My father and mother feared skeletons, but I was fascinated with them. I learned Grandfather's art, even though it repulsed others.
Now, in my autumn years, there was need. I walked behind my creation, and his bones gleamed with soft magic, lighting my path in the dark. The skeleton was made to fight for me. I robbed bones from a warrior�s grave to create him. He would have been stronger had the corpse been fresh, but my people were offended at the violation of their dead.
My skeleton was beautiful. Glowing a muted azure, his bones lit my way into the mine shaft and we penetrated the darkness side by side, searching for the old enemy of my kind, the darklings.
My grandfather fought darklings in his younger days. As a child I sat at his knee and listened to stories of the monsters that defended the violated Earth. The Earth Goddess, Tellus, was jealous of her treasures. Tellus hated the mine, but it was how we lived.
The darklings were demons of the earth. With each kill they fed on the bodies of their victims, growing stronger. Grandfather said they represented decay. When he was a young man, he found their weakness, and exploited it. He used the mysteries of life and death to raise up warriors from the grave, unnatural creatures which Tellus could not control. When our created skeletons died, their bones crumbled into dust, leaving the darklings nothing to feed on.
This skeleton and I were bonded, with one purpose. We would cleanse the copper mine of the foulness that endangered my kinsmen. If we failed my village would starve. My grandchildren would die. This was not acceptable.
I thought of those two, my little ones; Messia with her dark hair and gypsy eyes, Rasce the bold and aggressive. I was sixty summers old when my grandchildren found me. I hid myself away from the world. My hut was next to the graveyard, where children loved to scamper, telling stories to frighten one another. How surprised Messia and Rasce were to find out I was their grandfather. Kaisie never talked of me. To his children, I was just the crazy old fool they played pranks on with their friends.
Only seventeen summers between them and already they were wiser than their Grandpa. They knew to let the sun shine on their hair as they scampered through the fields. Messia and my brave Rasce gave me love, fresh and new, like the wild grapes they brought me. They were my treasures.
Love was something I had forgotten. My wife was lost to me in the birthing of our second child. My son, Kaisie, blamed me for the death of his mother. I mourned in darkness, burying myself in the trappings of my deadly art, and Kaisie hated me. He kept his light from my eyes.
His children did not know hatred. They shared their world with me, so that I was reborn, and I lived for them.
I would kill for them. Save for anointing my dead wife and child in their tomb, I had not used the old art since Messia ran away, crying at the site of my necromantic tools. Now I returned to the magic of my grandfather.
I walked into the underworld in search of the monsters that would starve my people. The hem of my robes dragged the ground. The walls were damp, bleeding moisture into the tunnel to pool at my feet. The skeleton preceded me, lighting my way. The air was dusty, hidden from the warmth of the sun. It was like entering my wife�s tomb.
I thought of my grandchildren. Tellus wished to hoard her treasures, but she must not threaten mine.
~~~
I was old to be doing this. The skeleton and I made a good match. Both of us were aged and our bones brittle. My knees were stiff, aching in the cold mine. The hair I pushed away from my eyes was white and thin. There was a good chance, as we entered the mine, that we were going down into our own tomb.
My skeleton became accustomed to life, after laying dormant for so long in his grave. He was armed with the ax I used to chop wood for my fire.
The man whose corpse I used to make this skeleton was strong and fleet, killed by disease rather than the animals he hunted. He spent his life supplying our people with meat through the mountain winters. His bones now served to protect them. I watched as the skeleton�s long arms swung the ax, cleaving the stale air in the mine shaft. Bony feet dug into the packed dirt floor. Yellowed teeth chattered as he swung his head around, searching for enemies. Grandfather's necromantic art gave this skeleton a mind of his own, but he was bound to my will. He could see and hear as well as a human. I did not know what he thought, or felt. Did he even have a soul, or memories?
A stunted, vicious darkling ran at us. Its eyes glowed yellow, and its jagged teeth reflected the light from my wand. The darkling�s body was so twisted I felt surprised it could move quickly. I raised my polished bone wand and power surged up my arm into the wand�s shaft. Runes, carved along the wand�s length, flashed and a spear of energy the color of blood shot out of the tip. Magic lanced into the darkling's chest. My skeleton swung his ax, and hacked at the darkling. It barreled past us, the yellow-lit eyes fading as it fell to the dirt. My warrior threw back his head and chattered his teeth. I smiled at his display of pleasure.
A wind-driven spray of black ichor came howling out of the dead creature. The fetid liquid coated my skeleton. Hot blood whipped my robe around and tossed my hair back, plastering it to my neck.
It was the magic of the kill: the deathwind. My own creation, it siphoned energy from the dead monsters to fuel my magic.
My wand fed on it, growing hot against the palm of my hand. Power surged through my body, a sensation like sudden emersion in heated oil. The stiffness in my bones receded. I felt young and strong again. It excited me.
Perhaps this task was not impossible.
