Vash took a hard swig from his flask, liquid dribbling down his chin. After a painful, irritated groan, he put it away and resumed his trudge up the steep hill. His icy gaze never faltered from the top, ignoring the long-abandoned structures around him. Rows of boarded-up houses on teetering stilts cried out with a multitude of shrill whistles as bitter wind assailed crevices, broken windows, and plank holes. Long grasses swished about, a million silver tresses under the moonlight.
The town thoroughfare weaved a snake-like path uphill, seeming to connect every deserted building to all the others, as if to constantly remind any poor soul who walked the street of their individual miseries. Signs of lost prosperity abounded. Remnants of happy-white and sunshine-yellow paint flecked off formerly fine architecture, discarded playthings of children lay strewn about, a three-story clock tower awaited its construction to be finished, and partitioned plots of dirt could only have served as once beautiful gardens.
“Sir, why have we come to Thistle?” the soldier following close behind asked. Nervous fingers gripped a sword at his hip, and his eyes darted every which way. “It’s nothing but a ghost town.”
“And do you know why?” Vash asked. “No, of course you don’t. That would require at least a remote knowledge of history.”
His servant frowned at the insult. “And this couldn’t wait until the morning?”
“Be quiet and press on. We are almost there.”
Arriving at the apex of the mount, they immediately noticed the single tree stretching over the dewy morning grasses. The brown leaves faintly glowed in the twilight.
“What is that?” the soldier asked in awe. “The trunk and limbs are green and the leaves are brown. It’s all switched around.”
He approached with hand extended, but Vash snapped at him. “Get away from that, you idiot! You’ll die within minutes of touching a Thistlewood.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and opened his tome. “Stay beside me, and remain silent. I need to concentrate.”
The sullen soldier fell behind while Vash traced the edge of a Black Stone along inscriptions in the book. The delicate leaves of the manuscript were very old, and he handled each touch with care. For several minutes he whispered complex incantations. The wind swirling about grew frigid, and the light from the moon quelled, retreating behind white clouds. Vash raised the crystal in his hand and chanted the last line with more authority.
The crystal glowed, burning a purple ember within. A limb of the tree stretched itself, branches extending out like fingers. The ground underneath burst with a small plume, and a frayed rope flew out from the ground to swing over the limb and into Vash’s open hand. He grasped it in a rush of exhilaration.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“It worked,” he said, gripping it as if his life depended on it.
The servant took a fearful step back. “Sir… uh… what’s going on?”
“A history lesson,” he replied, setting the book down and pulling the rope. “You’re about to discover why Thistle became a ghost town.”
He pulled the line for several lengths, grunting in excitement. Finally, something protruded from the hole in the ground. The soldier gasped in disgust. A human head emerged, rotten and mutilated with a grimy noose snug around its neck. Vash tugged hard and the body followed. The corpse had one arm and no legs. Rib bones poked out from a decaying chest cavity littered with worms. The cadaver swung pathetically in the air, head loose on its own neck. But when it steadied, the head moved, twisting with bone-crunching effort to face them.
“Who…disturbs…me?”
Rotted lips did not move, but the words rasped from the corpse’s mouth. Vash stood confident, but the soldier gasped, panting and trembling beside him in sudden hyperventilation.
“Nathanial Vash of Carnel,” he answered. “I’ve come for the Book of Names.”
The silence of the pause was deafening. The soldier’s whimpers became louder, and Vash hushed him with a furious glare.
“The Book…cannot…be given.”
“I request only two names,” Vash replied quickly.
“Two…sacrifices. Magic…and……life.”
Vash held up the ring given him by Daniel Riser. “An offering of ultimate magic…” He spread his arm out toward the soldier. “And an offering of ultimate life… human life.”
“What?” the servant shouted.
Vash sneered. “Be honored you were of use to me.”
“NO!” He turned and fled, shouting in terror.
“Your sacrifices…are…acceptable.”
Cords of blue light whipped from the corpse’s mouth, one to the ring in Vash’s hand, the other racing to the fleeing soldier on invisible tracks, snaring him by the head. The light impaled his neck, snapping his spine in a spray of blood. Immediately, he tumbled to the ground, horrific screams silenced. The ethereal strings of light were sucked into the creature’s mouth and chewed with loud, sloppy chomps. The ring’s emerald color faded, and the crystal shattered. Vash dropped it without another thought.
The carcass then reached into its own chest cavity and pulled out a worn leather-bound book, its pages stained red. Vash’s eyes followed it with lust, and he carefully approached, keeping firm hold of the rope. The book opened for him on its own. Midway through, it stopped. The pages were blank, but Vash knew what to do. He need only think of the names he desired. And before he could finish doing so, they appeared in delicate script. Two single names, long considered lost.
I have them.
The corpse snapped the book shut, and Vash dropped the rope. The corpse and rope plunged back into the hole, and the earth closed over it. He took a few dizzy steps beyond the tree to look out over the valley. The unborn sun tinged the sky pink. He lifted his hands to look into them. His mouth stretched in demented delight. After so long, so much research, so many failures.
I HAVE THE NAMES!
He sprinted back down the hill, mind churning with the preparations he now needed to make. As a man who finds lost riches becomes obsessed with making sure it can be only his, so Vash wanted to say the names immediately and bring about this treasure of his dreams, but he would have to be patient. There were still preparations to be made. Preparations to resurrect the most feared villains in Carnel’s history. To bring them back from the dead… and enslave them to his every desire.