by B B Reed
Simon could hardly lift his foot to approach, stumbling and coughing. Horror creased his face as he claws at his wounds weeping profusely blackened blood, choking, “W-What… What have you done!?”
Steam rose from his body against the cold interior of the cellar, and bubbles gurgled out from his cuts, making the hermit collapse to his knees. The blood boiled and hissed once it met the cool cellar floor, hot enough to cook with. Halena grit her teeth together, biting down onto her emotions to fuel her hex, and watched as Simon was boiled alive from the inside. Her head throbbed and her eyes burned the longer she channeled the spell. His clawing weakened with every passing second and finally collapsed to the floor in a steaming puddle. The hermit’s last breath gurgled from his throat and he ceased to move.
She relaxed as the mystical chill from Simon’s spell lifted from the cellar and peeled her palm away from the sigil inscribed on the table. The blood had dried and blackened to a thin sooty mark. Halena inhaled a breath of relief, leaning heavily against the table. Ramsey’s groaning from the remains of the shattered barrel drew her attention and she rushed over to the deputy to help him out of the splinters.
The man got to his knees, holding his bleeding shoulder, “Ye god…”
Halena looked the shaken watchman over, brushing broken chips of wood off him, “Be thankful. Are you hurt anywhere else, Ramsey?”
“Nah… Takes more than a tumble to break this mail. Guh… Please, please don’t kill me too,” Ramsey sniffled, keeping his head inclined and refusing to make eye contact, “I-I’m sorry for killin’ Ross in front of ya… I didn’t want to see all these people die. I-I lost good friends, and I helped that monster… Oh, god, Ross, I didn’t want to kill you!”
The deputy grew hysterical, tears streaming from his eyes and mixing with his dribbling nose. The weight of his actions crashed down onto his shoulders all at once. Traces of magickal power had evaporated from the charm fastened about his neck. She snapped the charms off and gently lifted Ramsey’s glove from his wound, “Hush… I came to help.”
She pressed her palm against the shallow gash in Ramsey’s shoulder while he sobbed and apologized over himself. Focus returned to her current job, she draws healthy uncoagulated blood streaming back into the cut, the flesh knitting back together until it was a shallow, irritated line. Her power was not enough to make it scab over, the wound wanting to weep. Halena released Ramsey, “I cannot condone your actions, but you are as much a victim as those who died.”
Ramsey stared at Halena with mute bewilderment, looking at the wound on his shoulder. He blinked, touching his gloved fingers near the broken chainmail, giving her a shuddering nod, “T-Thank you…”
“It’s my job. Now rest for a minute while I make sure old Simon didn’t leave any surprises for us.” Halena reassured Ramsey with a small smile and rose to her feet to survey the scalded mess on the floor. The blood had soaked through, and pieces of his robe had burned away with the lamp oil, his effects completely ruined. A leather patch emblazoned with the winged seal of Arram and an eye in its center stood out against the ragged garb. Halena tore the artifact from his hood, pockets it away in her satchel and examined the puddle around Simon. Her two forefingers dipped into the steaming puddle. No power coursed through the blood. She cursed quietly, eyes clenching shut as her traveler’s influence swirled in her thoughts, “Damn it… Useless.”
Reckless!
“The power can’t be tapped. My spell ruined the very thing we came for.” Halena sighed, wiping her fingertips off on Simon’s rags. Ramsey cast a furtive glance at Halena’s conversation with herself but kept his lips tight when her eyes scanned over him. She turned to the table to examine the artifacts and instruments the wayward scholar left behind. Making the macabre scene’s centerpiece, a large crystalline stone sat, shy of being a foot long, appearing to be a dark, ominous amethyst. Just below the crystal surface, smoke swirled and wafted within. A wooden bowl stained with old blood accompanied the stone, holding a dry, withered heart in its base, and a tome was splayed open on a reading stand behind the arrangement.
Halena chewed the inside of her lip, and reached over to the tome for a look. Intricate diagrams and vaguely familiar sigils speckled each yellowed page, half of the script unfamiliar to her as she thumbed through the notes. A frown hung on her lips as she read, murmuring, “A fresh maiden’s heart, blood for inscription of ritual circles… and rendering fresh remains into fuel for the ritual... He truly was mad.”
The thought of the wife with her chest carved open made Halena’s stomach churn in disgust, but she continued reading to the next few pages. More detailed instructions followed for preparing a vessel for spiritual essence, a phylactery from which the sorcerer could be reborn. Halena tore her eyes away and looked back to Simon’s corpse, sneering as his suspected motives were confirmed. She read on, pursing her lips when she saw the key component needed for the ritual. Her words were hushed, “A soul stone?”
Her eyes jump to the crystal and the smoky essence swimming underneath its prismatic surface. The needles on the back of her neck tittered painfully, her traveler’s rasping voice croaking against her brain.
A grand reward… The polluted blood of the heretic can be forgotten! What secrets does it hold? We must know!
Halena grit her teeth at the cheering and excitement in her head, closing the tome and cautiously reaching out to touch the crystal. The surface held a faint warmth to her fingertips, but it did not react to her influence in any way. She retreated from the table and tore a dry section of cloth from Simon’s robe to wrap the stone in and slipped it into her bag.
“What… What are you gonna do with that?” Ramsey groaned, reaching for his sword. His shoulders tensed and he regarded Halena with wary eyes.
Halena buckled her satchel shut, answering plainly, “This needs to be studied and kept safe. Hopefully, the confines of the capital can ensure it doesn’t get taken by someone like him again.”
She tucked the book under her arm and came to Ramsey’s side to help him up. The deputy hesitated to accept the woman’s offer, grunting as he got to his feet, “If you say so. Let’s get back to town, this place makes me sick.”
They climb out of the cellar, carefully stepping around the victims inside the home. Ramsey could not bear looking at them for long, going ahead of Halena to step out of the door. She looked back into the house’s interior before closing the door shut behind them, “Was that Ross’ brother?”
The deputy nodded grimly, “Aye, Malcom and his wife, Anna. Ross and I visited them often. Should have known something was bad when they first took Simon in for relief. Killed ‘em both, he did, and he held us hostage when we came. Said he could tear our hearts out with his magick if we squealed. Never seen anything more terrifying before in my life.”
“Yet you cut down Ross to save yourself. His and Malcom’s blood are on your hands.” Halena glowered at him. The militiaman set his jaw, silencing himself as he joined her in the front yard. She and Ramsey stared with a mixture of relief and grim horror at the collapsed bodies in the grass. The attackers that threatened to break the door down were strewn across the lawn, the hunger in their lifeless eyes gone, and finally put to rest. The moonlight waned, the first light of dawn struggling to peek from over the distant horizon, just beginning to fill the inky sky with color.
“Heaven almighty… Did you do this, Maris?” Ramsey asked stiffly.
Halena shook her head, “No… The spell has been broken with Simon’s death. If you cut the head off the snake, the body will die. Magick arts may be powerful, but they’re equal parts delicate. It would have been a waste of time and effort to try killing them all.”
She moved past Ramsey, retreading her way from town, and taking care to step around the still bodies of farmers and hunters sleeping along the path. The deputy rolled his aching shoulder and followed suit with her, hanging back a few paces away. Words between the pair were scarce as they marched to the gates. Dawn’s light intensified during
their trek through the woods and the golden light bled through the hollows’ curling beech branches crisscrossing above. Shafts of sunlight took form and the forest appeared kinder, brighter as the sunlight filled the sky. A small smile curled on Halena’s lips as she absorbed the scene, feeling a sigh of relief from her surroundings, as if in thanks.
“So, that’s why they call it Brighthall.” She murmured to herself, returning to her march with the deputy. They were met by the watchmen manning the portcullis, Halena flashing Simon’s emblem to inform them that he had been dealt with. She advised that they comb through the hollows for the bodies of those lost to be identified and both were directed to the town hall.
Once word had been sent to the magistrate about her return, their meeting was arranged within the hour. Early morning bloomed over Brighthall, both Halena and Ramsey waiting outside of the magistrate’s office in the town hall. The adrenaline rush from fighting and running had long worn off from the woman’s nerves, quickly replaced with fatigue. Sunlight draped in through the windows of the quaint office and Ramsey’s shamed silence across from her left her struggling to stay lucid. Her head bobbed slowly as each drawn-out minute passes until she finally slipped away into a brief nap in her chair.
The doorknob jittering rocked Halena awake and she quickly sat up, regarding both the magistrate and the watch captain. The magistrate dressed for the bare minimum of official duty, opting for an ill-fitting blue vest covering his collared shirt on his portly frame. He nodded, an eager twinkle lighting his tired eyes, “Morning. Word has it that you were successful, Miss Maris.”
She rose to her feet, presenting the leather patch, “Yes, Mister Alden, we found the sorcerer who wrought this madness. Practicing Necromancy to prove some grudge from his past, and planned on taking it a step further, all at the cost of Brighthall and its people. I’m afraid there was no way to reason with him and he was killed.”
Magistrate Alden nodded a few times, digesting Halena’s summary and looking the emblem over. He glanced to Ramsey, pointing a stout finger, “Why is the deputy in? Did Ramsey help you?”
The deputy kept his eyes down, and Halena picked her words carefully, “Yes, he saved my life from the clutches of the sorcerer that created this mess. However…” Her jaw set as Charles lofted a bushy brow, but Ramsey did not interject, “…He slayed Ross while under the madman’s yoke.”
“You… betrayer!” The official’s face simmering into rosy, boiling contempt.
Laurence stepped forward, his voice booming as he reached for his sword, “Why would you let this happen? You swore an oath to protect this town and its people!”
“Don’t you think I know that?! I thought I could make a deal with the devil and have something good come out of this. Maybe fix the problems we’ve had at the border—without the need of the Queen’s army. I-I thought it could happen, so the people who died wouldn’t have passed in vain. I was so wrong … and I don’t deserve to wear this. I want nothing to do with magick anymore, even if it means I rot in the stocks.” Ramsey confessed, pulling his arm band off and offering it to his superior.
Magistrate Alden growled, snatching the arm band from Ramsey and running his thumb thoughtfully over the cloth, “I will… Keep your testimony in mind when I assemble the court for trial. You will be stripped of your rank.” The stoutly built man folded the cloth in his hands and gestured to Laurence, “Put him in irons and take him away. We’ll sort him out later.”
Laurence shook his head at Ramsey and pulled the deputy’s hands behind him to clap manacles around his wrists. He accepted the arrest and Ramsey was escorted out by Laurence with his head hanging.
The Magistrate slicked his graying hair over his balding pate and gestured for Halena to follow him, “Now, I imagine you wish to be paid for your services. Come into my office.”
She bowed her head, following him. Once seated with Magistrate Alden, Halena recounted details of what she encountered in her hunt in great detail. He made notes as she spoke, taking care in adding Ramsey’s testimony to it.
Just shy of an hour passed before they are finished, and Charles retrieved a medium sized coin purse from a locked drawer in his desk, sliding it across to Halena, “I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for lifting this terror off our shoulders, Miss Maris. Perhaps it was Rahab’s luck you found our plight from the road. A report will be made so we aren’t left in the dark. I’ll admit that I had my doubts, going on about magickal powers bringing the dead back to life. Alas, you are deserving of this reward.”
Halena reached for the purse, testing its weight in her hands, “It’s my job, sir. I appreciate having this chance to make the world better, if just a bit.”
Charles held up the winged leather emblem, inspecting it, “A shame, truly, that a master of knowledge fell so far from grace. Where will you go from here? Will you be returning home?”
Halena stuffed the purse into her bag, fastening the buckle closed, “Normally, I’d be heading to the next town, perhaps to calm an agitated spirit or hunt other fiends in the dark. Instead, I must be off to the capital to see if old Simon had any other followers or if his former colleagues could shine some light on where he learned these rituals and magicks. There is no ‘going home’ for me.”
“You won’t make it far after the ordeal you endured this evening. Why don’t you rest at the Huntsman for another day, enjoy a hot meal? The next coach won’t be in until tomorrow as it is.” Charles offered, setting the emblem down on the table.
“I… couldn’t.” Halena stammered, unsure how to take the magistrate’s offer, “The townsfolk may become suspicious or frightened if I stay overlong.”
He inclined his head at her, “Then consider this an addendum to your payment for saving lives.” Charles smiled, his thick moustache spreading across his lip and he gathered up his notes, “Get some rest.”
Unable to argue with Charles’ coy modification to their terms, she accepted, “I will, sir. Thank you.”
She gave a final departing bow and left the Magistrate’s office, making her way down the cobbled streets to the inn. The glances she received from the townsfolk on her way were ignored in their entirety, the blanket of sleep weighing heavily on Halena’s shoulders.
The grumbling proprietress jeered at her return, insults trailing off as the hooded traveler ignored her and made straight for her room. She set her satchel on the table, her dirty smock of a dress was thrown off, and muddy boots the last to be discarded beside the bed. The curtains were drawn to hide the intruding sunlight, then she sunk into her bed. Pulling her braid free and letting her mahogany tresses of hair come undone, she ruffled her fingers through her hair to loosen the fibers. Halena glanced to the table, the soul stone within the bag itching at the curiosity in her mind.
It won’t walk off. Sleep…
She let out a ragged sigh in reluctant agreement. As soon as her cheek touched the cool pillow, Halena is seized by deep, restful sleep.
IV
The Heart of Arram
Loud, pounding thumps rattled the air, rhythmic as a heartbeat at rest. Halena could not grasp the source of the noise, paralyzed to move more than her eyes and head. A sensation of weightlessness in the black void kept her immobile. Panic had not set in, the booming in the distance strangely calming and numbing. Chilling wind washed over her limbs, followed by hollow echoes of Simon’s laughter dancing past her.
“I’m sorry… His power is lost to us.” She breathed as she was reminded of the hermit’s maddening words. The void broke, a pale man’s face slipping through the blackness in front of her. His eyes were as empty and black as the surrounding abyss.
The swimming emptiness she was suspended in hissed with the words of her traveler. Invisible needles prick over her body as it spoke, “You fret over a meal fit for rats. Artifacts have their worth, dripping with secrets yearning to be tapped.”
Halena watched the face, her words slow and even hypnotic, “Secrets like… Who you are… where you came from?”
“After eight years, are we not intimate? We make such a fine pairing, frail flesh. The would-be Lich was felled swiftly with my help, and your growing progress. Have I not proven myself?” The entity tilted its head, its blank features almost inquisitive. Its voice made the needles pricking her skin titter.
The woman’s eyes drifted away from the ghostly visage. Strength to form and breathe her words left her, wind rushed past her and the sensation of falling gripped her stomach. The pale face disappeared, along with the thrumming heartbeat in the distance, her heart leaping as her freefall gained speed.
A panicked yelp and she jerked up from her bedsheets, looking around in confusion. Halena ran a hand down her face once certain of the reality she woke up into, wiping the sweat away. With sluggish movements, Halena rose from bed and drew the curtains open to let gentle rays of sunlight inside. She dug into her traveling satchel to pull a hairbrush free and passed it through her messy hair in a ritualistic manner. The wild curves and waves of her dark cinnamon tresses were tamed with careful strokes, grunting when knots and rats gave protest to the bristles. As more sunlight filled her room and she completed her waking ritual, she worked her fingers through the fibers of her hair to weave braids back into place from the back of her head and tied off the end with her violet ribbon. She tossed her fingers through her bangs, teasing them back into place until they framed her marked cheeks. A quick soak of the washcloth from the stale water basin over her face finally woke her senses for a new day and Halena pulled her traveling effects back on.
The smell of breakfast hit her nose as she tapped down the stairs into the tavern. Finding a comforting spot towards the back of the room, Halena parked herself in a seat and surveyed the morning patrons. Two farmhands shared a table while they ate meager plates of eggs, mumbling to one another about their morning. A man with animal skins across his shoulders and a decorated composite bow strung across his chest sat silently at the bar, sipping on a frothy mug.