C.E. Dorsett's Blog, page 4
June 8, 2023
Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 2: The Inferi
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The specter glowered down at them from the top of the angelic statues, in a perverse mockery of everything Ellis ever thought or believed about the world.
“Th-thank you.” Ellis stammered, gripping onto Moriah’s arm.
“What are you, really?” Moriah almost whispered.
“What?” The inferi pantomimed shock. “How rude is that? I didn’t ask you what you are. Granted, I doubt any of you would know how to answer that question, anyway. I am Jeffry Graycek, but if you call me Jeffry or Jeff, I will take your soul here and now. As to what I am, dear girl, I am dead.”
“Liar.” Peter found his voice, even though he hadn’t stood back up. “The dead are gone. There’s no coming back.”
“So true.” Graycek clicked his tongue and shook his head, “but I went nowhere, fool. My children made sure of that. Thank the Great Mother, I suppose, but I would have liked to be asked if I wanted to hang around after the end.” He pointed at the plaque on the ground. “That is my grave. You can dig me up, if you like, to see if I am still there.”
His mouth broke open into that nightmarish, unsettling, oversized grin. He hopped into the air and hovered over the blindfolded angel statues. “The real question is what to do with you all. Mother Soteria must know you are here by now. I should keep you here until the Trivian Sisters arrive, but I would love to see the look on mama’s face when she finds out you escaped.”
Ellis stood still. Years of bullying taught them to always keep an eye out for aggressive movement.
Moriah giggled nervously. “Then why don’t you let us go then.”
“Maybe I don’t want to?” Graycek said. “Perhaps I want to have you for my own.”
“To do what?” Peter asked.
Graycek made a sound between a sigh and a moan, and silently clapped his hands so slowly it was like the surrounding air resisted the motion. “Oh, there are so many things I could do. Maybe feed you to a beast, divide you body from soul just to see how you would react. Or perhaps I could just stare at you to see what mischief you bring upon yourself.”
Ellis steadied themself. “I doubt you will do any of that.”
“And why is that?”
Ellis shivered under the inferi’s icy gaze. “You said you were a god? Who would worship someone so cruel?”
Graycek laughed derisively. “That is a title, a figure of speech. No one worships me. I am a servant to my community, which you are not a part of. Some might even say you are a threat to it, and that I should treat you as such.”
“We are no threat.” Moriah said.
“Aren’t you?” Graycek hopped onto the ground right in front of her. “You come from the kingdom of the son of chaos, the domain of the lie. We have worked hard to keep your poisons out of our land.”
“We are from Maryland.” Peter found the strength or courage to stand up.
“Yes, I know.” Graycek spun and ran up on Peter in the blink of an eye. “Do you think I care what you call your homeland? Those are just words. I remember life among your kind. The greed and hatred, you are nothing but a danger to yourselves and others.”
“We are not a threat.” Moriah said.
“Oh,” Graycek sang out and fainted backwards, throwing his arm up to his forehead. “We wish you no harm.” He rolled through the ground and emerged again, right at Moriah’s feet. “Now, why don’t I believe you? Is it because I remember the witch-hunts, the hatred in the eyes of the men who murdered my parents, or is it because you grew up in a world where truth is a commodity bought and sold like cattle, and treated just as kindly in your abattoirs of greed. Don’t think you can trick me. I have seen what you are capable of.”
“We’ve never harmed anyone.” Ellis said.
Graycek slunk around Moriah and stood nose to nose with Ellis. “Is that because you haven’t had the chance yet, or because you haven’t felt justified enough to carry the act out? Don’t think you can fool me, playing innocent. You have no idea how old I am, how much I have seen. I know your kind well.”
Those words cause something to snap inside of Ellis. “What the fuck do you mean by, my kind?”
The inferi grinned a ghastly glare at them. “If only you knew, but it is not for me to say. I am not your educators, teaching is not what I do. And more is the better for you, because I would claw that foul little mouth right off your face.”
Courage, or blind foolishness, took over Ellis. “I doubt you would touch me. Since you're not the one in charge, your masters would not take kindly to you for doing so.”
Graycek clapped his hands. “Well said, child, well said. But I have no, masters as you put it, but it would be a pity to deprive myself of the spectacle that a wrecca in the wild would provide.”
“What did you call them?” Moriah said with a fury in her voice that would've warned any normal person to stay quiet.
“A wrecca, an exile, you foolish girl. That's what you all are and what you should all remain.”
The specter laughed and danced in a wide circle around them, so quickly there was nowhere for them to run or escape. “You see, children, once upon a time your kind was asked if they could stop being greedy, and stop lying, just for a while. I asked them to be nice, and they refused. They thought it would be better for them as they continue to hoard the things that they believe brought them wealth and power. Fools, fools, a lot of them were fools. And so you were exiled, kicked out of the real world, to live in squalor that you're kind loves so much.”
The specter’s laughter turned into an echoing howl that reverberated through the forest and shook more leaves off of the trees.
“I don't try to say that you've never heard of such a thing. Because, of course, they lied to you about it. Lying is what your people do best.”
“So you're saying that everything we ever knew was a lie.” Peter said, crossing his arms.
“Oh, yes, lies, lies, and more lies.” The specter laughed and cackled as he continued his dizzying dance around them.
The air grew colder, and other eyes watched them from the darkness. Some were hungry, but others just curious.
“So, what are you going to do to us?” Moriah asked.
“Me?” Graycek stopped in front of her with his hand over his mouth and a shocked expression on his face. “Silly girl, I am going to watch. I don't know what they are going to do to you. I don't even know which fae is going to get you. Can't you just be quiet and enjoy the drama of the situation? Soon, you may be dead, or sent back whence you came. Who is to know and who is to say? But I promise you that if I had my way, your skin would adorn all of the trees, and your soul would be mine with the greatest of ease.”
“And what is stopping you from having your way?” Peter asked.
“Only my desire to see what the others will make of you. Will they get here before the hunters who have your scent arrive and tear you limb from limb? Or will the dark lord lock you in a tower to find out how you circumvented his protections? Or will Mother Soteria make a feast of you for all of the village to enjoy.”
He clapped his hands and somersault it backwards through the air. “There's so many outcomes. The fun will be seeing which one comes to fruition.”
“Is all of this showmanship supposed to be scaring us?” Moriah said with a bored, disaffected tone.
“No. Trust me. If I wanted to scare you, you would know. Honestly, all of this is meant to distract you. To keep you busy and buy time for the others to get here.”
“What others?” Peter asked.
“Haven't you been listening? Well, I suppose even if you had, your simple little mind wouldn't have comprehended any of the things that I have told you, and I have told you more than I should have.”
Ellis ignored the specter and returned their attention to the statues. That same angel called out to them. His name was on the tip of their tongue. They didn't know why. They had never studied angels, or angelic folklore, but somewhere deep down they knew that angel.
They shook their head. The specter still taunted them, but he wasn't a threat. But whatever in the statue that called to them was.
Oroiael. Was that the name of the angel, which is a series of sounds forcing themselves together in their mind. The more they repeated the word, the more it felt right. Oroiael, Oroiael, but where have they heard or seen that name before?
It didn't roll off the tongue easily and didn't sound like any of the names he remembered from the Bible stories they’d read as a child.
While the statue didn't move, Ellis was sure that it acknowledged its name when it was spoken.
Its blindfolded face stared at them through the cold stone, driving all the other thoughts and fears away.
Ellis searched the air for a hint of the angel’s voice, as if certain it tried to speak to them. That was stupid. Statues didn't speak to people. And spirits didn't rise from the ground to torment people, either.
Rubbing their eyes, they wondered when they would wake up from this strange dream. None of this could be real.
They lived their life uncertain about almost everything, their gender, their sexuality, where they fit in the world, what they wanted to do with their life but this one thing they were sure about: there was no such thing as magic.
Ghosts didn't exist. None of this was real. They were having a dream that persisted for far too long. When they woke up, they would tell Moriah and Peter about it, and they would laugh.
They just didn't understand why they hadn't woken up yet. Usually, the moment they realized they were dreaming, their eyes popped open.
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June 1, 2023
The Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 1: The Ara
The moon struggled to peek through the leafless branches of the trees, as three fools lost their way hiking through the woods below.
These three friends wended through the maze of trees with an unearned confidence to have a moonlit picnic by their favorite waterfall in the Catoctin State Park. Sure, it was the only real waterfall in the park, but they liked to pretend there were many of them scattered throughout the autumn forest.
The early fall air greeted them with a stale dew, and a lingering mustiness from the scattered leaves still falling like large, golden snowflakes on the ground.
Other laws forbad them to be in the woods after dark, especially this far into the wild. They parked their car along one of the side roads and hiked in, so they wouldn’t arouse as much suspicion.
Like most people, they forgot about the spirits of the moon, the trees, and the streams all around them who followed their progress through the natural maze.
Slightest of the three, a person with aquamarine eyes, paused and glanced around. They swore they heard a laugh. The hair on the back of their neck stood up.
Subtle laughter peppered the air, but they were damned if they could find the source of the sound. Unfortunately, they didn’t consider searching the shadows for the klatch of Pooka clasping their hands over each other’s mouths to muffle their laughter, so they saw nothing.
The poor fools didn’t realize how far they wandered off the trail.
“This is a winding path you picked for us.” They barely masked their frustration.
Their apparent leader, Peter Wysong, a tall, thin male with shoulder length straightened and dyed black hair pinned back behind his ears insisted repeatedly to them with so much misplaced confidence that he knew where they were going, the others didn’t bother correcting him.
The slight androgynous member of their group, Ellis Nicks, contorted their face now and then in doubt of Peter’s latest pronouncement, but they said nothing else. Their aura sparkled and danced with frustration, but they didn’t want to start an argument. Something else played in their aura, more illusive, but no less present. It was difficult to discern. Perhaps it was nothing more than a juvenile frustration that their life circled the path their heart desired, but was yet to find it.
Moriah Sennett, the third member of their little band, dressed like a tomboyish, black Wednesday Addams. She kept a close eye on the shadows, as if she expected to see something moving in at them at any moment.
They were so far from the falls and getting farther all the time. None of them noticed when they passed through the barrier meant to keep the ignorant from entering the truly wild woods.
The moon saw and struggled to keep an eye on them.
How had they passed through the barrier meant to keep the exiled wrecca from the land of the spirits? It happened every once in a while, and it rarely ended well for the poor lost souls.
Peter pointed down one of the animal trails at the crossroads and declared that he heard the falls over there.
An inferi in the dark forest smiled, a sharp toothed grin too wide for its face, and stalked alongside them.
Ellis chastised themself for not speaking up. They never corrected Peter, even when they knew he was wrong. The falls were miles away, but they couldn’t find the strength or the will to say it. They were just happy to be along for the adventure.
They didn’t expect Peter to berate them or kick them out of the group. He wasn’t like that. They grew up together, and never treated Ellis as different or other.
Moriah was the same way. Like Peter, she had a hard demeanor that didn’t reflect who she was. All three of them had to toughen up for different reasons, but along with their mutual interest in the macabre and the gothic bound them together.
Ahead, a strange, warm glow illuminated the path from behind a rock outcropping. The light flickered like a flame.
“Someone is over there.” Ellis whispered, stopping in place and grabbing Moriah’s hand to stop her from continuing on. They didn’t want to be alone.
Moriah smiled at them and stopped.
“It’s just some others who had the same idea we did.” Peter said with his trademark confidence and roguish grin.
“And if they attack us?” Ellis said.
Peter almost laughed and took a step toward them. “Then we fight back. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, come on.”
Peter patted Ellis on the arm, looked deep into their eyes, and encouraged them to press on.
“You know the kind of trouble I had in Thurmont last week, I don't want to get into another fight. I'm fucking tired of fighting.” Rage burned inside of Ellis. They hated having to explain why they looked and acted like they did to every stranger who felt entitled to an explanation.
“That's what I'm here for.” Peter smirked. “But I seriously doubt it'll come to that. Don't worry so much.”
“Besides,” Moriah said, “what are the odds we're going to run into some drug dealers or some kind of strange cult out here in the woods? Our luck isn't bad enough to have something like that happen to us.”
“And now you've jinxed us.” Ellis rolled their eyes. “You know anytime you say what are the odds, you're tipping them in favor of the bad thing happening, right?”
Moriah winked at them. “Maybe I'm just tired of everyday feeling the same, and I just want some excitement in my life.”
Ellis sighed, “Fine, but on your head be it.”
Peter chuckled, turned, then continued down the path.
Moriah stroked Ellis’ hand tenderly and followed Peter toward the light.
Ellis choked down their fear and trudged on. There was safety in numbers, after all. They didn’t believe it, but it was a good enough excuse to keep moving.
Peter stopped first. Moriah bumped into him, then joined him in a slack-jawed stare.
Ellis, already nervous about the strange light, crept around the corner.
Three stone angels stood in a semicircle around a fourth that lay prone, reaching up into the sky. A variety of candles, each a different color, height, and circumference, surrounded the effigies. Their flickering light illuminated an unnaturally sizeable area cleared of leaf litter. Patches of moss and lichen covered the carved stone angels, three of which stood in various serene poses. Whoever chiseled them into being carved lifelike blindfolds over their eyes of the three standing.
The angel on the ground stared at its onlookers with an anguished expression on its face. It reached a still arm toward them, inviting them to take it, help him, and free him from the pain.
Ellis stopped themself from reaching to take the figure’s cold hand. They felt the angel’s pain in their heart.
The angel in the middle stood with his wings up, proud and defiant. The one on the right kneeled down to aid their fallen comrade. Something about the one on the left drew Ellis’ attention more than the others. There was a serene, dream like attitude etched into its cold stone face.
“Amazing,” Moriah said.
In a semicircle around the statues were three small, stone plaques reading, “D Lila Rook M,” “D Emmerich Leeward M,” and “D Jeffry Graycek M.” In the center, right next to the anguished angel, another plaque read, “D Saint Elwin Rathmore M.”
Peter swore.
Moriah gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.
“Is it an old catholic cemetery?” Ellis asked.
“Not with only three graves.” Moriah said.
Ellis resisted the tug that they felt, drawing them ever closer to the statues. Something was familiar about them. They've seen them before, but couldn't put their finger on when, or where.
“Is this a replica of a famous statue?” Ellis asked, holding the muscles on their arm still. They wanted to touch the stone, to connect with them.
“Not that I've ever seen.” Moriah said. “It's at least not a statue by any of the masters that I've studied.”
“And I don't know of a myth or legend about a fallen angel, except of course for the most famous one ever.” Peter said.
Peter kneeled down and rubbed his fingers across the engraved letters of Emmerich Leeward’s name. “These are old.”
Ellis swore he heard something growl and searched the darkness for the animal.
Peter leaned closer to the plaque. “There is lichen, but no dust or dirt.”
“There aren’t any houses around here, are there?” Moriah asked.
“No.” Ellis said warily. “Not unless we walked all the way to Thurmont.”
“We haven’t been walking long enough.” Peter said with a grunt as he stood up.
Ellis gazed intently into the shadows where the inferi stood grinning behind the statues of the blindfolded angels. “Hello?” They said in a calm, deliberate tone.
“Who are you talking to?” Moriah asked.
“Me, poor child.” A gravelly voice said from the shadows, as if they were down a long hall from them. The inferi’s teeth gleamed in the moon's light.
Peter screamed and stumbled backwards, falling hard onto the ground.
The specter laughed.
Moriah stepped between it and Ellis, then said, “What do you want?”
“First, to say that we aren’t catholic you silly fools. In fact, they would be as offended as I am by the comparison.”
“We didn’t mean to offend you.” Ellis squeaked.
The inferi tapped his long fingers on his chin. “Your kind never means to offend, and yet, you do with such ease.” The disdain in his voice soured the air like poison.
“What are you?” Peter demanded from the ground.
“I am one of the gods below, a di inferi, or don’t they teach you your Latin anymore?” The specter crawled up and crouched on the head of the statue.
“A devil?” Peter’s voice quivered.
The inferi laughed and his voice cracked like thunder. “No child. You are more of a demon or devil than I.”
“We’re goths.” Moriah said.
The inferi snapped his head around with a Cheshire Cat grinned, distorting his face. “Are you now? If only Alaric lived long enough to hear that. I’m not talking about your costumery or makeup, you silly little girl.”
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Ellis said, then cupped their hand over their mouth to stop from saying anything else.
“I will talk however I like.”
The air cooled as the spirit spoke to where they could see their breath.
“I have to say, you have spirit. I didn’t expect that from any of you.”
The inferi leaped up from the central angelic figure and landed with one foot on each of the other two in a pose reminiscent of a rock star in a music video. “Welcome to the wild, exiled children of the lie.” He said, then laughed like he heard the funniest joke.
Blinded Angels is a free publication, if you enjoyed it consider tipping the writer or subscribing to the publication.
Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 1: The Ara
The moon struggled to peek through the leafless branches of the trees, as three fools lost their way hiking through the woods below.
These three friends wended through the maze of trees with an unearned confidence to have a moonlit picnic by their favorite waterfall in the Catoctin State Park. Sure, it was the only real waterfall in the park, but they liked to pretend there were many of them scattered throughout the autumn forest.
The early fall air greeted them with a stale dew, and a lingering mustiness from the scattered leaves still falling like large, golden snowflakes on the ground.
Other laws forbad them to be in the woods after dark, especially this far into the wild. They parked their car along one of the side roads and hiked in, so they wouldn’t arouse as much suspicion.
Like most people, they forgot about the spirits of the moon, the trees, and the streams all around them who followed their progress through the natural maze.
Slightest of the three, a person with aquamarine eyes, paused and glanced around. They swore they heard a laugh. The hair on the back of their neck stood up.
Subtle laughter peppered the air, but they were damned if they could find the source of the sound. Unfortunately, they didn’t consider searching the shadows for the klatch of Pooka clasping their hands over each other’s mouths to muffle their laughter, so they saw nothing.
The poor fools didn’t realize how far they wandered off the trail.
“This is a winding path you picked for us.” They barely masked their frustration.
Their apparent leader, Peter Wysong, a tall, thin male with shoulder length straightened and dyed black hair pinned back behind his ears insisted repeatedly to them with so much misplaced confidence that he knew where they were going, the others didn’t bother correcting him.
The slight androgynous member of their group, Ellis Nicks, contorted their face now and then in doubt of Peter’s latest pronouncement, but they said nothing else. Their aura sparkled and danced with frustration, but they didn’t want to start an argument. Something else played in their aura, more illusive, but no less present. It was difficult to discern. Perhaps it was nothing more than a juvenile frustration that their life circled the path their heart desired, but was yet to find it.
Moriah Sennett, the third member of their little band, dressed like a tomboyish, black Wednesday Addams. She kept a close eye on the shadows, as if she expected to see something moving in at them at any moment.
They were so far from the falls and getting farther all the time. None of them noticed when they passed through the barrier meant to keep the ignorant from entering the truly wild woods.
The moon saw and struggled to keep an eye on them.
How had they passed through the barrier meant to keep the exiled wrecca from the land of the spirits? It happened every once in a while, and it rarely ended well for the poor lost souls.
Peter pointed down one of the animal trails at the crossroads and declared that he heard the falls over there.
An inferi in the dark forest smiled, a sharp toothed grin too wide for its face, and stalked alongside them.
Ellis chastised themself for not speaking up. They never corrected Peter, even when they knew he was wrong. The falls were miles away, but they couldn’t find the strength or the will to say it. They were just happy to be along for the adventure.
They didn’t expect Peter to berate them or kick them out of the group. He wasn’t like that. They grew up together, and never treated Ellis as different or other.
Moriah was the same way. Like Peter, she had a hard demeanor that didn’t reflect who she was. All three of them had to toughen up for different reasons, but along with their mutual interest in the macabre and the gothic bound them together.
Ahead, a strange, warm glow illuminated the path from behind a rock outcropping. The light flickered like a flame.
“Someone is over there.” Ellis whispered, stopping in place and grabbing Moriah’s hand to stop her from continuing on. They didn’t want to be alone.
Moriah smiled at them and stopped.
“It’s just some others who had the same idea we did.” Peter said with his trademark confidence and roguish grin.
“And if they attack us?” Ellis said.
Peter almost laughed and took a step toward them. “Then we fight back. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, come on.”
Peter patted Ellis on the arm, looked deep into their eyes, and encouraged them to press on.
“You know the kind of trouble I had in Thurmont last week, I don't want to get into another fight. I'm fucking tired of fighting.” Rage burned inside of Ellis. They hated having to explain why they looked and acted like they did to every stranger who felt entitled to an explanation.
“That's what I'm here for.” Peter smirked. “But I seriously doubt it'll come to that. Don't worry so much.”
“Besides,” Moriah said, “what are the odds we're going to run into some drug dealers or some kind of strange cult out here in the woods? Our luck isn't bad enough to have something like that happen to us.”
“And now you've jinxed us.” Ellis rolled their eyes. “You know anytime you say what are the odds, you're tipping them in favor of the bad thing happening, right?”
Moriah winked at them. “Maybe I'm just tired of everyday feeling the same, and I just want some excitement in my life.”
Ellis sighed, “Fine, but on your head be it.”
Peter chuckled, turned, then continued down the path.
Moriah stroked Ellis’ hand tenderly and followed Peter toward the light.
Ellis choked down their fear and trudged on. There was safety in numbers, after all. They didn’t believe it, but it was a good enough excuse to keep moving.
Peter stopped first. Moriah bumped into him, then joined him in a slack-jawed stare.
Ellis, already nervous about the strange light, crept around the corner.
Three stone angels stood in a semicircle around a fourth that lay prone, reaching up into the sky. A variety of candles, each a different color, height, and circumference, surrounded the effigies. Their flickering light illuminated an unnaturally sizeable area cleared of leaf litter. Patches of moss and lichen covered the carved stone angels, three of which stood in various serene poses. Whoever chiseled them into being carved lifelike blindfolds over their eyes of the three standing.
The angel on the ground stared at its onlookers with an anguished expression on its face. It reached a still arm toward them, inviting them to take it, help him, and free him from the pain.
Ellis stopped themself from reaching to take the figure’s cold hand. They felt the angel’s pain in their heart.
The angel in the middle stood with his wings up, proud and defiant. The one on the right kneeled down to aid their fallen comrade. Something about the one on the left drew Ellis’ attention more than the others. There was a serene, dream like attitude etched into its cold stone face.
“Amazing,” Moriah said.
In a semicircle around the statues were three small, stone plaques reading, “D Lila Rook M,” “D Emmerich Leeward M,” and “D Jeffry Graycek M.” In the center, right next to the anguished angel, another plaque read, “D Saint Elwin Rathmore M.”
Peter swore.
Moriah gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.
“Is it an old catholic cemetery?” Ellis asked.
“Not with only three graves.” Moriah said.
Ellis resisted the tug that they felt, drawing them ever closer to the statues. Something was familiar about them. They've seen them before, but couldn't put their finger on when, or where.
“Is this a replica of a famous statue?” Ellis asked, holding the muscles on their arm still. They wanted to touch the stone, to connect with them.
“Not that I've ever seen.” Moriah said. “It's at least not a statue by any of the masters that I've studied.”
“And I don't know of a myth or legend about a fallen angel, except of course for the most famous one ever.” Peter said.
Peter kneeled down and rubbed his fingers across the engraved letters of Emmerich Leeward’s name. “These are old.”
Ellis swore he heard something growl and searched the darkness for the animal.
Peter leaned closer to the plaque. “There is lichen, but no dust or dirt.”
“There aren’t any houses around here, are there?” Moriah asked.
“No.” Ellis said warily. “Not unless we walked all the way to Thurmont.”
“We haven’t been walking long enough.” Peter said with a grunt as he stood up.
Ellis gazed intently into the shadows where the inferi stood grinning behind the statues of the blindfolded angels. “Hello?” They said in a calm, deliberate tone.
“Who are you talking to?” Moriah asked.
“Me, poor child.” A gravelly voice said from the shadows, as if they were down a long hall from them. The inferi’s teeth gleamed in the moon's light.
Peter screamed and stumbled backwards, falling hard onto the ground.
The specter laughed.
Moriah stepped between it and Ellis, then said, “What do you want?”
“First, to say that we aren’t catholic you silly fools. In fact, they would be as offended as I am by the comparison.”
“We didn’t mean to offend you.” Ellis squeaked.
The inferi tapped his long fingers on his chin. “Your kind never means to offend, and yet, you do with such ease.” The disdain in his voice soured the air like poison.
“What are you?” Peter demanded from the ground.
“I am one of the gods below, a di inferi, or don’t they teach you your Latin anymore?” The specter crawled up and crouched on the head of the statue.
“A devil?” Peter’s voice quivered.
The inferi laughed and his voice cracked like thunder. “No child. You are more of a demon or devil than I.”
“We’re goths.” Moriah said.
The inferi snapped his head around with a Cheshire Cat grinned, distorting his face. “Are you now? If only Alaric lived long enough to hear that. I’m not talking about your costumery or makeup, you silly little girl.”
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Ellis said, then cupped their hand over their mouth to stop from saying anything else.
“I will talk however I like.”
The air cooled as the spirit spoke to where they could see their breath.
“I have to say, you have spirit. I didn’t expect that from any of you.”
The inferi leaped up from the central angelic figure and landed with one foot on each of the other two in a pose reminiscent of a rock star in a music video. “Welcome to the wild, exiled children of the lie.” He said, then laughed like he heard the funniest joke.
Blinded Angels is a free publication, if you enjoyed it consider tipping the writer or subscribing to the publication.
May 31, 2023
Introducing Blinded Angels Book 1: The Noble Sacrifice
I debated for a while whether to have more than one fiction serial running at the same time. I’ve decided that as long as I collected them in their own sections, I should get my fiction out.
Welcome to Blinded Angels
Enter the world of the Dragons of Night. Yes, dragons are real and have governed the night since the great shadow fell upon them at the end of the war with Nyx. Together with the Fae and many other magical creatures, they joined the Covenant with the Giants to expel those they saw as liars who sought only wealth and power from their midst, creating our world.
In Blinded Angels, we follow Ellis Nicks, a courageous and resilient nonbinary person. When I say courageous, they lived their best genderqueer life in the 90s, even though they didn’t have the language for it. I have chosen not to misgender them in the story even though that would have happened at the time.
Everything changes for Ellis, Moriah, and Peter during an innocent stroll through the autumnal woods of Maryland. A sudden twist of fate transports them to a mysterious land where the impossible becomes reality.
But this extraordinary realm harbors secrets, and the trio finds themselves embroiled in a web of darkness and intrigue. As they navigate their way through this treacherous landscape, Ellis and their friends must confront their own inner demons and unravel the enigmatic past that haunts them all. The journey they undertake is not just one of self-discovery, but also a battle against forces that threaten to tear their newfound world apart.
Blinded Angels series explores the depths of friendship, love, and identity in a world brimming with mystery and romance.
Join Ellis, Moriah, and Peter as they navigate the perilous path of self-discovery and face the shadows that lurk in both the realm of magic and their own souls. Uncover the secrets that threaten their very existence and prepare yourself for a breathtaking adventure you won't soon forget. The Blinded Angels series will transport you to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine, leaving you captivated until the very last page. Are you ready to embark on this extraordinary journey?
Well, are you?Chapters will come out on Thursdays. As the chapters of The Noble Sacrifice come out, I will be updating this post and it will serve as Table of Contents for the series.
May 24, 2023
But what if no one cares...
Do we share only to receive?
Are our words just a gift?
In the dead of night, we deceive
ourselves into believing
they are proof we lived.
I know so many writers who dream of making a living off their words. I know even more who just want to gather up a crowd to listen to what they have come up with now. Disappointment fills their eyes and voices as they discuss the perceived failure of their work… but have they really failed?
Having been on both sides of the aisle, I know what it feels like to sell thousands of copies of a book no one remembers and to sell only a handful of a book I will never forget. In their own way, both hurt, but given the realities of capitalism, one tends to hurt more than the other.
I want to believe the propaganda that good stories will win out in the end, but the problem is, it isn’t the good stories or even the great stories that win the race. It is the story that hits at the right time and has just enough ruby dust sprinkled on it by the fairies that control the markets.
story is not the hard part…
Stories loom in the shadows like specters waiting to strike when we are least prepared to write them. They taunt us in our dreams and stalk us throughout our days, waiting for their time to strike us down with the true terror of the writing process… what if no one cares or worse, what if everyone hates it?
The real enemy of the writer isn’t the story or even the indifference of the market. The real enemy is time.
Do we have the time to market the story as much as we need to find a reader? Any reader, let alone the readers who will love the story enough to tell everyone they know about it and spread us into the community that awaits a story like the one we wrote. Time is our real enemy.
There are so many stories…We aren’t the only ones writing. Not only are we competing against other writers, but against all the content farms and the poor fools who have fallen for the low effort book mill scams that promise an easy path to riches that will never manifest into reality.
There are so many stories and only so many readers. Like spawning salmon, we send our books upstream through the dangers and difficulties where they mix in with the jumbled mess of all the other stories, desperately looking for a reader, a community of readers. Honestly, any bookshelf will do, but how does our story stand out?
How do we find an audience?
If I gave you a quick fix or a straightforward solution to the problem here, you would know that I am a liar. Yes, there are tips and tricks to setting up a sales funnel and things you can do to lure unsuspecting victims to fall down into the web, but there are no easy tricks to get people to read or even love your work.
Write with your voice, don’t barrow one from some else, it will not help you in the long run.
Love your work or don’t expect anyone else to even care.
Use every trick you can learn to make images, clips, videos, whatever you can that will entertain people, then share those.
DON’T ALWAYS BE SELLING… there is nothing more annoying than someone who only shows up to shill a product.
ALWAYS BE SELLING… no one will buy your work if they don’t know it is for sale.
Okay, yeah, those last too are in conflict, but if you have problems with paradoxes and ambiguity, marketing and fiction markets might not be for you.
Embrace the paradox
That’s the devil’s bargain at the heart of the creative life. Certainty isn’t our business, and anyone who tells you otherwise is making their money off you.
Disney makes it look easy, but when you have hundreds of millions of dollars to make a thing and hundreds of millions more to market it, it is impossible not to be noticed. We don’t have that kind of luxury. We can only do what we can to promote our work.
There is only one tried and true, scientifically proven element that brings success, and that is persistence. Just don’t give up. That is simultaneously the hardest and easiest thing to do.
Harlan Ellison once described writers as insidious hornets that buzz and buzz to attract attention and sting, injecting our ideas into the minds of others, hoping our words will haunt them for the rest of their lives. We have to buzz and with have to sting. That is who we are. The more we fight against our basic nature, the harder we make it on ourselves. Harlan will haunt my nightmares if I don’t also remind us we need to get paid too.
Let’s write our stories and talk about them with all the joy of a teenager discovering a new song by their favorite band while we work on the next thing. What else can we do? We’ve written our names in fire on the book of creation. We have to fulfill our side of the contract.
May 16, 2023
Raid: Chapter 12: The Promise of Reward
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Sev stared through the breathsteel window at the blood moon. The argent throne formally condemned him on his homecoming.
He didn’t shed a tear or whisper a prayer. His soul dried up on the voyage home. Though he could still see the colored lights shining through the windows, his mood dulled their brilliance and robbed them of their luster.
"We never should have gone," he said under his breath.
Lacking the energy to even regret, his words were as devoid of presence as his voice.
As they pulled into the harbor, Sev overheard the others discussing how they were going to deliver the ark tonight to rid themselves of it and get the rest of the money Garland owed them.
Sev forced himself out of his bed, donned his frock coat, and made his way above deck.
They lowered the gangway to the deck, and Crane ran ahead to buy a cart.
“I am going with you,” Sev said.
Maeve didn’t argue with him, but he saw the argument play out in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t do anything stupid. I just want to be there in case you need me.”
Jade loaded the arc onto a cart.
“It’s been a while since you have been a part of the world,” Harley said. “Are you sure you don’t want to give yourself some time to get used to the waters again?”
“I will be fine,” Sev said. “It’s not like I’ve forgotten the rules of civilized society.” He sneered when he said the words. “I would worry more about them than about me.”
“Do you think Garland plans to double-cross us?” Jade asked.
“I don’t know what part he had to play in all of this, but he is a stranger with a lot of money. That means he has blood on his hands,” Sev said.
“There is no great fortune without a great crime.” Harley smirked. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Our blood won’t be a part of it without a good fight,” Jade said.
“Everyone on the cart,” Maeve said. “We have a delivery to make.”
“And if they are not awake when we get there?” Crane asked.
“We knock louder,” Maeve said.
Sev recognized the worry in Maeve's eyes and wanted to assure her he was all right, but the words would not come. How could he reassure her when he couldn’t reassure himself?
As the cart rolled through the streets of this city he knew so well, everything appeared just a little different, like seeing it through a smokey mirror.
The dark sky lost its velvety darkness, and the stars didn’t twinkle.
Maybe a storm flushed the city with some covering that muted not only the colors, but the reflectivity of the wind vanes and the crystals embedded into the aether vanes that monitored the flow of magic over the island.
Small, shadowy creatures skittered about that he had never seen before. At first, he thought they were rats, but many, if not most, of them walked on two legs.
None of these little creatures acted maliciously. They furtively avoided the light of the gas lamps and the crimson glow of the moon. Whatever they were, they didn’t want to be seen or even noticed.
Before he said anything to his companions, he scanned through the group to find signs that they saw them too. None of them reacted to any of them, even when a small group of them scurried across the road in front of them.
The bay cathar that pulled the cart continued her knuckle walk through with no sign she noticed them at all.
Maeve gripped his hand and squeezed it.
“I’m all right,” Sev said. “It was unfair to cut you out of my life like that.”
“Yes, it was,” Maeve said with a churlish grin. “We have supported each other through so many things. Why would you think this would be any different?”
Sev shrugged. “I didn’t have words. If I didn’t understand, it would have been unfair to expect you to.”
“So, no more secrets?” she asked.
Sev watched the strange shadows creeping through the city streets. “I can’t promise you that, at least until I understand what is going on myself.”
“That’s fair,” Maeve said. “As long as you don’t stop talking to me again.”
“It’s a deal.”
Sev rested his head on Maeve’s shoulder and allowed himself to remember what it was like to have a family.
As they wended through the city, the night grew darker, and it was harder to make out the forms of the little creatures. If the shadows didn’t move like a curtain in a draft, he might have believed they were gone.
This darkness added a metallic flavor to the air without an accompanying smell.
Sitting up, Sev watched the darkness concentrate over a house at the end of the lane.
He smiled.
The sky wasn’t dark. They warded the building to blind the ever-watchful eye of the moon from seeing what they did. To his own eye, the house resembled a mirage in the heat.
As they parked in the cul-de-sac, the door to the house opened and a cloaked figure emerged from the well-lit vestibule. They motioned for them to enter with their gloved hand.
“He must have lookouts,” Jade said.
After disembarking from the cart, Jade picked up the ark.
Maeve took the lead and set the slow pace toward the door.
A set of eyes glimmered from every window, monitoring their every step toward the building. Garland either increased his security since they had been gone or he did a superb job of keeping them out of sight before now.
Within the lavishly decorated entrance hall, Ok’un in polished armor stood like statues around the walls and periodically up the stairs to the landing on the second floor.
Garland himself kneeled at the top, talking with a red panda sadath whose familiar stared down at them.
Maeve raised a hand to halt their ingress.
Everything in sight gave off a sense of opulence, from the materials of the drapes to the carpets to the gilding that coated almost everything.
Perfume diffusers lent a sweet floral scent to the air which was cooled by cold crystals hanging over porcelain basins that collect the water dripping from them.
Garland finished his conversation and adopted a bright smile like a well-worn mask. He stood up and threw his arms out to the side in greeting, and said, "my friends, I am so glad you have returned. And what is this? You found the ark."
He walked down the steps with a gate intended to imply playfulness, even giddiness. The coldness in his eyes expressed his authentic emotions.
"It was easier than we thought it would be," Maeve said.
Sev watched Garland closely.
He smirked briefly before widening his smile to his eyes. "I am so glad to hear it. I hoped it wouldn't be too much of a bother for you."
"No problem at all." Maeve nodded.
Garland snapped his fingers and an ox sadath came forward with equipment, identifying him as an artificer.
"We have to verify that this is the ark we sent you after. I'm sure you understand."
Maeve motioned for Jade to set the crate down. "Of course, you paid us a lot of money. It's only right that you check your investment before you pay us the rest of what we are due."
The artificer opened the crate and inserted a device with crystals inserted into it.
"Where are my manners?" Garland said. "Would you like something to drink? After all, you must've come here directly from your ship, or I would've heard that you returned to Port earlier."
"I would not like to think that we took advantage of your hospitality," Maeve said. “After all, people like us require a good report to drum up new business.”
The artificer withdrew his hand. “This is the ark.”
Garland smiled. “The Nofraan people will be pleased to have the sacred relic returned to them.”
"Then we have fulfilled our part of the bargain," Maeve said.
"You have indeed." Garland snapped his fingers. "In fact, you have exceeded all of my expectations of you. If I have any further work, I will gladly send it your way."
Maeve bowed her head. "We are always happy to serve."
An Ok’un stepped forward with a bag of coins on a tray.
Garland picked up the bag. "I will not be offended if you count your payment before you go." He tossed the bag gently through the air at Maeve.
She caught the bag, and the coins jangled like a tremble dedicated to the God of wealth. "I think you have proven yourself to be trustworthy. Besides, any failure to live up to the terms of the contract would be punishable by the Admiralty Court. No one needs that sort of headache."
Maeve bowed again, and the others followed suit.
The Ok’un sprung to life and the mechanical soldiers ushered them to the door.
Maeve motioned for them to keep silent.
They hopped onto the cart and drove away from the estate.
“He didn't expect all of us to make it back,” Jade said. “I could see it in his eyes. He was surprised to see us.”
"That's because he set the trap we walked into," Maeve said.
"I was wondering why you did everything but pledge fealty to him as your Lord," Crane said.
"Overly grateful idiots is what he expected us to be. I only hope I didn't overplay the part."
"Well, I almost believed you forgot about everything that happened on the voyage," Sev said. "We'll know soon enough if he bought it."
"You don't think he'll try to kill us, do you?" Crane asked.
“That depends on how worried they are about having any witnesses,” Sev said. “We may not understand what we saw, but if we tell the wrong people, they just might.”
A silver light caught Sev's eye.
He looked up at the moon and nodded with a smile.
“We just need to make sure that we are ready for whatever comes next.”
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May 9, 2023
Raid: Chapter 11: The Circle of Dread
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Maeve forced herself to stand up. The ritual burned strange shadows on the walls of the chapel and the aetheric pillars were gone. Sev's eyes flickered like large silver stars in their sockets.
"What the hells was that?" Jade asked as he stood up.
“Failure,” Sev said, shaking his head back and forth.
“Not ours,” Maeve said. “We were unaware and unprepared for whatever that was.”
“I wasn’t,” Sev said.
“Yes,” Maeve said sternly. “You were. That moon maiden may have invested you with her power, but she didn’t tell you how to use it or that this was even going on.”
“That is not an excuse.”
“We don’t have time for this right now,” Maeve said. “We need to get that ark back to the ship before that tugwattle tells someone we are here, and they send someone after us.”
Sev looked up. Glittering tears rolled down from his eyes. “Let’s go.”
Maeve helped him to his feet.
Jade retrieved the ark from the hidden passage.
With their light crystals in hand, they wended their way out of the crypt. There was no need for stealth anymore. That tugwattle knew they were here.
The tugwattle was nowhere to be seen when they exited the crypt into the starry night. None of the monks were outside the monastery walls.
Dream ran up to Jade and circled him with a joyfully bounding gate. At least one of them was happy.
They trudged through the terrain in silence. Not even the bells of the monastery interrupted the pained stillness, as if the world itself held its breath for what came next.
Maeve kept her eyes on the path. She didn’t want to look up and curse the moon for what she had done to her friend. Her soul was too thin to be angry.
On the shore, near the bow of the ship. Just for a moment, Maeve thought she saw the lady from her dreams weeping on the shore before melting away into the water as the waves pulled out.
Why would she be crying? Wasn’t she part of the grand conspiracy that brought them here? What did she have to cry about? She got what she wanted. They did her bidding without realizing her control over them.
Harley and Crane lowered the boarding ramp without a whistle.
As Jade carried the arc down into the hold, Maeve explained to Harley and Crane what happened in the crypt in simple terms.
They said they never saw a sign of the Vazra or the Tugwattle.
“So it was all a setup,” Harley said. “At least we got half the money upfront.”
“They will pay the rest, if not more,” Sev said.
“All of that will have to wait until we get back to Duskmere,” Maeve said. “We had such smooth sailing on the way here, I don’t know if we can expect the same for the voyage home. We might be more of a liability at this point.”
“We have the reliquary of a saint on board. By their grace, if nothing else, we will make it home.” Sev touched his forehead, either out of reverence or because he had a headache. It was hard to read his expression.
“Maybe we should light some candles to the saint to ensure their blessing,” Crane said.
“Dearest holy whatever your name is, please bless us so we can return you to your people in hopes that you will not be stolen again.” Harley rolled her eyes. “Who wouldn’t answer such a pious prayer?”
Maeve shook her head and masked her chuckling. “The real question is what do we do when we get back.”
“People need to know that the Daskensians are up to something,” Crane said.
“That is hardly news,” Harley said. “They are always up to something. First, we have to figure out what they did. Too bad we can’t ask a tugwattle.”
“Why not?” Crane said. “The tugwattles know everything.”
“They had a tugwattle with them, silly,” Harley said. “How would we know if the one we asked was on our side or not?”
“Good question,” Crane said.
Jade returned. “The cargo is secured, and based on the expressions on everyone’s faces, you filled them in about all that mess.” He motioned toward the crypt.
Maeve walked up to the quarterdeck, and then turned the key in the wheel. She shouted orders, and they pulled out of the cove.
Jade, Crane, and Harley joined her on the quarterdeck. Sev went below.
“What are we going to do about moon boy?” Harley asked.
“Don’t call him that,” Maeve said. “As mad as I am about the whole thing, he is going through a lot of things that we can’t even imagine. That doesn’t get him off the hook, but right now, he needs his space.”
“Where is he going?” Jade pointed aft.
An airship rose into the sky on the far side of the Chapel of Oanh. It turned, set a course to the north, and glided away from the island.
“You think the tugwattle is on that ship?” Maeve asked.
“Who else could afford an airship?” Harley said.
“He got what he wanted from us,” Jade said. “I just wish I knew what he wanted it for.”
Maeve kept the others as busy as she could, so they wouldn’t have time to bother Sev. She also distracted herself with as many mundane tasks as she could for the same reason. She swabbed the deck, polished the railings, and even patched the nets in case they needed to catch some fish on the voyage.
For his part, Sev spent most of his time in his room. When she brought him his meals, he just sat on his bed with his arms wrapped around his knees, muttering.
Once in a while, she saw him on deck whispering at the moon, but he never paid anyone any attention.
Maeve struggled not to intervene. She didn’t have any words to soothe him, and he didn’t talk to her. Every day, she made sure she was available to talk to him if he wanted to, but she didn’t force her presence upon him.
Every time she walked past the ship’s hold, she fought the urge to go down and open the ark to see what was so important. She wasn’t sure if it would violate the contract or not, but most reliquaries were sealed. Regardless, opening a reliquary would be a sacrilege often punished by a curse on the artifact for anyone who violates its sanctity.
When had the possibility of having a cursed artifact on their ship become the least of her concerns? She didn’t bring it up to the crew—they focused more on what they wanted to spend the rest of the money on.
Maeve wasn’t sure if they were even going to get the full payment. Garland may have been an unwitting pawn in all of this too, but she wouldn’t know until they finished the contract.
A couple of days into the voyage home, Maeve changed her watch to the night so she could monitor Sev, who left his room every night to wander about the deck muttering to the moon.
She never seemed to respond to him, as he grew increasingly morose throughout the night before slinking back to his room before the sunrise.
The moon reflected in the glassy sea as the preternatural influence protected them as they sailed.
Maeve would have relaxed more if they had some difficulty on the voyage. Were they rewarding them for helping them in the ritual, or had they yet to finish their work?
Sev continued to pace in a circle on the deck, chanting, "we can fix this."
One night, Maeve approached him carefully. He didn’t acknowledge her presence at all.
His insistent chant grew more rapid each time he said it. The desperation in his voice writing itself over his face.
Maeve asked, “what can we fix?”
Sev stopped and turned to her. “I failed my mission. We failed to save the world, but there has to be a way we can fix this.”
“What if it isn’t for us to fix?”
“Then who will?”
Except for that one conversation, Sev didn’t talk to Maeve for the entire journey home.
The rest of the crew discussed the strange ritual they witnessed and accidentally took part in.
Many theories rose and fell in popularity among them, but all their speculation centered on the part they played within it.
“Isn’t it obvious,” Crane said, “the final blow had to be struck by an innocent untainted by the magic of the ritual itself.”
“That feels like a lot of work to go through,” Harley said. “After all, they could have just hired someone or tricked someone into taking the desired action. Every ritual component needs to be prepared for use.”
“Do you think the moon maiden was involved?” Maeve asked.
“If she was, they tricked her too,” Harley said. “The compassion of the argent throne is well known. It would be odd to perpetuate such a long con, but it is possible they set her up to decide. I can buy that. If she knew we were set up to be sacrificed, she may have intervened in a vain attempt to either save us or stop them.”
“It’s obvious,” Jade said. “The final blow had to be an act of revenge. Sev isn’t special. Lost Soul killed all but one person on every one of those ships to seed the world with people who could be used in the final ritual. All of those stolen treasures we saw were bait in the trap to lure the blade to the altar. Sev might not have even been the only person used like this.”
“You have a point,” Harley said. “What do we actually know about the Vazra? We don’t know that they are dead. They might be like the sadath and only have to return from the reverie.”
Maeve hadn’t realized how relieved she was that Lost Soul was dead until Harley brought up the possibility he might return.
They continued to discuss possibilities as they sailed on.
As they approached Duskmere’s harbor, the sky turned black, and the moon turned to blood.
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May 2, 2023
Raid: Chapter 10: The Masque of Truth
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The eerie black flames licked at the broken air around it, neither giving nor taking light from the room. Maeve forgot her body. There was only the black light. Nothing else existed in all the worlds.
Somewhere in the void of existence, Sev muttered, "it's too late."
But too late for what? Nothing existed but the light and its siren call.
Nothing in all the tall tales and fairy stories prepared her for this. Sailors bragged of their many grand adventures and embellished the dangers they faced. Not a single story included a word about black fire. Its unnatural existence imposed itself on the world like a forbidden shadow of an unseen horror.
As the blade drew back through the lantern and the broken air, it sparked against the metal grate surrounding the preternatural flame.
The black-robed Vazra laid the sword on the altar and raised his hand to the edges of the cowl that framed the expressionless porcelain mask where his face should be.
Pulling the fabric back, a black tricorn hat with multicolored phoenix feathers appeared as if emerging from a shadow. He unpinned the broach, holding his robe together at the neck, and let it fall to the ground.
He wore a black frock coat, vest, and breeches, all with iridescence interwoven into the silk, so a rainbow of color flashed from the light, depending on the angle at which it was struck.
Maeve recognized him from the wanted posters. This Vazra was the pirate, Lost Soul.
Sev erupted in a frenzied whale as he recognized the man that murdered his family. He struggled against Jade, breaking free from his arms. He burst through the aetheric wall, drawing his sword.
Lost Soul turned toward him, and the mask grinned. "At least you are punctual."
Maeve sprung to her feet to stand next to her friend, who swore to avenge his family.
The pirate laughed. “Their death is worthy of vengeance," he said with an odd certainty. "I remember the surprise on their faces when I ordered the guns to fire. They panicked as the wood splintered beneath them, and they understood that death had come for them. If only I could have stood in death's place in taking their souls into my own hands. I would have relished it all the more. I wish I could say they died well, Boy, but there was too much fear in them for that not to be a lie.”
“Why did you kill them? There was no reason.” Tears ran from Sev’s eyes as his hatred distorted his face.
"For the same reason I insured one person survived." The Vazra laughed again. "And the deed paid the dividend I required from it."
Sev lunged at the pirate, who drew a blade from his belt and parried without effort.
"Do not interfere!" Lost Soul said to the other Vazra in the room. "Stand your ground. He is mine."
The other four stood like statues at the corners of the altar, their masked faces giving nothing away.
Jade whispered to Maeve, “do we trust they are going to stay out of this, or do we engage them?”
"We should focus on the pirate," she responded. "If we're lucky, we can knock him off balance and the three of us can run."
"What about the ark?"
"Our lives are the one thing I will always prize above the mission." Maeve had never been as sure of anything as she was of that.
Sev lashed out at Lost Soul, who fended him off with the barest amount of effort imaginable. If he wanted to, he could've easily won the fight. Why was he toying with them?
Jade attacked the pirate from behind, only to be intercepted by his second blade in his other hand.
Lost Soul danced between them with ease.
Maeve sought a place to strike, to take him off guard. The fluidity with which the Vazra moved prevented many of the lines of attack she saw.
Occasionally, he twisted completely around, proving his legs were not attached to the rest of him at the waist. He was a spirit with no skeleton or flesh to prevent him from turning or twisting in any way he wanted.
Lost Soul wore no visible armor. If they struck him, they would hit his clothing. Would their blade slip through him doing no damage?
Maeve never fought a spirit before. She had never seen one fought or slain and didn’t have a firm grasp on what would happen.
Sev’s blade passed just above Lost Soul, causing him to bend backward to avoid the strike.
Lunging forward, Maeve struck towards the pirate’s head to cleave it in two.
The Vazra twisted his neck so his mask rubbed against the collar of his frock coat without losing so much as a feather from his hat.
Maeve changed the angle of her swing to prevent her blade from striking the stone floor.
Lost Soul cackled with glee, and he contorted his body back into a formation that made him resemble a broken doll.
The longer the fight stretched on, the more it worried Maeve that he hadn’t even tried to attack any of them. He expertly deflected every one of their blows without even once trying to land one himself.
It was possible he enjoyed the fight, but as it languished on, no matter what sick thrill he received from the match, it had to be wearing thin. He was waiting for something. Biding his time to take the perfect shot.
Lost Soul jumped up and flipped his body around to land flat on the ceiling like a spider and turned his head all the way around to look down at them.
He sprung down.
Jade, Sev, and Maeve raised their blades to guard against the incoming strike.
The pirate dove over Maeve's head and landed on the other side of the altar.
With a quick slash, he struck out at the red-robed Vazra, cutting them in half.
Half the robe fell to the ground while the other half flew up in the air as a golden mist flashing with lightning struck at the lantern on the altar.
Lost Soul laughed.
Spinning, he hacked the blue-robed Vazra in half before jumping back onto the ceiling.
As the cracking pops of the dying Vazra flowed into the black flame, Lost Soul’s maniacal laughter filled the room.
The pirate jumped from the roof, driving his blade into the left eye socket of the green-robed Vazra before laying his weight onto the blade to cut him down the center.
Without mercy, he slashed the one in the golden robe in half.
As the misty lightning crackled around him, Lost Soul raised his arms, laughing.
Sev struck at the pirate.
Lost Soul parried his blade, continuing to laugh.
Jade joined the fray, and the fight continued at the standstill it had been.
Maeve held back.
The life of the slain Vazra flashed in the lantern’s cage. Within, the black flame flickered like an eldritch shadow amid the lightning flickering around it.
Lost Soul didn’t kill his comrades, he sacrificed them at the proper time. They hadn’t interrupted the ritual—they were part of it.
This fight was as planned as the chants and ritual actions they had taken up to this point.
Lost Soul raided the island and stole the ark so Garland would hire them to retrieve it.
What part did they play in all this? Was the violence necessary for the ritual, or did he need something from them?
When the time was right, would he slaughter them in the same way he did his companions?
“We have to get out of here!” Maeve shouted.
Lost Soul laughed and focused his attention on Sev. “Are you ready to run, little boy?”
Sev screeched with rage and struck hard enough to cause the pirate’s blade to bounce in his hand.
The pirate pressed forward, kicking Jade back.
Jade slammed against the wall near the door and slid to the ground.
Sev stepped around to face Lost Soul head-on.
“Are you not going to run?” the pirate asked.
Without a word, Sev struck wildly.
Maeve stiffened. “Stop!”
Lost Soul lowered his blade, and Sev cleaved the Vazra at the neck and pressed through.
Maeve grabbed Sev by the shoulders and pulled him back.
The pirate wobbled on his legs and cackled madly.
Misty lightning flashed from Lost Soul’s body to the lantern. The empty mask and clothes fell to the ground.
Dark shadows rose from the remains of all five dead Vazra and rose in the air like fog.
The light from the crystals embedded in the walls faded away.
Only the faint glow of the aetheric pillars cast their colors over the room.
Deep black figures stood at each corner, with one before the altar.
The umbral fog rose into the air and spiraled into the lantern.
A profound silence enveloped everything.
The breath of the four survivors in the room punctuated the only silence in ragged pulses.
A black flame erupted from the lantern, knocking them back and pressing them into the wall.
The shadows slithered across Maeve’s face, pressing into her skin like it sought a way in.
She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, wishing she could pinch her nose closed and cover her ears.
Oily shadows slithered over her body like worms.
Holding in the scream, her chest tightened. She didn’t want to let any of that into her body.
Her lungs burned.
She needed to breathe.
Never would she submit to this darkness.
It would have to kill her if it wanted to take her.
Maeve prayed to whatever deity that might hear her thoughts. She even called on the maiden of the moon to help her since she had shown favor to Sev.
The pressure on her back lessened, and she fell hard to the floor.
Exhaling, she involuntarily gulped air into her lungs, coughing and wheezing.
She opened her eyes.
The light crystals flickered on the walls, and the darkness retreated into the lantern.
Her entire body ached from the trauma of impact.
She searched around her to find Sev and Jade trying to catch their breath like she did.
A shadow moved up by the altar.
The Tugwattle grabbed the lamp and ran out of the room.
Maeve reached in his direction in a vain attempt to stop him. What had they done?
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April 25, 2023
Raid: Chapter 9: The Stain of Blood
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Within the chapel at the heart of the crypt, the pillars of the altar twisted and turned like colored smoke trapped in glass tubes. Four-pointed stars were emblazoned on each wall with a strange birdlike glyph in the center.
"This isn't an altar to Oanh," Maeve said, taking a step backward.
"No," Sev said, "but it is why were are here."
“What do you mean?” Jade asked.
“It is everything I can do not to attack the altar.” Sev shook with rage.
“The mission comes first,” Maeve said.
“The mission,” Sev seethed, “comes first.”
“You all can’t be serious,” Jade said. “This mission has been one mess after another.”
No one argued with Jade.
Maeve pointed to either side of the room, and Jade entered to the right and Sev to the left.
She walked up to the altar. Only a fool would touch a ritual object they didn’t understand, especially when it was charged and active like this one.
The altar bore none of the runes or glyphs she expected to see. In fact, the altar itself was carved from the same stone as the room when this chapel was cut out.
“It’s not here,” Jade said.
Sev walked up next to her and kneeled before the altar. He reached out to it without touching it. A strange light glimmered from his eyes as he stared at the stone and spiraling aether.
Maeve kept a close eye on him. They weren’t here to interfere with whatever it was the Vazra were up to. They came for the ark and that was it. She hoped to keep from making more enemies.
A strange breeze wafted from the altar that reminded her of a fall day after the Sandvons Woods burned. The blood shone a vibrant red, even though it had congealed with age. What were they doing here?
Sev murmured softly, as if talking to someone else. He was too quiet to understand.
Jade stopped at the left corner of the room on the other side of the altar, holding both hands up to the wall.
“There is another passage here,” he said. “They just placed a simple glamor on it.”
Maeve tapped Sev on the shoulder.
He continued his muttering and ignored her.
Rolling her eyes, Maeve shook him until he broke out of his trance.
“What?” Sev said.
“I was about to ask you the same question. Jade found another passage.”
Jade pushed his hand through the illusion and stepped into the unknown.
Maeve followed. The curtain of deception felt like pressing through a cold waterfall. Turning to watch Sev pass through the glamor, she screwed her face up.
The illusion didn’t touch this side of the passage.
Sev stepped through as if he were afraid to slip on a patch of ice on the other side. Her view was dim, like looking through a screen. The fake wall was a one-way illusion.
They must not have expected the uninitiated to find this place, or they would have put in more effort to secure it, like they had with the other corridor.
After a short walk, the passage turned to the left into a hall lined with shelves, each with a different crate.
“Double check each other,” Maeve said. “If the ark is here, we have to find it.”
The other two nodded.
Each box bore a script from a distinct language and more crests, glyphs, runes, and sigils than she ever imagined existed.
The first box she encountered without markings stopped her in her tracks. It was so out of place amongst the others.
She carefully pried it open and peaked within. It contained an odd staff with a stone embedded into the top of it.
A sharp sting on her arm, and she pulled it away from the staff and out of the box.
“We don’t know what that is,” Jade said. “No touching.”
She hadn’t realized she reached into the box at all until she pulled her arm back. If Jade hadn’t smacked her shoulder, who knows what that staff might have done to her.
Some artifacts possessed the minds and wills of their owner. They were the most dangerous sort. Why had it taken till now to remember her mother’s admonition against working with cursed artifacts?
Twenty thousand cezri blinded her to a lot of the concerns she should have had about this mission.
Maeve monitored herself closer as she opened the second and third unmarked crates they encountered but experienced the same attraction to the odd assortment of artifacts within them.
Several of the boxes were the right size, but none of them had the markings on them from the picture Garland gave them.
As she pried the next crate open, her breath caught in her chest.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the image and checked the markings on the top of the ark within.
“I think we found it,” she said.
Jade took the picture from her hand and checked it with Sev.
“That’s it,” Jade said.
Sev stared into the box. His lip quivered.
Maeve wondered if he felt the same call she had.
Jade picked up the crate. “It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be. Do you think they emptied it?”
“And put it back in the crate and put it away nicely?” Maeve raised an eyebrow.
“It’s not empty.” Sev pressed his ear against the side of the box. “I can hear something within it, feel its power flowing through me.”
“That’s not creepy,” Jade said sarcastically.
Maeve ushered Sev away from the crate and they walked back toward the hidden door.
Chimes rang out from the chapel.
Maeve froze.
Slowly, she walked toward the illusory door into the secret passage.
Five Vazra entered the chapel with the tugwattle they saw earlier.
Maeve motioned for Jade to get ready to run. She hoped he understood her intention. With any luck, they would finish whatever they were doing and leave so they could sneak out without a problem. If they were noticed. She and Sev would distract them, so Jade could escape with the ark.
From the grave expressions on their faces, they understood her well enough.
She crouched down and rested her hand over the hilt of her sword so she could draw it and slash up in a single motion.
The Vazra in a black robe placed the Tugwattle's lantern on the altar. Light flickered in the lantern. The four other Vazra chanted like the tolling of many bells.
Shadows moved in the aetheric columns on the corners of the altar. Strange faces and shadowy hands faded in and out of the colored smoke whirling around.
The Tugwattle approached the side of the altar opposite the black-robed Vazra. He chanted an accompanying chant in Hight Apesh, the language of the rites performed by the priests of the Holy Lieges of Mount Ameslin.
Such a sacrilege would never be tolerated if word made it back to the holy city of Lightfell. The holy language was never meant to be spoken outside of sacred rites or the holy precincts beneath the mountains.
He spoke with such fervor, his eyes bulged out of his head. Moving his arms with slow, deliberate motion, he made signs and sigils with his fingers and his whole body. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he chanted with even more zeal than he did before.
An odd energy filled the room as they worked together to perform whatever ritual this was.
Maeve’s hairs stood up, and the sweet smell of thunder poured into the room.
As they chanted, the air grew brittle and thin, like it might shatter with each breath.
Its sharpness burned in Maeve’s lungs like she rubbed sandpaper within her chest every time she inhaled or exhaled.
Her eyes grew heavy.
She fought off sleep.
If they could have stood their ground against so many Vazra, Maeve would have led the charge into battle, but nothing would have come of it but their death.
The air around the lantern cracked, and a dark fire seeped through the breeches.
Sev lurched towards the door.
Jade grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“Let me go,” Sev hissed.
“What do you think you can do?” Maeve whispered.
“We can stop or at least slow them down.” His face twisted with unrecognizable rage. “I have been blessed by the argent court. She gave me her power. I can stop this.”
“And if you can’t?” Maeve asked. “What good will it do if we all die here, and no one learns what happened here until it is too late?”
“Who do you think we can tell? The Mancai won’t do anything. The Aplani are too pious. The Proitanians only care about themselves. The Ceshain keep to their mountains. The Nadee Jheel is too far away. Who do you think we can tell?”
“Anyone who will listen,” Maeve said. “We need to find someone who understands what they are doing. We cannot spot something we don’t understand.”
“Unless we stop them now.”
“And what if we make things worse?”
Sev fell quiet and stopped struggling.
The problem with magic was how much it relied on symbols and elements invested with meaning. If one thing was off, only the fates knew what would come of it.
Sev seethed. His eyes shown a brilliant silver, like a torch shimmering in a mirror. A white iridescence crept across his skin to where he almost shone from his own light.
If it weren’t from the reflected colors on the altar, Maeve would have sworn he glowed.
Jade didn’t let go of him.
Upon closer examination, Sev’s muscles twitched as he tested the Sadath’s hold on him.
Maeve agreed with his intentions but didn't believe it was worth the risk. She was not about to sacrifice their lives to a god without a much better reason than her friend had an intuition.
The black-robed Vazra thrust a blade through the cracks in the air through the lantern flame.
The fire turned black.
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April 18, 2023
Raid: Chapter 8: The Weight of Decision
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Maeve and Jade walked in opposite directions around the walls of both rooms, seeking any sign of a false wall.
Maeve reached out through the aether to find the air currents in the room. In the past, she had found false walls by tracking the draft leaking through the imperfect seal between the rooms.
Jade studied the way of the crooked hand. Deception and illusion spoke to him like kin.
Between them, no secret passages could hide.
“Don’t stop till one of you finds it,” Sev said. “There is more here than we know. I can feel it.”
Maeve stopped.
Voices filtered in from the dark passage to the outside. Strange and indecipherable, but louder than the whispers that haunted her for so long.
Light cast off the gloom at the end of the passage.
Someone was coming.
Maeve signaled for the others to hide.
Jade rushed silently with Dream into the back corner, behind the many shelves.
Sev hid himself behind one of the larger chests.
Maeve snuck through the stacks and hid behind an amphora large enough to obscure her.
Five figures entered the crypt in long, flowing robes, either black, yellow, green, blue, and red in their entirety. They didn't touch the ground. No part of them did. White, emotionless porcelain masks floated under the shadows of the hood.
Why were the Vazra interested in the crypt? They were legendarily neutral in the affairs of mortals. Why would they support an invading power?
The Vazra spoke to each other in a melodious language, reminiscent of chimes in the wind.
Maeve grew up on stories about the Vazra. They were creatures made of pure aether that some believed were the incarnations of magic itself. Their power was second only to the deities.
Spirits like them usually kept to themselves. Why were they in a crypt in Daskensian territory filled with stolen wares?
They stopped their chattering and glanced around the room.
Silence filled the space and crushed the breath in Maeve’s lungs. She dared not breathe for fear they would hear her. They weren’t a match for a single Vazra, let alone all five.
One of them stared right at her. Its eyeless face betrayed nothing. Had it seen her?
She slid down and pressed her back to the amphora, praying to anyone listening to prevent them from being found.
One of them said something.
Maeve peeked around the amphora.
The other four nodded and followed them to the far corner of the room.
The leader pressed their gloved hand on a stone high off the ground, and a portion of the wall melted away.
They passed through and closed the passage behind them.
Maeve waited for the Vazra to move a respectable distance away before she stood up. She turned to her companions. “We need to go now.”
Sev shook his head as he and Jade came out of hiding.
“No, we have to finish this,” Sev said.
“We aren't prepared to fight off one, let alone five Vazra,” Maeve said. “Dying is worse than defaulting on a contract.”
Sev walked toward the corner of the room without saying a word.
Jade rushed over to him and grabbed him from behind. “Stop it. We stand together or not at all.”
“We have to follow them.” Sev kicked and struggled to break free from Jade. “They know where all the secret passages are. How else are we going to find the other doors?”
"What will it matter if they kill us?" Maeve asked. "If we die here, we cannot redeem our reputations. We will die failures. Sure, we will be disgraced if we abandon the commission, but we can earn our favor back."
"Agreed." Jade nodded. "There's no point in rushing toward death if we don't have to."
"And what about our contract with Garland? Do think he will be so forgiving?" Sev stopped struggling. "He could report us to the Admiralty Court, or he could just kill us. He doesn't strike me as the forgiving or accepting sort of person. Besides, we need the money. We can't afford to pay back what we've already spent for supplies, and we need whatever we can get if we want to keep going."
It was at times like these Maeve wished she had the luxury to work for greed or adventure, but the constraints of a windjammer's life required them to get the jobs done. Maeve grimaced. “What do you think we will accomplish if we press on and those Vazra turn on us?”
Sev stared into the wall. “Do you think the moon maiden named me her champion to just let me die in this crypt?”
“Who knows why the spirits do anything?” Maeve said. “I am not willing to put my trust in a spirit that won’t even tell us her name.”
“That’s not what I am saying.” Sev tapped on Jade’s arms.
Jade turned to stand between him and the false wall before putting Sev down.
“What I meant was, I feel something calling to me further in. I need to get there. I can’t tell you why, but I have to.”
“You would risk all of us for your feeling?” Jade asked.
Sev sighed. “If you want to leave, let’s go.”
Maeve held her tongue. If they left, they would have to face Garland and possibly the wrath of an angry spirit. There was no way to escape the moon.
Which would be worse, the Vazra or a vengeful moon? As much as she wanted to run, as long as they didn’t intentionally break the contract, they would have one less enemy.
“I agree with Sev,” Maeve said.
Jade’s black eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“What choice do we have?” Maeve asked. “Dangerous spirits surround us. It is better to not add a client and the admiralty court to that.
Jade scowled at Sev. “Your rashness took the choice from us. I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one.”
Sev didn’t turn to face him. “I followed my heart. Sorry if that wasn’t good enough for you.”
Jade kneeled and called Dream over. “I need you to get out of here. Follow us above ground and if anything happens, get back to the ship as fast as you can.”
The sharkhound pawed at him before nuzzling into his cheek. Slowly, he ambled out of the room and down the dark passage.
Maeve wished she had a familiar. The only way to kill a Sadath was to kill both the Thegn and the familiar. So long as one lived, they both lived. It made Sadath formidable foes.
“At least if the worse happens you will make it out of here,” Sev said.
Was he being sarcastic or sincere? His face read genuinely, but his tone was mocking.
“Have you ever had to fend for yourself in the reverie?” Jade glowered menacingly. “No? Then don’t speculate on how I would be.”
Maeve held herself at the ready to jump in if their bickering descended into a fight. “Save it for when we are back on the ship. We have work to do.”
This didn’t use to feel like work. Raiding crypts was a perk of the job. This contract wasn’t worth the cezri.
Jade pressed the rock, and they crept down the passage.
They walked through the darkness with a hand on the wall and the other on the shoulder of the person in front of them. Their light crystals would give away their presence, so they kept them in their pouches.
The distant chiming voices of the Vazra haunted the shadows. Odds were slim as they stood in the gloom talking to each other.
Maeve pressed on.
After the first turn to the right, Sev took her by the hand and whispered, "follow me, I can see the path."
“How?” she asked in a hushed exclamation.
The eerie music of the Vazras’ conversation filled the gap as Sev led them forward.
“My rashness I suppose,” he said in a way that stabbed her in the heart.
If they survived this, she had a lot of things they needed to talk about. She squeezed his hand, hoping he understood it as a silent apology. She was still mad at him but not enough to throw their friendship away. They had been through too much.
The chimes grew louder, and the air took on the scent and flavor of old incense smoke, unable to free itself or settle. Cold air pricked her skin. The passage may not have dipped down, but the hills rose above them.
They followed the long passage through the inky darkness, eventually turning to the right. After a short walk, they stopped.
Voices echoed from ahead, different from the chiming of the Vazra. Maeve couldn’t make out what they were saying.
They faded.
Who else was down here with them?
Sev led them off to the right, toward the voices.
They skulked down another long passage, stopping periodically when the clanking of chains rattled in the distance.
When the sound faded, they continued and turned to the left.
As they crept down another long corridor, the ringing chimes of the Vazra ahead mixed in with a mortal voice.
Light bled across the path before them to the right, and they stopped to see the Vazra talking to a Tugwattle with black fur and a silver stripe running from the tip of his nose, up between his eyes to over his wedge-shaped head and down his back.
Why was a Tugwattle here?
The Vazra follow the Tugwattle into a room to the right and closed the door behind them.
They glanced among themselves, attempting to speak without words.
Since the passage continued on past the door, they slunk down, pausing for a moment to overhear what was happening in the room, before creeping further down the hall.
After a left turn, they walked down a corridor to another left turn.
The light crystals hung in sconces embedded into the polished stone walls. Whoever built this place did so with care. After so much time in darkness, the light unnerved her. The floors were not tiled, but carved smooth from the same stone as the walls.
Everything was so perfect, Maeve had to wonder if they used a Shamir to cut through the stone. It all had a preternatural perfection about it.
At the end of the passage on the left wall, they found another locked door.
Jade worked on the wards.
Maeve hated the expression on Sev’s face as he avoided looking at either of them. If only she had access to the arcana necessary to heal their friendship and restore everything to the way it used to be. She doubted such a power even existed. If anyone had that gift, they would rule the world, and no one would be able to challenge them.
“Sev,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I judged you for your decision. Who knows, I might have done the same thing in your position.”
“I understand. I broke the deal we had. You handled the clients, and I handled the business. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Nothing we’ve been through could have prepared us for any of this. What was it your father used to say?”
“Our business is facing the unknown with style.”
He smiled, and she allowed herself to do the same.
Understanding the wards better, it didn’t take Jade as long to open it.
Jade swung the door open.
Within was a chapel with a bloodstained altar and four aethereal pillars connecting it to the ceiling.
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