by B B Reed
Halena crept along the hallway, entering an empty kitchen left in disarray. A moldy fragrance wafted out from the larder and pots were scattered on the floor. The image of what she felt from her reading continued to reverberate in her mind, making her nerves fray as she replayed the panicked fight for survival. Her eyes widened, a woman’s body curled up on the floor greeting her entry, arms bound at her back. Halena inched closer and tugged on the woman’s shoulder to turn her body over. She gasped, jerking away when she saw a carved hole in the middle of the woman’s chest, heart stolen. Her ears rang with her traveler’s voice.
Here! Our prey is here! The puppet master plays and makes his toys dance!
Halena looked around the kitchen, answering in a hushed whisper, “Where? Where do you see them?”
There was no response from the voice, joyous cackling swirling in her thoughts.
“Where is the sorcerer, demon?!”
The chortles trailed away, yet she still felt its influence swimming inside her brain. Halena shook her head to focus, returning to examine the body. A trail of blackened spots on the floor sprinkle away from the body, moving across the room. She rose from the brutalized wife’s body and slinked along the speckled trail. Standing bright against the surrounding darkness, a dim light flowed up from the floor, illuminating a cellar hatch. She inched closer to the cellar hatch, exhausted mutterings hissing from the depths.
“…gather everything and we’ll move higher on the fells. Once they give up searching, we can prepare everything for the next moon!” A worried, young voice plead.
With careful steps, Halena eased herself down the ladder into the cellar, keeping her breath shallow and quiet. Her leg burned despite her mending of the cuts and her teeth worried into her bottom lip to keep herself muted. She crouched low, hugging the stony wall to her left, watching shadows dance out from the lamplight in the cellar.
“Let them come. The other foolish bounty hunters have all met the same fate. They’ll be of better use to me than the rest of the fodder.” A sharp voice bit back, tone accented with refinement foreign in rural counties.
She watched the shadows flicker on the wall from the lamp, the stout outline of a broad-shouldered man accompanied by a wispy other.
“Better use? This can’t keep up much longer! The Magistrate’s taking action to end this—how much more blood needs to be spilled?”
Halena peered around the corner and her heart lurched when she saw the deputy’s armband, suddenly recognizing his drawl. Before a worktable stood a robed man, blue accents draping down from his shoulders, a wiry and unkempt beard, dirty blonde hair matted down with sweat, and gaunt cheeks. A strange rock rest in the middle of the table and the mysterious hermit waved a dismissive hand, “Enough to ensure the ritual will work. I have extracted plenty from the bodies you brought me. Now this stone will act as a perfect vessel to contain living essence. Then we’ll be able to commune with her!”
“Y-Your fancy magick is just as troublesome as that spook’s! Malcom ‘n now Ross… What good is bringing your master from the dead going to do us? People keep dying for these myths and tricks. A garrison coming from the capital will be too much, even with those things you raised!” Ramsey protested.
Halena retrieved her silver knife, fearing the brewing tension. The robed man turned away from the table, holding his hand up and making the air between them vibrate, “Silence!”
Ramsey’s body went rigid suddenly with the man’s gesture, something weighing his arms down. She felt something around the watchman’s neck react to the magick. Light from the lanterns reflected off bleached bones tied to string, clicking together as the invisible force kept him in place. The robed man continued, “There is always a cost for progress. A handful of soldiers would have to scour the entire hollows before they even came close. It would be a losing battle for them once my master is here. Have patience, Ramsey, for my lady will guide us towards something greater than ourselves. We will be one step closer to learning my master’s powerful secrets.”
Ramsey strained against his invisible bonds, “No… No, we won’t. I saw her magick, Simon. She breathed life into Ross with swine blood!”
The haggard sorcerer scoffed, “Simpleton. You have no idea what we’ve already accomplished.”
The deputy withdrew his sword, gripping it with both hands. His muscles trembled as he fought against the supernatural force holding him, “That’s right, I don’t! It’s been all about you! You’ve kept stringing us along and tried to steal my will. My friends are dead, all so you could talk to some dead noble!”
Ramsey thrust the tip of his sword deep into his master, ripping the blade out and stepping back to watch the robed hermit collapse. Halena watched intently, blood dripping from Ramsey’s sword and the decrepit old man standing defiant. He chortled, unfazed by the wound.
“Is this proof enough? The arts uncovered by Lady Doctus are a force to be reckoned with!” Simon rolled his shoulders, face contorting into a glare of malice, “But I’m not going to take my chances.”
The hermit reached behind himself for a dirty hatchet on the table, approaching Ramsey. He lifted his sword to defend, then Simon’s free hand shot out under the deputy’s guard, planting his palm firmly against his chest. Ramsey went rigid, his skin washing out of color, and he fell back helplessly with his sword clanging to the cellar floor. Simon curled a malicious grin, “You and your friends have been wonderful assistants, but I’m afraid our deal must be broken. If only you stayed in your places and had some faith in my work, it wouldn’t come to this. I’ll collect what’s left of my payment.”
The ghastly hermit raised the axe high and hammered the steel beard down. Halena leaped from around the corner, waving her hand over her knife’s lustrous flat, and charged into Simon, making a deep enchanted cut into his ribs. Ramsey’s breath choked out, the axe head burying itself into his shoulder, his rigid body unable to cry out full in pain. Her assault spared his head from being lopped off. Simon stumbled back, looking down at the festering and bleeding wound oozing through his robes. He grinned at her, “Hah, the spook shows herself!”
He glanced down at the wound she inflicted as it stopped festering and burning, “What child’s play is this? What a poor show!”
Halena blinked in disbelief, sensing the power she evoked vaporizing away.
“I’m putting an end to your slaughter. These peasants don’t deserve to be terrorized by an acolyte that can’t be bothered to clean up after themselves.” She sneered, steeling her nerves.
The knot in her stomach tightened, feeling as if she were standing close to a magickal bonfire radiating from the hermit. Her attempts to debilitate him were shrugged off as nothing, making the invisible needles on the back of her neck sting as she tried to piece everything together.
Simon wagged a finger at Halena, “You should be impressed, as a fellow student. Few people come this close to taking control of their life and shrugging off their mortal coil. When blessed with the knowledge of the unseen, would you not take the same risk to change the world?”
“You’re upsetting the natural balance by forcing your body through this sick process and raising the dead.” Halena tightened her grip on her knife.
“If only you knew the full range of gifts our magick could give us. I’ll martyr myself, make something of my pitiful existence in this world… even if it’s in undeath.” Simon frowned.
The needles thrum again on Halena’s neck, her traveler rousing in her thoughts.
A thrall to the seductive woes of power. He undergoes a dark metamorphosis to become undying. To become… Lich.
Halena’s blood ran cold at the grim realization, her jaw going slack. The corner of Simon’s mouth twitched with delight and knowing, staring her down with predatory intent.
III
Reaper
With relief, the student’s shoulders lowered with her teacher’s approval. A thin-lipped smile spread on the deathly woman’s lips and she reached for one of the bowls, “
However, you forgot that a small pinch of cloves will balance the mixture.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better on the next batch, Aunt Saris.” The girl inclined her head in apology.
The thin, pale woman waved her hand dismissively, her feathered cuffs brushing along her niece’s chin as she tilted her head up to look into her violet eyes, “There won’t be a next time, child. You crafted this brew as your body and spirit willed it.”
“What do you mean? You don’t accept anything less than perfect, Aunt Saris.” Her student gulped, toes curling in her shoes.
Saris turned away, the raven-feather mantle draped about her shoulders wafting the fumes through the cottage, and removed the small boiling pot off the hot coal tray, “The brew is not mine, Halena. You will be drinking this potion for tonight’s ritual.”
The girl’s eyes widened in disbelief, “Me..? Why am I drinking this, then? I don’t even know what we’re using this potion for, Aunt Saris!”
The lanky woman chortled, entertained by her niece’s protests, and leaned her hip against the table’s edge, “You seem to have forgotten an important date for yourself, child.”
Halena tilted her head, puzzled by her aunt’s statement. The recent phases of the moon gave no hints, yet she tests her response, “My birthday tomorrow?”
Saris folded her arms across her chest and rested her bony fingers against her cheek, “Yes, young lady. In the dawn of the new day, you will graduate. You will no longer be my acolyte.”
She gestured to herself, “I underwent the trial, your mother,” Saris sneered with distaste at the mention, “And every sister belonging to a coven has undergone a ritual of attunement on her sixteenth birthday. It is a tradition with deep roots for our kind since Mother Valpurga discovered what lied beyond the Veil.”
The tension of frustration evaporated from Halena’s shoulders and she glanced to the cooling brew she had just boiled, then up to her aunt, “Why did you not tell me until now?”
“You would have studied and prepared yourself instead of using your natural instincts. The potion is supposed to be a natural reflection of one’s self and a reminder that your instincts will be what saves you in our craft. All manner of otherworldly entities lurk about us, hiding in plain sight. They are just as unpredictable as they are cunning and vicious. You’ve shown me you’re… competent enough to begin down the path I have set for you.” Saris explained, brushing a wisp of white hair from her face.
“So, I’ll be able to use the same magicks as you can after drinking this?” Her fingers anxiously played at the hem of her dirty brown dress.
Aunt Saris let out a shrill cackle at her niece, giving her a belittling pat on her cheek, “Not with this drink alone, child… but you will see soon enough. If you manage to survive the trial, what you do with your magick will be up to you.”
◆◆◆
“Why do you meddle with these yokels, my friend? The magick we could weave together with our shared knowledge would make the masses revere us as the angels themselves!” Simon boasted, studying his quarry with a critical eye.
“I don’t parley with fanatics, much less suffer bluffing. You’re sick with power that you barely hold a grasp over. Your trail was too easy to follow.”
An entertained snort, then he shrugged his shoulders, “I see how it is. Just like the college, you willingly restrain yourself.” His face wrinkled into a hateful snarl, “For petty ethics? Morality?!”
He held out a pale hand, curling his bony fingers as he drew on that hate, pulling wisps of the shadows in the room into his palm. “Knowledge is meant to be sought, explored, and unlocked to its fullest potential no matter the cost!” Simon shouted, hurling the misty orb coalescing in his palm at Halena.
She dove forward, a surge of chilled air exploding behind her and burning the back of her calves. Halena popped up on her feet, making slashes with her silver knife at his chest. Simon flinched, bringing his arms up to protect against her swipes. The wounds hissed with contact to the silver metal.
He grappled with Halena, stopping her from making a downward stab into his chest, “Trickster! How dare you wound me! I am deathless!”
“In all your hubris, did you forget silver can harm you?” She grunted, straining against his cold touch. Being so close, Halena saw the full extent of his transformation. Skin pale and dry, eyes sunken, and a heavy aroma of mold wafted around him. Simon’s visage was deathly and sick, but life still flickered in his blue eyes.
His strength belied his appearance, the magick coursing through his body allowing him to easily hold her at bay. Simon shoved Halena’s arm aside, letting the knife tip dig into the wooden table.
“Your tricks pale to the knowledge I’ve consumed over my lifetime. Heh, I was like you, swayed by the nuances of duty, but then I learned to open my mind.” He spat, bringing his hands together to mutter words of power in a familiar dark tongue.
Halena ripped her knife out of the table and wheeled around to begin her own incantation. The first syllable came out, but she tumbled over her words as her teeth chatter from the extreme cold settling into her limbs. Strength quickly drained from her body as a cold wind swirled and seized her. She shuddered, falling to her knees in weakness. Her vision darkened as the full effect of Simon’s hex bloomed.
Simon lowered his hands, the frost on his wispy beard and hair of no concern to him, and stepped up to her, “Young Ramsey told me about your tricks, your mission. What a pity for you. I suppose some credit must be given to you. You convinced authorities that, by the goodness in your heart and the mission you preach, that you would ‘fight fire with fire.’ How adorable and noble of you.”
He glanced to Ramsey, who refused eye contact and went rigid with terror.
“What she may not have mentioned to your people, Ramsey, is what she might gain from hunting the darkness that creeps into our world.” His blue eyes flicked back to the young huntress, “I know what is required of the dark arts, child. My livelihood was devoted to the arcane mysteries of Moira, and a key law of the black arts is ‘equivalent exchange.’ You fooled these people into trusting you because you gain the power of what you exterminate. A shame you lied to me to keep yourself blind to your convictions. We could have helped each other work towards something greater, unlock the mysteries my lady studied. Alas… It seems the hunter has become the hunted.”
Halena shivered, “B-Becoming a Lich will only make you a bigger target. Your work… s-sloppy. Unless y-you have allies in the b-borderlands… There’s no way you could stand up against a garrison of soldiers, let alone a pack of barbarians to the north.” Her eyes met Ramsey’s, silently pleading for help to the injured deputy.
Ramsey kept his gloved hand pressed against the bleeding wound on his shoulder and glanced to the wooden barrels to his right, the light of an oil lantern flickering in the cold magicked breeze swirling around the cellar. He dragged himself slowly towards the barrel and Halena brought her branded eyes back up to Simon.
“Don’t speak to me like you have any inkling of what I’ve done to earn this!” Simon growled, grabbing Halena by the throat and lifting her up. He spat with rage, “Once the soul stone is prepared, and my master’s essence is given to it, no man or barbarian skinwalker could hope to stop us. This is the discovery that will grant me respect from all the scholastic nay-sayers that tormented me for my ambitions! Just like you, they’ll choke before getting another laugh at me.”
Halena winced, choking for air in the man’s spectral grasp, “S-So you would throw away your humanity t-to get back… Engh, what you lost…?” She clamped a hand over Simon’s bleeding arm, the dark, cold blood smearing on her fingers. There was a familiar warmth of life in the blood, a fleeting flicker of candlelight. The demon hissed in her ears.
He has yet to cross over, to fully touch the Veil as your kind have.
She rasped with a chilled tongue, “There’s n-no saving a monster like you…”
Simon’s face contorted with fury, tightening his grasp
on her throat, and his ragged fingernails dig into her pale skin, “I am not a monster! I am a master, and I won’t be bested by a wretch like you!”
He held Halena higher until her feet left the ground, exerting his freezing cold vengeance through her body.
She gasped dryly for breath, shivering from the intense chill surging through Simon’s grasp. Ramsey propped himself against the barrel, taking a firm grip on the lantern handle and smashed it against the back of Simon’s head. The oil spilled over the hermit’s hair, quickly catching fire, and glass shards burying themselves into his withered skin. Simon dropped Halena, writhing and screaming as the flames spread over his shoulders. Ramsey fumbled for his longsword and swung in frantic desperation with his good arm at the sorcerer. He crumpled against the biting slashes of the steel blade, Ramsey’s assault forcing the hermit away until he was cornered against the wall.
Halena gasped for air and padded around the floor for her dagger helplessly. She looked at the smear of Simon’s blood on her hand, then gets to her feet, using the table for support as an idea clicked in her head. Her bloodied fingers drew an eldritch symbol in the wood.
Ramsey raised his sword high, his movement slow from fatigue and breath labored. The hermit pushed both hands out at the deputy, blasting him with another misty orb of shadows and threw Ramsey across the cellar into the barrels. Simon panted, covered in burns that wrapped from the top of his head down onto his cheek, hobbling towards Halena, “You can’t kill what’s already dead…”
Halena locked Simon in her crimson-framed gaze, showing him her bloodied hand, “You still have life to spare.”
She pressed her hand down over the symbol on the table without breaking eye contact, watching Simon’s confusion and anger well up. The brisk air around them thrums with a surge of power she channeled into her sigil, her passenger feeding its influence into the spell.
