Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1)

by Jasper B. Hammer

  “Me too,” said Nosgrim, lying down.

  “Get as much sleep as you want,” said Ranthos, “Nothing will change.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  Ranthos snickered.

  They sat for a while longer in silence.

  Ranthos remembered something. He sat up.

  “What is it?” asked Bell.

  “I need to talk to Blossom.”

  “What for?” asked Nosgrim.

  “I need to somehow stay inside my dream.”

  “What?” they both said, sitting up as well.

  “I didn’t tell you two?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Oh,” said Ranthos, crawling to his feet. “I’m sharing a dream with the Lamb’s Head because of the rot in my side. But I keep waking up, so I need Blossom to put me to sleep for a longer amount of time so that I can explore the dream properly.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” said Nosgrim, “Who told you all this?”

  “Alrys.”

  “Are you sure you have to do this? Is it dangerous?” asked Bell.

  “I can’t imagine it’s any more dangerous than a nightmare at its worst.”

  “But what happens if you can’t wake from a nightmare?” asked Bell.

  Ranthos hadn’t thought about it. “I’ll have to see.”

  “Sharing a dream with the Lamb’s Head?!” said Nosgrim, “I don’t think that’s too wise.”

  “And you want to explore it deeper?!” said Bell. “That sounds very dangerous.”

  “I don’t know much more than either of you,” said Ranthos, “But I trust Alrys. And he said I should explore it.”

  They didn’t have much to say back, but they smelled concerned. Ranthos nodded and rushed off to Blossom, who was sitting with Alrys.

  “Cub!” said Alrys, “We were just discussing your dream.”

  “Hello, Ranthos,” said Blossom with a little wave.

  “Can you put me to sleep?” Ranthos asked, straight to the point. His limbs were fairly sore from the training, and he was weary from the days travel; he didn’t imagine it would be too difficult.

  “Yes we can,” said Alrys with a sudden grin, “Well… She can.” He buried a seed in the ground.

  Blossom stood and took a certain stance with her feet. She took a number of specific steps, like some sort of dance, and her atvyyrk began to glow again, bright green and gold hues, as the glowing flecks wafted off and landed over the seed. Within the blink of an eye, the seed sprouted, without sunlight, and without any water. The small leaves twirled and spun as they grew larger and larger. Blossom continued her dance until the plant had grown into a sizable mass of bright blue leaves whose veins began to shimmer and glow. Small tendrils uncurled from the leaves and bean to blink and glitter like starlight.

  Ranthos’ eyes widened and he was left speechless. He’d never seen a plant light up before, much less grow this fast. “What…”

  “This is called woten,” said Blossom, “A type of plant from the Bzo lands… Combined with a little magic.”

  “What does it do?” asked Ranthos, kneeling down to touch the leaves, whose little tendrils curled around his finger in response.

  “We can brew the leaves into a tea that will put you to sleep for however long you like.”

  “Does the tea glow?”

  “Does the tea glow?” Alrys repeated with a shake of his head. “Of course. Of course the tea glows.”

  “I’ve never had tea,” said Ranthos. “Never smelled right to me.”

  “This certainly will not be your favorite,” said Alrys.

  “It is a bit strong,” said Blossom, inspecting the leaves. “But before you drink it, you must understand. That if—”

  “Good Heavens!” said Bell, snuck up from behind them.

  “What is this? Is it trollweed?” asked Nosgrim.

  Alrys chuckled as they shoved their way past him to inspect the plant. “Woten, actually. From Bzo.”

  “Bzo…” repeated Nosgrim, trying to remember where that was.

  “I think it's wonderful,” said Bell. She turned to Blossom and put her hands on her hips, “What are the side effects? Is Ranthos in any—”

  “Bell! Look it grabbed my finger!” shouted Nosgrim.

  “What?!” Bell turned and began to inspect it similarly.

  “Are there any side effects?” asked Ranthos.

  “None that should last too long,” said Blossom. “You’ll be the slightest bit loopy once you wake.”

  “How long will I be asleep?”

  “That depends,” said Alrys, “How long do you think you’ll need.”

  Ranthos thought for a moment, “In a full night’s rest, I only exist in the correct dream for a few minutes. I’ll need at least double the time, if not more.”

  Alrys creased his brow, “That’s a bit dangerous. You’d be so deep into the dream that you’d struggle to wake even once it was time.”

  “I want to learn what I have to from this dream,” said Ranthos. “I say it's worth the risk.”

  Blossom clasped her hands together, “When you’re prompted to wake—”

  Alrys didn’t seem to need any more convincing than Ranthos’ willingness, and said, “Then it’s decided!”

  Blossom seemed to glare at him.

  Alrys dropped his shoulders. “He’s ready.”

  She paused for a moment before speaking, “If the dream goes awry. If Lamb’s Head decides to torment him… He will hardly be able to tell the difference between the nightmare and reality. Everything will hurt the same as though it were happening in real life, and if he dies…”

  “What if he dies?” said Nosgrim and Bell together, standing straight up and interposing themselves between Alrys and Blossom and Ranthos, crossing their arms.

  Alrys hid a smile.

  “If he dies in the dream, he might not wake—if we give him the suggested amount of woten.” said Blossom. “Trapped in the Lamb’s Head’s nightmare until his body is starved to death.”

  “Unacceptable,” said Nosgrim.

  Bell nodded.

  “I’ll do it,” said Ranthos, placing a reassuring hand on Bell and Nosgrim’s shoulders. “We’ve all risked death before.”

  “Nosgrim hasn’t,” said Bell.

  “I haven’t had the opportunity,” huffed Nosgrim.

  “If the cub wishes to enter the dream, then let him,” said Alrys.

  “Alrys…” said Blossom.

  “No, Blossom,” said Alrys, “I think this necessary. And the cub is a theromancer. He can remove the rot once he wakes if it becomes too much.”

  “What about our travel tomorrow?” asked Nosgrim, “If Ranthos isn’t awake, then we couldn’t leave, could we?”

  “Vhurgus can carry him easily. The man is strong as an ox and twice as big.”

  Bell turned to face Ranthos and took his hands in hers, “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes,” Ranthos said without thinking. He looked down at her distraught little face and a small smile pulled across his own. “Make something nice for me while I’m gone, would you?”

  Bell smiled a dimply smile, “I will.” She turned to Nosgrim, gave him a nod, and then to Alrys and Blossom, “Nosgrim and I will allow it.”

  “If something goes wrong…” Nosgrim ran his finger over his throat menacingly.

  Blossom laughed.

  Alrys kept a serious face and thanked them well, “This shall be a most enlightening venture for your dear Ranthos. He will learn much that will aid us in our quest to destroy the curse of undeath.”

  Blossom collected a few choice leaves while he spoke, and walked towards the fire without a word. Ranthos couldn’t tell what she was feeling precisely, she was too far to smell now, and she conveniently hid behind Alrys’ hair oil. He couldn’t understand her as well as he would like on account of that mask. He still didn’t understand why she wore it.

  “Say your goodbyes, Ranthos has much to do,” said Alrys to Bell and Nosgrim.
<
br />   They turned to face Ranthos. Bell embraced him, and mumbled something sweet Ranthos couldn’t quite make out. Nosgrim nodded tersely and said, “Kill… them up?” He shook his head. He didn’t have a good line. “Goodnight.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” said Ranthos.

  “Try two or three mornings from now,” said Alrys.

  “What?!” they all exclaimed.

  “No, no,” said Ranthos, “That makes sense. I need as much time as I can get.”

  “What about water?” asked Nosgrim.

  “He’ll certainly be thirsty when he wakes, won’t he?” said Alrys.

  “I can give you water while you sleep!” offered Bell.

  Alrys shook his head, “You’ll drown him.”

  Bell’s eyes went wide, “I shall give him no water.”

  “Thank you,” said Ranthos.

  “Give me a moment with the cub, would you?” asked Alrys.

  Nosgrim and Bell nodded and said goodnight a second time, before marching off and immediately starting some argument that Ranthos didn’t understand.

  “You’re a brave cub,” said Alrys, with a sigh. “I will not lie to you, the dream of such a powerful magician as the Lamb’s Head is a dangerous place.”

  “How so?” asked Ranthos.

  “He has control over the entire world,” said Alrys, “While you only have yourself and your magics to rely upon.”

  “Magics?” asked Ranthos.

  “Blossom and theriac. It’s very simple,” said Alrys, “You’ll see what I mean shortly. Follow.” He led him to the fire where Vhurgus set a pot of water to boil, and Sarky used some sort of magic to dry out the leaves. It must have been alkahest, that crystal thing. Though Ranthos didn’t see any crystals.

  “Ranthos,” nodded Vhurgus.

  Sarky waved a hello.

  Ranthos sat down beside Alrys and Blossom. He hadn’t been all alone with all of the older folks before. He was a tad nervous, and rang his hands together.

  Blossom dropped the leaves into the pot, and stirred it with a stick.

  “Vhurgus,” asked Sarky, “Did you happen to retrieve my lute from the ambush?”

  “Of course,” said Vhurgus, “I’ll go fetch it.”

  “A lute?” said Ranthos, “You play the lute?”

  Sarky nodded, “Not especially well, but yes.”

  “Better than any of the rest of us,” said Alrys.

  “And Vhurgus sings,” whispered Blossom quietly.

  “Really?”

  “He’s got a beautiful voice,” said Alrys.

  “Really?”

  “Brings me to tears,” said Sarky with her hand to her chest dramatically.

  Vhurgus returned, and handed Sarky a lute with a long neck and a small body. It was carved and lacquered delicately. Sarky was on the other side of the fire though, so Ranthos couldn’t discern what exactly any of the designs were.

  “What are we talking about?” asked Vhurgus.

  “Oh nothing,” said Sarky, hiding a smile, before beginning to pluck the strings and fiddle with the tuners. Ranthos watched intently, trying to make sense of it. He’d never been able to play an instrument—never had access to one. But he did enjoy fooling around with bowstrings.

  “Ranthos,” asked Blossom, “Have you ever played music?”

  “Not really,” said Ranthos, “But I like the way my bowstring sounds sometimes.”

  “That’s nice!” said Blossom. “Perhaps Sarky will teach you to play it properly.”

  Ranthos nodded.

  Sarky tried each of her strings again, and then strummed through a few chords. She seemed satisfied, though she said something to Alrys about needing new strings when they reached town. He nodded, and she positioned the lute in her lap more comfortably. She closed her eyes and breathed in time, her fingers dancing over the strings like a spider over its web. Blossom began to sway her head to the sound, and Alrys’ ears perked as he heard it take form.

  It was a soft sound that betrayed a depth that Ranthos didn’t quite understand. Ranthos had never heard such an intricate sound. It was almost frightening that she could create such a sound that enraptured him so. Any attempts to force logic upon her music were cast aside by wonder. It was as marvellous as all the magic Ranthos had seen.

  Blossom quietly poured out a cup of blue-glowing woten tea, and handed it to Ranthos, mouthing, ‘Hot,’ to him, so as not to interrupt the performance. Ranthos took it in his hands and blew the luminescent steam off the top of the cup. He could feel his nose wet from the heat, and found a bit of blue residue on his hand after he wiped it away.

  Alrys clasped Ranthos’ shoulder and nodded him a silent goodnight.

  As he sipped the scuttishly bitter drink and lost himself in Sarky’s music, Ranthos felt himself drifting, his thoughts flowing freely and effortlessly. His mind danced through all that they had experienced, from the burning house, to the buck, to the barruses, and to the hyena. Joy, hope, guilt, and fear all rushed through his mind, the delicate rhythm of Sarky’s music preventing him from grasping a single feeling for too long.

  His thoughts danced through fond memories of his and Bell’s childhood, dressing in rags and pretending they were knights. He thought of the day he finally bought his bow with his worm money. The man called him ‘worm-boy,’ or something else vaguely rude but unclever. It might’ve actually been Yannick’s father who sold him that. Ranthos thought that was poetic, but couldn’t quite place the metaphor.

  Sarky continued playing, her thin fingers pricking the strands of her web, luring him deeper in.

  “What are you going to do with those rocks?” asked Bell through a gap in her teeth, sitting on her cot in the orphanage.

  “I don’t know,” replied Ranthos, staring at a small pile with wide, greedy eyes, “I just want them… To keep. I like them.”

  Ranthos blinked and felt like he had passed a whole night away, his gaze wandering into the bright depths of his swirling cup of starlight.

  Remy arrived from nowhere at all, holding a small quail in his mouth. A gift! He curled up silently in Ranthos’ lap, seemingly knowing that Ranthos would dream of him.

  Sarky continued, and Vhurgus now joined in with a deep baritone that felt like the rumble of a volcano, or the creaking of heavy oaken beams. He sang in a language Ranthos didn’t understand, a language further distorted by his growing drowsiness.

  The music lulled him deeper into his own mind.

  Ranthos gazed into a puddle in the Tatzelwood. He watched in horror as his reflected eyes slowly changed into those of the buck. Spheres of intelligent nothing. A dark abyss lay behind them—the twisted Weird.

  What did it mean? Was it an echo of the corruption to come were he to fail? Was that a premonition of the corruption he might find in this dream. Finally, in the wake of such a frightful memory, Ranthos could connect with a single emotion.

  “It’s working,” Alrys seemed to say, smelling Ranthos’ fear.

  Working? Was this the goal?

  Ranthos looked up at Alrys, his eyelids heavy and his mouth unable to speak coherently.

  Yannick loomed above him, cursing and spitting, fogbloom hanging thick on his breath. He arced down at him with Nosgrim’s cleaver. Wilbur’s blood poured hot onto Ranthos’ back.

  Ranthos sipped the final drops of his tea.

  Bell walked off. She turned around every moment or two to look at him. He couldn’t say a word to her, she was too far. She couldn’t say a word to him, she was leaving, following close after Vhurgus.

  Ranthos lay in a pathetic heap, bloodied and broken. Alrys frantically whispered prayers over Sarky’s fallen body. Bell walked off into the unknown, without him. She was defenseless, so far away that were she to die, he would have been the one who killed her. He brought her out here, and he let her leave.

  Ranthos dropped his empty cup, and Remy looked up at him curiously. Ranthos locked eyes with the cat, and seemed to fall headlong into them, accompanied only by Sarky’s lull
aby.

  33

  Pillars of Dusty Sunlight

  Pillars of dusty sunlight shone in the shaded glen around Ranthos and the buck, its heavy head hung low, its jagged crown shattered, and its skull lacking any skin. It breathed harshly, coughing and wheezing desperately. The golden flecks in the air spiraled around its lolling mouth and its torn throat with each of the creature’s breaths.

  Ranthos had returned, and ripped free of the moss connecting him to the mossy wall behind him. His right hand was marked with the colorful ink of the blossom atvyyrk.

  He looked the buck deep in the eye as it spoke. Ranthos watched its eyes delve into his own as they locked together, immortal enemies.

  “You broke my body,” hissed the dangling lips of the buck with a raspy voice, “But I live. Death has died,” spat the buck, shaking its broken head. “No longer are we dust,” the oozing lips of the creature proclaimed. Worms slithered through its skull. “No longer do we fear Eternity. We have become Eternity.” The buck stepped closer.

  Ranthos tried to flee, but found himself grappled by rent creatures, like the carcasses in the Labyrinth, each one rotting away and oozing with death, pulling each of his limbs down against the ground. Flies covered his skin as the creatures tore into his flesh with broken bones and ferocious teeth.

  Ranthos took a deep breath, in time with a distant leyline fount, and channeled his magic through his hands, filling the creatures with theriac. As the scent of the rot disappeared, so did Ranthos’ fear of them, and their control of him.

  Then in a surge of fury, Ranthos pulled himself loose of the creatures, rolling to the side. He raised his blossom arm to the buck and commanded that the motes of light waft off his skin, and cover the moss that hung about him.

  The buck stopped, surprised, and turned his face toward the moss, which began to light with its sprouts of magical energy, seeking out the blood of the carcasses, growing faster and faster.

  The moss washed over the ground like a wave, growing further and further over the corpses.