53 - Applegrass
As he read the tightly packed cursive, Ward felt his eyes drawn back up to the strange words of power. They hurt his head, and he knew they were dangerous, but it was like having someone tell you not to think of your favorite food or your high-school crush—just the suggestion was enough to make your mind go there, and it was the same way with the words; his mind wanted to see them, despite his better judgment. He cursed softly and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he folded the paper backward so the top half with all the magic words was out of sight. With that accomplished, he finally found himself able to focus on the other writing:
> Ware, ye who dare tread upon the perilous path outlined herein! Let all who fancy themselves adept in the arcane arts heed this dire warning: these words shall unmake your very sanity should you not be fortified in mind and spirit! Mark well the intricate meditative forms I have painstakingly scribed. Mark, too, the profound weight of the words themselves:
>
> Bryve—the most potent utterance, the essence of Life itself, fraught with peril.
>
> Spirvak—the ethereal substance of spirit, a shadowy siren call to the soul.
>
> Dhravek—the antithesis of Bryve, a fleeting glimpse through death’s veiled portal.
>
> Prakhun—a supplication to the dread powers beyond that stygian gate, a perilous call to forces unknown.
>
> Vrothun—the invocation of the cold and lifeless vessel you seek to animate.
>
> Together, when empowered by the intention of the precise forms I have detailed, these five words can pierce the veil of mortality. The magic born of such words will reach beyond the boundary of death to draw forth a spirit, imbuing its broken or decayed vessel with a force dragged from the abyss.
>
> But heed my words, ye reckless sorcerer! This is no rite of true resurrection, no gentle calling of a loved one back from the beyond! The spirit may return, but the vessel will be infused with a power that dwells in the twilight between life and death—a power neither good nor natural. Should the spirit possess great strength of will, a semblance of life may be eked out, an existence fraught with strife. Harken! If there be any other path, any other hope, take it and abandon this dread art, lest you doom yourself to despair and madness.
>
> One final caution: the longer the spirit lingers in the void, the greater the force required to bind it once more to the flesh. And with each passing moment, the more…twisted they shall be.
>
> - Y
Ward’s eyes widened as he read the peculiar note, strangely unbothered by all the warnings, though his mind raced with the implications. Could it be real? Was this just a piece of fiction meant to scare a person? A note to chase off fledgling sorcerers who might stumble upon the spell? Looking up, he realized he was sitting alone by the fire, only Grace keeping him company. She was frowning pensively, flicking pebbles into the fire.
Ward wanted to talk to her, but he knew the people in the wagon and nearby tents would hear him, so he folded the paper and put it into his pocket, then stood and quietly padded away toward the road. When he was a reasonable distance from the camp, he softly said, “Sounds like a dangerous, unpleasant spell, even if I could cast it.”
“You can’t.” Grace took his arm and leaned into him, somehow making him feel warm in the cool night air despite not being real. “You couldn’t even read the whole spell without bleeding out of every orifice.”
“Well, I’m improving. Give it time.”
“I don’t think you should use it, anyway. I mean, even if you could. The person who wrote that page was insane. You want to lose your marbles, old man?”
Ward was used to Grace giving him advice, but he wasn’t used to her being cautious or comforting. He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. “You don’t really believe all that stuff, do you? Bringing a dead body back to life? What am I? Frankenstein?”
She snorted, stuffing her delicate hands into her tailored pockets and stepping away from him. “After everything you’ve seen, you don’t think something like that could be possible? Magic is real, Ward.” She gestured back to the fire. “You just summoned ghostly echoes of an event that happened days ago and probably a hundred miles from here. I don’t think reanimating a body is impossible, no.”
“I dunno. That note read like a bad horror fiction. I wonder if the person who wrote it is even the same person who wrote the words of power and the forms; it seems like a different handwriting.”
“So, you’re an expert now?” She sighed and kicked at a loose stone, sending it rolling down the dirt road. “Anyway, I think you should steer clear of that spell. I mean, you have to for now; it’s obviously too powerful for you, but I wouldn’t mess with it anyway.”
“Okay, Grace, first of all, I agree, it’s too dangerous to mess with. I won’t go dig up one of those corpses out in the field to try it out, okay? Still, it’s a spell, and—Shit, Grace! You don’t know what it feels like to do magic. It’s…” Ward struggled to find the words, but Grace put a hand on his chest, resting her palm over his heart. It was a strangely gentle thing to do, and when he looked down into her eyes, he saw the flames behind her irises were nearly gone—just tiny flickering embers lingered.
“I know. I know it’s incredible, and I’m glad you’re excited by it, but I think you should just burn that spell before it gets you into trouble someday.”
He stared at her for a long minute, her gentle touch and almost sweet expression making it very hard to remember the towering, demonic figure who’d threatened him back before he set foot into the catacombs. Still, he did remember, and he remembered her lies about anima, too. Ward took her hand and pulled it off his chest, shaking his head. “Nah. I won’t burn it. It’s valuable, and there are five new words on it. I won’t throw that away. Knowledge is power, Grace, and we need all we can get if I’m going to figure out how to undo what you did to me.”
She shook her head and sighed heavily, and then she was gone, back to wherever she went when Ward couldn’t see her. Ward quietly walked over to his bedroll and dug his hemograph out of his pack. He sat down, listening to Haley’s soft breathing, and, by the light of the stars, stuck his finger into the hole so the device could sample his blood. The glass flickered with light, the gears inside whirred, and Ward watched as his readings appeared in the green, glowing aetherflux:
Previous reading detected – Previous readings displayed in Brackets
Bloodline:
Awakened Human
Aetherborn Traces
Lycan Traces
[Unknown] Traces
Accumulated Mana:
134 [92]
Mana Distribution:
Natural
No allocation enchantments detected.
Mana Well:
Tier 3
33 % [31%] to next tier
Enhanced regeneration - minor
Mana Sensitivity:
Tier 4
Bloodline Dependent
Mana Pathways:
Tier 2
Bloodline Dependent
Vessel Capacity:
Tier 2
Bloodline Dependent
Vessel Durability:
Tier 2
56% [52%] to next tier
Enhanced healing rate – minor
Enhanced bone density – minor
Vessel Strength:
Tier 2
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
44% [39%] to next tier
Vessel Speed:
Tier 2
39% [36%] to next tier
Longevity remaining:
65%
Tier 2 Depletion Rate – (Approximate)
Anima Heart:
Tier 1
Closed
Pathways Detected
Anima:
Nil
The progress was small, but it wasn’t insignificant, he supposed. Still, Ward wanted to get his hands on another refinement elixir if he could. Looking at the report, he wondered about the “mana distribution” reading. Was there a way to direct his accumulated mana to a specific area? Could he focus on something like enhancing his mana well or his strength? The questions were interesting, but they only reminded him how much he had to learn. With no answers jumping out at him, he put the hemograph away.
That night, Ward slept like the dead. He was warm in his blankets, and the grass underneath was soft enough to sink into. Of course, when he woke, a thin layer of dew was everywhere, but it didn’t bother him much in his woolen travel clothes. The marshal ate breakfast with them, then shook Ward’s hand and gave Haley a fatherly hug, wishing them well. He admonished Ward to report the results of their hunt for Nevkin at the mayor’s office in Applegrass.
As they parted, Haley took the marshal’s hand and looked him in the eyes. “Marshal Aldiss, I’m trusting you to bring my cousin to justice.”
“I won’t let you down. Your parents’ holdings will be safe and sound, awaiting your return.” He smiled, his rough, stubbled cheeks bunching up under his eyes, then tipped his hat and walked over to the other travelers’ wagon. Once Ward and Haley had their horses saddled and mounted up, Gail, Desra, and Rollo waved them off. Tarn didn’t make an appearance, but Ward had seen his booted feet sticking out of a tent and knew the man was still sleeping off the cider. He couldn’t help noticing how Gail’s eyes smoldered as they lingered on him, and he wanted to kick himself for not taking her up on her invitation the previous night. With a heavy, meaningful sigh, he shrugged, smiled at her one last time, and then he and Haley rode away.
Once they were clear of the orchard, they picked up the pace, urging the horses into a trot to get their day of travel started. They slowed sometime in the mid-morning, and while the horses walked to recover their wind, Haley asked, “Are you going to do it?”
“Do what?” Ward was fidgeting with his “grimoire,” trying to balance it on his lap while he inserted his new page.
“Take the marshal up on his offer. I mean, seek entry to the citadel.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Haley. I had enough of trying to enforce laws in my old life. It’s not so easy when you don’t believe they’re all just. I guess I got lucky—hired by the Port Authority and getting on with CID. It was a lot easier to hunt for those kinds of criminals than enforce some bullshit traffic law.”
“I won’t pretend to know what you’re talking about, but I think I get the general idea. You wouldn’t want to enforce petty laws.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like Aldiss does much of that. I can’t say I haven’t read many romantic stories about the life of a regional marshal.”
Ward smiled and closed up his book, looking at the young woman. He pursed his lips in thought, then slowly nodded. “You know, you make a good point. Seems like Aldiss has more the life of an Old West lawman than anything I used to do. He travels from town to town, helping folks with trouble too big for the locals to handle. Yeah, I can see the romance in that.”
“I could be your assistant marshal,” Haley laughed. “We’d clean out criminal gangs, track down murderers, and do all sorts of fun stuff. The locals would fall in love with us and beg us to stay, but we’d always have to leave town—off to help the next town over.”
“Hey! Those plotlines sound very familiar to some movies and books I read when I was younger.” He chuckled. “I guess it’s a pretty universal concept.”
“What concept is that?” Grace asked, coming out of Ward’s head to join the conversation. She clung loosely to his sides, riding close behind him.
Ward wanted to shrug her off but fought the urge down—why pick fights? “Romance, I mean. The allure of adventure, justice, and the rugged individualism of a man or woman,” Ward winked at Haley, “apart from society—welcomed and appreciated, but never fully embraced.”
“Exactly!” Haley laughed. “I read so many stories like that when I was little. Marshal Silver was one of my favorites.”
Ward found his smile growing and glanced over his shoulder to see Grace grinning, too, the fire in her eyes very dim as she pondered some far-away ideas. He looked back at Haley. “Tell you what, I won’t write off the idea of visiting that citadel someday. If we’re still partners and you come with me, I’ll make sure we get hired on as a team.” He figured there wasn’t any harm in the fantasy. There wasn’t much chance it would ever happen.
Haley didn’t respond, but he saw her nodding, her lips curled up while her mind drifted to far-off vistas. To him, that smile made the silly promise worthwhile; she deserved more smiles like that in her life. So, with the two daydreaming women, Ward enjoyed the scenery and the gentle gait of the horses as they made easy travel through one orchard after another on the way to Applegrass.
When they arrived, Ward was immediately taken in by the quaint country charm of the place. There were only two main roads through town, the one they came in on that traveled east to west and another that cut through the center going north and south. Of course, the whole settlement wasn’t on those two roads—some winding lanes meandered to various businesses, residential areas, and farms, but the bulk of the town was situated at the crossroads of those two wide, red-cobbled roads. The nearby orchards gave the air a fresh scent, and the late fall air was crisp and tinged with the smoke of fires in hearths.
People were out and about, but they looked guarded. They stood close together and cast long, searching looks at Ward and Haley as they passed. Ward immediately noted the lack of any sort of town watch. They rode into the village unchallenged, and though there had to be a hundred people within view, hurrying to and fro, some walking, some mounted, and others driving wagons, none looked like any sort of authority. “Should we find the mayor’s office?” Haley asked, frowning at the obvious wide berths people gave them.
“I guess. If Nevkin’s going around killing off the nobility, does that mean he’s running the town?”
Haley shook her head. “Not exactly. In most counties like this, the landholders, or ‘noble class,’ operate on a council. That council has a lot of voting power when it comes to selecting mayors or other legal representatives. So, unless he’s killed the mayor, he’ll have to use his new sway to influence the next election to effect some control.”
“Right. Let’s find the mayor’s office.” Ward clicked his tongue, and Nutmeg started walking again. Their search didn’t take long—a hanging placard on the main street near the intersection that read “Welcome to Applegrass” caught Haley’s eye, and she pointed. When they rode close, they saw a quaint, two-story house with a red, gabled roof and a placard on the front door: MAYOR. Ward hopped down and looped Nutmeg’s lead around the fencepost, and when he looked up, he saw Haley had done the same.
Ward gestured to the mounts. “You think the horses will be all right if we both go in?”
She frowned. “Normally, I’d say yes, but these people are acting strange. I’d hate to lose either of them…”
“You can wait with them. I’ll go talk to the mayor.” Ward looked up and down the street, noting that people were crossing the street to avoid coming close to them. “Just holler if anyone bothers you.”
“I will. You better tell me everything you find out, though.” She hopped up on the fence, facing the street, as she polished an apple on her shirt.
Ward smiled. “Promise.” He straightened his jacket and ensured his knife was secure in its sheath, wishing he’d taken the time to re-memorize his spells and enchant the blade. “Before we go after Nevkin,” he muttered, promising himself not to rush headlong into anything dicey. The path up to the mayor’s door was lined with little green potted shrubs, and he had a feeling that if it weren’t Fall, they’d be blooming with flowers. When he stepped up to the door and lifted his knuckles to knock, a small, middle-aged man with curly red hair pulled it open and smiled at him, smoothing down the lapels of a soft, gray vest.
“Welcome, welcome. Come in!” He backed up, gesturing for Ward to step through.
Ward took his hat off, holding it before him as he cleared his throat. “Erm, hello there. Is the mayor in?”
“That’s me! Mayor Farview at your service!” He pointed to a sitting area to the left of the door. “Won’t you come in and have a seat? It’s lovely to see a traveler in town; we haven’t had much traffic since the big caravan pulled out with the Fall harvest.”
Ward nodded, looking around the foyer, noting the dust on the dark, wooden furniture, the blown leaves in the corners where gusts had sent them through as the door was opened and closed; it didn’t look to him like the mayor was used to cleaning up after himself. He stepped through an archway into the sitting area and slowly lowered himself into a small, padded armchair. “My name’s Ward, Mayor, and I’m here on some important business.”
“Oh? I don’t suppose you’re the man Dav Thornlane sent for, are you?”
“Thornlane?” Ward shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
“Ah, pity. He’s been holed up in his mansion for a week now, afraid to show his face ‘round town lest he get called out.” The mayor sat across from Ward, folding his small hands in his lap. “I’d offer you a snack or something fresh to drink, but my girl, Yami, has gone home to see to her family. Her father met with an unfortunate end recently.” He shook his head, looking down at the floor, then brightened, smiling at Ward, exposing teeth that looked tobacco-stained. “I was about to head down to the tavern for a bite and a drink.”
Ward nodded, frowning. He wondered if the mayor meant his wife by “my girl” or if he was just being a bit sexist, referring to a housekeeper or cook. “Listen, I’m looking for a man. He has a bald head with blue tattoos, and he’s going around calling himself a warlock…” Ward trailed off as the mayor’s eyes widened and he started to stand. His face had drained of color, and his hands had begun to shake.
“I’m, oh, goodness! I’m, uh…” he stammered, turning in a circle, looking around the room as though he might see an escape hatch. “I’m sorry if I sounded flippant earlier! I certainly didn’t mean any offense by any of my words. I’m sure Lord Nevkin’s friends have more important things to do than listen to me prattle on—”
“Mayor!” Ward held up his hands. “Sit down, please. You didn’t say anything to worry about, and I’m not that little shithead’s friend.” Those words brought a stunned silence to the mayor, and he sat down, clamping his mouth shut with an audible click.
“How can you…” He shook his head, swallowing with a gulp. “Please, I don’t want to be struck down for speaking ill of Lord Nevkin.”
Ward narrowed his eyes, incredulous. “Struck down? You think he can hear what we’re saying in here?” He stood and turned in a slow circle. “That would certainly make things easier.” Ward cleared his throat. “Nevkin! If you can hear me, you little thieving bastard, I’m right here in the mayor’s house. Come on down, and let’s settle our business. Or, if you’re so powerful now, then strike me down where I stand!” Ward held his hands out to his sides, palms out. “Well? Come on, you shitbird!” When nothing happened, he sat down and looked at the mayor. “If he said he could hear you in your house, he was lying.”
For the first time, the mayor really looked Ward in the eyes, and a slow smile crept onto his face as he began to nod. “Oh, thank the old gods! You’re here for him, then? He stole from you?”
“That’s right. You know where I can find him?”
The mayor nodded eagerly. “He’s either at the Graymane estate or off tormenting Thornlane, trying to get him to duel.”
“All right, let’s start at the beginning. When did he get here? How many people has he killed? How’s he doing it?”
“Yes. All right, yes. I can do that. My throat’s dry, though; mind if I get some whiskey for us to sip while I tell the story?” Ward nodded his approval, and the mayor hopped to his feet and scurried down a short hallway. While waiting for him, Ward looked out the front window and saw Haley sitting on the fence, gently stroking Wind Queen’s nose. He wondered where Grace was—hopefully, just sitting in his head, taking it all in.
The mayor returned with a crystal bottle of dark liquor and poured two glasses, handing one to Ward. “To answer your question, he's killed seven people from Applegrass—three of the biggest landholders in the county and four of their men. He’s been trying to challenge Thornlane for a week now, but the old codger keeps giving him the slip; the word is he’s sent off for a champion out of Port Granite.”
“Okay, tell me about him. What’s he doing to kill these folks? Have you witnessed any of the duels?”
The mayor downed a glass of the liquor, poured himself a new one, then licked his lips and nodded. “Aye. Aye, I have. I think the easiest way to explain it is to tell you about the day he came into town. It was the damnedest thing the way he rode in, his horse lathered with sweat, half-dead from lack of water and exhaustion, and him all light and breezy, like he hadn’t a care in the world as he strode into the tavern…”