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  The Unblessed Dead

  The Hidden Necromancer Series

  Book 1

  By

  Rhiannon Frater

  The Unblessed Dead

  The Hidden Necromancer Series, Book 1

  By Rhiannon Frater

  Copyright © 2018. All Rights reserved.

  Cover art by Corey Hollins

  Edited by Holly-Ann Kasprzak

  Formatted by Kody Boye

  Dedicated to all the people who encouraged me to revisit the world I created in the short story The Necromancer in Zombie Tales From Dead Worlds

  A History

  “…the dead are killing the living. This is it! The end of the world. It’s finally here! Time to go zombie hunting! Make sure to double tap.” – Unknown male young adult on a recovered vid, 2023 A.D.

  “The government is dropping nuclear bombs on the big cities, honey. I’m not going to get out of Houston alive. Make a run for Mexico with the kids. It might be your only chance to survive.” – Peter Santiago, recovered message on excavated server, 2023 A.D.

  “Everything is destroyed. America has fallen.” – Unknown survivor, painted message on Lincoln Memorial, July 4, 7 A.A. (Anno Apocalypsis)

  “I just want to die. This isn’t a life worth living.” – Unknown author, recovered journal, 53 A.A.

  “Dispatch: Old Mexico City has reported women who can control the dead clearing large portions of land outside the wall. Photographic evidence provided.” – Archives of The Enclave. 100 A.A.

  “We are necromancers. We’ve come to serve the living and save them from the dead. Don’t be afraid.” – Cleric Yesina, Old Mexico City speech documented by Felipe Munoz, 101 A.A.

  “What’s with these women controlling the dead? It’s devil magic.” – President Alfonse of Texas, 115 A.A.

  “Word is they are burning the necromancers at the stake, blaming us for the apocalypse. We must be careful until we can establish trust among the surviving communities of humanity.” – Cleric Oliva, Far Reaches Settlement, 130 A.A.

  “The necromancer Clerics have cleared the ruins of the city. Excavation teams are hopeful they’ll recover the lost technology of the old world. Humanity will rise again!” – Fern Goddard, leader of the first attempt to reclaim lost technology, 252 A.A.

  Technology corrupted humanity. We must never rely upon it again. – Author Unknown, inscription on the wall of the First Reclaimed City founded in 429 A.A.

  “The Enclave is a testament to the surviving spirit of humanity. The embrace of technology will restore our dominance on this earth. With the help of the necromancer Chantry, we will build an extensive train system that will connect all the remaining human settlements.” – Queen Maxima II of The Enclave, 583 A.A.

  “The world was pure and without technology for hundreds of years. Then evil stirred in the hearts of humanity and they dug through the remains of the lost cities until they rediscovered the very technology that destroyed the world. Now our world is corrupted once more and we are one of the few settlements that adheres to the sacred words of the Three Gods given to us in the Lost Texts. We will not falter in our devotion to the humble, pious life the gods have chosen for us.” – Elder Vladimir, founder of the Atonement Settlement, speech at dedication circa 605 A.A.

  When the dead rose from their graves in an apocalypse of carnage and death, we retreated behind high walls where we cowered until the discovery of the Lost Texts. Then we found true freedom and peace. We must honor our dead – our Beloved Dead. They are not damned like the Unblessed Dead outside our walls, but awaiting the redemption of the Three Gods. We must protect them for this is our sacred duty. – Elder Rotham, Treatise of the Beloved Dead: A Call for Sanctification, 793 A.A.

  The devil-women were the hidden powers of the former world. They corrupted those in power, used technology to bring about the end of times, and then razed what was left with their armies of the dead. Now they hide behind the technological power of the corrupt city of The Enclave and wear the robes of false prophets in their Chantry. These so-called necromancer Clerics are heretics. They should never be allowed to enter the Atonement Settlement and cause their corruption here. We must stand strong in the power of the Three Gods. We must adhere to the Lost Texts!

  – Elder Alvus, 1004 A.A. at the conviction of Therese Nott

  CHAPTER 1

  The Man in the Garden

  I awoke to discover a dead man standing in the garden.

  Now I linger near my bedroom window watching him. Mist swirls around his emaciated figure, and obscures his mottled face, but I recognize him even in the gloom of the night.

  I scurry across the rough wooden floor to my sister’s bed on the other side of our small room and shake her awake.

  “Leave me alone, Ilyse,” she mutters beneath her blankets. She burrows deeper, leaving only the halo of her blond hair on the pillow.

  “Carrie, Schoolmaster Simmons is in the garden,” I whisper.

  Flipping the covers down, she glares at me. “Schoolmaster Simmons is dead.”

  Returning her peeved look, I say, “I know he’s dead. But he’s still in our garden.”

  Lifting herself onto her elbow, she stares at me, her eyes slowly filling with understanding. “Oh. Again?”

  “We have to return him to the Perdition Sanctuary before Father discovers him. Hurry.”

  My heart is beating so hard in my chest it feels like it will shatter my ribs. How many times will this happen before my father discovers one of the Beloved Dead in the garden staring at our bedroom window and my fate is sealed?

  I grab my hooded robe from the hook on the wall near our bedroom door and shove my feet into my leather slippers. Behind me, I hear Carrie doing the same.

  “Why does this keep happening?” Carrie’s frustration bleeds into her hushed voice.

  “I don’t know.”

  I can’t share my fears with her. If I tell her what I suspect, my younger sister will panic, and my father will certainly notice. She’s an awful liar.

  Carrie lies on the floor next to her bed and stretches out on her stomach to pull her control pole free from its hiding place. I do the same, my fingers searching the edge of the bedframe until I find my rod, and dislodge it. Hiding the tools from our father is necessary since women aren’t allowed to interact with the Beloved Dead. We’d been forced to use tree branches to usher poor Matron Chao back to the Perdition Sanctuary. A traveling merchant had eagerly traded with me for the poles when I’d presented a basket full of fresh fruits, vegetables, and herbs from our garden.

  Carrie shrugs on her robe and pulls the hood over her head. “Are we the only ones dealing with them somehow getting out?”

  “Maybe.” I twist my auburn hair into a bun at the nape of my neck and set the hood low over my forehead. “If others are dealing with the Beloved Dead escaping the Perdition Sanctuary, they’re not speaking about it openly.”

  “Just like us.” She picks up her pole, her expression pensive. “Should we tell?”

  I shake my head. “We can’t risk our names being tarnished with scandal. My Bridal Auction is soon. Yours is in five years. We must be of Pious Standing to secure husbands.”

  With a disgruntled look, Carrie hurries to the window. “Sometimes I tire of always being in Pious Standing.”

  I flinch at her words. I’m much more cautious than my younger sister when it comes to criticizing the way of life in the Atonement Settlement. Over my seventeen years, I’ve witnessed the repercussions that come with falling out of Pious Standing. At four years younger, Carrie is sheltered by our father and aunt. Sometimes I wonder if that’s a wise choice on their part. My father fears that we’ll imitate our eldest sister’s rebellion and bolt in the middle of the night
into the Deadlands beyond the walls of our settlement. He’s done his best to instill fear into our hearts and train us in the way of the Lost Texts, but despite his best endeavors, the world appears to conspire against us. If anyone sees the Beloved Dead in our garden, we’ll be suspected of being necromancers and put on trial.

  Armed with my pole, I unlatch the locks on the top and the bottom of the lead glass. Carefully, I swing the heavy window panes outward so I can step over the sill and onto the grass. The mist stirs around my feet, cold and damp. Carrie follows in my wake, her fingers tight around her pole.

  “Be careful,” I whisper.

  She rolls her eyes. “Like I’m not?”

  The thick plastic loops at the end of the control poles swing back and forth as we approach Schoolmaster Simmons. My former mentor stands among the strawberries, his head cocked, staring at us with white, empty eyes as we approach. The sleeve of his tattered coat is folded and pinned over the stump of his arm. He was born in the Radiated Lands without a full arm on one side and with missing fingers on the other. Not one week dead, he still retains some semblance to the man he’d been in life.

  I miss his gentle guidance in my studies and his encouragement to imagine a life beyond the Atonement Settlement. I’d been dreaming of our last conversation when I’d awakened to see him in the garden.

  Is that why he stands in front of us now?

  Have I summoned him without realizing what I was doing?

  He doesn’t stir at our approach. Since he was blind in life, I assume he must be blind as a Beloved Dead. Still, he appears transfixed by something unseen over my shoulder just like the other three we’d found in our garden. This makes me very uneasy.

  “I’ll go first,” I whisper to Carrie.

  All the people who die in the Atonement Settlement are sanctified to become Beloved Dead before they are placed in the Perdition Sanctuary. One day the Three Gods will cleanse the earth and resurrect the Beloved Dead. We’re taught at the Wednesday Gatherings that they’re at peace, unlike the Unblessed Dead beyond the walls. It was when we’d had to return Matron Chao that I discovered this teaching was not the truth. They’re still as dangerous as the dead who haven’t received the blessing.

  Approaching my old mentor, I raise the pole so the loop dangles close to his head. His craggy cheeks and long nose give him a skeletal appearance in the dim light. Fear ripples through me as his blind eyes appear to shift to observe me.

  “Ilyse, be careful. Remember the other two,” Carrie whispers before she gingerly steps around the plants to position herself behind our former teacher. “They don’t attack until you try to trap them.”

  The mist churns around us, obscuring the walls surrounding the garden and our squat stone house with the thick thatched roof. The Beloved Dead have only appeared in our garden when the fog flows off the river. I wonder about this, but not for long.

  My former mentor lunges toward me with an agonized moan as I’m about to lower the loop around his head. It slides off onto his shoulder, and I scurry backward, keeping out of his reach. He sweeps his one arm at me, slicing the moist air between us. Face contorting with desperate hunger, he again charges me. His coffee-stained teeth champ together, biting at the air. I dread the thought of those teeth sinking into me. Deflecting the attack, I shove the end of the pole with great force into his chest and push him. He moans again, a mournful yet desperate sound that reverberates through me like the strum of a harp. The walls of our house are thick, and I pray that my father and aunt don’t hear our struggle.

  Behind him, Carrie surges forward and snags his head with the loop of her control pole. He swings toward her, growling as his three-fingered hand slaps at the metal bar. The stump of his other arm flails in my direction. Despite the blessing oil he was anointed with before he was placed in the Perdition Sanctuary, he reeks of death. I recoil at the smell, but push through my repulsion to assist my sister. I reposition my control pole near his head and lower the loop. It settles at the base of his neck, and I tighten it around his throat, cutting off his moans. The rod trembles beneath the press of his dead flesh.

  With a nervous giggle, Carrie says, “That was a little scary.”

  “We did better this time than the last.” I still remember the feel of Matron Chao’s fingers on my skin when we caught her near our orange trees.

  “Let’s hurry. I want more sleep,” my sister whispers.

  The Beloved Dead writhes between us, attempting to attack me, then my sister. Back and forth he swings, desperate for our blood and flesh. The staves are a strong alloy and withstand his assault. Sadly, our strawberry plants have taken the brunt of the struggle. We’ll have to blame the raccoons again.

  Keeping my former teacher between us, we drag him toward the iron gate in the far corner of the wall. The mist grows thicker as we near it, and the flagstone walkway is slick under our leather slippers. We rotate about so I can unlatch the gate and open it. Schoolmaster Simmons struggles against the loops tightened around his neck. His three fingers tug at my pole, his pale white eyes seeming to stare through me.

  Pushing the gate open, I step onto the long narrow path sandwiched between the high wall that guards us from the outside world and the walls that surround the long line of houses. In the distance, the Perdition Sanctuary waits for us. The iron structure towers high above the houses, the steeple a sharp dagger piercing the fog.

  I pull Schoolmaster Simmons into the passage and my sister follows with her pole pressed to the back of his neck. The passage is only used during the day, so we trod along without fear of detection. The ominous shadows grant us cover as the mist pours over the high wall to pool around us.

  We keep the dead man between us as we direct him toward his new home. He thrashes about, pulling on the restraints. Carrie is smaller than I am, but stronger. A childhood illness weakened me, and I have never fully recovered. My muscles tense as I attempt to hold him steady. Carrie yanks his head back, forcing him to bow his back. It helps me control him.

  I count the houses we pass. There are seven between our home and the Perdition Sanctuary. All the windows are dark. The only light piercing the haze is the full moon. A few dogs bark as we pass the enclosed yards, but my sister shushes them. They adore her, and quiet at the sound of her voice. She often gives them treats when she walks to and from school. I’m grateful for her kindness. The dogs quieting means less chances of us being discovered and hauled before the Elders for disciplinary measures.

  Each step is not without difficulty. The Beloved Dead staggers between us, falling against the walls as he tries to reach me and fails. Thick, disgusting fluid seeps from where the plastic loops dig into his neck. My back and arms scream with pain as I tug him onward. When we finally arrive at the gate at the end of the passage, I’m relieved. My fingers find the latch and I swing the gate open.

  Perdition Sanctuary looms over us. The dark and imposing iron facade seems to reject the dim moonlight and it’s darker here. Blinking, my vision adjusts to the deeper gloom. Carrie and I know this area well since we’ve returned the Beloved Dead twice, and I dread having to do it again.

  One of the Sanctification Altars is directly in front of us. We guide the dead man forward. Maybe it’s my imagination, but he seems reluctant to return. Abruptly, he twists about to face my sister. His action startles us, but Carrie darts to one side so we can drag him between us.

  The Sanctification Altar is a man-size drawer that extends outward from the base of the building. On an elevated platform inside the drawer, iron cuffs are bolted to the surface: one for the neck, two for the arms, and two more for the legs. This is the most difficult part of our task. The altar is for the dying or freshly dead who have yet to rise. Carrie and I have had to sort out how to wrestle a writhing living corpse onto the altar. We nearly lost Matron Chao the first time.

  Carrie is the stronger of us, so she moves to the head of the altar. I slide my pole’s loop free of my mentor’s head and press the end into his waist, forcing him to
fold over as he attempts to grab me. While Carrie tugs, I shove, and we manage to get him seated on the altar. My sister pulls him backward as I dare to grab his ankles, and pivot him about so we can lay him flat. He jerks toward me, mouth wide to bite, but Carrie drags him back.

  Thrashing, the dead man fights to escape while I secure his feet with the iron restraints. Carrie holds his head in place with her pole as I grab his arm and try to force it into the restraint at his side. His snarls grow louder, and a dog starts to howl nearby. He fights me, his three fingers trying to grip my clothing and pull me down to his hungry mouth.

  “I can’t hold him much longer!” my sister exclaims. “Get his head secure and be done with it!”

  I lean over his prone body to snap close the restraint that will hold his head in place. His fingers claw at my cloak, but he is unable to get a good grip. Surging forward against the plastic tightened around his neck, he snaps his teeth in my direction. He wrenches so hard against the plastic loop, it burrows deep into his flesh. Foul smelling liquid pours from the wound.

  “Stop,” I impulsively order him.

  Teeth snapping shut, he stares at me and stills.

  I’m shocked that he has obeyed.

  I can see Carrie is, too.

  Hastily I clamp the cuff around his neck.

  With a disgusted expression, Carrie jerks the plastic loop free of his rotting flesh and sets her pole on the ground. Since we’re not one of the Brethren of the Sanctuary, there won’t be a sanctification ritual. Carrie pulls the lever that slides the heavy drawer into the side of the building.

  The gears of the internal mechanism work flawlessly. The platform lowers into the drawer and the entire thing glides into the side of the building. We ignore Schoolmaster Simmon’s hand reaching for us, trying to stop us from banishing him to dwell with the rest of the Beloved Dead. The drawer locks into place. I place my palm against the hatch and feel the metal shuddering beneath it as the platform is dragged through an internal safety door to the other side. Next the shackles will be released so that the Beloved Dead will be deposited into the Perdition Sanctuary.