Raven's Bane

by Will Bly

  “The scroll says this—the scroll says that. When are you going to teach me how to read the scroll?”

  Ithial scoffed. “What’s the point? I’m the one with the magic. It’ll be useless to you without me.”

  “To be able to read isn’t useless. Maybe to you, since that old man taught you, but I hate seeing these… symbols and not being able to understand them! A good friend would teach me.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll teach you how to read after we finish our business in the Blood Forest.”

  “The Blood Forest—that sounds creepier than a demon’s arm pit.”

  “That hardly makes any sense.”

  “It makes a little.”

  “Maybe—fine.” Ithial really just wanted to stop hearing his companion’s voice.

  Efram’s weight was matched only by his gullibility. Ithial held little patience for either trait. For months he had traveled with this overweight, balding slob. And how is he overweight still, exactly? With all this exercise? Some sort of blubber-saving magic? He’s chewing his fingers. I hate it when he does that.

  The conversations weren’t quite as profound or deep as they had been with Merlane, but at least this relationship was well-defined. Ithial traveled to complete his life’s work: unlocking unlimited magical power. Efram accompanied him in the hopes of leeching from that power—to be granted his own magic upon Ithial’s success. The oaf had even helped stage his own abduction to raise a ransom from his wealthy family of shipbuilders. The deception had left him and Ithial well-weighted in silver. Indeed, Ithial had to acknowledge his good fortune in meeting Efram.

  “I’m hungry.” Efram reinforced his declaration by placing his hands over his belly.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “You don’t have to sound so mean about it.”

  “Tch. We’re almost there. We’ll stop for a short bit. Fuel up for the final push.”

  Efram started looking off the trail. “A short bit, sure. Now if only we could find a place to sit.”

  “I see a log over there.”

  “Oh!” Efram waddled over to the log. “Stupendous!” He sat down with such reckless abandon that he tumbled backward. His feet kicked in the air as he struggled to right himself. It was a pitiful scene, but soon enough the portly man sat upright once again, feet planted firmly on ground.

  “So when will you teach me to read all that ancient, scribbled muck?”

  “That ancient, scribbled muck was the language of the old gods. So old it doesn’t even have a name.”

  “Must be a poor language then. Maybe if they communicated better they’d still be alive.”

  Ithial allowed himself a single laugh, a stomach laugh that sounded as if it climbed over a hump. “Perhaps you are right. Imagine the gods walked with us—lorded over us. I hear they were twice as tall as us. Human but not human, and full of unfathomable magic. They could change landscapes using only thoughts.”

  “Double our height, perhaps, but they shared the same pettiness we did, didn’t they?”

  Efram’s wisdom surprised Ithial from time to time. “Oh? How’s that?”

  “Greed. Jealousy. Control. The gods shared the same faults. They fought and died for ‘em.”

  “You are talking over your head right now, you know that?”

  “Yes, well, I’ve been around you long enough, haven’t I? Whew—” He grabbed his stomach with both hands. “My stomach really hurts.”

  Ithial shook his head. “Greed, jealousy, and control aren’t necessarily weaknesses, as you say. They only become weak when tempered with characteristics such as empathy, generosity. And that is why they destroyed themselves. Surely one of the gods, stronger than the rest, likely allowed compassion to get in the way of subjugation. Only when those who are strong submit to the weak do societies fail.”

  “I guess so,” Efram said as he rummaged through his gear. “But we’ll never know, will we? There’s no clear history of it, is there?”

  “No. There isn’t.” Save for what I have learned from the scroll. “What do we have for food?”

  “Smoked meat of unknown origin. Berries—had some before.”

  Ithial sat next to his foolish companion. “Let me see the berries.”

  Efram plopped a sack of berries on the stump.

  Ithial plucked a berry from the pile and brought it to his eye to inspect. “You know, these are mildly toxic.” He smacked the bag away, sending berries everywhere. “Idiot. You’ll be soiling yourself before long.”

  “Oh.” Efram shrugged and fished out some dried mystery meat. He bit into it with the side of his mouth, tore off a piece and chewed.

  Ithial shook his head. “Get some rest. We’re moving on soon.”

  ◆◆◆

  Shrieks bled through the trees, spaced out but constant.

  “Ithial, I don’t want this.”

  It was the plainest Efram ever spoke to him. Concise in his worry, adamant in protestation.

  “It’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I told you once I’d follow you to the depths of the underworld, but this is lunacy. Why are we here? What’s the aim? The goal?”

  “Don’t worry I said. Trust me. There’s knowledge here they’ll give me, according to the book.”

  “They? Are they the ones screaming or the ones making others scream?”

  Ithial remained silent. Silence and fortitude. The best way to keep Efram calm. He envisioned a shadow-hand reaching inward to clutch his anxious heart and slow it. He walked on.

  “Wait,” Efram called to him. “Wait…”

  Ithial ignored the calls. If he could get Efram to walk just a little farther, his friend would surely lack the courage to turn back alone. Friend, really? Do I consider him that? I suppose he is a friend to me. Even if I’m far from a friend to him.

  A few more steps and Ithial spun around. “If you don’t want to come, then go back.”

  Efram’s chin trembled at the cold indignation. He turned his head slowly behind them and forward again. “I…” He moistened his lips with his tongue. “I’m afraid.”

  “Then you have to make a choice, be afraid alone or be afraid with me. But I’m going onward.”

  A quick clench of the fists, a shake of the head, and Efram indicated his agreement with a wave of his hand.

  Ithial nodded and turned from him. That was close. I almost lost courage myself. He felt it then—the moment he knew he could never turn back.

  His foot hit into something hard, and he stumbled. A human skull rocked on the ground and became still. Looking at us. He moved on.

  The forest looked like mostly maple trees. Every so often, the grey and rigid skin of the trees exposed scars of what might have been from axes or other metallic devices. It looked as if people hacked wantonly as they walked through. But Ithial knew better. He knew what the wounds of the trees meant.

  More bones stuck out from the leaf fodder along the ground, but Ithial ignored them. It served little purpose to stir Efram up into a panic.

  Then he saw her.

  A woman of darker skin, full of piercings and tattoos, stood in their way. She held a long walking stick with a hollow top full of noisy beads. She must be some sort of mystick or shaman. Ithial made a habit of reading up on the occult. But she didn’t fit the description of the druids he sought. Perhaps a visitor to the forest. She walked up to Ithial, sniffed around him, and laughed as she went on her way. The laughter didn’t stop even after she was long out of sight. It lingered in the air, beneath the cries of agony.

  Efram grabbed at Ithial’s arm. “What in the gods was that? A sorceress?”

  Ithial moved Efram’s hand away. “Possibly, but we’ll never know, will we? But good news! Looks like she got what she wanted and is leaving us in peace.”

  “So you are basing our security on the random appearance of a stranger who sniffed you like a dog and laughed as she walked away?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Well, we’re saved then, aren
’t we?”

  Ithial nodded, started to walk on, and came to a stop. A handful of steps in front of him laid a thick coating of fog sprawled over the ground about two feet thick. The edge was well-cut, a cliff of moisture and cloud. It seemed to move neither forward or back, but remained rather static in nature. The phenomenon reminded Ithial of the exotic rugs he used to see among the nomads in the desert.

  “I don’t want to step in that. What if there’s a hole of some sort—I don’t plan on slipping headlong into the Underworld, Ithial.”

  “It is fine. Just follow me. Walk where I walk.” Ithial walked in about five steps, turned and smiled at his companion. The action weighed with just enough assurance to get Efram to step into the cloud-rug behind him.

  “I trust you, you smug demon,” said his portly friend.

  “That’s on you.”

  “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

  “That’s on me.”

  Efram huffed and slapped his hands to his thighs. “You are frustrating.”

  “Seems as if the tables have turned. Let’s keep going.”

  “What is that? On the trees?” The grey bark of the trees mixed with shades of red. Efram continued, “Is that why they call it the Blood Forest?”

  “Yes.” The red splotches were indeed dried stains of blood, but Ithial tried to say as little as possible.

  “It sure looks like blood.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  The ground began to squish and squash beneath Ithial’s feet. He ignored it and Efram said nothing. Rubble started shifting around beneath his gait, the fronts of his shoes hitting things that clicked together with the hollow sound of bone hitting bone. He thought back to the skull he found.

  He stopped.

  In front of them, hung from a tree, swung what appeared to be dried up, leathery garments.

  “Ah! Umph!”

  Ithial spun to see Efram fall face forward into the fog.

  “Oh my! Oh!” The oaf flopped and flailed, then scrambled to his feet, red liquid covering his hands, knees, and looser areas of his clothing. “Do you know what’s under there?” He shook his finger at the ground. “Blood and bones! Human bones! We’re walking through dead people, Ithial!” The chubby man struggled to take in air, his breaths running shorter and shorter. He began to wheeze.

  Ithial moved to his aid. “Ef, don’t worry. Just calm down.”

  “I ca—can’t breathe.”

  Ithial placed a hand on his back. “Yes, you can. You can breathe.”

  Efram fell to a knee, but his breathing began to slow. “No—no.”

  “Relax… can you trust me? Do you trust me, Ef?”

  A few more breaths and Efram looked up, his eyes full and innocent. “Yes. I made that choice when I left everything to join you.”

  “Good. Do you love me?”

  “Wh—what?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “I… I didn’t think you...” Efram’s eyes watered. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Then follow me a little more. A little longer.”

  “I’m scared.” Efram pointed to the tree in front of them. “What is that?”

  “Hung garments.” Hair clung to the leathery pieces. It could only be one thing. Of course Efram didn’t put it together—he never even looked twice.

  A scream tore through the woods, much louder and sharper than before.

  Silence again.

  Ithial spoke to keep Efram distracted. “You know, they say this forest has multiple entrances all over the world. And yet they all lead to the same place. Like a portal. Wouldn’t that be interesting—if you could master your way through here you could skip miles upon miles of travel.”

  Efram groaned. “If only you figured that out months ago, my feet wouldn’t look like shaved cheese.”

  Ithial laughed a little. It worked as reassurance. “Though I believe they’d smell only a little better, if at all.”

  Efram’s didn’t have a gift for wit, but his shoulders relaxed nonetheless.

  Ithial offered his hand to the oaf. “Come, let’s be on our way. We’re almost there.” He took Efram’s damp hand in his and pulled.

  Efram came to his feet.

  “Just a little longer, now. Here—” Ithial swung his pack around, fished out a rag, and tossed it to Efram.

  Efram fumbled with it, then wipes his hands off. “Thanks.” He tossed it back.

  Ithial lingered a minute on the redness of the cloth. He wanted to throw it away but felt strangely reluctant. He folded it up and put it back in his sack. A smell touched his nose then. The aroma smelt earthy and metallic. He thought of the meat markets of Point Lookout and the other border towns he and Merlane frequented on their treks through the Great Desert. “Let’s go.”

  The fog began to rise as if the wet ground boiled. The trees now turned a tint of red and from their branches hung ribbons of...Ithial leaned forward, knowing full well what he would discover. Guts. Strings and ribbons of human guts dangling from the trees. He knew he’d find it eventually, the heart of the Blood Forest, but the knowledge did little to comfort the pulsing anxiety he felt coursing through his veins. Efram whimpered behind him.

  A pointed finger appeared in front of Ithial, but the fog obscured anything more. “Ithhial, yes? You are Ithhial?” the raspy voice hissed.

  “I am.”

  A wheezing cough, a pause, and the speaker stepped out of the fog. The voice preceded the body as if they were two separate entities traveling together for mutual benefit. “You’ve come because you’ve losst your way, yess? You need to find it, hmm? The Crystal Caverns? You seek the Godsblood? The harvester of souls. The blood diamond?”

  “The Scroll of Shadows led me here. It tells me the druids of the Blood Forest will reveal the way to the Crystal Caverns.”

  “It tellss you? It speakss, doess it?”

  “I read it. Though sometimes I have visions.”

  “Of coursse you do. You are now itss agent—a shade of a shadow.” The stranger wheezed and laughed. “Go on, assk me.”

  “Are you a druid?”

  “Yess.” The druid stepped forward, gangly and tall within a grey cloak. Its eyes were dark without white—its skin pale. It seemed genderless and careless, unconcerned with the world Ithial came from. “And you are a trader?”

  He looked to Efram. They met eyes. Efram stood there obedient, but his eyes betrayed his fear. Ithial nodded. “Yes, I can trade.”

  “Exsscellent, and a fine offering you’ve brought us.” The druid raised his hand. Ithial’s heart skipped a beat. The druid’s fingernails were long, warped, and spiraled. One of the fingers pointed outward, directly at Efram.

  “Oh, I’m with him. Don’t mind me.” He laughed nervous and short.

  “You’ll be with uss ssoon, though,” the druid said.

  Movement occurred around the periphery. Fluid shapes of other druids. Some of them whispered. Some of them laughed.

  Efram started to cry. “Ithial, what is this? What is this? I’m scared, Ithial. I’m so scared.”

  He turned to his companion. “Don’t be. It won’t make what comes next any easier.”

  Silence reclaimed Efram. His gaze, stone cold and authentic, held Ithial in place.

  A wave of greyness surged forward and pulled Efram away.

  “Ithial! No! Help!” The screaming amplified as the pitch of Efram’s voice went from low to high until he sounded like a pig during a botched slaughter. Metallic clanking could be heard through it all.

  The original druid appeared in front of Ithial and beckoned with his wretched nails.

  Ithial obliged. Each step seemed longer than the last. He came to a clearing to find Efram hanging from a tree, the front of his shirt ripped apart. His fleshy pink belly pressed out into the air.

  Clank, clank, clank. A druid nailed Efram’s arm to a branch. Ithial watched his companion squirm and cry out in a panic. Blood dripped.

  “Ithial, please! Stop this! Can you stop this?” H
e squirmed on spikes that had been driven into the tree under his armpits.

  “You don’t understand…” Ithial spoke low. “This is your purpose.”

  Efram’s eyes widened, his jaw wavered, his body shook. “You—you knew all along? This is what I am to you?”

  The druid who secured him laughed. “Of course he knew, doomed one! Ha!”

  Efram sank into himself, falling silent and hanging like a dirty garment.

  The snake druid hissed his jolly approval, “Yess, heh heh heh, you are the trade. He’ss trading you for hiss destiny. SStep asside!” The other druids scattered as the snake druid approached his sacrifice. “You can’t be ssilent. The sscreams are what rousse the sspiritss.”

  The druid laughed and wheezed as he pressed the fingernails of his right hand to Efram’s stomach. They were chipped and tinged with crimson stains. “Quite the sswollen belly you have. Ithial brought uss a ripe one. Lotss to explore—lotss to tell.”

  The hissing druid grabbed the fingernails with his other gangly hand, looked Efram in the eyes, and drove them into his stomach like a dagger. The druid’s mouth opened with delight during the penetration, his tongue hanging limp and drooly like a dog’s. His smile seemed as if it would rip his cheeks as he twisted his hand one full, slow rotation.

  Efram howled between short and heavy gasps.

  Ithial withdrew into himself. He could hear the whispering laughter of the druids around him. He felt the disgust, and even the fear, but there was nothing to be done. When I have the power, he vowed, I’ll kill the druids myself.

  What he witnessed then he watched in mute. Almost as if it were already a memory long past and nearly forgotten.

  Snake Druid pulled his fingernails out. Chunks of yellowish fat like fermented, creamy cheese fell from the holes. The druid folded his fingernails down, but one. This fingernail differed from the rest—shorter and sharper. The druid used it to saw open Efram’s stomach. The nail grated through with minimal resistance, as if each stitching of skin popped apart. Guts fell out into waiting fingers while blood fell through onto a large, flat stone below.

  Another druid came jaunting out of the fog and squealed with delight as the guts were handed to him from Snake Druid. He turned, hopped, and jogged about fifteen strides before the guts pulled taught.