Katerina approached the stone-ringed garden where the thick green vines hung tenaciously over every surface not already occupied by the waxy ripened orange orbs. Her garden was so lush and full of life. She smiled with pride to see such vigor. But it wasn’t life and vigor she needed now. The Soul Gourds were required, of course, but everything else must be fed to her deathly black flames.
Like in the giant’s clearing, Katerina vanquished all life from a wide swathe around her childhood home. The soil turned fetid and rank, bubbling with the movements of carrion and the foggy vapors of escaping death. The vines of the Soul Gourds shriveled and twisted but did not submit to death completely like all the other plants and living things. They were always grown from death. It was the gift she had given them within the soil of her gardens. So, though the flames transformed them now into darker, more vile things, they lived. In fact, they grew stronger.
As the bodies of her people approached, the lashing corded vines of the Soul Gourds rose up unbidden, to ensnare the stumbling dead and drag them into the oozing filth of the garden earth. One by one, the people she had known all her life were fed to her spell. One by one, their spirits were released and captured by the Soul Gourds, everyone strengthening the fruit more until orange leering demonic faces glared from every corner of her deadly gardens.
The soil was prepared. As before, Katerina twisted the stem cap of her Soul Gourd and opened it. She tilted the maddened visage over to extract Goliath’s seed for planting. But to her surprise, three seeds fell out into her hand. These seeds were not pristine white, as the normal Soul Gourd created. They were black as night and seemed to feed on the light around them with a shadowy aura. They were each a different size, each one a bit smaller than the next. But there was no denying which one contained Goliath, for it seemed to throb with an angry pulse.
Katerina stared puzzled at the seeds for a moment before it dawned on her. The extra seeds were from the smaller spirits of the umbilicus. Goliath must have drawn them in and saved them. She smirked at her fortune — even more soldiers for her army.
She cast the seeds upon the soil and watched as they delved down on their own. The black flames drew down into the earth as if some great creature were slurping them in. Then, all at once, the earth erupted with a roar. Every vine, every twig, every fragment of bone and bit, rose up from the earth and wove together.
One Soul Gourd grew beyond all others, larger than Katerina ever thought possible. The vines twisted around it, building a body more deadly than had ever walked the enchanted forest. Goliath was a giant once more. But more than that, he was connected to the entire crop of Soul Gourds through vine and root. He commanded them all. Katerina had kept her promise. The giant was reborn as a force of unrivaled death: Goliath, Lord of the Harvest.
But she had more than just the giant now, as she had hoped. There was Thresher, a smaller replica of Goliath with an angry glare and a clear hunger born from one of the other two black soul seeds. And then there was Morty, who, though small, appeared to contain a fury almost equal to Goliath’s. But that wasn’t all.
With vine and twig and magic, Katerina wove the corpses of her people into strange and twisted constructs, armed with the tools of her garden and the natural weapons of the forest. They would not die to even steel blades easily. And the aura of her death would stifle any flames the humans might raise. She had her army.
“Very nicely done, little witch. I told you, you’re more powerful than you realize,” Goliath rumbled as his form was completed at last. The savage toothy face of his Soul Gourd was terrifying to behold. Katerina couldn’t be more pleased.
“Come, ancient one. The crop has grown. The fruit has ripened. It is time for the Harvest of Souls.”
Like a black scourge, Katerina’s army moved through the burning flames of the enchanted forest. The humans had retreated to their city long before then as night fell. But not even their walls could protect them from what was coming. The demonic Soul Gourds tore down the walls with ease. And any barrier which did not submit fell quickly to the essence of decay and the hordes of crawling chittering carrion at Katerina’s command.
With every death, the Harvest of Souls grew, for not a single human spirit was allowed to escape. Their swords and fires did them little good, and when it was all over, the entire city was overgrown with twisted gnarly vines and the glaring orange gaping faces of hundreds of Soul Gourds. Each of those new gourds was grown from the soul of every human within the city.
The demonic howls filled the streets throughout the night. But as dawn arrived, the vines began to wither and die. The lights in the eyes of the Soul Gourds went dark, and the magic of death faded. It was time for death to feed back into life.
As the sun rose over the ruins of that long-forgotten city, Katerina watched as her army passed from the world. But they were not gone forever. She walked among those empty streets, cracking each fruit open and extracting the black soul seeds from within. She placed them in her enchanted Soul Gourd one by one, gathering the seeds of a new army.
When she approached Goliath’s rotting orb head, the light still lingered in the eyes with the strength of the giant’s will. Though the lips could barely move, the rustling of the withered vines spoke for him.
“Very good, witch. I can die in peace knowing vengeance was had.”
“You will not die yet, ancient one. Our eternal pact is not done. For though this city may lay in ruins, the humans still threaten. The magical creatures which we both swore to protect are still in danger. I must study and learn about this dark magic more. For when the time comes, I will need you for the next Harvest of Souls.” When the light faded from his eyes, at last, she cracked the massive Soul Gourd open and took the single pulsing black seed from within. He had fed well on the human souls; it appeared, which meant he would only be more terrifying next time. She placed the final seed within the enchanted Soul Gourd bottle with a satisfied smile. “Until the next harvest.”
Katerina disappeared into the shadows of the burned-out forest that morning, gathering the remnants of her people’s charges and seeking out others to protect. She had made oaths long ago to protect them, and at last, she had found the power to do so.
Katerina was a creature of nature and magic. But she was also, now more than ever, a creature of darkness. Although, perhaps she always was. The darkness called to her as she ventured out from the only world she had ever known. She seemed to find solace in the shadows more often than not. It is perhaps this very attraction that drew her to eventually marry the dark warlock, Beaumont Ravenfell, and become the matriarch of the Ravenfell family. But then, that is another story.
Dark Heart of Ravenfell
Chapter 1:
The Original Sin
The piercing cry of a newborn broke the unsettling stillness of that forbidden land. In any other place, such a sound would be as common as the wind or rain. This sound, however, was so distinctly unnatural and out of place that it felt as if the entire world was repulsed by, and in fact, almost visibly withdrew from the offending noise. Yet, the realm’s oppressive darkness didn’t retreat for long. A new life being created here was a violation, and those found responsible would pay the ultimate price.
The parents were powerful practitioners of the dark arts. Even more notably, they were Ravenfells, a family name that usually brought reverence and even deference from the world of the dead. Yet not even the command of a Ravenfell could dissuade the spirits’ judgment at what they’d done. They were warned once when they first conceived this child in the same world. They were to leave before the new life was born so as not to taint the world of death further with such a poisonous presence. They were told the consequences, yet they didn’t heed the warning. So, the first cries of the newborn babe brought the judgment promised.
They couldn’t leave, or so the couple insisted. The living world was changing. There was no place for magic anymore, and the mortals were burning every last vestige from existence. Vesparah Ravenfell and her lover Dralith were b
orn with magic as part of them. They would be hunted no matter where they hid, except for here in the Netherworld, where mortals could not tread. But the spirits wouldn’t accept their excuses. To spirits already dead, the threat of possible death wasn’t altogether concerning, so the Ravenfell pleas fell on deaf ears.
There was no active effort to expel them during the months of pregnancy. The spirits simply gave their warning then retreated. But the birth of this new life changed it all in moments. As Dralith leaned in to snip the umbilicus, the dark haze of the underworld rapidly grew solid with the amassing millions of dark raging specters. The secluded glade they sheltered in became a dome of frenzied shadows, gazing down at them with uncounted multitudes of burning red eyes.
“You have defiled the purity of this world,” a million ghastly voices cried in horrifying unity. “You were warned of the price. Your souls will now pay for the consequences.”
One by one, the plague of spirits descended, their spectral forms tearing through the bodies of the judged. Every spirit extracted a piece from each of the Ravenfells’ souls, feeding upon it to savor the moments of life which went into creating them. Piece by piece, the spirits of Dralith and Vesparah Ravenfell were obliterated from existence. As promised, they were given a fate worse than death for their transgression, nothingness. When the howling of the black storm and the screams of the stricken finally died, all that remained was the whimpers of an orphaned newborn babe.
He was a child, unlike anything that ever existed. This uniqueness, perhaps, is partially what stayed the spirits’ wrath. He was a Ravenfell, a sacred family line held as nearly regal among the world of the dead. For some of the spirit judges, that was enough to hesitate. But he was so much more than that. He was life born in death. He was conceived and born into the Netherworld. If that wasn’t enough of a mark of death upon the boy, in his first moments, he also watched his parents murdered by the very spirits of the dead who weighed his fate now.
For some factions, that combined with his innocence deemed him free of punishment. But for the other side, that same information damned him. He was a violation of the natural order. If he was allowed to grow, there was no telling what would be unleashed upon either world. A stalemate grew as to what should be done with this peculiar baby boy.
The whirling unity of the spirits broke down into factions. Their combined voice of multitudes fragmented as well, joining with others of similar thought until the darkness around the clearing raged with spiritual contention on all sides.
“He’s too dangerous,” a dark hissing threat declared. “Erase him like his parents, so no one will ever know of the desecration.”
“He’s innocent,” a calmer, more subdued faction echoed.
“No life is innocent against death. All life fights against it. This child was guilty the moment he drew breath.” The words were angry, and the volume neared half of the gathering.
“He didn’t choose to draw breath here. Should he be punished for the sins of his parents?”
“Why do we discuss guilt when prudence should be our guide? Do we not remember Dorga?” a sterner toned shadow group demanded. “Whoever is guilty is of no matter. The true concern is the danger he now presents to our world.”
“Expel him to the world of the living. Do not punish him,” the less vehement side offered.
“Hahaha.” The stern faction laughed. Its volume had grown. Their argument had clearly gained an increased following. “He’s a Ravenfell with the full freedom to walk back into our world whenever he chooses, thanks to that wretched bird’s bargain. That damnable spirit creature is responsible for all of this, allowing the living to pass freely across the veil. We cannot banish this infant forever as long as the pact is kept. There’s only one option. The infant must be destroyed.” The certainty of so many combined thoughts bent towards destroying the child darkened even the shadow of the Netherworld around the wiggling pink figure.
“Perhaps a new pact can be made.”
“But how?”
“Summon the Gatekeeper. Summon the Raven King!”
Chapter 2:
A Bond from the Broken
There was no limit to the pomp and grandiosity of the Raven King after centuries of his unquestioned monarchy. The powers he gained from the joint pacts which bound him to the Ravenfell family and the shaman who taught him his gifts so many years ago transformed him into a powerful being who held sway on both sides of the veil. The clever being, for he was much more than a bird by now, utilized everything of the two worlds opened before him to feed his power and grandeur. He was a creature few would dare question, which perhaps explained why when his presence was demanded, the Raven King appeared with a nearly explosive entrance.
The black wall of enveloping spirits convulsed violently then split open before a blacker force as a flock of silent ravens tore through them, savaging ghostly forms with the beaks of spirit creatures fully capable of inflicting hurt upon even the dead. It was their gift of the Raven’s Fel that armed them thus, the gift of the Raven King.
They preceded their master’s arrival in an onyx beaked swarm, parting the way like a razor-sharp blade. The angered spirits howled with rage at the offense, but the Raven King’s escort broke their muted state and drowned the cries with a raucous storm of caws. A wall of flapping, glistening black feathers framed the Raven King’s path as it coalesced out of nothing to bridge the two worlds. The doorway opened into an overly gilded treasure vault.
The Raven King was admittedly pompous, but even more so, he was still a raven deep down. So, while the display was clearly intended to impress his import on those he visited, there was also a large part of him that simply liked it because it was shiny. There were golden stairs formed from skulls, their eyes like cut lamp glass made of precious gems and gleaming like candle flames in the dark. Yet even with all this display, the true show was the mix of bird, man, and spirit, who stood at the top of the elaborate staircase.
As a spirit creature, the Raven King’s form was mercurial. He had grown far beyond his birdlike body long ago. Although, he did still use it from time to time when he chose to travel through more conventional means.
He could never take a fully human form, of course. While he valued certain physical traits of humans, he was partially revolted by their pink fleshy skin and other disappointing features. Instead, the spirit part of him blended the best features from both into a completely unique being, who shifted unsettlingly between the three differing states. At moments, he would appear a substantial body, blended from bird and man, while at others, the spiritual side took over into nothing but the chaos of a million flapping raven wings. It was always about the show, and he was obsessively devoted to his performance.
One facet of humans the Raven King embraced was an affinity for fancy clothing and accessories. In this moment, he wore a striking black tailored jacket, vest, and top hat, with gleaming raven feather cuffs, choker, and cape.
“There are spirits to guide and bargains to make, dead things,” the Raven King declared as he descended the stairway to the clearing. His dark avian eyes locked onto the writhing infant with the interest of a tantalizing grub, but his mind worked tenaciously to unravel the mystery before him. “Why do you waste my time?”
“Your bargain with the Ravenfells risks the sanctity of the veil, Raven King. Something must be done,” a threatening voice called from the darkness. Many of the spirits had withdrawn from the Raven King and his flock of spirit creatures, sensing their vulnerability to beak and claw. But the voice that spoke seemed to press in close around the clearing, unthreatened by the new arrival.
“My bargain with the Ravenfells is the reason there is even a veil at all. How could it risk that which it made possible? Even if it did, it is a bargain struck. It cannot be undone.” The Raven King looked around cautiously at the oppressive darkness. Seven dark figures, larger than the average spirit hovered at the edges of the haze.
It had been a long time since any spirit had ever faced him
with such confidence. He was cocky, but he was not overly so. He learned his lesson long ago about what overconfidence could lead to, especially when it came to dealings with the spirit world.
“Your pets have created an abomination. It is a stain upon our world,” the seven spoke as one. Their eyes burned brighter with every word.
“If it is a Ravenfell, then it is a master of this realm,” the Raven King replied as he strode up to peek down at the small wrinkled person. The creature was nothing more than a curiosity to him. Why did these dead things hate it so? If it were any other human, he would let them have it. However, he was bound to protect the bearers of the Ravenfell line. It was part of the bargain. So, though he cared not a scrap for it, the Raven King knew he couldn’t let any harm come to it. “Where are its parents?”
“Vesparah and Dralith desecrated this world even after they were warned. They are no more.”
“You struck down a Ravenfell?” the Raven King demanded. This was inexcusable. There was a bargain between the Raven King, the Ravenfells, and the realm of death. Such punishment, no matter the offense, should have at least required contacting him. “Their souls are mine to guide, dead things.”
“The decision is made. The souls have been destroyed.” There was a certainty in the voice that such matters were done with. “We did not summon you to discuss the desecrators. Their punishment has been decided and meted out. You have been summoned to discuss the bargain, which made such an abomination possible.”
He knew then that he had no choice but to defend the infant. They violated the Raven King’s authority once. He could not back down now and let them take another Ravenfell. Allowing that could unravel the very bargain that held the worlds of life and death in balance. He picked up the child, apparently a boy, and pulled the squirming creature close to his chest defensively.
Ravenfell Chronicles: Origins Page 14