Ritual of the Lost Lamb

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Armed with spectral blades, ghostly warriors burst out of trees and boulders to attack the champions. Whenever they miss, the creatures fall into the earth and rush ahead to prepare another ambush. The few that hit the adventurers leave sparkling cuts on their skin, the wound seeping magic instead of blood. After multiple strikes do nothing to Timoran, the ghosts change their tactics against the barbarian. While his friends continue to avoid the spectral blades, he is battered by possessed branches and flying rocks. Using his ring’s power, the irritated champion shatters all of the projectiles and roars to scare the more timid ghosts away.

  Finding another wall of phantoms blocking their path to the nest, the adventurers skid to a stop. Weakened from their wounds, they look for an opening while moving back to back. Nyx yelps when a ghost rises between them and shoves her away from the others. All of the spirits converge on the isolated channeler, including those that are part of the wall. Delvin tries to push his way through the mob, but he is knocked back by a blast of force. A wave of hatred briefly consumes his heart and makes him want to join the ghosts, the sensation ending when he pinches his cheek. Looking at his friends for help, the warrior sees that Timoran is cradling Dariana in his arms. The telepath is shuddering and weeping as she tries to throw off the powerful emotions that are tearing at her psyche.

  “They blame him,” she whispers as she watches Nyx leap out of the mob. The channeler draws the twin sabers to defend herself, the blades coated with an imitation of the Ring of Uli’s undead killing energy. “Don’t hurt them, Nyx! Something is controlling them. It’s made them believe that Luke is the reason they died. Either he failed to protect them or they were killed because they knew him. It’s not their fault and they shouldn’t suffer any more. They’ve been taken from their resting places and can’t go back unless we free them. I’m sorry, but you can’t hurt them without making things worse.”

  “Your new brother seems to enjoy putting hostages in harm’s way,” Nyx mutters before dropping her blades. The mob surges forward, but she launches herself into a tree and jumps back to her friends. “Let’s get into the nest and see if we can lose them. Although, if the ghosts are angry at Luke, they might be able to track me. If that’s the case then you guys have to hide and I’ll keep them busy while clean up this mess.”

  “Or we sprint for the castle since most of the spirits are behind us,” Delvin suggests, taking the channeler by the wrist. He only makes it a few steps before she increases her strength and tosses him over her shoulder. “Is this really necessary?”

  “Running hand in hand would be too slow.”

  “This isn’t much better.”

  “I’ll admit that I went with my gut reaction instead of common sense.”

  “Luke’s aura?”

  “Probably.”

  Delvin pushes himself off Nyx and stumbles for a few steps before breaking into a sprint that puts him behind the others. Peeking over his shoulder, the warrior sees that the ghosts are no longer in sight. Their absence is a source of fear instead of relief, so he cups his hands around his mouth to shout a warning. An ear-wrenching chorus of howls drowns out Delvin’s words before the others skid to a stop in front of the rising army of ghosts. The castle is on the other side of the spectral bodies, its blackened door closed and covered in dark green vines. Not even Timoran can make the jump, so they draw their weapons in the hopes of scaring their enemies away. All that happens is the ghosts angrily shriek and take a step forward, their movements now in perfect sync.

  A whistle draws everyone’s attention to the castle wall where a solitary ghost is sitting on the edge. Fritz Warrenberg waves to the other specters as he gets to his feet and searches his pockets, the motion making it look like he is putting his hands inside his stomach. The grinning gnome pulls out a white orb that he squeezes and casually tosses into the middle of the crowd before putting his fingers in his ears. Nothing happens for a minute, which causes the inventor to sigh and scratch his bulbous nose. With a muffled boom, the strange object explodes and disperses the phantom army across the Garden. Their echoing screams can still be heard as the champions rush toward the door, which opens to reveal a phantasmal Kellia Solomon.

  “By the gods, what happened to you?” Nyx asks as they rush inside. She tries to hug the ghost, but passes through and is nearly locked outside. “You were alive a few days ago. Did Walter kill you? Is Aedyn okay?”

  “Oh, you think I’m the real one,” the spirit replies before stretching her arms across the hallway. She pulls on the back of her head to reveal a featureless face beneath the one of their friend. “I can understand the confusion. I was Kellia’s doppelganger before Queen Trinity killed me. When my kind die in the form of another person, our spirit remains that way. As you can see, our true selves are trapped beneath the surface. Don’t worry because Fritz convinced me to help you save Luke. We should get to a safe room before the others regroup. Please follow me and don’t wander off.”

  *****

  The small garden has a few marble benches and a central gazebo with orange vines coiled around the columns. Fritz stands on top of the structure, making sure a four-pronged pole remains secured to the bulb-shaped topper. He tightens the bronze cords that envelope the strange staff, which leaves only two exposed spaces for him to safely touch. Pressing his palms against the warm metal, the inventor quickly moves his hands in opposite directions to make his creation spin. Hopping off the gazebo, Fritz watches a dome of amber energy surround the garden and protect everyone inside from the ghost army. He makes a low bow to the champions even though nobody is clapping, their faces full of caution and fear.

  “Do you honestly think this old gnome would turn on a friend?” Fritz asks with a friendly grin. He opens his arms toward Nyx for a hug before remembering that she would pass through him. “Well, it was worth a shot. By the way, congratulations on your engagement. You deserve some happiness after everything that’s happened to you, Nyx. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m entirely happy about you marrying Delvin. He got good grades, but repeatedly snored in class and lost my favorite wrench. He accidentally launched it with a catapult and we never figured out where it landed. That was his last day with me because he really didn’t have the natural skill for siege weaponry. Unless you count breaking it.”

  “Sorry about that. I always meant to buy you a new one,” Delvin claims, chuckling at the gnome’s teasing. He notices that the Kellia double is watching the entrance, her ghostly form blurring around the edges due to the barrier. “We need to get back out there and put an end to this. Can you tell us what’s going on?”

  “First, use this to clean your wounds,” Fritz says as he floats a box from the gazebo to Timoran’s hand. A flick of his wrist opens the curious cube to reveal a dull ooze that reminds the champions of healing ointment. “I’ve spent a lot of time practicing my interactions with solid objects in case I ever returned the mortal realm. I made that stuff soon after I got here and figured out what was going on. Spectral wounds can infect your aura, which takes a lot of time to heal naturally. That goop won’t repair the wounds any faster than normal, but you won’t get any weaker.”

  Timoran hands the box to Nyx who has suffered more injuries than the other champions and helps her apply some to her back. As the adventurers use the healing ointment, the doppelganger moves away from the door and takes a seat in the gazebo. She stares at the entrance where a ghostly warrior has appeared to gaze into the garden. The barrier hides the presence of those inside, so the translucent woman sees nothing more than an empty chamber and senses that she cannot enter. A distant howl draws her back the way she came, the ghost’s moaning reply echoing down the hallway.

  “All of them are enslaved to something called a Guilt Skin,” Fritz explains while putting on his glasses. He skims through a notebook to make sure he shares all of the information he has on the unique creature. “I believe it’s a type of demon that can raise ghosts. Once under the demon’s full control, these spirits become simple-minded min
ions. The Guilt Skin is in the castle, but I haven’t seen it roaming the halls. I think it’s either waiting for you somewhere or too weak to wander. From my own experience, creatures that force others to fight their battles are easily killed if found alone. Wish I had more for all of you, but I ran as soon as I appeared in the forest.”

  “You were saved by running away?” Timoran asks, taking advantage of the lull to check his great axe. He pauses when Fritz turns a dull red, revealing that the phantom is angry. “I am sorry for how that sounded. My confusion was more that you escaped with such a basic tactic. I would expect this Guilt Skin to be more of a challenge. It appears that this creature has a limited range when it comes to initial contact. I assume you ran as well, Kellia.”

  The doppelganger is slow to respond since it does not immediately recognize the name as its own. “No, I stayed with the demon for an hour and walked away when its guard was down. We think the Guilt Skin summons anyone whose death can be connected to the target. If the spirit refuses to believe that the person is responsible for their demise then they are unable to be controlled. I know Luke tried his best to protect me, so I hold no grudge against him.”

  “As for me, I died to stop Nimby from killing Luke. I’d be a terrible friend if I blamed the kid for my own decision,” Fritz states, tapping at his notebook. The group goes silent as a pack of ghosts climb over the castle, their footsteps amplified by the barrier. “The only way to free us is to destroy the Guilt Skin. Hardest part is to find the thing without the ghosts getting in the way. I’ll admit that we haven’t done the most thorough search. Honestly, I’m still scared that it has a way to break me and I don’t want to turn on Luke.”

  “Fizzle can find,” the drite announces before flying toward the door. He is stopped by Nyx and Delvin grabbing his tail, so he pouts and dangles from their hands. “No need hold Fizzle back. Fizzle not be seen. Ghosts too busy.”

  “We can’t take that risk since you and I have a bond,” Nyx says, reaching outside the barrier with her own energy. She gently slaps Delvin’s hand away and points at Timoran to stop her fiancée from interfering with her experiment. “The ghosts are after Luke and I contain some of his energy. There’s a chance that you have more than your original level of residue, Fizzle, since you used my magic in Visindor. I’m going to take a look around the castle without leaving the safe zone. Only so many places the Guilt Skin could hide. If I get the feeling a ghost senses me, I’ll sever the spell.”

  The channeler sits on a bench with Fizzle in her lap, a tiny thread of magic coiling from her brow. Her friends wait patiently as the searching spell burrows under the barrier and worms its way through the floor. Nyx finds no resistance to her probing, so she traverses multiple hallways in the span of a minute. She stops her spell at the entrance to a large courtyard that is filled with fruit trees and clear pools. All of the ghosts are standing in lines and gazing at the sky, which is dotted with thinning clouds. Nyx realizes that the army’s numbers have increased since their previous encounter, more of the phantoms rising into view every few seconds. Inching into the open, the thread stops when all of the ghosts shriek and their heads snap in the direction of the familiar magic. They return to their original positions once the champion pulls back, but they are twitching at the thought of being so close to their target. With no way through the spectral army, the half-elf retreats and quickly awakens from her trance.

  “The ghosts are in the big courtyard, which leads to the throne room,” Nyx reports as she gladly accepts an offered waterskin. Rubbing at her arms, the channeler feels goosebumps on her skin and realizes that her heart is pounding against her ribcage. “I’m willing to bet the Guilt Skin is in the throne room. After all, that’s where I’ll find the biggest concentration of aura. We only need to get through the army, which is still growing. Can we cause a distraction or get the demon into the open?”

  “I may be able to do something,” Dariana offers in a weak voice. Her hair has lost its natural shine, their ends looking more white than silver. “The strain on my mind is weakening me, but I believe I can still reach the demon. All I need to do is give it enough of a push to draw it out of the throne room.”

  Delvin approaches the telepath and checks her eyes, which have become bloody around the edges. “You’re either about to collapse or fall apart, so we’re not going with that plan. I want you to stay near me if a fight breaks out. My fount powers can bolster your physical strength, but your mental abilities are too complicated for me to work with. The ghosts are attracted to Nyx, so maybe we can use her for bait. Not the kind that runs around and keeps them occupied, but she can lure the ghosts into a single spot. You getting cornered might draw the Guilt Skin in for the kill.”

  “Big difference between being a decoy and being bait,” the channeler mutters while she crosses her arms. The others stare at her, expressions of disagreement on their faces. “Don’t look at me that way. A decoy moves around and leads the enemies away with the option of fighting back if an opportunity presents itself. Bait simply stands there and looks helpless. This is definitely me standing there like a free steak. I vote for another plan.”

  “We could walk right through the door,” Fritz suggests with a wide grin. He rubs his nose while looking at Timoran, the barbarian visibly gulping down a lump in his throat. “You’re the tallest one here, King Wrath. Would you mind helping me with an experiment? I assure you that nothing will explode. At least nothing important.”

  *****

  With Fritz’s invention strapped to Timoran’s back, the adventurers walk in a tightly packed group. Having been altered to accommodate movement, the protective barrier no longer attempts to envelope every open area that they come across. The result is a glistening dome that covers an eight-foot radius and stops an inch above the barbarian’s head. Being in such a cramped space, the nervous champions repeatedly bump into each other and step on the heels of whoever is in front of them. Due to the mild dispelling energy given off by the barrier, Fritz and the doppelganger have been reduced to blurry figures. The pair are unconcerned with their living companions passing through them, the contact helping them focus on moving forward instead of wandering away. The closer they get to the Guilt Skin, the stronger the drive to aimlessly head in a random direction. As soon as they reach the courtyard entrance, the anxious group stops and takes a few minutes to steady their nerves.

  “Lucky you had this thing,” Nyx whispers as she tries to look around Timoran. She pulls back when her head comes close to leaving the barrier and exposing their position. “Really strange that you happened to bring an invention that is perfect for this situation. Were you working on it when you were taken?”

  “Actually, I built it soon after I came here,” Fritz answers, his face appearing in his foggy form. The gnome moves as if pulling out another notebook, but puts it back when he realizes it cannot be seen. “It was obvious that you would be coming here, so I wanted to make a haven for you. The Spectral Masker was an idea I had in the afterlife, but I never had a chance or reason to build it. Hard to create a device that deflects ghosts when you and all of your assistants could get affected. Seems even Voran the Gnome God has limits to the risks he’s willing to take. Didn’t stop me from make calculations and schematics. I’m glad the whole thing worked out. Only made a mess of one room that you might want to warn that dragon about when he wakes up. I’m sure he can get rid of that magic storm or put up a warning sign.”

  “We’re going in,” Delvin says while putting Fizzle on his shoulder. Gently moving Dariana and Nyx to better positions, the warrior stands behind his friends and faces the hallway. “I’ll watch our rear, which means somebody needs to make sure I don’t trip. No matter what you see, remain quiet. If you feel a sneeze coming then raise your hand and Dariana will stop it. All we have to do is get across the courtyard and into the throne room.”

  Timoran holds up his open hand to do a silent countdown and everyone takes a step at the sight of his clenched fist. The short flight of s
tairs makes it a nerve-wracking start that is made worse by the sounds of ghosts sniffing the air. Even with their heads raised to the sky, the phantoms can tell that something living has entered their territory. A sea of tension flows from the front line to those in the back, making their bodies shimmer and twitch. The champions hold their breath as they get close and pray that Fritz’s plan works, all of them worried that the first ghost they reach will pass through the barrier. Instead, the army mindlessly moves out of the way to avoid the dome and returns to their position once the adventurers have moved on. Timoran is about to walk a little faster when he hears Delvin stumble and curse, the other warrior having some trouble walking backwards. Nyx takes the swordsman by the arm and guides him whenever they have to move around a bush or decorative stone.

  A gurgling spit causes the ghosts to turn toward the throne room and stand at attention, their eyes transforming into orbs of black ooze. Seeping out of the distant door, the Guilt Skin flows down the stairs and pools on the ground. A fat creature rises from the gray puddle, its body slick with the slime that eats away at every plant it touches. Bone is exposed on its major joints, which are protected by dull red studs and release hissing steam into the cool air. The demon’s face is nothing more than white holes for eyes and a mouth that is in a permanent frown. Scratching at its wide chin, a pink glow reveals the blackened form of the Ring of Uli, the artifact embedded in the demon’s flesh. Raising its arms, the Guilt Skin shouts in a garbled tongue, which makes the mortals want to retch. The ghosts stomp their feet as if agreeing with whatever their master has said, those closest to the champions still unaware of their enemies’ presence.