Hemlock and The Mother: Woeful Tale
Hemlock was deep in something she’d not done in a long time, so long even words she’d said as child felt alien on her tongue. Though the gods had changed the prayer, the method remained largely the same. Save for a few gods that required the sacrifice of blood or treasure. In her experiences those gods tended towards the false category. Usually the one who spoke those god’s words were the ones taking the wealth offered, and giving nothing in return. The Fair Lady, however different than old moldering text once spoke of her, had come to a revolution of sorts in the past century or more. A newly ‘reborn’ goddess with a change not so much in purpose but in its action. Even with her age Hemlock knew very very little of The Fair Lady at her conception but knew enough about her current incarnation and more about The Mother, her voice in the moral world. She’d also met a few people close enough to godhood to scrape the surface that spoke well of her. The voice of the fallen angel in her head screaming about coming here helped too. Even if The Mother couldn’t help, maybe it would be worth it just to make the voice in her head squirm.
Hemlock was in the who knew how many repetitions of the prayer when the voice bubbled to the surface again. “You are feeling doubt, you should.” the voice dripped with venom, “You will be erased, all you are all you were, the body you foolishly left will rot away, everyone who knew you will feel sorrow and woe, everything you were as a person ‘poof’ gone, I will take my body back. And I will kill the people close to you. I will make it slow. They will suffer, and it will be all your fault for daring to try to take a holy body, my body from me.” she hissed. “I might even use your voice.” she laughed. “They think, “Oh the necromancer finally snapped.” They’ll think you went mad, and they will die in fear of you, their friend. In pain and agony. That little spell you used on my men to suck the life from them should do nicely.” she concluded.
“By The Nine Hells do you ever shut up…” Hemlock snarled.
The angel didn’t reply but a new voice did, something like how you’d imagine a real angel should sound, not like the angry voice in her head that sounded more hateful than most demons.
“Um…excuse me…” The Mother said, giving her throat a light clearing. She’d obviously heard the comment about shutting up and The Hells. She stood there with a kind, warm but worried smile.
Hemlock looked up quickly “Oh!” she stood, and bowed. Regardless of if The Mother could see it, it was about respect, not ceremony. “I was…sorry…I didn’t mean for anyone to hear that.” she said.
“Do not fret, child.” The mother said. “I have heard worse and I will hear worse yet. You do not need to stand, you have been through a lot. Sit, sit.” she said, not commanding but gentle guidance, and Hemlock felt herself sitting before she could even argue.
“Now,” The Mother began. “What is troubling you, child?” she asked. “I feel a great weight on your shoulders and a pain deep inside. If I can help I will do everything in my power to help you.”
“I…I don’t know…” Hemlock started unsure.
“Take your time.” The Mother said, the smile never leaving her face.
Hemlock couldn’t fully believe it was so simple to The Mother. Just accepting people. Trusting people was always a challenge, made worse by events over one hundred years ago. She’d trusted a group that paraded around in tacky green scarves, and it had nearly gotten her killed, and while trusting strangers also saved her that day…it led to one of her best friends being killed by two different psychopaths. But she made it look so easy.
Hemlock took in a breath and started again, but fell short. “I’m a ne…”
“Necromancer? I am aware. I don’t think many besides myself would smell it, but your kind has a smell. Usually not of rot, anyone can smell that. But of consecrated soil.” she explained.
“And you will still help me even knowing that.” Hemlock asked.
The Mother reached out and took Hemlock’s hand. “Hemlock, child. I know more about you than you know. The Fair Lady has blessed me with understanding. I am not the one who is to judge you, it is she who judges, and she has judged you clean. I am guided to help you. Please tell me your trouble.”
With the kind words and belief in her, Hemlock started again, bolstered to tell her tale. She started with getting word that the village had been attacked, that she set out to put the dead to rest, and save any lingering spirits from a fate of wandering without the guidance of a Reaper, she explained spending what was likely months there, losing track of time, she explained the Angel’s army coming back through the village, she told The Mother of defending the ruins, and losing her life, along with taking the angel’s, the part she fear The Mother would turn her away for, taking the angel’s body for her own, as a means to continue her work. And ending with that she now had the engram of the very same angel trapped in her head trying to wrestle control back and erase Hemlock’s memories and personality and that of the body back.
Even with her eyes covered with cloth The Mother’s brow was obviously furrowed, and a sad frown attempted to find its way onto her face. “Oh…my.” she said, as worry filled her voice. “That is quite a lot to take in.” The Mother said. “Though I know little about your situation, I will consult with scripture and seek guidance from The Fair Lady, she may know of one who could help. But I am sad to say at the moment I can do little.” She put a smile back on. “You may stay while I find your answers.” she offered. “It is the least I can do.” The Mother stood to leave but stopped. “It was a wonderful thing you did for those lost souls.” she said, looking in Hemlock’s direction. “Many clerics, even of The Fair Lady, would not be so brave as to stay in a horrific place like that. Thank you.”
Hemlock would never say it out loud but it was for her a sort of penance. She knew the man who had taught her the ways of necromancy was by all rights an evil evil man, and that she in many lives before had done horrible things. She believed that no matter what good she did it would never make up for it. Even if she in the eyes of The Fair Lady tipped the scales all the way over, it still wouldn’t be enough.