Avicia
by Megan Powell

    The negotiations were useless. Neilar's presence had told the baron as much. The bandits fled with the ransom, pursued by the baron's men.

    "Autumn smells of death," the baron said. He had not been an old man before his daughter was taken.

    Neilar said nothing, merely watched the baron's retainer approach on horseback, the baron's daughter draped limply across the saddle.

    "You are too young," the baron said. "What can you know of death?"

    "I know that I can defeat it," Neilar said simply.

    The retainer's expression was grieved, not fearful. The baron, according to Neilar's House briefing, was a fair ruler. He would not blame his men for the actions of others, even in so extreme a case.

    He was a man of honor, with a strong sense of loyalty. He would be a valuable ally and so, mere hours after his daughter's disappearance, Neilar had presented himself and offered his services.

    The baron had aged in that moment.

    "I may not be necessary," Neilar had said, and it was not entirely a lie. The House's clairvoyants knew that nothing was certain, that no future was definite. They merely played the odds.

    The odds in this case favored the death of the baron's daughter.

    And, as predicted, the baron's retainer gently lowered her corpse to the ground at her father's feet. The tears in the baron's eyes overflowed as he took his daughter's body in his arms, heedless of the blood staining her. A low keening grew into a sob.

    "Make this right," he begged softly. "Make it right."

* * * * * * * * * *

    The baron had ordered a room prepared to Neilar's simple specifications. Necromancy was a discipline of the mind more than anything else. The popular conception of magic called for candles, chalk marks, arcane symbols and incantations. While Neilar knew some ceremonial magicians who used such trinkets, he spurned unnecessary crutches. He also felt no compulsion to mask the true nature of his talents. If the baron and his men expected chalk marks and puddles of wax, they would be disappointed.

    Disappointed until the baron's daughter lived once more.

    If autumn smelled of death, this chamber smelled of decay. It had gone unused for some time and mildew had permeated the tapestries. Perhaps the baron had not wanted one of his better rooms stained by magics commonly believed to be foul and unnatural. Or perhaps he subconsciously associated the tragedy of his daughter's death with a dank, unhealthy atmosphere.

    That was, perhaps, more likely. The baron was not a bad host, even when the guest was a necromancer. Neilar's sleeping chamber was well-furnished, and considerably less drafty than this Workspace.

    The baron's daughter was laid out in the center of the floor. The retainer left quickly, glancing about as if expecting to see the magics Neilar wielded. The baron had retired to his chamber.

    Neilar stripped away the corpse's clothing. It was torn and dirty beneath the blood. With a clinical eye, he noted bruising and abrasions, in addition to the fatal wound to the throat. The baron's daughter had not been well-treated by her captors.

    But the damage could be fixed. And, since her death was recent, Neilar was confident in his ability to coax her essence back into her body.

    She really had been quite beautiful. Those soft falls of hair....Hair which the unobservant would call brown, but he appreciated the streaks of amber and auburn. Her eyes were hazel, with flecks of green and dark brown. He imagined them crinkling when she laughed. Imagined making her laugh.

    She would be beautiful again. He would make sure of it.

    One eye swollen shut, nose broken, lip split, other bruising. All superficial, all easily fixed. No skull fractures. The knife wound to the throat: a single, savage slash, cutting through to the vertebrae. But that, too, could be mended. Bruised arms, some bones fractured in one hand, burns to her arms and feet. Bruises on her back and legs, where it
seemed she had been beaten with a stick rather than fists or boots. Tooth marks on her breasts.

    How dare they? How dare they take this young, innocent girl and hurt her like this? Neilar stroked her breasts, as if to wipe away the pain she had felt. Then, on impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her.

    Her breast had cooled, but still retained some warmth. She will be warm once more. Warm, and laughing, and alive. Her breasts were not large, but full enough that, when prodded, they moved and bounced back into place. Neilar was momentarily fascinated. He was certainly familiar with breasts, on women living and dead, but they had never seemed quite so interesting.

    He forced himself to look away, to catalog the burns and bruises on the girl's abdomen. He made a mental note to repair any internal damage which may have been caused.

    Neilar allowed his fingers to toy with her pubic hair as he looked at her legs. They seemed strong, athletic legs. He imagined a horse between those legs--certainly, she must have ridden about her father's lands frequently. She had been riding when they took her.

    Neilar allowed himself a smile. If they had not killed her, she would have suffered through a needlessly long and painful recovery, and would bear the scars of their mistreatment. But now, she could be restored to a perfect body.

    They may have raped her. Neilar attempted to phrase the thought deliberately, but in fact he had no doubt that the rape had occurred. It would not just have been one man, it would have been all of them. Over and over, despite any pleas for mercy...though she might not have bothered to cry out, might have known it was useless, might simply have lain back, praying for them to finish....

    His fingers parted the labia. There are better ways to examine her, he thought. The repair of her body, and a more detailed diagnosis of the injuries, were mental exercises.

    She was so dry beneath his fingers. He could sense the internal bruising and abrasions, imagined the pain as her hymen broke....

    He was on top of her, though he had not made a conscious decision to move. He unfastened his pants with fingers suddenly made clumsy, and forced himself inside her. Kissed her damaged mouth, his tongue searching and finding broken teeth. Those, too, would be fixed. He moved gently--she had been through enough--though he knew that those delicate tissues, without the benefit of lubrication, would suffer more damage. But he suffered as well, the chafing oddly arousing. It was something they shared, his small sacrifice to her.

    Neilar gasped his climax and held her close. His own fluids washed over them both, almost enough to stimulate his desire once more.

    No. Discipline reasserted itself. He would bring her back. He would repair the damaged vessel, and she would fill it and make it beautiful once more.

    Lovingly he washed her, and laid her down on clean linen. He sat beside her and entered a trance, opening his mind to the energies most people could not feel. He knew her body, knew how it was now and how it should be; he reached inside, healing what was damaged, knitting together bone and flesh until she was perfect once more.

    He opened his eyes, and smiled. The body which lay before him was still dead, but otherwise perfect. He reentered his trance state. Listen to me, he commanded, and soon the body's heart beat in time with his own, and the lungs filled and emptied. He left it after a moment, and was satisfied when the basic life functions continued without his aid.

    Neilar spared a moment to check the wards he had set, though he did not anticipate problems. The House clairvoyants had said this would not be a particularly difficult resurrection, and it was low risk. She had been killed by mundane means, and was recently dead. He need not worry about the lingering effects of curses or malevolent creature from different planes of existence.

    He left his body then, sending his mind forth and calling out for her. "Avicia!" he called. Avicia, he sang to himself. Such a beautiful name.

    And he found her, the essence of her. She had not drifted far from the world. Come with me, Avicia, he urged, and she came, drawn to the body and one who named her.

    He led her back and then, once he was certain she was safe, he returned to his own body and opened his eyes.

    Avicia sat up slowly, shivering with cold, eyes wide with fear.

    "It's all right," Neilar said gently, ignoring his own weariness. He wrapped a blanket about her. She was too frightened to protest his touch. "You're safe now."

* * * * * * * *

    Avicia, dazed and dehydrated, retired to her room.

    "It is an exhausting process," Neilar explained as she shut her door, with barely a word spoken to anyone.

    The baron embraced him. "Anything you desire. Name it, and it shall be yours, if it is within my power."

    "It has been my pleasure to serve," Neilar said. When the time came, the House would make its own requests.

    He was tired, but attended the baron's table all the same.

    "Avicia is back with us!" the baron announced, though the rumor had spread.

    The rumor of the resurrection would surely spread as well, though the baron had told Neilar and his retainers that neither Avicia's death nor details of his injuries were to become common knowledge. People could whisper, but no one would dare openly say she had been abused or killed. Such things ruined reputations, political matches, and social standing.

    "It is a difficult thing, coming back," Neilar told the baron.

    "Perhaps I should remain here for a time, and help her...reacclimate herself to life."

    "You think you can help?"

    "I'm certain of it." It was not a lie. If nothing else, Neilar would not look at her strangely, or hesitate to talk about her death. He did not normally offer extensive counseling to the recently dead, but he would certainly be better at it than the baron or anyone else here. "And the House instructed that I was to take as much time as necessary, to see
that this is resolved satisfactorily."

* * * * * * * *

   "She will not come out," Avicia's woman said the next morning when Neilar called on her.

    "Then I will go in." He pushed past the woman, ignoring her protests.

    Avicia was huddled in her bed, initially frightened by his appearance. Recognition crossed her features, and some of the fear faded.

    "I know you."

    He nodded. "My name is Neilar. I brought you back."

    A quiver of her lip. She bit down hard, drawing blood, and he winced in sympathy.

    "That place--I remember--"

    She may have been speaking of the place where she had been held captive, or the realm of the dead. "Shh," he said, and sat beside her.

   "You're safe now."

    Avicia shook her head. "I dreamed--terrible things--"

    "And you will probably dream them again. But they are only dreams."

    She shook her head, and then realized she was dressed only in her nightgown. She tried to pull the bedclothes up over her body, but Neilar's weight prevented it.

    "I will leave you to dress, if you promise to come to my chamber," he said. "It is best if you talk about these things, and it is better for you to talk with me than any of these others."

    After a moment's consideration, Avicia nodded. He left her and waited in his room. She would probably come. And if she did not, then she would be embarrassed the next time he saw her, and more likely to do as he asked.

    And what shall I ask? He should be professional, he knew. Allow her to speak of her experiences, assure her that the things she had seen and felt were perfectly normal and that she was now beyond harm.

    Neilar attempted to read, but could not muster much interest in his book. She was so beautiful. Even fearful, eyes wide like some animal, he had glimpsed what she could be.

    A hesitant knock on his door. "Come in."

    She was dressed simply, in drab colors. Neilar wondered if the colors reflected her general preference or her mood today. She took a seat, still seeming nervous.

    "How do you feel?"

    A twitch. "Thank you," she said softly.

    "It is my job. And, in this case, my pleasure," he said. "I have resurrected many people who were...less worthy than you. I believe the world is a better place for having you in it."

    A hesitant smile crept over her face.

    "How do you feel?" he repeated. "Are you in pain? Do you feel any disorientation?"

    "No, I don't think so."

    Fool!  Ask someone if they are disoriented, and suddenly they become disoriented. But then, he had mainly worked with corpses and allowed others to deal with the living.

    "They hurt you very badly, but you are completely healed. It is as if none of it happened."

    She bit her lip again, tears welling up.

    "Completely healed," he repeated, guessing what would most concern a girl unable to fully comprehend the reality of her death. And then, confused by his own hesitation: "You are a virgin again."

    The tears began to flow. Avicia covered her face with her hands, and rocked back and forth.

    This seemed normal. She'd been through a series of traumatic experiences, of course she was going to break down.

    What if she wasn't a virgin when they took her? He'd just assumed....

    "They--they--" Avicia hiccupped.

    "Tell me everything. As much as will make you feel better," he amended.

    And she did, spilling out a story of surprise and terror and pain. Neilar was not a naive man and had witnessed the aftermath of abductions before, but his sensibilities were offended. The fact that they had taken this girl, his Avicia....

    Neilar shook his head. Not my Avicia. Just a girl who was dead, and now is not, because her father is a powerful man.

    "And father and Osanna, the way they look at me--" she gulped in more air.

    "Your father loves you very much," Neilar assured her. "He wanted you back more than anything else in the world. Of course he's sorry for what happened. He knows they wouldn't have taken you if you weren't his daughter. He feels responsible."

    It might also be that, after his initial joy faded, the baron might grow disgusted by the knowledge that his daughter had been deflowered and killed by her kidnappers. Knowing what Neilar did of human nature, that would not be a surprise. All the more reason for her to turn to me....

    "It was my fault. I knew I shouldn't have gone out alone--"

    Neilar shook his head. "If you had merely gone out alone, you would have ridden for a time and perhaps been chastised when you returned. The blame lies entirely with the men who took you."

    She wanted to believe him, he could tell.

    "They will be caught," Neilar said. "Your father's men will catch them, and they will be executed for what they did to you."

    "Death...wasn't as bad."

    Privately, Neilar thought she was foolish, with a flair for the dramatic. The astral realms were not a bad place to visit, for those with skill and experience, but he saw how the essences of the dead dispersed after time. He doubted that Avicia would relish the dissolution of her memories and personality.

    But most people could not truly conceive of the other realms, even after experiencing them first hand. Of course she concentrated on the more easily comprehensible trauma.

    "Then I'm sure something more can be arranged," Neilar said.

    "Is this wrong?" Avicia continued, as if she hadn't heard. "Should I be here?"

    "To those who care for religion, you may be an abomination," Neilar said. He personally did not care for religion. It encouraged people to behave like fools, which they tended to do anyway. "I think any religion which would consign you to death is the belief of sadistic fools."

    It gave her pause. After traumatic experiences a firm, confident voice could do much to resolve someone's worldview.

    Avicia seemed to realize where she was. "I should go. They will think--"

    "You may be forgiven a few minutes without a chaperone," Neilar said. "Especially if the chaperone is as judgmental as Osanna seems to be."

    "I'm not a child, I must behave properly," she said. Quoting someone, no doubt, either Osanna or her father.

    "Do as you please," Neilar said. "You owe no one apologies or explanations. No one."

    "I owe you thanks."

    "And you have offered them. And I accept them, gladly."

* * * * * * * *

He spoke with her the next day, and that night she crept into his bedchamber.

    "I--they--" she began, and burst into tears.

    Neilar took her in his arms. "Shh," he said, gently stroking her hair. He had hoped she would come, had willed her to come....

    Eventually, she stopped crying. "Please?" was all she said. She was young, she couldn't be a day over seventeen, and doubtless didn't understand her own motivation in coming here.

    Better that she cries in front of me than her husband. Noblewomen were not supposed to enjoy sex--at least, they were not supposed to publicly admit it--but neither were they supposed to fear it.

    "Lie still," he said. Aside from her inexperience, she was not in a state to do anything useful.

    Her warmth was disorienting, but he managed to ignore it and remember what he knew of her body. She twitched beneath him, and gasped in pain when he entered her. "It will not be so bad after this," he assured her, regretting now that he had restored her virginity. Despite his direction, she moved beneath him, woefully arhythmic. Neilar found
himself losing patience, but held his temper and offered her simple directions. She managed to do as he instructed, and afterward asked "Was that right?" in a small voice.

    Neilar was thankful she hadn't asked if it had been good. "Yes, that was right," he assured her.

    "It wasn't so bad," she said, obviously unconvinced.

    "It will hurt less next time."

    Avicia nodded.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     She came back the next night, and the night after. Evidently she had grown more confident in his presence, for she described various positions she wanted to try. The positions in which she was raped, he surmised. Avicia was performing psychological exorcisms.

    He was happy enough to be her instrument, though most of the time he wished she would simply be still.

    "Osanna lied to me for years," she said.

    "How so?"

    "She came to me and said that if I discovered I was--that there was a baby, there are solutions."

    "Of course. You hadn't known that?"

    "She always used to say that was why I mustn't dishonor myself or my father before my marriage. She'd always said that there was nothing that could be done, short of cutting out the child--"

    "You poor, ignorant thing," he said tenderly. "What these fools have done to you. I suppose she thinks that the abduction was your fault as well."

    "I don't know," Avicia said doubtfully. "She seems...more sympathetic than I would have thought."

    "Sympathetic enough to have lied to you for years," he pointed out. It was better that Avicia accepted the truth about the people around her. Neilar had given her life back to her, but he was helpless against the prejudice and stupidity of others.

    Avicia held him more tightly. Her clinginess was not particularly endearing, but given what she had recently been through he decided some annoying habits could be forgiven.

    "You should be publicly honored," she said. Transferring any offense at the way she was being treated to the way he was being treated, no doubt. "You are a great man; you shouldn't have to stand back in the shadows."

    "That isn't the way the world works."

    "It should. You're the hero, not my father's retainers," she said bitterly.

* * * * * * * * * *

    The baron was overjoyed at his daughter's return...but as the days passed, Neilar thought he had to remind himself of his joy.

    "What is wrong?" he asked Neilar, though clearly he had doubts about doing so. Had this been a normal situation, Neilar suspected that the baron would have guessed he was sleeping with Avicia and at a minimum thrown him out. But in this case, Neilar was the expert miracle worker. If the baron questioned Neilar's methods or ethics, then the resurrection was morally suspect as well. His love for his daughter trapped him.

    "She finds joy in nothing," the baron continued. "She barely speaks to me or anyone else, and when she does it is either with tears or venom."

    "She's been through a very traumatic event," Neilar said. "She needs time to accept what happened to her, time to accept that she is truly back, and her life can begin again."

    The baron, Neilar surmised, did not like feeling helpless. Eventually, he would probably decide that Neilar's continued presence was unhealthy. After all, Avicia had been happy before, and nothing was different except for the necromancer in residence, reminding her of her pain....

    But he will ask me to leave politely, no doubt. And some time remained to enjoy Avicia's affections.

    Avicia's captors had been taken. The baron's retainers were bringing them back in triumph--after cutting out their tongues, so they could not say what they had done to her. Neilar personally found that solution somewhat lacking in creativity, but told Avicia nonetheless.

    "I want to watch them die," she said. "I want them to see me like this. I want them to know...."

    The baron would not normally have encouraged his delicate daughter to attend a public execution, but Neilar convinced him it could be helpful. The men were hanged--also distinctly uncreative.

    "Was that all?" Avicia asked after the last man ceased his spasmodic kicking. "This is everything, now it is over?"

    "Unless you wish otherwise," Neilar said. "Go celebrate tonight, and know that you are victorious."

    Avicia looked unconvinced, but she accompanied her father to the evening's feast.

* * * * * * * *

    Neilar waited in her chambers. "How do you feel?"

    She shrugged.

    "I have a surprise for you," he said. "I hope that you like it."

    He lead her away from the finery of her room, down to the chamber that was his Workspace. "He is yours, to do with as you please."

    He had only bothered to resurrect one of her captors--it was a symbolic gesture more than anything, and there was no sense spending time and effort redundantly.

    Avicia stared at the man, fear and anger in her expression. The man was tightly bound but not gagged; Neilar had seen no reason to restore his tongue.

    "No one knows...no one who has not been paid well enough to forget," Neilar said, and pointed to the corner. A collection of weapons sat there, everything from fine swords and knives to jagged stones.

    "My father would not approve," Avicia said distantly.

    "Your father would not approve of many things." A part of Neilar marveled at his lack of professionalism. But Avicia inspired him, despite her awkwardness; with his help, she could be a spectacular woman. "The true question is what do you want?"

    She chose a knife, staring at it in her hands. As if in a dream, she moved toward the prisoner. Suddenly she shrieked in rage and remembered pain. The knife rose and fell, wielded clumsily but effectively. She continued to stab after the man was dead, sobbing, and then pulled away from the corpse. Disgusted by the man's body, or by what
she had done, Avicia rubbed at the blood spattering her body.

    "Do you feel better?" Neilar asked, and received no answer. "Would you like to do it again?"

    Avicia looked at him blankly. "I can bring him back again, as many times as you like." It would be draining, and it was the sort of thing that was Not Done, outside of the special chambers beneath the House. But for her, he would do it.

    "Or you can keep playing with the body," he said. "Cut him some more, use him to pleasure yourself. Death for death; rape for rape."

    He had a sudden fantasy, Avicia lying dead on his bed. He could take her in peace, and bring her back again afterward....

    "That's always why you tell me to lie still, isn't it?" she said softly. "Because it's better with a corpse."

    "Different. There's more control...." Her expression didn't change, her eyes remained fixed on the man she had killed, but Neilar felt himself losing her.

    "Lie still. It doesn't matter--you don't care--"

    "I wanted you from the moment I saw you," he said, desperate to convince her. "You were so beautiful, even after what they did to you. And I just imagined how much more beautiful you would be after I was done, after I'd fixed you and brought you back and let you fill your body once more--"

    Avicia shook her head, and now she looked at him. "That's why you always seem disappointed, isn't it? I'm not good enough for you, I don't measure up to what you imagine, I'm not the woman who should be in this magnificent vessel you've made." Her voice rose with hysteria. "It was better without me, it was perfect and I've ruined it--"

    "No, not at all--"

    "You used me, this body, didn't you? Didn't you?"

    "Yes, but--"

    Wracking sobs. "I thought you were _better_. I thought you understood."

    "I do understand," he said soothingly. "You've been through so much, but it's over now." He reached out to stroke her hair.

    "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me again!"

    "Avicia--"

    "Look what you made me do, look what you made me do...." He couldn't tell if she was talking about the dead man or sex.

    "Avicia--"

    "Get out!" She threw the knife at him, but like a child, not an assassin. It clattered against the wall. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

* * * * * * * * *

"She has taken to her room again," the baron said.

    Neilar was well aware of that. He'd wasted a good deal of time waiting for Avicia to leave the dank Workspace so he could clean up her mess.

    "Perhaps it is my presence," Neilar said so the baron would not have to. "I believe that I helped her, but I think that I can do no more for her."

    "You have performed a miracle. You brought my daughter back to me."

    Neilar merely nodded. "It is best that I leave as I came, without fanfare."

    "I appreciate your discretion."

    "Wish her well, on my behalf." The ungrateful bitch. Soon, Neilar was sure that he would only remember the spoiled, angry child, not the beauty who made him ache.

    "My line...everything she is, everything her children will be, I owe to you."

    And the House will collect, when the time is right. "It has been my pleasure to serve."

©2002 Megan Powell

Megan Powell has sold short fiction to various magazines and anthologies, including UNDERWORLDS, HANDHELDCRIME, KINSHIPS, AOIFE'S KISS, DARK DUNGEON, IDEOMANCER, SHADOWKEEP, ROGUE WORLDS and THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT IN ARKHAM. Her fantasy novel VOCATION is available from Double Dragon (http://www.double-dragon-ebooks.com). She edits the webzine FABLES (http://www.fables.org) and maintains a homepage at http://www.meganpowell.net.