Ritual of the Lost Lamb

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “You need this to leave our home,” the pixie says with a friendly smirk. Flying closer to the drite, she puts the tiny stone in his nostril where it dissolves. “The boy went through without one, but we don’t know how. Maybe he’s a fae too? If not then he will get lost. There are other traps ahead that this will undo, but not much help against the wind. Be very careful, stay safe, and have fun. We be here if you get lost again.”

  Before Fizzle can say thanks, the pixies fly to the ceiling and disappear among the dripping stalactites. Instead of soaring ahead, he crawls into the tunnel and continues moving carefully until he feels a slight pop in his ears. Free of the fae magic, he flies through the widening tunnel and discovers that he can see Nyx’s aura trail. Veering into holes and diving under low passages, Fizzle pushes his wings to make up the time he lost with the pixies. Large caverns repeatedly open up around him, some of them with roaring waterfalls and others with bizarre creatures that are startled by the speeding dragon. He pays little attention to them as he weaves through the air and follows his friend’s potent scent. The few beasts that are foolish enough to get in Fizzle’s way are swiftly taken down by a sleeping spell or a solid whack with his tail.

  Enhancing his speed, the drite plunges into a gaping hole that is spewing wind and dried leaves. By the time he comes out the other end, Fizzle is nearly out of momentum and has to grab the exit’s lip with his front claws. Hauling himself into another chamber, he clings to the crevice-covered wall while catching his breath. The sound of applause causes him to turn invisible, which only causes the noise to grow louder. Walter steps out from behind a stalagmite and snaps his fingers to reveal Fizzle, the act a show of power instead of a necessity. Sensing the grinning boy’s restrained bloodlust, the drite moves toward the ceiling while chanting to unleash a disintegration spell. Before he can finish, a tickle runs along the inside of his throat and breaks the delicate incantation. A cloud of wasted magic pushes through the dragon’s gritted teeth, which he is baring at his enemy.

  “You wouldn’t hurt a child, would you?” Walter asks with mock horror. He tries to shed fake tears, but fails and settles for innocently shielding his eyes. “Then again, you’re not a champion, which means you have no power or purpose in this game. Gabriel may have granted you the ability to face Stephen, but that boost was negated rather quickly. One fight with you and he found ways around your tricks. Even if you still had an advantage over him, you have nothing to use against me. You’re simply not supposed to be a part of these events. The gods probably keep you around as fodder for my father to kill later.”

  “Fizzle not fodder,” the drite declares while inching toward the exit. A wall of stone appears to block his way, a leering face emblazoned on the rock. “Fizzle save friends. Stand by side through all. Evil boy not stop Fizzle.”

  “Well, I plan on doing exactly that,” Walter says with a sinister smirk. He creates arms of moss that try to grab the drite, but are destroyed by a fire spell. “All of my father’s agents made the same mistakes with you. Either they forgot you were around or underestimated you. That won’t happen this time because I’m watching your every move. I’m the child of a goddess and a former god, which makes me stronger than Stephen. His mother was nothing more than a sleazy demon. I’ve nothing to fear from you.”

  Walter is about to attack when he receives a solid smack to the top of his head. The pain ripples down his spine and he struggles to duck under the next swing of Fizzle’s tail, which shears off the top of a stalagmite. Feeling a strange sensation on his forehead, the boy touches the spot and sees blood on his fingers. He tries to throw a punch at the dragon and relaxes when the beast explodes into a curtain of red. A second later, Fizzle slams into Walter’s stomach and sends him crashing into the far wall. The boy leaps away from a barrage of tail slashes, three of the glancing blows leaving bloody marks on his back. Terrified of the aggressive drite, the black-haired boy transforms into a beetle and burrows into the ceiling.

  “Fizzle not impressed,” the drite casually says as he flips in the air and barrels down the tunnel.

  *****

  The large cavern has an opening in the ceiling, which allows the rain to fall inside and flow along grooves in the floor. Expecting a trick from Walter, Fizzle remains in the tunnel and sniffs at the rocks to make sure he is not following the wrong trail. The drite peers into the dimly lit room and sees that there is a large depression in the ground, which has become a constantly rippling pool. He crawls into the open to see if his friends are in the water, but is immediately knocked off his feet by a billowing wind. Helplessly twisting and flailing, he has trouble getting his bearings as the spinning becomes more rapid. Carefully aiming his body, a strong flap of his wings returns Fizzle to the entrance and he scrambles inside where he can watch the strange twister.

  A small form whizzes by his face and he swears that he hears Timoran yelling before he loses track of the object. Inching his head out of the tunnel, another figure goes over him and he feels a tiny hand graze one of his blunted horns. Fizzle remembers the pixie’s words and realizes that his friends have been shrunk to the size of baby mice. Strengthening his wings, the drite dives back into the storm and flies against the wind. Cold rain pounds his face and streaks of lightning blur his vision, making it hard to locate the champions. Coating his eyes with a layer of prismatic magic, the dragon searches for his friends by tracking their auras. Dariana, Nyx, and Delvin appear as bright spots, but he finds it difficult to locate Timoran. With a flip, Fizzle flies with the wind and heads for the three champions while watching for the barbarian. He is heading for Delvin when the strong smell of sweat and alcohol hits his nose, causing the drite to veer away from the swordsman. Ignoring the squeaky complaints from Nyx, he soars toward a faint dot of magic that he knows is Timoran. Catching the barbarian, Fizzle returns to grab the rest of his friends and makes a big push with his wings to reach the tunnel.

  “No hear words,” the drite says as the champions talk in squeaks and gestures. He scratches his head and considers using a spell, but fears that it will react violently with the mysterious magic that has enveloped his friends. “Fizzle try fix. Scare off Walter. Now have time. Not sure what do next. Pixies say wind shrink friends. Wind need help?”

  “This is an alternate path to the Garden of Uli. It’s available now that the temple has been purified,” Dariana explains in Fizzle’s head. The telepath holds up her hands to stop the others from shouting, their squeaks growing shriller. “Walter herded us into here, but I don’t know why. It must be a trap since he altered the wind shaft. My guess is that we’re supposed to get launched to the Garden. We should return to our normal sizes once we cross the barrier at the mouth. I think the ancient spell is supposed to prevent people and bad weather from getting inside the cavern too. As you can see, it isn’t working since the storm is getting in. Sorry about rambling, but we were caught by surprise.”

  “Fizzle only need carry friends,” the dragon states as if it is a simple journey. A chilling howl and staggered lightning seem to mock his confidence, which makes him nervously lick his lips. “How evil boy change wind? Fizzle undo. Then we fly up safe. Fizzle hurt evil boy. Might end spell too.”

  “We think something is in the wind,” the tiny champion says, pausing to argue with the others. A stomp of her foot ends the debate and causes Nyx to stubbornly cross her arms. “You can see the depression in the middle of the room. A wind geyser is supposed to be there, but it’s been turned into this mess. Did you see anything besides us in there?”

  “Not with normal eyes or aura eyes.”

  “Perhaps something else would work.”

  “You hear thoughts?”

  “Nothing definitive. Think of a constant screech that isn’t interference, but isn’t actual thought.”

  “Fake thing.”

  Fizzle watches the howling twister and casts every sight enhancing spell he knows, the exertion making him yawn. It is when he uses heat vision that the drite spots a winged cre
ature that resembles a bat with antennae. The long projections direct the wind as the creature flits from one alcove to another. Leaving his friends behind, Fizzle dives back into the storm and races around the chamber. He has trouble getting near his target since he is going too fast to adjust to its precise movements. On his fourth pass, the drite comes close enough to snap at the bat, which zaps him with sparks from its antennae. His lips and tongue having gone numb, Fizzle is unsure if he is biting at the creature or spitting. Unable to catch the flapping animal in his mouth, the determined dragon pulls ahead and spins to slice his enemy in half with his tail. Riding the strong breeze toward the ceiling, he realizes that the wind shaft has not formed and the corruption remains.

  More of the bats fly out of the walls and converge on Fizzle to mercilessly stun him with their antennae. The drite feels a surge of energy course through his muscles as Nyx’s scent infects his nose. Rising out of the flock of creatures, he circles around to attack, but ends up sailing through the electrified circle that they form. Unaccustomed to an enemy that can move faster than he does, Fizzle fights through the pain to repeatedly charge at targets that he never finds. With a growl of frustration, he spins through the bats and kills two of them while the rest of the swarm gracefully disperses. Scattered about the chamber and focused on the dragon, the creatures are impossible for him to catch. Every time he dives at an enemy, another one shocks him in the side and ruins his aim.

  Fizzle rockets by the entrance and flaps his crimson wings to send his friends further into the shadows. Chanting as fast as he can, the drite casts a disintegration beam that splits into several smaller spells. Carried by the enchanted breeze, the deadly attacks race around the chamber and kill whatever gets in their way. Narrow grooves are carved into the walls, the edges steaming and dropping pebbles to the floor. To avoid sharing the bats’ fate, Fizzle plunges into the water-filled depression and clings to the bottom. Lifting his nose above the surface, he waits until only one creature is left before he stops the beams. Hungrily eyeing the disoriented bat, the dragon erupts from the pool and kills it in one bite. The taste is nauseating, so he hacks and coughs while returning to the tunnel where his friends are waiting.

  The wind settles into a thin layer on the floor as Fizzle and the champions move to the edge of the entrance. After hearing the roaring twister for so long, the enveloping silence makes their ears ring. For a moment, the adventurers fear that they have destroyed the path and the bats were really the chamber’s protectors. As if to erase their worries, flowers sprout from the wall and open purple petals that fill the room with orange pollen. As the bright motes stick to every surface, a gentle howl sends a tremor through the thick air that is shifting across the floor. The champions watch as a spinning shaft of wind sprouts from the depression and carries the water out of the chamber. Most of the pollen joins the breeze and rises to the top of the room where it creates a thin membrane across the opening. Ghostly images of the Garden of Uli appear in the barrier, the champions seeing nothing more than pine trees and the occasional winged spider. An eerie song drifts from the sky and sends a chill along the spines of all who listen.

  “Fizzle have bad feeling,” the drite whispers before spitting up the rest of the bat. The remains burn and fade away, the horrid smell making his eyes water. “Now feel better.”

  15

  Hurtling toward the Garden of Uli, the champions watch the ground shrink and become partially covered by clouds. Having returned to their original sizes, they find it easier to move within the wind shaft, but repeatedly lose their sense of direction. Birds fly through the pillar without getting sucked into the spell, which makes the journey more disorienting. Only Fizzle is able to keep his bearings since he is used to darting through the air in awkward positions. Flitting from one friend to another, the drite helps the champions remain calm with tiny shots of rainbow mist. He stops when they pierce a thick line of clouds and find the underside of the Garden in their path. Large roots stick out of the hardened dirt, which is spotted with flecks of silver and gold. As they near the flying temple, five dark tunnels open and the magical wind tightens to envelopes its passengers. Locked with their feet pointing at the Widowhorn below, the adventurers close their eyes as they enter the dark passages.

  In less than a second, they find themselves surrounded by the cold water that has cushioned their landing. The tunnels have already closed, so the champions swim to the surface where they take in gulping breaths. Heading for shore, the drenched adventurers are met by a wall of green feathers that moves up and down with the Brocken Dragon’s gentle breathing. Even though it is unconscious, the beast’s eyes are open and gem-like drool is pooling beneath its jaw. Timoran bravely puts his head against the guardian’s flank to make sure its heartbeat is normal and there is nothing attacking it from the inside. Satisfied that the dragon has not been taken over by Walter, the barbarian nods to his friends and puts a silencing finger to his lips. Sensing that danger is waiting nearby, they check their gear while Nyx dries their clothes with a controlled heat spell. Without warning, the lilting song from the cavern returns and sounds as if it is voices that are mimicking musical instruments.

  Delvin is the first to walk around the snoring guardian, but he stops as soon as he sees the forest. The trees have an ethereal shine along the bark and flocks of spectral birds flit through the branches. Large spiders litter the ground, their stiff legs in the air and their leathery wings splayed. Still alive and barely conscious, the creatures’ limbs twitch in the breeze that constantly shifts from warm to cold. Far in the distance, an adult roc can be seen standing with its head tucked beneath its wing. Behind the silent bird is a massive nest where the rest of the flock is sitting in the same position. The only active animals that the adventurers can see are the black butterflies and green hummingbirds, which are moving among the wilting flowers.

  Not wanting to disturb the sleeping creatures, the champions carefully make their way toward the central castle. It is not long before they spot a ghostly figure slip out from behind a tree and disappear through a rock. They watch for the specter to return, but a different one rises from the earth to their right. Wearing the clothes of a royal courier, the man passes in front of the adventurers and stops to stare at a broken spider web. As the champions continue, more ghosts appear to gaze at random objects and promptly disappear. Some of them are wearing simple shirts and pants like the ones Selenia used for school uniforms. Others are armored warriors, but the majority of phantoms look to be of people who one would pass on the street without thinking twice about them. The truth does not dawn on the group until a man with tiny fairy wings and a long beard walks by. He is holding the hand of a beautiful woman, who has a leaf pattern to her spirit and berries growing from her fingers.

  “Frog and Plume from Rhundar,” Nyx whispers as she reaches out to touch them. Her hand is grabbed by Dariana, who refuses to let go. “I only wanted to see if I could make contact. We could ask them what’s going on and get out of here quickly. It isn’t like this is the first time we’ve dealt with ghosts.”

  “Which is something Walter is aware of,” the telepath says while watching more of the specters appear. Hatred and disgust are hidden beneath the sensation of being lost, which makes her fear that an attack is only minutes away. “They are not here of their own freewill. Such enslavement causes anger and I’m sensing a lot of hate as well. Right now, the ghosts are unaware of our presence. We should keep it that way for as long as possible. As you said, this isn’t the first time we’ve been in this situation. Can you remember a time when an encounter like this hasn’t become a race for our lives? No, I can’t do anything about this since my power over spirits only works within the Spirit Well. Oh, sorry about answering the question before you asked it.”

  “Let’s get to the castle without touching any of them,” Delvin suggests as he sheathes his sword. The warrior stops when Asher Grasdon rises from the ground a few inches away, the armored man marching toward one of the spiders. “Th
is is really creepy. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re getting in position for something. I see a lot of Feykin and people dressed like the jungle natives. Children too, which is disturbing. Any ideas on what is going on here?”

  “Fizzle no know,” the drite replies from where he is perched on Nyx’s shoulder. He watches a spectral sailor head for the nearby river and stand upon the waves. “Need get away. Too many to fight. Only Luke have power to stop.”

  Timoran shakes his head as he takes up the rear of the group and focuses on keeping his massive frame away from the ghosts. “It would not be right to destroy them. They are being used as pawns against their will. I would rather we find the source and free these people. Are you okay, fire sprite? You look flushed and are sweating.”

  “Every spirit has a piece of Luke,” the channeler replies, her eyes glazing over. She licks her lips as the gathered energy in her body screams for her to absorb the residue. “The ritual is gaining sentience and wants to be completed. It’s not easy to hold myself back. Let’s get to the castle and find a place that doesn’t have any ghosts.”

  Delvin turns to offer some of his magic to tide her over when he sees an Elven archer rising in front of Nyx. The deceased member of the Salamander Army is too close for the channeler to avoid, the half-elf’s foot passing through the woman’s head. The ghost’s eyes burst into ivory flames and an enraged howl erupts from her toothless mouth, which stretches to twice its normal size. Not waiting for the other phantoms to react, the champions sprint through the forest that is steadily growing brighter. Furious screams and bone-chilling moans fill the Garden as the spirits become aware of the mortals. Searching for their prey, many of the ghosts twist their heads in unnatural positions while sinking into the earth. The Feykin and Caurean phantoms reappear as a large wall, which forces Delvin to lead the group toward the roc nest.