Isemberd slept and woke up in a surprising and welcome silence. He went to bed prepared for horrible nightmares, sickness, and an overall terrible night, besides waking up with the spirit making him feel sick like the last noon.
The sun still hasn’t risen yet, and the silence made Isemberd sit down, scared and breathing heavily, jump-scaring Gillibert. The owlet flew around, opened wings, looking for the imaginary aggressor to his master. The mage calmed him down before rubbing his face.
That was the very first time in a long while that he slept with no nightmares, stuck with only his own thoughts. He decided to not say anything about it to Gillibert.
The mage started his day as usual: journal, opening the windows, preparing a breakfast, check his medicines for the day. He felt the spirit nearby, but the being was quiet and distant, enough to give the young man some peace, and even his shoulders felt lighter.
Gillibert was soon back from his morning flying around the grove, complaining about how quiet it was for that day. Isemberd gave him something to eat and was surprised by a couple of farmers that arrived with their child. The boy had been bitten by some insect and his hand was swollen.
Isemberd gave them some tea and asked a few questions. After testing a few things, he applied a salve to the boy’s hand and prepared an elixir of herbs while explained how they should use it. He gave them a vial of the medicine and wrote down rigid instructions on how to treat the wound.
The little small talk they had with the sage after that was mostly about the woods. The boy’s father was complaining about how dark and quiet the grove was and how the road felt longer than usual.
Soon, the family was on their way home, crossing the grove back to the town. Isemberd observed the woods for a while, squinting with a distrustful look, before closing the door. He went back to his table, picking up a piece of paper and tearing a corner. With a quill and ignoring the owl’s nice comments about how he was good with children, he started drawing.
Isemberd marked the paper with a symbol that looked like a knot, and drew a few marks alongside it that looked like stars. He then painfully poked the tip of his finger and let a droplet of his blood fall at the center of the knot.
With the hurt hand he joined two fingers to his thumb, making a circle, and stretched the other fingers as much as he could. His eyes grew a purple and ominous membrane, as if it was a thick ink trying to escape from his eyes.
He was now seeing outside the house, as if he was near the pathway through the woods. He blinked and now he was looking at the backyard. Using that spell, he changed positions until seeing the family leave through the grove, then he looked a little more around the house. When he felt satisfied with his observation, he undid the spell and his eyes went back to normal. His head ached terribly at the end of that and he needed to hold onto the table to not lose his balance.
“Master! Is everything okay?” Gillibert asked.
After a long moment of pondering, his eyes locked to the dried blood on the paper, the mage mumbled:
“No.”
The owl landed near him, close to his hands.
“Were you looking around the house through the trees of the spirit lady?”
“I was” the mage replied grumpy, “Everything seems… too quiet.”
The owlet tilted his head, his eyes wide opened.
“Master, you’re looking very serious.”
Isemberd sighed.
“Leave it be. Stay close to me today, all right?”
“Yes, Master!” after a brief pause, he added: “What was the mister complaining about the woods?”
The mage stopped for a moment, focusing on the haunting spirit’s reaction. Nothing.
“Too quiet.” He said, stepping away to carry on his daily chores.
The morning still had a few hours to go, and the mage spent that time checking each and every one of the house’s spaces. When finished, he sat down at his bed, without too much to ponder in the absence of the spirit’s constant cursing. Gillibert was outside, playing around with something out of Isemberd’s sight. The mage had its staff nearby, his heavy earring always on, his glasses closed in his hands.
At one gesture, his staff landed at his bed by his side, his glasses flew to his drawer. He laid down and closed his eyes, preparing for a nap, anxious to take this rare opportunity for resting.
It didn’t last long.
He woke up hours later, with Gillibert chirping near his face, gently pecking his hand. Isemberd breathed heavily a few times. No nightmares, no furious mumbling about his ruin, nor his terrible memories of the war. He was without the deep angry voice of the spirit and his constant shoulder pain, as if something heavy had been removed from his back.
He looked to the owlet and soon heard the reason for its excitement.
“Mister Isemberd!” Someone outside called.
The mage recognized the voice of one of the knights of Wells. He couldn’t remember their name well, but he put a lot of effort into memorizing voices and faces. He went downstairs and opened the door.
“Sir!” The warrior greeted, breathing heavily, as if he had just finished a long sprint. “Lord Alard requires your presence with the utmost urgency!”
Isemberd frowned.
“What happened?”
The knight hesitated and leaned to the side a little, searching for something inside his pocket.
“Our sorceress ordered us to not speak of anything and just deliver you this.”
Isemberd felt his blood freezing even before touching the parchment. That was a measure specific against spirits. Evil spirits, specially. The knight gave the mage a folded piece of scroll, that he took and opened.
Isemberd could already feel something was wrong even before looking up at the paper’s content. The absence of the spirit, the wind out of character, the feeling something was lurking in the woods, and now another mage trying to warn him about something. He looked at the scribbles in the parchment.
The symbol was a knot, the same that represented the magic school that meddled with the immaterial, the same he used for the spell to look around the house. It was done with haste, the eight little stars poorly marked along the lines. The whole knot was hatched with uneven lines, but Isemberd understood the message of it.
The symbol of the Spirit Constellation, tinted in black.
“Is your sorceress the Count’s mage apprentice?” He asked, folding the parchment again.
“Yes, sir, Lady Eloane is her name.” the knight readily responded.
Isemberd remembered the young maiden that studied magic under Count Well’s counselor. He shook his head.
“Wait here, I’ll go pick up my things.”
“Sir!” the knight seemed really worried. “I need to go back as fast as possible!”
Isemberd pointed to the woods.
“If you enter the woods by yourself, you might not leave it alive, sir. Wait for me, it won’t take long.”
In fact, after one quick wave of the mage’s hand while he walked to his office, the whole house violently slammed shut. Chairs pushed themselves, jars closed and food packet itself and flew to its place. His cloak, glasses, and staff came flying to him. Doors and windows locked themselves.
“Master! Master!” Gillibert came flying around the mage. “The itch! It’s everywhere! Very very strong!”
He landed near the mage’s neck and cuddled to him, scared.
“It will go away soon.” The mage said, bluntly.
The wind outside got very strong when Isemberd left the house and dark clouds started to gather on the sky. The mage closed the door behind him and grabbed his oil lamp, leaving it hanging from his staff. With a small sign of the Matter Constellation, he forced the oil to ignite, feeling the warm first leave his hands and arms.
“Let’s go.” He said to the knight. “Stay close to me and ignore everything you hear, do you understand?”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Everything, sir?”
“Until we arrive at Otterwesh’s first light” Isemberd said slowly, “Everything you hear is probably an illusion. A spell. I’ll keep absolute silence until we’re there, no matter what you hear.”
An uncomfortable pause between him and the young knight. The man unsheathed his blade, putting on a brave act, but Isemberd knew it was only for his own emotional support.
“Are we clear? I want us both to arrive at the other side of these woods, sir.”
“Yes, sir. Utter silence.” The warrior responded.
The two young men entered the woods. While walking, the lamp’s flame gradually turned purple, giving the dark grove a dreamy and suffocating air.
Abnormal sounds started to pierce the strong wind and the ruffling of the tree leaves. Many arrhythmic growls, hoofs spanking the floor, nervous boar sounds, wings flapping, sticks breaking…
Isemberd raised his head and walked through the trail in the woods. His gaze pierced the darkness, looking for any possible source of real danger trying to hide in all the illusory sounds and threats.
For many minutes they walked the short distance between the sage’s home and the small town, and the path seemed to not have an end. Night was approaching with an ominous speed, and the wind seemed to grow stronger the closer to the end of the grove they were. Isemberd could feel the evil spirit nearby, not as present as usual, as if the entity were trying to hide from him.
They arrived at Otterwesh and the lamp’s flame reverted to its normal color. The mage let out a heavy sigh.
“We’re safe. Where is Alard?”
The knight sheathed his sword and rubbed away the sweat on his forehead, visibly nervous.
“Near the town hall, close to the fountain.”
“Thank you. Are you okay?”
The knight shook his head.
“I heard you say things. Terrible things…”
Isemberd raised his chin, his gray angry eyes seemed to contain a storm of their own.
“The Third Star do not lie, sir. You have my word I kept quiet the whole way here.”
They exchanged a tense look for a brief moment as the young knight looked away.
“I believe in you, sir.”
Isemberd held him by the shoulder for a moment.
“Thank you. Don’t let anyone enter the grove until we have this settled.”
“Yes, sir.”
Isemberd then left. Gillibert kept in silence as they were in town as the young sage walked quickly towards the town hall. He could feel many traces of magic coming from many places and needed to focus to perceive the spirit. The entity was still trying to stay as far away from Isemberd as they could.
He found Alard with three other knights near the fountain. Sitting on the stone it was a pretty young lady, wearing clothes for the road and a cloak, being tended by the old apothecary, Miss Rosemary. The sorceress seemed to have trouble breathing, and everyone stepped a little back when the second healer of Otterwesh arrived.
“Isemberd!” Alard called, pulling his friend a bit far from the small commotion. “We have a very serious problem.”
“I can see.”
“She disappeared.” The nobleman said “Eloane tried to track her with magic and now she seemed to be struck by the plague.”
“I need you to describe to me everything that happened.” The mage said. “Include every weird sound, smell, feeling or itch you can remember.”
“There was nothing too noteworthy. Lady Morgan, the noble that I was to present to you, disappeared today in the morning. Nobody saw her since last night.” Alard took a quick glance at Lady Eloane. “Nobody seemed to notice anything different, except that she was not at breakfast today.”
Isemberd shook his head.
“It’s a miracle there is not a small mob of curious people here. I need to examine either your sorceress or Erika’s room.”
The knight raised an eyebrow.
“How do you…”
“I met her yesterday, by sheer luck.” The mage explained.
Alard continued:
“We won’t be able to take Eloane out of Miss Rosemary’s care, but I can put us inside Lady Morgan’s room.”
The mage felt Eloane’s gaze towards him. She goggled at him, her face red while she coughed and struggled to breathe. She was a very young lady, with a round face, brown eyes and a dark blonde hair, tied in a ponytail. Isemberd raised a finger to his lips, asking for silence.
For a scary moment, he expected her to point to him or have any other intense reaction. Eloane looked away instead and, as if by magic, her cough started dying down. Isemberd felt a horrible pain to his neck, together with a heavy dizziness that almost took him down. Gillibert felt something wrong and chirped, clawing the mage’s shoulder a bit. His shoulder started hurting, as if each of his arms had a heavy pack of stones tied to them.
The spirit was back.
Isemberd could feel the evil presence nearby, as if someone was right behind him, chin over his shoulder, waiting for an opportunity to jump scare and curse him once more.
Whatever it was that the spirit was plotting, it decided it was in time to come back to bother the mage.
“Berd?” Alard’s voice brought his senses back to the material world.
“What?”
“You don’t look good.”
Isemberd grimaced involuntarily.
“Let’s move already.”
Sir Alard didn’t need much to convince the owner of the inn to let them enter Erika’s room. Alard explained the truth, that he and the sage needed to investigate the room because of her disappearance.
“She couldn’t go far.” Alard said, “She can’t locate herself here without a guide.”
“How did she arrive at Otterwesh?” Isemberd asked.
“She didn’t! She got lost!” the knight explained, “She ended up near a very small village that happened to have an undead problem and she rescued them.”
“Right…”
“Imagine how I felt when she wasn’t at our agreed meeting place when I arrived there. That’s why I got late.”
Isemberd sighed in front of the door.
“I have a pretty good guess of where she is and how she is and what we should do.”
He opened the door and entered.
“And…?” Alard insisted, walking behind him.
“You will hate the experience.” The mage said.
“Berd.” Alard’s voice went down a bit as he closed the door behind himself. “I’m not liking this talk.”
The mage kneeled near the window. He examined the floor where boot footprints marked the wood. He opened the window and Gillibert entered.
“I prefer a very bitter truth…” Alard recited.
“Then a sweet lie.” Isemberd interrupted and completed the quote for his friend. “I just have to check one thing.”
He formed the sign of the Spirit Constellation with one hand. His eyes covered in a purple membrane and he spent a few seconds in silence. He observed the room, the roof, the bed. His staff levitated near the door while he laid down near the bed to check under the bed. He stood up with a small leather bag smaller than his hand. He turned those purple eyes to his friend with a neutral expression, but his voice sounded frustrated and low.
“Alard, I’ll need help.”
The knight replied quickly:
“My sword is bound to you, Third Star. I swore an oath by my tower and the honor of my family that I would protect you from any harm from this world…”
A thunder roared outside, as if nature itself was a witness of the knight's words.
“…or from the other!”
The spell that covered the eyes of the mage dispersed itself and he looked at his friend for a brief, embarrassing and uncomfortable moment.
“Miss Morgan is in my home.” He said.
Alard nodded.
“If we run right now…”
“We won’t arrive in time to save her.” he pointed, “This window goes into the backyard, and we can see the grove from here.”
He called:
“Gillibert. Come here.”
“Yes, Master!” The owlet came flying.
“You’re going to fly to Miss Eloane and stay there, together with her and the knights. Land on her shoulder and do not leave, no matter what you hear, see or feel.”
The owl looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Master, but…”
“Swear to me!” Isemberd grunted. “And repeat what I said.”
“Yes, Master.” Gillibert walked back a few small steps. “I promise I’ll stay with the magic lady. I won’t leave, no matter what I hear, see or feel.”
Isemberd caressed the owlet’s head and gently pushed him outside. Gillibert went away, flying by himself.
“I sincerely hope you won’t get too dizzy.” he mumbled, waving for Alard to get closer.
His staff came flying and stopped by his side. The knight stood near him.
“Berd…”
“Later! Give me your hand.”
Alard offered the hand to his friend. Isemberd grabbed it firmly. With the other hand he formed his usual magic sign, for the Matter Constellation. They started levitating towards the window and went out. Isemberd floated gently for a moment and grabbed his staff, making the veins of light over it shine with a red glow.
Then, they accelerated, like an arrow, flying over the grove. They flew over the trees fast, and it was impossible to talk with their speed as the sound of the heavy wind around them was deafening. Isemberd occasionally slowed down for a brief moment, tilting his body a little and looking around to orient himself.
They crossed the woods in less than a third of the time they would with the road. Both young men landed on the backyard behind the house, where Isemberd had plans of creating a garden someday. Alard hit the ground and rolled, trying to get back on his feet. Isemberd stood down, hanging by his staff. He tried to recompose himself, shaking his head from the dizziness.
“You were right” the knight grunted, standing up straight, “I hated that.”
Isemberd looked up. Something different whispered in his ear, together with the ruffling of the leaves and gentle breeze.
The gentle voice of a maiden that said an encouragement to her noble knight. The mage gritted his teeth in a grimace. Soon a second spiritual whisper covered his ears, an angry taunt that soon turned into an evil laughter that grew louder, until Isemberd could hear it from inside his room, coming from his opened window.
Above them, Erika Morgan was laughing, her magic eye glowing red with malice. There was a powerful and dark magic aura flowing around her, like a wildfire of black flames. Her expression was mad and her tilted grin showed a lot of teeth. Between a blink of an eye and another, she disappeared, but her laugh echoed for a terrifying moment.
The weight over Isemberd’s shoulder disappeared for good and he knew that the spirit was now sitting on another place.
“Berd” Alard called, “I won’t lie: I’m scared.”
Isemberd nodded.
“Don’t worry, my friend.” His eyes ached, his knees were weak and trembling, and his hands were cold. He was terrified. Still, his voiced sounded steady with fake confidence: “I’m here with you.”
He took the first step towards the enormous evil that he used to carry within. Isemberd would never admit it, but he was breathing heavily while using his magic to keep himself from falling down or running away.
“I trust you.” Alard said, unsheathing his sword. “But I’m just not used to fight monsters from the other world.”
The Third Star would never allow an invader like that to do as he pleases inside the only house he ever had. He moved forward, opening the backdoor of his house, entering the dark with the noble knight right behind him.