is important to me. I cannot explain to you, why, or how much…”
