CHAPTER NINE

Ritual Killing

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Escaping the company of armed guards escorting Bram’s auto-carriage back to Bastille would have been a difficult feat if Rowan hadn’t been with him. True to her monicker of the Rebel Trickster, the redheaded maiden who’d swapped out her commoner’s coat for her teal gambeson conjured a fog so thick around the auto-carriage that the escorts following it began bumping into each other.

“Watch where you’re riding!” warned a soldier with a gruff voice.

“You’re the one who’s out of formation!” complained another.

“I cannot bloody see in this damned fog!” yelled a voice that sounded a lot like Vicomte Henry’s.

Coupled with the dark clouds that appeared overhead to cover the twin moons in the sky, visibility on the dirt road had become too horrible for the retinue’s journey to continue.

“Hold — hold!” Sir Anthony called in warning. “Stay in formation around the prince’s auto-carriage. We’ll wait until the fog clears!”

“B-but sir,” came an urgent, anxious voice, “the auto-carriage…it’s not here!”

The barking of panicked orders and the anxious neighing of horses filled the night, but neither Bram nor Rowan would hear them. With the aid of her trickery, they’d slipped away into the darkness and took the auto-carriage back down the path they’d come from.

“The fog,” Bram fidgeted in his seat for he couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable on this rough road they were on, “why did the sorcerers not notice you conjuring it?”

“I didn’t use sorcery to summon the fog,” Rowan replied.

One of Bram’s eyebrows twitched upward. “How did you manage it then?”

Rowan stared out the window. It would be a while later before she would reply. “Tis an ability restricted to me and those like me…”

There was a finality in her tone that kept Bram from prying further, although he took note of her strange and sudden melancholy, storing it in his mind for future inspection.

They continued in silence, their secret journey taking them along a mountain path just beyond the town of Reise. This path climbed up to the side of the jagged mountain that Bram had scaled to reach the cursed cave where their fates had become intertwined.

Later, when the auto-carriage pulled to a stop, a panel in the upholstered wall slid open.

“We’ve arrived, Your Highness,” said the soldier who’d driven the auto-carriage.

Bram couldn’t help noticing how the soldier’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. It was a telltale sign of sorcery at work.

“Thank you,” he replied.

Once Bram and Rowan exited the auto-carriage, the trickster made its driver move over to the interior and then placed the soldier in a deep sleep that would keep him there while the pair went about their business.

“How long will your spell last?” Bram asked as he shut the carriage door on the soldier who was snoring loudly in his seat.

“Long enough for us to finish our task,” Rowan answered, a slight frown on her lips. “Are you certain you would rather not use him?”

Her crimson-eyed gaze remained fixed on the carriage door.

“We will need blood for the summoning,” she insisted. “As much as a grown man can carry.”

“You said it needn’t be human blood…” Bram’s gaze drifted to the tall oaks on the ridge above. “There are plenty of vicious creatures who live on Sundermount. Shouldn’t their blood suffice?”

“The blood of beasts is acceptable,” Rowan relented, but couldn’t help adding, “though human blood is more potent in empowering sorcery, and thus more preferable.”

“Then use mine,” Bram replied in earnest.

He may be willing to sacrifice the lives of others for their great undertaking, but not if it wasn’t necessary. Bram wasn’t like the other royals and high nobles who treated the lives of their lessers so carelessly.

Rowan watched him ready their climbing gear while a smile, warm and thoughtful, spread across her face. It was one she rarely showed off that vanished by the time Bram looked up from his work.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked.

Rowan shook her head.

“Nothing, although,” she flashed him her usual impish grin, “we won’t be needing the rope.”

“I’ve tasted your unrivaled strength myself, but trust me,” he raised the roll of hemp rope to her eye level while he recalled how he lamented not having one to aid him during his previous climb, “this will save—”

It happened so quickly that Bram’s jaw barely had time to drop before Rowan was standing beside him and her arms wrapped around his waist.

“Clench your jaw,” she instructed.

A moment later, the ground was gone, and they were soaring up into the sky at a faster speed than a magic arrow in flight. The harsh winds buffeted Bram’s face while the chill of the mountain air seeped into his bones. Surprisingly, the seventh prince didn’t mind these inconveniences. Bram discovered that he enjoyed flying even if it was only done with Rowan’s aid. It was a short maiden voyage for him though, and soon enough, they touched down on the familiar rocky ground of the ledge that led to the cursed cave.

“That was…brilliant!” Bram said, breathless.

His face shone with delight. It was a delight that was quick to pass, however, for Bram felt sudden nausea overwhelm him, and then he was on his knees and puking what was left of luncheon onto the rocky ground.

“Wait for me here,” Rowan suggested, “and try not to get any of it on you.”

The sound of retching continued. It was the only response Rowan would get before she disappeared into the air.

When the trickster returned a short while later, Bram was sitting on an outcropping of rock and feeling much better, though his face was still pale from the ordeal. It grew paler still once he noticed what Rowan dropped on the ground between them.

“Is that…”

Even curled and unconscious, the shaggy beast with russet fur was noticeably large. Eight feet tall and five hundred pounds by Bram’s reckoning.

“…a red grizzly?”

Of all the beasts that called Sundermount home, the red grizzly was said to be one of the most savage. It was a well-known maneater that attacked people who stumbled upon it without any provocation. To hunt a red grizzly in so short a time was a feat that even Sir Anthony couldn’t have easily managed, and the elder knight was the strongest of Bram’s household.

“Impressed?” Rowan asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Bram nodded. “Is it…dead?”

The trickster shook her head.

“The beast’s blood must be warm for the ritual,” Rowan answered as she eyed the muscles peeking through Bram’s shirt. “Can you manage to carry it into the cave?”

“Of course,” Bram answered confidently. “I have to be of some use in this quest.”

The seventh prince walked over to the red grizzly whose thick, furry chest was rising and falling in slow, labored breaths.

“You’ve put it to sleep?” Bram asked.

“There was no need for sorcery”—Rowan raised her hand and then clenched it—“when a single fist was enough to shake its consciousness loose.”

“Ah, yes, I see it now,” Bram nodded appreciatively.

A tiny bit of blood coated the red grizzly’s snout. It looked to have lost several of its fangs too. There was, however, a bigger issue besides wondering whether the beast would wake up during transit.

Bram’s gaze drifted to the nearby hole in the wall with the familiar warning carved over it.

“This red grizzly won’t fit the narrow passage leading into the dungeon…”

“Worry not, I shall take care of it.”

The trickster strode over to the hole in the cliff wall whose edges revealed the tell-tale signs of an entryway hewn from rock eroded by time.

“Mae popeth yn newid mewn amser…”

It was the beginning of a complicated incantation spoken in a language that sounded as alien to Bram as the words he’d learned from his visions. When her voice reached a crescendo, Rowan waved her hands over the entrance, and with crimson sparks flaring from the tips of her fingers, a great rumbling began. With that rumbling came violent change—the rock surrounding the entrance broke apart, folding into itself like the cogs of a great machine, and then reforming into new shapes with perfect detailing.

“Sorcery to manipulate matter at will and warp reality,” Bram whispered in an awed tone.

At its core, sorcery was the art of altering one’s surroundings to meet the caster’s demands, but the kind of magic Rowan displayed now were leagues beyond what even the grand sorcerers of the Sovereign’s court could conjure.

“I’ve read of this — the long-lost sorcery of the Transmutation Arts,” Bram recalled the name of the ancient magic whose knowledge had been lost to the imperium, its fleeting trail remembered only in the most obscure of books. “Incredible, I’ve become witness to history’s hand reaching out to the present from a long-forgotten past.”

Before Bram’s very eyes, the cave opening achieved a new form; a projecting doorway of massive stone with an arched ceiling raised high by the twin pillars standing to either side of the now expanded entrance. Both pillars had been carved into the shape of a warrior woman who wore a gambeson and sweeping dress like the ones Rowan was wearing, with both statues carrying swords aloft in their hands. This new entryway had been made with such intricate detailing that Bram couldn’t help admiring Rowan’s artistry.

“You are breathtaking…” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words spilled from Bram’s lips unbidden.

He coughed embarrassedly.

“I only meant that your talent was impressive,” he finished lamely.

Witnessing such compelling sorcery strengthened Bram’s belief in the trickster’s power to fulfill his wish, though he couldn’t express his thoughts properly in words. It wasn’t necessary, however, for Rowan glanced back at him with understanding clear in her expression.

“Tis not yet the time to be amazed, My Prince,” she said, her impish smile returning. “Come. There’s more sorcery to be done before this night is over.”

“O-of course,” he agreed.

Bram gathered all the strength in his body to help him lift the red grizzly’s lower half onto his shoulders. This was a great feat of strength that few could manage without the aid of sorcery, but the seventh prince had honed his body to such extremes that half-carrying, half-dragging a beast that weighed at least five hundred pounds seemed a doable challenge.

“Are you certain you don’t require my help?” Rowan asked.

“This is…nothing…” Bram replied through gritted teeth. His arms shook from the strain, but he didn’t complain. “Lead the…way.”

Later, much later thanks to the slow pace at which Bram carried his burden—insistent as he was not to share the load with Rowan who he believed had done too much already—the trickster and the prince returned to the place where their acquaintanceship first bloomed.

As Rowan crossed the threshold of the long-forgotten temple, light flared from the ancient sunstones hanging at intervals around the spiral chamber. When Bram followed her, a new notification appeared in the air.

 

 

“There’s not much point”—Bram dropped his heavy burden on the stone floor—“to this boon now.”

Instant relief flooded his body, and he began to stretch his tired limbs.

“I’d rather have one that will give me tangible benefits…”

A notification popped up as if it had been waiting for his complaint.

 

 

“Finally.” Bram had been wondering how he was supposed to grow if he couldn’t earn experience normally, but it seemed the Loom took his efforts into account as well. Unfortunately, this also meant the difficulty of his training needed to increase for Bram to benefit from this reward system that was unique to him. “Fuck…”

“There is no rest for the wicked,” Rowan giggled.

The dungeon of ‘Innocence Lost’ was a temple-like structure with a vaulted ceiling weathered by the passage of time and neglect. There was a round depression at the heart of the wide chamber, the spiral markings engraved on its stone floor and the small round crevice at its center. Here, in the very spot where she was freed from perdition, the rebel trickster awaited her liberator.

“Do you—”

Before Bram could finish his sentence, a spear formed of blood shot out of Rowan’s palm to pierce the hide of the unconscious red grizzly.

The pain woke the beast, and with a mighty roar, the red grizzly rose to its haunches and hurled a thick, shaggy arm at Bram who stood closest. Claws the size of scullery knives reached out for his face, but Bram weaved out of its way and then slid back to avoid the other arm from hitting his side.

“Why wake it up now?!” he complained.

The beast bellowed. Its roar shook the ground, ripping across the chamber like a peel of thunder. It lunged for Bram once more, but a second ‘Blood Spear’ struck the beast’s shoulder before it could take another swipe at the seventh prince.

“Sorcery as demanding as a summoning ritual requires a violent ending,” Rowan explained. “Now, focus!”

“A little warning next time”—Taking advantage of its momentary daze, Bram drew his sword from its sheath and then sent its blade swiftly across the red grizzly’s outstretched neck—“would be appreciated!”

Blood gushed out of the savage cut he’d dealt the red grizzly, but the beast seemed intent not to die alone. It rushed at Bram with berserker fury and would’ve skewered the seventh prince in the chest with its claws if a third ‘Blood Spear’ hadn’t struck its other shoulder, causing the beast to stumble right into Bram’s sword which pierced its hide at the last second.

Then, with a final pain-filled roar, the red grizzly crashed onto the floor by Bram’s feet.

Bram was wide-eyed and breathless. “Bloody hell…”

His hands shook while he retrieved his sword from the chest of the beast that had shown such ferocity that he thought the stories of its savagery seemed modest compared to the real thing. It would’ve killed him if Rowan hadn’t critically wounded it first. It certainly killed Bram’s sword. Its blade, which was already cracked from the earlier fight, broke off as he pulled at the sword’s hilt.

“So much for bastion-forged steel,” he said, sighing.

 

 

 

 

 

Bram sighed as he returned his broken sword to its sheath. “What a waste…”

His gaze drifted back to the beast’s corpse.

‘It’s different,’ he thought.

The weight of slaying a beast weighed much less on his mind than the killing of other men. Although perhaps he was simply getting used to the act of murder—it was a thought that made Bram’s shoulders shake though he tried hard not to let guilt ruin the moment.

With the red grizzly’s death, the blood pooling beneath it was carried away by the grooves in the stone floor. A line of red was formed, spiraling ever closer to the round crevice at the heart of the chamber.

“Tis time,” said Rowan. “I shall begin.”

The trickster who’d been standing beside the hole raised her feet one at a time and then folded herself into the lotus position. She sat cross-legged in the air as if there was an invisible chair underneath her.

“Come to me, My Prince,” Rowan called.

An exhausted Bram walked over to her while taking care not to disturb the line of blood flowing on the floor.

“Take my hands,” Rowan instructed. “The physical connection will strengthen our mental bond, allowing me to peer into the other world of your visions.”

When Bram placed his hands over Rowan’s, he asked. “And what am I to do?”

“Think of a mortal you believe we’ll need most to create…” Rowan’s face turned contemplative. “…What did you call it again?”

“A virtual reality game,” Bram answered.

Rowan smiled as she often did when it came to his otherworldly visions.

“Think of the mortal who can help build the illusion of this virtual reality game,” her fingers tightened around his, “and I shall drag this unfortunate soul into Aarde…”