Technomancy

Cid lit the black candles in his master's study. The necrotic power from the Orb of Val'dun swirled, like an emerald hurricane buffeting the inside of a snow globe. As he reached for the powerful relic, tendrils of green smoke reached back to touch his fingers. Over the centuries, he'd learned enough of the dead tongue to raise mice and birds. Today, Cid would try for something bigger.

"Cid!"

Cid glanced at the red wooden door leading into the rest of the mansion. No. It was too soon for his master's call. Rushing, Cid set out the crystal dagger and copper bowl around the Orb. His grimoire was open to the second page (it only had two pages of spells) and, with a deep breath, he began the incantation.

Klora. Nichto.

An ominous wind blew through the study, rustling scrolls and dimming candles. The smell of decay, of earth, of possibility filled the shadowy room. Necrotic energies crackled around his outstretched hand, tingling like cold fire, and arced out to the corpse on the raised altar. The orb rattled in its stand.

Alma. Nichto.

"Cid! Come here, now!"

"Damn it," Cid muttered. "Coming, master!"

#

Kul'Aman, the thousand-year-old necromancer, sat on the couch where Cid had left him. Static crackles on the Samsung Smart TV, the very noise of the universe speaking through the display. As Cid approached his decaying master, the undead sorcerer hurled the Roku remote at the wall and launched into an incantation in the dead tongue. The den darkened, lights flickering, and thick ropes of necrotic energies whipped around Kul'Aman like a mad octopus. The necromancer was throwing around enough power to raise an entire army of the dead.

But the static remained.

"Curse this technology!" Kul'Aman shouted, his voice rasping but retaining the polish of a former lord. "Cid! Where are you boy!"

"Here," said Cid, fetching the broken remote from the floor. He tossed it into the bin with the other smashed remotes and grabbed a new one from the box of spares tucked into the entertainment center. "Give me a moment, master."

As Cid synced the new remote to the TV, Kul'Aman said, "Hurry, boy. It's starting."

Cid sighed. "It's streaming, master. Remember? You can watch it whenever you want."

"The advertisment said new episodes are on-demand on Sundays at seven pm. It is seven pm and I demand my new episode!" A flash of necrotic energy lashed out from Kul'Aman, knocking over his wine glass on the coffee table. "A thousand years on this earth. You would think I'd have lived long enough for humans to get something right. Bah!"

"I left everything ready for you," Cid said as the remote blinked green—the sync complete.

"Are you saying this is my fault?" Kul'Aman growled.

Yes. Of course it's your fault, Cid thought. You're a thousand-year-old necromancer with enough power to end nations, but you can't even work the television without switching inputs. It is absolutely your fault. "No, master. Sometimes these things have a mind of their own."

Cid changed the input to HDMI, but the streaming apps weren't coming up. He accessed the system menu and started navigating through options.

"Yes," Kul'Aman purred, seemingly mollified. "If only it were a mind I could DOMINATE!"

Drilling down to the connectivity options, the wifi status read: NO NETWORK.

"Oh no," Cid said.

"Hurry, boy. It's the season finale. I must know if the White Walkers succeed in their crusade."

Cid ignored his master's whining. The books were way better than the show. He'd tried lending his master his set of A Game of Thrones, but Kul'Aman declared his eyes (the black crystal orbs he'd replaced his original eyes with two centuries ago) were only meant for grimoires, not some "bard's scribblings." Yet, the old man couldn't get enough of the show. Cid sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. This was all part of their deal. A means to an end.

"Boy!"

Cid snapped out of his daze. The issue must have been with the router. Resetting it would do. It had to. He nudged the entertainment center forward with all the strength his undead body could muster, opening a gap between the wooden shelving and the wall wide enough for him to slip in and access the router. Everything back there was covered with a patina of dust. It was where he found Sir Whiskers weeks ago, stiff as a plank. And through the layer of dust and memories of dead pets, the router's lights blinked red.

"Damn it," Cid muttered. "The internet's out again."

"No...no-no-no-NO!"

Thunder clapped. The entertainment center rattled and slammed back, trapping Cid between case and wall. He pushed against it, but his muscles had long since atrophied and his strength failed. "Master!" Cid called. "Stop, I can fix this! I just need—to call..."

"Morkash. Telemon. Gaishan. Telemon," Kul'Aman chanted.

The last time the internet went out, Kul'Aman's fury had inadvertently raised every corpse in the local cemetery. And it fell to Cid to collect every corpse, dispel them, and return them to their resting places. All this drudgery to learn the secrets of the necromancer. Centuries of service and for what? He barely had the power to raise a dead cat—

Or perhaps, he had enough.

Matching his master's cadence, Cid began his own chant. The one he did not complete before his master called. The test of his ability. Freeing his hands from pushing against the entertainment center, he raised them to his sides, drawing the power of the Orb just a few rooms away. The heavy wooden stand closed on him like a vice, breaking ribs. Cid did not feel pain, but he felt his lungs collapse. Yet not enough that he couldn't rattle out the words as his master's rage crushed him to a second death.

Klora. Nichto.

Alma. Nichto.

Sulma. Nichto.

Neko. Kichto.

The spell completed and a sensation shifted deep within Cid, like a latch snapping shut. Cid dropped his exhausted arms. His master continued hurling power around, chanting a complex spell that sounded like it would tear the fabric between life and death. Then he heard it. A low hiss. Followed by a screech.

His master's chanting stopped, replaced by a string of profanity. "Sir Whiskers, get off me! Stop!"

The raised corpse of Sir Whiskers had launched itself at his former owner's face, clawing and raking, breaking the necromancer's chant. The shelving gave and Cid freed himself, collapsing on the floor.

"Enough," Cid rasped. But Sir Whiskers continued his assault. "I said—ENOUGH!"

Cid's voice echoed through the den as if he'd shouted into a mile-wide chasm. Sir Whiskers sprang to his side and rubbed his mottle cheeks against Cid's arm, making a noise like an asthmatic boar that must have been purring.

Kul'Aman collected himself, mending the damage to his face. "One of yours, I see. Well raised."

Fury boiled deep within the pits of Cid's chest. Was this what to expect for the next century? Millennium? A daft old man throwing tantrums that could end the world? In the distance, a chorus of moans and wails sang from the direction of the cemetery.

"Yes," Cid growled, fighting to his feet. "Now you will get on the phone and talk to the cable company and get the internet sorted."

"Me?" Kul'Aman asked. "And what of you, boy? That is your job."

"My job," Cid answered, grabbing his go-bag from the hook near the door, "is to clean up your messes. I'm going to the cemetery to lower those corpses. And all you need to do is follow the script." Cid handed his master the stapled script instructing the necromancer how to navigate the customer service line.

Kul'Aman stared at Cid, and after what felt like an eternity said, "Very well. Leave Sir Whiskers with me, boy. When you return, perhaps I will show you how to raise a skeleton."

Cid started. "What—really?"

The necromancer smirked, but his pallid face sank when he reached for the phone on the coffee table. "As long as I get to finish my stories."

*****

THE END.