The Bard's Blood

by D P Rowell

  Bard Siphon grinned, deepening the shadows at the corner of his mouth. “Gotcha,” he said.

  The young bard lost his breath and stepped back. “Bard Siphon. . .I. . .”

  “You were plotting to take my rightful place as Headmaster on the passing of Bard Vile.”

  “But. . .you must understand. . .”

  “I understand completely, young bard. You tried to snake me and you failed. I can’t believe you had the gall, Haefer. I trained you. Without me you wouldn’t have even become a bard!”

  Bard Haefer’s thoughts raced, and Claudia came to mind. She was supposed to keep his business hidden in dream, but Siphon still found out. She’d failed him. . .was it on purpose? The bard shook away his thoughts and focused on the moment. He looked into Siphon’s eyes with intent. “The Headmaster saw a weakness in you, Bard Siphon. It was nothing personal. He saw the lack of ability to follow through when it came to the tough decisions. He needed a bard with a fourth process more suited to the grey. Someone driven by balance, not blessing. You’re a great bard, Siphon, but you’re not suited for the Headmaster position.”

  The round man folded his arms. “We shall see. . .”

  “No, we shall not,” said Bard Haefer. He stepped forward. “You may have caught me, but the deal I made with Headmaster Bard Vile remains. I will go to him and tell him I have completed his task. The deed is done.”

  The shadows on Siphon’s smile deepened the wider it stretched. “None of that will happen, Bard Haefer. Instead, you will return to your regular duties, and I will assume the Headmaster position as was intended from the start.”

  The young bard’s eyes grew fierce. “I’m sorry, Bard Siphon, but the deal is done, and a deal made with a bard isn’t easily broken.”

  Bard Siphon chuckled, his laugh echoing almost as if a song of the grey was about to escape his lips. “Forgive me, Bard. It’s just, I only laugh at the irony. Of course I agree with you, a bard’s deal is sacred. Not easily broken.” As he said this, he pulled something from his inside jacket pocket, a scroll of some sort? Bard Haefer’s mouth went dry, his heart beat off rhythm. “Yes. You know what this is, don’t you?”

  “Why do you have my blood contract?” asked Bard Haefer.

  “Because I am the Headmaster to be, Bard Haefer. It’s my duty to know these things. I’ve studied your contract thoroughly. Of course, bard contracts aren’t very long. The terms are usually quite simple. It seems to me here you’ve strictly bound your fourth process to balance. Blessings for curses, curses for blessings, and so forth. You might recall a moment ago, after the Headmaster instructed you to give five curses, you gave six. This sixth curse means your contract is broken, your blood compromised.”

  Bard Haefer fell dizzy, and his lips turned to chalk. This was his end. How had he not seen it? He’d walked right into Siphon’s trap!

  “Settle down, Haefer,” said Bard Siphon, stepping closer. “I am not going to sing the song of your blood. Consider my sparing you the first blessing as Headmaster. But remember, your contract is broken, and at any time I wish to sing, your blood is mine.”

  The young bard stood in silent defeat before Bard Siphon. What could he do now?

  “Now. . .kneel before your new Headmaster,” said Bard Siphon.

  “But, Bard Vile is still—”

  “I said kneel!”

  Bard Haefer stepped back, eyes widened by the shock of Siphon’s shout. He hesitantly took a knee before his superior, hanging his head as shame and fear fell over him.

  “There, that’s better,” said Siphon. “Now get out of my sight.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Spirit of Headmaster

  Gloom hung over Anchorton this day, but unlike the gloom the young bard had previously enjoyed, this one fell over him like a heavy, dark shadow. The overcast sky no longer foretold his curses meant to gain him power, but instead spoke of his pathetic defeat. Bard Siphon had it all planned the entire time, and now Haefer had no chance at becoming Headmaster. What would become of Anchorton? Would it fall entirely out of balance now? The Headmaster chose Bard Haefer for a reason! Siphon would ruin it all! Haefer sat on a hill in the park, watching the few families stroll by and observe the scenery even on this sullen day. He picked at the grass, anger chipping away at him. Siphon had to pay. Somehow. But he’d had the bard’s blood! What could be done about it? Haefer glanced up as a man passed him by on the hill without so much as a faint nod. Already stewing with fury, Haefer gripped his cane and shot to his feet.

  “Excuse me,” said Bard Haefer.

  The man turned around, shock in his eyes. He looked to be just younger than the bard, perhaps an older teen, with a baby face, deep brown eyes, and soft hair like ash.

  “Oh. . .wow, a bard!” he said. The young man gave a slight bow.

  Bard Haefer raised his chin. “Yes, a bard. Are you aware you just passed by me without so much as a greeting?”

  The young man knit brows. “No, I’m sorry, I just saw you on the ground and I assumed—”

  “You assumed,” the bard said with a chuckle. Then a pleasantly wicked thought popped into the bard’s mind. I no longer have a contract to uphold. His thoughts took him back to all his curses. One by one. He’d done it to obtain balance, as was his purpose as a bard, and all the while he’d refused to believe the truth growing heavier with every curse. Providing balance gave him purpose, but delivering curses was fun. It reminded these. . .peasants. . .where their place was. Now he had no contract to keep him from delivering as many curses as his heart so desired. “Well then,” he said, thumbing his cane. “I see it’s a perfectly good time to teach you a valuable lesson. Assumptions have consequences.” He reached into the air and gripped the patterns of the young man’s thoughts—the ones tied to his speech—and twisted them about. The boy writhed in agony and fell to his knees, then looked up at the bard, eyes full of fear. He groaned and hummed in a panic, hardly able to open his mouth.

  “Calm yourself,” said Bard Haefer, stepping closer and towering over the boy. “I’ve put a spell on your tongue. For three days it will be useless, save for food and drink. Let this be a lesson to you in the future. The bards deserve your respect. Are we clear?’

  The young boy nodded, wincing from discomfort.

  Bard Haefer gave him a few taps with his staff. “Off with you then. Go on!”

  He stumbled to his feet and scurried away, hand over his mouth. The bard watched him run away, disappearing into the crowd of people. He breathed a deep, satisfying breath, then looked around at all the folk in the park beneath him on top of his hill. Perhaps those overcast clouds had a silver lining after all.

  “A little harsh, don’t you think?” came a voice.

  The bard jerked his head its direction to find—Claudia! Dressed in a gown and dark cloak, the hood of it covering her head. Fire flowed through his veins. “You,” he said. What a perfect opportunity to curse someone. He walked toward her. “You were supposed to watch after me. You were supposed to keep me hidden from the other bards! You failed me!”

  With fear coming over her, the young lady raised her hands in defense and walked backwards. “It’s not what you think, it’s—”

  Bard Haefer sang a song of the grey. The song came from the deepest parts of the hate stewing inside him and filled the air with a vicious melody, harmonized with harmful intent. It fell over her like a shadow, doomed to haunt her until the end. . .but then she sang. Her voice burst from her lips and came after the bard, stopping him dead in his tracks from its force. His song ceased, as he was shocked by the power of her voice. Then one of the trees obeyed Claudia’s song, falling over the bard and wrapping him in an entanglement of branches. He opened his wide eyes at her as her song came to its end. Her melody softened, her tune brightened, and as she sang the final notes of her song, the tree erected to its normal state once again, and they were left standing in front of each other in silence.

  Some of the passersby applauded, turning their heads. They cert
ainly weren’t looking to entertain, but the few citizens passing by must’ve thought so. Bard Haefer half smiled and gave a slight bow to shoo them away and maintain his image—probably wasn’t the wisest to assault a lady greyan in broad daylight. Nevertheless, she deserved worse for betraying him! Though he had to admit, her skill with song came unexpectedly well.

  As the citizens drifted away down the sidewalk, Claudia said, “Bard Siphon had already found you and come up with his plan well before you asked me to watch over you in dream.”

  Haefer’s nose wrinkled. “Then why didn’t you warn me!”

  “Because. . .” The young lady spoke whispers on the air, using psy to reach his ears as if she stood next to him. This lady knew the grey like a master! And she was only a lay? “I have a plan of my own. I know how to reverse this. Not only do I know how, but it’s already set in motion. You will be visited by the spirit of the Headmaster in dream tonight. Do as he says. Then find me.”

  Bard Haefer looked intently into this lady’s eyes. “What’s in this for you? Why are you helping me?”

  “I just watched you curse a man for no reason. You’re an evil man, Bard Haefer, and I can see it in your eyes, now that you have nothing to lose, you’re even more dangerous. We can’t risk you running loose like this. Something has to be done before you go around cursing everyone and wrecking Anchorton.”

  He silently looked her over, thinking on her offer. He opened his mouth to ask more, but then she zipped away into the sky with a song of motion, speedier than any he’d seen before. Who was this lady? How could she have set this up? What did she mean the spirit of the Headmaster? He stood baffled, surrounded by not but the faint sounds of the few who walked the park under the overcast sky.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Bard's Blood

  When the young bard returned to the Hall of Counselors, Bard Nao met him once again in the Grand Passing, this time with tears in her eyes as she delivered the news of Headmaster Bard Vile’s passing. Bard Haefer had several emotions upon hearing this news. Anger, fear, uncertainty. Would Bard Siphon exact revenge on him now, using his position as Headmaster and the leverage of his blood against him? Grief hid somewhere under all these other thoughts, but the Headmaster’s passing had long been awaited by the others. Age had caught up with him long ago. All the bards gathered in the Headmaster’s chambers and discussed funeral and burial arrangements, said to take place soon, along with Siphon’s coronation into the Headmaster position. Haefer made sure to avoid eye contact with Bard Siphon at all costs, and when all was over, he retreated to his own chambers to rest—to dream.

  DREAM CAME WITH EASE, but instead of wandering the streets of Anchorton, Bard Haefer found himself in the depths of an unusual place. Shadows surrounded him. The walls looked like the walls of a cave. Darkness sank into his bones. For some reason he couldn’t explain, this place felt like home. He wandered through the trenches of dream, wondering what this place would lead him to. . .when a voice called to him from the shadows.

  “Bard Haefer,” said a familiar voice. It sounded almost identical to the Headmaster’s. He turned to search for the voice and stopped when he found a cloaked figure, the dark of the hood covering its face.

  “Yes. . .” Bard Haefer said.

  “Come closer,” said the shadowy voice. Bard Haefer did. “Yes. Come to me. Your blood is compromised. It no longer belongs to you, but me.”

  Fear struck him. “Listen, Headmaster—please do not sing the song of blood. I can fix this. I can—”

  “Sing?” the voice said. Then it laughed a wicked laugh, deep and wide enough to envelop the never-ending abyss around them. This wasn’t the Headmaster. It was different. “I am no greyan, bard. You will see that I am far more powerful. Together we will conquer the land. All will bow to us. . .” Then the creature lunged after Haefer and disappeared. Haefer winced at first, then fell to his knees. He felt the wicked spirit of it take over his blood, flowing through every inch of his veins and taking him over.

  “Graaahh!” cried the bard. He fell to his knees, he placed his hand on his ears. Darkness fell over him. The shadows surrounded him. His blood was no longer his, he could control nothing! Everything went still. He breathed slowly and stood to his feet. Power surged through his blood like he’d never felt before. Memories he’d never had flooded his mind. He remembered his days as Headmaster—with the old settlers—but he also remembered his days as Bard Haefer—

  “How do you feel?” came a light, familiar voice.

  Bard Haefer turned around to find Claudia wandering in the shadow of dream. “I feel. Great.” His drawn out words gave him time to contemplate it all. “It’s so strange. I remember myself as Haefer, from my childhood onward, but I also have these new memories of lifetimes ago. I am still Haefer, but I am also. . .him.”

  Claudia stepped closer. “Then you’ll recall our previous meetings. You’ll recall the deal we made.”

  Haefer closed his eyes and found new memories of he and Claudia meeting in the shadow of dream. This had all been a part of their plan together. Claudia and this being of shadow Haefer had yet to understand.

  “Yes,” Bard Haefer said. “I do recall. But there still lies one problem. Since I’ve left Vile’s body and taken this new one, I’m no longer Headmaster, which is something I didn’t intend.”

  “Patience, foul shadow,” said Claudia. “I’ve given you a wicked, corrupted soul for your taking, but there’s still something I need from you if you want me to show you the way to obtain the Headmaster seat.”

  Bard Haefer narrowed his vision at her, his memories of their previous meetings growing blurry. What did she need from him?

  “I will show you how you can become Headmaster, but first. . .I need the bard’s blood.”

  Thanks for reading!

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  Gideon can dream in alternate realities, but he’d give anything not to.

  Those who can dream like Gideon must devote themselves to the grey—a magic the citizens of Anchorton crave like starved animals.

  The masters known as the bards have everyone eating out of the palm of their hands, but Gideon knows better. The grey stole everything he ever he ever loved from him.

  Determined to get it back, he must convince those he loves that life is somehow more blessed without this addictive magic, but in his attempt to purge such a magic from the city, his dreams force him to face a truth he refuses to believe.

  His gift with the grey runs deeper than any before him.

  Now he must choose. Give in to the grey? Or start a revolution.

  Grab your copy of this epic fantasy adventure today!