Ritual of the Lost Lamb

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Legends of Windemere:

  Ritual

  of

  the

  Lost

  Lamb

  Copyright 2017 © by Charles Yallowitz

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design & Illustration by Jason Pedersen

  Legends of Windemere

  Beginning of a Hero

  Prodigy of Rainbow Tower

  Allure of the Gypsies

  Family of the Tri-Rune

  The Compass Key

  Curse of the Dark Wind

  Sleeper of the Wildwood Fugue

  The Merchant of Nevra Coil

  The Mercenary Prince

  Tribe of the Snow Tiger

  Charms of the Feykin

  The Spirit Well

  Dedication

  To everyone who has entered Windemere

  And left their mark upon its soul

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Prologue

  The gods and goddesses of Windemere begin the unexpected council meeting with a flurry of heated arguments. It is no different than their normal gatherings, but they soon realize there is a blossoming strangeness to their surroundings. For some, it is merely that Ram the War God is not on his metallic throne, the stallion-headed primordial nowhere to be found on Ambervale. Others note that the majestic amphitheater is shedding pebbles, which bounce until they reach the outer cliff and roll into the hungry, churning ocean. The flowers and vines are gradually losing their vivid colors no matter what the nature deities do to revive them, which leads to ephemeral tears of sadness and frustration. When a snarling wind blows in from the north, a palpable bitterness silences everyone in attendance and causes the more sensitive members to gasp for air. The immortals who thrive off destruction and death find themselves invigorated, but there is an underlying sense of violation that stops them from enjoying the extra energy. Not that the uncomfortableness prevents the hurling of bold accusations that the darker and more mischievous deities are overstepping their bounds and interfering with mortals. Screams for the sealing of all those who can be considered evil in nature are met with bellowing threats and promises of vengeance. Within an hour, the gods and goddesses are ready to come to blows and only Gar the Knowledge Lord has bothered to repeatedly ask who called the meeting in the first place. Those around him try to blame their hated enemies, which adds more chaos to the already hectic situation.

  The real answer to his question comes when a crimson portal rises from the center of the amphitheater and a chilling laugh rolls from its depths. After centuries of never being challenged, the immortal caretakers of Windemere feel an unfamiliar chill run up their spines and steal their voices. It becomes true fear when they witness a pair of ghostly arms burst from the portal and carefully adjust their ruffled sleeves that gradually solidify. Gripping the sides of the steaming gateway, the astral form of Baron Arthuru Kernaghan emerges and basks in the beautiful sight before him. The immortal’s presence drains some of Ambervale’s energy and gives his ebony hair an ethereal sheen that enchants the younger deities. Their natural defenses struggle to push back against his magical and psychic influence, many of them coming close to falling to their knees. Grinning at some familiar faces and licking his lips at those who ascended after his defeat, the ancient warlord revels in the attention. As if sitting on an invisible chair, the Baron hovers above the portal and has a spectral goblet appear in his hand, which he slowly raises above his head.

  Stomping footsteps prevent the intruder from making his toast, all attention turning to the amphitheater’s entrance. Adorned in layers of golden platemail and carrying a giant spear, Ram bravely walks within inches of the portal to assume his throne. Refusing to be intimidated, the God of War stares down at the flickering astral form and releases plumes of smoke from his nostrils. A gentle rumble shakes the entire island while the fallen pebbles roll back into their ancient place on the amphitheater. One materializing from the shadows and the other from a beam of light, Gabriel and Zaria move to flank the portal. Drawing their blades, the pair prepare for an attack even though they know that the Baron’s power has not grown strong enough to physically threaten them. It is a display done entirely to bolster support from the other deities in case they are forced to step onto the battlefield. The defiance of the three powerful beings helps to relax their brethren and prevent them from retreating to the safety of their personal pocket dimensions.

  “I believe it is rude to interrupt a guest when he wishes to toast his respected hosts,” the Baron states, brandishing his own blade. His astral form stabs ahead with the slender rapier and the portal churns in response to his prodding. “As you can see, the curse continues to hold and protect you from me. So, you can put your weapons away and relax. I am merely a phantom at the edge of Windemere’s consciousness, which means it is only a matter of time before I fully return. Especially if your precious champions are unable to kill me before I take that first step out of my home. It is interesting that the Great Manipulator has failed to give his weapons the advantage of battlefield familiarity. Do you truly think they can destroy me in my own home? I thought I taught you better.”

  “You did, but my predecessor set some things in stone,” Gabriel replies, his black hair weaving around his shoulders like angry serpents. With a hissing breath, he lowers his longsword and takes a few cautious steps back. “I worked with what I was given and made changes where I could, but the champions have always been meant to journey to your castle. After all, a defeat in your home would be much more humiliating. Did you really come here to discuss the prophecy, old foe?”

  “He is here to gloat and threaten,” Zaria replies as she moves closer. Her red hair becomes more flame-like when the Baron’s astral form drops to the ground and reaches out to pass its fingers through her flawless cheek. “Do not even pretend to touch me when your intentions are vile and impure. The fact that you called this meeting makes me sad, Arthuru. You have gained so much power and influence, but you still insist on doing harm to others. This is why I now see a monster whenever I look at you. Yet, I do hold onto some hope that you will make the right decision when the time comes. Please realize that surrendering to the champions and swearing to be a good man can end the prophecy too.”

  “I am sorry, but your manipulations are not appreciated. Especially when I have heard you speak about me with passionate hate and fear,” the Baron whispers before attempting to walk through the goddess. The curse stops him before he can finish taking the last step, the ancient prison yanking him back to the portal’s center. “Even if I surrender, this irritating spell cannot be broken and I w
ould spend eternity wandering Shayd and the Chaos Void. You speak of me swearing to be a good man, but battle is the only way for me to be free. One would think that everyone here could understand my situation considering your foolish Law of Influence does the same to you. Windemere is your kingdom, but you will always be watching most of it from the outside. Simply talking to a mortal can result in being sealed, which means you must remain isolated and travel in secret. Explain to me how that is fair to the most powerful beings in our world.”

  Before Zaria can argue, the amphitheater is shaken by Ram’s spear slamming against the ground. The War God’s mane sparks with lightning and fire circles his eyes, making the other deities fear that he is about to attack. Instead, he sternly points at a beautiful chaos elf sitting in the front row. Ambrosine adjusts her high collar and erases the long sleeves from her crimson dress, the casual actions done to stall for time. She has yet to look in the Baron’s direction, the sight of her infamous father being outside of Shayd making her worry that a dark, painful punishment is in her future. For centuries, she has trusted in Gabriel’s power and manipulations, but an inkling of doubt has burrowed into her rapidly beating heart. Sensing that her brethren are waiting for her to speak, the Chaos Elf Goddess stands and gracefully walks to her husband’s side. Taking his arm, she aims his sword at her father and leans against the Destiny God’s armored body.

  “Do not listen to what this man says. While Zaria may still hope that there is goodness in him, I know that he is an evil creature,” Ambrosine announces, her melodic voice traveling over the crowd. Running her hand across Gabriel’s chest, she creates black vines that stretch from his platemail and grow toothy mouths to snap at the astral intruder. “Even after all of these centuries, I know my father far too well. He looks at others as tools, enemies, and victims, but nothing more than that. Those who are foolish enough to ally themselves with his dream of destroying the Law of Influence will inevitably find themselves at the wrong end of his blade. After all, this crusade is built entirely out of heartbreak, which means he is not thinking rationally. What do you think will happen if he destroys our Law and Zaria still rejects him? Will the Forgotten Baron accept such a fate or destroy everything and everyone she holds dear, which would include many of us here? Long ago, father, I said you were a mad dog that needed to be put down and I stand by that statement today.”

  “Why is it that my sons are so loyal while my daughters continually attempt to stab me in the back?” asks the Baron with a cruel smirk that curls his beard. Taking a sip from his goblet, he makes a throwing motion with his other hand and sends a rock bouncing through the portal. “All of this can be discussed in private since you know where to find me. At least until I am free and make it so that none of you can leave Ambervale. If you are so content to be prisoners then you should get the full experience. On the day that I conquer Windemere, none of you will be allowed to step beyond these shores ever again unless you want to incur my full wrath. Aside from seeing some old faces and admiring the new ones, today’s visit is really to deliver that promise. If your precious champions fall then your flimsy connection to the mortal world will be broken.”

  “Which is why they will not fail,” Gabriel replies as he attempts to step forward. He is surprised to find that Ambrosine has created vines inside of his armor, their ends fastening him to the ground. “Thank you, my love. I nearly forgot what kind of man I am dealing with. Losing my temper would only make the situation worse. There is more to your visit than what you are claiming. After all, nothing you do is solely for pleasure, Arthuru, including leveling threats and gloating. Are you hoping to force some of us to attack and become sealed because the Law you despise still protects you?”

  The Baron chuckles and claps his hands before taking a bow, the sound of applause erupting from inside the portal. “It crossed my mind and I am disheartened to see that you almost fell for such a simple ruse. All three of you have seen within my heart, so I always assume nothing I do can shock or trick you. I see confusion in all of your eyes. You should know that not a day goes by that I do not think of the wife who was denied to me and my traitorous daughter and son-in-law. Have you ever considered that the Law of Influence protects you from my vengeance since I know you can only act in self-defense? We are both prevented from taking the first shot outside of the monotonous game that we have played for centuries.”

  “There is something you are not telling us,” Zaria whispers more to herself than anyone who can hear her. Dropping her blade, the Goddess of Purity turns away from the portal and searches for signs of a magical trap. “I am sure others sense that something is wrong here. The threats and enjoying the new extension of his cage are nothing more than juvenile indulgences. Not entirely out of character for you, Arthuru, but there is a disturbing glint in your eyes. What have you done?”

  The Baron flashes a charming smile before sinking through the portal and turning it into a quivering mass of raw energy. With streaks of lightning and ear-shuddering hums, the magic transforms into an illusion that everyone sees from the front no matter where they are sitting. A warped tree blooms out of the ground, the thick trunk covered in rough bark and every naked branch ending in a needle-like point. None of the deities are sure of what they are supposed to be thinking or feeling since the sight is nothing more than an eyesore. Only Gabriel, Zaria, and Ambrosine hold their breath in anticipation of the illusion becoming a horrifying spectacle. The trio still jump when the bark snaps open and a familiar figure is expelled from the wood, which spews ghostly blood onto the ground.

  Hands and shoulders pinned by gnarled stakes and legs splayed by coarse ropes, Luke Callindor shivers in agony. His clothing has been reduced to rags that barely cover the seeping wounds on his bruised body. One of his arms has been flayed to the bone, but the skeletal digits continue to flex and wiggle. A pointy ear dangles from the side of his head and disappears as a spectral hand tears it off to make the half-elf scream. Blood-tinted tears stream down the young warrior’s face and his mouth moves, but the words are too faint to come out of the illusion. The gods and goddesses whisper amongst themselves as they watch the wounds heal and new ones appear, all of them wondering if they have the authority to erase the spell. With a giggling laugh, a metal girl begins chasing a three-tailed cat around the tree, the beast’s bladed tails whipping at Luke’s legs whenever it passes. Unable to watch the horror any longer, the good-hearted deities disappear from the amphitheater while their darker brethren continue to watch the show. It is only when Zaria claps her hands and sends a shockwave of light through the entire continent that the remaining immortals leave, except for herself and two others. Even with there only being three, the atmosphere remains tense and saturated with rage.

  “Not too long ago, you told me he would be ready,” Uli growls as she draws her blade and approaches Gabriel. The chocolate-haired Elven Warrior Goddess is about to raise her sword when Zaria steps in her way. “Do not get involved in this, Pure One. Luke Callindor is one of my devoted and he is in the hands of that monster. He has only been a prisoner for a few hours and has already been put through more torture than he could have imagined. At this rate, he will break and pray for death before the others can save him.”

  “Have faith in your devoted, Uli. Luke Callindor has proven his strength and courage many times,” Zaria swears, refusing to back down from her angry friend. A high-pitched scream erupts from the illusion, the burst of sound sending a chill through the Purity Goddess’s core. “Please do not give up on him. We have no idea if this is true or not. Luke could be an unharmed prisoner and this is merely an attempt to rattle us. Please do not fall to your anger. Although he is not praying to you, he needs the strength from feeling that you are watching over him.”

  Unwilling to talk or calm down, Uli darts around her friend and charges Gabriel from his right. She is cautious and ready to dodge a spell from the more powerful god, but he shows no sign of having noticed her approach. Focused entirely on the Destiny God, she is unabl
e to stop Zaria from moving back into her path and blocking her sword. Enraged and fueled by the pain of her follower, Uli delivers a booming punch to her friend’s stomach. The Purity Goddess falls to her knees and gasps like a suffocating fish, a calming spell winding from her lips. Seeing the white mist, the other woman leaps away and stands at attention while watching the enchantment weave between her and Gabriel.

  “Get out of my way, Zaria.”

  “Fighting between ourselves will not help him.”

  “I will not draw blood, but I want an answer.”

  “Then put down your blade and ask a question.”

  “Is this part of your plan, Gabriel?”

  Shaken from his trance, the Destiny God turns away from the illusion and stares at the goddesses with a blank expression. “I have to leave. A request will be made and I must be ready to respond. Please see if you can handle the situation on Ambervale, Zaria. Since this is an illusion, you should talk to Gandor about clearing this away. If the Illusion Lord is unable to do anything then seal off the amphitheater. I fear that this display will only get more unsightly as the days progress.”

  “Answer me, Hell Lord!” Uli screams with enough power to crack the stone around her booted feet. She pales at the sensation of a knife running along her cheek and is shocked to see Gabriel share her look of dread. “All I want to know is if you expected this to happen. You have repeatedly asked me to have faith in you, especially since you put my devoted on the path of a champion. I believe you owe me the truth.”

  “I did not expect this, dear Uli,” the Destiny God replies as his body fades away. Gazing at the illusion, he winces when Luke’s leg is violently snapped at the knee. “I am sorry, but this is beyond my control. The last Callindor will suffer more than anyone has since the days our enemy walked among the mortals. His bones will break and his skin will tear before being healed. Then the process will start again before the pain of his previous session has had time to pass.” Gabriel disappears entirely, leaving only his voice to say what Uli and Zaria fear is the truth. “Then Luke Callindor will shatter.”