As she often did, Lauren found herself alone. However, this time it was by choice rather than a result of her pariah nature. Being abducted was rarely something one ever planned for and as such she was at a bit of a loss. The provided facilities were nice, well stocked and full of amenities. She managed to get a couple packs of smokes and even watched an old-school silent film while the other contestants started to filter in. It was a pleasant few hours. Still, she couldn’t help but be reminded of high-end beef cattle being massaged and fed beer before ultimately being butchered for their meat.
Regardless she had time to kill and an anxious knot in her gut. Despite her unique relationship with death she had no intention to shed her mortal coil for the sick amusement of some anonymous sociopath. Though, it seemed that there may not be much choice in the matter. She had heard of these death games before. She had heard of their cruelty. It sickened her, but it was nothing new. History was brimming with examples of bloodshed in the name of sport. Worse yet, was the fact that some of her fellow victims were absolutely delighted at the prospect of tearing one another apart. So, despite chain smoking and downing shot after shot of top-shelf whiskey she couldn’t fill that existential pit in her gut.
She needed guidance, something to set her mind at ease or at least make the situation bearable. She made her way from the entertainment hub and towards the dojos. Early in her career she had come to the realization that most people grew uneasy in the presence of necromancy. So she often worked isolated from others, not out of any embarrassment or guilt, but rather out of simple practicality. She reserved a private dojo, which was not much more than a padded room with racks of sparring equipment separated from the main hub by a curtain of beads.
She removed a sealed packet from her coat before taking it off and placing it on a hook just inside the room. She sat cross-legged in the center of the room and opened the packet, dumping its contents out in front of her. Grave dirt, the cornerstone to many necromantic rituals. Though it was not chemically different from regular soil it carried the essence of death as easily as a sponge carried water. Once emptied she set the packet aside and reached for her bracelet. Lauren was unique amongst necromancers. Most of her fellow practitioners learned their practice secluded and alone. Lauren however, came from a family of necromancers and, in a way, had inherited the family business.
She slipped her bracelet off and held it between her fingers. It was made from a single purple string laced through several small bones. These bones were her ancestors, each one harvested from the tip of the index finger. She untied the string and slid them into her palm. Each bone was engraved with the initials of its owner. Lauren tumbled the bones in her palm and looked for a specific one, grabbing it and placing it onto the mound of grave dirt. From there she laced the string through the remaining bones and set them aside.
“From dirt I raise thee and to dirt I return thee, heed my call and rise before me.”
A simple incantation, but the underpinning magic she weaved through her words was a complex ritual which she had practiced until perfected. The dirt shuddered and started to swirl as if caught within a twister. The bone, her father’s bone, rose into the air. Pulling someone from beyond the curtain of death was no simple matter. That was the true power of necromancy, that which it held over the dead and departed. Her breath slowed and the soil followed suit. The whirling twister of grave dirt slowed mid air, coming to a gentle crawl.
“Lauren, my pride and joy!” Her father’s voice boomed as if projected from invisible speakers, “How wonderful it is to see you! However… I see you haven’t kicked that nasty habit.”
Shit. She had grown so used to lighting one right up after another that she had forgotten to put out her smoke. Hastily she plucked the slim cigarette from her lips and smushed it into the dojo’s padded floor. She bowed her head.
“Forgive me,” She said, “That was disrespectful.”
“Nonsense!” He answered, “Who do you think gave you that habit hmm?”
In truth all Abernathys smoked. It was a family joke that true Abernathys started smoking before they spoke their first word. Regardless, spirits were fickle things, even familiar ones, and it was disrespectful to smoke during a seance. Her father would have been well within his right to refuse her summons. The older generation would have. She had figured that though these ancient spirits were technically her forebears, it was hard to call them family if she had never truly met them. It was fair to say they felt the same about her and merely answered summons out of a sense of duty.
“I…” She muttered, “I miss you dad.”
“Bah, nonsense, we’re talking right now aren’t we?”
“It’s not really the same is it?”
“Well, no, it isn’t, but you are more fortunate than most,” Her father said.
“Given the situation I’ve got a feeling I’ve used up all of my good fortune,” She answered.
“Mmm, yes, perhaps that is the case,” He said, “I take it that is why you’ve summoned me?”
Lauren spoke after a moment, “Yes.”
She had no need to explain the intricacies of the death games, her father already understood them. Though they were kept beyond the curtain of death, the bone charm allowed her ancestors some level of awareness and this was the true power of her family’s tradition. Lauren had access to several hundred years of experience between them, and when that experience failed she still could find comfort in them. Her father’s bone still floated midair, silently waiting for her to explain herself.
“I am afraid of what may come once this contest is underway,” She said, “These people are killers, plain and simple, this contest isn’t meant to have a winner.”
“This whole place reeks of malignancy, that much is correct,” He said, “There is no shame in fear, Lauren. It is only shameful to be moved to inaction by it. What about the others who are like you?”
She looked up, “Like me? I’m sorry I don’t follow.”
“The ones brought here against their will,” He explained, “Yes there are killers and murderers, but surely you aren’t the only victim of abduction.”
“I… I suppose I haven’t considered that.”
“Ah and what of the contestants who came before you?” He continued, “I doubt their passings were peaceful, I would imagine that you will find many the lingering spirit. Do they not deserve rest? Is it not the duty of our family to provide that rest to them?”
“It is,” She said, “It most certainly is.”
“Then, my dear daughter, it seems you have a purpose and it seems you may not be as alone as you had imagined,” He said, “When it comes for you, greet Death as you would a long lost friend, but until then live your life in the service of others.”
She smiled. There was no escaping the sword of Damocles. Death was the inevitable conclusion of life. It drawing nearer or farer did not change that. Nor did it change her duty as a human being. Perhaps she could still do some good before being slaughtered by the maniacal machinations of the Man in Red.
“Thank you, elder” She said, bowing her head in respect, “Your guidance does not go unappreciated.”
“Ah, cut the formal crap, I’m your father for arbiter’s sake,” He said, “I love you Lauren, I’m proud of you.”
“I love you too, dad.”
With that the grave dirt fell from the air along with her father’s finger bone. She picked the bone up and laced it back onto her bracelet. For a few moments she simply sat with her eyes shut. There was peace to be found in the silence. But the silence did not last. The bead curtain to her dojo clattered as a leviathan of a man stepped through. He nearly filled the entire door frame with his physique. Lauren’s heart skipped a beat and she shot to her feet.
“Forgive me,” Alexander bowed his head, “I did not realize this was occupied.”
The clear embarrassment on his face wiped away any anxiety that Lauren felt and she said quickly, “Oh, no worries, I was just finishing up. Please help yourself.”
“Thank you,” He said, stepping back into the room, “Again, my apologies for the intrusion.”
“Ah, it’s fine, they should really put a lock on that door,” She said dryly, nodding towards the bead curtains. She held out a gloved hand, “Laurentius Abernathy, Lauren’s fine.”
“Alexander Louis Armstrong, pleasure to meet you,” He answered, shaking her hand.
“Pleasure’s mine big guy,” She answered, donning her coat and fishing a smoke out of an inner pocket, “So what brings someone so polite to participate in something so crude?”
