58

Zephi

Zephi wandered along the corridors of the upper tombs, feeling as cold and purposeful as a lost shade. The eternal night of the Necropolis stretched away on either side of her, yawning and empty. The dark didn't bother her, she could see well enough – a gift from her father, along with the small horns on her head and the red of her hair.

She contemplated visiting the cells where the humans were kept but then decided against it. Looking at the miserable slaves made the loneliness bite. Sighing, she walked on, her steps beating out a listless rhythm on the stone. After some time, the slow, sad music of her feet carried her to the lower levels, where the ancient kings and queens were buried. Some imps chittered at her from high shelf but she didn’t have the heart to hunt them, even though she was hungry.

Stopping in one of the larger burial chambers, she righted a fallen urn and rearranged some bones into a pretty pattern. This cheered her slightly. Looking around for something else to play with, she spotted two child-sized skeletons, lying next to the atrophied remains of their parents. Dragging them out of the crypt, she set the bones up against the wall. It took her a few minutes, and she was panting by the time she was finished. Leaning back, she admired her handiwork, then placed a bronze cup in each of their bony hands. She curtsied and asked how their night was going. They didn't answer. They almost never did.

A bone slipped, and one of the skeletons collapsed with a crash. The metal cup fell against the stone and the sound reverberated through the still chamber. Zephi turned and ran, her bare feet pattering over the hard floor. It was unwise to draw attention to oneself in the darkness of the tombs. One never knew who, or what was listening.

Her worry bore fruit in the shape of two Necromancers, a man and an old woman who appeared out of the shadows, blocking her exit. She skidded to a halt and backed away, searching in her pocket for her dagger. The Necromancer's mouths were smeared with silver powder, and their eyes had a feverish cast. Spirits trailed behind them, ink-black smudges in the air, spots of night that no light could penetrate.

“There, there, dear,” said the old woman, shuffling towards her. Zephi raised her blade, backing away. In the dark, she was aware that she looked fully human, and in the catacombs it was always dark. Her horns were small and malformed and usually lost in the flaming thicket of her hair. Her position in the Keep was a peculiar one. She knew the main catacombs like the back of her hand and made herself useful to the Necromancers running small errands. The Necromancers usually left her alone, but these two were clearly not rational.

Moonsilver and drool dribbled from the corner of the ancient one's mouth. Her lips were stained black, but her voice was sweet and soft, mellowed by age like an old brandy kept in an apple barrel. Her silver horns were tall, nearly grazing the ceiling, but dull and brittle. A woman made of darkness stalked the night beside her. Zephi's stomach clenched. She couldn’t outrun a demon as well as two moon-crazed Necromancers.

“It isn’t so bad...come here, sweet thing–”

The old one hissed and lunged at Zephi, who ducked away. She avoided the Necromancer but lost her balance, stumbling over an old bone and falling backwards. Before she could get up, the second Necromancer had plucked her off the ground with unnatural speed. She screamed as his teeth sank into her neck.

Twisting sideways, she stabbed him in the gut with her vicious little blade. She made sure to angle it just right – so that the puncture did as much damage as possible when she yanked the dagger down. With satisfaction, she felt his body twitch, and she wrenched the dagger back up with as much power as she could muster.

The Necromancer's senses were dull from the silver high, but even so, Zephi could tell when he felt the bite of her blade. He roared and threw her against the rocky wall. Momentarily dazed, she forced herself up. It was worth the pain to see the wound she had inflicted weeping such a beautiful crimson torrent across the Necromancer's tattered velvet robes.

A grin tugged the corners of her lips, and her stomach growled at the sight of his torn flesh. Such a pity that her blade was too short to hit anything vital. It had been a long time since she had eaten roasted Necromancer.

“She tastes like an animal," he snarled through red-stained teeth. He pressed his hand against the wound. "Don't bother."

"Fine," the ancient one said, dropping the sweetness. Her voice became hard and clipped. "Not worth it. But I need something fresh, and I need it soon."

Her eyes drifted to the weeping gash in her partner’s side. Arguing and shoving the pair wandered off and were swallowed by the night. Peace returned to the tombs, draping the tunnels in a shroud of heavy silence.

Zephi heaved a sigh of relief and tucked her precious iron blade back into her pocket. Something glinted on the ground, and Zephi bent over to look at it. One of the Necromancers had dropped a shade bone! The smooth ivory was delicately carved and worked over with the silver runes that had caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she looked at them. This was the missing piece of her puzzle – the runes she needed to complete her project.

Heart thudding, she raced back to her nest, her hair streaming out behind her like a burning cloud. She slept in one of the quiet tombs near the caves at the very bottom of the catacombs, and it only took her a few minutes to get there. On arrival, she climbed into the hollowed-out space, taking care not to disturb the original owner, who had once been a child. There was room for them both in the crypt. The dead did not mind sharing their resting place and neither did Zephi. It was the living who were to be feared.

With reverence, she laid out the Necromancer's bone, and then went scratching through her few possessions for the one she had been saving. She wriggled her toes against the soft wool of her blanket in excitement. More than anything, Zephi wanted a friend. In particular, she wanted a pet. She had searched and searched, sorting through the myriad bones of the ossuary. Just two weeks previously she had discovered the remains of a mountain lion kit. Presumably, it had been entombed as a sacrifice for some long-forgotten king or queen. Zephi didn't care why, but she was grateful. If there were no living friends to be had, she would have to make her own.

Placing the cat's bone in front of her, she admired the smooth ivory of it and the simplicity of its curves. She gave it a quick kiss for luck. Then, she wrapped a scrap of material around her nose and mouth, so she didn't end up high and crazy, like the two Necromancers. Taking out her dagger, she carefully scraped her blade along the edge of one of her silver horns. It was an easy enough job to catch the tiny slivers of silver and set them gently to one side. She pricked her skin with her blade, letting the blood well up. Pinching it together, she squeezed a few crimson drops onto the silver shavings and mixed the two into a fine paste.

Once that was done, she took up the perfect bone and began the painstaking process of engraving it with the runes that would summon its spirit. Or so she hoped. She compared her work to the Necromancer's runes and did her best to copy them exactly. Once she was satisfied, she dipped the blade of her dagger into the blood and silver mix, tracing over the runes in silver and blood. She took care not to inhale. To her intense delight, the mixture sank into the bone with a shimmer, settling into the groves. She waited, nervous minnows swimming circles in her stomach as she kept a lookout for the little spirit she had called.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then it came – darting like quicksilver through the tombs – small and indistinct but beautiful in every way. Her breath caught as the little spirit sank into the bone. Her heart beat loudly as she watched. The bone shuddered and shimmered with tremulant energy before blossoming into a small creature that stood before her, solid in substance and form. The kit was about three hands tall with curious green eyes, sharp teeth and golden, tawny fur. Zephi beamed at it, and the little animal bumped her hand with its dark head. A rumbling purr reverberated through the confined space.

"Mura," Zephi murmured, trying out the name. She stroked its neck, the fur like velvet beneath her fingers. "I shall call you Mu–"

The little spirit dissolved into mist. An afterimage remained for the briefest moment before it too, disappeared into the darkness. Zephi stared down at the rune painted bone in her lap, disappointment pooling like hot lead in her stomach. A tear dropped onto the bones, and she shook her head in distress. She had been so sure that it would work. Weeks of planning, finding the missing runes, and in less than a minute all her dreams had been crushed. It was too much.

Too sad to sleep, she crawled out of her nest and resumed her wanderings, hot tears wetting her cheeks. Once her tears slowed, her aimless feet carried her to the upper cells, where the humans were kept. Looking at them made her sad, and as she walked slowly along the passage, one or two voices cried out to her. She paused and then carried on. What was the point, she thought, staring through the bars at a particularly beautiful specimen, a young man huddled in a corner. He had a pretty face, although it was tear-streaked and smudged with dirt. They were all going to die anyway. He was going to die.

She turned away and wandered on, pale fingers trailing over the rough surface of the metal bars. Sometimes she dreamed about opening the doors and letting all the humans out, but it was a foolish fancy. No one could escape; they were all destined for death. Opening the cells would merely hasten the process.

One of the Queen's familiars came stalking along the passage with a face that could curdle milk. This one was known to Zephi, and he locked eyes with her as he passed, lunging at her with a half-hearted growl. She dropped a mocking curtsy, and stuck out her tongue. He rolled his eyes and walked on, flipping a claw up in a rude gesture as he left. Zephi wondered what he was looking for, then shook her head. She didn't care. It was all pointless. The familiars kept to themselves and weren't interested in keeping her company. Occasionally they would make bets with her about which humans would last the longest, but that was all. Only two months ago she had lost a particularly pretty piece of crystal and an interesting finger bone necklace on just such a venture.

She left the humans behind and made her way down to the deep below, where the air was cool and damp. She lingered at a stone crossroads, trying to decide between the left and right fork. One would take her to the cave of the glowing mushrooms, the other to her favourite underground river. But before she could decide, something moved in the darkness next to one of the rocks. Her eyes narrowed as she sought form in the black. An imp or a shade? No, it was larger than an imp and more substantial than a spirit. She fingered her dagger as a figure emerged.

It was a human girl – a few years older than Zephi with a head of thick black curls that hung down over wide eyes and a face that was sensitive and fearful. Her gaze travelled down to the small dagger clenched in the human's fist, so like her own. Something about the girl's expression spoke to Zephi's soul. How often had she stood in the same position, hoping not to be harmed? Her heart jumped in her chest. Here was someone she could talk to, someone she could help!

“Hello,” she said, reaching out her hand. Her voice sounded rusty and strange to her own ears. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken aloud.

The girl just looked at her, and Zephi wondered if she understood. "Hello," she tried again. "How did you get out of the cells?"

The girl came forward, and a shadow came with her.

Zephi stared up at the hulking demon with wide eyes and then turned and ran.