“Ok, settle down class,” Old Master Rimwald said from his place behind the lectern. It always made us smile since he made it sound like the great auditorium was full of clamorous students, but there were only the five of us.
We were all wearing dark robes. Not the Black of The Order - we were not ordained yet - but we liked to pretend. All of us were relatively new at the academy, no more than a few months.
We had already covered some of the basics of Order magic like minor healing and minuscule slowing of time, but this was the first lesson on the real meat and bones (pardon the pun) of The Order. The lesson title was spelled out in glowing letters hovering behind Master Rimwald - Necromancy 101.
Michael Angelo Rooker, A.R.A., The Gatehouse of Battle Abbey, Sussex, 1792
“So, students, you are all here for different reasons but at the heart of it you all want to join The Order. Our main business is Necromancy - the study of life and death and the energy that goes with them. Unlike a lot of other wizards we learn to heal, but more than that, we learn to work with one of the greatest untapped resources of the world: the dead.”
He coughed and took a sip of water from a glass handed to him by an invisible servant. There was a soft creak as the door opened and Jerry, the only girl in our class, rushed in. Her face was red with embarrassment at being late. Master Rimwald snapped his fingers and we could all see the red note suddenly added to Jerry’s pile of books. She would answer for her tardiness after the class.
“As you know, almost everything in nature is born or created, matures, lives, and then dies. The dead of the world, if taken as a group, far outweigh the living and, for the most part, they are all left to rot in the ground. The Order has mastered the arcane art of raising the dead, not back to life, but to a sort of unlife, or undeath if you will, where we command them to give service.
“The rituals are complex and taxing but before we touch on that we need to cover some of the philosophy behind Necromancy. As you know, most of the people hereabouts don’t particularly care for The Order. We are here on sufferance from His Majesty since our forces were the deciding factor in the last war, but we are still viewed with great distaste if not outright hostility by most of the common people.
I could see some nervous glances passing between my classmates. Maybe some of them had friends who felt that way. I knew that I belonged here. I wanted to help people.
“Why do people fear Necromancy? Well, the common conception is that we are desecrating the dead. That we bind their soul to their earthly remains and so rob them of their afterlife. And, since we use some of the energy from the negative planes, they say we are creating an evil blight upon the world that, should it go unchecked, will destroy all life.
“I will attempt to answer these concerns one by one.”
He coughed again and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a white kerchief. I thought I saw a speck of blood on it before he put it back in his pocket. Master Rimwald was usually a picture of health - all the Masters were, no matter how old they appeared. I wondered briefly what could be wrong with him. Master Rimwald straightened his robe and continued.
“Are we desecrating the dead? Well, had we been going about digging graves and stealing the dearly departed, that could have been a valid concern. But we only use corpses of people who have agreed to leave their bodies to the Academy for pay. We also use various monsters and bandits killed while attacking the citizenry. Since we do not, as a rule, take a person’s remains without consent, as long as there is someone to ask consent of, I fail to see how we can be accused of desecration.
“We work with the clergy to maintain the graveyard and we operate the Hospital, one of the most advanced on the continent, yet we still cannot escape the false image of the cackling maniac digging up graves by moonlight.
“There are many different rites to part with the dead and I do not feel that families agreeing to accept pay in return for us to use their loved one’s remains for the good of the country can truly be considered desecration.”
I found myself nodding to this as were my other classmates. All of us had family members bound in service to The Order in this way.
“Next, the claim that we bind a creature’s soul to his body in the rite. The clerics and us have long held that discussion. On very rare occasions a god sees fit to bring the dead back to life should it feel that the departed still had some work to do. When that happens the clerics are informed via dream or vision and they are encouraged to perform the ceremony.
“It is not easy, simple or cheap to perform the ceremony of calling back the departed soul and binding it to the remains granting it life again, but it can be done. The question is, can such a thing be done on one of our helpers - a zombie or a skeleton. If it can, then there is a soul that can be brought back. If it can’t, then the soul is not available, possibly bound to the remains and animating them.
“Since so far the occasion has not presented itself for us to try such a feat we do not have a definitive answer. In order to alleviate the fear of the people we have taken to waiting from a week to a month before performing our rites. Surely, the soul’s journey to the afterlife isn’t as long as that - one would think it should be almost instantaneous - but still it gives more peace to the families of our volunteers.
“There is also the question of the “missing energy”. We can command more helpers and do so more easily than a different wizard could control an animated golem of wood or stone. The common explanation for the relative ease of animating the dead is this ‘soul energy’. Our detractors say that it is easier for us to animate dead bodies since this so called ‘soul energy’ is reducing the amount of power a wizard has to invest. In essence, they accuse us of exploiting the soul to make our work a little easier.”
Master Rimwald smiled at us and I smiled back. We all knew that joining The Order was anything but easy.
“I have performed the rite many times and there is nothing in it calling upon a soul, neither specific nor general. We use magical energy to animate and move a shell of flesh and bone, bereft of its former occupant. My research suggests that it is the very nature of this formerly living being that lends itself to the spells so readily. It was once alive and so the body is ‘used’ to this condition and strives to reach that state again.
“We are using energy from the negative planes, but energy itself is not evil. Fire can heat and it can burn, a waterfall may crush you or move a mill wheel. Energy is devoid of moral leanings. It simply is. How we use that energy is what matters.”
“But what about the invasion, and the plague of ghouls?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Master Rimwald glared at me. Was he always so pale?
“Yes, It is true that there have been those, formerly of The Order, who used the secrets taught to them here for ill effect. But we are all people, some good and some bad, and I do not think it right to judge us all by the actions of a few deranged individuals. The Order used its helpers to help fight the invasion and we hunted down and took care of the progenitors. You must always remember we take care of our own - for good or ill.”
I didn’t know whether or not that was a threat. I chose to see it as a life pledge. The Order would be there for us should we graduate, no matter what. To the end of life and beyond.
“The final point is the most important - are we creating a blight upon the land that will end all life if left unchecked. See, the stories go - ”
He coughed again, longer this time. Was Master Rimwald sick? He had access to the great healing arts of all members of The Order so what could be wrong with him?
Master Rimwald banged a small golden gong, sending out a call for a helper and tried to go on with the lesson but his voice was noticeably raspier.
“Excuse me. The stories go, that some undead can be spontaneously created at the sites of great battles or plagues, where a lot of death happens in a very short time. These undead react to all living creatures in a violent manner, aiming to end all life near them.
“Are our helpers the same as these naturally occurring ‘spontaneous undead’? Is it not more reasonable to think that one of our misguided former brethren was at the site, conjuring these creatures for his, or her, own nefarious needs?
“Our helpers have never attacked an unwarranted target. In fact, having our legions in the forefront helped save the lives of countless living soldiers, soldiers who have returned home to families and life, not cut short in their prime by an enemy’s blade.
“We use our helpers to work the fields and dig canals and trenches. We use them in every manner of public works for the betterment of…”
He actually doubled over this time. There was definitely something wrong. He was clutching his left arm and grimacing in pain.
We all looked at each other, confused. Jerry, the girl who joined us last ran down to see if she could help Master Rimwald in some way.
She helped him to a chair but he seemed unable to catch his breath or speak. Tom ran out to call another Master. Just then, the helper Master Rimwald summoned arrived.
The zombie shuffled into the auditorioum. The first we’ve seen up close. Usually all the people were told to keep back when they were employed in building something so we never got a chance to be this close.
It looked partially rotten but not bloated. It was obviously long dead and not one of the more recent volunteers. It is quite possible that it has been serving Master Rimwald for years. It smelled like dry rot and formaldehyde with overtones of lavender and patchouli. It wore the robes of a servant, well pressed and clean, and it carried a small decanter and goblet on a silver tray.
Jerry was concentrating on Master Rimwald. She was startled when the zombie arrived behind her and tapped her shoulder to make room.
The zombie slowly poured some clear liquid from the decanter into the goblet and tried to hand it to Master Rimwald. The Master tried and failed to grasp the cup.
He gave another rattling breath and then, silence.
The zombie slowly stood straight, dropping the tray, decanter and goblet. The decanter shattered on the floor, drenching Jerry with its content. And then, it turned around.
“Dad!?” Jerry stammered backing away from the zombie. It no longer seemed docile or controlled. There was fire in its eyes and a foulness that no perfume could disguise. It had nothing to do with the smell, we all just… felt it.
“Dad, please, it’s me, Jerry.” The rest of us pulled our ceremonial daggers and rushed down to see if we could help. The zombie growled and moved forward. With two steps it reached Jerry and backhanded her so hard her body was thrown against the wall. There was a dry snap and she just lay there, unmoving.
The rest of us rushed the zombie together. It was just a slow moving automaton after all. Maybe it was confused or grieving for the death of its master. Maybe.
I rushed back to the auditorium with Master Dolan close on my heels. “Not so fast Tom. I’m not as young as I used to be. Coughing blood you say? Not good at all. I’m sure we could - By the Great Books Of Nostrum!”
There was a large hole in the auditorium’s great wooden door. Inside was a vision of carnage. Master Rimwald was dead at the head of the class and the rest of my classmates were scattered on the floor. In pieces. Bloody pieces. Of varying sizes.
I immediately turned around and lost my breakfast.
Master Dolan just clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Such a waste. We’ll have to get that rogue servent and do it quickly before it creates any more negative press for the Academy. You!”
And he turned to me and quickly cast a spell. “You are not to speak of what happened here to anyone without my expressed permission, ever! Do you understand?”
“Y-y-yes Master,” I stammered.
“Now, Stand aside and watch. You may actually learn something”
Master Dolan started casting, murmuring and gesturing. The words were too low for me to hear but I tried to take note and remember all the hand gestures. The auditorium got colder and the shadows seemed harsher.
After about a minute, though it seemed far longer, the ceremony was complete and I watched amazed as the body of Master Rimwald started to stir. Slowly it rose to its feet.
“Go after that errant servant of yours. Bring it back by any means needed. If you cannot bring it in one piece then destroy it. It is very important not to hurt any living creature if it can at all be helped. Do you understand?”
The newly risen zombie just moaned and nodded. It shuffled off.
Inside its mind, what was left of Rimwald howled in anger and pain. Every second was torment. Not just physical but emotional too. He was surrounded by the living world he was no longer a part of, all that he left behind. He could no longer smell flowers or delicately caress a lover. The world was denied to him, experienced through a thick fog on all his senses. Whatever did come through was painful and scraping, jarring as glass under the fingernails and spikes in his head. All he knew now was hate and envy. In some detached part of his mind he could not believe he was so wrong.
He could only hope he would never be in a position to re-educate his students. He doubted very much they would survive the experience.
But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, everything dies.
Everything must die.