The Corpse Wars ended 300 years ago.
The actions of the Death Mages had ensured that the Ars Necromantia would be forever shunned from that day forward. But that didn't stop people from being born with the ability to speak to the dead.
Dr. Emilio Kane wanted nothing more from life than to practice medicine on the outskirts of town, and ensure the dead found their final rest. It was a simple life, and he was doing pretty well with it. Until Queen Marisol showed up in his workshop.
The problem?
She was dead. Wrongfully so.
... and Emilio might be the only one who can restore her to the waking world.
The Corpse Wars ended 300 years ago.
The actions of the Death Mages had ensured that the Ars Necromantia would be forever shunned from that day forward. But that didn't stop people from being born with the ability to speak to the dead.
Dr. Emilio Kane wanted nothing more from life than to practice medicine on the outskirts of town, and ensure the dead found their final rest. It was a simple life, and he was doing pretty well with it. Until Queen Marisol showed up in his workshop.
The problem?
She was dead. Wrongfully so.
... and Emilio might be the only one who can restore her to the waking world.
Emilio Kane stretched out on the table and looked around the dimly lit room. Normally, he would rest comfortably in his bed upstairs, but on a night like this, the workshop was the best place to be.
The summer months made it too damned hot to fall asleep. Even with all the windows open, there was not enough of a breeze to justify sleeping in his own bed. The idea of sleeping and sweating was unpleasant enough that he decided the workshop was the lesser of the two evils. The cellar beneath his house was originally meant for storage, but he had converted it to a workshop when he moved in long ago. The stone walls were excellent at keeping the air cool, but the large blocks of ice he had brought in regularly made the space a bit of paradise. However, the trade-off for sleeping down here meant he would have to fall asleep with the constant chatter all around him.
Kenzi Page was firing off questions to old man Hillard. While a patient man his entire life, Hillard wore the look of a man who was more than ready to meet his maker. Page was in her mid-twenties and wanted to know everything about Hillard and his life. Page had been trying to chronicle the kingdomâs history and what better place to start than with one of its oldest citizens?
On the other side of the room, the Lawsons argued. It was not unusual and, in fact, based on the argument, tonight seemed a common occurrence. Hilde Lawson was lamenting the fact that Gerald still had not repaired the broken steps on the staircase. It had been a decade. Gerald fired back by citing that they shouldnât be sleeping upstairs at their age.
There were a few others as well, but they all soon became background noise. The conversation was certainly more pleasant than weeping and wailing. He found that the restless dead were always better in groups than as individuals. While they were still bound here for one thing or another, they found some solace in not being alone.
Emilio was a Necromist, one who deals with the dead. While trained in the mortuary arts, a Necromist, such as himself, could also see and speak with the dead. In doing so, he ensured that the shade would pass on from this world into the next, wherever that may be. Having the ability to discern accident from foul play, or provide real answers to questionable intentions was an invaluable talent to have. It also meant that he could hear the constant conversations of the dead until they moved on.
Unlike the living, the dead never rested.
Page had been killed because of a kick to the head from Hillardâs horse. The poor animal reared up and kicked the chronicler when it realized that Hillard had died while seated upon its back. Nothing nefarious, simply old age. Hillardâs heart had given out while Page had been interviewing the old man. Fate was funny that way.
The Lawsons âsort ofâ died in their sleep. Their neighbors had reported a strange smell coming from the Lawson house. A sewer line in their house had been repaired multiple times, presumably by Mr. Lawson. The most recent of those repairs was⌠hastily done⌠to put it politely. This quick repair had failed, and the air had gone foul, killing the couple in their sleep.
Taking off his shirt, Emilio rolled it up into a pillow and put it under his head. He contemplated running back upstairs for a proper pillow and a sheet, but the chill in the air allowed laziness to set in. He stretched and allowed his body to relax enough that he yawned deeply. That was a good sign that sleep would overtake him soon. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let the conversations slowly fade into the background and into nothingness.
Something felt off. It suddenly became silent. None of the shades were talking. There was only the stillness of the night. Opening his eyes, he sat up and looked around the room. The surrounding shades had all fallen quiet and were bowing their heads in deference. Turning towards the stairwell, he saw her standing there.
Her face was proud, but not overly harsh. This was a face that commanded attention and gave direction. Something about her was strangely familiar, but he could not place it. It was strange for her to be here. Indeed, this shade should not be here at all. The eight shades in this room were present because they accompanied their eight corpses. The eight corpses that Emilio was preparing for their final rest. An untethered shade was always possible, of course, but never for a good reason.
Her pale eyes looked Emilio up and down as if searching for something. Scanning the rest of the room, she drew her gaze back to him and she finally spoke.
âAre you Emilio Kane?â
The dead rarely knew his name, which made this entire encounter even odder. Sliding off the table, he took a step forward, and recognition hit him like a sack of hammers.
âYes, Your Majesty⌠IâmâŚmy condolences on your passing?â
Marisol Failla, Queen of the Kingdom known as The Reach, was dead, and her ghost was standing in his workshop.
âThere was no passing, Mr. Kane. I believe I have been murdered, and I need your help.â
The Queen of The Reach had been murdered. This was going to be a long night.
***
The Reach was a smallish kingdom on the northern edge of the Imperium of Kraphax. Despite its small size, The Reach was known for being the only Kingdom in the Imperium that produced two of the most sought-after exports. Coffee and Cocoa Beans.
Nestled securely in the caldera valley of a long-extinct volcano, the rich, volcanic soil of The Reach provided the perfect bed for these two plants to grow in harmony with one another. The edges of the ancient volcano provided a buffer against coastal gales, allowing the storms to break upon their impressive barriers and provide gentle rains and freshwater runoff below. The southernmost side of the caldera had exploded some thousand years past, destroying everything around it. But, as nature is wont to do, fresh water and seed spreaders allowed the fertile land to produce vibrant life in the wake of utter destruction. Volcanic stone, spewed from the calderaâs dramatic death, created a rough land bridge to the main continent from the caldera, like a childâs hand grasping hold of its motherâs apron, giving the area its name.
The Reach.
Isolated, but possessed of some of the richest farmlands in Kraphax, The Reach was wealthy and well cared for. The shining jewel of the Imperium.
King Raphael Eskil had been the sovereign of The Reach for the past two decades. His passing three summers ago had been upsetting for the whole Kingdom and sent shock waves through the Imperium. Nature abhors a vacuum. Politics doubly so.
Since King Raphaelâs death, The Reach had been governed by his son Lykos. Lykos had been groomed to be a leader ever since he was a child. He was capable and quick-witted. King Raphael of The Reach had been killed on a hunting trip when he was attacked by a wild boar, despite being warned of the animalâs proximity. The attack had been quick and vicious, leaving no time for the King to react. In a last-ditch effort, the boar had ripped a large hunk of flesh from Raphaelâs neck, gouging out much of his throat. The King had bled out before the royal hunting party could get to him. Lykos had been inconsolable for weeks. Eventually, the young prince climbed out of his grief and took up the mantle, so abruptly forced upon him.
The first order of business thrust upon him was to reestablish alliances.
Marisol Failla had been that alliance.
A marriage between Lykos and Marisol had been arranged, a political marriage. Yet, from all reports, the couple had fallen in love. It was a rare thing, but it was not unheard of. That love, combined with King Raphaelâs years of shaping his son into a capable ruler, made Lykos Eskill a force to be reckoned with. Some whispered that he threatened the other nobles and that Lykos was far too powerful. Others said that he was simply a King that knew how to get his way, but he was careful and not overly ambitious.
Now Lykosâ bride, the Queen of The Reach, stood in the cellar of a little-known Necromist.
Emilio rubbed the back of his neck and pondered the situation.
âForgive me, Majesty, normally I would offer you refreshment butâŚâ he gestured about.
The spirit of the late queen steepled her fingers together before her and rested them at her midline in a very regal pose. She watched Emilio silently from the foot of the stairs. Across the room, Kenzi Page leaned in to whisper something to Hillard. The old man nodded and replied in tones no one else could hear. They were stuck in their resolution loops even still. Until they had resolved the issues which bound them to this plane, they were condemned to remain. Emilio had planned to help them resolve their issues in the morning so their families could continue with their burials. He stared at the free-floating figure of the Queen. Plans were going to change.
âIs there some other place we can talk, Mr. Kane? Some place a bit less ⌠crowded?â she said as she forced her gaze back to Emilio.
Remarkable! Emilio thought to himself. Typically, when someone was murdered, their spirits were struck by inconsolable grief or rage. The Queen seemed more⌠put out⌠than enraged or in despair.
âOh! Well, you donât have to worry about them, Your Majesty. Shades are known for their discretion. Dead men tell nâŚâ he stopped himself short and pursed his lips. âYou know, on second thought⌠letâs go to the formal office above, and weâll ⌠sort this out?â
She appeared unhappy at the remark, but he couldnât have helped it. Working with the dead often drove one to find some sort of sanity in gallows humor. With what little professional dignity he had, Emilio gathered his shirt, slipped it on, and made his way upstairs. The shades returned to their conversations as if nothing had happened.
Back up in the hot night air, Emilio turned and saw that the Queen was lingering down below. He watched her for a moment before clearing his throat. âYour Majesty? Is there something wrong?â
She turned away from the scene in the workshop and made her way up the stairs, âThose people ⌠they are allâŚâ
âDead, Your Majesty, yes. Either through old age or accident, but very much no longer⌠with us,â he said as he caught himself. He was going to say the land of the living, but given the situation, he was not sure what might upset her.
âWhy do they⌠and why donât I âŚâ she started.
Emilio expected questions. There were always questions. âAll⌠well⌠most of your questions will be answered inside,â he said as he motioned into the house. âWhile everyone else around here knows I can speak with the dead, very few folks are ⌠comfortable⌠with it. It gets them thinking about their mortality and reminds them of some of our⌠hmmm⌠troubling history. Rather than spook people, I try not to interact with the dead in public. Makes thingsâŚeasier?â
While unnecessary, she took a deep breath and solemnly nodded her head. âI understand.â
Following him inside, Marisol watched as the Necromist turned on the gaslights of a small office. The furnishings were nice, but not too extravagant. Most of the comfort was placed on the chairs and couches that filled the space. Designed for visitors and not for himself. Behind the desk was a rather modest chair with a thin cushion. It was clear that he placed more care on providing comfort for those in grief than for himself.
Settling in behind his desk, Emilio ran his hands through his hair to give it at least a semblance of professionalism. He slapped his cheeks a little to wake himself up. âNow, to answer about those shades downstairsâŚâ he started.
âShades?â she said as she raised an eyebrow.
âRight!â He nodded to himself and looked up at her once more. âApologies. Work jargon. Let me explain. In the beginning, or rather should I say ⌠in the end⌠when we die, a few things can happen. Some folks die and they immediately move on to the next world or place. Depending on what god you follow or no god at all, you end up somewhere. Before you ask, no, I donât know. However, we can discuss it later, if you wish,â he said with a slight smile.
It was a practiced smile designed for comfort, but it still felt genuine. It did not matter the person or the position, his place was to offer comfort in times of loss and sorrow. Such behaviors were expected of political dignitaries and political pawns. But Emilio was neither of these.
Marisol nodded simply and settled in the chair opposite his desk.
Seeing her sit down relaxed him a bit, but watching her engage with her surroundings also piqued his curiosity. Taking a moment, he looked at her - or rather, looked through her. Behind the facade of every Shade and Spirit was their essence - their Alma. To Emilio, the Alma displayed itself as a skeletal mask that bore the truth of oneâs character. Designs and flourishes often decorated these masks. Many did not know the full meaning of the designs on the faces of the dead. But these âdeath marksâ seemed to tell stories of how a person lived their life. The Queen's markings were both elegant, and strong. On her head was a crown of five vibrant flowers. He had not deciphered the meaning of the flowers. Shades and Spirits seemed to carry a random number, but there always seemed to be at least one. Curiosity satisfied, he smiled and nodded his head.
âSo sometimes when people pass on, they simply move on to the next world, place, what have you. Then there are the souls downstairs in the workshop. Most of them died purely by accident. Their deaths happened so fast and quickly that they did not even register they were dead. The others died of natural causes. In both cases, these shades are still here because there is something unfinished from their lives that tethers them here. They died before something important to them could be completed. They have different names, depending on who you ask, or what lore you may have been taught. I call them âShadesâ because they are an echo of the person who once was. While a Necromist like myself can interact with them to find out what needs to be completed, if unattended, they fall back into the last moments of their lives. Mr. Karsen is still reading his book. The Lawsons are arguing and Ms. Page is firing off questions. Your sudden introduction into their patterns and you, being who you are, triggered that response.â
The Queen nodded her head. He could tell she was taking it all in and accepting it.
âSo when we left, they went back to what they were doing ⌠but do they remember us being there?â she asked.
Emilioâs eyebrows bunched. They were entering territory that was rarely discussed outside those of his ilk. âThat is hard to say. They are often very sharp about remembering everything up to the time of their death. Everything afterward can vary from shade to shade. Iâve had a few shades that remembered me. But I think it is only because they knew me before they passed on. Most treat every interaction as new, so I have to treat every time we talk as the first time, even though we may have spoken a dozen times already.â
Marisol looked down at her hands for a moment. He could feel the question coming.
âSince I was not an accident or done in by natural causes, Mr. Kane, is this why I am ⌠different?â she spoke with some guarded hesitation.
Emilio regarded her features, searching them for information. A hint of purple tinged the aura that surrounded her ghostly figure, showing trepidation or fear. His eyes softened as he gazed upon her, longing to take her into his arms and offer her compassion and support in this time of confusion.
âWell, Your Majesty, those who have been murdered are a different lot. If someone is killed violently and they are aware of it happening, the energy surrounding that incident creates what we call a Spirit. Spirits are a copy of that person in life. They are exactly what they were while living, but like a Shade, they are here because of something profound and unfinished. Usually, it is their murder.â Wiping the sweat from his brow, he reached over to the pitcher that sat on his desk and poured out a glass of water.
The water was room temperature, but it would serve its purpose. Clearing his throat, he left the glass untouched. It was time to ask the hard question, âSo, given that you know you were murdered, Your Majesty, can you tell me who did this to you?â
Marisol considered the question for a moment. âI thought it was a dream at first⌠a nightmare. It was dark, darker than it should have been. The only light was creeping from around the door. I was lying in bed and I saw someone step out from behind my mirror. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but they walked toward me. They wereâŚthey had no face.â
The Queen stood up and paced the room, recalling the moment. âOne hand clamped down over my nose and mouth ⌠their other hand was at my throat. I tried to fight, but they were like a stone statue.â Her voice seemed to get louder as she spoke. Turning to Emilio, she continued, âI tried! Gods, did I try! I screamed as hard as I could! I hit them with everything I had. I hit them as hard as I could! But it did nothing. I could do nothing!â
The air in the office suddenly felt cold. Emilio watched as the glass frosted up. This was the sign he was looking for. Those whose lives were taken from them had the possibility of becoming a Spirit but also depending on circumstances - something very dangerous. A Spirit, touched by anger could be consumed by it. Like a disease, the emotion could infect them, causing them to be warped by their rage. There were many names for these creatures. He had to ensure the Queen did not become one of them.
âYOUR Majesty ⌠LADY Failla ⌠Marisol?â he asked loudly. Saying her given name aloud, Emilio hoped it would throw her emotions off.
Marisol stopped mid-stride and gave him a curious look, followed by that of confusion. The room was covered in a fine layer of frost.
âWhat ⌠what happened?â
Again, he gave that comforting smile and motioned her to sit. âEmotions, especially those at our last moments, are powerful. They carry so much power that they can affect the physical world.â He raised both his hands, and spoke with a cautious tone, âWhat I say now to you is with the utmost respect. The thing that killed you bore an unbridled rage. A rage that was so powerful that it bled into you at your moment of death. You need to maintain control over your rage. It was the emotion you died with, and it is a force of power within you.â He ran his fingers over the fine frost on his desk and rubbed the thin ice between his fingers. âThat rage can warp you. A Spirit is an amazing thing! YOU are amazing! An exact copy of who you used to be. You can learn, remember, and grow with those experiences. However, this is usually for only a short time. It is the job of someone like me to ensure that you complete what you need to do to move on. Whether it is completing some task or bringing your killer to justice. I am here to help.â
Marisolâs purple-tinged aura pulsed like a heartbeat. A faint red glow within her. He was right. There was something dark and red in that anger. Something he could not let her give into. She took another unneeded, deep breath and sat down with her eyes closed.
Emilio let out an inward sigh of relief. He had thought that perhaps a casual conversation would send her on her way. Had he known he was dealing with a murder, he would not have left his tools in the basement. The office afforded some protections, minimal warding, and the like. He was not prepared to deal with what was at hand. He had to keep her focused, and with any luck, she could move on before she became more dangerous. He needed her to remember without riling up the memories once again. He needed a different approach.
âWhile I know it is improper, may I call you Marisol?â
Opening her eyes, she looked up with a slight smirk. âI donât remember the last time anyone has ever called me by my name.â She looked off to the side. âI donât think Lykos ever called me by my name. It was always, âDearâ or âMy Queenâ. Itâs a bit funny now that I think of it.â She looked down at her lap and then nodded her head. âYes, please call me Marisol.â
He gave a small smile and nodded his head. A small victory. âAgain, I donât mean to dredge this on for any longer than we need to, but you said the person who took your life had no face. Were theyâŚmasked or was it you could not see them?â
The red pulse flared for a moment within her, but quickly faded. He watched her close her eyes and remember.
âNo, they didnât have a mask.â she continued. âThey were pale, like something that never knew the warmth of the sun. As they cut off my air, they changed.â Marisolâs brow furled, fighting to recall the moment despite the emotions that tried to cloud the memory. âThey began to look like ⌠me? That last moment⌠it was me! A copy of me killed me?â Her eyes opened with confusion.
Emilio frowned.
âNot a copy. A doppelgänger. A doppelgänger murdered you and has taken your place. That means no one knows you are dead,â he said.
When a human being is murdered by another, their Spirit or Shade can be bound to the murderer. When something outside of humanity kills - the metaphysical tether of guilt is snipped, and the restless dead roam free. Was she the only one or was she the first of many?
Things had just gone from bad to worse.
I was really excited by the prospect of this story. Recently Iâve been fascinated by stories that revolve around gods of the underworld, or grim reaper type characters. This story promised to deliver a necromancer and his latest charge, a murdered queen.Â
This novel had many strengths including elements that were executed well, and moments that had me sitting up a little straighter in anticipation. For the length of this novel I thought that the pacing was adequate and appropriate. The story moved from character introductions to new settings, and high energy scenes often enough to keep me engaged in the story. I think there is a lot of potential here for world building, and so many areas that can be expanded on in future novels.Â
There were a few things I selfishly wished the novel had done differently. I wish there had been more time spent explaining the history and origins of this supernatural kingdom. We just barely brushed the surface, and I think because these topics were discussed so briefly, I found myself getting confused when the issues were brought up again later in the novel. I really enjoyed the direction that the novel attempted to take us in, by setting up this moral dilemma of good versus evil in the art of necromancy, and the resulting wars the kingdom has endured because of it.
I wish this novel had taken more of a professorial approach, reminiscent of âA Discovery of Witchesâ by Deborah Harkness. The most interesting aspects of this novel were the moments when we were being told about the art of necromancy, the schooling and education, as well as the targeted hate due to the misuse of these talents in the past. Along with the action sequences, those were some of the strongest moments in the novel and they were few and far between. I loved the snippets of the necromancy text and art in the back of the book, and think sprinkling those throughout the next novel would be a huge asset to this story, and would help the reader submerge themself in this world and magic system.Â
I also found myself wanting more when it came to the relationship between our necromancer and the murdered queen. When the title pronounces this as a love story, Iâm expecting it to reach off the page and squeeze my own heart. Instead I found myself searching endlessly for sparks and chemistry. The characters didnât feel fleshed out enough to empathize with in a romantic sense. While I could understand their compulsions when it came to their independent jobs, or what guided their actions in the novel regarding the queenâs murder, I couldnât quite find their romantic connection. While there were hints of fleeting looks, quick reassuring caresses, and words left unspoken, what came off the page instead felt more like a newly formed friendship, and less of a romantic awakening between two characters. Friendship is a great place to allow a romance to grow from, and Iâm hopeful that the rest of the series will continue to bring these characters together in a way that makes sense romantically.Â
I really enjoy the potential this novel has, but I think the execution in this first novel just wasnât fully formed. I almost wish this book could become the prequel to this series, so that we as the audience could get a bit of a do over as we watch what happens next. I hope the authors continue with this story, because I do think itâs unique, and there are so many directions to take it. Give the characters more room to grow, and allow the audience to fall in love alongside them.