NECROSAI
Chapter 1: Thunder
Calamity signaled the train’s arrival. It barreled down the railroad track that cut across what had formerly been the darkest and most isolated forest in the world. The Forest of Red-Leaves—once quiet, mysterious, and spiritual—now reverberated with the chugging boom of industrialized transport.
On the side of the cab was the designation DC5805. The chimney disgorged plumes of radiant green smoke that hovered above the treetops. The train emerged from the foliage of the forest, shaking off red and orange leaves.
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The train was never late, and this morning was no exception; it was right on time at seven o’clock. It operated on a strict schedule, always arriving at Eden Hollow on the sixth, twelfth, twenty-first, and twenty-eighth days of each month. Nothing in the small hamlet of Eden Hollow was as punctual as the train.
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The old folks moaned that things were different now. There had been no clocks before the railroad was built. Time was structured by the natural rhythms of light and darkness; the sun heralded morning, and its descent signaled night.
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Tiri never knew that world. Only ten years old, she was too young. Her life was tethered to the clock by her bed that would chime every weekday morning at six thirty. It told her it was time to put on a nice dress and shoes and make way for the shack that was the town’s schoolhouse.
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There were other things the train brought: mandatory education until the age of fifteen and books about a world beyond Eden Hollow that the old folks couldn’t even imagine. Many of these books contained moving images that flitted from page to page, illustrating a world of magic and wonder full of well-dressed women and imperious lords of industry.
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Tiri considered skipping class. She tried to be an attentive student, but she much preferred peeking beneath her desk to read a book in her lap. Her teacher pretended not to notice Tiri’s inattention. The teacher was young, barely more than twenty, and pretty. Her older brother, Eli, had a crush on her.
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“She almost makes me want to go to school,” he would say. Eli had rarely gone to school. He started working when he was twelve, and he hadn’t taken a break since. He was now sixteen and what their mother would call “unschooled,” with deep disappointment. But Eli needed to work. There was no choice. The whole family knew that their mother didn’t make enough money to support them.
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The Imperium mandate for education was not strictly enforced. Attendance was always sparse, and Tiri could miss school entirely with no consequence. Children would often leave in the middle of class, but the teacher rarely minded. She offered cheerful lessons to whoever showed up.
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Whenever Tiri skipped school, she enjoyed wandering around Eden Hollow with a book she had borrowed from the schoolhouse and find a place to settle. One of her favorite spots was a grassy knoll by the general store with a harrowing name—Convict’s Hill. None of the books ever explained the origin of that particular name, since the books only ever depicted life far away from Eden Hollow in the many cities of the Imperium.
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Instead, she would have to listen to the idle talk of the old folks holding court on the porch outside the general store. Blood was spilled at Convict’s Hill. The blood stained the ground for decades. Countless executions and massive graves. But that happened years ago when the Necrosai first arrived.
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The Necrosai had been Eden Hollow’s feudal lord for longer than Tiri had been alive. The oldest of the folks remembered a time before the Necrosai had arrived in Eden Hollow. Few would talk about the Necrosai at length, and fewer still had ever seen the lord of Eden Hollow. The lord was often only mentioned in brief, terse sentences, even as Tiri longed to hear more.
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She had pieced together a few things about the Necrosai over the years. She knew that he was powerful, something more than mortal and not quite human, and that he had not always been the lord—but she knew precious little else.
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As the alarm sounded, Tiri decided not to go to school. She would rather spend the day in leisure, and she wondered what topic of conversation would animate the old folks today.
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Last time she skipped school, she eavesdropped on a riotous story of a stubborn donkey. The donkey had to be tricked into pulling its cart and was apt to give its owner a swift kick in the crotch. The laughter of the old folks brought a smile to Tiri’s face. She had to hear more of the continuing adventures of the donkey and its feckless owner.
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Eli woke up around the same time. The arrival of the train was a big deal for him. He received a decent wage for loading and unloading freight. But it was a hard day, and he would come home at night, remove his boots, and collapse into the seat by the fire. Soot blackened his face and arms. His exhaustion made him appear decades older.
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Tiri trailed after her brother on the wide road that led through the center of the hamlet as Eli made way to the train depot. It was the only paved road in Eden Hollow, created for the few motor-powered vehicles in town. It was more efficient for transporting goods than uneven dirt and clattering rickshaws.
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Eli squinted back at her. “Don’t you have school?”
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“You never went to school!”
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He smiled ruefully. “Guess not. But I have a job. Ma will be mad if she found out you dallied all day.”
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“What do you think it brought?” Her voice rose with excitement as her pace quickened. “Do you think there are any books? What about those scarves that change colors with your mood?”
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“Go home,” Eli said. “You can’t afford that stuff anyway.”
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Tiri persisted, her childish stride unwavering, but she struggled to keep up as Eli turned onto a small dirt path, one of the many that branched from the paved road.
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Eli no longer walked with the springy gait of a child. His steel-toed boots chiseled the ground with the mark of its sole, leaving an unmissable path wherever he went. He drew a cigarette from his jacket pocket and set it to his lips. Its cherry lit his face each time he puffed.
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The early morning sun peeked over the horizon of the forest. Their shadows stretched down the road, appearing as spindly monsters. Eli had never before been so remote. He didn’t miss a beat walking ahead of her.
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“Eli! Eli, wait! Wait for me!”
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He didn’t. She stood in the middle of the path and watched as he disappeared. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She bit her lip, failing to hold back the hurt.
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Eli never wanted anything to do with her. Tiri barely recognized him. Days spent throwing around freight filled out his body. Gone was the playful brother who would roam the forest with her and scare her with stories of spirits. She wondered if Eli even believed in spirits anymore.
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The old folks insisted that spirits were real. Eli used to go with Tiri to the store and listen to the old folks out front, but nowadays, Eli rarely bothered with what he called their “boring chatter.” We would make sacrifices to the spirits, and they would protect the graves of our loved ones. Sometimes, they would bless us. But that was before the Necrosai.
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Tiri’s gaze drifted to the darkness of the woods that the sun could not penetrate. There were no spirits anymore—the Necrosai protected them now and banished all spirits—but sometimes, she thought she saw the foliage stir in unnatural ways. The snap of a twig sent her running in the direction of the depot, and it wasn’t long before she saw the platform.
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A group of young men loitered, waiting for the train to arrive. They were all around Eli’s age and dressed in similar clothes. Tiri recognized Eli by the dark golden glow of his skin and the cap their mother made to keep the sun off his face and ears.
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The early morning light caught the deep golden-brown color of Tiri’s own skin, illuminating freckles that she’d earned from many days in the sun. Her eyes matched the hue of her skin, a hazel color that was nearly gold. It was an eye color common in Eden Hollow and remarkable only to the few foreigners passing through town by the train.
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Nobody would doubt that Eli and Tiri were related. However, the differences between them became more pronounced the older Eli became. Eli’s eyes were unique, a dark green. She could always pick Eli out of any crowd. He stood at least a head taller than most boys his age.
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Tiri had broad shoulders and long limbs. These would have given her a regal carriage, if not for her tendency to hunch. Her quiet, unwavering gaze reflected her nature; it was her most striking feature. Her eyes never missed a thing, and Tiri found the adults treated her as more mature and older than she truly was.
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Tiri ascended the few steps that led up to the elevated platform. The crowd jostled with energy, yelling obscenities and roughhousing. They all smoked—tobacco was another of the many things that the train brought—and the cherries of cigars and cigarettes glowed through the veil of smog.
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Fists flew freely through the air. Tiri retreated over the side of the platform to avoid being bowled over. Someone taller than her would have been able to easily see over the platform, but Tiri was too short. She glanced around for something to stand on.
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Crates were piled all around the platform, waiting to be picked up and loaded into the train cars. Eden Hollow’s exports outnumbered its imports, and Tiri knew that one of the crates contained garments created by her mother, commissioned by clients in the Imperium. Her mother had worked tirelessly for weeks to fulfill the commission.
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Tiri stood on a crate and peered over the edge of the platform, her eyes level with the young men’s boots. She couldn’t see the tracks, but she would be able to see most of the train when it arrived.
To her side was the narrow but long building that was the station house, which was where Eli’s boss lived. It was also where all records pertaining to the train were kept. Tiri could see stacks of papers through the window.
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Her heart raced with anticipation and fear. What an incredible thing the train was! For all she listened to the old folks chattering about the past, she couldn’t imagine life being any different.
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What would she do without the books that filled the shelves of her schoolhouse? What about the lively little needles that embroidered on their own—a commodity that brought dismay to her seamstress mother but enchanted Tiri. She could watch the dance of the needle for hours as it left trails of colored thread.
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Their mother put aside money each month to one day buy Eli a pair of boots that never became muddy. Mud wouldn’t stick to them, instead sloughing off immediately. Mother was sick of the dirt he tracked into the house. Her hands were sore from sweeping.
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“Why don’t you get a broom that sweeps itself, ma?” Eli would ask, to which their mother never had a good response.
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“Why don’t you take away my whole purpose?” she would reply. “It’s the dirt I don’t like, not the sweeping.”
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It was from books that Tiri realized that the goods that reached Eden Hollow were simply a taste of the luxuries in the great Imperium cities. In the cities, people floated on air in robes of shifting colors. They were surrounded by illusions conjured to entertain, enthrall, and bring people into businesses twenty stories high and stacked with magical goods.
The conveniences, the beauty, the thrill. Eden Hollow was lucky to have the train.
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Eli promised they would one day hop on the train together and “make it” in one of the cities. Tiri didn’t know exactly what “make it” meant, but she imagined a charmed life where food was conjured from thin air, needles danced, and shoes never got dirty.
The train would arrive soon. Already the platform shook. In the distance, Tiri heard the train’s long, mournful wail. Carried on the wind, it sounded ghostly.
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Eli crouched on the floor. A boy with braided hair sat across from him, shaking dice in his hand. There was a pile of silver coins between them.
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“Hurry up before it gets here!” Eli said, motioning for the boy to throw it already. “I want a new pair of shoes.”
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“Hold on. I’m praying to the spirits for luck,” the boy replied, but it was only a figure of speech. Nobody prayed to spirits anymore. There was only the Necrosai, and certainly, nobody ever prayed to Eden Hollow’s lord.
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The dice clacked as they fell. The vibrations shaking the platform caused the dice to bounce and spin before they rolled on their sides. Eli frowned. “What is this? Again?”
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The boy shrugged. “It’s luck, man.”
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“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see about that. Do it again.”
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“Are you serious? The train’s almost here!”
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“Do it again!”
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Tiri had seen Eli’s pouty expression many times before. Eli hated to be bested, but Tiri didn’t see the problem. The boy won fairly.
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“No way.” The boy swept the coins into his pockets. They weighed his trousers down, forming two lumps at his sides. “I’ve won four times already.”
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Eli’s brow furrowed and his eyes shined. Tiri recognized his distress. Why would Eli bet money he minded losing? Mother always told them to be frugal, but what Eli did outside of the house was his business.
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Her brother could be stubborn, especially when it came to listening to their mother. He would smile at their mother and agree with whatever she said, but he always did what he wanted anyway. Tiri would catch him sometimes doing things he shouldn’t do, such as pocketing little candies from the store for him and Tiri to enjoy later. Tiri couldn’t eat them. The guilt tasted bitter.
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Eli stood at his full height with fists clenched. “I win every day. So, tell me how it is that now I’m losing every time?”
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“It’s luck, Eli! What’s so hard to understand?”
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The crowd turned their attention to the brewing fight with anticipation. Tiri heard voices egging the two on, tittering about a possible fight. One of the boys screamed, “He’s cheating! He told me they’re enchanted!”
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Eli squared his shoulders, the corded muscles of his forearms bristling. “You’re a cheat!”
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The boy with braided hair stepped back, hands in the air in a conciliatory gesture. “I am not! They’re normal dice!”
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“Do it again.” Eli jabbed his finger in the direction of the ground. “C’mon, roll ’em.”
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The boy sighed. “Okay, call it.”
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Eli folded his arms. “Even.”
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The dice rolled. Tiri squinted, trying to make out the scene, but the figures of the crowd blocked her vision as they clustered around Eli and the boy. Bodies jumped into view, rough-knuckled fists pumped the air, and Tiri couldn’t miss the electric charge jolting the crowd. They anticipated a fight. Already, they cried for Eli to kick the boy. The boy was smaller than Eli. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, and they all knew it.
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Tiri’s eyes watered. She wondered if she should leave. This was a side of Eli she didn’t see often, and frankly, she never wanted to see it again. He knew better than to fight. Mother told them all the time to treat people decently, even when they weren’t decent themselves.
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“That proves it!” Eli’s voice rose above the din. “Cheat!”
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She clutched the shaking platform as vibrations traveled from the soles of her feet and rattled her bones. The train barreled down the track. A breeze sent leaves scurrying across the platform. Plumes of smoke colored the sky a noxious green. Faint glimmers wafted in the smog.
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The taste of the air was unimaginable—a sour, metallic flavor with a sweet undertone. She always heard that this was the taste of magic. She struggled to stay upright as coughs racked her body. Her ears rang. The train’s thundering wail sounded similar to the screams of the dying. Was that how it always sounded?
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The crowd shifted violently as boys elbowed each other. Shouts punctured the air.
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“Twenty coins on Eli!”
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“Get ’em! Kill him!”
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Tiri made out Eli’s loping approach to the boy between the bodies of the crowd, as if she was peering through a zoetrope. The boy stood. Eli shook his fist. The crowd pushed into the way, and Tiri had to crane her head to keep watching.
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The boy staggered backward, coins flying from his overflowing pockets. Tiri couldn’t tell if he had tripped or been pushed. Eli stepped toward him again.
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The brakes of the train screeched as it stopped at the station. The crowd pressed forward with incoherent screams. The din melted into one shrill wall of sound that threatened to knock Tiri to the ground.
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She clung to the crate as if it was a raft adrift in a stormy sea. When she opened her eyes again, Eli was nowhere to be seen.
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The boy with the braided hair raced down the steps. He was on the path leading away from the depot before anyone could react. The crowd collected at the edge of the platform nearest the train with their backs to Tiri. She couldn’t see their expressions, but she saw them staring down at the tracks.
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Their screams were different from before.
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“Fuck! Fuck!”
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“He’s dead! It killed him!”
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Tiri crawled onto the platform on her hands and knees, her numb fingers not feeling the texture of the wood. The crowd thinned as a few of the boys ran off to find help. Many of them didn’t bother to take the stairs, instead leaping directly to the ground.
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She found herself on her feet shambling forward, seeing the world through dazed vision. Everything blurred, including the sounds and sights. It was all the same to her, even as she came up to the edge of the platform. The train appeared bigger up close.
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She saw Eli.
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His body was mangled, his shoulders and legs lying in opposite directions but connected by gore—eyes vacant, blood pooling. He wasn’t the same person who had sat at the breakfast table that morning and promised Mother that he would come home right after work. She stared into an abyss that threatened to swallow her.
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She fell to her knees while staring over the precipice, barely registering what she saw on the tracks. Someone grasped her shoulder and led her away. She couldn’t see their face through the tears, but they spoke softly, “Go home, okay? Go see your ma. We’ll take care of this.”
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Tiri didn’t move. She didn’t know what she would say to her mother, or anyone else. Words failed her. She stared at her hands as the crowd moved chaotically around her. Haze settled over the scene.
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She didn’t know how long she sat there until a new group of people arrived from the main road. She recognized them as the men of the town, most of whom were older than the boys who moved freight. Some walked with stooped backs earned from a lifetime of labor. A few of the younger men and boys stuck around and offered to help.
One of the older men carried a white sheet. He shook his head as he neared the tracks. “Someone needs to tell the governor. He’ll want to record this accident.”
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A grizzled man hopped down from the train. A foreigner. His face was paler than the ones in Eden Hollow and covered in patches of soot. His expression was broken by grief at the sight of Eli.
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“I’m sorry.” The train driver took off his hat and put it over his heart. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop it.”
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The driver walked up the steps of the platform and sat on the edge, hat in his lap and face buried in his hands. He made no sound as his shoulders shook.
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Tiri stood and waited for the blood to return to her numb legs. She drifted down to the tracks in time to see the group cover Eli’s body with a sheet. The blood that soaked through showed the shape of Eli’s form. She saw the impression of his face, his features indistinct but red.
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The men stood around the corpse, considering what to do next. It reminded her of the town hall meetings where the men gravely shook their heads and debated practical matters. Tiri was certain they would notice her, but their attention remained locked on the situation at hand. She felt like a ghost, somehow invisible to the whole world. Perhaps she had died, and not Eli.
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“What do we do? Should we carry it?” one of the younger boys asked.
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A middle-aged man offered his opinion. “We could get some gloves, pick up the pieces, and carry them off on a tarp. Maybe we can get one of the vehicles here to haul it.”
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“We should wrap the body,” another man said. “You don’t want people seeing the poor kid in this state.”
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The oldest man held up his hand. “Leave the body.”
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“Why?” asked a young man.
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This was an obvious infraction—one did not question elders—but the elder let it go. He spoke with patient candor. “The Necrosai will keep this one.”
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The Necrosai.
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The group bowed their heads in silence, knowing that the Necrosai was the end of all discussion.
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Tiri’s ears perked at the name. She couldn’t help her curiosity. “Why?” she said in a rasp, more to herself than anyone present.
The men lifted their heads, acknowledging Tiri for the first time. The elder spoke softly, “No more questions, Tiri. There is nothing we can do.”
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She swallowed the bile in her throat. Vomit threatened to escape at the thought of the viscera that used to be Eli. “I’m going to stay,” she croaked. She wasn’t ready to leave Eli, even if his body was broken.
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The men glanced at each other, all sharing the same thought. “Can she do that?” piped a young man.
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The elder offered a measured response. “Your mother would like to see you.”
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Tiri clasped her hands imploringly. “Someone has to stay with him. Please.”
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One of the men moved toward her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Tiri, let us take care of this. It’s time to go home.”
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His name was Sergei. He was a stout young man and one of Eli’s closest friends. He often had an easy smile and loose, flowing movements. He loved to dance, especially the stomping, energetic dances passed down for generations in Eden Hollow. Tiri always thought of him as the nicest of Eli’s friends. Now Sergei’s usually light spirit dimmed. He wore a grave frown.
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“No,” Tiri managed to say through the tears. “I have to be here. I can’t go.”
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Tiri heard the rustle of feathers and gazed up to see a vulture had landed nearby. It sat on the headlight of the train. Its black eyes regarded her.
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“Go!” she screamed. “Get out of here!”
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The vulture continued to watch her, an uncanny glint in its eyes. Even the men were shaken.
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“The eyes of the Necrosai,” the elder said. “The lord already knows what has happened.”
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“I won’t let it eat Eli!” Tiri cried. “I won’t leave him.”
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Tiri would stand guard over Eli’s body until the end of time, if that’s what it would take. An image flashed in her mind of a woman kneeling by her dead son’s body. The woman refused to move even as the whole town gathered and demanded that she give up her son. The people were deep in the Forest of Red-Leaves and far away from the Necrosai’s control in Eden Hollow. It was autumn, and the red leaves of the forest fell at their feet.
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“The spirits will possess your son if you don’t,” the woman’s grandmother told her. “Give your son to the Necrosai. This is all the lord asks from us for protection.”
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The woman refused, howling at anyone who came near. The town was forced to leave her to her fate. Only the woman’s grandmother remained, begging for the woman to see reason.
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Then, the worst happened. The boy opened his eyes. At first, the woman was elated. She kissed his forehead, but the boy was not who the woman thought he was. Something was wrong.
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The boy had risen as one of the restless dead, his body reanimated by one of the many spirits lurking in the forest. The woman had disobeyed the Necrosai by taking the boy’s body away from Eden Hollow when the Necrosai demanded his sacrifice. This was the price.
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This was a story told to Tiri by an elder who visited the schoolhouse one day to speak and offer wisdom. These were days when attendance was the highest and the schoolhouse was packed with students. Nobody would dare bring shame on themselves by missing the elder’s talk.
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Tiri saw the parallels with the woman from the story. All she wanted to do was hug Eli’s bisected body and scream at anyone who dared to approach, whether they were the Necrosai or not. She couldn’t imagine leaving Eli all alone. But she remembered the lesson of the story.
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Do not disobey the Necrosai.
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“I know I have to give him up,” Tiri said, voice thin with resignation. “I will let the Necrosai have him. But let me stay until then. I don’t want the vultures picking at him.”
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Sergei shook his head. “No, I’ll stay. You’ve had a long day. Let someone else—”
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“I want to stay,” Tiri responded firmly. “Don’t make me leave. Please, elder.” She bowed her head in the old man’s direction. “I’ll give him up—please don’t make me leave.”
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“Tiri, you don’t want that,” Sergei said. “Look at him!”
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The elder stared at Tiri for a long moment, studiously taking in her pain. “That’s fine. Take as long as you are able. But the body is for the Necrosai.”
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“I’m going to tell your mother. Someone is going to get you.” Sergei swiftly walked back up the platform, the wood creaking beneath his boots, and down the steps to the path that would lead to Tiri’s home. Tiri numbly watched him leave.
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“We have freight to move! We can’t miss the deadline. That train needs to be out of here by tonight,” a man said. His hair was greased to the side, and he wore a watch. Tiri recognized the snively man as Eli’s boss. Eli would often complain of the way his boss checked in on the laborers while they were drenched in sweat and heaving freight. Eli said the boss would tap his watch and chide them to go faster. “We need to get everyone back to work as soon as possible.”
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“Oh, shut up. You’ll get what you want,” one of the rougher men said. “Have some respect. This is a tragedy. We know that boy.”
“What was his name?” Eli’s boss asked.
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“Eli Thorn,” a young man answered quietly. Another one of Eli’s friends. His eyes shined, even if he was too deep in disbelief to cry.
“He had quite a few write-ups,” Eli’s boss stated with impatience. “Well, how do we clean this mess up?”
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The men chatted about their plans to clean up the gore and blood after the Necrosai took the body. They agreed that they’d need a shovel and rags when one of the men put a firm hand on Tiri’s back. He was the rough-looking man who Tiri recognized as often visiting the general store, but he rarely stopped to chat with anyone. The old folks gossiped behind his back, saying he was a convict from the Imperium hiding out in Eden Hollow.
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“Sergei’s getting your mom. Why don’t we go see her?” the man said.
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“No!” Tiri shook him off. Anytime he tried to touch her again, she swatted his hand away. She had no intention of being moved.
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The man paused, considering what he should do, before he sighed. “Her mother will be here soon,” he said, speaking to the rest of the men. “She can deal with her. She’ll have a lot to deal with.”
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The men swept the train driver into their group. A burly man supported the driver’s shoulders as the driver’s dazed steps took him away from the scene. He left his hat perched on the edge, similar to a little bird. The men left. Tiri was alone.
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Tiri collapsed on the grass near the tracks and curled into a ball. Birds chirped from the trees. The sun was high in the sky. Its rays heated her skin, and the warmth sparked feelings in her numb body.
Sensations awakened, including the urge to vomit. Nausea swept over her. Her head spun as blood throbbed in her temples.
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Her fingers prickled as her body came alive—but for what? So she could think about Eli? Vomit burst from her mouth. Pieces stuck to her dress. She struggled to catch her breath.
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How did it happen? One minute Eli was on the platform, and the next, he was gone. Dead. Could she pick up the broken pieces and put Eli back together? Would he ever be whole again, or would he always be gory pieces she’d never forget? She lifted her head and dared to peek at Eli again.
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Eli’s face was now imprinted on the sheet, lingering like a memory. There was no saving him. This was real.
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She wondered when the Necrosai would arrive. She couldn’t fathom the lord of Eden Hollow’s appearance. She didn’t know anyone who had seen the Necrosai. The Necrosai’s will was exclusively conveyed through the elders. Nonetheless, the Necrosai’s presence loomed large.
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Sometimes, the Necrosai’s tower was visible on the western horizon, but only if one glimpsed it for a brief, flickering moment at dusk. The tower was a phantom against the darkening sky, partially cloaked by emerald mist. Its uneven, imperfect spires suggested something not man-made but natural, as if the spires were seeded and grown from the ground over the course of centuries.
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A hulking figure ambled from the western road. Tiri saw his face as he came closer. A brutish face with broad cheeks and a wide jaw. His face was lined with tight stitches, as if he had been put together in the manner of a rag doll. It was difficult to discern the stitches from his wrinkles, but he appeared middle-aged. He wore a vest of rough leather and a shirt with rolled sleeves, dressed similarly to the workers of the depot. His hair was cropped short to his scalp. His pale face shone in the sunlight.
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The man stopped in front of Eli. He bent down, ensured the sheet was tucked tightly around the body, and scooped it into his arms. He turned his back to walk in the direction that he had arrived from.
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“Give him back!” Tiri ran toward the man but tripped on the tracks. Pain shot through her leg. She shook it off to stumble a few steps with her hand outstretched. “Put him back! That’s my brother!”
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The man turned around and stared at her. “This is your brother?” His voice was surprisingly soft for a man that large.
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She nodded, tears and snot freely running down her face. “Yes.” She sniffed. “His name’s Eli. He’s my big brother.”
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He tilted his head, watching as if she was an odd curiosity. His expression was as if he struggled to place her emotions, and it brought him mild consternation.
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The harder Tiri cried, the more confused the man seemed. Then, he did something surprising. He set the body down with the gentleness of putting a baby down for a nap. He stepped back, giving her space to see her brother.
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Tiri hesitated. “Are you giving him back?”
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“You can never have him back,” the man replied simply. “He’s dead.”
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The words struck her. Whatever childish hope she had of things ever returning to normal vanished. This was life now.
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“Sometimes you can find things on bodies. Important things.” The man crouched beside her brother and lifted the sheet. He reached into the pocket of Eli’s trousers and withdrew an object. Tiri glanced away, her stomach too empty for anything but dry heaves and gags.
“Magic,” the man said, his voice sounding vaguely as if he thought this might cheer her up. He held up a small object. “Lucky rabbit’s foot. It’s enchanted.”
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Tiri refused to look until the body was covered. “So?” she managed to say.
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“It’s yours now.” He walked over, his large shadow falling across her, and placed the rabbit’s foot in her hand. “For luck.”
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Cheat.
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It had been one of the last words Eli had ever said. The word that propelled him against the boy he had gambled with. The boy he had lost to. That was how the entire fight had started before the train shattered Eli’s body.
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She gripped the rabbit’s foot. Eli had been cheating the whole time.
“How could he?” she wept. “Why would he do that?”
​
“You don’t like it?”
​
She threw it on the ground. Blindly, she climbed back up the platform, not even bothering with the steps nearby, before falling back down. “I want to go home.” She sobbed helplessly.
​
“Then I shall finish my work,” the man said, reaching for Eli again. He cradled the broken body in his arms.
​
“Are you the Necrosai?” Tiri asked.
​
“You would know if I was.”
​
“So, you’re not?”
​
“No. I am something else.” The man paused. “I am the Necrosai’s servant. I am Mook.”
​
“Tiri,” she muttered. “I’m Tiri.”
​
The man nodded. “Hopefully, we never see each other again.”
​
“What is the Necrosai going to do with him?” The question tumbled out before Tiri could think. She knew her mother would want Eli’s body to be with the family where he was loved. It wasn’t right for someone else to have him.
​
“I can’t say,” said Mook. “The Necrosai has many bodies.”
​
The tears stopped long enough for Tiri to raise her brows. Childlike curiosity briefly lit her face. “Why?”
​
“There’s a lot that can be done with bodies.” This was all Mook offered as an answer before he trekked back into the distance of the western horizon toward the Necrosai’s tower.
​
Tiri dropped to the ground and brushed her hand across the grass until she found the rabbit’s foot she had thrown. She dragged her injured foot as she hurried home, wincing with each step. Scuffs marred her good shoes. Dirt clung to the soles.
​
The scraps of magic that made it to Eden Hollow always fascinated Tiri. She and Eli dreamed of hopping the train and making it out in the wider world. But now the train was covered in her brother’s blood. All she had left of Eli was a trinket with a weak enchantment that paled in comparison to what she saw in the books.
​
If this had been the Imperium, perhaps Eli could have worn a cloak that protected him from harm. The train would hit him—perhaps would have even broken some bones—but he would have emerged a whole person. Or, he could have worn boots that allowed him to walk on air, and he would have simply strolled atop currents away from the roaring train. But he didn’t. Eli only had this rabbit’s foot, a petty bauble, that allowed him to cheat at games.
​
And it wasn’t even that lucky because he died anyway. There was no luck that would stop the train.
​
He was now with the Necrosai, and she would never know why. The Necrosai rarely intervened in Eden Hollow’s affairs, but occasionally, he would claim the dead as his own.
​
She remembered that this had happened to a couple who were her mother’s friends. Their daughter was the same age as Tiri. The girl died of cancer that gnawed her bones, and there was no magic potion from the Imperium that could save her. That’s what the physician said to the girl’s parents, at least, but Tiri couldn’t help but wonder. There were many things in the Imperium. The magic seemed limitless. Why did people have to die?
​
The physician had informed the family that the girl’s corpse was to be relinquished to the Necrosai. There was no body for the traditional mound burial in the forest. The Necrosai had already claimed his due.
​
Tiri met her mother on the paved road where she had followed Eli earlier that morning. Her mother, Helseth, was running from the direction of their house, and when she saw Tiri, she embraced her daughter. Tiri sunk into her mother’s arms, sobs racking her body.
​
“I was worried,” Helseth said. “I thought something might have happened to you, too. How will we get by without Eli? We might lose the house. We might lose everything.”
​
“The train hit him,” Tiri rasped. “He was there, and then he wasn’t.”
Helseth kissed her forehead. Sergei must have told her everything.
“I wish we could have the body. There’s much we would need to do to prepare.” Her mother referred to the rites family members undertook when a loved one died. It was important for the body to be taken into the family home and cleaned before it was buried. The windows would be opened, and all reflective surfaces would be covered to allow the spirit to escape without trouble. Otherwise, the spirit would be lost and confused, and they might haunt the home, or worse, join the lost souls in the forest. “Who knows what will happen to him?”
​
The Necrosai might have an inkling. Tiri thought of the tower on the western horizon where Eli had been taken.
​
The two clung to each other as they made their way back home. The thin plank walls of their house echoed with her mother’s keening, but Tiri had no tears left to cry.
​
The house had only one room, although curtains crafted by their mother demarcated makeshift bedrooms. Her mother’s latest work—a pair of new pants that Eli needed hemmed—laid unfinished on the table by the window.
Dresses commissioned by their neighbors were folded in a large basket nearby. Her mother had said the dresses might need more tailoring, which required that the neighbor women come by for a fitting. They would often bring her mother food, which was simply good manners. Tiri anticipated the pitying countenances of the women the next time they visited.
​
Tiri passed the blue curtain concealing the bed where Eli used to sleep. She ambled by the chair where Eli would sit by the fire after work while mother cooked dinner. There was no escaping Eli in this house, not while many of his things remained.
​
Exhaustion weighed heavy on Tiri’s eyelids. She had seen too much. Images of gore and death clung to her eyes. It was as if she had aged a thousand years in the span of a moment.
​
Would she ever sleep again?
​
Tiri shuffled through the curtain to her bed. Her mother tucked her in. The curtain rustled as her mother left Tiri in the dark. Her mother would cook lunch soon, but Tiri wasn’t hungry. Tiri clutched the rabbit’s foot in her hand. She did not sleep.