Ravenfell Chronicles: Origins

by Brand J. Alexander

  Beaumont didn’t completely trust the mask yet, so he held the Ravenwood staff out before him, hoping it could still hide his presence.

  The spirit-woven world of the witchdoctors swirled back into view over the spider’s lair, but a distant growing darkness repelled it.

  “Death is strong here,” the Guardians’ voices purred. “The Netherworld hovers so closely here that spirits may walk free. A place where we may walk free, ancient ones.”

  The staff gleamed more fiercely, and the drum picked up a tremendous tempo as if each percussive note could drive the opening darkness back. But the shadows invaded deeper, and the gleaming eyes of the Guardians appeared among the blackness.

  “Come, spirits. You have been held too long from where you belong. Cross the veil and join your brethren.” Multitudes of voices from beyond joined in the summons, strengthening the compulsion.

  The world of the witchdoctors once more tore apart at the seams, shredding into tendrils of blue glimmering spirit energy. One by one, the souls, woven into the fabric of the jungle’s reality, came apart as they were devoured by the encroaching Netherworld.

  “Ahh, there you are, ancient ones,” the voices exclaimed excitedly. “It has been far too long. Join us. Accept the new order. We will have what was taken from us either way. Make it easy on yourselves and submit.”

  “We will resist till the end of days,” the weaver countered. The staff flared, and the walls of the woven jungle collapsed in on the darkness, trying to smother it. The howling force of the woven spirits screamed to the tempo of the drummer’s beat.

  Beaumont was impressed by the witchdoctors’ command of death and the defiance of their final stand. But it was immediately clear that they were outmatched. Several large spirit forms were coalescing even as they fought. Time was running out.

  “We have to help them,” Beaumont told the raven. “If the Guardians get them, we lose. And they may be the only ones who know how we can stop what’s happening.”

  “Agreed. Though I don’t like it,” the raven admitted. “But how?”

  “Not sure. But isn’t that the fun part?”

  Beaumont charged forward to stand before the forming spirits and held the Ravenwood staff aloft. He could feel the energy flowing through the wood, and it came awake at the Guardians’ presence. The energy felt weaker than when Hildey first gave it to him, but it was time to test just how well it could repel his hunters.

  “It is a product of the Raven’s Fel,” the raven suggested. “Hildey used her gift to grow her tree from death to repel death. If that helps.”

  “I think it does,” Beaumont confessed. He lowered the staff and set the butt into the rancid jungle soil. The land seeped with the essence of death from the spider’s venom, so it stood to reason that the Ravenwood might be able to draw from it. He tried to reach into the wood with his mind to command the magic within to respond, but nothing happened. “Work!” he cried.

  “If you want to survive this, you might consider helping,” the raven suggested to the witchdoctors behind them.

  “It is too weak to repel them,” the weaver replied. “It shields their eyes only.”

  “Feed the roots. Feed the tree. Feed the branch,” the drummer chanted insistently.

  “Clever,” the Spirit Weaver replied. “Though our realm will fall, we may continue.” The gem on the staff gleamed brilliantly once more, and the spirits that wove the jungle realm bent inward towards the ground, flowing into the earth, then up into the Ravenwood staff.

  Beaumont felt the energy within the wood growing, and the pulse of its essence began to emanate all around.

  The Guardians were drawing closer, but they flinched back as if struck from the staff’s emanations.

  “Something resists us. The Ravenwood,” the spirits hissed. “Then the Ravenfell is here as well. Are you here too, Raven King?”

  The ward of the Ravenwood flared stronger, but the darkness continued to press in around them.

  “This is just a sprig of the great Ravenwood. It cannot stop us. The tree is already dead. It will not be long before this branch withers and falls too. Like its maker, the witch.”

  Beaumont clenched his fist around the staff. Their mention of the witch infuriated him, and he nearly tried to bend the staff’s power to attack instead of defending.

  “Don’t give yourself away. They try to draw you out,” the raven whispered in his ear.

  “You cannot win. You must flee,” the Spirit Weaver warned.

  “Run away. Run away. Live to die another day.”

  “They’re right. We must return to Hildey,” the raven urged.

  “We call upon our bargain, raven,” the weaver added. “You brought doom to our realm. You owe us a new one.”

  “Merrily, we run away. Run away. Run away.”

  “I suspected as much,” the raven croaked.

  The darkness was all around now, smothering out the last fragments of the jungle and closing in on the barrier of the Ravenwood staff. They were narrowing its location by its withering field of protection.

  “Time to go, warlock. And we’re bringing the corpses with us.”

  The shadow was nearly upon them as Beaumont clasped the cold, brittle fingers of the witchdoctors in preparation. His Well of Corruption roiled with the recent intake from the spider’s venom, and it was exhilarating to call it forth once more. Reality shifted as he phased them from the horrors of death. But death waited for them at their destination as well.

  Chapter 10:

  Return Home

  Beaumont’s childhood home felt unusually foreign, and that difference made him uneasy. It was still structurally familiar enough to phase there, but something special was missing.

  Despite the overturned furniture and scattered clutter, the cavern chamber felt empty. There had clearly been a conflict, but there was no sign of a victor.

  “Over here, Ravenfell,” the hunched spirit of Corvus called as it manifested. “The old witch is down.”

  “What happened?” Beaumont demanded as he charged across the room, navigating several twisted forms along the way. They looked like large moles with overgrown incisors, though their dog-sized bodies appeared long dead.

  “The Guardians sent undead beasts to attack the roots of the Ravenwood. The old girl fought as long as she could, but when they killed the tree, the witch collapsed.”

  “I suspected as much,” the raven croaked from Beaumont’s shoulder.

  “What?” Beaumont inquired.

  “I was curious how Hildegard lived so long. I suspected she was connected to the Ravenwood in some way. This confirms it.”

  “Then do something like you did with me,” Beaumont insisted. “Bring her back.”

  “I merely maintained the bond between your body and spirit, then helped you return once the danger to your life was over. There is no longer a link here. Hildey’s spirit has fled her flesh permanently.”

  “Then where did she go? If she is a spirit, I should be able to see her. The Ravenfells are cursed from crossing over. She should still be here.” Beaumont was building towards rage.

  Hildegard wasn’t quite a mother to him, though she certainly played that part when required. She was more of a guide and protector. She provided the resources and options for Beaumont to grow and rarely intervened with what he chose to do with them. Suggestions and softly offered commentary were her tools, and she used them with a precision that often left young Beaumont with little choice but to heed them. No matter the nature of their relationship, however, she was incredibly important to him, and he refused to lose her like this.

  “Did the Guardians come for her?” Beaumont demanded of the raven-faced spirit.

  “They never showed themselves. I didn’t see the old woman’s spirit pass, either. She cried out about the tree dying and collapsed. Then those creatures went charging back into their tunnels.”

  “Someone gave them something to chase,” a new voice offered from behind with a laugh.

&n
bsp; “Hildey,” Beaumont called as he turned to discover the glimmering spirit of the old woman with her familiar crooked smile. “How?”

  “You said it yourself,” the old woman replied. “The Ravenfells are banned from crossing over. And we aren’t very good at staying dead, are we?” The last part she offered toward Corvus.

  “Ravenfell death is more of a new way to live,” the twisted spirit replied.

  “I held on to that old hunk of flesh as long as I could, but I knew it couldn’t last forever. When the Ravenwood fell, the spell sustaining me withered.”

  “It’s not completely dead,” Beaumont insisted, holding up the staff. He could feel a faint glimmer of its essence deep within the heart of the wood. “Perhaps we can revive it… and you.”

  “Not here. Not now,” Hildey cautioned. “Those Guardians have more power on this side of the veil than they should. When they couldn’t infiltrate our home through the Ravenwood’s ward, they raised these abominations and assaulted the tree’s roots. There is nothing left to protect you here.”

  “I am hidden from their eyes now. The Mad Witchdoctors granted me a mask of death.” Beaumont could barely feel the off sensation of it clutching his face anymore.

  “It is quite fetching, Dark Heart,” Hildegard commented. “A truly ghastly visage. But if the Guardians cannot find you through normal means, they will return here to seek clues. Who knows what other tricks they can work on this side of the veil?”

  “The only way to be safe is for me to regain my place as the Raven King,” the raven insisted. “The new Guardians must be overthrown.”

  “You are still a part of the veil, raven,” the Spirit Weaver offered. “You can cut the spirits off from this side.”

  “The raven brings death to the dead.”

  “I’ve tried,” the raven countered. “I can manage in small increments, but I have been unable to bend the entire veil to my will for some time. My connection weakens every day that I am bound to a single side.”

  “Because they have taken it from you,” Corvus interjected. “They have been undermining your mastery of the veil for a while now.”

  “Impossible,” the raven countered. “I am the gatekeeper between worlds. I never gave them permission.”

  “True, but you shared your gift with your flock, did you not? And the Ravenfells. Clearly, you have been betrayed,” Corvus insisted. “Your flock made a bargain with the spirits. They thought you were too close to these humans. They didn’t understand why you cared so much for this food before it was even food.”

  “And how would you know any of this, abomination? You’re too addicted to your twisted experiments to even realize what you’re doing,” the raven argued.

  “I was working to fix your mistake,” Corvus challenged, the blue glow of his spirit growing with his rising emotions.

  “By torturing ravens and stealing their fel for yourself?” The bird gnashed his beak in aggravation.

  “It was the only way to cross the veil and find out what those spirits were up to. It’s not as if the Raven King was doing anything about it.”

  “I was biding my time and preparing for my return,” the raven argued.

  “You were afraid to look beyond the veil. You have been afraid ever since your fall. Yet, you are the veil.” Corvus insisted. “Why have you waited so long?”

  “Dorga was prevented from crossing the veil for good reason. I went against those wishes once and nearly destroyed the world. I did not want to repeat history until I was sure.”

  “You were afraid to face them,” the Spirit Weaver accused.

  “A familiar song we sing,” the drummer chanted.

  “Of course, I’m afraid,” the raven confessed. “Becoming the Raven King was a fluke. I stumbled into it. And I made a complete mess the first chance I got. It took a bond with the Ravenfells to stop Dorga. And now they are in danger too. I don’t know how the spirits did it, but they have been stealing the veil away from me. Without my powers and my flock, I have no way to fight back.”

  “Which is why you waited for me,” Beaumont said as the thought solidified. “You’ve watched me all this time, just waiting until I was ready to help you fight these things.” A part of him felt like he should be angry at such manipulation. But he understood the raven’s motives, and though the bird wished to use him, they held shared ambitions.

  The raven left his shoulder to perch upon a fallen chair with a hint of indignation.

  “If it wasn’t for me, you would have been taken by the spirits the day you were born. Your assistance is the least I should expect in return,” the raven grumbled.

  “Had you offered the boy to the Guardians, you would have broken the Pact of the Raven’s Fel and given the spirits exactly what they desired,” Corvus interrupted. “They needed you to shed your protection of the Ravenfells. It was the whole point. My studies lead me to suspect these spirits have been planning your demise for a long time.”

  “They have sought the veil’s undoing since it was woven,” the weaver added. “The creation of the Raven King merely gave them their chance.”

  “So, if I am the fault in your grand scheme, then how can I fix it?” the raven asked.

  “You were afraid once before,” the Spirit Weaver suggested. “After Dorga. After your mistake.”

  “Fear you held. In void of guilt.”

  “With the original Guardians destroyed, you were our only hope. So, we sent a spirit to you.”

  “A shaman to eat, little bird. Little Bird.”

  “You sent the spirit of Dorga’s ancestor to me. Why?”

  “When we wove the veil between worlds, we put protections in place to prevent something like Dorga from ever happening. It is why the original Guardians forbade him from peering beyond the veil and learning its secrets. They knew what he would become.”

  “The precautions we took by the raven undone.”

  “As Dorga grew and his threat became clearer, we worried the Guardians might fail,” the weaver explained. “So, we interfered with his progeny, preparing daughters of his blood just in case. The Ravenfells’ founding was our last line of defense should the worst occur. Unfortunately, raven, you have a habit of encouraging the worst.”

  “A weakness bound as strength.”

  “Wait,” Hildegard demanded as she marched up to the putrid corpse of the Spirit Weaver. “What do you mean you interfered with his progeny?”

  “Your mother’s fate was already woven, daughter of the raven,” the Spirit Weaver answered. “Had she lived, Dorga would have returned to extinguish her and you. We merely sped things up. A spider bite as labor set in. Because of it, the three daughters were touched by death from the beginning. You grew into your powers more quickly than those who must study and train, and thus, you were prepared when we sent the Raven King to seek you out.”

  “But the cure was poison too.”

  “We had no choice. It was the only way to vanquish Dorga. But by allowing the Raven King and the Ravenfells, we offered weaknesses that the old spirits might exploit. Because of the Raven’s Fel, everything we created might be undone.”

  “The raven, bringer of death.”

  “Then why help us now?” the raven demanded. “If we are the cause of this, why take the chance?”

  “Because we cannot do it alone, and you two are the best tools we have.”

  “The only tools,” the drummer cackled.

  “Don’t you see, raven,” Corvus interjected. “We must stop these new Guardians and retake the heritage of the Ravenfells, or everything will be lost.”

  “They owe me for my tree,” Hildegard swore.

  “While I’ve recently learned the thrill of charging into danger without a plan, we need to know what we’re up against.” Beaumont could feel the building tension between the parties, so he stepped into the fray to take control. “I intend to deal with these spirits. They have interfered too much to be ignored. But if I do this, I do not want any unforeseen consequences. It is not just
about stopping the spirits. We must uncover whatever weakness they exploited and make sure it never happens again.”

  “And that is exactly why I wished for your assistance in this, warlock,” the raven offered appraisingly. “You’ve spent your life plotting to thwart powerful forces.” His blacking gleaming eyes appeared to seek a truce between them.

  “I can help with that,” Corvus announced proudly. “While I was torturing these ravens as you claim, I learned a few things about the Guardians and their plot. Considering they betrayed not just the Raven King but the line of Ravenfell, I think they deserved what they got.”

  “Quit trying to excuse your atrocities,” the raven countered. “What did you learn?”

  “As you already knew, your flock made a pact with these spirits when they overthrew you. But that wasn’t the first bargain they made.”

  “I told you your bargains only caused trouble,” Hildey announced as she scowled at the raven.

  “Ahem. According to the ravens,” Corvus continued. “They were first used as messengers through the veil to the spirits’ old worshippers.”

  “They were like gods once,” the Spirit Weaver spoke up. “Before the veil was woven. They were worshipped as ancestors, and they walked the same village paths as the living. But other spirits grew angry and jealous of the living. As long as they remained in our world, they posed a threat to life. We had no choice but to banish both sides.”

  “Angry for falling, they seek to return.”

  “Once a spirit crosses over, they are cut off from the living world. Only when the veil thins and the two worlds draw close can a spirit from the Netherworld touch this side or harm the living. It is how we protected both sides. It is why the veil was created. And it is why the gift of the Raven’s Fel dooms it all.”

  “What crosses the veil should never cross back.”

  “And the ravens provided the means,” Corvus announced deductively. “That explains quite a bit.”

  “What were these messages?” Beaumont inquired.

  “Instructions from what the birds could deduce. Small brains and all.” Corvus offered a glance and a smile to the raven. “The raven’s carried requests to the living then returned to the Netherworld bearing the spirits named on their lists.”