It was dusk by the time the two came stumbling from the brush. The necromancer and Mila stared at the clearing in front of them, still as rock. The necromancer held the accordion in his hands the entire trip out of town. Mila stirred as she saw the look in his eye. He thought she feared him, yet there Mila stood, shivering and looking only forwards.
“Come. This spot is as good as any, wouldn't you think?” the necromancer said.
Mila did not reply. She kept her distance always behind the necromancer, but Mila followed him step for step. “I don't think you can bring them back,” she said finally. The two had reached a rolling hill slightly taller than the others, and they looked upon the sea of green fading into the orange sky.
“You may be in for a surprise.” The necromancer tried to make something of a chuckle, “What kind of children don't believe in magic?” Mila nodded.
He sat down on the hill and left Mila standing. The orange and reds swirling above were being washed out even more. At this rate, the necromancer thought it'd be just under an hour until he could begin. He nodded his head and smiled -- these were perfect conditions. The moon tonight would be full, not a cloud in the sky, and warm blood from a relative standing right next to him. In all his years, the necromancer only ever performed in these sorts of conditions twice.
“Necromancy. It's had a bad name since I was born, and believe me, I was born a while ago.” Mila looked down at him like he was the crazy one. “Well, I've got a good skin care routine.” He laughed, and no one joined in.
The necromancer gathered himself back up, and without even noticing, Mila was gone from where she stood. Instead, he found her sitting like a statue overlooking the plains.
“Your magic…” Mila said, looking out to the grass horizon. “What else can it do?”
The necromancer’s face bounced into life for the first time since town. “Ah! The art of necromancy is so much more delicate than most would care to believe. You can raise the dead, of course, but you can heal, repair… you can even stop old age.
Mila looked at him, “I thought it only…” Mila’s face lit up, and her black hair twirled as she scrambled to the necromancer’s side. “So it can bring people back? You can bring them back no matter what?”
The necromancer felt a warmth in his heart. “Yes, that is correct. This old man really can do it, and proper too! No voodoo nonsense -- I can bring back people in mint condition! Believe me, my corpses are people.” The necromancer snorted, “That was my motto, way back when. A little tongue-in-cheek, I know.” It made Mila smile, ear to ear.
When the last bits of sun dissolved away, the necromancer stood up like a soldier with his accordion in hand. “Please be a good one,” the necromancer thought, giving a smile back to Mila. She nodded, almost unable to stand still.
He looked forward, into the black void in front of him, and played his accordion.
The necromancer never got used to its sound. It bellowed notes like an organ, shaking the ground as it chewed out an angelic melody. It was calling into the next world for the two souls, fishing them out with it's tune. Note after note, the accordion glowed more and more as he played its ivory keys, as he squeezed and contracted it.
Mila stepped back with her mouth half open. The sound barely counted as a single instrument. It was almost as if there were two songs, reverberating against each other. The necromancer played with his eyes closed, lost in thought.
Then, as the accordion slowed down to its last notes, as the ground settled down to a slight tremor, the necromancer approached the end of the song. The last few seconds seemed like minutes to him, the light around him fading away quicker than it came. The necromancer played the final note and ended the song.
Mila was holding her breath, the necromancer could tell. He was holding his, too. He looked around in the dark, unable to face her until he found something in the still grass.
The necromancer stuck out a hand, “Wait here.” Without another word, he lowered the accordion to Mila’s bare feet. “You see so much as a branch move, you cry out for me. And do not stray from the accordion. Got it?”
Mila nodded again, uncertain as the necromancer drew a sword from underneath his robes. It was plain, like a worn machete. The necromancer was poised -- ready as he disappeared into the night. He moved like an old mercenary. The last thing she saw fade away was the blade as it glinted reflected moonlight.
He spent what seemed like lifetimes crawling in the grass, listening tense for whatever noise peeped from the black. The necromancer’s eyes adjusted, the full moon above helping him whenever he glanced back to check on Mila, standing by the accordion’s aura.
All throughout the area he sweat and creeped -- looking, praying. All the stars had aligned for this one night… and nothing. Sword in hand, he covered the last stretch of land where he'd ever have a chance of finding anything. And then he tensed up. The necromancer recalled from his early days what happened to botched risings, but he would be happy with finding anything at this point.
And yet the necromancer still found nothing. The grass was short and gave off no presence, smelled nothing of rot or blood. Nothing. He went back to Mila, sitting by the accordion. He climbed back up the hill and buried his sword under his robes.
“I…” The necromancer couldn't look Mila in the eyes, but he knew she was full of disappointment. He knew it. “Mila, I'm-”
“It's okay,” she said. When the necromancer finally had the courage to look at her, she was staring at the same spot where the sun went over the horizon. The cheerfulness she'd come so close to vanished.
Then the necromancer had a thought, and kneeled at her side. It occurred to him, a contract he took long ago, years back in some rich city. The clientele’s child had gone missing, the poor woman. He was surely dead, snatched in the middle of the night, so she enlisted the necromancer to bring him back. When the necromancer failed to bring back her son, or anything for that matter, he could only give the woman back her payment.
At first, he remembered how disgusted she looked. She had trusted him, a renowned person in the business at the time, but the necromancer carefully explained it. Word by word, over and over until she broke down in tears. What was more horrifying than a botched resurrection -- the terror of a ruthless monster roaming the city -- was the notion that her son was still out there.
“Mila… Do you know how your parents died?” The words croaked from his throat, “The song was almost perfect, the conditions were more than ideal, and…”
Mila shook her head with tears in her eyes, “I thought… I-I thought you could bring them back. I'm sorry… I thought you could bring them back even if they weren't…”
Mila burst into tears. The feral orphan cried like a little girl, half screaming and half murmuring. It was only then it really hit the necromancer. He sat down beside her and made sure to give her the best hug he could manage.
She'd ruin his robes crying like this, but the necromancer hugged her tight. And Mila hugged back. “It's okay, Mila, it's okay…” he said.
After a while she calmed down, wiping the tears off her face with her wrist and staring into the campfire the necromancer had made. He sat opposite of her, warming his hands by the crackling fire as she sat still. The night had calmed down, and gentle winds kissed their faces as they overlooked the plains in the moonlight. They were silent for at least an hour before Mila spoke, taking the necromancer by surprise.
“I'm sorry…” she muttered, pulling her knees to her chest.
“It's not your fault,” the necromancer said. “I understand how it must be.” He let out a morbid laugh, “Even with all this power, I still need to light a fire by hand.”
Mila was silent.
He looked at her, huddled up by the fire, sniffling as she tried to rebuild what was left of her poor heart. Mila reminded the necromancer of himself, somewhat. Back then, he would've killed to have someone just to talk to, let alone do magic for him. And yet…
“Mila…” The necromancer stirred the fire with a stick, “I know you've been through a lot lately. I know. And I don't suppose you know of any other relatives you have, do you?”
Mila looked up at him, her eyes gleaming. “No,” she said.
“Well… Why don't you travel with me?” The necromancer hesitated at her silence, at her peering eyes. “I don't see why you can't. I know I'm a stranger, but you wouldn't have to live meal to meal.” The necromancer took out another wrapping of food, “And believe it or not, I make decent money.” He said it with a timid smile.
Mila looked at him like she was going to cry again. “I…” Her face was beaming with excitement.
“Besides,” the necromancer said as he took the accordion into his hands. “We've a terrible shortage of good necromancers nowadays.”
Mila darted beside him and looked at the accordion. She held out her hands. “C-can I?” Mila said.
The necromancer smiled as he watched her try to pick it up. “It might be a little heavy for you, but play around with it! It might just be a regular accordion to you now, but maybe one day…”
Mila swayed left and right with the sheer weight of it, accidentally hitting a few keys while she did. It looked like it took a lot out of her to even lift the thing, and though she couldn’t squeeze it down to size and back, she settled on just playing keys that sounded good to her. Every so often Mila looked back at the necromancer to see his expression -- whether for confirmation or his blessing he wasn’t quite sure -- but every time she looked back he smiled and nodded, prompting Mila to go back to her fiddling.
And if the necromancer wasn't mistaken, she was laughing.
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