The sun was high overhead, its heat oppressive, the air shimmering from its assault upon the ground. The dirt cracked with bone like dryness, the only moisture available to it was the blood from the horrors it witnessed mere days before.

  Ashtka Vek stood at the edge of the pit that local nomads had dug hastily, piled in the corpses of those slain by some warlord or another. There were so many of them these days. Her ears twitched, and her tail swished with annoyance. She had to do her duty as a necromancer, to usher the souls of the departed, lest they haunt the living and turn into darker spirits.

  Of course, with the entire village dead, the only ones would would be haunted would be nomads, merchants, and, if there was any justice in the world, the dreams of those who did such things.

  She crouched and clapping her hands together three times, she began the incantations for the dead, words taught to her by her mother, her mother's mother and beyond for as long as time had existed. Her clan, the Vek, had belonged to the order of necromancers since time immemorial, serving various functions. The lived in the old temple, hidden in a valley from the sight of the warlords and servants of the Great City.

  The powers of the necromancer, one who could speak with the dead, flowed through her blood, as it would when she had kittens of her own. If she had any, she resisted the urge to grimace. Menfolk were becoming a rarity in this era of war between the misbegotten bastards of the departed God-King, may his soul rest in the river of stars.

  She heard a cough. A very mortal sound. Ghosts didn't have lungs to cough with after all. She looked down and saw movement. There was something alive in the pit of the dead, and it wasn't one of the myriad scavengers that plagued these lands.

  Ashtka watched for a moment, her head tilting from one side to another. It was better to be safe than to join the dead for whom she prayed. Beasts aside, all manner of spirits might have possessed a corpse. Handling those was also her duty.

  A hand pulled its way free of the twisted mass of dead flesh, a small one. Another hand, and a tiny form, blood-soaked, coughing and weeping, dragged itself free of the dead.

  Ashtka held in a gasp of surprise. It was a child. A girl child at that. A human one, for she had no visible blessings of the Beast God upon her form. She had been a victim of the horrors that had filled this grave pit, but had survived despite it.

  "Child, answer me truthfully. Are you alive, or a spirit?" Spirits could not lie, Ashtka knew, and must answer the questions of a necromancer.

  The child said nothing, tears continuing to run through the blood on her face, the vermilion stains hardening under the sun.

  Ashtka was satisfied, she reached a hand out to the child.

  "Come, child. A grave pit is no place for you." The child took the offered hand, gripped it firmly, a stronger grip than the necromancer expected, and climbed out of the corpse pile.

  Ashtka took some precious water from a jug at her side, and with a stray bit of cloth, she wiped the blood from the child's face. A girl child, she noted.

  How long had she struggled to free herself from the grasp of the dead, Ashtka wondered. How had she survived the horrors that had been inflicted on her people?

  Such thoughts would have to wait. She had a duty to complete, and one that didn't have much time left before it was too late. The sun was beginning its descent, and guiding the spirits of the dead grew more difficult under the light of the twin moons. The night empowered the things of the spirit world, and Ashtka was not up to the challenge yet.

  She handed the girl the jug of water.

  "Drink, child. But slowly. It has been mixed with salt and vinegar. It is not a pleasant taste." The child took an exploratory taste of the proffered jug, and to her credit, grimaced only a little.

  Can you sit quietly while I continue my task?" She asked softly. The girl nodded and sipped at the water slowly.

  An obedient child, she thought. A hardy child, too. Traits ideal for surviving in these lands.

  She returned to the corpse pit and continued her ritual. She saw the ethereal forms of the spirits of the dead rise from their earthly shells. They wailed with the pain and fear of the last moments. They had suffered; that much was clear. This attack had been one of cruelty, not one of military necessity, as absurd a concept as that was, Ashtka thought to herself.

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  One by one, the souls flitted away into the realms beyond life and death, to the strange country that all souls must one day find themselves. What dwelled there was the business of priests and the philosophers of the Great City.

  Two souls remained that resisted the pull of the world after. They stared at Ashtka. No, not at her she realized. Past her. They stared at the child.

  A pang of sadness touched her heart. These must have been her parents. She knew they wanted to see and speak to their child one last time, but that could not be. The longer they stayed, the deeper their bond to the living world would be, and the higher the risk of them turning into monstrosities. Their love for their child would turn into a hunger and would damn their daughter.

  "I will see that she is cared for. I give you my word, and a necromancer's word to the dead is absolute." She bowed her head to them. This seemed to satisfy the spirits as their form disappeared like mist into the air.

  The sun was beginning to set further, but the task had been done. Now for the part of the ritual she hated. She found her pack that she had left next to the child, and took out a torch and a large jar of special oil.

  She never asked what was in it, for that was not for one of her rank. One day, she would learn this secret, and her path would have progressed that much further.

  She opened the jar, the acrid stink of it stinging her nose. A mixed blessing, as she abhorred that smell, but it covered up the ever deepening thickness of the corpse rot.

  She whispered a small prayer into the oil, a request to the spirits of wind and fire to speed its task to a quick conclusion.

  She threw the jar and its contents into the pit, making sure it spread over as much of it as she could manage. With a striker, she lit her torch ablaze and cast it atop the dead, flames quickly spreading and engulfing the rotting flesh.

  The air was filled with black, foul smoke, but the oil and the fire did completed its task fully, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

  Ashtka reached down, pinched a bit of the ash, putting it in a small pouch that hung from her neck. A tradition of her kind. Every funeral pyre they completed, they carried a bit of ash back to their temple. A sort of memorial for the dead, for in these harsh lands, there was no time for monuments for commoners. Tombs and statues were for the wealthy, the powerful, and the famed. The commoner was born in dirt, lived in dirt, and their ashes were claimed by it.

  Necromancers remembered all of the dead, in their way. It was the best anyone could hope for in such brutal lands.

  However, for now, the dead could rest.

  The living was another matter all together. Ashtka turned and regarded the child for a few moments. She still remained quiet, sipping the water, and staring off into nothingness. No doubt deeply troubled by what she had seen and endured.

  Ashtka was now honor-bound and oath-bound to help this child. She approached and crouched before the child. The child silently stared at her, saying nothing. She couldn't have been much more than four rainy seasons old. Such strength in such a young soul.

  "Child, your parents and your people have gone to the Places Beyond, where they will be with their ancestors and whatever gods you worship. Do you understand?" She asked softly.

  The child sat in silence for a few moments, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away, as if they had made her angry, as if their damp existence was offensive to her. She nodded once, decisively.

  "Do you know what I am?" The child nodded again. She was no stranger to death then. To be so young, and to be so familiar with violence and death. It would have broken Ashtka, she confessed to herself.

  "Dead talker." The girl said the first words she had spoken.

  "That is correct. I swore to your parents' souls that I would care for you. I cannot force you to come with me, but I will do everything in my power to protect you until such a time as you choose to walk your own path. I will feed you, clothe you, and find you a profession that suits you. Do you understand?" Ashtka talked slowly and softly, watching the child's face for understanding.

  "Yes." The child said simply.

  "Then, for the time being, you shall be as my child. Do you have a name?"

  "We do not get names until we have survived five rainy seasons. I was to receive my name today, but the ones with black skulls on their shields came." Her tears returned. Such a momentous and happy occasion stained with such darkness was sin, Ashtka thought, tears touching her own eyes.

  She may have been more familiar with the feelings of the dead, but her heart was not cold yet, not like many of her kind.

  "Then will you accept a name from me, child? I may not be of your blood, but as I have sworn, you shall become as my family, if you shall let me." She held her hand out to the child.

  The child stared at it for a long time, her face deep in thought. What thoughts stirred in that young mind, Ashtka wondered, smiling softly.

  The girl took her hand, her grip still strong. Powerful. The hand of a warrior, perhaps, thought the necromancer.

  "Very well, child. You are reborn this day, risen living from the grave. You have survived the swords of the wicked and will become stronger for it. I give you the name Ashtar, meaning Strong Soul, daughter of I, Ashtka, meaning Kind Soul. I welcome you to my clan, the people called Vek. May you grow and strengthen our clan with your bravery and strength." She took one of her fangs, bit down on her thumb, drawing a bead of blood. She placed her thumb on the child's forehead.

  "Welcome to your new life Ashtar Vek. Walk with me till you can walk your own path, my daughter." Ashtka intoned.

  "Thank you..." Ashtar paused for a moment, tears fighting to run down her cheek again, before she gave the slightest smile, "Mother."

  The necromancer rose, her tail swishing happily, and offered Ashtar her hand. She took it, this time gently, the light of the setting sun shining in her eyes.

  The two then walked into the quickly approaching night, hand in hand.