They reached the entrance to the underground level of the ruin and were soon standing in the hall with the vaulted ceiling. Ossian lit two torches; he kept one and gave the other to Agathe. They followed her down the second rough-hewn passageway and into the concealed room beyond the necromancer’s illusionary wall. There they found the blue mirrorpool shimmering in the torchlight.
“Who’s going first?” Ossian questioned.
“I’m not taking any chances, I think we should all go together,” Agathe replied.
“And I have an idea to keep it that way,” Q’uaina joined in. She reached into her pack and produced a length of rope. “We’ll tie ourselves together to make sure no one gets separated.”
“Good, let’s do it,” Agathe approved.
While they were securing the rope Ossian spoke. “Just a thought, each time we use one of these pools we seem to change. Our gifts seem to develop further. Any thoughts on this? Will we reach a stage when we will become permanently altered? Not able to change back to human form?”
“It’s possible, Q’uaina replied. “There’s not much we can do about it now anyway. There, that’s everyone tied in.”
Agathe straightened up and looked at her friends. “Let’s go then, we’ve got unfinished business the other side of this pool. See you both on the far side.”
The three friends looked at each other and then stepped into the mirrorpool together.
Chapter 38
Reckoning
Colours. Blinding. Flashing. A sense of movement. Then stillness and a gradual awareness of change. A different environment. Cold.
Agathe came to first. She lay in a shallow pool of water. She noticed patches of ice in the mirrorpool. This pool was blood red, like the very first one they had passed through. In fact… she looked around; no, this was a different pool. There was a stone roof and walls. She looked down and saw the other two beside her.
Ossian rubbed his eyes. “Never easy is it?”
Q’uaina groaned and brought her hands to her face. “Oh, my head hurts. Where are we?”
“In a stone room as far as I can make out.” Agathe started untying the rope that bound them together.
“Maybe in the giant pyramid?” Ossian speculated. “Although I don’t see any carvings on the walls.”
“Not all the walls in the pyramid had carvings,” Q’uaina commented.
“True,” Ossian disentangled himself from the rope.
The others did likewise and they stepped from the mirrorpool onto the stone floor. Agathe held up her hand and put a finger to her lips. They listened intently for some minutes. At last, she nodded.
“Good, we seem to be alone. From now on, we should speak only when absolutely necessary. Use hand signals. I don’t like this place and we only have one chance to surprise the Shiffante. Follow me, I’ll try and feel for my father’s presence. He taught me to do this when I was young. Come, let’s go.”
They left the mirrorpool chamber in single file. Agathe in the lead. A low light emanated from some of the rocks in the walls. Enough light to make their passing easier. Agathe reached a split in the passage, one shaft going upwards, the other down. She chose the downward slope.
Their hearts quickened. They gripped their weapons although the idea that the Shiffante would succumb to conventional steel blades and arrows seemed absurd. Agathe concentrated on her father’s essence. She had picked up a faint trail. Q’uaina’s thoughts had turned to her clan and S’acyrx’s memory came to mind for some reason. There was something he had taught her in the dim and distant past, it started to niggle her. She just could not remember what it was.
Ossian took up the rear, glancing behind at intervals. He hated being below ground. He gritted his teeth and kept his senses sharp and aware.
The passageway descended gradually for some minutes twisting back on itself a few times. They reached a new turn. Agathe stopped and raised her right hand. She then crouched down on all fours and crept towards the corner. A sibilant whisper came to their ears from somewhere ahead.
Agathe carefully approached the corner and peered around. Ahead lay a large chamber. She recognised it as the one they had found Carutha in all those weeks ago. They were in the pyramid after all. Then she saw a figure lying atop the platform on the dais. Her eyes focused and recognition dawned on her. It was her father. She stopped, unable to move.
Fear, anger and helplessness flooded through her. She stared at her father, he did not move. One of his hands was stretched out over the platform and blood dripped from his wrist onto the ground. She could see a series of deep cuts on his skin extending in a pattern up his arm. She felt herself moving towards him when a large shadow in the room moved near the dais. She froze.
Agathe was aware of Q’uaina’s questioning tug at her leg but didn’t respond. She watched with dread fascination as the shadow revealed itself. She instinctively knew it was Shiffante. It was at least eight feet tall and wore a long, dark green woven cloak with hood. Its skull like features were partially encased in a rune covered metallic helmet. She could see empty eye sockets and a skeletal jaw behind the metal. Perversely, long tendrils of grey hair flowed out and down the shoulders from its skull. The absence of any skin or flesh only added to the horror of the scene.
The Shiffante lord was gazing at a luminescent, golden ball in its armoured hand. It looked at the sphere and whispered in low murmurings. The ball uncoiled slowly, writhing in the air and winding itself around the Shiffante reappearing behind its left shoulder. It had the head of a snake and its forked tongue flicked, tasting the air over her father’s inert form.
The Shiffante gave a slight nod and the snake dripped venom from its fangs. The venom was thick and amber coloured. Time slowed for Agathe and she watched in fascination as the snake struck at her father’s form. It’s head disappeared into his body through the abdomen. Her father convulsed in agony as the serpent invaded his body, twisting and writhing around his internal organs.
Agathe let out an involuntary cry. “No, father.”
The Shiffante’s head immediately snapped up and looked in her direction. She felt her heart gripped by a strange force and started choking on her tongue. Froth foamed from her mouth, and she started convulsing. She felt wetness from her eyes and realised dully that she was bleeding.
Then a strange thing happened. Something deeper than she had experienced before kicked in. She felt herself shape shift, this time it was more instinctual than before. She had no control in the direction she took. She felt her blood seethe and a boiling rage consumed her. The darkness within her had reached out and surfaced.
Q’uaina was concerned. Agathe was behaving oddly. She tugged at her friend’s leg again but let go when she saw her head jerk back at an unnatural angle. Her teeth were prominent and looked wickedly sharp. Agathe’s body convulsed, completing its transformation and vanished. Q’uaina just caught sight of a pair of dark wings disappearing around the corner.
Q’uaina turned and made a hand motion across her neck to Ossian. He understood immediately and reacted without thinking. He stood up, spear in hand and ran forwards around the corner. He would face whatever came to defend his Agathe.
The Shiffante lord was surprised at this intrusion. First the Beekeeper and now this vampire. What was the connection? Its Shiffante consciousness was spread over two planes, distracted. It was here and also close to the Blood Fields. The golden viper torture instrument needed guidance too. The Shiffante lord let go its control of the snake and focused its attention on the attacking winged vampire.
It faced the hissing vampire and raised its clawed hand but Agathe was too quick and struck. The Shiffante shrugged off the attack only to see Ossian hurl himself from the passage, spear in hand. Then the Shiffante lord felt its body hit by two steel arrows from the same direction. It was about to retaliate when the Blood Fields caught its attention.
The Shiffante lord let out a blood-curdling scream and its form disappeared into thin air in front of Ossian. His sp
ear pierced the empty Shiffante robe as it fell to the ground smouldering.
~
Carutha caved in. The Shiffante finally wore down her resistance. Its needle like strength pierced the Blood Fields’ boundary and invaded the spirit realm. The incursion was quietly violent. She was taken in a vice like grip and her thoughts removed from her. She had prepared for this and had delegated her instructions to S’acryx. She knew they would come after her; she was the decoy. S’acryx was to out flank the Shiffante and release her spirit army upon them.
The spirit army descended upon the Shiffante incursion with cold ruthlessness. The Shiffante absorbed the attack but did not let go of Carutha. She could feel their darkness penetrate her soul. This time there was no hidden room for her to retreat to. Carutha felt uncertain; the Shiffante seemed calm. She did not sense surprise at her attack, it was as if they had known all along. The Shiffante grew stronger under the onslaught of spirit energy. They were feeding off the energy. Would nothing stop them?
Carutha cried out in despair. She had nowhere else to turn. She was alone, trapped. She felt her awareness falter, then blackness descended.
~
The Beekeeper was locked in a death struggle with the golden viper. It had twisted itself around his lungs and heart and was injecting venom into his bloodstream. The Beekeeper did not resist the incursion instead; he welcomed the poison into his blood. He watched as his body shut down its physical processes one by one. Then the viper shuddered, its link with the Shiffante interrupted for some reason, and it faltered. The viper conjuration dissolved in a golden explosion filling his body in a tide of pain.
The Beekeeper rode the wave of agony reaching a crescendo of suffering; he allowed its momentum to trigger the bridge he carried within. As the last tendril of Shiffante residue left with the viper he latched on to it. He followed the Shiffante trace and was carried back to their consciousness, their collective. He was in. Undetected.
One word. One breath. One hope. The Beekeeper waited for his moment, sensing another’s distant attack on the collective. He felt the Shiffante excitement at finding some goal; he was even drawn towards their excitement but resisted it. He rolled over within their consciousness and breathed his last enchanted word into their awareness.
“Erthe.” His gift to the Shiffante. His spirit sighed and departed.
“Erthe.” The word spoken, planted like a seed. Deep within the Shiffante consciousness, by another. By an Erthe lore master. The word was a beginning, an infection. Of doubt, of joy. It grew and spread like a contagion.
One word became four.
“Erthe denies you this.” Spoken in a soft, strong voice. A woman, a mother.
“She denies you this.”
The beast that was Shiffante shuddered. Shock and disbelief slowly registered from within. An unknown feeling. Shiffante all over the realm knew pain, voices within, screaming.
Attacks by lycanthropes materialised in the physical plane. Shiffante blood was drawn for the first time. The Shiffante withdrew its consciousness to the Blood Fields as it felt a nuance there. A fundamental shift. It had been distracted and in that momentary lapse, their advantage had been lost.
“She denies you this. You too are of the Erthe. Return to me wayward creature.”
Thousands of tearing lycanthrope claws and fangs attacked the various physical Shiffante forms throughout the realm. The ghostly figure of a robed necromancer flashed briefly but brightly in Shiffante consciousness. The cold harvesting of Shiffante soul power by countless lost spirits from the Blood Fields sucked the life from the collective that called itself Shiffante.
“The Erthe denies you this beast.” The voice, female, calm, loving.
The Shiffante shrank. Withered. Its vast power overwhelmed by attacks on many different fronts. Bewildered, confused, frightened. It consumed itself and ceased to exist.
“The Erthe denies you this.” The words echoed throughout the Blood Fields.
Chapter 39
Endings
“Just over here,” whispered Veran from his crouched position among the rocks. “There she is, do you see her yellow back and legs?”
Agathe stiffened in anticipation. “The T’jorn spider. After three weeks searching these highlands, I should hope so.”
Ossian stroked his beard. “Aye, there she is. This journey has had its ups and downs. But this moment is special, full of promise. So Veran, how do we catch her? She must be the size of a man’s fist. And one bite, well we all know what that’ll do.”
Veran looked at Ossian. “Well I’ve never done this myself, but the elders gave me this net and some advice.” From his pack he fished out a fine mesh net weighted with lead pellets. He also produced three pairs of thick hide gloves. “Here put these on, if she escapes the net have no second thoughts in killing her. She’ll have no hesitation in killing you, believe me.”
They manoeuvred around the T’jorn spider; its thick web shimmered in the mountain breeze. The remains of a small bird hung cocooned in its sticky fibres. The spider lay curled up like a coiled spring, perfectly camouflaged with the yellow lichen that covered the rocks.
“There is my freedom from this vampire curse,” whispered Agathe to herself. She offered up a quiet prayer. “Mother Erthe you have provided before, please allow me this chance from your bounty.”
Veran gave the signal. “Now!” He threw the net at the yellow backed spider. It missed and landed in the web hanging forlornly, the wind tugging it playfully. Their hearts sank, three weeks for this.
The spider clung to its web unmoving. A strong gust of wind pulled again at the net partly dislodging it. This movement triggered the spider and it launched itself from its corner, fangs dripping with green venom. It attacked the net and became entangled in the fine mesh.
Veran jumped up stick in hand. “Now’s our chance, get the box ready!” He ran at the spider scooping it up together with the net and part of the web. He let out a whoop of excitement nearly slipping on the mossy rocks.
Ossian had readied the wooden box as instructed. He stood by with the lid, waiting to pounce once the spider was in. “Ready!” he shouted.
Agathe stood and shook, her heart pounding. Come on, come on, she willed Veran.
“Yes!” Veran shouted as he landed his prize safely into the box.
Ossian slammed the lid down and closed the solid latch. “Success!” he shouted.
Agathe beamed. She had long awaited this moment. Now was her time. She would do this for herself, her father and Ossian. She would not carry this curse for a day longer than she had to. She thought of all that had happened since the Shiffante defeat. Q’uaina had returned to her people. S’acryx had smoothed the way by sending good omens to her clan elders indicating her great deeds. She was now the new clan healer and highly respected.
Carutha they never saw again. However, she came to them all individually in a dream. She was free and reunited with her father, family and ancestors. She had moved on and achieved peace among the stars. Agathe saw her hearth burn brightly as a new star in the night sky.
Agathe’s thoughts returned to her father and sorrow welled up inside her again. The wound and hurt was just below the surface. Raw, weeping. Most nights she would wake with tears of grief. She knew he was gone but she could not see his star in the night sky. This she could not understand. Something was wrong, unresolved. She found solace and comfort in Ossian’s arms but the deep ache for her father remained. He had made the ultimate sacrifice for them all.
Familiar hands held her shoulders. “Right then, back to Clan Horse. Karina and the elders will be waiting with interest. We’ll get your life back my beloved. Believe it.” Ossian’s kind eyes reached her through the sorrow.
The journey down from the highlands passed in a blur. The flurry and welcome of the homecoming also. The night of transformation had arrived. It had come to this.
Agathe looked at Ossian. “My life seems to have led to this moment, and like the tide it will recede from this
moment whatever happens.”
Ossian embraced her and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She responded and fiercely hugged him. Veran came into the tent and nodded.
“Ready my love?” Ossian asked.
“Let’s go and get this over with,” she replied.
The elders had made available their sweat lodge for the transformation ceremony. They took Agathe in; Ossian was left at the door. There could be no distractions. This was a journey Agathe had to make on her own. The lodge was hot; the fire had been going the whole morning. Water had been put on the hot rocks and the room was full of steam. Agathe felt numb and gave herself over to the care of the wise men.
The elders lay her down on some animal skins and gave her a paste mixed with berries. She took the mixture and placed it in her mouth. The men had painted their faces; they looked threatening. This was to protect her from unwanted spirits. She was ready. The mixture made her head swim.
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the chief elder produce the box containing the T’jorn spider. She remained calm, detached. Watching, waiting. He opened the box and she saw the yellow backed spider. The heat seemed to agitate the spider, it moved quickly around the inside of the box. The elders brought it close to her and placed her arm over the box.
The men started chanting, their voices grew and merged inside her head. The heat was intoxicating; she saw images and faces from her past. Her father looked down at her, smiling. She felt a pinprick on her skin, a mild irritation and then a warm sensation spread up her arm and into her body. She reached out to her father’s image and then lost consciousness.
~
“Agathe? Agathe? You’re back, thank the ancestors!” Ossian’s familiar voice was music to Agathe’s ears. Her eyes blinked open and she saw her beloved’s face before her. She smiled.
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