A Necromancer's Path

         During a harsh winter in the early 2^nd Era a boy was born to the widow Ameni in the small village of Deepwell. Being as pale and cold as he was, no one expected him to survive his first night. But as a late spring reached Deepwell and as it turned into summer the young boy Keemon seemed as healthy as any other of the children around him. But everyone knew something there was different about him, something that was wrong.

         As he grew up he never lost his pale skin or cold blood. He was a skinny boy with two tired ice-blue eyes and a thin face, framed by light grey hair.

         It took several years until something happened.

         That year, Keemon's sixth, spring came early to their small village. The forest was filled with flowers of many different kinds. On the hill south of the village the young Keemon had gone playing with another boy who was about the same age. But after a while the villagers heard the sound of a child crying and several of them ran towards the hill, only to find Keemon weeping next to the other child's lifeless body.

         “Keemon!” One of them knelt down next to Keemon, “what happened?”

         “He... he's... dead...” another one exclaimed as he checked the other boy.

But Keemon gave no answer, silenced by his tears.

         When Ameni reached the growing crowd she took Keemon in her arms in an attempt to comfort him. Both children were brought back to the village, and during the walk back he was able to tell through his sobbing what had happened.

         “We were playing in the forest and found a flock of birds. I stopped to watch them, but he picked up a rock.

         'Let's see who can hit one of them!'

         'Why? They haven't done anything to us.'

         'Keemon, they're just birds, no difference if we hit them with rock'

         'No! There is a difference! Drop the rock and let's leave.'

But he didn't listen and raised his arm to throw the rock, I got angry and pushed him so that he fell and dropped it. But...” his sobbing increased, “but he didn't get up after that.”

         During this time there was a travelling merchant, a skilled healer, residing in the inn and to him they brought the dead boy. The merchant examined him for hours but even his expertise could not find anything that would take the life from a healthy boy in an instance.

         “It is like life just left him.” Was the only thing he could say, being as confused as the rest of the villagers by the boy's sudden death.

         When no other answer was found, Keemon got the blame of the loss, the merchant tried to defend him but the villagers wanted something or someone to blame, and to them he was the only thing that could've caused this death. From that day Ameni and Keemon were looked down upon by the other villagers and never regained their status as equals in the village. They lived like outcasts in their own home. This was a heavy blow to a widow and Keemon silently took the blame of his mother's grief upon him and carried it in his heart from that day forward.

         One day five years later he was walking in the forest again, leaves being blood red as they were slowly giving way to the approaching winter. Being mad at the villagers for treating him and his mother like outcasts he often went here alone, to get away from it all. But for some reason this day was different, worse, in his heart an anger burned like never before, he wished for them all to disappear, he wished them all dead. Not paying much attention to his surroundings he tripped on a root and feel forward. As he rose again he noticed it, the grass had died and become dry under his hands. He stood up and stared at the two patches of dead grass, then at his hands. Not being able to understand what had happened he walked over to a large oak, hesitated a moment then put both his hand on it. As soon as  he touched the bark he could feel the tree drying out under his hands and see the life leaving the tree slowly. Leaves losing what colour they had left only to the crumple and fall. Slowly the whole tree died. He took a step back and looked upon the colourless tree. As leaves were falling he began to think of what he had done. He had drained the large oak of all its life. He couldn't understand how, but he wanted more, it felt like it was a good way of calming the anger which still stirred inside him. He began to walk, touching bushes, high grass, flowers and trees as he went. Only to watch them slowly fade and die. Soon he noticed that the power waned and he needed to touch them longer before they died completely. Soon even grass needed time to fully dry out. As the power left him he felt relieved but also disappointed.

         As he walked further and further away he could see the trees getting fewer and fewer around him, and soon he had reached the end of the forest. He had never been this far south before, nor this far from the village. He stood on a small hill looking out over the widespread plains through the last few trees below. The only thing that seem to cross the plains was the road leading west from Deepwell where most merchants and other travellers came from. To the west he could see Calm Water and the bridge over it. He could also hear the streams from the north-west, where one Calm Water's few rapid were.

         “Keemon? What are you doing this far from the village?” Ormir, a hunter from the village approached him, “finally going to leave are we?”

He was one of those that wanted Ameni out of the village, for good. But he was different. He wanted it with a hate stronger than Keemon's hate towards the village. He was the father of the boy that died.

         “You have no idea what it feels like to lose a son. After what you did, why are you and your cursed mother still living among us?” He calmed down for a while and said silently, “can't you do us all a favour and just leave for good?”

The hate began to stir once more, this time rising to become an uncontrollable anger. Keemon looked at his hands. He touched nearby flower, which died instantly as well as a patch of grass below it. He looked at his hands again, he did not want to hear another word from Ormir. Slowly he turned towards him and began to walk towards him

         “What now?” Ormir asked with scorn in his voice, “I could kill you right now and rid the village of one of its biggest problems.”

Keemon kept walking. Staring Ormir in the eyes. Ormir was getting a bit nervous by this unexpected behaviour.

         “Will you kill me too now?” He pulled his sword, “you can't do anything against me!” He laughed, “fine, do whatever you like. But after you're done it's my turn. Ameni will know what it feels like to lose a son!”

He held his hands to his sides. Keemon walked up to him and put his hand on Ormir's chest.

         “What do you think you're...” 
         “wha... is...”

         He became silent, in his eyes nothing but an empty stare. Then he fell down. Keemon looked at the lifeless man in front of him. He realised his power, the opportunities, everything it could do for him. He had never seen anything like this before, he had killed a man by just a touch from his hand. Then he remembered; he had seen something like this before, five years ago, the same scenario. Anger had made him push the other boy, killing him instantly. He had to sit down, take a moment to breath and to gather his thoughts.

         “I can kill anyone that ever makes me angry, anyone!” It both scared him and encouraged him.

         He walked down to the road and began heading back to the village. He was running, first slowly and the faster and faster to get home to his mother as fast as he could. On his way his caught up with a small group of travelers. One of them had a large deep blue hooded cape while the others were dressed differently, hoods that covered their faces so that only their eyes were visible. When Keemon was about to pass them the man with the large cape stopped him.

         “Excuse me young man, but is Deepwell far from here?” He asked and turned towards Keemon, revealing his face. He was quite an old man, with tired eyes and a short but thick black beard.

         “Yes, its just behind those trees.” Keemon answered pointing towards the next bend in the road.

“What would a young man like you be called?” The man asked.

         “Keemon.”

         “What a beautiful name. There's power in it, do you know the meaning behind it?”

         “Not really, I've never thought of it as more than a name”

         “It means 'the Cold Blooded', its an old eastern name, few speak that tongue any more.”

         Keemon was getting a bit uncomfortable.

         “I need to go tell my mother something important, if you would excuse me.” He began but was interrupted.

         “I think it's better if you don't. See, I am here to talk with you, Keemon.”

         “You can find me at my mother's house in the village, her name is Ameni.”

        

With these words Keemon left the travellers and began running towards the village again. The old man was going to say something, but stopped himself.

         “Master, is it wise to let him go?” One of the others asked the man.

         “Maybe it is best that he goes. Some have to learn the hard way.”

         The company continued their walk towards Deepwell in silence,

         “Mother!” Keemon shouted as he entered the house.

         “Yes my son, what is it?” She came from another room.

         “We can't stay in this village like this any more. Everyone hates us!”

         She sighed.

         “But Keemon, what would we do? Things here aren't that bad and after all it is our home.”

         “I know everyone hates us because of me, but I want to make things right again.”

         She was about to argue with him but found no words.

         “If we leave I can get rid of any one that hurts you, mother.” His voice was different now, calm and serious.

         “What do you mean?”

         She began to look a bit worried.

         “Ormir is dead, he was mean to me and I took his life the same way his son died.”

         Ameni took a step backwards.

         “Ormir... dead?”

         “Yes, he hated us and wanted us dead. And you have wished for him to stop bothering us.”

         “Yes I have, but... but not like this, he wasn't a bad man at heart.”

         “He is... was a bad man!” Keemon shouted, “don't defend him! He hated us and wanted us dead!”

         “But Keemon...”

         Ameni came to embrace him but he pushed her away.

         She fell silent to the floor.

         “Mother...”

He got no answer. She laid still, she was as pale as Ormir. Keemon slowly backed away from her. When his back reached the wall he slumped down leaning against it. Scared, unable to take his eyes of his now lifeless mother. There was a knock on the door.

         “Ameni! There is a stranger here to see you,” a man's voice was heard.

         Keemon couldn't answer.

         “She doesn't seem to be home. You can...”

         “No worries, I can wait for her inside.”

         “You seem to know Ameni?”

         “Well not personally, but I have met her son.”

         “Oh... Keemon...”

         “Yes, if I'm not mistaken that was his name.”

Keemon could hear one of them walking away. Soon afterwards the door opened. It was the old man from before. He looked at Keemon, thenand Ameni, sighed but didn't seem surprised, like he had expected it. He walked over to Keemon.

         “Keemon. Look at me.”

         Keemon slowly looked up and met his eyes.

         “You should come with me.” The old man calmly said.

         No answer from Keemon.

         “You're special, you have a power that is rarely seen in someone your age, you have potential.” He took a break and sat down on a nearby chair.

         “This power you posses can make a huge difference in the lives of a lot of people, even    outside Deepwell. Now it might seem like you wouldn't want this power, that it only brings you pain. It is because you can't control it yet, if you come with me I can teach you how to do this.”

         Keemon shook his head, once again his eyes moved towards his mother.

         “No...” He slowly said, “I don't want any of it...”

         The old man sighed.

         “If you don't come with me this will happen again. If you don't know how to use this power then more innocent lives will be lost. Come with me, and let me be your mentor.”

He stretched out his hand towards Keemon, who in silence observed it. A moment of hesitation, then he met it with his own. The old man helped him up, put his arm around him and led him out. Then hooded men were waiting outside. The man closed the door behind them and they all began their walk away from Deepwell. But as they left the last houses behind them a few villagers saw them and that Keemon was with them.

         “Where are you taking him? And where is Ameni?” One of them shouted at them as they were walking past.

         The old man ignored them, but the villagers walked up and blocked their way.

         “You're not going anywhere without answering!” More villagers approached them. Now the old man turned face the growing crowd.

         “It wouldn't be wise to try to stop us.” He said silently. He held out his hand towards them, palm upwards. “Turn around or you will all perish.”

         Some of the villagers took a step backwards, some unsheathed their swords and daggers. The old man whispered a word, Keemon couldn't hear it but there was something sinister about it that sent chills down his spine. But as he said it a green flame rose in his hand. By now everyone took out any weapon they had on them, axes, clubs, pitchforks and bows. They also had now surrounded the group.

         “Who are you?” One of the menshouted at him.

         “Knowing my name will not make you live any longer if you stand in my way.” He answered calmly.

         The villagers backed away a little.

         “Keemon, do these men mean anything to you?” The old man had turned to Keemon again. Still with the flame in his palm.

         With the death of his mother the last bond with the village withered with her. His mind was still blank. Seeing his mother die by his own hand made him unable to focus on the world around him.

He shook his head.

         The old man turned his hand and the flame fell from his hand. As soon as it touched the ground it grew to reach as high as their knees, and from it a circle of thin flame grew and expanded. Passing the feet of the group without burning anything. When it was about seven lengths across it stopped. The men from the village had moved away from it and now silence and a moment of stillness fell upon them.

         “What is this fire? Sorcery? It doesn't seem to burn the ground at all.” The villagers asked themselves.

One of them walked up to the circle, hesitated, then stepped over the thin line of flame and into the circle. Nothing happened.

         “So, this flame is just to scare us, old man?” He shouted proudly, “you need more than a cheap trick to stop us!”

         “Murog, slay these fools!” The old man said to one of the masked followers, “Keemon, watch this. All that you see is what you have inside, you have the power over life and death.”

         While he said that Murog had taken off his mask revealing a face that seemed to have fallen victim to lethal burn injuries. He unsheathed his sword, an old black blade, dull and covered with rust.

         “Rise my warriors! Claim your rights!” He shouted and the ground shook once, then silence.

         The villagers were getting nervous now. The ground inside the circle had a lot of small cracks in it. Then it suddenly began. An arm reached up from the ground beneath the 'brave' villager in the circle and grabbed his leg. He tried to scream but was too terrified to make a sound, too petrified to move. The arm was followed by a second one and then a head was revealed, a skull partially covered with rotting skin, with bare bone showing. Two empty eye sockets stared up at him while the living corpse rose as if it had awoken in his shallow grave. Soon it stood face to face with the villager. His face was pale and he only stood there, still unable to move from this new terrifying visitor. The corpse grabbed his arm, twisted it and took his sword to its own and stabbed it through its former owner. As he fell the ground inside the circle had become filled with other living dead. Keemon looked at the corpses standing around him and the others. They were in different stages of rotting, some still had clothes and flesh, some revealed bones as their rotten flesh had fallen off and some were skeletons with nothing but old pieces on fabric hanging from their skeletal limbs.

         “You called for us, Murog?” The one with the blood stained sword asked, looking down at the bleeding villager was lying at his feet writhing in pain.

         “Do not let them get away.” Was Murog's calm response.

         “Understood.” The corpse smiled a broken smile, then shouted; “slay them all!”

         At his command the other corpses unsheathed their weapons, if they had one, and stormed out of the circle. Some villagers dropped all they had and ran, others tried to fight but it was soon proved to be hopeless. Many fell victim to their fear of their undead foes and were slaughtered before they could turn and run. Those who ran were chased, some were cut down while other managed to reach the village.

         “That's enough for now, Murog.” The old man said. Murog nodded and sheathed his sword. All the undead came back to the circle. “Now rest. You have done well.” As the old man said this they turned into dust and were scattered in the wind.

         Once again all was still.

         “That is what we are. We are masters of life and death.” He said to Keemon, “you were born  with this power while other struggle to get it themselves. Now, will you let it ruin your life or  will you take control over it.”

         Keemon stood silent for a while.

         “How are we masters over life? I have only seen death around me!”

         “Hate and anger awakens the the power over death in you, this works the opposite way too.  But you only assault the living in anger, you never embrace the dead in joy.”

Keemon was about to answer but he stopped. He understood that the old man was correct in his statement. He had only killed out of anger. He knew there wasn't even once that he had been happy as a person had died. When Ormir was killed he felt joy inside, but not happiness, it was the sweet taste of revenge. Now it all was silent again. Murog's warriors were long gone and the only villagers who were still to be seen around them lie lifeless on the ground, as if drowned in their own blood.

         “Night will soon be here. Let us continue or journey before if gets dark.” The old man once again put his arm over Keemon's shoulder and led him ever further away from the village.

         “What is your name? Who is my mentor?” Keemon asked after a short moment of walking.

         The old man was a bit surprised by being called mentor this early but, “I am Arthom, Garfereas a'Har.” He answered with a smile, looking at his young disciple.

         “Thank you, Master Arthom.” Keemon said silently.

         As they walked the sky faded to a blood red sunset which soon gave way to the dark veil of night. The setting sun was only seen as a thin red line by the horizon and Deepwell disappeared in the darkness behind them. The living sounds of the day faded to be replaced with the whispers of the night, dominated by the rapids of Calm Water. The moon rose as they walked over the plains. The same plains Keemon had only seen from the hill by the village, the hill where he had committed his first murder and Ormir's now cold corpse rested in the dry leaves, robbed of its life.

-RcaH

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