by J D Bowens
“Very good,” Margaret said. She blew on Dandrea’s face as though she were a candle. Dandrea’s eyes rolled back until her pupils were gone. The Suppression ritual had begun. Margaret’s fingers pressed hard into Dandrea’s temples. “Suppess Ana Toro. Bind these demons, silence these voices, be gone from this mortal flesh.”
Dandrea quivered under Margaret’s touch, and with each word she spoke, Dandrea’s shaking became more violent. Inky black tears poured down her cheeks. They dripped onto the floor and left acrid, fiery marks. Margaret’s chanting grew stronger and louder. Altin joined in the chant. “Suppess Ana Toro. Bind these demons, silence these voices, be gone from this mortal flesh.”
Dandrea’s violent shaking became a hellish demonic sway. A mournful wail tore from her throat and caused the candles to shake with fear. Margaret’s grip on her did not falter. The runes grew brighter until the room was full of light. Then in a swift movement, the runes flew into Dandrea’s head like arrows to a target.
The chanting ceased, and Dandrea closed her eyes, and her body relaxed. Margaret guided the girl to rest on the floor. She appeared to be asleep. Altin’s eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight and he looked on at his friend with a sense of relief.
“She’s alright then?” he asked.
“Yes, she will no longer hear the voices of the dead,” Margaret said, “and she will never remember this ceremony.”
“Good, I was afraid she’d never forgive me for this.”
Margaret rose from the ground and lit several more candles. “You will never speak to her again, Altin. Your friendship with her is over.”
“But why? She is no longer a threat-”
“She is still a necromancer,” she said. “She is still a disease, and you are not to be near her. I will not risk a student of Truth being affected by her madness. Even with the wards on her mind, her curse may resurge one day.”
Altin said no more and helped move Dandrea to the couch. I may lose her friendship, but at least she’s alive.
Chapter 42
Thwack. Thwack.
The sound woke Altin from his drugged stupor. He realized he could not feel his legs nor could he feel any other part of his body for that matter. Yet somehow, he was sitting upright in a chair. Looking at his shoulder, he saw the head of the carved dragon staring back at him. If he had any energy, he would have been terrified.
I’m sitting in the Crimson Throne, but how--?
Thwack. Thwack.
In front of him lay the bodies of Ganbe, Elderman, and Psarikt. The blood poured from their corpses to the Crimson Throne and soaked Altin’s boots. Dandrea was hunched over Valderma’s body, her back to Altin as she stabbed him over and over. Thwack, thwack. Valderma’s gurgled pleas for help were strangled by the paralysis from the gas they all inhaled.
“No,” Altin whispered.
Dandrea stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“You’re finally awake.” She wiped a bit of blood from her face. Her hair was a disheveled mane of lunacy and her dress a crimson pattern of violence. She rose from the ground, dropped the dagger to the floor, and approached the throne. She placed her hands over his on the armrests of the throne and leaned forward, bringing her face so close to his he could feel her breathe. “You are so very predictable, Altin. You did everything just as I imagined you would.”
“You tricked me. This was all a trap. You wanted the deans to open the vault. The ward eating spell was a red herring.”
“Correct, my friend. What did you think of the rats? Useful creatures. It took me weeks to figure out how to enchant them and train them to deploy the spell. The school really should consider making the ground beneath the vault more secure. Anything could burrow its way in here.”
“How did you get past the Keeper? And the prison?”
“The prison was simple,” she said. “I knew you would turn me in, betray me again for Margaret. I snuck in and tampered with the wards before you arrived. I left the Warden in the care of his prisoners - or former prisoners I should say. As for the Keeper and the golems, well, they cannot sense divina magic. My new friends gave me an invisibility spell they could not detect.” She cocked her head and looked at him with a mock pout. “Come now; you don’t think I’m a monster, do you?” Altin gulped and knew better than to answer. “I am not a monster, despite what you and Margaret think.”
“Dandrea, listen, you cannot escape here with this throne. No matter what magic you use, the people will notice you escaping with the throne. You’ll never leave Manaan hall, let alone the city.”
Dandrea laughed at him. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ve already planned my escape.” The room began to hum and vibrate, and the stones underneath the throne began to blacken until a large dark circle surrounded them both. “I am the anchor in a Summoning Spell. With the wards down and the Deep Vault open, I can now complete the spell. When my friends call me through the portal, I will disappear with the Crimson Throne.”
“You didn’t need to kill Margaret. They would have removed the wards to repair them anyway. The Dandrea I know would never--”
“You never knew Dandrea. You betrayed her.” Her voice was a fiery hiss, like a venomous snake about to strike. She took a breath as if to collect her thoughts. “I knew that killing Margaret would bring you home to me. You would never have come if I asked, but for her--” For a moment Altin thought he saw a glimpse of longing and remorse in her eyes. The look vanished and was replaced by anger as she leaned back from the chair. “I remember everything now. You stood there and helped her as she ripped apart my mind.”
“I did it to save your life,” Altin said. “You would have gone mad. The school would have killed you for necromancy.”
“You didn’t give me a chance,” she said. “You don’t know what could have been. Neither did she. I could have managed it, but you betrayed me. That’s what hurts the most. You left me alone, and I had no one to talk to. No one but all of them.” She gestured to some unseen persons.
He was confused. “Who are you talking about? Nemoth - ”
“No, I am not one of his blind Children,” she said. “I am my own master. But Nemoth’s followers are quite resourceful. They lifted the wards you placed on my mind. This throne is my gift to them.”
The sound of metal clanging against stone grew louder and louder outside the room. The Keeper, he must have sensed her in here.
Dandrea heard the noise as well and dragged him out of the chair. She dropped him outside the dark circle on the ground, next to Valderma’s corpse. She walked back to the throne and sat down. A twirl of her fingertips and odd threads of divina magic spun out from them. She moved her arms about, weaving the threads together until a magnificent cocoon of magic wrapped itself around her and the throne.
“I know you think I'm mad, but I am saner than ever,” she said through the cocoon. She reclined in the throne. “I wish we could have stayed friends, Altin.” The throne began to sink into the black circle beneath it. Inch by inch it was swallowed up by the inky black pool. The throne began to rotate, and Dandrea was no longer looking at him and sank with the throne.
Altin felt his arms again, the muscles like jellied ropes. He struggled to snatch the dagger she had left on the floor. He tried to prick his finger but instead stabbed his hand, thin rivulets of blood slid down his fingertips. He dropped the blood onto a nearby pebble.
“Sangres falio,” he whispered to the pebble as he twirled it between his fingers. “Sangres falio.” The spell began to appear, a small purple thread tied around the pebble. He propped himself up on his elbow and flicked it into the black pool just as the top of the throne was swallowed up.
The Keeper burst into the room as the black pool shrank and disappeared.
Chapter 43
The stairwell Consus walked down was cold and dark. A young man led the way with a torch in his hands. Consus recognized him - Malin - the one who had been responsible for the attack at the Nor Sea. He had been the servant of Nemoth urgi
ng on the soldiers that night.
Consus wanted to shove the weasel-faced brat down the stairs. But with Zamari behind him and the tattoos on his arms, he feared even to think it. They stopped at a thick wooden door at the bottom of the stairwell. Malin placed the torch in a holster on the wall. He opened the door and shoved Consus through.
Consus tripped and fell into a well-lit cavern. He braced himself for the fall but still let out a loud ‘oof’ as he hit the ground. In the dirt, before his face, was an intricate symbol drawn in white sand. It was a large white circle with another circle at its center. Within the inner circle was a twelve-pointed star that stretched from the center and touched its circumference. Between each point of the star was an odd jagged symbol. For each of the twelve points was a corresponding black orb in the outer circle.
“Get up,” Malin said.
Consus sat up as Malin walked by and sat on the floor on the opposite end of the symbol. He felt someone pat his head. He did not need to look up to know that it was Zamari’s hand. Her touch was a cold, terrifying chill.
He noticed that he was surrounded by Children of Nemoth. To his left and right were young men and women in the black and red robes with the dragon embroidered on their chest. They all sat with their knees just touching the edge of the symbol. Zamari sat down beside Consus.
“Scoot back, my pet,” she said. Consus moved back from the symbol. He hated how she called him her “pet” but said nothing. She closed her eyes, and everyone in the room mimicked her. They all inhaled deep breaths and exhaled loudly. For a moment Consus wondered if he should do the same. Their breathing soon synchronized and quieted until silence filled the room.
"It is done," a tubby young woman said. "The wards have fallen."
"Has the anchor arrived at the throne, Sister Lorna?" Zamari asked.
"No, she has not yet entered the vault," Lorna answered. “But with the wards down we can begin the summoning spell. The anchor should arrive soon.”
"Wonderful," Zamari said to Lorna. "Focus on your breathing and meditation until she arrives. If we are not in harmony, the spell will fail."
For several moments they sat in silence. Consus was thankful not to be noticed. He studied the cave and noticed a path in the corner that continued into darkness. Perhaps that is my way out. He dared not attempt to escape now; he knew he wouldn’t get far.
He noticed a large hole in the high ceiling directly above the symbol of the floor. It’s like staring up a massive chimney. The moonlight trickled down through the dark hole and reflected off the stone. He saw something in the light move, but the shadows hid it well.
A great bat perhaps? Claws scraped against stone as it moved. He looked away from the creature, afraid he might draw its attention.
Lorna's eyes blinked open. "She is there.” Her voice was excited and giddy. “The anchor has been set, and she is casting the remainder of the summoning spell."
Zamari nodded and closed her eyes. “Then let us begin.”
Consus watched as everyone around the circle stretched out their arms. Their hands all came within a hair of touching one another’s. After a few moments, they withdrew their hands from one another and brought them together. The index fingers and thumbs of both hands formed a triangle which they held above their hearts.
Consus eyed the ceremony with a fearful curiosity.
Zamari began a series of complex hand movements that were mimicked simultaneously by the others. They repeated the movements over and over, not once opening their eyes. Consus rubbed his shoulders as the room became cold despite the torchlight.
A chorus of chanting burst from Zamari and the Children. So synchronized was their chant that they sounded as one voice. Their hand movements became hurried, sporadic. The synchronization was broken among them, and each moved differently but continued to chant as one voice. Consus wondered how they could keep the same pace and time. How did they know what the other was doing?
The chanting stopped without warnin, and all movement came to a halt. Each of them returned their hands to the initial triangle formation over their hearts. The triangles twinkled with a black light that radiated, grew, and consumed the cave. Consus was scared, but he did not move; he didn’t even think to run, afraid of what might happen if he interrupted the spell. Zamari and her followers remained motionless as an inky black pool appeared at the center of the symbol. It eked to the circle’s edge.
Consus could feel his heart race as he watched. He looked around the room. There appeared to be a tunnel at the other end of the cavern. He considered escaping away, but he feared more of the pain that the tattoos would bring.
The pool grew until it reached the edge of the circle, a hair away from everyone’s knees. From the center of it emerged the head of a dragon resting next to the shoulder of a raven-haired woman. As she rose from the pool, Consus could see that she sat in a chair and the dragon’s head was a part of it.
That must be the Crimson Throne. But how odd it was that the throne was black and not red. The shadowy pool retreated under the throne once it had fully emerged. Warmth returned to the cavern, and the symbol on the floor no longer remained. Victorious smiles adorned the faces of Zamari and her disciples. Consus could not help but succumb to the overwhelming sense of defeat. With both the Pilgrim Stone and the throne in her possession, Zamari had the whole world at her feet.
The raven-haired girl rose from her seat and bowed before Zamari. Everyone rose from the circle except Consus. He remained on his seat outside the symbol.
“Welcome, Dandrea,” Zamari said. She embraced the young woman to herself. “You have done well for our cause.”
Consus noticed the uncomfortable look on Dandrea’s face. She wriggled out of Zamari’s embrace and took a tactful step back. “I am glad to have been such a help to you,” she said. “I understand you have something for me as well.”
Sister Lorna stepped forward and presented Dandrea with an ivory white tome. Dandrea snatched it from her hands and opened it. Consus was not able to see the contents from where he sat, but Dandrea appeared satisfied. She smiled and closed the book.
“Please stay the night,” Zamari said. “I can have a coach to take you anywhere you desire in the morning.” Dandrea nodded and followed Synara up the stairs. Before she left Zamari called out. “Synara, send for Dromedus and have him join us.” Synara nodded and disappeared. She returned nearly an hour later with the soldier behind her.
Consus eyed the man who had attacked him and Leiwyn with contempt. He could almost feel his body burn as he watched the man stride into the cavern. How he wished to lash out. Doing so would do no good. I would only crumble to the ground and make a fool of myself.
Dromedus stopped and saluted Zamari. She beckoned him to join everyone else standing nearby. Lorna approached and presented her with the Pilgrim Stone. Zamari took it and placed it in the circular space near the dragon’s neck. It floated there, held by the air. Though it was too far for him to see clearly, Consus thought the gryphons had disappeared from his sight. Only dragons remained.
Zamari pet the dragon head on the throne as if it were alive. Her fingers traced the scales of the neck. “Consus, do you know how this throne is awakened?” she asked.
“No, - Mistress,” he replied. He sensed something, a wicked prickly feeling that emanated from the throne. The air was thick and electric as if anticipating a storm.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” A wicked smile graced her face. “The Stone, it doesn’t just let you travel to the realm of the gods. It draws its power from their world. You can do almost anything with the Stone, even forge a new world, but you need a powerful altar and the Red Moon for that.” Her fingers glided over the armrest of the throne. “I am almost tempted to let you touch the throne so you can see for yourself. No one has seen it in its true form for many centuries. Perhaps, I shall show you instead.”
Her disciples turned and eyed Consus with scorn. “Thank you, mistress,” he muttered.
“You are welco
me, pet,” she said. “The Crimson Throne requires the ‘heart of a bold believer’; one who has dedicated their soul so completely to the return of our Father of Blood and Shadows. Malin, would you please step forward?”
Consus sensed the mood in the cavern change but did not understand why. The eyes of the other disciples became wide and looked to Malin. For a brief moment, Synara appeared disappointed. I suppose she’s been robbed of great honor.
The weaselly young man fidgeted in his robes and began to sweat profusely. “Mistress, I am not sure that I am truly worthy.”
“Dear Malin, of course, you are. You have taken several bold actions on behalf of our father,” Zamari said. Consus thought he heard a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Your deeds and efforts should not go unnoticed.”
She patted the cushion on the throne and called him forward. She wore a wide grin on her face like a wolf who had cornered its prey. Malin stepped forward as though he were approaching a monster and sat down in the obsidian seat. He laid his hands on the armrests and eyed the dragon head over his right shoulder.
“It is important that you remain still,” Zamari said, “as the dragon determines the worth of your heart.”
“What do you mean?” Malin asked.
Zamari did not answer him. She squared her shoulders and positioned herself in front of Malin and the throne. She placed the palms of her hands together and appeared to concentrate for a moment. Her eyes glowed a brilliant red and Consus watched as the small dragon statuettes, carved into the backing of the throne, crawled down to the armrest. They grasped Malin’s wrist, forearms, and shoulders. “What are you doing, Zamari?”
Zamari continued to say nothing. Malin struggled to rise from his seat, but the tiny dragons held him down. The disciples took a collective step back, and Consus himself rose up from the ground. A loud hum emanated from the chair, the sound shook the walls, and the cavern floor vibrated.