Date with Death

Benjamin jerked awake and swung the heavy curtains aside. “Oh bugger…not again,” he groaned as the brightness of the midday sun spilt inside his tiny room. Pain blossomed in his temples and he closed the drapes again before collapsing into the pillow. I really need to stop testing those potions on myself.

Wiggling his lanky legs from under the duvet he sat on the bed. Nausea assaulted him without warning. Grabbing the bedpan, and thanking the fates it was clean, he emptied the contents of his stomach into it. Twice.

It is not going to be a good day, Benjamin concluded. Not only he overslept and had a severe case of potion hangover, but he also couldn’t shake this unsettling sense of foreboding in his gut. At least that’s what he hoped it was. After all, the last time he felt anything unsettling inside of him, it turned out to be a group of polliwogs that sprouted in his bowels after consuming a slightly out of date Horntoad Decoction. 

Benjamin grabbed his trousers and, groaning with the effort, slowly put one leg inside. With his head still spinning, he got up, pulled his black shirt on, and grabbed the pitcher from the stool next to his bed. Gulping the cold liquid with greed, Benjamin strolled for the door and headed for the kitchen.

“Ma, why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked but an empty space greeted him. That’s unusual. His mother was always in the kitchen. In fact, Benjamin sometimes wondered how she managed to get the shopping done without ever leaving the cottage. He picked a thick slice of bread and smothered it with butter. Adding a generous slice of cheese on top, he bit into his breakfast.

“Ma, you here?” 

Silence.

“Guess I’ll see you later.” He gave the cottage a last look over, braced himself for the brightness outside, and swung the front door open. He set a slow pace towards his workshop at the opposite side of the village. 

SKULL OF BONES, the chipped writing towered over the bottom part of the sign: Necromancy Services. Benjamin was proud of the joke while naming this place: his very own workshop. Home of dark crafts which he learnt from old master Kregam, fates-rest-his-soul, and continued to study using mottled and half-torn tomes purchased from travelling traders. Here, he was Coltan Nightshade - since Benjamin Glover missed a certain ring to it - a Master Necromancer and performer of magic rituals for the simple folks of the Hutton Village. He sold salves and ointments, communed with the deceased, summoned spirits from behind the veil, and influenced all leaving creatures. Yet contrary to his pride, Benjamin’s mother would refer to his work as shenanigans and dismiss any attempts at correcting it. 

The street seemed empty, but he still looked to the sides checking for passersby before reaching underneath a stone and picking up a key. The motion of bending over sent another wave of nausea through his stomach forcing Benjamin to lean on the door for support. Bloody hells, no wonder they call yarrow a Devil’s Plaything. 

Opening the lock turned out to be a more difficult task than he anticipated. Especially when shaking hands struggled to keep the key aligned with the keyhole. Glad for the unusual lack of people bustling in the street, he used all the strength to steady his movement and finally heard a satisfying click. Benjamin sighed with relief pressing the handle. As the door swung inward, his legs refused to cooperate and he collapsed face-first onto the hardwood floor. 

Ouch! He cradled his bruised nose. Can this day get any worse? No! Don’t tempt the fates. They always take it as a challenge when you ask questions like that. He dragged himself inside and kicked the door shut just before darkness claimed him.

After what seemed to be hours, Benjamin opened his eyes. The throbbing in his temples subsided but it was still lurking behind his eyes. 

“Lights.” He groaned.

Nothing happened.

“Lights, Neil.” He repeated louder. 

Silence.

“Where is this slob of a golem?”

On all fours, he crawled to his office at the back of the workshop, checking with his hands for any obstacles. Once there, he hoisted himself to an overstuffed chair and sparked a match. Brightness stabbed at his eyes. Lighting the oil lamp, he turned the knob to lower the flame but stopped abruptly. As his vision adjusted, the view of his desk materialised.

“What the…” he said out loud.

Splatters of blood, wax, and fates only know what else, covered his desk. Is that a tomato? Ripped, half-burned pages sprawled across the surface of every piece of furniture and half of the floor. Benjamin increased the light. On the far end of the room, empty vials littered his ritual rug, the stand that supported Benjamin’s Book of Necromancy lied broken in half. The tome was missing. He panicked.

What the hell has happened here? Has some half-witted burglar decided to break in? Wasn’t it enough to send shrieking demons after them the last time?

Looking for other signs of thievery, he picked a piece of charcoal from the mess on his desk and started scribbling symbols on its surface. He mumbled the summoning spell and a duck-sized fire golem appeared amid the now glowing inscription. Two piercing blue eyes contrasted with his red magma body.

“Neil, thank fates,” Benjamin exclaimed at the creature.

The golem scowled at his master and crossed its arms. “Yeah, thank fates I can return beyond the veil on my own when you start acting like a crazed dipstick.“

“I beg your pardon?“

“You heard me.”

“I am not a—“

“Yes, you are.“

“Am not!“

“Oh-yes-you-are.“

“Am. Not!“

Neil paused and narrowed his eyes. “My apologies. Of course, you’re not. You’re a worthless worm food with a brain rot AND a dipstick.“

Eyeing each other for a long moment, Benjamin finally capitulated. “Fine. Can you at least tell me what happened here? And where’s my Book of Necromancy?“

“You’re joking, right?“

“Do I look like I’m joking to you?” 

“It’s hard to say with your squishy faces sometimes.“

Benjamin pinched the bridge of his nose with exasperation. “I’m not joking. Can you please tell me what happened here?“

A flaming smile spread across the ever-moving golem’s face. “Well, dipstick,” he started accompanied by Benjamin’s loud sigh, “you happened here.“

The necromancer lowered his hand and looked at Neil. “I happened here? What does it even mean?“

“It means that you drank the whole bottle of yarrow essence, started acting like a crazed man and decided to try some new spells from that horrible book you bought from the weird fella who visited Hutton last week.“

“I see…“

“Then you mixed a bunch of potions together, drew all over the walls with your blood, and attempted to summon the Death herself.”

“Oh no…”

“I didn’t know you had a thing for brunettes.” The golem smirked.

“What?“

“Oh, nothing. I just thought you more of a blond guy, you know…since you fancied Gemma from the bakery and all.“

“Shut up, Neil. What happened next? Did it work?“

“Well, yes. Once Death appeared, She listened to your prattling about the unfairness of humans, their materialistic nature, impulsiveness, utter devotion to heavens, and prejudices of Death herself. I must admit that I was not expecting Her to be so patient, but then again, She must be hearing all sorts of word diarrhoeas from the people that souls She’s collecting after they—“

“Get to the point, Neil.” Benjamin interrupted. 

“Where was I,” the golem tapped his fiery finger on the chin pretending to be deep in thought, “ah yes. So after She listened to you for a while, She asked in a divine melodious voice about the reason for Her summoning. I must admit, I was expecting Her to just harvest you with the swish of her sickle but maybe She has a soft spot for dipsticks.“

“Neil!“

“Sorry, sorry.” he raised his magma hands in defence. “You kind of asked Her to be your girlfriend.“

“What?” Benjamin’s eyes bulged in surprise but he composed himself immediately. Before he could stop himself the words escaped his mouth. “What… what did She say?“

Neil gave him the most condescending look a fire golem could muster. “What do you think She said? She declined, of course.” And he added rolling his eyes, “but for whatever reason, She said She was flattered and granted you one wish.“

The necromancer perked up. “Really? Woah… a wish from Death herself. What did I ask for?“

“You asked Her to wipe out all non Necromancer population from the world.” 

Silence thick like syrup filled the room as Neil and Benjamin stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

“Did She do it?” 

“Have you seen anyone about?“

“Dust and ashes…” It all clicked. His mother’s absence, the empty streets, lack of people bustling about their business, his weakness due to blood loss, and overwhelming potion hangover. A whole bottle of yarrow essence. Idiot!

An idea popped into Benjamin’s head. “Where’s the Book?” he asked.

“Why do you need it for?“

“I need to check something.“

“Does it involve filling the Earth with demons from seven hells?“

“What? No. Why would you even ask me that?“

“Oh, I don’t know,” the golem spread his arms, “maybe because that was your idea yesterday.“

Benjamin looked positively chastised. “It’s not my idea anymore.” He said. “There’s this ritual—” 

“You can’t undo it.” The golem cut in.

“I need to try it. Where’s the Book.“

“Look, I’m not trying to be funny, but the Death herself wiped humanity out. Do you really think you can reverse Her harvest?“

“The Book, Neil.” Necromancer’s voice carried a warning.

Resigned, the golem conjured a mottled, age-worn tome. “Here.“

Benjamin turned page after page scanning each of them. 

Day turned into night and day again. Benjamin’s stomach growled.

“You need to get some food,” said Neil. 

“I will once I find that ritual.“

“You’ll pass out before finding anything if you won’t eat something soon.“

“I got it! This is it.” 

“Typical…” The golem grumbled but Benjamin wasn’t listening. His eyes scanned the text on a half-burned page. 

He glided his finger listing the ingredients: “Adder’s Tongue - got it. Bear Paw - on the shelf. Blood of Hestia - can be arranged. Devil’s Plaything…” He grimaced looking at the empty vial on the still messy floor. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Neil pointed at the bottom of the page where a blue inscription glowed in the dim light: 

DO NOT USE ON HARVESTED SOULS. UNDEAD AILMENT AFFECTS THE RESURRECTION.

“Great,” Benjamin groaned, “so my choices are to either live being surrounded by zombies, or spend the rest of my life in solitude.” 

“You’ve asked for seclusion.” The golem noted. 

“I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.” 

“Maybe Death did it on purpose?“

“We’ll never know. She refuses my summons.“

Neil scoffed. “I wonder why.“

“Guess the only thing I can do now, is to find other Necromancers.“

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you.” Said the golem and moved towards the far end of the room. 

“Why?” Asked Benjamin genuinely curious. 

“They know you’re the reason for humanity’s disappearance.“

“What? Who told them?“

“You think you’re the only one able to summon Death?” 

“Oh…“

“Also, we golems gossip a lot when we behind the veil.” Neil turned mid-air to avoid Benjamin’s accusatory gaze. “There’s not much to do there, in the plane between the worlds I mean.” 

The necromancer groaned. “I see…Well then, I see no point in worrying about the future anymore.“

“What do you mean?“

Benjamin walked over to the potion cabinet and swung the door open. Grabbing a large flask labelled “yarrow”, he uncorked it and swigged its contents in five gulps. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” He muttered while grabbing another one and sitting on a sticky rug.

“That’s what you’re going to do? Get drunk again?” Asked the golem.

“Yup,” Benjamin raised his hand, “to a bright and happy future, Neil.” And he started chugging.