Page 8 of Necromance
The thought of him made my heart skip a beat. I still hadn’t gathered the courage to look at the painting again, but I could feel him in the air, as if his presence lingered everywhere. Even the stones underfoot seemed to hum with his memory.
I couldn’t quite understand why I felt so drawn to him, why his face haunted me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers to everything I was searching for lay at his feet.
As the day began to fade, the last rays of sunlight slipping away fromthe tall windows, I found myself back in the kitchen. I rummaged through the cabinets, gathered some stale bread, some preserved meat, and a few scraps of cheese to quickly fashion a simple meal. It wasn’t much, but it would suffice for tonight.
The food barely registered on my tongue since there was no time to savor it. Once night fell, the castle would come alive again, and with it, the restless spirits. The energy of Ravenspire shifted as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. I had already begun to feel the pull of it, that electric tension in the air. Soon the castle would stir.
I made my way back to the bedchamber I’d chosen and retrieved the small bundle of items I had brought with me, items that were more for my own piece of mind than anything else. In my exhausted state the night before, I had neglected to properly ward my room.
First, I lit a bundle of sage, its pungent smoke curling up toward the ceiling. I walked through the room in slow, deliberate circles, reciting the words my grandmother had taught me. The scent was strong, medicinal, and grounding. It had become a familiar ritual for me over the years, a small act of control in a world full of unpredictability.
Once the smoke had filled the room, I knelt by the door, pulling from my bag a small pouch of salt. With practice hands, I sprinkled a generous line of it across the threshold. A protective boundary. A barrier that would prevent any spirit with ill intent from entering. I wasn’texactly sure what sort of restless souls lurked in Ravenspire, but I didn’t want to take any risks.
Not after what I’d felt the night before.
How ironic that I could call forth life or deal out death for others, but I couldn’t do that for myself and I couldn’t risk dying before I uncovered the castle’s secrets. Mortality was a shame.
When I stood, brushing the last of the salt from my fingers, I felt a quiet sense of relief wash over me. The castle still felt oppressive, but I’d made it clear that I wouldn’t be so easily overrun.
There was still work to be done, however, work I couldn’t avoid any longer.
I reached for a candle, its wick flickering to life with a soft, steady glow, casting long shadows across the walls. The light was a small, fragile thing in the overwhelming darkness of Ravenspire, but it was enough. Enough to give me the courage to leave the safety of my bedchamber and seek out the spirits I knew lingered in the castle.
The halls were dark, but not silent. I could feel their presence like a shiver on the back of my neck, disembodied, ethereal, yet undeniably there. They were scared, hesitant in their movements. They watched, but didn’t approach. It was as though something… or someone… was holding them back, keeping them from reaching out to me. I wondered if it was the castle itself, theenergy of it. Perhaps the castle truly didn’t want me here. But if there was a chance I could help these souls, I had to try.
The floorboards creaked as I moved carefully down the narrow corridor. Every step felt heavier, as though the air was thickening with each passing second.
I echoed into the darkness. “Come closer. I won’t hurt you. I can help you.”
But no response came. Only the oppressive silence.
As I continued my search, I passed the large portrait of the man… The one who haunted my thoughts in ways I couldn’t yet explain.
I stopped in front of the painting. The flickering light caught on the edges of the frame, casting deep shadows over his chiseled features. His eyes, dark, almost impossibly warm, seemed to follow me, and my breath caught in my throat. For the briefest moment, I swore I saw something shift in his expression. A moment of emotion, a flash of life, but it was gone before I could be sure.
There was no doubt now. The connection I felt, that nagging sense of presence… It was real. He wasn’t just a portrait. He was alive somehow. My magic hummed curiously and I closed my eyes for a moment trying to focus on why it was attracted to the painting. I could feel something. It was faint, but determined, calling to my magic like it had known it forever.
I tilted my head, studying his face as if waiting for some sign, some indication of what he needed from me. Itwas strange, the way he drew me in, but my whole body sizzled the closer I drew to the painting. I hadn’t even touched him, hadn’t spoken to him, but there was something familiar between us. My magic warmed, something I’d never experienced before, and it felt like a caress against my aching muscles.
How strange…
”Can you hear me?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the creaking of the castle.
There was no immediate response, but as I gazed at his painted face, I felt a pull, something deep inside urging me to coax him out. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t even something I could explain to myself, but I couldn’t ignore it. I ached to touch him.
I stepped closer to the painting, the heat from the candle warming the air between us. “I know you’re here,” I said softly. “I know you can hear me. If you’re trapped, if you need help, I’m here. I can help you.”
A chill pulsed through the air. Not the usual cold of the castle, not the familiar chill of the dead, but something sharper, more concentrated. It was as if something was stirring, listening. My heart picked up its pace as I waited, hoping.
I could feel him. His presence was pressing in on me, but why was he waiting? What was keeping him fromreaching out?
Perhaps he needed help?
I took another step forward, a strange confidence filling me despite my uncertainty. My fingers trembled slightly as I raised them just to the edge of the thick golden frame that encased him. My magic hummed greedily in my core and I slid one finger across the frame, testing. The air seemed to pulse with energy, thick and heavy.
I glanced over my shoulder, the hairs prickling on my neck. Letting out a slow breath, I turned back to the painting and trailed my fingers over the canvas, noticing for the first time a small inscription on the bottom of the portrait.
I leaned closer, holding my candle aloft.
