Ravenfell Chronicles: Origins

by Brand J. Alexander

  Eldrith opened herself up as she would normally do when channeling a lost loved one, and she drew the spirits to her. Her aura calmed their wrath a bit, and the Raven’s Fel protected her from the worst of injury. They couldn’t strike her, for her entire body was now open to the touch of spirits willingly. Even a wrathful strike would find its bearer falling into the welcoming vessel. And once within her, she used her gift to shed their wounds and heal their spirits, returning a semblance of their living minds to them. Releasing them would only mean returning them to be captured by Dorga and tortured once more. So she promised them another way. Return to the earth to be reborn as new life. None refused her offer.

  Dorga grew more maddened every second, as all the forces of death he wielded were siphoned away and neutralized through the two sisters’ gifts. But it was Hildegard Ravenfell who worked his undoing. Velga unleashed her gift of decay, devouring great segments of the madman’s monstrous architecture, returning death to the soil where it belongs. Eldrith stole the bound spirits from his workings and granted their essence to the earth to fuel new life. And Hildegard sent her summons down into the dark and dank ground beneath her, where all that potential pooled, and she commanded it to grow.

  The earth beneath the third Ravenfell sister’s feet began to writhe and tremble. Seeds long dormant were stirring awake with violent rapidity. Hildegard’s gift was one of a dark nature, and the land beneath her was fouled with corruption, so what grew was anything but lush or verdant. It was life, however, and its presence no matter how twisted and loathsome repelled the forces of death. Brambles sprung up around her, a wall that captured any of Dorga’s shambling corpses before they could reach her. Mushrooms and fungus flourished from all the dead, their life feeding off and banishing death as they spread. Hildegard was hastening the earth to build new life from all of it, and as her work spread, the madman’s gruesome realm weakened.

  The dead tree Hildegard had chosen for her spot crumbled under her touch, the outer layers of wood falling away. As she suspected, the heartwood was intact and strong underneath, so she wove the two streams of power fed from her sisters into it for her next feat. When she described earlier what she planned to create, she named it a Ravenwood in honor of their new family, but even she was uncertain if she could do it. Yet the three together channeled immense power into the piece of heartwood, and through her manipulation, a new form of life sprung forth. It was black and twisted like the wasteland around it, but it was life nonetheless and a powerful lifeform at that. As the Ravenwood grew into the sky, its roots spread its life through the earth, and Dorga’s withering began to retreat.

  It seemed at first like the balance had tipped. The defilement of the land receded before the advancing life, but Dorga lashed out with his powers. He couldn’t kill it all, but what he managed to destroy returned the balance back to his favor. The desecration wouldn‘t be so easily expelled.

  “Fools, I have gathered too many spirits. I admire your tricks, but my power over death is too great even for you to overcome.”

  “And that is my part to play in this,” the Raven King announced from where he waited beside the third sister for this very moment. He turned to Hildegard and spoke, “Bind him in blood.” Then with a flourish, he transformed and rose up upon the ebony wings of a large raven. He didn’t go alone. The shimmering black leaves of the Ravenwood burst from the expanding limbs into his flocks of ravens soaring to join. They descended upon Dorga’s shield, devouring the souls with their gift of Raven’s Fel, and created an opening in the barrier for their king to infiltrate. Then, they turned their assault on the remaining souls in a feeding frenzy. The Raven King flew through the opening and landed directly before the shaman’s son. As he set down, he melted into the hideous body he once wore while chasing a terrified Dorga through the veil. “I brought you to the realm of death to keep a bargain once. And I come to guide you there again. For good, Dorga.”

  “Your fel magic cannot touch my flesh, little bird,” Dorga raged, but the confidence was fading from his eyes.

  “I didn’t come for your flesh, Dorga. That’s your children's’ job. I came for your soul.” He reached a spirit-clawed hand through Dorga’s chest, as the son once did to his own father, and he clasped the heart of his existence.

  Dorga laughed in an effort to sound dismissive. “The worlds are bound; I am immortal. You cannot part my soul from my body.”

  “Death takes everyone, Dorga. You just need a raven to guide your way.”

  The Raven King opened his path between the worlds of life and death. And though the two were overlapping, the flocking ravens parted the veil’s essence in a vortex of wings and cries. The tethers Dorga wove so meticulously to bind the lands together, shredded in the area of the expanding portal, the realms tugging away from the momentary release. It was all they needed.

  Upon that signal, the Ravenfell sisters spilled a drop of blood to the land in a simple spell to bind flesh to earth. It was intended as a personal enchantment, but when shared between the three, it bound all of their blood to the physical realm for that split instant, their father, so close to them in blood, included.

  With a silent command, the flock surged through the open pathway to the Netherworld, carrying the spirit fragments they devoured through the veil and just beyond the infinitesimal divide that lingered between life and death. The balance tilted as the burden of death was shepherded beyond the veil, the draw which pulled the worlds together reversing. And as the spiritually magnetic force released, the Netherworld withdrew from the physical realm, snapping the last of the bindings of the veil that Dorga created to hold it in place.

  Dorga’s spirit was bound to the veil now. And the veil wasn’t a part of the physical realm. So, as the worlds divided, his two sides were driven to part as well. He fought to remain. He used the veil to try and hold death close to the world of life. Yet, with his powers focused on binding the worlds together, he could no longer thwart the work of the Ravenfell sisters upon his domain.

  The Ravenwood grew and flourished. Dorga’s world of death and suffering was rapidly breaking down and being directed into new growth. With life returning so quickly, the world of death was repulsed. And as the veil was tugged back into the void between worlds, Dorga’s intertwined spirit was torn from its spellbound vessel and taken with.

  The Raven King’s claws held firm through it all, making sure Dorga’s spirit didn’t escape into the void upon release from his body. For there was one final thing that he must do before the madness would end. Control of the veil had to be retaken, and there was only one creature left in either of the worlds who had the power to do it. It was the reason for the bargain. It was the reason the Raven King was required to bind himself to the Ravenfells, as watchers over his power, for fear of what he might become. For in order to end Dorga, the Raven King would have to become him.

  The heart of Dorga’s monstrous soul twisted and churned in the raven’s claws, but the main body of it was spread throughout the veil and the spirits he’d consumed. All of those powers were merged into one single essence now. And there was only one way to take it from him. So, as Dorga’s soul screamed at the anguish of his failure, the Raven King devoured him along with all the souls, the Guardian spirits, and the ancient essence of the veil between worlds. It was a hefty meal, but the Raven King was a unique beast with a hunger capable of such a feat. Yet he knew even as he did that he would never be the same again.

  As the spirit died, Dorga’s body withered into dust. It contained far too much death for any of it to survive without supernatural assistance. And as the architect fell, his black and malignant empire crumbled as well, replaced by dark yet budding new life.

  The day was won, though the end death toll was high. The balance began to slowly restore itself, assisted by the Raven King’s new command of the veil and his flock’s task of guiding the recently freed spirits across. Yet though the greatest of Dorga’s damage was undone, the two worlds would never be the same, for their dest
inies were now held by the whims of a powerful yet peculiar raven.

  He was a creature of neither side but the boundary between worlds. He was neither raven nor man or even spirit. He was neither living nor dead. He was a blending of all those things, with command over secrets that made him something greater. The Raven King was the new guardian of the veil. And the Ravenfells, through the Pact of Founding, were forever to be his tenders, servants, and masters as he would be the same for them. It would prove to be a difficult relationship, to say the least, but their bond would resound through the centuries after.

  The Ravenfells were changed as well. Their gifts, enhanced by the Raven’s Fel, were formidable forces now. None of them wished to return to the lives they left behind when they accepted the pact. Those lives were gone now. The pathetic magic tricks they once dabbled with weren’t enough for these new responsibilities. They witnessed what a spirit creature such as the Raven King could do through their father’s madness. And if the raven turned, it was their duty alone to stop him. If they were to serve the pact honorably, their powers would need to grow. They were now tenders of the dark shadowy parts of their world, and all agreed they needed to learn as much about such things as possible.

  Hildegard, Velga, and Eldrith chose to remain within the dark wilds that grew to replace their father’s land of death. They built their new home beneath the bows of the Ravenwood, and from this place, the three Ravenfell sisters worked to found their new powerful bloodline, a family whose dark yet noble legacy would spawn nightmares and horrors throughout the ages. But, those tales remain to be told.

  The Harvest of Souls

  (Formerly titled "The Rise of a Matriarch")

  Chapter 1:

  Giant’s Fall

  The roar of the forest giant broke the tranquil morning stillness within the once perceived sanctuary of the enchanted forest. In all her twenty years, Kat had never heard such a sound of pure agony and defeat, and she felt it down to her soul. It was her gift of empathy that allowed her to feel the needs and desires of the creatures of the forest, which her people were tasked with defending. But in this horrifying moment, her gift had become a curse.

  She dropped to her knees with a whimper, the force of the giant’s cries pounding at her eardrums and throbbing within her skull. She had never felt such pain. And then, it all ceased at once. The pain and suffering simply vanished, but with it went any sense of the beast’s presence at all.

  “Dead,” a stunned whisper escaped her delicate lips. Her eyes, black as the darkest shadows in the heart of the enchanted forest, quivered with the emotions surging through her young and innocent mind. A tear tried to escape, but her stunned horror quickly hardened into fury. Innocent, she may be, but she was clever and well educated.

  “Murder.” Her next word wasn’t so lightly spoken, and the thick woodland foliage around her quivered with the commanding caress of her voice.

  Men’s brash cries followed the giant’s sudden silence. Their language was only mildly familiar, but it wasn’t a tongue spoken by Kat or her people. Yet, even without understanding the words, she could tell they were celebrating the giant’s death. They were humans from outside of the dwindling boundaries of the enchanted forest. They were soldiers from the encroaching world of civilization, which was pressing ever deeper into Kat’s old and almost forgotten world of magic and fairy. And they had somehow found their way nearly into the heart of the enchanted forest and killed one of the ancient beings, which were her people’s charge to protect.

  Part of Kat’s mind screamed for her to flee, to return to her village and warn them of the danger. But stronger motives held her feet firm upon the leaf-strewn duff of the forest floor. She was no longer a child. In fact, she was a formidable defender of her people’s land in her own right. She didn’t require permission or even assistance if she wished to investigate. And in the end, her independence and a strong connection to the slain beast in question made the decision easy.

  She strode forward, defiantly towards what she knew would be a scene of horrific violence. But her people held a sacred duty towards the magical beasts of this land, and there was no one else who could care for the giant’s soul the way she must.

  The spirits of enchanted beings required guidance after death in this world where the forces of magic they relied upon were fading. If not directed and soothed in passing, their released spirits could transform into destructive forces of nature. And with the terrible deaths these civilized humans inflicted, those forces brought vengeance and wrath, which in turn spurred the humans to kill more beasts.

  It was an endless tragic cycle, and the very reason Kat’s people undertook their sacred oaths towards the creatures of the enchanted forest. They were morbidly somber diplomats negotiating the slow demise of magic, as mankind vanquished it from every corner of the world. It wasn’t a cruel betrayal of the powers they worshipped, however, but a desperate attempt to delay what all understood was inevitable.

  The giant’s spirit required tending, and it was Kat’s duty to use her gifts to help him.

  The murdering fiends were gone by the time she entered the clearing, but the mark of their savage deeds was left for her to witness. Goliath, ancient lord of the bramble and thicket, lay fallen in a crumpled heap of vine, thorn, and branch.

  As was the case with many of the creatures of the enchanted forest, the body, which the spirit wore now, was not its original. It could have been a dragon or even a unicorn originally, or any of a thousand different fantastical beings long since gone extinct. There was no way to tell by looking at what remained of it here in this place. The beasts rarely ever spoke of what they once were willingly. But whatever Goliath once was, Kat’s people had taken its spirit and implanted it within a construct of living plants and tissues to live again upon its death.

  The form, perhaps, wasn’t as great as it once was, but the ancient giant was magnificent and formidable for many long centuries before this day. Now the great bramble lord, a gentle giant who had carried Kat through the forest on its broad towering shoulders as a child, appeared as little more than a dense pile of fallen forest debris. The stolid, silent life was gone, but not forever, Kat promised herself.

  Kat only ever performed her sacred duty on small creatures like imps or rambling dervishes. It was all the priests of her order would allow for one so young. Only the experienced could dare wrangle the spirit of a supernatural being such as Goliath. There were other factors, as well, which made this beast even more difficult.

  Goliath was not in his original form. The body of vine and moss he bore now was created for him. His soul, once implanted, was bound to it with powerful spells and enchantments. To even free the soul from this body, one must break the seal set by the original practitioner who formed this vegetative golem. For a creature such as this giant, those seals would be formidable. Yet Kat was arrogant and felt confident she could, and for good reason; she was quite formidable as well.

  However, even if she was truly as powerful as she believed and fully capable of breaking the bonds and freeing this soul, there was a greater danger to unleashing the giant’s spirit. Goliath died a violent death. Even now, his spirit would be in vengeful wrath, though its connection to the broken body of wood and tendril had long since been severed. Freeing him now could very well set a violent force of unstoppable fury loose upon the lands. It would be indiscriminate in its rage and wouldn’t stop until the last of its energy was expelled in reprisal. But here, too, Kat was arrogant.

  She knew Goliath well, for he was a part of her life as far back as she could remember. The glade of briar and thorn, which he reigned over, wasn’t far from her family’s home. She spent many days growing up, playing under the watchful shade of this lumbering giant. For this reason, Kat believed she could rescue him from death still.

  Kat’s enchanted Soul Gourd was rather small, unfortunately. But then, so were the charges she was meant to use it for. She wasn’t sure if it could contain such a beast, especially if Goliath wa
s as riled up as she suspected. But there was only a small window where the transfer could be accomplished, and there was no time to go and find someone better suited. Besides, she knew she could do it. And more importantly, she knew she had to.

  The Soul Gourds were peculiar things. They were grown and tended over generations by her people, refined and cultivated to perform better with every harvest. They were like a Venus flytrap, only for souls instead of flies. They consumed spirits, using them to form the seeds for the next season’s harvest within strange ghostly pale, orange, orb-shaped fruits. With every soul, the fruit developed and ripened further until it took on the appearance of a ghastly skull visage.

  Many expressed they were frightening to look upon. Kat found them intriguingly delightful. Her own garden at home was bursting with vines of Soul Gourds. Yet despite the abundance of her crop, she only had the single current small vessel. Getting them enchanted still required the more experienced priests, or at least, so they claimed.

  The spirits of a few sprites were contained within, just enough to give the rounded spherical fruit the slightly darkened dimpling which would later form the eye sockets of a mature Soul Gourd. It seemed meager and inadequate for the job, but Kat was determined. She would make it work.

  The magic of her people was a potent earthy mix of green and lush growth and life, mixed with the dark of death and the dank fetid rot of the soil and dirt below. To many, these were opposing forces, but to her people, they were the pure combined force of nature. Bright and dark in juxtaposed position, holding each other in a delicate balance between two opposing but dependent sides. Life feeding itself to death, and death in return feeding those lost to life back into the web of living through decay.