An angel’s road to hell

52. Of stories, rituals and a little bit of punishment

Cassandra Pendragon

The next hour was full of bustling activity but I felt somewhat sidelined. While I had some general knowledge about all kinds of magic, the details of how it was applied and what could be done with it eluded me. So I sat back and watched the elves, Ahri, my mom and the old dwarf I still didn’t know the name of work. In my attempt to get out of the way I leaned against the railing, my face turned towards the sky while the brisk wind played with my hair. The air smelled crisp and clean and not a single cloud interrupted the unending expense of blue above and below me. No birds crossed my vision, we were much too far away from any patch of land that could sustain them. The only movement came from the sea below where I could blearily see the larger waves form and disperse, sometimes broken by a spot of colour when a behemoth from the depth surfaced for air.

I could see for miles and miles but even when I channeled energy into my eyes, I couldn’t spot the ship we were hunting for nor any islands breaking through the monotony all around. Just when my focus was about to shift to the emblem I still carried around and the question if I should try to revive Mephisto while everyone was sort of busy a small patch of black caught my attention. It was tiny but once I spotted it I wondered how I could have missed it before, contrasting the uniform blue all around like a festering wound on healthy skin. More and more energy was sent to my eyes and slowly the dot came into focus. I saw… A heavy hand landed on my shoulder and startled me enough to lose concentration. A quiet yelp escaped my lips and I reflexively unfurled my wings, slinging them around the offending arm.

“Now, lass, are we a wee bit on edge?” Xorlosh’s voice was steady and his eyes twinkled when I whirled around to face him.

“I… Sorry, you startled me,” I replied while I simultaneously retracted my wings. His arm wasn’t worse for wear but I could smell the acidic fragrance of burned hair and where my wings had touched him faint red marks remained on his skin. “I’m really sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Nah, just a little tickle. Been thinking of yer home?”

“No, there was…” I tried to recall what I had seen, to find the spot again but try as I might everything was blue in blue. My paranoia rose but I couldn’t think of what I could possibly do, I hadn’t even seen anything clearly. If the silhouette hadn’t become sharper when I had pushed more energies into my eyes I wouldn’t even have given the occurrence a second thought.

“I don’t know, I thought I saw something… but it’s gone now. What can I do for you?” I said, focusing on the dwarf beside me. He, in turn, squinted his eyes and carefully searched for anything out of the ordinary but he had apparently as much success as me.

“Hmm, can’t see a darn thing, but me eyes aren’t the best for scouting, gimme something within 200 meters to shoot at and I can tell ya how many hairs are growing in its nose but for long distances… guess I’ll tell the lads in the crow’s nest to be extra vigilant, no harm done, if it was nothing. Anyway, you can’t do nothin’ for me, lass. I know as much about magic as I do about painting so I thought I’d use the moment when y’re not glued to your lady to chat a little. It’s all been about battles and strategy and the like, I barely know you and yours. Why don’t we look for a quiet place and empty a tankard or two while we get to know one another? Who knows, depending on how it goes we might even get to taking your measurements.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me,

“Promises, promises. But don’t think a tankard of mead will do, I’m not that cheap,” I replied, smirking.

“That’s the spirit, come along then, I think I know the spot, we can watch the magicians do their little mumbo jumbo and we’ll be outa the way.” He slapped my shoulder lightly and turned around, leading me to one of the masts. I hadn’t seen it before but close to the point where the first ropes for the rigging sprawled away from the mast a small wooden platform encircled it. There were no ladders but I could simply fly the 2-3 meters and Xorlosh climbed up after me, much more nimble than his stocky frame would suggest. When I touched down on the seasoned wood and looked around I could oversee the whole ship from helm to stern and even the two masts at the side of the ship were clearly visible, the dwarfs, busy with adjusting the sails to changes in direction and altitude appeared even smaller from up here.

With a grunt Xorlosh pulled himself over the edge and sat down heavily. From a crate fixed to the mast he produced a small barrel and two cups which he immediately started to fill. I slumped down beside him and stared into the empty sky, half heartedly searching for the spot that had attracted my attention previously. The smell of honey and herbs tickled my nose when Xorlosh shoved one of the cups into my hands. The spicy and sweet flavour of aged mead flowed over my tongue and warmth started to spread immediately from my middle. Did they add magical herbs to their brews? When he had finished his first cup Xorlosh leaned back with a satisfied sigh and eyed me through half closed lids.

“Never been one to dance around what’s on me mind so I’ll say it bluntly. I wanna know how y’re holding up, you all seem awfully chipper considering what’s happened.” I shrugged.

“We’re coping. Ahri’s doing wonders for my mental health and I suppose it’s the other way around as well. My mom is strong, she’ll manage and I don’t think she’ll allow herself to grieve overly much until we get the children back. My brother… well, it’s been ages since I have seen him drunk so I’d say he’s struggling. But what about you and your boys? Thanks again for saving our asses, by the way.” With a snort he refilled my cup and smashed his against mine.

“Always, little princess. It’s what we’re here for innit? I really like your family, they’re good people, especially for royals, but we would have done the same for almost anyone, no need to thank us.”

“If I may ask, why? Why would you naturally risk your necks in a fight that didn’t concern you?”

“Wouldn’t you,” he shot back.

“Probably, well, that’s a lie, definitely. As far as I know that’s how I ended up here. But I’m just weird that way, it’s in my nature. I don’t think the same holds true for all of you, does it?”

“You’re closer to the truth than you think. It’s not in our blood as it might be for you, if I understood what you told me correctly, but it’s in our… culture? Believes? Identity? Probably easier if I just told ya the story.” He took another deep swig from his cup and leaned back against the mast.

“Now, I don’t know if any of what I’m about to tell you is actually true but it might as well be, for every dwarf who’s worth a grain of salt believes it to be. Back in the dark ages, before history and culture the peoples of this world were divided, constantly warring amongst themselves. We dwarfs were no different, always hailing one warlord or the other as our new saviour and king, eager to clash axes with our foes and bring justice to those who opposed us. Like I said, dark times. No records survived form back then except for some nearly eroded glyphs in the deepest mines of our home but here is what we tell our children happened.” He set down his cup and filled a pile he and produced from one of his pockets. When the first clouds of smoke rose into the blue sky he continued:

“Amidst the petty squabble and needless bloodshed a new power arose, a seed of dark magic and foul sorcery. Necromancers we called them and their dread drove us back into our mines and made us seal the entrances. We hid while the world around us fell into darkness and the veil between life and death became thinner by the day. But we didn’t care, we were safe under our mountains we reasoned. Let the surface be torn asunder, let the foul magicians kill each other off, we would endure.” He fell silent for a moment as if collecting his thoughts.

“Alas, we were wrong. Doom came to our caverns and cities in the form of rats, if you can believe it. Infected rats carrying nasty curses and mutated diseases. They hadn’t even been sent for us, they were just a byproduct of what was going on above. Within the first few months we lost 1\3 of our people and even more to the risen the dead unerringly turned into. We were rapidly dying out, a few years would see us extinct at that rate. Long debates ensued, whether we should return to the surface where we might have a chance to live or if we should remain cowering in the depths and while our leaders talked, our people died. We had been brought to our knees, hidden away in our underground vaults we had become shadows of what we once were, dreading to return to the land of the living and the dangers we might find there. So we chose to die ingloriously and alone in our mines. Until he came. Like a wildfire he swept threw our disheartened warriors and filled their hearts with light again. Ignoring councils and decision form the kings he gathered everyone who would listen and led them to the surface. The proud dwarfs had hidden long enough, he reasoned, it was time to make the world remember who we were and to purge the evil that had held the peoples in its clutches from living memory. The next years were a constant battle against an undying foe but step by bloody step Angrosh cleared our mountains and the adjacent planes and slowly drove the hoard back. Many others fought beside the dwarfs back then, their valour and hope ignited but our legions of steel that had swept away the undead scourge. For 13 years we battled until at last the mightiest dread lord of them all laid, beheaded, at Angrosh’s feet. But we had paid for our victory dearly and our hero succumbed to his wounds soon after his last fight. Before he went to the fields of glory that surely awaited him in the afterlife he spoke one last time to us: no more, he said. Never again will we dwarfs cower when evil magic stalks the land. Never again will we stand idly by while others fight for our world. We are the protectors, the guardians of Mother Earth and we will heed her call wherever it sounds.” He pulled deeply on his pipe before his dark eyes found mine.

“You see lass, what else were we supposed to do? I don’t know much about your past but from where I’m standing you, of all people, can understand why we won’t ever turn away again. It’s just not who we are.” I had listened raptly, his story had been interesting and telling, I felt like I understood our hairy comrades just a little bit better now, and like he had said, I could easily sympathise.

“Thank you for sharing a part of your culture with me. Your a great story teller, did you know that? But now I feel like I don’t only have to thank you but every dwarf I am ever going to meet, don’t know how I feel about that.” He laughed heartily.

“No need, lass, no need. We are who we are, but I’ll make sure to let me lads know how highly you think of us. I’m sure they’ll be delighted. I’d love to continue our conversation, who doesn’t like flattery especially if it comes from someone as pretty as yourself, but I think our mighty mages are done with their preparations. Better have a look before they do something stupid and blow us all to smithereens.” His tone was light but I could see a shadow of worry in his eyes. He wasn’t too keen on magic in general, I assumed. He emptied his pipe, put away the cups and barrel and slid down the mast while I elegantly glided down.

The scene below hadn’t changed much, except that I could see an additional glyph around every point of the heptagram and the liquid within the bowl had turned a deep crimson. I landed next to Ahri and coiled two of my tails around her legs while I retraced my wings. She gave me a small smile and quick kiss before she turned back to the ritual.

All of us were arranged outside the heptagram with the exception of Astra. She stood beside the bowl, a whitish crystal in her left and her wand in her right hand. When Xorlosh arrived a moment later she looked up.

“Now then, shall we give it a try? With the help of Helena, Golamosh and Ahri I managed to recalibrate the ritual to manifest next to the stolen kitsune, I hope. So that we are all clear on one thing: we don’t have the materials to try again, we only have this one shot until we restock on herbs and crystals. I am going to initiate the first stage, unless there are any objections?” I remained quiet and since no one else spoke up, Astra channeled mana into her wand, through the crystal in her hand into the seven points of the heptagram simultaneously. Crackling with a pinkish light, energy rushed through the glyphs and imbued the purpose Astra and the others had written into them. With a sound like breaking glass the energy surged through the lines and hit the bowl in the centre. A pink flame with blood red nuances ignited and danced merrily over the liquid. Different silhouettes and images formed within the fire, blurry and flickering too fast for even my eyes to follow but after a moment the shifting scenes settled down and when I was able to make out the first details, my heart started beating much faster.

We were on deck of a sleek air ship, three slim masts pierced the sky and from my point of view I could just about make out the tips of the two side masts. The nose of the ship was adorned with a towering construction that supported 3 ballistas and a contraption I hadn’t seen before but that I immediately recognised, a cannon. Glowing sigils ran along the barrel and covered the wooden contraption it was mounted on. Humans, well groomed and in uniform, milled around the rigging and performed the same tasks as the dwarfs that kept us on course but their ship seemed to react much smoother to every action of the crew. The officers were all aligned neatly beside the mast in the middle, two ropes with a noose at the end hung from the crossbar above them. While we were watching, the double doors set into a wooden construction in the stern opened and a couple of soldier marched the missing kitsune on deck.

They were haggard and clad in chains, runes on the metal prevented them from using magic and the skin beneath was red and infected. Their fur was dull and matted and their tails dropped to the grown. None of them had the courage left to look their captors in the eye. They were marched before the assembled officers and made to kneel with the harsh crack of a whip, cruelly wielded by one of the guards. I counted 43 kitsune, none older than 12 summers and even though I couldn’t see any open wounds on their bodies it was apparent that they had suffered for longer than most of them could endure.

When they were all on their knees, an old human with grey hair started to talk in an oily, somewhat creepy voice.

“You knew this was going to happen. Theft can’t be tolerated. Two of you will hang today but it’s your decision if those will be the rightfully condemned or two, randomly chosen from your group. So I ask again: who stole the water?”