Ona Pou Ekonoja

“Tonight will change your life, Diana,” said Marley as they walked down the stairs to her office. “It is one thing to read theory and memorise old sermons. To truly practice the science of necromancy is to feel if it is all worth the time and pain.”

Diana watched as the older woman placed the box carefully on the round table in the corner of the room. Marley waved her over and Diana sat down, mesmerised. The box was drawing her in, sucking out the air around it. In her head, Diana’s rational self knew that none of it was real, as Mourning Roses did not actually affect the space around them too much, only in barely visible ways. They would become effective once used by somebody who knew what they were doing. Tonight, Diana would have to be that somebody. She willed her hammering heart to calm down and asked her teacher:

“May I open it?” Marley gave her an amused look but nodded. With trembling hands, Diana lifted the lid of the box and carefully took out the rose. Its bud was a dark and bloody red, the petals in full bloom and far larger than the ones of the normal roses grown in the university’s greenrooms. A glow emanated from the center, while the edges of the petals were singed black. The stem, thorns and leaves were completely black and the flower felt warm in her hand. Probably just from the box though, Diana thought.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am, the pictures do not do it justice,” Diana drew a deep breath and continued to stare at the Rose. She had been preparing for two years. Endless reading, studying and private lessons with Mistress Marley, all of it had been leading up to that night. Three months of drinking Rose Elixir and thus, three months of sleepless nights. It would have to be worth it, and she would make it be so. From her bag she drew her mortar, pestle and dagger.

“Shall I do it right here?” she asked, pointing to the small table. Her teacher, who had been preparing some tea, nodded and placed three cups on the table. Diana had not been informed on how she would perform her final test, but she had suspected it would be a spiritual resuscitation. While typical of religious necromancy, it was the best starting point for a practitioner of scientific necromancy as well. It showcased one’s control and ability, and was of a significantly more difficult quality than killing a fly and momentarily bringing back its spirit. Also, a fly proved a far less interesting subject than a dead person.

A knock on the door woke Diana from her musings, and at her teacher’s indication Diana went to open it. Behind stood an elderly gentleman, gripping a soaking hat. He reminded Diana of her father’s old hound which he used to keep in their home, with drooping terribly sad eyes and a pudgy frame. Curtseying somewhat stiffly she ushered the man in and shook his hand.

“Mister William Karwall, miss.”

(Extract from the first chapter of ‘Drain the Mourning Rose’)

“Miss Diana Arcina, sir.”

“Ah, come William, sit here,” Marley took Mr Karwall by the arm and led him to the table. Seeing the knife and Rose the man stumbled as he sat down. Diana sat on one side of him while her teacher sat on the other. The candle in the middle of the table flickered a little, and a moment of silence passed. Unsure what to do, Diana smiled awkwardly at Mr Karwall who avoided her eyes. Then Marley looked at Diana and said: “You may begin, Miss Arcina.”

Afterwards, Diana would retrace the ritual in her mind over and over again. Her mind clung to the trembling of her hands, her tense smiles and the pain in her palm. Marley’s gaze had remained unwavering throughout, revealing nothing and registering everything.

Diana began the ritual. She plucked three petals from the Mourning Rose and crushed them in her mortar. Then she asked for Mr Karwall to hand her the vial, which he took out from his coat pocket. Carefully, Diana tipped three drops of blood into the mortar. Steeling herself for the painful part, Diana took a deep breath and picked up her dagger. It had been sent to her by Rose, some months back, all the way from the north. A wolf had been engraved on the hilt, and the blade was sharpened to a deadly edge. Diana drew a cut across her palm and took the crushed petals. Not too tightly, as to not cut so deep she would harm her bones, she closed her hands around the blade, petals and all.

“Hear me, O spirit, you who’s gone from where I stand,

I ask ye to return, to speak with this mortal one,

To give us one last word,

To open thine eyes once more,

And let the living hear thine voice.

With this Rose, I summon thee!”

The words rang in the chamber and Diana felt chills and sweat across her back. From within her she called to the Rose, ignoring the pain, and channelled its power to reach beyond the living world. And the blood from the vial answered. She smelled muddy earth and freshly baked bread. The backs of Diana’s eyes burned, and she blinked to try and steady herself. Age, death and life passed through her as the spirit began to form above her hands.

It was not shaped much like a person and gave the impression of a hastily done sketch, with some distinguishable facial features. Old and wrinkled eyes, thinned hair and a largely toothless mouth. With a voice barely above a whisper it began to speak.

“Let me sleep… Why am I here?”

“Molly! Oh Moll, I’m here!”

Tears sprang to Mr Karwall’s eyes as he tried to grab the spirit. Mistress Marley pushed the man back onto his chair with a severe look. Diana could taste bile at the back of her throat, and felt the pain on her palm more acutely by the second. Molly answered her husband.

“It’s been so cold Will, there’s no fire here…”