The Cursed Blood

by Jeremy Craig

  White Owl nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing, leaning on his staff and studying me from beneath the brim of his favorite cowboy hat as the Elf High King smiled a beaming smile at my approach, offering a slight courtly bow.

  “You are looking better,” King Rain appraised me, unsettlingly pupiless silver eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. “Yes, much better. It suits you.”

  I’m still not sure if he was talking about my now very elf-like pointy ears, silver hair, sinisterly black eyes, or my new clothes. It definitely wasn’t my confidence he was complimenting as the anticipation of this whole thing had me all but shaking.

  “I’m better than I was,” I managed with a shrug that nearly sent me to my knees as the cat again clawed at my back’s wounds that brought tears to my eyes and left my vision swimming and floundering in them.

  He caught and steadied me with a gentle but incredibly strong grip about the arm before anyone else could even move, patting my shoulder sympathetically. “Though not yet as good as you could be,” he finished my corny statement with a sad chuckle.

  “You will get better, you will heal, but not here I’m afraid.” He silenced me with a kind smile and gestured for me to let him finish. “The girl, this Warlock—her connection to you is dangerous. You may never heal should you stay in this realm.”

  At the time I hadn’t any idea what he was talking about. There wasn’t a place in Feydom Morgan couldn’t find me, and there was nothing about that I found bad. Still though our connection had been suspiciously silent of late, each night I longed to find her waiting in my dreams for me as I drifted into sleep.

  I had the sinking suspicion the Elf Lord had something to do with her not being there. He smiled at me and nodded, as not surprisingly the Wizard knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “The girl. She is dangerous. I cannot allow this unsavory connection of yours to unsettle the potential for peace. You, my fine young Darkling, may yet bring an end to this madness—” he frowned and looked about pausing mid thought. His guard behind me shifted uneasily as an unnaturally oppressive silence settled over Gramps’ lawn.

  “No.” The Elf Wizard gasped as he looked about, eyes narrowed to glowing silver slits of arcane fury. “No. No. Not now. I won’t allow it—”

  “Brother dearest.” The voice of the Wizard from the dungeons cackled sardonically. The words spat out like a foul taste as from a coalescing dark he fully materialized under a magnificent old birch tree, leaning heavily on his crystal topped staff.

  “You rather vaingloriously assume you have any choice in the matter.” The assertion ending in an insane cackle that built into a cold high laugh and ended in a fit of hacking wet coughs.

  “You’ve fallen to the Dark, Gideon.” The Elf King scowled and unsheathed a magnificent sword with a large, glowing, egg shaped emerald set into the pommel from out of nowhere, all the while glaring at his fellow Wizard with disgust.

  With his free hand he pulled me behind him and took up a martial stance. “Brother, I will not show you the mercy Eric was shown. Leave now, while you can.”

  The black robed, pointed hooded old man snickered, unfazed as he glanced about in mild curiosity. “You Elves, the elder races—you’re all the same, aren’t you? So arrogant. So utterly certain of your superiority, knowledge, and seats at the hierarchy of life. So confident in your grasp on power. So blind.”

  I felt the cold as he spoke, each word like an artic gust warning of a storm. I gaped about in horror as the Elves, White Owl, Fazool, Gramps, and Aunt Milly stood frozen mid pose, almost as if they were outside of time. Even faithful Manx was stilled like a painting, mid leap from the porch.

  A leaf, blown from the birch tree under which the Wizard stood hovered mid flutter from its branch from which a bird hung mid wing beat. All was still and unmoving—all save the Elvish High King and Gideon.

  Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world (which is entirely a feasible possibility) the Wizard turned his attentions back to his Elvin counterpart. “You think man beneath you. You think it impossible that one of us could rise higher than you, or ever know things you are ignorant of. Don’t you, brother?”

  “No, brother. Please, please, you are not yet past redemption. Do not make me do this,” King Efferieal Rain begged, even as his face hardened and he held his blade still and unwavering. “Do not be a fool!”

  Gideon sighed and shook his hooded head at this, the purple stone atop his iron staff pulsing ominously. “Blind, so very, very blind. And who do we have here?” He gazed at me coldly from the shadows of his hood and beckoned with one nearly skeletal, long sharply yellow nailed finger.

  With a groaning creak, roots snaked up from the earth, sprouting vicious red thorns and thick with clumps of dirt, leaves, and grass they waved about like the tentacles of some eldritch leviathan of the depths and snaked forward.

  Some went for King Rain and the Elves. Others came for me. Binding hands, feet, and arms to my body in a constricting, tearing wrap of horrifically thorny birchwood life root that drew me from the ground and toward the Wizard, who scratched at his jaw and studied me curiously as I was brought before him.

  “I smell her in you. You must be the Darkling boy my dear adopted daughter has been protecting, I presume, Ben is it?” he asked softly as the Elvish High King battled roots of his own with frantic abandon that Gideon simply ignored as he gazed at me where I dangled.

  He reached forth with a claw like nailed finger and dabbed at one of the cuts his roots had sliced into my chest, his touch sickeningly stirring at my gift as he brought the fingertip to his lips then licked the blood from it. His eyes closed as he nodded, a cruel smile spreading on his crimson stained mouth.

  His eyes, eerily matching the color of the crystal atop his staff, snapped open and narrowed to glowing slits as he regarded me with interest from within the shadowy folds of his pointed hood. “Yes, yes, yes. You are powerful. Perhaps she was right to protect you and I have been overly harsh on her. Perchance there is yet a use for you?”

  After a moment he shrugged almost dismissively as with a wave of his hand the enchanted roots flung me like a rag doll head over heal with jarring force into the tree trunk he stood under.

  Light exploded in my vision as I slumped down the papery bark as more thorny roots erupted forth from the earth to bind me where I lay. “We shall see.” He chuckled as he turned his full attention to the embattled Elves.

  “Oh, brother… I feel I must be honest with you. I’ve been looking forward to this very, very much.” He gripped his staff with two hands and planted it hard into the earth with a soft thunk that impossibly echoed with a deep and unsettling groan from deep in the earth as he twisted and dug it into the ground.

  The crystal atop his iron staff pulsed blindingly and flared. Reality bulging out from where the Wizard stood in a crackling wave of warped matter that struck with a crunching, ear popping cascade of power that reduced the Elvish guards to twisted, steaming horrors of warped, melted armor and flesh in a single violent heartbeat, leaving the King gasping in agonized shock on his knees and leaning on his sword as he stared upon what had been done in mute horror.

  Trembling with rage and a hint of weariness the High King struggled to his feet, his rich cloak smoking, he looked at his fallen guard with tearful eyes and then turned his glare to his fellow Wizard.

  “You will pay most dearly for that,” he assured.

  “You are mistaken,” Gideon advised coolly, as if advising a pupal of a tiresome error in his studies. Purple fire flared to life in his claw like fingers and balled forth with a vicious acidic hiss that sent Efferieal Rain spinning through the air, trailing acrid black smoke, and landing in a tumbling heap on the grass.

  Gramps was the first to reach the Wizard as the spell binding time broke. His sword broke clean in half and swept from his grip with a harsh shattering clatter as the Wizard met his powerful swing with an almost lazy block of his staff.

  Gideon followed through with a strike like
a golf swing that sent the once King of Camelot violently to the ground where he lay unmoving even as Aunt Milly was sent spinning away to land beside him from a clubbing backhand. Fazool, dagger drawn from his walking stick fell next with a shriek, landing in a smoldering, moaning heap.

  “Oh please, an old coward, a fashionista drama queen, and a Halfling… That’s not enough, not nearly enough by far.” The Wizard coughed, wiping something dark from his lips, and glared at the fallen with disdain, only just turning in time to eye Manx as the faithful hound attacked.

  For a moment hope swelled but was crushed into the chill of Darkling blood and horror as the cold in me flared as rage and terror drove it forth and a part of me screamed into the dark as I watched in horror as Manx just vanished with a heart wrenching yelp.

  One moment the Witchound was snarling, fangs bared to rip out the old Wizard’s throat as he leapt gracefully through the air. The next, with a snap of the Wizard’s fingers and a pain filled yelp, he was just gone, leaving an emptiness in me that burned cold in my heart as tears streamed freely down my face.

  “Unnatural beast,” Gideon hissed abominably as he stalked forward to the fallen and bloodied Efferieal Rain who was groaning and struggling to rise. He loomed over the fallen Elf Wizard and shook his head sadly.

  “You were a fool to underestimate me, Elf.” He kicked him over and glared down at his fallen brother’s face with a sardonic sneer. “Though you will serve a purpose in my plans nonetheless.”

  He lowered his staff, jaggedly pointed crystal glowing and pulsing and touched the King’s brow with it ever so gently, drawing a single rivulet of blood as Efferieal Rain’s face contorted in agony. The King’s jaw was open in a silent scream as his skin darkened and he convulsed, pinned by the staff’s magic as it leached his life and wizardly essence.

  “Your power is mine, brother,” Gideon hissed as he staggered back trembling but almost extatically smiling at his victory. His staff held in nearly nerveless fingers as he stood twitching as sparks and arcs of green tinged arcane power ran along his form.

  After a moment he regained his composure and glared first at the now amber like husk of his defeated wizardly brother that was crumbling into dust. Then he looked to White Owl who was watching it all inscrutably, his cowboy hat low over brow as he leaned on his own staff, beads, pouches, and feathers gently swaying in a gathering wind.

  “You can do nothing, Master,” Gideon sneered in disgust. “So, I will ignore you, as you once ignored the world as it burned.” White Owl nodded at this, his face emotionless and hard as he surveyed the death and horror then shook his head with muted sadness.

  “It’s not me you should fear,” he replied simply as he watched with a pained expression as the roots that had been holding me fast melted away, repelled by the curse awakening once more in my blood. The Wizard, however, failed to notice as he coughed and stared harshly as White Owl continued. “You’ve been running, young one. Now though, I’m afraid the monster you’ve created has found you.”

  For once the near total confidence slipped as the Wizard, who greying and weary took a step back and stared about uneasily as a scream of rage shattered the infant silence.

  Amid a shattering cacophony of demonic sounds Morgan appeared with a CRACK that shook what few colorful leaves remained on the trees loose from their branches. Morgan was terrifyingly beautiful as she stepped forth, otherworldly fire crackling about her like a demonic veil as she advanced with enraged determination.

  “Hello, daughter. You seem, distressed.” He smiled at her, but fear was in his eyes as she stalked forward. Her eyes glowed yellow and her fists trembled even as his own tightened on his staff and it again began to glow dangerously, the very earth beneath it blackening and cracking.

  They struck simultaneously.

  Flames of purple and cascades of chittering burning demonic things struggled. Where the powers met, an indescribable brilliance that radiated flesh searing sun like heat balled and grew as the two struggled horribly, straining and bent to gain an advantage.

  “I meant you no evil, daughter.” Gideon coughed and growled though bared teeth as he bore down on his staff. “You forced my hand. Do not test me further.” She said nothing intelligible in retort, merely screaming her rage as her adopted father forced her to her knees with waves of purple flame.

  “Desist this nonsense, child,” he demanded as he advanced, fury lining his face beneath his hood as her flames were slowly extinguished, yet she still refused to submit as he drove her to into the ground. Morgan’s eyes, blazing and full of loathing and hate seemed to tell him everything he needed to know, and he hung his head in genuine sadness as he continued to bare down.

  “You leave me no choice,” he whispered in a voice thick with grief as he raised his staff to club her only to shriek as my arms wrapped about him and the chill of the Darkling gift took hold. With a howl of pain and rage he flung me off only to have to redouble his efforts to contain Morgan, who rose with a smile and again loosed her powers.

  “Enough!” he roared as he once again slammed his staff into the earth, warping the matter about him in a wave that washed over me like an electric upsurge that merely ruined my jacket and clothes while leaving me breathless and trembling. I stared at him with black eyes that left him clearly unsettled as Morgan, who had only been forced back a step lowered her hands. The demonic fire flickered out as she too stared as the Wizard laughed and shook his head.

  “You make a formidable pair,” he congratulated acidly with a slight bow of acknowledgement. “But this idiocy is at its end. First, I will send you, my treacherous daughter, where you belong. And can no longer vex me.” He raised his hand. “You have brought this on yourself, child.”

  As he was about to snap his fingers, I leapt onto him and there was a horrible ripping explosion as my Darkling gift mingled with the Wizard’s formidable power in a locally cataclysmic force that did something unexpected, at least to me.

  The last thing I heard was Morgan’s horrified scream as I was sent through a brilliant vortex of swirling, spinning star like fields only to unceremoniously land on my back as if I was making snow angels with a lung emptying crash into white sands on a seemingly endless shore that was lapped at by the emerald waters of a vast, peaceful sea.

  I lay there blinded by the warm light of a sun nestled in a perfectly white fluffy clouded baby blue sky that I blinked up at and gasped for air in utter confusion.

  “Well, are you just going to lie there all day?” Grandmother Mary smiled down at me a bit sadly, wearing a white dress and open toed sandals with a string of white pearls about her neck as she sipped at an iced glass of lemonade with a tiny red umbrella in it through a cocktail straw.

  “Am I dead?” I asked weakly.

  “I’m afraid so, dear. Few get to inconvenience a Wizard like that and live to tell about it. Even pureblooded Darklings, I’m afraid. Though there is someone who wants to talk with you that may have something to say about whether or not you stay that way.” She sighed with a mix of approval and sadness as she offered me a white gloved hand up.

  White Owl’s Halloween Ghost Story

  A cozy fire crackled in the fireplace, sparking and dancing as White Owl sat sipping at his hot cocoa, popping candy corn into his mouth from the bowl in his lap, and staring into the glowing embers with a distant look. “Have either of you ever heard of the Click-Clack?” He inquired as he stirred the whipped cream into the steaming drink with his spoon and continued to stare unblinkingly at the fire. Manx, curled up by his feet on the floor stared up at him with dark watery eyes, hoping after treats.

  “Oh hells, not that bloody nonsense again. There’s never been a shred of evidence the damned Click-Clack or anything like it has ever existed.” Gramps snapped with a shake of his head with a scoffing snort.

  “That’s what it wants you to think,” White Owl retorted seriously after tapping his teaspoon clean on the side of the cup and taking a sip, smacking his lips and sighing contentedl
y. Gramps set his mug down and threw up his hands in disgust, rolling his eyes and busying himself with his pipe.

  I glanced from one to the other in confusion. I had an idea any answer I gave was going to be a doorway into a disturbing Halloween story. I was deeply torn between looking forward to the chill of a good seasonal scare and not being in the least bit interested in enjoying myself.

  “Ok, I’ll bite. What’s this Click-Smack?” Gramps snorted in amusement and White Owl glowered at each one of us.

  “It’s ‘Click-Clack.’ And moreover, it’s not wise to belittle such darkness, as it has a way of finding out and making sure those who mock it never do so again,” the old Master scolded as he gulped down the remnants of his cup and again started fishing in the bowl for a handful of candies to munch on.

  “So, what is it?” I asked.

  “No one knows for sure,” White Owl replied mysteriously. “All that’s really known is that it comes with the mist three days before October 31st, and when it leaves at precisely midnight on Halloween it takes heads with it. Not just any heads though. It has a particular and strict taste.”

  “Oh good, here we go.” Gramps sighed as he lit his pipe and shook his grizzled head in tired resignation as he slumped back into his chair and groaned.

  “It hunts those with dark hearts,” White Owl answered softly. “Always those.”

  “Dark hearts?” I asked uneasily, a thrill of fear tip-tapping down my spine as the fire cracked and popped, and White Owl nodded, a sad, distant look on his leathery lined face.

  “Oh yes,” he answered. “I helped with a hunt for it once, long ago.”

  “It was a glorified snipe hunt, and you know it,” Gramps snorted, his pipe between his teeth as he peeled a slice of pepperoni from the delivery box and plopped it onto his plate.