Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 20

of salvation. “Well, Christine? What shall it be?”
Christine gave no response. Her eyes
continued to remain closed, her form still.
As the dark magician waited for an answer,
agitation built in him. He didn’t want to kill Christine,
though he could still use her blood, body, and bones
for powerful experiments. Many spells and rituals
had been successful when he used the dead bodies
of Vodun priests and priestesses before. Stubborn
lots that never obeyed him, never gave their magic
willingly. Christine was in an even more impressive
league than those African magic workers he had found
in the past, and it would have been a shame if he could
only use her dead entrails for three, four, or even five
ritual services. To have her alive, under his control,
able to summon the types of spirits he wanted, would
have been even more of a delight.
“Make your decision quick, Christine.”
Christine could not respond. Her mind was
elsewhere, absorbed in the intricate design that spread
around her and her Indio friend. The glowing lines,
the collected gore, the organs and heads strategically
placed. Each aspect of the trapping circle had a
purpose, a representation of some heavenly force,
and Christine was greeting them all, learning them,
understanding their energies and what they stood for...
“You stubborn bitch.” The magician pulled out
a gun. “Your friend dies now.”
Bana’s eyes widened, her teeth bared. She was
helpless, motion failing her.
A shot fired.
The magician’s gun hand exploded as he
screamed.
The circle continued to glow, yet something
changed.
“How beautiful your sigil is,” Christine uttered
proudly, her eyes still closed, her mind still tapping

into the intricate design around her. “How interesting
the beings that charge it. Their origins, their stories.”
The necromancer stepped forward by a few
inches, stabbing his finger in the air with threat and
rage. “What the hell are you doing, woman?”
“Their power, their knowledge... so ancient...
so abused and misunderstood by many.”
That circle continued to glow, charged with a
mysterious power that even the necromancer couldn’t
understand.
The stars shined so brightly, revealing distant,
swirling galaxies, universes...
“Stop it,” the necromancer demanded weakly.
“Stop it!”
Christine’s eyes opened. They were glowing
azure complimented with gold. Her hands swarmed
with pure white light, shining with diamond-like
clarity.
The zombies were helplessly fascinated by the
powerful circle between them.
Entranced along with the zombies by interest
and dread, the necromancer held up his flute with his
remaining hand.
Bana had no idea what was going on. She
could see Christine’s face in the overwhelming
lights, the fantastical glows and powerful vibrations
of energy. Other than that, all was an unfathomable
mystery to them. A hard zephyr blew from the
illuminations engulfing them, and soon, not even the
island was visible anymore.
The light overtook everything. Zombie flesh
began to rip and explode. The necromancer screamed
as he burned alive, the flute in his hands blowing
away.
Bana reached for the flute as it flew in her
direction. She held it tight, feeling a strange power
glowing from it as around her, everything melted to

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