Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 18

blew.

The remaining zombies rushed towards the
women. One leaped on one of the priestesses and bit
into her neck as she screamed, her scarlet power dying
out. Christine blasted the ones approaching her as
Bana’s glowing sword decapitated another.

The door burst open as a strong gust of wind

Bana stood with sword drawn, her body
glowing in a violent red light. Her eyes shined with a
brighter scarlet, her cutlass drawn.

The remaining priestess continued to fight
zombies on the mountain top as Bana and Christine
rushed down, attempting to catch the necromancer.

The sailor screamed as the scarlet light rushed
forward in a blur.
Smoke rose under Bana’s feet, where the sailor
once stood. He was now nonexistent, and the zombies
growled helplessly around her. They threatened
her with fierce shrieks, slashing their sharp nails in
warning at her direction.
Bana cut through a number of the undead
subordinates around her. Heads and limbs detached,
flying onto the ground.
The necromancer stepped closer, placing his
flute to his lips.
“That won’t help you now,” a voice said from
inside of the building.
Stepping out came Christine and the two
priestesses, glowing with the same red energy as
Bana.
“You are not welcome here,” Christine
shouted. “Go back, and take your riffraff with you.”
“You are mine, slave wench! I bought you.”
“I am a free woman! Now leave! This is the
realm that my ancestors and gods provided for our
peace and refuge!”
Christine held her hands out. A red blast
knocked the sailors behind the necromancer off the
mountain.
In shock, the dark magician clutched his flute
and began to run.

The necromancer ran through the expansive
jungle. Christine shot blasts towards him, destroying
trees and rocks.
The hooded magician didn’t bother to glance
back as smoke and flying bark surrounded him.
Bana tried to keep up to Christine’s side,
brushing away the smoke. Their hooded foe dashed
out of the jungle and onto the beach. Christine and
Bana followed.
The necromancer reached the edge of the
beach. There was nowhere to go. He couldn’t merely
hop on his big vessel on his own and leave, its massive
body anchored to the land. The dark magician, having
no solace to confide in, turned around to greet his
advancing pursuers.
Christine held her hands up as Bana pointed
her sword. Energy of the loa glowed all around them,
their minds summoning burning projectiles.
Invisible barriers seemed to stop the blasts
from reaching the necromancer. The blasts exploded in
the air, a mere foot away from the hooded plantation
owner. He remained unharmed.
“How did he—” Bana stopped talking,
realizing what surrounded her.
Bana and Christine stood in a circle of gore,
blood, and corpses that formed a complex symbol.
Some of the bodies belonged to her former shipmates,
her pirate family. Others belonged to the Spanish
pirate hunters.

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