Flash Fiction: Raised (Tribal)

One left to go! This flash fiction piece is inspired by Nightwish's 'Tribal' off the new album. You can listen to the song here. Not gonna lie, it's more inspired by the tone and the video than the lyrics. ;)

Also it's a little dark. Fair warning.

Raised

Year 6504 AC
Outside the Village of Aerilon
Empire of Xeorene

Nharem hunched over his rickety desk. The room was illuminated by a lone candle that cast dancing shadows upon the hut's log walls. He scratched a quill carefully against the stiff parchment of his book. It was his greatest work, his passion, his purpose, his life. He knew he had to finish it. If he didn't, well, what was his life worth? He had dreams, ambitions. This was just the first step.

He furrowed his brow and refocused. The diagram showing the placement of items for the ritual had to be exact. It had to be perfect.

'i's to represent candles dotted the page next. He closed his eyes and imagined the ground, the crushed sulfur patterns, the beeswax candles, and the sacrifice.

His eyes reopened slowly, pondering the sacrifice. He only needed something that would boost his magic slightly for the feat he was about to undertake. He was already immensely powerful.

Behind him, he heard the scraping of Haolie, his rabbit, inside her cage. She would have to do.

He could feel it. This was the ritual. This one would work. Magic thrummed beneath his skin. The scarred skin where his God-Mark once resided, depicting crows and candles, itched. He had once been bound to the God of Death through that mark. With it, came a boon of power.

But his God wouldn't allow him to use his magic for what he truly wanted to pursue, so he'd found something else to put his faith into.

Nharem looked over the diagram one more time, nodded to himself, and stood up. He picked up Haolie's cage and took it outside.

When he reached the graveyard where he'd left his equipment, Nharem started to prepare the ritual.

He sprinkled the sulfur powder in a triangle, taking care to not breathe too much in. Once the outside triangle was complete, he created three lines, each running down from a point to meet in the middle of the shape.

A beeswax candle was placed at each corner and then lit in the order of right, left, up. Seven more candles were placed in the middle in a circle. Before he lit these, he set a small, dried, white chrysanthemum right in the center of the candles, on top of the intersection where the three inner lines met.

"Bind," he said, letting his voice ring clear.

A golden sheer flickered in the space between the unlit candles and rose into the air.

He went to Haolie's cage, opened the metal door, and pulled her out. She started to squeal and struggle in his grip.

He almost ran, worried about losing his grip on the rabbit and careful not to smudge the lines on the ground.

He dropped her into the circle and said, "Light."

The candles flared to life as Haolie ran in circles, trying to escape, the golden sheen holding her in the ring.

Nharem moved to stand at the top of the triangle and flung his arms out, parallel to the other lines. "Rise, rise, rise," his voice was clear as he continued to chant.

There was a sharp snapping noise that made him flinch just a second before a tendril made of pure darkness, streaked with silver, shot up from the ground right in the middle of the circle of candles.

It gripped Haolie and pulled her into the earth just as a fierce wind whipped up. It seemed to originate from within the circle and it took everything in Nharem to not be pulled into the forming whirlwind. Despite the gale, the candles didn't flicker once.

He continued to chant, raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind.

Then, the earth began to shudder and he saw the dirt and grass around the graves start to move.

He continued to chant even as he watched the dead start to climb out of their graves. A smile split his face. He had done it. Not only had he done it, but he had also perfected it.

There had to be at least forty of them, all in various states of decomposition, with sunken eyes and grey skin. As they moved slowly, pieces dropped off their bodies. Skin and muscle fell away to reveal bone. The smell was overwhelming, but it barely registered to Nharem, so focused on what he had accomplished.

Oh, he'd raised one or two before this, but never a whole graveyard. As well, he'd never been able to properly control them. He hoped that had also been fixed this time.

The bodies started to move his way, and he stopped chanting to tell them, "Toward Aerilon!"

They shambled towards him but, upon hearing his order, turned slightly and started to move past him in the direction of Aerilon.

Nharem laughed as they moved past him. He had been warned if he did something like this, he'd incur the wrath of his old God. After all, no one was supposed to mess with "the natural order". Starting to follow the dead to the town, he chuckled. He couldn't wait to see just what this magic was capable of. He'd like to see anyone try to stop him now.

*art made with artbreeder*