Grimoire Fantastica

by Brett P. S.

  “Death is a strange thing,” I say. “So peaceful.”

  Running fingers across the runes, I notice the language is an old form of the magical words I use for spell craft, likely dated by at least a century, if not more. I might be able to decipher some of the script…

  “Voici le monstre qui est faim.”

  Strange…are they referring to the Grimoire or an actual monster?

  “A hungry beast, eh?”

  The rest of the runes are customary of a binding spell, which means whoever put the Grimoire here not intended to release it as easily as the push of a door. Still, I’m certain I can overcome this without too much fervor. Grandfather could break this spell easily, but I at least have to try.

  “Who goes there?” bellows a deep and forceful voice.

  “It…” I stutter, “It is I…Hector Grevant, heir to the Grevant name and grandson of Reinstalle Grevant.”

  “Grevant, you say?” It asks. “I recall a Grevant placing me here. How fortuitous for an heir to the family name to come slithering back.”

  “I mean you no ill will guardian. I wish to have a look at the Grimoire Fantastica.”

  “You?” It says. “My senses deceive me! What Grevant would wish of the book?”

  This entity must know quite a bit about the family name, or at least more than father or grandfather ever told. It would reason that way, of course, trapped here for a century, a most ancient being.

  “I would,” I reply.

  “Interesting, wizard. For what purpose do you seek it?”

  “I hear tales it can bring back the dead.”

  An unusually long moment of silence follows those words, perhaps as it ponders over my response. Vermin of all sorts scurry about, and the pitter and patter of tiny water droplets echo throughout these narrow mazes. I’ve come a long way, though honestly I’ve lost track of time.

  “It is possible,” it says. “You would need something of the deceased.”

  “I carry it with me as we speak,” I say, resting my hand on the satchel.

  “Know this, wizard. Fantastica is not a child’s plaything.”

  “I understand,” I answer.

  “And nothing wonderful comes without a price.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” The being chuckles insistently. “Well, pay my price.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A blood offering. Grant me a single finger, and I’ll let you pass.”

  Raising my hand, I gaze upon every digit, knowing how awful it would be to lose even one. What would grandfather say when I bring her back? He would look at me and see the mark of shame that his own heir chose to surrender to a lowly demon. I wonder…

  “And if I refuse?”

  “You would dare?”

  “What if I believe I can best you?”

  “A challenge, eh?” it asks, followed by a rich and ominous laugh, echoing through the many halls in my wake. It is enough to crack solid earth and make the hairs upon my back stand on end. “You make this far too wonderful!” it exclaims. “Very well, but if you lose, the price shall be far more steep.”

  I watch in awe as a shadowing figure emerges from within the rune-scarred gate, a gelatinous mass oozing from wood grains, not unlike the shadow demon from before, but this one feels much different. As it begins to manifest, the murky liquid takes shape, forming limbs, a torso, and finally eyes hearkening back to stories grandfather used to tell when I was a child. I hardly recall the creatures of which he spoke of on more than one occasion. They provoked such tears and frightful anguish. Now those tall tales that used to frighten a small boy have made themselves manifest to strike a hot iron at my bones.

  “Such a powerful form…” I shudder, amazed at the horned devil and his impressive stature.

  “Your move, wizard.”

  “Détruire!”

  I shout the word as loud as I can, spitting forth fire from fingertips in a fury that ends in a massive explosion. Dirt and smoke fill the air as my lungs fight desperately to keep afloat, though I imagine that should have harmed the devil at least.

  “Is that all?” it asks.

  “Oh my…”

  Squinting at a dark silhouette partially hidden by debris, I notice the devil raise its hand. I hear a sharp crackling noise grow ever shriller until a ringing in my ears tells me to run…run as fast as I can.

  “Now it’s my turn.”

  From the dust, a magnificent sparking bolt of what must be lightning whizzes by my head in an instant. Behind, an explosion erupts as it cracks the ground, sending balls of light shooting in complete disorder.

  I run away as fast as I can, ducking and winding through stone corridors the devil should know all too well. My chances of surviving this ordeal are slim to none, but there’s always a chance. No foe is invincible, but with constitution, it’s going to take all my strength.

  For a moment, I stop to catch my breath, wheezing heavily as I rest my hands against my knees, the echoing sound of large steps far behind.

  “He’s powerful…” I say, gasping.

  “You disappoint me wizard!” he yells. “Ten of you could not equal the Grevant who imprisoned me in this hellish crypt, and even he lacked the strength to put me down.”

  Hurriedly, I look around for a place to hide, finding naught but simple fixtures and broken barrels. It’s getting closer by the second, the thumping of footsteps growing louder consecutively.

  A spell might be useful at this point, but what? Oh wait, I remember now! Up ahead, I duck behind a three-way intersection, waiting for it to make its way as I chant the words, “parler…” canceling out my luminescence in the process.

  “I don’t have to kill you, remember?” I say.

  “Aye, but you’ll get nowhere with the cheap parlor tricks you call spells.”

  It approaches, the sound of a heavy breath permeating every mud-drenched hall as I still my own and lie in wait.

  “Where are you, wizard?”

  “Just follow my voice,” I say. “It can’t be that difficult, can it?”

  “You taunt me still? How futile.”

  It walks by me, not even noticing my own figure looming in a covered shade. My mortality reduces me to the thing I saw fit to slay, but this perspective should carry a different tale.

  “Enough Taunting!” I shout, rushing out, lashing at its form with, “Détruire!”

  “Bah !”

  “Détruire! Détruire! Détruire! Détruire!”

  Fire erupts within my belly, a burning magical energy searing my being to cast it this many times at once. An uncanny destructive force unleashes itself, shattering granite and tearing through the flesh of the horned devil as it cries out in distress.

  I’m barely able to stand, overcome with fatigue from such a burst of force, but that should do it. If not…well…

  “I’m done playing games, wizard!”

  A demonic hand lunges out of smoky mist, gripping my face and slamming it against cold cobblestone flooring and smearing my cheeks with blood and dirt as it skids. I gaze upward at its demonic figure, a majestic being looming overhead. I should never have challenged it. I should have offered my finger.

  “Now, pay my price or die where you lay.”

  However, to submit to a demon…

  “N…never…”

  “Poor choice,” it replies with a calm grin. “Very well.”

  To ignite a final bolt, it raises a hand up to show several small dots of luminescence brightening with increasing magnitude.

  “Hector, please do it!”

  “Wha…Vanessa?”

  “Hector, what good is it to perish now?”

  I mumble with my remaining strength, “Wait, guardian.”

  “Hm? Has the Grevant reconsidered?”

  “Take whatever you need.”

  “Very well,” it says with a grin. “I did say the price would be steep, however.”

  “I don’t c
are. As long as it gets me to the Grimoire.”

  “Hold out your hand, wizard.”

  And I do. With a swift arm, he lops it off at the wrist, leaving a bloody stump quickly grown over by skin with some kind of magic. The pain is momentary, followed by an emptiness knowing I’ll never truly feel that hand again.

  “The gate is open…for now.”

  Chapter VI

  The Fool

  “No! A thousand times no!”

  “But you KNOW it would work!”

  In the corner of my mind’s eye, a large man echoes his voice, a conversation from earlier ringing as clear as if he were standing before me right now. However, he isn’t I’m afraid. Not here, at least. Not now. Dim light from my candle glistens off soil and ash as I pass by vases and riddled corpses all the same. Cobwebs brush against my tunic and rub against my face, a sign some might say I’m going somewhere I shouldn’t. Grandfather has nearly a sixth sense about this sort of thing, so I decided it was best not to use any spells…at least not until I got what I came for.

  “My child,” I hear him say, “There exists no magic in this world that can bring back the dead. Leave it be.”

  “But…”

  “I said…leave it be.”

  Like a foolish boy, I stood there. I let grandfather have his way.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll talk about this further,” he said, “but for tonight, get some rest. You’ll need it.”

  Ah, but there can be no rest for an aching heart.

  “This should be the one,” I say, happening upon a new marble coffin.

  Kneeling down, I set my candle in front, a soft glow defining various grooves carved into its surface. There’s a bit of dust but not nearly as much as the older family members, which would make sense. It’s only been a few months after the fact.

  Carefully, I brush away the excess with a damp cloth so to better read,” Here lies Vanessa Faldon.” Hurriedly, I grab hold of the lid and hoist it away, the massive slab breaking in two as it falls overhead.

  “I…I can’t believe it.”

  To my utter surprise, her body is perfectly preserved, kept in silent beauty as it was the last time I saw her alive. Grandfather must’ve cast a spell to make it like this but to do it to her and no other ragged corpse…

  “Grandfather, you’re a clever beast.”

  It would be so much easier if she at least appeared dead, but she looks as if…as if she were sleeping.

  “Forgive me, Vanessa.”

  I take out my knife and reach with it deep inside the stone gutter, holding still above her wrist.

  “Very soon, you’ll be whole again.”

  Chapter VII

  Sacrifice

  “Where is it?”

  I scramble about, practically tearing pages as I whisk them past, my only hand thumbing through section after section with brilliant ferocity. There are nearly a thousand pages to the Grimoire, a decrepit tome at least as thick as my hand is wide.

  Realizing my frantic nature, I quickly calm myself. The hard part is over or so it would appear. For clarity, I gaze around the chamber, a small windowless cell filled with candlelight filling me up with some kind of vitality, strength like I’d never felt before. I tried blowing one out some few minutes ago, though it simply relit moments after, likely an effect of the Grimoire. Still though, I am amazed at getting even this far. It feels such a long way from home…

  “Have you looked enough, wizard?” says the demon door, shadily manifesting a figure within the room.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Being bound to this gate is boring if nothing else. You seem more interesting than the rats, at least.”

  Well, if it must know, “I’m looking for a spell.”

  It replies, “But of course, though which one? I could help you find it.”

  I reminisce over the hand I once possessed, what now calls itself a lump of flesh severed at the wrist, and the devil wants to bargain further?

  “I’ve had enough of your help today.”

  “Tonight, actually.”

  “What?” I say, a bit astounded.

  “I see you’ve lost track of time,” the gate replies. “It’s the middle of the night, you see.”

  Bah, “You’ve nothing better to do than count the seconds?”

  “You’d be surprised what can occupy one’s time when there’s enough of it.”

  How interesting, to say the least…a demon of such strength reduced to eccentricities and idle banter. I almost feel sorry for it. I really almost do.

  “It’s to bring back the dead,” I say.

  “Marvelous,” it shouts. “You should turn to page 362, near the center.”

  That’s surprising.

  “You really do have time on your hands.”

  “I’ve read every page a hundred ways over. If there was a spell that could free me, I wouldn’t be here.”

  It’s hard to place whether or not this creature speaks the truth, but I should be able to tell the difference between a curse and a proper spell. It surely shouldn’t expect me to cast an erroneous tragedy on myself, now would it?

  “Who was the grievant who bound you to this place, demon?” I ask.

  It pauses for a moment, blurting out an answer in jovial tone.

  “One hundred and fifty-three years ago,” the creature begins, “it would have been a wizard by the name of Degras.”

  I recognize that name! It was, “My great grandfather. I never knew him.”

  “That is because I killed him.”

  “You what?” I shout.

  “It was a thrilling battle. Poor fool kept chanting words and managed to bind me with the last of his strength before I ripped him in half.”

  Really now? I should consider myself lucky.

  “I’m surprised you hadn’t done the same to me.”

  It sighs, uttering, “Morals can change over the years.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides, when you only have a few toys, you try not to break them.”

  Finally, the last page cracks over, an end step in a long line of whimsical shuffling fingers I see the moment the demon is finished. These eyes pour over intricate designs laid in fine ink and embossed with what must be gold and silver ground from soft powder.

  “This is…remarkable!”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  The words for the spell read, “Réveiller de Sommeil.”

  “Take your time, wizard.”

  “What does this inscription mean?”

  I hold up the Grimoire for the door to see, motioning toward a small illustration depicting a pentacle missing the top-most point. It’s strange.

  “The price.” It says, chuckling. “Did you assume you’d merely be drained of magical energy?”

  “I thought as much.”

  “It’s going to be more than a hand, I’m afraid.”

  Our family seal is marked by a pentacle, and in our lineage, the upper triangle represents a human soul, but what is meant by the symbolism here?

  “A sacrifice of spirit?”

  “Aye, just a portion though.”

  The glyph depicts a mark, something one must adorn during the ceremony, inscribed upon the body in some way. I can imagine where I draw it will affect the spell somehow. Better do it right. No worries. I’ve got a spare ink pen tucked away for this occasion, likely the last tool I’ll need for this long weary journey.

  “Here,” I say, inscribing the mark gently upon my forehead. “Grandfather always said magic comes from the mind.”

  It chuckles, admitting, “Perhaps your grandfather is right. Perhaps he’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean? Speak devil.”

  “You might end up losing more than magic if you place the mark there.”

  “So be it.”

  “What fun!” it exclaims. “Very well, wizard cast your spell and be done.”

  Chapter VIII

  Down
the Mountain

  Frigid winds cry out like lost children, meager little things alone and afraid for what might become. A shrill tone echoes throughout this snowy reservoir, what was once a bright and beautiful lake. Now, where I stand, there isn’t anything except a white and fluffy scar, what few fragments of ice sit, patiently waiting to return to a more natural state.

  “S-s-so cold,” I stutter, shivering.

  Reinstall gave me quite a bit of padding for the journey, but Hector’s charm is what brings warmth in the midst of wild winter. He’d imbued it will a quaint spell, some kind of protection from beasts, though I have to admit, I passed a bear and two cats so far and I’m only half way down the mountain. Hector is sweet, but as a wizard, he’s all but incompetent.

  “Doesn’t even c-c-conjugate verbs-s.”

  Shambling all the while, I carry on through the empty lakebed, crossing the third milestone, a shrine placed neatly atop the edge of a rocky cliff. Dried fruits and a few flowers that hadn’t been blow away lay at the base of the fixture, the stalks covered by small rocks frozen over by ice.

  “What’s this?”

  An offering, one of the tiny fruits has been eaten a little, a slimy residue of spit and drool still caked firmly to it. This one’s fresh, maybe a minute or two old. I notice a pungent air and a negativity that eluded my senses. Something hides…hunting me.

  Hastily, I whirl around to feel the icy sting of an arrow planted sharply into my thigh, but I won’t scream. Before another zings past, I take cover from behind the shrine, small rocks barely able to keep my figure hidden.

  “Découvrez!”

  I can see them now, highwaymen harboring fierce animosity. They must’ve been following me for a ways, making sure I was traveling alone. This lakebed makes for a perfect capture, wide-open scenery such that a novice could pin a hare.

  “Not bad.”

  There are four in all, a scout band for a much larger battalion, but as long as I defeat these ones, I can manage getting lost quick enough.

  “Détruisez avec le pouvoir!”

  From my fingertips, shoots forth a massive ball of fire and smoke, surrounded by a steamy mist as it travels across snow and ice, revealing hidden layers of dirt along the way. Within the second, it hits my mark, engulfing the area in a sea of fire and brimstone, scorching the land and any poor soul caught inside. Once the fire clears and the smoke settles, I notice nothing but a giant crater and charred remains left within.