Raising the Dead
Published in Bewildering Stories - 2008
It was never easy to raise the dead with magick and Kinandrea knew, now that the old magicks themselves were all but dead, it was almost impossible.
The human who had hunted Kinandrea, following her to the very edge of the earth, wanted her for just that reason. His wife had died four years ago, the result of a war between humans and mountain dwarves, and he knew that the only creatures who could bring her back were elves.
The magicks that were used in such a task hadn’t been seen for a century. The human didn’t seem to understand that, nor did he want to. He wanted his wife back and no one was going to stand in his way.
“Come out, elf!”
The human voice echoed over the stone, echoing louder than it actually was. She stayed still in the remains of a small worship hall that was little more than a hole in the ground, waiting for him to pass. He was a skilled hunter and she had gained several scars from his attempts to capture her. He was the predator, like some great serpent, and Kinandrea was a mouse trapped in a corner.
She held her breath, waiting for the human to pass. She didn’t know if human hearing could pick up what hers could. She could hear his soft, even breathing. She could hear his heart rapidly pumping blood throughout his body. He was nervous yet patient, a trait that most humans seemed to lack.
“I know you are near,” he whispered to himself. He poked at the rubble with the tip of his sword, moving aside small rocks and jabbing into open holes. He was trying to spook her into running. Kinandrea took a deep, quiet breath, and convinced her tense body not to do what he wanted. She could run, her long legs able to go farther than the bulky human’s, but her eyes had seen the crossbow on his back. If she ran, he would shoot.
Kinandrea had already gained the misfortune of being shot by one of those arrows and the ragged scar on her right hip was all she needed as a reminder. She knew that, given the opportunity, he wouldn’t miss again. All she had was the knowledge that he wasn’t shooting to kill.
The tip of the blade slid through the rocks and into her hiding place, coming just a hairsbreadth from her face. Kinandrea slapped a hand against her mouth, muffling a cry of surprise, but it was too late. She scrambled further back as the stones began to fall away and the human came into view. She froze as the tip of the sword pressed against her chest, piercing the skin and drawing blood. Kinandrea held back a cry of pain as blood slowly blossomed on her dress.
