by B B Reed
Saris’ voice, and her presence, had disappeared from the room. Only deafening silence remained as the room faded away, piece by piece with every nail and oak beam of the cottage unraveling from existence. Those two red flares were still staring back at her amidst the vacuum of nothingness and terrible cold shudders ran up Halena’s limbs. A choking wind swirled around Halena with the hiss of a rasping, shadowy voice, the sensation of hundreds of needles being driven into the back of her skull seizing her.
That smell… The blood is familiar, it reads like ancient prophecy. The heart of the would-be witch bares itself again, yes… Yes, yes yes! Her offspring is robust, capable—ripe for the picking. Oh, how I will grow strong upon this vessel… I claim you as mine, frail flesh. We will become…inseparable!
Thunderous padding of immense paws rushed at her in the encroaching void. The flares shot at Halena with incredible speed and her lungs collapsed. Shadowy fingers constricted up through Halena’s body and converged behind her eyes, her cheeks burning as if a hot brand was pressed upon her skin. Tendrils of crimson curled and flared around the youth’s eyes, licking her cheeks as her skin was branded with the strange tattoos. The void fell away from her, the dreadful sensation of falling taking hold.
A jolting thud and the young woman collapsed to the cottage floor, the abyssal mist suddenly gone. Her vision blurred and swirled, and she saw her aunt’s form. She took to her knees and her hand brushed over Halena’s burning cheek, careful not to touch the blazing red marks about her niece’s eyes, “The marks of a demon…”
She hissed and cast an apologetic gaze down at Halena, “This wasn’t supposed to happen…”
Her seemingly distant voice rang in Halena’s ears, concern creasing the blurry image of her aunt’s face. The room grew darker with each pump of the girl’s heart, and her vision slowly faded, as did the waking world.
“We were not… alone…”
◆◆◆
Documents were scattered across the table, a mixture of personally written notes and copies of Ministry ledger marked with scribbles of ink. The imposing gaze of Jeanne Ravenwood scanned over the mess with critical sharpness while she nibbled the tip of her long-necked pipe. The graying butler sat in silence across the room, his focus dedicated to a large stretch of paper on an easel and toiling away with a wedge of charcoal. Plumes of smoke huffed through Jeanne’s nostrils and she let out a sigh of defeat, walking away from her desk.
“You sound troubled.” Dorian stated, lifting his pinky finger to the parchment and smudging charcoal strokes. He turned on his stool, looking over to Jeanne with a bushy eyebrow raised.
The noblewoman approached, holding her pipe off to the side, “You can read me like a book, you old dog.”
She curled an affectionate smirk, “I fear I may have put too much pressure on our newest retainer. All of that effort and so little to run on… Except a name to tie to Vae Victa’s cohorts… the Lazarin.”
“She is quite strange. No doubt shocked by all of the stresses following your position.” The butler mused, raising his sliver of charcoal to the paper to make some tapered strokes, then blended them together.
“Are you excusing her disrespect for my position?”
Dorian remained focused on his drawing, applying some shading to a long stalk of a plant leaf, “I sympathize with her. It took me a few summers of adjustment before I could serve your father in my best capacity. She is no exception, if what she said is true about being a wanderer by trade.”
“Yet Inka adjusted better, likely due to her mercantile background. The skills required are quite different.” She frowned, content in watching him work over his broad shoulders, “Perhaps I’m getting too old for these duties and losing touch with the world the more I sit above it at the Ministry. What an infectious disease.”
He snorted at Jeanne’s self-disgust, “Do not be so dour. Having youthful spirits like them around you will bring you back in touch. Equally infectious, in my experience.”
The noblewoman smirked, “Aye, I should have worked you harder while I was able in my youth.”
“I assure you that I am adequately worked regardless of injury.” Dorian grinned, his moustache broadening with his lips.
Jeanne wandered back to her desk to scan the mess of documents again, “True enough. My colleagues aren’t making our work any easier, but it seems they are keeping quiet now that we put them on the run.”
Her nose wrinkled, “Vae Victa started this menagerie of strange bedfellows with the Manin and House Traille, and they continue to do business after conceding that her crimes were undeniable. Elspeth closed herself up to the rest of the Ministry and works exclusively with her so-called lover’s house, then has the nerve to spread rumors about us.”
“Remember, this is a different kind of battlefield, my lady.” Dorian added, gently scraping coal on the paper, “Politics is no less ruthless than a field of men clashing steel, yet requires deft touch. You knew the risks in laying all of your cards on the table when Lady Doctus was put on trial. Now that you know Lady Miriam is spreading rumors to weaken your image, you must be on the defensive.”
“Indeed.” Lady Ravenwood sneered, nostrils flaring, “Perhaps the Lazarin are the missing piece. Despite the proof of her cruelty when we released Lady Doctus’ prisoners, we never could find the source of her arcane arts. These Lazarin may be who she had ties with to begin this sick research.”
Dorian grunted, “Shall I make a requisition for the Manin archives through our mole?”
She looked over her shoulder, “No, Elspeth may be suspicious of the Mistral Counts working together on this, and Edward’s spread thin as it is watching Calyrien’s ventures. I’ll pull some strings and see what some of my other contacts can dig up on the Lazarin.”
“As you wish.” Dorian nodded, applying a finishing touch to his charcoal sketch and sitting back to admire the image. Two iris stalks were captured in the clouded hues of gray, crossing one another on the paper.
Jeanne’s eyes scanned over the finished work from her desk, “Are you certain you don’t want this one framed? We could find a spot for it in the hallway.”
Dorian got to his feet, freeing the paper from his easel and folding the stand flat under his thick arm. He turned and bowed to Jeanne, “I wish to keep it in my room, if you’d allow it, my lady.”
“Of course.” She nodded, walking up to the giant man to fix his coat.
“Shall I prepare for Halena’s departure tomorrow?” He inquired, remaining still while Jeanne doted over his effects.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Dorian. I’ll speak with her again and try to mend the damage from tonight’s spat. Let her rest and heal for a night longer.” Jeanne stepped back from her butler to appraise her minute touches to his image.
He inclined his head, “I’ll be off to bed, then.”
Jeanne smiled up at him, “I’ll do the same soon enough.”
The shrill rip of a scream for help echoed up the halls, giving the pair a start. Dorian set his materials down, “It’s Inka.”
Lady Ravenwood retrieved her cane and darted out the door with her enormous butler at her back. They hustled down the stairs, Inka’s cries of struggle and distress growing louder as they follow the noise to the guest room. The noble swung the door open, cane gripped tight in her hand, gasping at the sight before her. Halena wrestled with Inka on the bed, hands fighting to wrap tightly around the scholar’s neck. She glared up to Jeanne, her violet eyes clouded over with an umbral and malevolent presence. The shy witch she had first met was gone, her dark tresses of hair writhing like a ball of angry snakes.
Using her window of opportunity, Inka’s hands came together, a chilling torrent of hailstone shards blowing up into Halena’s chest and face to push her off the bed. Jeanne pressed her thumb down on a lever on the head of her cane, and the length of metal clicks, breaking in equidistant sections. She raised her arm high over her head and swung, the chain-links holding the cane together whippi
ng out in an arc for Halena. The witch leapt into the air as Jeanne’s whip shredded the floorboards, and landed on the desk, hazarding a glance over her shoulder. Her words sound forced by the dark presence controlling her, “She is mine now! You’ll have to kill her if you want her back.”
Dorian lunged out to wrestle her to the ground, but she was too quick. The witch burst through the tall window into the yard, sprinting into the darkness. The butler stopped himself against the desk, nearly crushing it with his weight and looked back to Jeanne for direction.
“Follow her! We’ll catch up with you!” Jeanne commanded, pulling her whip back and releasing the lever on the handle of her weapon. The segmented links snapped back together into her cane’s original shape. Dorian grunted and hiked a foot up onto the shattered window sill and vaulted into the darkness after Halena.
Lady Ravenwood snapped at Inka, “What happened?!”
“My lady, that’s not her! That’s not her! It’s a demon! Halena’s possessed!” Inka answered in hysterics, trembling and tearful.
Jeanne stepped closer to the bed, “Don’t tell me the obvious, Inka! How long have you known? Did she take blood from you? Did she summon this?”
Inka ran her hands over her face, wiping away her tears, “No, nothing! It all happened so fast!”
“Pull yourself together,” Jeanne hissed, squeezing Inka’s shoulder, “Be strong. Tell me everything that happened and we might be able to save her.”
Lady Ravenwood released Inka and paced through the room, eyes scanning for clues that may have been left in the chaos. The distressed scholar sniffled, trying to collect herself and calm down, “I heard fighting upstairs in your room while I was studying and the door slammed. I checked on her to see if she was okay. She was shouting at someone in her room, but nobody was there. My lady, Halena was terrified and upset like I had never seen. What happened when you talked to her?”
“Raw nerves and a grave misunderstanding of our situation.” Jeanne answered with a frown, giving Inka her full attention, “Was she attempting something in revenge?”
Inka shook her head, “Not at all. I think she was more afraid of something else, whatever that demon wanted from her. She said it hadn’t been adequately fed in some time and was becoming harder to control. I had no idea it was so serious.”
“Tch…” Jeanne’s tongue clicked, “Then it’s as bad as it looks. I should have pressed her about it when I had the chance. We need to prepare for an exorcism.”
“Her soul could be torn apart!”
“We have no other choice! Demons are ravenous beings that do enough damage when they possess normal men. A witch, though? She could kill hundreds with power like that.” Jeanne growled, and swore under her breath, “If only we knew more about it…”
The noble’s eyes settled on Halena’s bag and journal resting on the desk, covered in glass shards. She looked back to Inka, “You said she’s been fighting this thing? She must have notes.”
With a flick of her cane, Jeanne beckoned Inka over, passing her the journal to begin rifling through the pages. Jeanne opened the traveling bag and dumped out its contents on the table until it was empty. The witch’s grimoire slid out and Jeanne passed it off to Inka on the bed, “Here, check this too.”
Her hand picked through the mess and possessions, brushing aside a bag of iron filings, a pouch of salt, and discarding tufts of hawk feathers. She found the silver knife’s sheath and used it to push aside the collection of wicked components and effects amidst the broken glass. A sliver of chalk rolled onto the floor, and a flicker of light flashed in Jeanne’s vision. Her fingers pinched and lifted away a patch of moldy cloth, revealing the cold light of an unusual gemstone.
“By the Five… Where did you find this, Halena?” Jeanne muttered, picking the stone up in her hand to scan her eyes over the eerie prisms, “Inka, we may have Israfel’s luck on our side.”
Inka glanced up from flipping through the pages of notes, eying the stone in Jeanne’s hand, “Is that the soul stone? It looks like she’s been observing it since finding it in Brighthall. There’s a few pages of notes here describing it.”
“I never thought I’d see another one of these in my life, not since the possession of Bishop Dangoulain.” Jeanne remarked in disbelief, folding the cloth back over the gem, “Did you find anything useful?”
The scholar shrugged, eyes switching between the grimoire and Halena’s journal, “It’s difficult to tell… She had some observations of it reacting to spirits in the Resting Grounds, then the next page of her notes goes in circles about findings from the ball. Lord Vaughn and illusions, Queen Daniella speaking with her, then this… ‘Marchosias’ repeated over and over for the rest of the page.”
Inka held the journal out to Jeanne, showing a dozen copies of the name scrawled down the length of the page, degrading into chicken scratch with each iteration. The noble’s eyebrows furrowed as she saw the name repeated, “That’s not a name I’ve ever heard. She never said anything about this when I asked about the ball.”
“What if this demon made her lose consciousness in the party because it was losing patience?” Inka asked, taking another look at the pages.
Jeanne tossed the soul stone into Inka’s lap, stopping in the doorway, “We’re going to lose her entirely if we don’t hurry. If that demon is starving for essence, it’s likely gone to the Resting Grounds to gorge itself. Study her notes, I’m going to make preparations to banish that fiend once and for all.”
Inka nodded, gathering up the journal, stone, and black leather-bound grimoire in her arms. She glanced to the shattered window, a grimace falling over her face. The discarded knife sheath caught her eye and Inka took the silver blade with her into the main hall. While Jeanne was occupied, Inka combed through as much as she could of the black grimoire’s contents, the collection of unseen spells and ritual circles amazing her with each turn of the page.
Her awe wilted as she pored over the eldritch contents, passages about spirits and fiends, and the dark rituals that were Halena’s tools for fighting the dark. Her lip quivered, “So this is what you were hiding from us…”
The dark scrawls clashed with the memory of her sweet smile and laughter at the terrace in the capital. All the instances of her averted gazes and attempts to hide her eyes plucked at nostalgic chords in Inka’s heart. Her eyes misted and she wiped away the tears before they could touch her cheeks, “You were afraid we’d see you for this, weren’t you? If only you knew how wrong you were. You’re so much more.”
Determination filled Inka’s chest and she tied the silver dagger’s scabbard around her waist before resuming her mental preparation with the book.
Behind the closed doors of Jeanne’s master bedroom, the noble slipped on a leather harness over a thin shirt, pulling the buckles of a sturdy leather girdle over her stomach until it was snug. The noble stepped into a pair of knee-high leather boots and pulled a long coat over her shoulders, leaving one sleeve free of her limp arm to keep it bound in its leather sling. Her cane twirled in her fingers and she made her way downstairs in full hunting garb. She tapped the banister with her cane to gain her retainer’s attention, “Listen carefully, Inka. That soul stone is our saving grace for this and you need to follow the process exactly as I instruct. Otherwise, we may risk harming Halena in the process. Come, I’ll explain on the way.”
The scholar packed up the grimoire, tucking it under her arm and gripping the stone in her free hand, “Of course. These notes say that it was originally to be used as a vessel for housing a living spirit when our old friend Simon kept it. There’s a number of magickal snares and traps described in her book that we could use too.”
The pair marched down the halls toward the rear exit, hurrying into the darkness of the yard. Lady Jeanne tucked her cane into a loop in her belt and grabbed the lantern pole to lean against her shoulder while they traversed the gravel path towards the fence, “Exactly, and we can safely dispose of the demon without threat of it possessing som
eone else. The only problem is coaxing it out. I fought Bishop Dangoulain for three nights before I could get the evil spirit corrupting him to leave his body. Even though I trapped the demon, the bishop was never the same afterwards.”
Inka kept the book hugged to her chest as she followed behind Lady Jeanne under the yellow lantern light, “We’ll need only one night to be done with this fiend, then.”
Jeanne paused at the gate and set the lantern pole into its holster near the fencing. Something wet dripped on the grass and the dull light revealing the gate was held tightly shut by a mass of flesh and bone. It was difficult to tell what all of the bloodied sinews was beforehand, if not for the scraps of cloth hanging from the tendrils of slick bone and muscle keeping the gate locked. Inka clapped her hand over her mouth, taking a step back from the gory display. A hat laid in the grass, its wide brim and yellowed fibers familiar to the pair as Jeanne bent down to pick it up.
“No, not Liam…” Inka shuddered in horror at the gruesome mural.
A scowl creased Lady Ravenwood’s brow and she tossed the hat aside in quiet, boiling contempt. She gripped the head of her cane tightly and pulled back, aiming the tip for the gate. Her stance widened and the air throbbed with energy, then she thrust her cane forward. As soon as the sharpened tip dug into the fleshy lock, the gate exploded inward, the bones holding it shut breaking from the magickal blast. The hinges creaked weakly, the unrelenting force bending the straight rods into twisted shapes. The noblewoman let out a terse breath, “This is bad… Liam’s death is one too many.”
Inka could not form words and simply followed behind Jeanne into the dusky thicket of trees. Jeanne pressed her lips together and let out a sharp whistle. She was answered by a distant wolf’s howl deeper into the path. “Good, Dorian managed to keep up with her.”
“Fingers crossed he didn’t get winged by that demon’s magick.” Inka huffed, struggling to keep up with her boss amidst the sticks and underbrush.
