The Rising
As dusk fell upon the snow-covered village, several of the town's guards methodically lit lanterns on the sides of pathways, offering a tiny bit of light in a darkening and cruel world. However, the lights gave no hope or comfort to Luc, who stood bundled tightly in fur and leather against the biting winter wind. Tufts of frozen blonde hair poked out of his hood, pale in the fading daylight.
Before him, a mound of snow protruded the otherwise flat landscape; the burial site of his beloved pet of only half a year, Borin. The dog had been mauled by a bear. A tragic way for any animal to die, certainly, but it hurt so much more because it was Borin. Borin was his dog. Borin had always been a good dog. He knew tricks. He played with the other children. It just wasn't fair.
Sniffling in the cold for possibly the hundredth time in the last five minutes alone, Luc wiped his tears once more before they could freeze to his skin. Luc had been brought up to understand death, albeit only to the extent that most children could. Of course his parents had explained the cycle of life, and how similar it was to that of the seasons. He understood that without death, there could be no life. He also understood that which his friend Bennet had told him about his own parents' deaths. But dealing with it himself seemed a monumental task that he had not expected at all.
His father had given him the privacy he'd asked for, allowing his son the time to grieve a lost friend. Mother had come out occasionally with a cup of tea and some warm biscuits, in the hopes of coaxing him back indoors, though all attempts had failed thus far.
It was only the crunching of snow from behind him that brought Luc out of his state of trance-like mourning. Turning slightly, he could see a mess of black hair from the corners of his eyes. Instantly he recognized his best friend Bennet.
"I'm sorry about Borin," the boy said quietly, stepping up next to his friend, "I wish I could have been there to help."
Luc gave him a cursory glance before returning his gaze to the mound of snow. "I don't know what you could have done. Nobody could do anything," he muttered.
"Well, either way—I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, you did nothing wrong," the blonde replied.
Ben's gaze fell to the mound briefly, and then turned upward to his friend. Luc sniffled and looked to Ben, curious about the smirk on his lips.
"Luc, if you could bring Borin back somehow, would you?" he asked unsurely.
Taken aback, Luc stared at his friend a moment before replying. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Ben smirked, striding over to the side of the grave, "If you knew a spell to bring Borin back to life, would you do it?"
"I can't, we don't have any magic in our family," Luc responded plainly.
Ben's smile extended, his teeth glistened in what little light there was left. "No, no, I mean—if you knew someone who did have magic in their family, would you let them cast the spell?"
Luc allowed the idea to roll around in his thoughts a moment; the suspense seemed to be killing Ben, who was eyeing his friend almost crazily.
"Well... I suppose so. If it brought Borin back." The blonde finally said, nodding.
Ben clapped his hands once and very nearly jumped for joy. Surprised by his reaction, Luc jolted a bit, his heart racing.
"So is that a yes?" Ben asked enthusiastically. Luc nodded.
Minutes later, Bennet stepped back, eyeing the snowy ground with great satisfaction. A wide smile spread across his lips; a crazy look plagued his eyes. Luc chewed on his lower lip and stared at the black-haired boy, watching as his best friend began to shake. Raising his hands slowly, Ben began to mutter strange-sounding words in some language foreign to Luc.
In an instant, Ben's arms shot high above his head, his hands glowing with some strange, ominous-feeling power. His eyes were wide and intense, with no child-like thing about them. His small mouth hung open like a grinning canyon.
"Borin!" Ben called, his young voice commanding, with a hint of fear. Sweat cascaded down his temples in streams, and the sinister glow surrounding his hands seemed to grow brighter.
"Borin! Borin! Borin!" he cried again, and again and again. As he chanted the name over and over, a strange, deeper voice seemed to come from nowhere, mimicking, almost mocking him.
The ground before him rumbled and folded like a quilt being kicked off of a bed. A putrid smell shot from cracks in the snow—one of decay. A gust of wind blasted out from the opening earth, carrying the scent of death on it.
Luc stumbled backwards, landing on his hands. Never had he smelled such awful things; even after Borin had died, the winter hid his scent well.
"Borin! Borin!" the young magician continued to say; several voices now joined in his preternatural hymn. His fingers groped madly at the air.
The stench multiplied in an instant as the earth before them yawned. A dark, quivering arm burst from the broken earth, grasping desperately for whatever it could reach. At the end of its mangled paw, several jagged claws jutted out into the earth. Luc's eyes widened in fear as a second arm escaped, scratching, pulling...
Ben's breaths became shouts. The rotting smell of death wrapped around the boy like a cold embrace. Luc could hardly keep the tea and biscuits he had earlier down as the creature freed itself from the ground.
A corpse, Borin's body, pulled itself from the stinking earth. Soil clung to its mangy fur, its wounds sustained by the bear openly visible to all. Its pale, lifeless eyes locked onto its former master in anticipation... in desire... in hunger...
Bennet collapsed onto his knees, exhausted. "I... did it..." he whimpered.
Luc pushed himself away from the creature, snow piling up against his back and slowing his movements. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.
Borin—rather, the beast grumbled, slowly turning its dead gaze to Ben. The black-haired boy stared at his success in disbelief, smiling in amazement.
"It worked..." he whispered, tilting his head slightly, "It really worked..."
His tiny, trembling hand slowly rose to stroke the creature. It thrust its snout closer to the small hand, allowing it to wrap around it like a warm muzzle. Eyes widening in excitement, Ben brought his other hand to the back of the beast's neck, completely disregarding the gaping and bloodied wound there.
Luc yelped, suddenly overcome with the grisly scene before him.
The beast's gaze quickly turned to the blonde, its mad eyes blinded and lightened by its previous death. Its gruesome lips pulled back in a vicious sneer, accompanied by a low, guttural growl. With clumsy paws, the monster stalked closer to Luc.
Luc froze. He couldn't move. He tried to will his feet to go, but there came no response.
The beast drew closer, and all he could do was close his eyes.
The beast was close.
So close.
He could hear the throaty snarl just inches ahead of him.
He could feel its wet, putrid breath on his face.
Then it was gone.
In one swift moment, a howling scream escaped the beast as it tumbled head over heels past both young boys in the direction of the woods. Cautiously, Luc opened his eyes one by one, and saw the creature lying motionless on the snow-covered ground. He saw Bennet crawling toward the creature pathetically, weeping.
"Boys!" a familiar voice cried out—his father's voice, "Get away from that thing!"
Luc spun his head and saw his father standing tall several feet behind him, wielding a bow and clad in his guardsman's uniform. His gaze was locked onto the undead creature, another arrow ready to let fly.
"Move yourself, Bennet Darch," he warned.
Ben glanced over his shoulder, eyes red with tears. Sniffling, he slowly moved away from the beast. His gaze averted from the ghastly scene, never once looking back.
"F...Father!" Luc cried out, a wave of relief in his voice. Strength returned to his legs and he jumped to his father's side, throwing his arms around him.
"Luc, get inside. I need to speak to your friend."
The blonde, too shaken to cause an argument, hastily nodded and ran toward his house, snow kicking up with each clumsy step.
As soon as Luc was safely indoors, Marcus stepped closer to the beast. He toed at the arrow he'd shot into the creature's skull with the end of his boot. The bloated thing shook a bit before returning to its lifeless position on the earth. With a sigh, the captain of the guard stowed his weapon and turned his head to the black-haired boy at his feet.
"Did you do this?" he asked simply, his deep voice rumbling inside Ben's chest.
"I... I..." the boy stuttered, his breaths broken by tears.
Marcus squatted, dipping his head as low as he could to meet the young boy's gaze. He gave Ben a firm stare that slowly changed to one of deep concern.
"Ben... Bennet. You know that this is wrong, don't you boy?"
The child sniffled, his mouth in a permanent frown. He nodded slowly, tears sticking to his face like glue. Marcus sighed again and pulled the boy to his chest, hugging him tightly.
"Boy... Please, do not meddle in this magic any further. It is a dark path, one that will see you dead before you've grown."
"I only wanted to help..." The boy whispered.
"I know. Now, return to your grandfather's. I expect you never to try this again, do you understand me?"
Bennet nodded.
"Good." Marcus gave a weak smile.
Silently, Bennet stumbled back to his home, leaving Marcus Ward to re-bury the dog.
