A Dolling Ghost.

I tried to pull my sword out of Reika’s body, but it was lodged in the rock beneath her.  I saw the Bloodletter lying next to her, and in one swift motion I took it by its grip and confronted the man who had taken everything from me.

For his part, he hid his fear well.  He clearly had not expected me to survive my encounter with Reika’s demonically possessed body.  He pulled the neck of his robe open to reveal the yoke and said “You can’t kill me, boy.  Not even the Bloodletter can harm me now.  Consider the position you are in and put that thing down!”

“Then you will not mind if I test it out!”  And with that, I lunged.  He jumped back, avoiding my blow but exposing his lie; the Bloodletter would do just fine. 

My strength was slowly leaking out onto the floor, so I had little time.  The butcher’s bill of his crimes was due, and I would be the cost.  I found new strength in his deception, and lunged at his frail form.  At first I had thought the blade had only pierced some folds in his robes, as there was not the familiar resistance that normally accompanies flesh.  But his halted scream confirmed that the Bloodletter had taken another victim. 

He fell backwards, sliding off the blade and onto the stone floor of the chamber.  Coughing up blood, he looked up at me and tried to speak.

“I have no need of your lies any longer.”  With that, I swung the blade and decapitated his pathetic form.

Drunk with blood loss, I stumbled to the floor next to him, my blood mingling with his in pools around us.  I was quite ready to die there, quite ready for my story to end and perhaps to see Reika once more. 

That is when I saw the yoke.  With each heartbeat, it called out to me.  Each one, like the last ticks of a clock, chiseled away at my thoughts.  I looked at Reika’s sad remains.  I thought of Holger’s brave sacrifice in the cathedral above me. 

I knew then what I must do.  Reika would go home again.  Holger’s family would know how he died.  Both would receive the blessed sleep, and all it would cost me was my eternal soul.

I reached over to Jofridus’ headless corpse, dug my fingers into his chest around the yoke, and tore it off.  I used the last ounce of my strength to place it around my neck, and gasped as the unholy metal knitted and melted into my own flesh.  My heartbeat slowed to a stop, and so too the bleeding.  I writhed in agony as each wound closed itself up. 

I was something different now.

So this book, once a place I went to for enlightenment, now becomes my epitaph.  For whatever the case, whether I am evil or whether I am a coward, Raben is no more.  Perhaps he never existed in the first place.  Maybe he was merely something to comfort me in my blindness.

I shall write no more.  There are others whose bills are due.

And I will be the cost.

Amsel

1^st day, year one.

Easily Locking.

It was Reika.  She sat in the corner of the chamber, her beauty as radiant as ever.  She wore a flowing white dress that laid in crumples around her, a simple garment that still managed to make her look regal. 

I slid to a halt.  The air had been knocked from my lungs, and I dropped my sword at my feet.  I had no time to stop and consider how she had survived the Bloodletter’s kiss, or why she was here now.  All I knew was that a chasm within me seemed suddenly filled, and that I needed to take her in my arms. 

I ran to her, and knelt down before her.  She reached out and took my hand.  My consciousness had been screaming that something was wrong, but it had been drowned out by the cacophony of emotion I was feeling.  As soon as our skin touched, reality finally rammed through the portcullis in my mind.

Her skin was inhumanly warm.  I flinched at her touch, and as I looked into her eyes I saw them change briefly from the misty blue I had come to know to inky blackness and back again.  Whatever this was, it was not Reika.  I withdrew, and the creature looked confused.  As I stood up and retrieved my sword, it began to howl and scream.

It stood up, and blood began to stain the belly of the dress as the wound caused by the Bloodletter opened up again.  It clawed at the soaked cloth until the wound was revealed, but this time it was ringed with teeth as a snakelike tongue lashed out from it.

The thing’s eyes began to glow like stars, and its teeth grew and sharpened as it assumed its true form.  Its elongated fingers ended in claws the size of spearheads, and its screech grew to a painful level.

Jofridus’ revenge had backfired.  This profane abuse of Reika’s remains had given me a strength I had never known.  For better or for worse, I was not the Raben he had last seen. 

I swore an oath as I charged the thing, and it parried my blow with a sword of its own – the Bloodletter.  The last time I met this cursed bit of metal in battle, I had to change my tactics in order to avoid its eternal wound.  This time, I had no such misgivings.  There is nothing quite as powerful as having nothing to lose.

My attack was a thunderstorm of swinging blades as I took all the anger over Reika’s murder, as well as Jofridus’ betrayal, and focused every ounce of it on my silver sword.  The thing fought like a snake, darting and weaving, but no amount of agility would keep me from my purpose.  The sound of my heartbeat was throbbing in my ears as I let out a battle cry and pounced on the vile creature, driving my blade through its chest and into the stone underneath it.

It let out a shrill cry, and began to twitch and writhe as it slowly turned back into Reika’s body.  Its head jerked up and locked eyes with me, and the glimmer of recognition flashed in their blue depths.  As her last breath escaped her lungs, I heard her say it. 

“Thank you.”

I stood up, near-exhausted.  My heartbeat was louder than ever, and I realized it was due to the cuts I had received from the cursed blade.  I looked down and saw each one pulse with every beat of my heart, pumping forth blood.  I began to feel dizzy, but then I remembered why I was there: Jofridus.

Herbal Grove

111^th of Hunter’s Moon, 719

My hands are cold, and I find writing to be more difficult, but I must chronicle my meeting with Jofridus.

We came upon the cathedral at dusk, and said our farewells.  Holger was very calm for someone who was about to meet his fate.  When and how we will die is a question that looms over us from birth, and perhaps finally having the answer was liberating for him.  It certainly was for me.

I hid in a nearby wood and watched him make his slow way to the cathedral steps.  He looked over his shoulder at me only once, and smiled.  As hard as it was for me to pity his soon-to-be victims, I had to pity the man as well.  He was kind, good and just.  And this world took those from him and more. 

As soon as the sun dipped out of view, I heard an unholy growl, followed by screams and shouts of orders.  I watched the ground guards rush to the cathedral, and I knew this was my chance.  

With my newly-acquired armor, I passed for just another cathar on his way to securing this holiest of holy grounds.   I found my way to the ash garden, to the stones Reika’s journal had described.  Underneath, the tunnel stretched away into the darkness.

At the end of path was a huge, natural cavern.  I could hear the waterfall, and the air was thick with mist.  Standing in the center of the chamber, next to a rune-carved altar, was Jofridus.

He was alone, and apparently expecting me.  The sword was nowhere in sight, although I would be reunited with it soon enough. 

“I knew you would return, my son.  I have been preparing for it.”

My anger had reached its boiling point.  Calling me his son had ignited a fury inside me, and I drew my sword and charged him.  Nothing could stop me now, no force could keep me from my purpose – none save a familiar voice uttering a single word.

“Raben?”