by Adam Lynch
“The name was found, just as the Spirit Bow was. I don’t remember my true name.”
“The name was found because God had declared it so. The bow was found because God had declared it so. Nothing is by luck or chance. It all has a time and place. What are you two fighting for?”
“We are not a part of this war.”
“No?”
“We’ve been assigned by Chief Dyami of Autumnum to track down and hunt the Hypnotist,” said Kel.
“The Hypnotist? The Spirit Gatherer is to hunt to the Hypnotist? I would not have thought it wise to assign such an important man on such an impossible task.”
“You doubt I can succeed?” asked Ashkii.
“For anybody, it is a gamble with the odds tipped completely against him.”
“With my help, the odds are steadied fairly,” said Kel. “And what weapon has a better chance of subduing a magical being than the Spirit Bow?”
“You seem to be driving a point, my lady. What makes you the exception to the Hypnotist’s impossible game?”
“She is immune to all illusion-based magic,” Ashkii answered for her.
All the White-Bloods were impressed, gazing astonishingly at each other. Yce was instantly ecstatic. “Really? Is this true, my lady Kelanassa?”
She lit a provocative smile. “It is,” she said.
“I have never heard of such a gift. Have you lads?” he asked his neighboring archers, all of them speechless. Then he faced Kel again, gazing at her with a new light. “A miracle this is. With such a power, Seasons finally has a chance. Now I see the genius behind Dyami’s reasoning. What better way to protect the one girl who can stop the Hypnotist than with the legendary Spirit Gatherer—and what better way to protect the Spirit Gatherer and have him succeed than to pair him up with the one girl who’s immune to hypnosis? With Kelanassa, nothing will get past the two of you, and with the Spirit Gatherer, nothing will stop you—not even a dragon.”
“What do you know of the dragon?” Ashkii inquired, both he and Kel instantly spiked with intrigue.
“Do you mean Ieronne, Watcher of the Summerian Council?”
“Yes, where can we find him? Do you know its location?”
“Whoa, whoa, now,” he said, though he seemed please to hear this. “Seems we can meet to serve each other’s interest after all. But just to be clear on that: you’re after Ieronne, the Watcher of the Summerian Council?”
“Yes.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that, but out of curiosity, what does he have to do with tracking down the Hypnotist?”
“Killing him may unveil the Hypnotist’s identity to us.”
“Really? How so? I’m not following.”
“It’s not something you need to know.”
“I was only curious. Coincidentally and conveniently, we require Ieronne’s defeat as well. Here’s our situation: our scouts have uncovered information that Rolf Valentine and his forces are headed to ambush the seven council members of Summeria at Sunrise Castle tomorrow.”
“Rolf Valentine?” asked Ashkii.
“Oh? Are you after him as well?”
“Yes we are, but please, continue with your story,” said Kel. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Our goal as the White-Bloods is to dethrone Salem Valentine, eradicate the curse and all who share it, purify and restore Winteria to how it once was before the sorcerers corrupted it, and make peace with the neighboring regions. To do this, we need to form alliances. To form alliances we need to force leaders into submission. I’m sure that you and I can both agree that negotiation is out of the question. Seasons is at war. No one can be trusted. So here was our plan: with all seven council members gathered at Sunrise Castle and Rolf’s forces headed there to ambush them, they’ll fight it out, weaken each other’s forces, and then our forces will ambush them and take them all by surprise. The Sun-Shields and the Red-Bloods will be forced to surrender, and we’ll capture Rolf Valentine and Summeria’s seven council members. But there is one thing that I haven’t yet mentioned that can make or break our success and I think you know what that is.”
“Ieronne, Watcher of the Council,” said Kel.
“Yes. The council members and every city they gather in under the full protection of their impenetrable dragon guardian. Without a plan to defeat it, we cannot hope to trap Summeria’s leaders and force them into submission. Ashkii Dighin, we need you to slay the dragon for us so we can move in and ambush Summeria’s leaders. With the Spirit Bow in hand, you hold a power that no else has ever held—the power to kill a dragon. The Spirit Bow can pierce through any physical substance—even a dragon’s skin. If you wish to defeat Ieronne, then following our plan is the best way to accomplish this. Following our plan will lend you strategy, battle support, transportation, and many rewards.”
“Transportation?” asked Ashkii.
“Yes, Summeria is just west off these mountains of forestry. Our settlement is located on a cliff that gives us a great view of Summeria’s sunset each evening. Before we settled there, the cliff was a phoenix’s nest. Fiere is our phoenix bird that we have raised. He will fly the two of you instantly to the castle off the cliff of our settlement. Many of us will have hiked down the mountain long before your departure. Rest assured, we will be there to handle the rest when Ieronne falls.”
“This all sounds good,” said Ashkii. “And you mentioned rewards?”
“For helping us, you will be granted our alliance, trust, and resources. Whatever we have will be yours. Additionally, when we capture Rolf Valentine, you will be permitted to interrogate him, but he must not die—less his curse shed its wrath upon us all.”
“What? What curse?”
Yce’s eyes peeled. “You know not of Rolf’s curse?”
“Yeah, I probably should have mentioned it…” said Kel, Ashkii facing her, surprised.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to our settlement while I explain,” said Yce.” He glanced at his archers. “Gentlemen, scout the area, would you? Make sure we’re not followed or found.” Rushing to their task, Yce led Ashkii and Kel through the forestry, ascending the mountains. “Before I explain to you Rolf’s curse, there’s something else important that you should know about him—something many don’t find out until it’s too late.”
“That he’s impenetrable?” asked Kel.
“Not impenetrable, just highly durable. Are you saying that you’ve faced him?”
“We have,” said Ashkii.
“And yet you live. But if you wish to stay alive, you must know of Rolf’s curse. At his death, the curse absorbs the blood of all life within an unknown perimeter, harvesting it for Salem’s moon. It doesn’t affect any who have the Red Blood inside them. He also cannot be captured, because Salem can terminate his life at any time, activating the curse. Rolf can also commit suicide. It’s utterly difficult.”
“I see,” said Ashkii, facing Kel. “Now it makes sense. That lone Spirit Hunter back at the tavern. He was acting alone as a hero, intending to assassinate Rolf while he was miles away from his people.”
“Though he had assumed the curse would not spread that far,” said Kel.
“Would it?” Ashkii asked, looking back at Yce.
“Nobody knows.” He shrugged. “But it cannot be tested. For now, the werewolf must live—and be freed after you’ve finished questioning him.”
After walking a several minute hike, they reached tall mountainous terrain, limiting their direction. Suddenly, Yce stopped, veering sharply into a hidden opening of the terrain. Ashkii and Kel hesitated before following in, adjusting to the unexpected direction. Seemingly noticing this, Yce stalled his advancement, staring in their direction, but looking like his gaze hawked past them. Suspicious of this, Ashkii and Kel turned behind them, the archers being right there. Kel gasped, startled.
“Clear,” an archer said, Ashkii facing Yce who nodded.
“This way, friends,” Yce told Ashkii and Kel, pressing on inside the maze.
“The
y really need to stop that,” Kel said aloud.
Yce leading the way, Ashkii and Kel following, and the six archer White-Bloods tagging behind, they hiked through the enclosed maze until the sun’s bright light had been revealed, a vast opening straight ahead. Gradually, the enclosed space widened, encouraging them to press forward until they’d made it to the space expansion.
At last they’d arrived.
The White-Blood settlement. It was located over an immensely vast cliff, the area blockaded, hidden, and protected by the exterior terrain and a massive overhang—the way they entered was the only way out without going over the cliff. There were homes and longhouses made with wooden frames, mud, straw, and manure. Several hundreds of White-Bloods lived here, men, women, and children. The area was very crowded, not all families had homes to live in—many had only beds and their belongings. Despite this, the kids laughed, played, and hollered all the same.
The sun’s powerful rays shone brightly beneath the overhang, granting Summeria’s warmth and light to all of the White-Bloods. And the overview—it was just as Yce had said. The cliff hung over the edge of Winteria, peering over the vast plains, cities, castles, lakes, and mountains of Summeria. Even far from the cliff’s edge where Ashkii was witnessing it, the sight was utterly majestic to behold. Ashkii had never seen a better view of Seasons. He was looking at the world from an eagle’s view—where all its breathtaking beauty was revealed… where his mind could expand past its normal processes.
“Feel free to have a look around—they’ve all seen you enter the settlement with me,” said Yce, catching their attention, smiling warmly. “You can join me in the longhouse when you’re ready. I’d like us to have a drink before tomorrow’s victory.” Winking, he paced off, allowing Ashkii and Kel to wander the area in wonder.
They pressed deeper into the settlement, Ashkii observing his full surroundings. He watched as the children chased one another past the crowds, women carrying buckets of water, and men telling war stories. Most of the White-Bloods stared as he and Kel strolled by, dazzled by the glowing longbow over his shoulder and suspicious of their alienation. It was true that he and Kelanassa were brought in as guests by their leader, but they were not one of them—they’d never be one of them. Then suddenly, there was one elderly man in particular who drew himself out from the rest. One look at them and he was petrified. He staggered back into several other men in the crowd, drawing a lot of attention. When they faced him impatiently, he pointed at Ashkii and Kel, shuddering. His eyes widened, jaw dropping.
“It’s him!” he shouted, attracting even more attention. “I saw this man. That glowing bow. It will be the end of Seasons. It will be the end of us all.”
“Keep moving,” Kel advised Ashkii, disappearing them in the crowd out of the man’s sight.
“The land of Seasons will be held in his hands,” he continued. “All our lives will be at his mercy.”
That was the last Ashkii had heard of the elderly man before they disappeared in the crowd. Nearing the medical beds, they encountered the sick and the injured. There was no doubt in Ashkii’s mind that the elderly man would soon find himself here.
“Ashkii, look,” stressed Kel suddenly, pointing at a sick patient. “That man. He’s...”
Ashkii gaped the moment he saw it. That sick soldier being transferred to the bed—he possessed the mark of the Hypnotist… and just as Rolf Valentine’s mark had—it glowed.
He and Kel rushed towards him, shoving past the crowd that had suddenly made it frustratingly difficult to cross. But when they finally made it to the patient…
He was dead.
“Back off,” scorned the doctors, puzzled with the patient’s sudden death as much as Ashkii was.
What happened? He asked himself. Seconds ago, the patient was coughing and shuddering violently, now he was as still as the dirt beneath him. What had caused this?
The doctors would not speak with them, so from a distance, Ashkii examined the body for answers. The soldier died in his mid-twenties. Something tortured him mentally or internally. He had baldness from incessant hair pulling, damaged nails from excessive scratching, humanoid bite marks on the hands, bruising on his chest, and bloody scabs on the knuckles. These wounds were self-inflicted, but not serious enough to end his life. There were no mortal wounds anywhere on his body that Ashkii could see. The cause of death must have been from within. Self-intoxication? Alcohol? Poison?
It was then that Ashkii realized that there was an audience of spectators behind him and Kel, watching and marveling over the mystery. Opening his ears to the voices, Ashkii picked up on something useful, eavesdropping in.
“He bares the mark,” a voice said. “There are no mortal wounds. The Hypnotist must have poisoned him.”
“But why him? He’d already been cursed by the Sisters of the Red Blood after they’d released him. Since his return he’d been unable to rest, the coven’s blaring and incessant voices greeting him every time he had attempted to sleep. He’d been beating himself so excessively that we had to bind him.”
“But when did the Hypnotist get to him? He’d been in full public view this entire time.”
“I don’t know, but none of this happened until these Spirit Hunters had arrived.”
“Ashkii!” shouted Kel suddenly, aiming his attention towards the body, everybody behind him gasping.
Facing the body, Ashkii staggered in astonishment.
The patient.. he sat inclined, eyes opened, head facing Ashkii.
He’s alive! No… his skin was pale, his body lifeless as a zombie.
The crowd speechless, one voice had finally asked, how is this possible?
Ashkii had wondered the same thing, when suddenly, his attention scoped in the direction of the glowing mark, which was illuminating more brightly than ever before. This resurrection—it was the work of the Hypnotist. It was happening through its glowing mark.
The body did nothing but stare, everyone watching in suspense. Ashkii held fast with anticipation, eager to witness what the Hypnotist would reveal next for him. Then suddenly, the glowing mark faded back to its previous state, the body dropping back down on the bed. It was over before anyone’s mind could process it. Everyone remained in their spots, waiting for there to be more. There had to be more.
But there wasn’t. That was all the Hypnotist had been willing to share with the people. This was obviously intentional. But why? What had the Hypnotist shown them? Why choose this victim? Was it also choosing its audience? Was it following them?
All witnesses begin immediately to discuss this mystery, Ashkii and Kel persisting in their examinations, puzzled.
“The glowing mark… said Kel. “Did you notice that the glowing mark’s brightness had dimmed before the resurrection had ended? This shows that the glowing mark was fueling it.”
“So the mark of the Hypnotist displays who its victims are and the glowing mark represents a curse placed on them,” said Ashkii.
“Yes, but did you notice how the only victims bearing the glowing mark are already cursed victims. There are three victims who bear the glowing mark that we know of: the Spirit Hunter back in Autumnum, Rolf Valentine, and this White-Blood. All three men had already had curses placed on them before receiving the glowing mark.”
“The Spirit Hunter was already cursed?”
“Yes. He was cursed by the Golden Eagle Clan’s shaman as punishment for his crimes, stilling his body like a statue.”
“Why would the Hypnotist only curse cursed victims?”
“My guess is that it cannot actually ‘curse’ people. Instead it places an active mark (the glowing mark) on live cursed victims. These glowing marks serve as written cues. When the cue written on the mark is given, the Hypnotist’s curse activates, using the magic of the victim’s old curse as fuel for the Hypnotist’s curse.”
“So what you’re saying, basically, is that the Hypnotist uses the glowing mark to hypnotize curses?”
“Some curses are powerful and di
fficult to overwrite, so I’m guessing that when the Hypnotist hypnotizes curses, it can only overwrite them to a limited degree.”
“The new curse has to be similar to the current one placed on the victim.”
“Exactly.”
Ashkii was astounded by Kelanassa’s words. How did she come up with such a theory? It was like she had already known and was waiting until this time to tell him. She explained it so clearly and confidently. He was honestly impressed. This was the first time that Ashkii had really taken notice of her. He was starting to like her—or at least realize that he did.
Suddenly an interesting thought rose to his head. Excited to hear her thoughts, he expressed them aloud. “With a powerful curse like Rolf Valentine’s, what new modification do you think the Hypnotist has made to it?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t be anything worse than what it already is.”
That gave Ashkii another interesting thought. What was the Hypnotist really after? It’s obviously not out murdering for self-pleasure. It was devising a plan. But what? What modification had it made to Rolf Valentine’s curse? Why? And what would activate the modification?
It had seemed that the lead to Rolf Valentine had paid off—though not in the way that he’d expected. He no longer had reason to pursue him, but, he still had many questions—questions he was hoping would all be brought to light by the Chalice of Prophecy.
○
Ashkii was marveled by the view of the setting sun. The sky was clear, painted with tints of orange, yellow, and pink. How beautiful it must have been to have this view of the sunrise and sunset each day.
By dusk, many of the White-Bloods gathered to one of the longhouses, others went in their homes for the night. Ashkii had remembered Yce asking them to join him in the longhouse when they’d finished exploring. However, if he’d known it was going to be this crowded by this time, he would have went in much sooner. Crowds made him feel anxious.
Ashkii and Kel squeezed in the longhouse, bypassing the rowdy bodies. It was a tavern, much like the Red-Blood’s tavern. But instead of serving alcoholic blood, they drank whiskey—lots of it. Ashkii smelled it from every mouth, the noise in the building elevating as everyone’s senses began to numb. Also, nobody was tearing each other apart. Instead, there was merry laughter and dancing. Musicians near the bar played bagpipes, accordions, fiddles, and tin whistles. Like the Red-Bloods, many were dressed in kilts and variations of tartan apparel. But they also had a mix of White-Bloods dressed in stockings, tunics, gowns, sleeveless tunics and similar variations. This was how Ashkii found Yce Glacis. Laughing gleefully, he danced fondly with a beautiful woman of shoulder-length hair. They were clumsy from the whiskey, but passionately graceful as well. Watching the love these two displayed in each other’s eyes made Ashkii forget what he was doing. Caught up by their theatrical drama, he’d wondered how he felt. He felt something… but he didn’t know what. What was this feeling?
