By M.A. Khan
From Goblins & Galaxies #1 Autumn 2025
“Why the fuck would I do that?” He squawked at me from behind the bars. They were always snappy while awaiting the axe. Pierre was an ugly man, not physically, I’m sure he appealed to someone’s beauty standard. Of course, anyone compared to me is a good-looking lad, I’m a man so thin I could escape through the tiniest of alleyways and so pale you’d forget I started a shade of brown. Both had their advantages in my world. People like Pierre, you just know they don’t know what it means to eat an apple core from a dirty garbage can, and that just made me want to leave at that moment. Call it hatred or call it envy, I don’t know the difference. Luckily for him, I wasn’t in the mood to eat from the trash again.
“For a clean cut. I can’t bring you back from death without a clean cut.” It was a lie. I could if I wanted to. It would just mean he’d have a few more complications. The fibers of your being don’t grow back the same after you die. Your body is all confused. It’s not sure what to do, so the cleaner the cut, the easier for the body to assimilate and less likely to reject its soul.
“Oh, okay. I didn’t know,” Pierre’s stupid face relaxed. He looked at the fire in his cell meant to keep him warm. Even as he was facing death, they still accommodated his comfort. “How much?” Pierre said as if he were a small kid who was reprimanded for being a bother. What a time to be cheap. He’s facing death and he’s still asking ridiculous questions. How much is your idiotic life worth? Wealth is wasted on these people. They horde like dragons and fight tooth and nail to keep every last cent. If I had that money, I’d buy a river. Can you buy a river?
“Eight, maybe nine gold coins” I calmly suggested. I knew it’d send him into a rage but I’ve dealt with it all before. Pierre was a poet but you can only be a poet if someone was supporting you like his father. Pierre’s father was a Duke before he was beheaded with the rest. Pierre and the other children were assured they wouldn’t be harmed as long as they didn’t get in the way of the new Regime. I mean, I knew it was a lie but then again, I am a liar.
Pierre’s poetry spoke of the benefits of living in a state of always loving your fellow man, that this was the path to true wisdom and happiness. I’ve been to his public readings before. There’s not much else to do in my district other than get drunk or get the shit kicked out of you, so I’d go to the Gardens and listen. He would describe being kind and feeding the hungry as being in the careful bosom of an angel, you’d only help yourself if you helped others. I am still not sure he made any real sense.
Admittedly, Pierre’s poetry excelled after experiencing his father’s public execution and having his head placed on a spike. The incredible images of pain he could conjure with mere words could only be written by someone with an education and a surface-level fear of death. Still, you felt bad for him, no one likes it when their loved ones die and are hung about for all to see. If he were a bad writer, he wouldn’t be sitting in a cell awaiting a public beheading. The display of the dead elites was meant to symbolize that the people would never be taken advantage of again, that we’d have a fair voice in policy and taxes and blah blah blah. I believed them but I’m also an idiot.
Pierre’s nostrils flared, the wrinkle lines of his mouth proudly pronounced for a word he’s used often when talking to someone like me, the humble working class. “Robbery. You’re robbing me. You and the executioner are splitting the profits and letting me rot. You’ll have yourselves a laugh at the fool who gave up his ghost and gold. You’re a swindler. Exploiting my urge to live.” This is a normal response. I get my work through referrals. I do a good job, you live, you tell your other favorite living rich friends about me and then you go and fuck off wherever rich people can afford to go after their dead on paper. Somehow they still don’t trust my work.
“If you feel like your life isn’t worth a few gold then, by all means, do what you’d like. The crowd enjoys it when the head doesn’t come off right away. The people go feral for each swing. Once, I saw five swings! By the fifth swing, the people were fighting each other! Maybe they will use their sharpest blade for you because of your exceptionally charismatic personality.” He wasn’t wrong though. There’s not much business for a person like me nowadays, conjurers in the old world were banished to the outer lands or hunted for sport. It was actually Deidra’s idea. Deirdra is the executioner, she was the first person to learn about my abilities back when we were kids. I brought her cat, Lily, back to life.
I wouldn’t say we were friends, at least not that we’ve ever acknowledged we’re friends, but we both loved that cat. When we were older, she joined the military and I decided to rot in the streets. She came back to me a few years ago and pitched me this idea. A way to make a little on the side, you know? I get paid upfront and she keeps the tip. Deirdra takes all the risk in sneaking out the bodies and their heads so I feel it’s quite fair. It was harmless really, they had too much money and we had very little. We had a service and it was valuable but I never mentioned Deidra to anyone. We needed to keep each other out of each other’s view.
Pierre touched his neck gently. These people are so easy to read. They’ve had no natural predators for centuries, they lived in a world that was completely designed for them. Everyone around them just nods, says yes and collects a check from them. They’ve never needed to hide their feelings. They just need power and they hold that over you. It’s so easy to appeal to their sense of vanity. Of course, he doesn’t want his pretty little neck mutilated.
Pierre looked at me. “Maz, can you guarantee me coming back from the dead?” I nodded my head. “And when I come back… am I the same?” I took a pause. Should I tell him? The truth is no one comes back the same. That time you spend on the other side, it’s different for everyone. Some people come back more enlightened, death makes them feel like they want to be better people. Some people come back bitter and angry, it feels like you’ve brought a demon into the world. A few… and just a few… they don’t even seem human anymore, seriously I’m fairly certain I saw a noble return with a squirrel spirit. Death will do funny things to you but I couldn’t tell you what the other side is like but I’m bound to find out someday.
“No, you’re not. But you’re alive and you will never die again unless you’re killed.” I’ll tell him the truth. After all, it’s his last few moments alive. The Gods only know how he’ll return. I stood up off the stool and put my hand out. “Do we have a deal or will you face death?” These people never want to be with nothing. They don’t know what it means to have nothing already.
“My butler will pay you. I’ll have him tip the executioner as well. Do you have a piece of paper?” I opened my bag and pulled out a slip of paper. I dug through my bag for a pencil and handed it to him. Pierre wrote a note, signed it, and handed it to me. It read that he’s agreed to pay me nine gold coins and to tip the executioner another nine tomorrow. Very good. Pierre stood up and walked to the bars of his cell.
“You should know, if I had it my way all of you conjurers would be put to death. You are abominations. It’s because of things like you that we’re even in this fucked up world.”
That’s just the way. They always don’t want people like us until they need us. I took a deep breath. “The only thing I am is hungry. And be glad it’s just that.” You can’t let them know their words hurt. I’ve found the best thing to do in a situation like this is make them feel like their words have no power. They’re just clinging on to the last bits of their old life, their old power. He’ll go on to be a rich nobody living in obscurity for as long as that money will last him.
“You must let me know how the axe feels.” I smiled, flashing him my ugly teeth, an honor I bestow on very little.
It wasn’t hard to find Pierre’s home. You go to the center of the city and look for the biggest houses. These people never hide. They’ve never had to. People say Odecca is a beautiful city. I’ve never been to other cities so I don’t have much to compare to. Pierre’s district was always a bit much to me. It had too many shapes and colors. It would make my mind race. Something about the beige stones from my district made me feel comfortable. The garden district was the oldest of them all, it’s a shame it burned down.
Five years ago, when the kingdom’s generals led a coup to overthrow King Renneck, they declared the gardens a monument to the excess of our King’s ego. The Gardens were around much longer than Renneck’s family line. That’s where they held the first executions, they took the heads of the entire royal family and their court and declared themselves the Qamar Regime. It was something about a new moon phase to bring light, maybe, don’t ask me what it meant. After the royals were taken care of they came after the wealthy, the scholars, the scientists, and the conjurers.
All for the people, of course. Not because they didn’t want anyone to threaten their new order. The Qumar’s philosophy was that it was the conjurers’ duty to use their God-given abilities to help people for free but because they made a profit, they were no longer fit to practice their craft in the city. They banned all magic craft. I never understood why folks would publicly register their craft like that. Not that anyone was practicing my craft. I’d never even heard of anyone that was. It’s best to stay out of view when you’re that different. That was the nice thing about Odecca. The city was huge. If you didn’t want to be found you could easily disappear in the shadow of Odecca.
I walked up to the massive marble blue door of Pierre’s home until a Holy Man stopped me. He handed me a pamphlet on his new religion. “My lord will come any day now and bring a new peace in the kingdom.” You and everyone else’s messiah. I waved him off and knocked on the door. A stout man in nicer clothes than I answered the door in shock. “I believe you’ve got the wrong home, sir.” He tried to shut the heavy door on me but I jammed myself between.
“No, I don’t think I do.” I handed him the slip. He took it hesitantly but when he read it his eyes nearly popped out of his head, he knew it was genuine. “You got anything to eat while I wait?”
“Yes… yes… sir, please come in.” The Butler moved aside and let me in.
I’ve never had a brie before. A wet cheese? Whoever thought of this was a sick fuck. The gods damn it, it was delicious. Every part of my brain told me this shouldn’t taste so good. The butler had left some jam on the board along with some bread. I wonder if you’re supposed to eat them separately or together. I might as well try them together. Holy hell. Is that raspberry?
“Are you enjoying the spread?” I didn’t know notice the Butler had been there. He was holding a maroon bag. Even from here, I could see that it was more than I asked. “What’s going on there?” I asked.
“I’ve added a little extra. I’ve known Master Pierre since he was a boy. I love the boy and need you to take extra precautions to bring him home. This is from me to you. Can you promise me you’ll do everything you can to bring him back home?”
I took the bag. “No” Could you imagine having someone care about you that much? I walked towards the door and opened it. “Excuse me, sir? What do you mean no?”
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll pack up your favorite belongings, all your money, and all of master’s favorite things. Come midnight tomorrow, You’re going to pick him up at the Dunhill shack outside the city. You must never come back here or else they’ll kill him again and you for the first time.”
“If you’re not returning the Master home then I must ask for my coin back. Out of principle” Principle? What Principle? How is this for principle? “If you want your coin back, you won’t get the master back at all. Still want it?”
The Butler stood there silent. I guess he did love Pierre. “Don’t forget to tip the executioner” I shut the door. I hid the bag in my pants and made my way home. All the way back to my small stinky basement room, I wondered what it’d be like to be a butler. To put together spreads of cheeses, jams, and breads. To not worry about where you’ll be getting your next coins from. I wondered if I’d be a good and loyal butler.
I entered my room. It was strange living underground. It was as though I was already a corpse. Sure I could afford something better but old habits are hard to kill. I’m used to having no money to light a fire but I had a fireplace which was nice. You couldn’t just start bringing things like firewood into your home. People were always watching ready to break in take your nice things. Better to not have nice things at all. I wasn’t going to spend any more money in this city. I’d collect enough coins and move to an entirely new city, become a new person, and open a pub. I liked pubs. In my pub, I’d serve platters of bread, jam, and cheese. The wet kind. I lay down on my floor thinking about how I’d arrange platters of food and recommend wine pairings. I’ve never had wine that didn’t taste like shit. Does wine come in other flavors? I imagined the different flavors and tastes that my tongue would one day have as I drifted into sleep.
The field North of Dunhill shack is where the new Regime buries the overflow corpses. The new owners of the city promised us change but they wanted our silence. They wanted our lives to go back to comfort so they could be the new elites. Didn’t bother me much. I didn’t like talking anyway.
The benefit of a mass grave nearby was that there were plenty of rats around. I approached a pack of them slowly and threw myself at them. Not the best or cleanest way but it got the job done. I grabbed a rat between my hands and stood up covered in mud. I threw the rat in a bucket and put a lid on it.
“What are you doing?” A woman’s voice asked sternly. I snapped my head towards the sound. I didn’t hear anyone approaching. How could I not have heard someone walking toward me? What stood before me was a woman in her 30s or 40s or 50s. I couldn’t tell. There was an ancient quality to her. She wore a thick black leather jerkin and had a short sword on her belt. Her brown hair was short and her eyes dark.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to find some dinner.” She knew I was lying. How did she know I was lying? She walked towards me. I’ve never been more afraid and this woman had only spoken a few words to me.
“I’m looking for a conjurer.” Shit. She’s a hunter, for sure. She’s looking for me. She’s going to fucking kill me.
“You seen or heard of any conjurers in the area?” She already fucking knows. I’m dead. I’m fucking dead.
“No ma’am. None that I’ve seen and none that I’ve spoken to… or heard rather. Sorry.” She smiled at me. Her hand was on her blade. Here we go, I always knew it would come to an end someday. At least she smiled at me. No one’s smiled at me in a long time. Glad it’s at the end.
“Alright then, be careful out here. It’s pretty late to be looking for dinner. Think about these things earlier.” She walked away. She just fucking walked away. I must be a better liar than I thought! Right then she turned around.
“I’ll be seeing you.” She walked towards the city. Oh fuck. What’s that supposed to mean? What’s a hunter doing here?
“You okay?” My soul nearly left its body as I whipped my head towards the new voice.
“Holy hells, Deirdra. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I relaxed. I can’t take any more surprises tonight.
“What’s got you all jumpy?” Deirdra slumped a sack in front of me.
“Nothing. Were you followed?” Deirdra shook her head and chuckled. She’s too good to be followed. Deirdra knew her way in and out of the city like no other.
“Alright, have fun.” That was code for “We’re done here.” Deirdra fulfilled her end of the deal and now my work began.
I took Pierre out of his bag. His eyes were closed and he looked as if he was resting. It was almost calming. His neck had an immaculate cut. Deirdra is a professional. I placed his body on the ground and attached his head where it was removed.
Here’s the thing about bringing someone back from the dead. You have to kill something first. Luckily for us, the gods didn’t discriminate. A body is a body and a soul is a soul. Even if it’s from a bird, a dog, or a rat. If anyone ever tells you that you need to sacrifice a human for a human, they’re lying and are probably a murderer. I’d watch out for them. It’s all mankind’s ego to think we matter more than other living things. Life is life. Death is death.
I opened the lid and grabbed the rat. It didn’t squeal or try to bite. It just looked at me quietly. I took a knife from my bag and put it against the rat’s neck. It just stared at me. No noise. It quietly accepted its fate. I liked this rat. I cut its head off and poured the blood on Pierre’s body. Before it got noisy, I quickly dug a hole for the rat and buried it. It’s the most we can hope for in life, someone to take care of our bodies.
I placed a hand on Pierre’s head. I don’t know if others chanted something or if I was doing it right. All I do is imagine my warmth going into their cold. I think about Lily. I haven’t seen that cat in years. I wish I could see her again. One day, she went out and never came back. That’s just the way, isn’t it? I loved that cat so much that I couldn’t bear the thought of its cold lifeless body.
That’s when Pierre started screaming. “Shut the fuck up!” He was going to attract someone curious if he kept screaming.
“I’m alive! I’m alive!” His eyes darted to me. “You brought me back!”
“That is what you paid me for.” I looked around trying to see through the dark. There was a wagon coming. “Your butler’s right on time. I like him. You should pay him more.”
“Why can’t I feel my legs?” This was pretty normal. The body is still connecting. I told him he’d be back to normal soon enough. “Help me up.” He thinks I’m still contracted to help him.
“My job’s done, Pierre. Have a nice life. See you never.” I walked back toward the city.
“You disrespectful little worm. You will not leave me lying in the mud like some disgusting animal.” I looked back to see him squirming on the ground. Sloshing back and forth in the wet mud. I could’ve told him he was the one who looked like a worm to me but I decided to stay quiet.
I could hear him yelling something about disrespecting him and that he wouldn’t let that go unpunished. I didn’t listen. I hope the mud comforted him like the bosom of an angel. He was alive and he wasn’t happy. We had that in common. The job was done and I wanted to sleep.
I woke up to the smell of cooking sausage in my room. I sat up as quickly as I possibly could. There she was. Sitting right there on my fucking stool. The hunter. She’d started a fire and was roasting the sausage on a stick.
“Hungry?” A stupid fucking question, of course, I was hungry. Though sausage was not my idea of a last meal.
“Are you here to kill me?” My voice was trembling. Fuck.
“Can you be killed?”
“I assume I can be killed the same as any other person, miss.”
“Everyone dies a little different.” She handed me the stick with the sausage. “Eat.”
I took a bite. It was delicious. Was that… was that apple I tasted in the sausage? Whoever thought of that is a genius. I needed to add this to my platter.
“That was excellent work you did out there in the field.”
“You were watching?” Of course, she was watching, you idiot.
“I was. I wasn’t expecting to find you as quickly as I did. My name is Khadija” She turned to face me. I’m going to plead for my life. Maybe she’ll find me so pathetic she’ll let me go. I’ll tell her about my plans. I won’t raise any more dead. She’ll eat and drink free at the pub.
“Miss Khadija, please. Don’t kill me. I’ve got plans. I wasn’t planning on doing this forever.” She just stared at me. “Honest, I’m gonna open a pub.” She starts laughing.
“You have no idea what you are, do you?” I have plenty of ideas of what I am. “You’re a Necromancer.”
“What the hell is a necromancer?” I replied far too quickly. I was shocked at how curious I was. I wanted to know what I might be. Nobody’s ever told me I could be something.
“You are a being that is in control of life and death. A resurrector and a reaper. The calling of the Necromancer is a great honor. We create balance in this world.”
I’m a Necromancer. Great. “What are you trying to sell me then?” I said smugly. If she’s not going to kill me, she’s most likely trying to sell me something. “I won’t be sold on joining some guild. Putting in my dues. I’m doing just fine.”
Her obsidian eyes glared at me. It wasn’t judgemental but it wasn’t pleasant either. “I’m not here to sell you oil, tonics, or lessons on mastery of your craft. I’m here to ask you if you’d like to be part of something much larger than yourself. To benefit mankind and bring justice to those who’ve wronged the people of your city, your country, and you. Regime after regime, new power-hungry monsters take over and ignore the pain and suffering of the people. They crush them under the weight of their existence. Never giving them a chance to grow. We go from country to country, city to city, regime to regime, and put an end to the oppression.”
I liked what she was saying. She’s being very vague about what she does. I struggle to figure out where I fit in. I’m not smart. I’m not educated. I’m a listener. I’m a liar. I’m an idiot. “You’re not what you tell yourself at night. You can be a great asset to our organization. You will be with others like yourself, we can refine your abilities and teach more than you’ve ever thought possible,” she said almost as though she was hearing my thoughts.
“What are you here to do? What am I meant to help with?”
She very calmly said “To put it bluntly, we are here to topple the established government. Give the power back to the people by killing a whole bunch of assholes.” These thoughts have never crossed my mind—murdering loads of people. This was the thing governments did to each other for land, right? She stood up and walked towards me.
“You are only on the cusp of your power but we only share our way with those who will join us. Will you join us?”
“I… I can’t. I’m not your man. I’ve got plans. I want to do something with my life. I-” A loud, familiar, and annoying voice yelling my name disturbed my thoughts.
“Maz! Oh, Maz! You didn’t think I’d just roll over and take your insult, did you?” This is the problem with the rich folk, they’re not used to people not doing what they want so they’ll continue to make problems for you until they are back in control, now I’m going to have to knock some sense into him.
“Miss Khadija, let me go out and handle this before that boy gets us killed.” Khadija nodded but followed me out.
“Oh fuck” The 15 City Guard stood behind the newly resurrected Pierre. He had a darker energy around him. This fucker came back wrong. Or maybe he was always this way.
“My friends at the Qamari court were thrilled and terrified to learn about a new conjurer in their midst. They even forgave me when I told them about what you are and what you’ve been doing. They were so excited to meet you that they just couldn’t wait.” Pierre’s mouth stretched in an impossibly inhuman way. The City Guards drew their swords. “Come with us, conjurer.”
“Stay behind me,” Khadija pushed past me. She didn’t even draw her sword. What a fool. Fuck that. I ran. I broke out into a full sprint. They’ll search my room. Take all my gold and split it amongst themselves. Fuck. I should’ve left a long time ago. I’m a fool but I always knew that. I looked back. My eyes focused back on my home. Khadija swatted away the guards like they were children even as they came for her with full intent. She turned and faced me. Her eyes locked on mine. She then stopped fighting, got on her knees and, they arrested her. Only then did my eyes notice the guards chasing right behind me. I turned back and ran right into a cart.
The cell was cold. I rubbed my hands together to keep them from falling off. They didn’t bother to light a fire for me. I was about to lose my head, they didn’t care if I lost a few fingers and toes to the frost. “When I told the Qumari about you, they didn’t believe the power of life and death could belong to someone so feeble.” His eyes faintly glowed in the dark. Pierre entered the room with a big smile on his stupid face.
“I’m honestly surprised they didn’t kill you… again.” That was about all the energy I could muster and I wasted it on a terrible retort. Pierre chuckled. “We came to an arrangement. It turns out the Qumari have been peddling a messiah myth. One who will return from Death and help guide them to a glorious kingdom. They never thought anyone would be that. At least, not planned the way it happened. They’ve decided to go with it. I’ve been publicly executed only to be risen as the new savior. Under their watchful eye, of course. It’s a great deal, I show up, say a few words, inspire the people and I can go fuck off and do whatever I want.” Honestly, I was quite impressed with Pierre’s ability to fail upwards. He’s gone from dead writer to savior of the kingdom fairly quickly.
“You left me in the dirt. I couldn’t let that injustice stand unanswered. I’m a man of honor, Maz, a man of honor. I know you don’t know much about that. Why should you?” This man came down here to lecture me on honor.
“I left you in the dirt because you’re a spoiled rich baby.” I spat out from my frozen lips. Pierre looked at me unphased. “You are a worm, Maz. A worm. I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”
Pierre walked toward the door and turned to face him. “The axe felt like a sharp knife being dragged along your skin. The axeman used the sharpest blade they had. I hope you tipped them.” He smiled at me with a demonic smile. I’ve unleashed something terrible into the world.
I could barely see the crowd as I was being dragged to the executioner’s scaffold. The sun was shining right in my eyes but I could pack out the figures winding their arms back and throwing whatever they could find in my face. I was furious. As a rock hits my face all I can think of is how I’d like to destroy Pierre’s face. Crush into a thousand pieces and feed it to the worms. I felt the blood escaping from my face. I wanted to kill them as they chanted conjurer at me. The guards laughed as the mob spat on me. I was one of them a few days ago but today, I was nothing.
The guards secured me into the pillory and exposed my neck. Through the blood coming down my face, I could see the crowd in front of me. They all looked at me with disgust. I saw Pierre watching me from the rooftop of a tavern. He was drinking and laughing. All I felt now was the need for revenge.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?” I turned to see Khadija in a pillory next to me. She had no emotion on her face. No fear at all. “Are you ready to face death? Or would you like to be a part of something bigger than yourself?”
I shot a glance back at Pierre. He was staring at me with an ugly glare. Over my dead body will he be a messiah. “Why the fuck not.” Khadija smiled. The axeman approached.
“The usual then?” I couldn’t see her face under the black mask but I knew Deirdra was smiling.
“I’ve already tipped the executioner.” Khadija smiled. “Welcome to the Rats”
The Rats. That’s a funny name I thought as the axe came down.
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Micah Khan has directed and produced over 30 short films. Micah recently wrapped directing and producing an indie TV pilot, BOOKS, starring Spencer Grammer (Rick and Morty, Greek) and Ajay Naidu (Office Space) and a vampire thriller short film, STAKEOUT, starring Seth Gilliam (The Walking Dead, The Wire) and Sonja O’Hara.
His short film, Meetcute on Danceworld, was featured on MovieMaker Magazine, tweeted by Ben Stiller to his 5.4 million followers, and David Benioff of HBO’s Game of Thrones said of it, “Never seen anything quite like it before. I was smiling the whole way through. It’s fresh, original and it kicks ass.” Before that, his action short film, Safe House, won Robert Rodriguez’s People’s Network Showcase Contest and premiered on El Rey Network.
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