@writingprompts Zombies and dinosaurs. Zombosaurs!
Sorry it took so long, I can be slow at times.
Show and Tell, a Leland Byrnes short.
I was dubious when Lillian first asked me to be her guest at school. She has been taking care of my birds and goats since she was in jr high, but rarely had time for me, beyond being generically kind to an old man.
Thus it was a surprise that she wanted me to visit at all, though I was the only serious practitioner she was very familiar with. It being an introduction to magics class did make more sense. While working up to asking me, she said that she had bragged a little, and perhaps said that we were close enough she could promise I would come.
That explained why she had been jumpy the last two days while feeding the hens.
I value my neighbors, and Lillian in particular. While I did scold her mildly for not asking me before bragging, and then not coming to me immediately so that I could shift my work schedule, the truth was that work had been slow, thankfully.
I am a forensic necromancer. I raise the dead so that justice may be furthered.
That was the subject matter I spoke on, the role of magic in law enforcement in general, and necromancy in specific, though I did make sure to inform them about the other main career paths for a necromancer; medical and mortuary.
After my presentation, I opened up for questions. Being mostly juniors and seniors, the questions were lagrely practical. Until Lillian herself prodded a friend to speak up
“Mr Byrnes, whats the coolest things you’ve raised?”
“They all tend to be cool. Cool as the grave.”
“No! I mean like interesting, or biggest, or oldest, or just something that’s more than the usual.”
My attempt at humor having failed, I thought for a moment. "I suppose the most interesting was when some paleontologists contacted me. I often receive inquiries from historians and the like, requesting I help them learn of the past by my unique skills. I rather enjoy that kind of work, being a fossil myself.
But these were the first paleontologists to come to me.
They asked how old a body I could raise. The answer, of course, is that so long as I can find some connection, some way to bridge my magic to the physical location where the remains were, there was no limit. The limit was largely that the longer ago a body decayed, the less likely it is to find that connection.
Of course, that is not to say something truly ancient would be easy. It would also require great sacrifice. Necromancy always requires sacrifice. You can not raise the dead without exchanging life. For something simple and recent, that can be mere drops of your own blood."
Here, there was a clamor begging for demonstration. I told the horde to shush and if there was time after, yes.
I continued telling them what I had told the paleontologists, “For something truly old, it will take a great deal of life.”
The teens asked me for particulars, as the professors had. As a general rule, it is not so much the size of the sacrifice, it is the life force the sacrifice has. Past a certain point, there is simply not enough in one living thing to raise something from dust. The difference in energy from a chicken to a goat is significant, but not exponential. The difference between a goat and a cow is even slimmer. Past that, you could try to sacrifice a whale and gain less extra energy than sacrificing two or three cows, despite the relatively high degree of consciousness a whale has. And that does factor in. Human sacrifice outperforms even a dozen cattle, though not by an astounding degree.
I told the students that, as I had the researchers. Then continued with the story, "the good doctors then asked how big a thing could be raised. No fool I, the thrust of their inquiry had shifted from probable to certain. I told them then that I had once successfully raised a recently dead elephant, and that size matters little or not in the effort involved or the sacrifice required.
The three doctors became quite excited. They showed me pictures of a partial skeleton, with what appeared to be some significant soft tissue. “How old would this be?”
They hemmed and hawed and said the specimen was approximately 68 million years old. Mind you, they first said during the cretaceous, which was a term I was not familiar with at that point. They told me it was an ankylosaur, and showed me images of what they seem to have looked like. Cute, for a giant lizard.
It was mostly a delay on my part, asking questions while I figured out exactly how hard it would be, and what kind of sacrifices would be needed. In my mind, that I would accept the job was decided.
So a time and place was eventually set.
As you may not be aware, allow me to say that preparing a large number of sacrifices is always labor intensive. You are either toting crates of chickens, herding goats or sheep, whatever the need be. Herding cattle into the University of California at San Diego’s football stadium through passageways not meant for hooves is both noisesome and smelly. Not that I was doing the herding, that job went to undergraduate students. Several of those were from the Magical Studies Department for extra credit and exposure to large scale necromancy, which is a very rare thing to have access to even as a professional.
Thus it was that a small herd were carefully lined up and restrained around where I had laid out the working circle. The magic department had several natural mages teaching, and they provided calming spells to keep the sacrifices in place and unconcerned about the fates of the others.
Inside the circle, laid out with chalk grudgingly applied by the groundskeeper for the stadium, the remains of an ankylosaurus were arranged roughly center. I must admit that both the prospect of working at such scale, and a degree of curiosity had me eager to begin.
As Timothy and I walked the edge of the circle, he sniffing and extending his other canine senses to be certain no spirits or other entities would be present to interfere, I was pulling in external energy to supplement my own.
Here, the classroom grew distracted again, asking about my “zombie dog”. This almost led to a snit on my part, as Timothy is no simple zombie, but Lillian spoke up and shushed the room and asked me to continue. More than one reason she has a key to my home and land.
Part 2 continued as response to this comment
When I resumed, I decided to gloss over slitting the throats of the cattle, the blood being caught by college students in large bowls so that I might dip into them as I walked the circle with Timothy and the same blade I used to make the sacrifice. I did tell them that the blood serves to both carry energy and give a visible demarcation of the circle.
I glossed less over when telling them of the two sacrifices standing docile next to the fossilized remains. Those two were there to provide part of the missing mass. Which did cause a round of questions, easily shushed by telling them it would be apparent enough.
I skipped most of the details of the ritual, as I know damn good and well someone would have gotten the idea to try it. Teenagers have ever been the same. I know damn good and well if magic had been back in full swing at that age, I would have.
But I did describe the feeling of energy, both from the sacrifices and from my own wellsource, flowing out of me, flowing into the crumpled fragments at my feet. The feeling of those petrified things sucking in both blood and the life force it carries until an inaudible, but palpable peal rang out and the bones began struggling upright. The mummified soft tissues began filling in.
That in particular was a tricky bit of work, as it was not so much actual tissue as a scaffold of minerals that held the same shape, with only microscopic traces of actual organic matter present. I had not been certain from the initial examination that first organics were from the dinosaur at all. Only that they had once been skin or connective tissue. The explanation of what that feels like paused my retelling long enough the teacher urged me back on the original story.
Return I did. I described watching and feeling five odd tons of matter flowing invert under my hands, pulling energy from me in nigh orgasmic agony as the power throbbed through me. I used different words than that, but I speak more bluntly here.
When I felt the energy straining, I had an undergrad bring one of the reserve sacrifices over. Quickly cutting its throat, I channelled the flow of blood across the now recognizable saurian. With a surge of my own wellsource, I cast a secondary spell to dissolve the cow, pulling its flesh and bone to fill in what no amount of my own energy could. As that supply began dwindling, I repeated the process with the second reserve animal.
As the dregs of meat washed across and into the now pulsing form, I shouted out the triplicate word of command that would both finalize the ritual, and ensure that the zombie would follow only my commands. You see, I had made mistakes in my youth, raising for others. Nothing that massive, but it is not enjoyable having to hunt down one of your own creations being used as a weapon against you and your allies
With that shout, the ankylosaur grunted and roared once.
It stomped its forefoot and swung its tail, the massive club at the end whistling through the air despite its size. Collegians whooped around me at the sight of the beast moving its head to orient on me. I reached out, and it lowered itself enough for me to rest my palm on its beak. The undead creature was as tall as I at the shoulder, and perhaps the length of a small bus.
Timothy sniffed its hindquarters and sent me a mental note of satisfaction. I had to explain to the high schoolers that while I can perceive scents and other senses through Timothy, I had opted not to do so in that particular spot. No, through his nose, the dinosaur mostly smelled of zombie. That is an earthy, musty, and somewhat nose rustling scent. Some find it objectionable, particularly when odors of decay are present. I do not raise ill smelling undead under normal circumstances.
Underneath that was a hint of musk, traces of something almost crocodilian, and perhaps some peaty warmth. There is no way of knowing how much of that was its natural smell, and how much was from its long time in the earth.
What was certain is the divots a five ton creature were forming in the field. This was noted with some colorful language by the man that would have to repair them before the next game. Something about that giant lizard needing to copulate itself off his grass.
Lucky for us, we had no need to pay him any mind, so said thunder lizard just swished its tail in his general direction. And yes, said saurian was indeed under my control. Let that be a reminder that playing pranks on an old man that can riase the dead would be unwise, yes? That directed at young Mr Collins, who had already had one special delivery from Timothy on his porch after thinking it brilliant to throw eggs at my porch. Timothy cannot digest most food, but he can excrete the results of trying.
In any case, the high school students were then more interested in the dinosaur than the necromancy involved. Justifiably so.
I did, indeed, also demonstrate a simple raising for them before leaving. Several flies had died in the window of the classroom, and made for a lively example of a simple raising using only one’s own blood.
“Mr Byrnes, why the hell are you telling me this?”
“Well, Benjamin, you asked how I could be so sure that my new defenses are adequate. While I lost the Djinn guarding our shared secret when last someone tried to breach it, I am not without resources.”
“You have that zombie dinosaur?!”
“No, no, that one was laid back to rest. Besides, while certainly fierce enough and quite durable, a good guardian must needs also be frightening, and evena dinosaur that size is less scary when it looks like it has as much malice as a tired cow. No, I obtained… other remains.”
“Leland, what did you get?”
“Let us just say that the terrible king of lizards should put pause to any interlopers.”
