The Cursed Dead: The Hidden Necromancer, #3

By Rhiannon Frater

I have escaped the Atonement Settlement, the rule of the Elders, and the cruel doctrines that took the life of my mother and almost condemned me to death. I have abandoned my former way of life, and now question the religion that ruled over me.

 

But freedom is not all I imagined it to be.

 

There is great danger in the Deadlands. High fences keep the high-tech trains safe, and even higher walls protect the settlements from the hordes of the Unblessed Dead roaming the untamed land. Yet, just like in the Atonement Settlement, humans are just as much a threat. Marauders terrorize settlements while a new religion is murdering suspected necromancers.

 

I have no choice but to go to the Chantry and study to become a Necromancer Cleric. It is my only hope to one day save my younger sister, Carrie, from the Atonement Settlement.

 

But when I am forced to reveal the full force of my necromancy, I soon realize that the human threat against my freedom may destroy all my hopes for the future.    

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhiannon Frater
• Release date: Sep 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393627241

Rhiannon Frater

Rhiannon Frater is the author of As the World Dies, which includes The First Days, Fighting to Survive, and Siege, which she originally self-published before substantially revising the books for Tor’s publication. The First Days and Fighting to Survive each won the Dead Letter Award from Mail Order Zombie.  Frater has written several other horror novels.  She lives in Texas.

Book preview

1

The Train

Freedom is terrifying.

I am surprised that fear and worry have supplanted the joy that I experienced when the high-tech train left the Atonement Settlement station. Yet, as the miles increase behind the train spiriting me away into the Deadlands, a sick feeling settles into my gut. I am finally free of the suffocating doctrine that ruled over my life, but my future is mired in uncertainty.

My fingers fretfully play with the rose pendant attached to the necklace around my neck as I stare at the ever-changing landscape beyond the train window. Endless empty golden fields stretch out in either direction of the track. It is wild grass, not farmland, which seems strange. I have lived for so long behind walls that to see open prairies nearly devoid of the Unblessed Dead is almost unbelievable. I haven’t seen a large gathering of the creatures for over an hour, though there have been smaller packs stumbling along the fence line. The world is more vast than I ever imagined.

I can’t help but feel trepidation the further we travel into the Deadlands. I have left behind everything that defined my life to begin a new one. Not that I actually had a choice. Worry is nibbling around the edges of my resolve. I can’t return to the place where I was born and raised, but am I capable of creating a new life for myself? It’s a daunting task for someone who had their entire life dictated to them by the Lost Texts.

At least I’m not alone.

Beside me, Quade is busy writing on his tablet. The wide brimmed hat he usually wears is tucked into the bin over our heads, and his dark blond hair feathers against his cheeks and neck. I admire the golden glints in his eyelashes and goatee. Though he has impressively sharp cheekbones, there is a softness to his face that reveals his youth. Gazing at him, I long for the next time he takes me in his arms. That I have kissed his soft lips more than once feels scandalous after I was raised to not even speak to men outside of my immediate family. The thought of our kisses brings heat to my cheeks and stirs desire in my body.

Though I am admiring him, he doesn’t seem to notice. He continues to write a full account of everything that happened last night, as is required by his superiors at the Chantry located within the high-tech city known as the Enclave. As a precaution, he’s using coded language to obscure the truth about what happened to Elder Alvus in case the message is intercepted. I’m still hesitant about him reporting my actions. I can’t help but be suspicious of the Chantry even though I do trust Quade. I marvel that someone only a few years older than me is so confident and sure of his place in his world. Though he doesn’t have the full powers of a necromancer, he can sense the dead and communicate with me through thoughts. These talents allow him to find necromancers and recruit them for the Chantry, the home of the necromancers that follow the religion of the Clerics.

That is how he found me.

Do the Elders know that he’s missing yet? I ask in a worried whisper.

Quade glances up, his stylus hesitating against the glowing screen. Nothing has come through on the notifications. It might take a few days before word leaks out of the Atonement Settlement.

I press my lips together, pondering this information before I speak again. My people really do keep to ourselves, don’t they?

Yes, but you’re not a part of the Atonement Settlement anymore, Ilyse.

You’re right. I need to remember that.

Quade offers a small, sympathetic smile. Well, it has only been a few hours since we made our escape.

"Leaving doesn’t feel real yet," I confess.

It might take time for your new reality to sink in. You lived in fear for a very long time. That kind of trauma has a tendency to stay with you. Remember, I will not let anything happen to you. I’m on your side.

I daringly rest my hand on his wrist. For that, I am very thankful.

Leaning towards me, his smile sends warm waves of desire through me. His finger lightly tucks under my chin as he leans toward me, his lips tantalizingly close to mine. The irresistible spark of attraction flares to life, making it hard to breathe.

I’m just glad you’re here with me, Ilyse.

I’m overwhelmed and embarrassed at the thought of giving in to my desire to kiss him, since there are other passengers in the seats around us. Physical contact is forbidden in the Atonement Settlement.

Shyly, I turn my face from his and mutter, I am, too.

He seems to realize my predicament and sits back in his chair.

I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Quade, or what would’ve happened to me.

Let’s not think about that. Ilyse, you’re strong and smart. You had your life systematically taken apart and you still fought back.

I didn’t have a choice.

You could’ve given up. Lots of people would’ve.

My fingers still twiddling my rose pendant, I wonder if my rebelliousness is hereditary like my necromancy. I am unsettled by the recent revelation that my grandmother was once a part of the Chantry and that she’d run away long ago. It’s her rose necklace that my mother always wore hidden beneath her high-collared dresses, and the same one I wear now.

Have you asked the Chantry yet if they know who my grandmother was?

They’re searching the archives to see if they can identify her.

Why not search by her name?

Quade gently takes the silver rose from my fidgeting fingers and turns it over. He runs his fingertip over a deep scuff mark that I had been distractedly rubbing with my thumb. A name would have been engraved here. Someone took the time to file it off.

The Elders’ pronouncements about the Clerics still make me leery about the Chantry. It’s hard to ignore the teachings of my upbringing, and the scratched-out name only adds to my worries. So my grandmother changed her name when she left?

I’m pretty sure she would’ve had to. I’ll be honest with you, Ilyse: there was a period in the recent history of the Chantry when a lot of the younger acolytes ran away. There was conflict over the power the Chantry asserted over the necromancers. The belief of the upper echelon of that time was that the acolytes could not survive on their own without the guidance of the Clerics, and many were forcibly recruited.

I frown. I don’t like that at all.

Neither did some of the necromancers they recruited, and they’d escaped en masse. The Chantry sent out Undertakers to retrieve the ones that ran off, which only added to the conflict. The Chantry lost some of their more powerful necromancers. Chances are your grandmother was one of these potentials that rebelled and ran away. The timeframe fits. She would’ve changed her name to hide her identity from the Undertakers searching for her.

I give him a wary look. But they now allow necromancers to choose their own path, right?

That was one of the positive results of the conflict. The Cleric Council was divided over whether or not the discovered necromancers should be allowed to determine their own path in life, and the infighting was fierce. It took the deaths of several necromancers for them to finally recognize that they were in the wrong. The Chantry revised their tenets to acknowledge that all necromancers have the right to self-determination.

I already have my reservations about joining the Chantry, so I’m not quite sure how to respond to the small history lesson he’s just given me. For my whole life, I’ve dealt with people who were adamant that it was their right to decide my fate.

Seeing my troubled expression, Quade sets his tablet aside so he can twist about in his seat to regard me fully. Ilyse, if you don’t like the Chantry, I promise I’ll find you another safe place to learn how to use your abilities. I know how hard it is for you to trust the ways of the Chantry, since your people believe the Clerics are heretics.

The sincerity in Quade’s eyes and voice should calm my nerves, but the growing heaviness in my chest remains. He’s been an Undertaker much longer than I’ve been a necromancer, and better understands the complexity of the situation. His advice has been invaluable ever since I first met him, but I still feel uneasy.

You believe me, don’t you? he asks.

I hesitate briefly before answering. Yes, of course.

Can he tell I’m lying? I am floundering in the dark as I try to find my own path in life. My grandmother fled the Chantry. This is information I hadn’t known until this morning. My father has hidden so much from me about the history of my family, and I’m left to sort out the mystery.

A new question now presents itself to add to my confusion.

Is it right that I return to the place that my foremother had fled?

Am I betraying her?

What if, in seeking out my new path in life, I am falling into the trap she escaped?

2

The New World

I focus on the view beyond the window as the gradually slowing train approaches the Prairie Settlement. A massive horde spreads out along the fence that protects the track. After miles of seeing only a handful of the Unblessed, I am unnerved to see just how many have gathered along the railway. A dark little part of my soul sourly wonders if they’ve come to greet me. Has my presence lured the dead to the fence? Can they sense me on the train?

The condemning voices of the Elders swell within my mind.

Devil woman, necromancer... Necromancers brought forth the Unblessed Dead to destroy the world. Necromancers cursed the world. You cursed me. Killed me. Necromancers are death.

I struggle to mute the castigating voice of Elder Alvus haunting the recesses of my mind. I shiver at the internal barrage and turn my focus to my companion.

Do the Unblessed always attack the fence, Quade?

The question is an attempt to ignore the guilt, fear, and anxiety burrowing deep into me.

Busy packing away his tablet in his bag, Quade glances up and peers past me. Yeah. Pretty much. Settlements always draw a lot of zombies to the perimeter. The fences are electrified and the walls are pretty damn thick. Nothing to worry about.

So that’s the reasons for the sparks.

Whenever the dead touch the chain links, they writhe against the barrier and burst into flames, sending their companions into a panic and forcing them away.

Quade nods. It’ll do the same thing to a human, too.

A few times on our journey, I have spotted work crews checking the links for any breaks, tampering, or structural weakness. Quade says that the Enclave keeps the railway secure from both humans and the Unblessed Dead.

Do the workers turn it off when they fix it?

Yeah. There are secured boxes along the tracks that only the workers can access with codes.

Tech, I say, uneasily.

Tech destroyed the world.

Or did it?

I am questioning everything about my life and beliefs now. I sigh while anxiously twirling the silver ring on my finger. It’s a gift from Quade, and it helps keep my mind tethered. Recently, I started transferring my consciousness outside my body, wandering among the Unblessed as a spirit. Yet another necromantic power I have to learn and master.

The system works, and that’s what matters. You don’t need to worry about the fences.

That would be nice, Quade. Not to worry about anything.

Quade lightly touches the back of my hand. Are you feeling okay?

I’m fine, I answer with a weak smile.

Tilting his head, Quade regards me, his brow starting to scrunch up. You don’t look fine, Ilyse. He looks past me to the throng of the Unblessed. Are you feeling pulled to them? Untethered?

I shake my head. I feel anchored to my body now that I understand what’s happening. Plus, the ring seems to be helping.

You’re establishing control. That’s good. You’re obviously a quick learner.

Quade winks, and the gesture sends shivers of delight through me. The marriage between us was one of necessity so I could leave the Atonement Settlement at his side, but the growing romantic feelings I have toward him are genuine. I may have twinges of doubt about the Chantry, but I believe Quade when he says he cares about me. The way he gazes at me at times makes me blush.

As the train glides along a curve in the track, I spot the entrance into the settlement. There are several layers of fencing around the mouth of the tunnel. Steel girders hold up two sentry posts on either side of the opening, and guards patrol along the catwalks. The long barrels of enormous weapons point down at an angle at the howling crowd of the Unblessed. Just as Quade had insisted, the settlement appears very secure.

When the train slips through the passage burrowed through the high walls, Quade claims our cases from the bin above our seats. Other passengers do the same. This train trip is my first, but these people appear to be accustomed to traveling. Most have been asleep throughout our journey. Others read or watched vids. While they barely glanced out the windows, I spent most of my journey attempting to drink in every detail of the world that had been a mystery my whole life.

I glance out the window again to check on our progress. The tunnel is narrow and low. The white granite walls and curved ceiling are illuminated by embedded lights. The whiteness of the surface is marred by messages scrawled in various colors of paint.

Welcome to the middle of nowhere.

It sucks here. Keep going.

Henry was here and he hated it.

Henry sucks. Prairie Settlement rules!

Most of the messages make little sense to me. There are various symbols that I don’t recognize scattered among the nonsense. The one I can identify is the sacred insignia for the Three Gods. A wood carving of the symbol hangs in the Sanctuary of the Elders. It is the only adornment allowed in the Atonement Settlement. Seeing it spray painted on the wall feels sacrilegious, but it’s also an indication that there are people in the Prairie Settlement who follow the Lost Texts.

Jane, the headmistress of my old school and widow of my mentor, told me that other settlements follow the Lost Texts, but not as strictly. The Elders use the Lost Texts to assert their dominion and maintain their absolute control over the Atonement Settlement.

The train continues through the curving tunnel, and I realize that we’re inside the wall itself. I spot a few sentry stations along the route. Uniformed guards are clearly visible at their posts. Enormous weapons sit perched on the corners of the platforms, gleaming black and deadly.

Quade settles back into his seat with the bags on the floor at his feet, the straps looped through his fingers. His wide-brimmed hat rests on his lap. I notice that he is wearing a silver rose pin on his coat now, and I lightly touch it.

It’s not dangerous here to acknowledge who I am, he says. We’re almost to the station. Go ahead and put on your coat. As soon as we arrive, we’ll need to walk to the inn and check in. After we do that, we’ll find some food.

While shrugging on my long, brown coat, I point to yet another patch of red paint that reads Beware. Why do they write on the walls?

With a chuckle, Quade says, Boredom.

I don’t understand.

Unlike the Atonement Settlement, teenagers here roam around in packs. They get bored and do stuff like that graffiti.

So they sneak past the guards just to write on the walls because they’re bored?

Yep. I did stupid shit like that when I was younger.

But can’t they get shot if they’re mistaken for the Unblessed Dead?

Nah. All the people who live here have implants that send out a signal indicating that they have a heartbeat. The guards’ firearms would pick up that signal and prevent them from opening fire.

Tech, I say, disapproval in my tone.

Tech that keeps people alive. The minute someone’s heart stops beating, another signal goes out notifying the authorities.

Is this everywhere? This tech?

No, not everywhere. It’s considered intrusive tech, a violation of personal rights in many settlements.

Does the Enclave have this kind of tech?

No. It was too controversial to implement when it was proposed by the father of the current king. Instead, everyone has to report to the Plague Directorate twice a day. Some would say that’s not much better.

My eyes widen at the ominous name. What is that?

It’s the organization tasked with preventing a fresh outbreak.

I give him a perplexed look. How does that work?

There is this little scanner inside the homes of everyone living in the Enclave. Everyone assigned to that home has to press their thumb to it once in the morning and once at night.

Even children?

Quade nods. If someone doesn’t report in, then the Plague Exterminators investigate. If they discover that the person has died and turned, they burn the body. If it’s a false alarm, like someone sleeping in, that person gets a small fine.

In the Atonement Settlement, families monitor themselves and report to the Elders when someone has died or is close to death. I don’t understand why the Enclave doesn’t depend on their citizens to be responsible for their own family.

This system works? I ask doubtfully.

The Enclave is still standing, Quade answers with a shrug, but he seems uneasy with our discussion.

I’m about to press him for more information. It’s already so overwhelming to be out in the Deadlands; the place I had feared all my life. I am bothered by how much the outside world depends on Tech. It’s hard to shake the teachings of my upbringing. But if the Elders are wrong about necromancers, maybe they’re wrong about tech.

An uneasy thought slithers through my mind.

What if the Elders aren’t wrong about necromancers? I killed before I grasped my powers, and killed with greater ease after I understood and accepted them. What if necromancers did kill the world?

Another burst of color catches my eye as the train nears the station.

The world belongs to the dead. We’re the intruders.

Quade hisses through his teeth. Not that crap again.

What does it mean?

Probably some death cult propaganda. It pops up every once in a while. People sometimes go crazy out here and take lots of people with them.

For a moment, I long for the comfort of the bedroom I shared with Carrie. It was my safe haven in dark times. I’d stare out the window into the garden and imagine a world where my mother was still alive, and the dead stayed in their graves. I blink away the vision.

I have to deal with reality now. I’m in the Deadlands, far from the father that rejected me and the Elders that would see me killed in the name of their religion.

When the train glides soundlessly into the station, I eagerly lookout my window. I’m disappointed that the station isn’t as shiny and elegant as the one in the Atonement Settlement. The walls are stucco and dark wood. The flagstone floor is heavily worn from the foot traffic. I notice the lack of shops. Instead, there are kiosks and banks of lockers. Quade doesn’t rise as the other passengers rush into the aisle to disembark, so I remain in my seat.

Let’s wait until everyone else is off, he says, gesturing to the line.

Okay.

Again, I glance nervously at the station. A tall, dark-skinned woman in a brown uniform strolls along the main mall, a rifle dangling over one shoulder from a black strap. I gawk at her, marveling at her impressive appearance. I take in her appearance from the embroidered emblem on her shoulders to her shiny boots. The world beyond the Atonement Settlement is far different than I’d ever imagined.

Let’s go, Quade says, donning his hat.

Clutching