Said the Shaman, sharing solace,
“Leave the darker arts alone:
Time to mourn and time to conjure
Mix the two and you’ll be done.”
Said the acolyte, indignant,
Seething with the pain of loss:
“Ancient one, go stick your wisdom,
I, who mourn, don’t give a toss.
“I will wake the bleak enchantments,
Snare the wards that seal the dead!
I will raise her from her slumber –
Be the payment on my head.
“Sleeping ones, I call upon you,
Hear your mortal servant weep!
Yours the power, yours the glory
Yours to sow, and yours to reap –
“All I ask is one small favour,
In the matter of a girl,
Five-foot-five of soft perfection,
Though but one, she was my world.
“If your mercy would restore her –
Living, as she was before –
I would be your loyal vessel,
Though my powers maybe poor.
“K-thanks-bye,” the boy continued,
And the room to silence came.
The Shaman sighed “You’ve done it now.
Summoning is not a game.
“Foolish child, I tried to warn you,”
Spake he then, and turned away,
“Elder creatures make no bargains,
You are lost as well, this day.”
Soon the darkness overtook him,
Tendrils bearing him beneath,
Still she waits, his girl in heaven,
While he burns, without relief.
This piece was written for 13 Days 13 Shorts – a countdown to Halloween, using the theme of “Necromancer.” Check out the awesome submissions and join in the spooky fun!
