Chapter 10
Hopeless Endeavors

Igdanha
1187 AD II

Necro was already awake when Barrow Lady stirred in the bed. They had returned late in the night, reconciling his outburst in front of everybody. For a long time, in the non-toxic gaseous area of the swamp where clouds of rainbow-like vapors wafted over the ground, and magnified the night sky to unbelievable proportions, they had held each other as they had many times before. Perhaps he might have been more motivated to make love last night since very soon he planned to again leave Troll Forest with Wrath, and from there he would go to meet Valdez once more, for a period of over one month.

His biggest concern was justifying such a leave of absence to Morphose. More than likely, he would return around the same time Suliman would, which would be quite a while. Troll Forest just barely skirted the borders of the Harrowed Empire of King Magnus, so naturally it wasn't longer than a fortnight to get to the State Necromancer's headquarters and rescue Wrath's friend. But then, perhaps, the return journey would be able to justify that return time. However, he had no interest in helping Wrath. It was just a perfect cover to see Valdez. What would happen, then, if Wrath told Morphose or Suliman he hadn't actually helped him? Then he'd have to explain why he went away where nobody knew for four weeks.

He sighed, taking his mind off the subject. If he strayed too long on it, he would simply be overwhelmed by too many factors. Instead, he focused on Barrow Lady. Her breathing pattern beside him indicated she was awake, now, and he put his hand on her side. As so she usually felt, she was neither warm nor cold. He could tell she was in her birth form since her frame was smaller than the hag she usually posed as.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

“mmmm...” she grunted in response. She shifted a bit in the bed to lie on her back. “...I don't recall coming back home.”

“I carried you back, last night,” he explained. “I'm guessing today is the day.”

“The day you help Wrath, or the day you go back to daemon Valdez?”

Necro paused. “Seemingly the first, but actually the latter,” he said after a moment's thought. She then turned completely onto her side facing him. She was glaring harshly at him, and he felt a stab of pain in his stomach realizing she was upset.

“I understand what your were talking about, last night, Necro,” she started, “but just because you don't want us to worry about you, it doesn't mean we won't.”

Necro had already quashed all his rage after his outburst, and instead of speaking harshly from fury like he had before, he was more collected. “There's nothing that can hurt me in the Land, Fae.”

She sat up, and looked at him without losing any of her stern countenance. “Do you know why I'm afraid you'll be hurt?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Because you are under the delusion that you're some kind of god. You think that nothing can hurt you, and that you do whatever you want and be fine. Do you remember the Pantheon of Cirrus? All daemons just as good, and even better, than yourself. You know where each of them are today?”

He didn't answer, knowing too well. He hung his head in realization.

“All of them are dead. The most powerful beings to ever be allowed to live were also allowed to die, and so they did. You might think you're perfect, and that Valdez is perfect, and that his entire damn Pantheon are gods but they're not, Necro, they're not. You're not.”

“Fae...”

“Necro, listen to me!” she grabbed him by the front of his white cotton shirt, and pulled him close. She put her hands behind his head, and drew his face to her and their lips briefly met. “Necro,” Barrow Lady whispered. “I don't want to live without you. I don't want you to die, because then I'd have no reason left to live.”

“Don't say that...”

“It's true!” She then grabbed his shoulders and squeezed him in a tight embrace. “Neither Laeus nor Solomon Montague could show me the love I've always wanted, but I never knew it until I met you!”

“Don't you remember what happened last night?” Necro whispered. “My hands, burning the table, I can't control the power flowing through me all the time. It's not just the limit-break, it's Necropherus as well! We're in a constant struggle for dominance over this body, and unless I can learn to fully control my limit-break I'll never be at peace with myself. I never be allowed to be the Necro I need to be.”

“What is the Necro you need to be?”

He hesitated

“Necro...”

“I want... I want to stop struggling. I want to stop worrying about my existence being threatened, so that I can stop running. I want to marry you one day, Barrow Lady, and if its possible I'd like to have children with you, and raise them in a home of our own, not Morphose's hut.”

“I have no body to have children with,” she mumbled.

“My limit-break begs to differ. My will be done...” Necro pulled free from her, and he looked dead into her eyes. “And I am a necromancer, as well. Controlling spirits, minds and bodies is what my people do. I can find a way to separate your natural prill existence, and undo whatever it was to you that Xenofex did in his experiments.”

“If you do that, you will completely change what I am. If I have to live in a body, then no longer could I change my form.”

“Then I could change it for you,” Necro leaned closer to her face, and whispered into her pointed ear. “Anytime you want.”

He felt her small hands on his chest, pushing him gently away so he could see her face.

“Necro...” she whispered. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said. “I thought that you of all people could understand and respect my existence, but you want to change me.”

“No,” Necro said. “I just want whatever it is you want. If you don't want what I offer, then I don't want to do it at all. I love you no matter what.”

“Do you really want children?”

“Perhaps, one day. If we can't make them ourselves, then we can at least find one without a family.”

“How about Aisenwrath?”

“Now you're just being ridiculous,” Necro chuckled. “By the time I'm ready to have children, he'll probably be thirty.”

Wrath had slept on the old bed in Morphose's den, and awoke with a stiff back. He stretched his limbs while groaning to release the stiff pain commanding his body.

“You ready, Abernathy?” Wrath then asked.

“As ready as a talking sword can be, Wrath,” Abernathy answered from the bedpost, leaning against it where Wrath set him last night. “Is Necropherus joining us?”

“I don't know... not after last night, I wouldn't know.” Wrath mumbled. “I hope we don't have to do this on our own. I'm not a warrior.”

“You don't have to be a warrior to be a hero, Wrath.”

“Yeah yeah... it just makes it easier. Did you see Morphose this morning? You always wake up before me.”

“Yes. He strolled by, and I called to him. Said he was out to get some firewood... that was maybe forty-five minutes ago.”

“What time is it?”

“Probably the seventh hour before noon.”

“It's early, then. Necro would most likely assume we'd leave early, so if he's not up he's probably not coming.”

As if on cue, Necro and Barrow Lady's bedroom door opened with the two occupants moving through. Barrow Lady was in her birth form and hovered over Necro's left shoulder. Necro himself was wearing a pair of sturdy cotton pants, a leathery brown tunic over a long sleeved, white cotton shirt and on his feet were leather boots matching his tunic. Wrath grinned, seeing Necro was dressed for travel, and his hope was confirmed when he saw a sword hanging at Necro's side.

“You're coming with me, then?” Wrath asked, and Necro nodded.

“We'll leave after Morphose returns... just to let him know I've decided to go.”

“What about you, Barrow Lady?”

“Oh, no... I'm not fit for long travels anymore,” she said, and leaned against Necro's shoulder. She smiled softly at Wrath.

“I have a few questions, though.” Wrath said. “Where is the State Necromancer's headquarters?”

“It's about a fortnight northwest,” Necro said.

“Fourteen days?!”

“And fourteen nights... we'll have to be sparing with sleep and breaks.”

“Awww...” Wrath groaned. Necro frowned.

“Youth today...” Necro mumbled. “I traveled all across the North for over a month tracking down the three guardians that sealed my power, and I was four times as old and feeble then as I am now! I climbed mountains, sailed seas and was harassed by pirates.”

“Well, grandpa, I've been roaming from place to place all my life so forgive me if I'm not crazy about getting up and going again.”

“Too bad your life has only been fifteen years!” Necro snapped. “I'm Necropherus! I'm a hundred and twenty-nine years old, and over a hundred years of that life I spent more abroad then you can ever hope—”

“Will you two just shut up and stop bickering like ninnies?!” Barrow Lady shrieked, and in turn struck both Necro and Wrath in the back of their heads. They both shrank away from her, rubbing the back of their heads vigorously to stop the stinging of her strike.

“You're right, Fae,” Necro murmured, and just under his breath he muttered. “Do I really want children that badly after all?”

It was Necro who prepared a quick breakfast of tea and toast for him and Wrath. It didn't take long to finish the meal, and they were forced to sit alone casting scowls at each other until Morphose came in with an armload of firewood.

“Good morning, all,” Morphose piped cheerily, setting the wood by the side of the stove. “I smell breakfast.” He straightened up, and popped out the kinks in his elderly frame.

“Too late, we just finished,” Necro said. “Tea and toast.”

“Why?” Morphose chuckled a bit, and then went to a cupboard. “That's not very much. You know my pantry well, Necro. There's eggs, sausage, coffee...”

“We hoped to be away before long.”

Morphose had opened the cupboard, but when he Necro said they were leaving he froze, and shut the door rather listlessly. He looked at Necro with a pitying and longing face. “I really wish you weren't going, Necro.”

“Are you asking me that as a former seer? We both know the time line Cairo's master set us on has made your visions of the future pointless and irrelevant.”

“If I could see danger, and you were running headlong into it, then even I would go against the flow of destiny and forbid you.”

“Forbid me? Morphose, you aren't an ordinary person being a Guardian. But could you hold me of all people back?”

“I wouldn't physically detain you. I know you're more powerful than I, but I would hope our friendship would be more powerful than even you.”

Necro was quiet, and he lowered his gaze a bit. Then, suddenly, his eyebrows knitted into a fierce scowl, and his hands clenched into tight fists, shaking with rage.

“You want to guilt me then, Guardian?” Necro muttered. He then looked up, and Morphose gasped. Wrath looked from Morphose to Necro, and he too stood and stumbled back.

A very weird change overcame Necro, his body appearing very different. He was slimmer and lankier, his hair pure black, messy and shoulder length. Even his skin had taken on a deathly looking paleness like the moon's shine. It had to be a trick of the light, Wrath though, and he rubbed his eyes furiously. When he opened them, Necro appeared as he always had. His skin color was normal, and his hair was still short and clean.

The look on Necro's face that Wrath had seen in a moment of strangeness was twisted, and sickly sadistic. Now, it was normal but still looking very agitated and angry.

“Necro...” Wrath heard Morphose whisper. He looked at the Guardian, and he saw a single tear rolling down Morphose's cheek. He was trembling, and slowly shaking his head in disbelief. “What's happening to you, old friend?”

“It's none of your business, Morphose,” Necro muttered. He looked ashamedly away from Morphose, staring irritably at the floor.

In two steps Morphose flew across the den overturning the kitchen table, and grabbed Necro by the front of his tunic. He thrust him against the wall, and stared angrily at Necro, who seemed unphased but refused to meet his gaze. This made Morphose shake Necro. “LOOK AT ME!” he roared.

Necro obliged, and slowly turned his head to stare into his friend's eyes. They sparkled dangerously, and Morphose again asked his question.

“What is happening to you, Necro?”

Necro closed his eyes, and sighed. “It's not working, Morphose,” he said.

“What's not working?”

“The...” he looked at Wrath like he seemed hesitant to speak. However, must have saw no harm and continued, returning his stare to Morphose. “The limit-break isn't holding Necropherus anymore.”

Morphose released Necro, allowing the necromancer to slide down the wall and into a crumpled pile on his knees. Wrath heard Barrow Lady gasp, and in a moment she was by his side with her hand on his shoulder. She looked at Morphose furiously.

“Can't you see he's trying to protect you?” she snapped.

“I can't see that. All I see is the most dangerous man alive keeping secrets from a Guardian.”

“Your his best friend!”

“No, you are, Barrow Lady. And Amelia is my best friend. If he's keeping secrets from me, from my family, I have a damn right to know them.”

Necro, didn't immediately answer, but when he did he obviously surprised Morphose. “You're right. I won't endanger Amelia or Kenneth. Barrow Lady and I will leave Troll Forest.”

“Necro!” Barrow Lady squeezed his arm tightly.

“You don't have to do that, Necro,” Morphose uttered. “Tell me what your problems are. I just want to help you.”

Necro looked up, his face hollow and dispassionate. “You will never be able to help me, Guardian. Only my kind will ever be able to do that.”

Morphose stiffened. “Your kind? You can't mean...”

“I do, Morphose, and when my journey with Wrath is over do not look for my return.”

“Wait a second, here, Necro!” Barrow Lady interjected, slapping him on the arm. “I have a say in this too, you know?!”

“No, you don't. Not if you are willing to follow me wherever I go, because a quiet life in this forest no longer appeals to me.”

“How can you be sure that isn't Necropherus speaking?” Morphose scoffed.

“How can I be sure? I can't. Maybe it is, but I find it agreeable with me. Yes, it sounds like the words of Necropherus, and for all the evil he is inside me, he has never been filled with lies or deceit. He has only ever been honest, which is more than what can be said for any person in this room except for him. I am leaving.”

Necro stood, and he glared at Morphose. “You're just like Carlawna, Morphose. You're a liar, and a lecher of secrets you've no right to know.”

“How dare you?” Morphose hissed. “A lecher, am I? Get out, then. You may no longer be a murderer, Necro, but if you are still willingly following the words of Necropherus then for all rights I have to believe you are still him. Leave Troll Forest, and do not return until you see reason.”

Necro walked past Morphose towards Wrath. He plucked his traveling pack from the back of a chair, and looked to Barrow Lady who was quivering in the corner where he left her.

“Necro...” she whimpered. “Please don't do this.”

“Morphose, allow her to stay at least if she would.”

“I allow her.”

“I won't, Necro.” Barrow Lady said, and she rose up from the ground. “But where you are going I can't follow you for now. You need a month alone with your own kind, then I need a month alone with my own. I'm returning to Harlbarrow, and when you are done helping,” she said sarcastically, “...helping Wrath, look for me there.”

Necro shut his eyes, and nodded. “I certainly will.” He stopped at the door. “Come now, Aisenwrath, we've far to go.”

Wrath blinked twice. He felt seemingly lost in the drama of all which that had transpired. It took a moment to comprehend Necro's words, but he obeyed and too up his own pack and Abernathy and followed Necro out the door.

Following the northwest path out of Troll Forest, Necro felt dead inside. He heard the footsteps of three people: Wrath, his own, and a third person. He needn't look to confirm his vision of a paler, thinner, and wilder looking youthful version of himself walking with a fat smirk on his face.

—It was something you needed to do a long time ago, Bevek,— Necropherus said to him.

Necro wanted to answer back, but he couldn't let Wrath overhear. For months, now, he had been seeing these manifestations of Necropherus walking by his side especially recently with the outlets of his anger. The faltering of his limit-break to control the Beast, Necropherus had become clearer and less translucent every day until it was like he was right there beside him.

—To Nexus with Morphose, and to Nexus with this boy. On top of that, to Nexus with Valdez and his pathetic little Pantheon. You don't need his help. You have me...— Necropherus chuckled. —You, me, and our limit-break! Imagine all that which we can do just like before! You miss it, right? The smell of buildings smoldering in the distance, hearing the cries of those fallen by your power and legions of the undead? I know that I do.—

“Wrath, what do you think about murder?” Necro suddenly asked aloud. Wrath, walking by his side, was a quiet a moment as he tilted his head in thought.

“Well...” Wrath started. “There are two types of murder, one acceptable and one that's not.”

—Oh brother...— moaned Necropherus. --Death is death, you pathetic little worm!--

“I believe that all murder was wrong,” Necro said.

“What about when you kill to protect the people you love?” Wrath suggested.

—I'd like to kill the people that love me— Necropherus piped up, but again Wrath couldn't hear him.

“That is seemingly acceptable... but can any amount of death ever be justified by something like self-defense?” Necro asked.

“I think so,” Wrath said. “In fact, if you kill in self-defense, I think that doesn't make it murder.”

“And in cold blood?”

“Then you are a murderer,” Wrath concluded. “A cold-blooded, ruthless and miserable bastard who deserves nothing less than an eternity in the Nexus.”

Necro smiled. “You'd make a good necromancer with that line of thought, Wrath.”

“I've only met one necromancer before you, and he's the first person I've ever wanted to kill.”

“Hohenheim?”

Wrath didn't answer. His ear flicked twice, and he bit his bottom lip. “He tied Chiru up. What else would I want to do? It's not... unnatural, right?”

“Not at all. There have been greater men than the boy you are now who've been driven mad when the lives of their loved ones are at stake.”

“Would Morphose have killed you?”

“No... no.”

“Let me rephrase it then—would he ever be forced to try to kill you?”

“To protect his family, and serve the Land as a Guardian? He wouldn't hesitate, and I wouldn't want him to.”

—Not that he ever could though.—

“Morphose could kill me, though. My primary instinct might be self-preservation, but to Morphose saving the Land is second-nature to him—it's what he's meant to do. If he needed to kill me, he'd find a way, but I doubt that such an occasion would ever arise. We're on turbulent water right now, but in my leaving I didn't abandon our long-forged friendship. I don't think that he did either.”

“So... I guess soldiers go through the same moral debate in their head. When is it okay to kill? You think almost never, but I believe that protecting people is the only good reason to. Self-defense, I guess, I was wrong about, now that I think of it. If you're fighting somebody, even if your opponent is fighting to the death, it doesn't mean you have to. In a fight like that, in any fight, you should fight to incapacitate if he's not a threat to your friends or family.”

“If he is, though?”

“Then you kill him.”

—Maybe I was wrong about this boy... he's got the killer instinct! Unlike some people around here limited by their omnipotence...—

“Necro... I hope this isn't personal, but why did you kill so many innocent people?”

“You're still young, Wrath. Have you ever heard about something being a grey area?”

“Yes, but I don't understand. It is what it is, after all.”

“It is what it can be.” Necro stressed. “Nothing is ever just cut and dry, good or bad. I wasn't in control of myself in those days I killed a thousand people.”

“I don't buy that.”

“Why not?”

“Because everybody has to be held accountable for what they do.”

Necro stifled a snort of laughter when Wrath said that, making the youth look at him with a challenging stare. “You actually believe in that tripe?” Necro asked, surprised to see that Wrath evidently did.

“Why wouldn't I?! Accountability is the foundation of responsibility. It's equal exchange for all that we do, good or bad.”

“It's easy to believe that because it makes sense, I won't lie. However that isn't often the case. In fact, it's hardly ever the case. Take it from Necropherus himself, bad things happen to a lot of good people, and too many good things happen for bad people. You look at Magnus, and how myself, Morphose and the Wise Men see it he is a very bad man. Look at him, though, he is the chairman of the Continental Council, Emperor of the Harrowed Empire, and commander-in-chief of the State Military of the Council. Those are all terribly evil things for people like us simply because of the fact we don't want to see Magnus succeed. Let me ask you this now—do you think Magnus thinks of himself as evil?”

Wrath stopped in his tracks, looking at Necro with his mouth slightly ajar. Necro had just asked a very meaningful and thoughtful question, and Wrath hardly knew the answer.

“There are people out there twisted enough to come to a position of power just so they can be cruel and dishonest, but more often than not people who become involved in politics do it for two reasons—money, or an altruistic belief that they can make an honest change for the better. Even if you are in politics for money, and you become corrupt and dishonest, you don't intentionally destroy the lives of the people who support you, and invest their confidence in you.”

“What sort of change do you think Magnus wants to make?” Wrath asked, catching up to Necro.

“It's hard to tell. He said he wanted to form the Council initially to encourage intercontinental and domestic growth, and so far every faction that has sworn itself to the Council has been met with a measure of improvement. It's slow, yes, and the evidence of his work is hard to point out which makes people like the Wise Men question him. For example, why request permission to establish an army during peacetime, especially an army primarily of necromancers right here in the holy homeland of the warlocks?”

“Aren't there problems with necromancers and warlocks?”

“For thousands of years there has been,” Necro said. “It all goes right back to Phanatos—the Great Necromancer, you more commonly know him—when he was exiled from his kingdom and throne in the Warlock Kingdom because he created the branch of magick known as necromancy. As years went by, and more and more necromancers sprung up across the land, they were met with extreme resistance and hatred in the Warlock Kingdom. Usually more so than not—since warlocks are innately magick—warlocks were the prime candidates for becoming necromancers. It created a schism in the court for centuries which came to a head a few weeks ago when Warlock King Koldor the Third surrendered the Warlock Kingdom to Magnus in hopes he could rebuild their society. Instead, he has successfully driven over thirty percent of the warlocks from Igdanha, and the numbers grow every day.

“So yes... it's hard to see what good Magnus can do. Personally, Morphose and I agreed that Magnus is heralding a time opportune for Phanatos' revival to finish off the warlock people once and for all. I think that the incarnation of Phanatos will be in that of Magnus' first born son when he has one, which would mean that Phanatos would inherit the Council, the Empire, and the State Necromancers. With all those tools at his command... he will very likely enslave the Land.”

“Enslave the Land? Why would he do that? Money? A belief?”

“No money or a belief, Aisenwrath. No, what Phanatos will do is... rule.”

“Just... rule?”

“Yes. He may or may not be a tyrant, but it would be fitting for the Great Necromancer to find himself King of All Things Under the Sky, just to float his ego, and there hasn't been a king like that since the beginning of time.”

Necro just barely reached for Wrath with his limit-break, locking on to the boy's emotional center and he could feel Wrath shiver at the mere thought. He thought, for Wrath's chagrin, to continue on a rather humorous note.

“Ironically enough, that particularly king went by the initials of his title as Katus. His true name is lost to time.”

“What would become of people like me?”

“Outcasts? Hybrids? I dunno... Unless he's some kind of fascist and dislikes hybridization between races— interbreeding being more common now than it was five thousand years ago, when it was thought taboo—he'd only have his eyes set on you for supposedly killing that old lady who gave you your name.”

“Well, Nexus knows I wouldn't want to be singled out because of what I am... or what I'm not.”

“Race doesn't matter, Wrath. You make too big deal about it. The woman I love most in my life is a prill, Morphose married a human woman and had a son—a hybrid just like you—with her. Hear, listen to me, race is so unimportant I as a human referred to his wife as one without thinking about what I am.”

“What are you?”

“I call myself by what I know I am, and I am a necromancer.”

Necro and Wrath walked for some time in silence. The thicket of trees overhead thinned out as they left Troll Forest and acquainted themselves with a valley of lush green segora grass. It's bouquet brushed against Necro's nose like a tantalizing scent of a freshly picked orange, and he could feel the summer most at a time like this.

The blue sky stretched in all directions, a cloud occasionally stretching across the fathoms like a pillow high up in the sky, and standing at the crest of the rise before descending into the valley Necro could look behind at Troll Forest and know that somewhere, deep inside the grey canopies and deathly looking trees was Morphose's hut, which he would not return to most likely for a long time, if ever. That thought saddened him, but he turned his gaze back towards the valley where he would travel with Wrath for a while before he unfairly abandoned the boy so he could go off and learn how to be a daemon from Ricardo Valdez.