Holding this bind-rune in her mind, she willed its essence into the magic circle that served as a barrier between the dark invading spirit and those within, in effect imbuing it with its protective virtues.
As she did so, the bluish edges of that ring of light began to glow bright green, taking on a shape that resembled a great encircling hedge with sharp thorns that tore at the fabric of the wraith’s subtle form, forcing the dark spirit back.
Yet every defence has its own unique weaknesses, which a cunning sorcerer will know how to exploit. The wraith wailed with rage in its retreat, but promptly countered with a spell of its own. From out of its shadowy substance there issued forth a dozen snaking tendrils like the tentacles of a jellyfish, which insinuated their way into the hedge, cannily avoiding the thorns and finding tiny gaps in the protective wall of energy and slithering through them.
As they breached Vana’s defences the tips of these tendrils expanded into large suckers resembling giant leeches which attached themselves to her haim, or soul-skin, and immediately began to sap her vital energy.
Vana leapt to her feet in answer to this threat, and drawing Icebreaker, attempted to fight them off. But each time she cut through one tentacle, three more sprang up in its place.
“All-father!” she cried desperately as the rapidly multiplying tentacles continued to suck the life from her. “Save me!”
A moment later the grey figure of a hooded old man appeared outside the circle. He was armed with a long spear, which he now thrust into the heart of the dark fetch of Ammon-Zul.
The black amorphous mass had grown stronger with borrowed energy, and now resembled an immense bloated spider with hundreds of legs. But as the spear-point struck home the dark blob shuddered violently, and letting out an ear-piercing shriek, all at once began to recoil and shrink, its tentacles violently tearing themselves from Vana’s haim in its hasty retreat.
Then the wounded fetch fled back with all speed to the one who had sent it; but not empty-handed, for it had succeeded in shearing off and stealing away a piece of Vana’s soul-skin, the loss of which she knew would cause her to sicken and die within a matter of hours.
The circle of protection collapsed into the ground as Vana fell, exhausted, to her knees. Nearby, Jerob slept still, oblivious to the spiritual battle that had been going on around him. Later he would speak of having had some strange and disturbing dreams that night, but would not be able to recall any details about them.
The old man approached Vana now and gently placed his hand upon her shoulder. She immediately felt refreshed, as though she had just woken from a sound sleep.
“All-father,” she greeted him softly. “I thank thee. I know thou hast greater concerns than the fate of a single warrior.”
He smiled with the fondness that those of great age reserve for the very young.
“All things concern me,” he replied, “from the fell deeds of giants to the trembling of the smallest leaf, for all are bound together in a great web without end. Yet now I must leave you, for the time being. Your immediate fate is no longer in my hands, but rather in the hands of one who is best not called upon except in direst need.”
Then he bent down to whisper in her ear: “You are a blade forged in passion and tempered by wisdom, my child; love is your sheath, and the world your whetstone.”
And with that he turned and disappeared into the night.
The Temple of Baal-Zebub (Tale I of the Valruna Saga) Page 3
