“What of me?” Ravan asked.
Phane ignored him, turning to Hector.
“Blood the circle,” he said.
Hector nodded woodenly but made no move to obey.
“You must blood the circle,” Phane said, a bit more urgently.
Hector seemed to snap out of his daze. Slowly, mechanically, he raised his axe and brought it down on the goat’s neck. The bound woman at his feet cried out at the thud of the axe falling. His strike wasn’t forceful enough to decapitate the animal, but he cut through its spine, spilling blood at his feet. With one hand he dragged the goat to the edge of the circle and let the blood flow into the channels cut into the stone.
“Good. Now the woman.”
Hector looked over at him, his gaze briefly drifting to meet Isabel’s eyes, but he looked away quickly, his eyes settling on the woman trembling at his feet. He started toward her but stopped, blinking several times and shaking his head almost imperceptibly.
If she could only speak, Isabel knew she could reach him, but she was mute, helpless.
“It’s the only way,” Phane said, gently, sympathetically. “If you want your brother back, you must do this.”
Hector stared blankly at the woman for several moments. Phane seemed to be holding his breath, until, slowly, hesitantly, Hector reached down and grabbed the woman by the hair. She cried out, struggling against her bindings and trying to plead for mercy around the gag in her mouth.
“We don’t have much time, Hector. The message has been sent. My Master’s avatar will arrive soon. If you don’t blood the circle, he will take you … for nothing.”
Hector seemed to remember his determination and quickly hacked the side of the woman’s neck as if he feared that waiting a moment longer would have shaken his resolve. Isabel slumped to her knees, tears flowing down her cheeks. Up until this moment, she thought that there was a chance for Hector, that he might come to his senses and return to the light. The woman struggled weakly, flailing helplessly as Hector dragged her to the edge of the circle and flopped her on the ground to let her life’s blood flow into the grooves cut into the stone.
The blood flowed from the goat and the woman, filling the grooves until the entire circle was red. With a gesture, Phane lifted the dead woman and the goat and tossed them into the pit.
“Well done, Hector. Well done,” he said.
Isabel staggered back to her feet, swallowing the bile and rage she felt, turning her attention to the spark of light at the center of her being. She was far too distraught to actually reach it, but thoughts of that calm, still, centered place within her helped focus her mind.
Phane turned to her, smiling boyishly.
She glared back.
He began speaking the words of another spell, this one using an entirely different language than the one before. She felt the portal to the darkness within her psyche begin to open. She tried to fight it, tried to call on the light, begged the Maker to save her from the darkness, but she received no answer.
Moments later, the portal opened wide and darkness flooded into her. Pain, fear, and despair seemed to fill her up to the point of bursting, challenging her sanity. Depravity and deliberate malice coursed through her, unbidden and unwelcome … and she was helpless to do anything except endure it.
When she thought she was dying, that her identity could suffer no more of the darkness and its corruption, it began to flow out of her as if it were being pulled from her body. Her back arched and her feet lifted from the ground. Only the shackles cutting into her wrists kept her within her circle. Thick, dark liquid flowed from her mouth and eyes, swirling into a glob and floating out over the center of the pit. The portal to the netherworld closed when the last of the darkness left her, dropping her roughly to the ground.
She fell to her knees and retched, spilling the contents of her stomach on the stone floor as she tried to overcome the sense of filth and rot that clung to her soul. It took several moments to regain her sense of self, to wrest her emotions back from the unclean influence of the netherworld. Still, she was shaken and felt dirty, guilty even. The experience had taxed her will and drained her energy until nothing but apathy remained. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball.
Once the darkness was free of Isabel and swirling in a mass over the pit, Phane lifted the casket containing Horace’s remains and sent it into the glob of whirling darkness. The wood and metal of the casket rotted away, desiccating and rusting in seconds until it had completely vanished, leaving only Horace’s bones mingled with the darkness whirling in midair.
The darkness slowed, spinning to a stop as it flowed into and became one with Horace’s remains, until finally, the darkness was gone and all that remained were stained bones.
They fell into the pit a moment later. Phane was holding his breath again, waiting with anxious anticipation. Isabel’s curiosity overpowered her misery. She opened her eyes, but made no move to get up. Her whole body felt hollow, scarred and raw.
The torches surrounding the ritual circle began to flicker even though the air was dead calm. Phane knelt, bowing his head.
A wave of shadow emanated from the pit like an explosion without any force, passing through and around Isabel, leaving her skin crawling and her stomach turning anew. The torches extinguished all at once when the wave hit them, plunging the world into darkness.
Isabel felt the presence before she could see or hear it. A sense of unbridled power and hate filled the night. She slowly pushed herself to her knees and then staggered to her feet, watching expectantly, her heart in her throat.
A presence rose out of the pit. As dark as the night was, the indistinct form that hovered before her was darker still, only its red eyes providing any light at all. It hurt to look at it. She wanted to turn away, but refused, choosing instead to face her enemy, the enemy of life and light itself.
The malicious red eyes scanned the scene, noting Ravan first, who had gone to his knees as well, then turning to look at Hector, Phane, and Isabel in turn, his gaze seeming to penetrate to the depths of her soul. The red eyes looked at Isabel until she began to tremble, intense fear coursing through her, building to the point of panic. They looked at her for a long time before turning their gaze back to Phane. She felt a wave of relief.
“You wish to trade a soul for a soul,” the presence said. Its voice was grating, discordant and entirely unnatural. It made her ears hurt.
“Yes, Master,” Phane said, rising to face the Taker’s avatar. As Isabel’s eyesight adjusted, she thought she saw Phane present Hector with an open hand.
“And you have summoned Ravan to collect this soul at the appointed time?”
“Yes, Master.”
Ravan howled as the Taker drew him into the pit and cast him back into the netherworld, screaming.
It turned its gaze on Hector. The silence built to the point of tension before the horrible voice spoke again.
“Do you offer me your soul willingly?”
There was a long pause.
“Yes,” Hector croaked, a tremor of fear running through his voice.
“I will return Horace to the world of time and substance for the duration of your natural life in exchange for your soul at the moment of your death. Do you agree to these terms?”
Isabel tried to shout, struggling to slip free of her shackles, but she was helpless to intervene.
“Yes,” Hector said, a bit more confidently.
Isabel slumped to her knees, weeping.
“Bargain struck!” it said, its voice taking on a deeper, more powerful and authoritative tone. A moment later the ground shook as if the world itself had been struck like a bell. The tremor didn’t last long, but Isabel was certain that everyone in the entire Seven Isles had felt it.
The darkness receded into the pit and the torches burst into flame once again, flooding the well with flickering light. It took a moment for Isabel’s eyes to adjust. What she saw made her cry out silently, recoiling from the results of Phane’s
conjuring. New fear coursed through her as she realized what the Reishi Prince had just done.
Phane tipped his head back and laughed out loud even as the rest of the people in the well fell deathly silent.
Floating in the center of the circle surrounding the pit was Horace.
He was a shade.
“Hello, Brother,” Horace said in a voice that sounded much like it had in life but with a whining raspy quality to it.
“What have you done?” Hector demanded, turning to Phane with a look of horror and betrayal.
Phane laughed at him, guffawing at his distress.
“You just made it too easy, Hector. And thanks to you, I now have a shade of my very own.”
Hector stared at him in disbelief for a moment, his mind seeming to work through the enormity of Phane’s betrayal. It didn’t take long for him to reach a decision. He brought the axe blade up toward his throat, but not quickly enough. Phane snatched the weapon from his hand with his magic and pulled it to him. Hector transformed into vapor and began to drift away.
“Sorcery? Really?” Phane said mockingly, reaching out with his hand as if grasping something. He yanked his closed fist back toward himself and Hector reverted to his material form, standing stock-still, his arms bound to his sides by Phane’s magic.
“You can’t escape me, Hector,” he said, producing a slave collar from his robes and sending it floating across the distance to snap in place around Hector’s neck.
“Sleep,” he said, and Hector slumped to the ground, unconscious. Phane lifted him with his magic and placed him in the casket waiting behind him, closing the lid with a flourish and chuckling to himself as he turned back to Horace.
“You will remain in the world of time and substance for as long as your brother remains alive. Submit to my will, bind yourself to my command, and I will ensure that he lives for centuries, and you with him. Refuse, and I will kill him, sending you both back into darkness.”
Horace seemed to rail against the choice he’d been given, but finally said, “I submit to your will.”
“Very good,” Phane said. “I trust you won’t mind if I proceed with the binding spell then.”
Horace shrieked in protest.
Phane laughed. “Did you expect me to take your word for it? Submit or die.”
Horace thrashed against the magical barrier for a few moments.
Phane smiled at his distress.
“I will submit to the binding,” Horace mewled.
“I knew you’d come around,” Phane said. “This will only take a few minutes.”
He began chanting again, filling the night air with words of hate and fear. A haze of shadow began to form around him. As it grew more distinct, it began to flow in a stream toward Horace, engulfing the shade with dark magic that looked like bindings made of black cords. Once they had wrapped tightly around him, they faded from sight.
“Horace, take this offering,” Phane commanded, presenting the young man still kneeling at his feet with an open hand.
Horace floated quickly toward his victim as the man tried to stand, suddenly aware of the part he was to play in the ritual, but it did him no good. Horace had him before he got one foot under himself.
“It feels good to be back,” he said.
“I imagine it does,” Phane said. “I command you to prevent the shade Rankosi from killing any more of my men. Fight him for possession every time he tries to take someone. Keep him in the aether.”
Horace snarled a curse, then turned and walked the young man into the pit, his shadowy form floating away into the night a moment later, leaving his victim screaming as he fell.
Chapter 23
Alexander slipped off the wyvern, motioning for Ratagan to stay in the saddle. He’d intended to remain in New Ruatha overnight, but after learning of Peti’s plan and seeing the consequences of Zuhl’s horde unleashed on the people of Fellenden, he’d taken only enough time to visit Anatoly and make arrangements to send him help before departing for the Gate.
He’d spent the flight from New Ruatha watching the sun slide toward the horizon and silently exhorting Ratagan to fly faster, even though he knew that his Sky Knight escorts were making best speed. When he wasn’t willing the wyverns to fly faster, he was fretting over the possibility that Peti would launch an attack into Ruatha or Ithilian with part of her new army. Quite suddenly, Phane had become of secondary concern, at least for the moment.
He trotted to the controls on the side of the Gate and opened it to the Reishi Isle, staggering back a few steps, a little thrill of fear coursing through him at what he saw. Zora was curled up on the Gate platform, one ice-blue eye opening a moment after the Gate did. Horst and Ratagan’s wyverns launched into the sky with yelps of fear. Zora went from sleeping to crouched like a cat in an instant, her giant head facing Alexander squarely, her eyes measuring him, a snort of breath sending another chill racing up his spine.
He held his arms out to his sides, palms open in a show of peace.
“My name is Alexander Reishi. You must be Zora.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
“I’ve come to help free Ixabrax.”
Her eyes shifted to the Thinblade on his hip.
“You will wait,” she said, tipping her head back and roaring. Wyverns scattered from their perches atop the wall surrounding the Reishi Keep.
Moments later, soldiers and witches began to converge on the Gate. Alexander nodded to himself. What better guard dog than a dragon, he thought. Abigail arrived a few minutes later with Magda.
“Alexander!” she shouted, running toward the Gate, racing right past Zora and hugging her brother.
“Dear Maker, I’ve missed you,” she said, holding on to him like he might not be real.
“I’ve missed you too, Abby.”
She glanced around past his shoulder, then stepped back looking this way and that with a hint of fear.
“Where’s Jack?”
Alexander smiled, opening the door to his Wizard’s Den with a gesture.
Jack looked up from his desk and smiled, rising to his feet as Abigail rushed to him.
Magda stopped several feet away, smiling at the sight of Abigail and Jack’s reunion, before turning and nodding deferentially to Alexander.
“It’s good to see you, Magda. How’s she been?” he said, motioning toward his sister.
Magda paused to consider her answer for a moment.
“She’s proven herself to be a leader worth following.”
Jataan had silently taken his place just behind and to Alexander’s left with Lita next to him. He was eyeing the dragon warily.
“Mistress Magda,” Lita said, smiling warmly.
“I hear you’ve had quite the adventure,” Magda said.
“I can’t wait to tell you all about it,” Lita said, suddenly excited.
Anja walked right past them all and straight up to Zora, stopping not five feet from her snout.
“Hello,” she said.
Zora blinked, sniffing the air and then frowning.
“Why have you taken the form of a human?”
Anja shrugged. “It’s easier to live among them if you look like one of them.”
“Why would you choose to live among them?” Zora asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
“Because I love him,” Anja said, looking back over her shoulder at Alexander.
Zora looked at Alexander, then back at Anja, frowning deeply.
“You’re bound to this one?” she asked.
“I am.”
“And your mother permitted him to live?”
“He saved my life before I was even born,” Anja said. “My mother was grateful.”
“She should have eaten him before your attachment had time to deepen,” Zora said.
“No!” Anja said. “Why would she do such a thing?”
Zora sighed. “It would have saved you great pain. In time, you will come to see the truth, Child. But it’s not my place to teach you tho
se lessons.”
Horst and Ratagan landed gently several dozen feet from the Gate, their wyverns visibly agitated by Zora’s presence.
Magda turned to the dragon.
“May I ask that you withdraw from the Gate to allow these Sky Knights to bring their wyverns through?”
She ignored Magda, her catlike eyes still fixed on Anja.
“Will these humans do as they say? Will they help free my mate?”
Anja smiled as she laid her hand on Zora’s snout.
“Yes, they will.”
“Very well,” Zora said, launching into the sky with a whoosh. Anja watched her take flight with a wistful smile.
Abigail and Jack emerged from the Wizard’s Den holding hands. Chloe buzzed into view in a ball of light and flew in an orbit around their heads, giggling all the while, before vanishing again.
Anja walked straight up to Abigail and then looked pointedly at Alexander.
He smiled, nodding to himself. “Anja, this is my sister Abigail. Abby, this is Anja.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Anja said.
Abigail cocked her head and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“You should be flattered,” Jack said. “She’s not usually this polite.”
Anja made a face at him, then turned to Alexander. “So this is your castle?” she asked, walking to the edge of the Gate platform and stopping to take in the Reishi Keep.
Alexander had to admit to himself that it was a majestic sight with the last light of the day reflecting off its towers and Zora circling overhead.
“I guess so,” he said.
Once Ratagan and Horst had led their wyverns through the Gate, Alexander closed it. A moment later, Commander Perry stepped forward from the crowd of soldiers and witches that had gathered.
“Lord Reishi,” he said, saluting crisply.
“Commander Perry, I’d like to convene a war council within the hour.”
“I’ll see to the arrangements myself,” Perry said, turning on his heel and calling two of his officers to him with a gesture, then disappearing into the crowd of soldiers.
Sovereign of the Seven Isles 7: Reishi Adept Page 26
