The gravedigger grunted and raised its stick defensively, guarding the pile of bones behind it. There was little hope of communicating with words. But perhaps he could speak to it through its madness.
Beaumont was fully imbued with demon blood in preparation, so it took little effort to call forth his telekinesis and open a shallow grave in the earth where the undead creature was digging.
The gravedigger’s eyes opened wide in fear and amazement, and it began grunting and hopping up and down excitedly.
“What are you doing?” Corvus demanded suspiciously.
In answer, Beaumont lifted the pile of remains with his gift and lowered them into the earth. With a gentle push, he covered them with loose soil. Then he waited for the beast to settle.
“I am here to help,” he responded once the gravedigger calmed. “I will help you tend this place. But first, we must wake the dead.” There was no telling if the undead creature understood him, but his act of service had at least won its loyalty.
As the Mad Witchdoctors chanted, the deceased multitudes rose from the earth, and the death riddled hollow came alive with activity. The gravedigger greeted them all with excited wonder and even attempted to grunt out introductions, though many of them were not even human, and few were much more than reanimated remains stumbling about aimlessly.
Beaumont, however, knew of demonic beings fully capable of commanding mindless servants, and his Overlord mastery could command them in turn. He summoned them to service and tasked them with supervising the undead horde with his construction. As the hell portals opened and the Dominators appeared, the aimlessness ceased.
Hulking skeletal beasts from fallen eras hauled boulders and bones under the direction of the fiery skinned Dominators, reshaping the contours of the land and building the largest ritual circle Beaumont had ever designed. Work crews formed from human skeletons and even a few animal-human hybrids, pieced together from leftover fragments, did the finer work and small details. The entire hollow was the spell, and its interred inhabitants transformed it at his command.
If Beaumont survived, he intended this place to be his new home and a home for all Ravenfells, spirit or otherwise. The Ravenfell lineage was born from the family’s ability to cross the veil between worlds. Though their gift was stolen, he intended to get it back. His spell transformed this place into a gateway to do just that.
As Beaumont watched his elaborate design take shape, he couldn’t resist glancing at the woman who would complete his vision. The Ravenwood’s rebirth would be the consecration of his new home and the catalyst for his greatest spell ever. That duty rested entirely on Katerina, the dark, enchanting Lady of the Harvest.
Katerina had found a suitable plot to sow the seeds of her Harvest of Souls. Her original three, Goliath, Thrasher, and Morty, were the first to take form. Their growth and development far outpaced the other spirits in her service. They were like demons of earth and vine.
Once again, Beaumont couldn’t help but marvel at the uniqueness of her creations. Their adaptations to their lady’s needs were phenomenal. All three, including the sprout Morty, appeared more than ready for violence. So did she.
Her fierceness added to his confidence. The witch helped him to help her charges. It was doubtful she would let anything prevent him from achieving the sanctuary he promised her.
Like Dorga the Mad long ago, Beaumont and his companions bound death to the stones of the earth. Only this construction was more refined. Whereas Dorga, in his insanity, piled death so high it brought the worlds crashing in upon each other, Beaumont wove that death in the basic designs and formulas of the Common Arts to imbue it with a more refined purpose. He wasn’t just drawing the worlds together. He was creating a permanent gateway through the veil to the other side that could never be closed.
His risen minions built columns of stone and bone at central points of the ritual circle. And they excavated vast runes in the earth, channels and pits filled with charnel refuse, to connect the points of focus.
Though Beaumont had never learned the powers of death, he used them now to break the curse of his bloodline. Nothing had ever made him feel so alive, so complete. The dark piece within him stirred, even beneath the protective cloak of the raven’s veil, awoken by the permeating forces of death. Beaumont had been shielded from this dark magic, but working with such forces now felt as natural to him as the demon corruption he spent his entire life to master.
◆◆◆
“It is time,” Beaumont announced, awakening from his short trance. “Terror has been unleashed upon the world. Her cries will set the mortal’s souls in fear. Demons and monsters spread death and fear throughout the civilization of man. The veil is thinning enough to hide what we do. It is time to open the gates and retake my birthright.”
“The soil is prepared,” Katerina replied to his beseeching eyes.
“The essence of the Ravenwood is almost gone. Are you certain you can awaken it?” Beaumont asked as he handed her the staff.
“I intend to try,” she answered, though her eyes gave away her concern.
Beaumont could tell she sensed it too. The power in the wood was almost gone. It would take something significant to revive it.
“Hildegard created the living Ravenwood from the essence of death. She used its spreading life to repel the world of the dead. But it is a creation of both worlds. I do not wish for it to repel. It must bridge the divide. Its roots bound to the death of this place. Bound to the stones of the living world. Its branches must spread life into the Netherworld. It will be our gateway.”
“I understand what is needed,” Katerina replied. The moment hung upon her, and it was clear she felt the weight of her task.
She forced the butt of the staff into the black earth until it stood upright. Then she pulled forth her Soul Gourd bottle, which contained her precious harvest seeds.
“They are not enough,” a familiar voice interrupted. “For this to work, you will need special souls to awaken the Ravenwood.”
“Hildey?” Beaumont called. Her spirit was faint, but he could make out her wrinkled features amidst the dim blue glow of her form.
“I had hoped you were harder to kill than that,” the raven offered affectionately from Beaumont’s shoulder.
“Ravenfells aren’t easy to kill. And even then, they don’t go away.”
“I thought you were gone,” Beaumont declared.
“Nearly so. The Ravenwood is nearly finished. My essence is almost faded.”
“I have spirits of the forest willing to give themselves to this tree so it might live again,” Katerina explained.
“Your gifts are incredible, dark child. I have admired them from afar for some time. But for the Ravenwood to do what is required, it will need a bit of the veil in its creation. It needs a source of the Raven’s Fel. Since the foul bird still needs to cross over to break the curse, you will have to use what is left in me.”
“Sacred one,” Katerina implored. “I mean no disrespect, but your spirit is nearly gone. It is too faded to awaken the tree. I fear the fel you hold wouldn’t be enough.”
“No disrespect taken,” Hildey replied. “I’m old and rather worn out, but I was counting on others to make similar sacrifices.” The old spirit turned to the hunched ghost of Corvus. “Are you ready to help regain our family’s legacy?”
The disfigured spirit hesitated.
“You were willing to change yourself into anything to cross the veil and break the curse,” the raven offered. “Now, you can be the bridge the Ravenfell family returns on.”
“Everything I have done has been for the Ravenfell line,” Corvus replied as his spirit joined that of Hildey’s. “I suppose my ending shall be no different.”
“It is not an ending. You will simply be reborn in a new form,” Katerina offered as she held out the open Soul Gourd bottle. “But first, I must take the seed of your existence. Give yourself to the Soul Gourd to be reborn.”
“This needs to begin with you,
Dark Heart,” Hildey said to Beaumont in parting. “This place, the tree, the family. All of it must begin with you. At this moment. In this place. Bind yourself. This is your destiny.” Then the old woman’s spirit departed in a wispy blue haze trailing into the opened top of the Soul Gourd.
“She’s rarely wrong, Ravenfell,” Corvus added. “And a creation like this needs a master. Otherwise, you risk it being misused.” Then he followed the old witch into the Soul Gourd.
Beaumont had bound a demon’s power to him numerous times before. Each time he took of their blood to steal a little piece of their essence for himself. But now, he needed to do it in reverse. He needed to bind himself in blood to this place, to this spell.
Beaumont drew from his Well of Corruption, fueling his essence with the blood of demons. The corruption seared through his veins and raged through his eyes as he sliced himself with the runed dagger. Then he consecrated the earth around the staff with his blood, preparing the ground for the Ravenwood.
His blood glowed otherworldly red upon the dank soil from the demon corruption. But it also held beads of purest blackness swirling within where the Raven’s Fel bled true. His family’s namesake was clearly invigorated by the rampant essence of death all around.
“The soil is prepared, dark lady. Bind my essence into the earth with the tree. I am a Ravenfell, after all.”
Katerina drew two dark Ravenfell seeds from the gourd and sowed them into the blood-soaked soil at the staff’s base. Then she drew from the haze of death and set the ground afire with her black flames.
The seeds sprouted from the ground as brambles of darkest midnight. They grew rapidly, twisting around the dark wood of the staff. The black flames licked their way up the Ravenwood, fusing them together. Their life became the life of the tree. Slowly it began to grow once more.
It was too slow, however.
Bound to the spell, Beaumont could feel the Ravenwood growing both above and below ground. It began with a hungering expansion of roots, feeding on the death in the soil, guided by the runic trenches filled to brimming with its rotting feast. Life and death bound together to bind the worlds in kind. The roots sprung from the earth to entangle and bind the columns of rock and bone, connecting the constructs of the spell to the tree at its heart.
It took longer for the tree to expand above ground, however. Though the trunk thickened, and the beginnings of impressive limbs stretched out from its base, not a single leaf sprouted. Two black bulbous buds hung limply from the tips, but something held them closed.
The roots were to bind the tree in death to the living world, but the branches and leaves were to stretch beyond the veil. Yet Beaumont could sense the veil’s resistance. The leaves were born from the two spirits sacrificed, but they were spirits prohibited from crossing. Even reborn in the leaves, the curse upon the Ravenfell line resisted.
“There is not enough power to cross the boundary,” Katerina warned as she strained to weave the forces of her creation. “There is more than enough death for the roots to spread here, but the souls are not enough to carry the tree across.”
“This new veil uses the magic from magical creatures, could the spirits of those you hold help?”
“I am not sure. Though I will ask if any are willing.”
Her communication was silent but clearly persuasive. Ten more dark shimmering seeds were sown into the soil. Their brambles sprouted and merged, adding more life to the tree. But only the two buds remained.
“Only the Ravenfell spirits appear able to force the barrier. But Hildegard and Corvus are not enough,” Katerina warned.
“I would grant my soul, but I must lead the Raven King across,” Beaumont answered. “There must be another way. There must be more souls that could help.”
“There are many. They just aren’t here,” the raven offered.
“What do you mean?”
“The spirits of the Ravenfells have been banished from the Netherworld. Many of them linger on this side still. I can feel each of them through the gift of the Raven’s Fel.”
“They are my blood. I can command them,” Beaumont announced. He had never been taught that secret, but something within knew it to be true. More knowledge from the other side awakening as he was exposed.
“Only if they can hear your command, warlock,” the raven argued.
“Unless I use a song,” Beaumont countered. He turned to Death’s Drummer with determination. “You summoned the spirits to weave the veil, correct?” The masked corpse nodded. “You can summon spirits from far away?” The creature nodded again. “What would it take to summon specific spirits? Ravenfell spirits.”
The ghoul glared hungeringly at the wound on his arm from consecrating the Ravenwood and licked his lips.
“A gift of blood. Of course.” He held out his arm, suspecting the creature to latch on with its teeth. Instead, it leaned back, exposing the preserved skin stretched over its drum, and nodded.
Beaumont reopened the wound with his knife and allowed a trickle to wet the instrument. Death’s Drummer watched tantalized as the liquid spilled and appeared disappointed once the warlock finished and knit the flesh closed with a small seam of Hellfire.
“Summon my brethren,” Beaumont commanded.
The drummer grinned maliciously as it leaned down to touch its desiccated black tongue to the blood wetted skin. It held Beaumont’s eyes as it tasted his essence in near ecstasy. Then it smeared the offering across the entire top with its skeletal hands and began a steady haunting beat.
“Raven’s Fel bring Ravenfells before the raven falls,”
“The Ravenwood its purpose stopped in desperation calls,”
“Hasten spirits. Heed the drum. The rhythm calls you here.”
“For the breach is found.”
“Death has come.”
“The end of all is near.” The corpse cackled as it played, but its eyes cast about as if sensing doom closing in.
Beaumont felt the chill of the Guardians’ presence before the witchdoctors’ song gave warning. The sense of darkness had been closing in around them for a while now, but he could feel a certainty in their hunt now. Their ruse with Terror and the assault on civilization had bought them time, but not enough.
“We knew you would give yourself away eventually, Ravenfell,” the haunting voices of the Guardians intruded upon the witchdoctors’ song. “But we did not expect you to make it so exciting for us. Death and violence everywhere. The spirits of magical creatures to harvest. Truly delicious.”
There was a distance still to their voices. They knew he could hear them but were still unable to see through the guise of his mask. But they detected the presence of the spell and the breach in the veil. It wouldn’t be long before they narrowed their search.
The time had come to glimpse the land of his birth and face the Guardians who murdered his parents. It was finally time for Beaumont to end the Ravenfell Curse. One way or another.
Chapter 15:
Death Bound
Beaumont could feel the ominous aura of the Guardians closing in, but his pursuers did not hunt alone. While the spirits sought the breech in the veil from the Netherworld, a groaning undead horde stalked the warlock and his allies in the living realm. It quickly became evident that they were surrounded.
“They shouldn’t be able to touch the living world like this,” the raven declared from the warlock’s shoulder. “I thought you put protections in place when you made the veil.” There was accusation in his voice as he turned to the witchdoctors, but the corpses were too caught up in their summoning chant.
“Let them work,” Beaumont interrupted. “We need the Ravenfell spirits. Besides, I always suspected this would come down to a fight. I planned for it.”
Beaumont channeled his Overlord mastery and gave new commands to the Dominators. The demons’ fiery forms were like beacons in the oppressive darkness, their commanded hordes shambling in silhouette around them.
The undead workers lurched to defend the sp
ell structure they had mindlessly constructed. Rotting flesh met bone and sinew in heated combat as the two forces clashed. The cries of maddened ghouls and twisted aberrations echoed through the night, and the hollow haunting laughter of the Dominators urged both sides towards further destruction.
“You think you can escape us?” the Guardians’ voices taunted, echoing through the darkness all around. “Death conquers all. There is no point resisting.”
“I’m a Ravenfell. Resisting death is what we do,” Beaumont answered defiantly.
“The Raven King has been overthrown. Your family’s days of defying the claims of death are over.”
The earth roiled all around. A groaning rumble emanated from below.
“I think that blasted gravedigger neglected to introduce a few corpses,” the raven warned.
“We have planned for this moment for ages. The weavers of the veil are nearly in our grasp. Yes, brothers, we know you are here. We feel the power of your song.”
“They will not find us easy prey,” the Spirit Weaver countered, then gave a short sharp whistle. The two giant spiders, Araxxis and Aranax, returned obediently to protect their undead masters. Their venom glistened in hungering beads from the beasts’ fangs.
“Everything has lined up perfectly,” the Guardians continued. “The Raven King is exposed. The Ravenfell Curse can run no further. It is time for the veil to fall.”
A pack of heaving forms erupted from the ground, snarling and squealing in hungering rage. They were like the undead mole creatures that assaulted Hildegard and the Ravenwood, and they swarmed from the earth like an enraged ant colony. They had burrowed past the lines of defenders to the heart of the ritual.
Beaumont drew corruption to summon a wall of Hellfire, but before he could raise his hands, a profusion of twisting brambles sprouted between them and the creatures, entangling bones and flesh. He was astonished by the suddenness and impressed by the fierce nature of Katerina’s magic.
Ravenfell Chronicles: Origins Page 26
