A Howl on the Breeze
A short story prompted by https://www.ironage.media/prompt/the-marquise.html
She rode into the night, determined to find anything to explain the madness overtaking the countryside. The vvulf expertly maneuvered through and over the rocky forest floor.
Winter was finally coming to an end. It had lasted longer this year, and it had been frigid and bitter. It was colder without the Marquis Pulairn in her bed. She missed him. An older man, damaged somehow. Cold. The wars of his youth etched on his face. But he had grown warm in the winter with her. She had begun to feel the embers of something inside. Something more than duty.
The first warm day a month ago was heavens' sent. The entire manor had been opened up and the fresh air cleansed the halls of dank staleness. Sabine rode Moonshadow that day as well. The vvulf was equally eager to be out of the stifling comfort of the manor. Eager to run. Eager to hunt. Unfortunately, what they found that day had consumed her attention thoroughly thereafter. On the edge of the Frost Forest east of the manor, Moonshadow was drawn to the scent of death. They found the girlchild shortly after. What was left of her, anyway.
Captain Iquan of the manor guards began his investigation that evening after ruling out a bear or snowlion attack. Iquan himself had gone missing a week ago, now. "Following a lead," he told her before heading east with a selection of guards.
The Marquis was away on business, called to the capital for a summit with the Varl and his other vassals. He said it had something to do with trouble in the south. A war. She did not like to think about it. The south was a dangerous place. Unknown. There were tales of demons and magicks. Surely, they were only rumors.
If the Marquis were here, these murders would not be happening. Girls. Boys. Young women and men. Mostly girls, though. Farm girls. Every other day, they would find one. It hurt her. But a small part of her heart was enraged. There would be no trial when the murderer was caught. Just cold steel and an unmarked grave, like her father used to deal out in the hinterlands even further north. She missed that old war bear.
Sabine, atop a silently loping Moonshadow, kept probing deeper into the forest. It was the middle of the night, but the full moon was out, illuminating open rocky patches and groves of the forest while barely warding off the last frosts.
That morning, the guards had found another girl, Gerty. This one had been a kitchen scullion, the first of the manor staff to be attacked. Sabine had talked to her occasionally, desperate for a friend when she first came here, married to the Marquis by decree from the Varl. Gerty's father, Arint was beside himself. Mad even. He raved about robes in the dark. An owl. Fires. He was found nearby, afflicted with mild frostbite and a significant bruise on his head. Sabine suspected the murderer thought Arint was left for dead, but the grizzled horsehand was tougher than that. He was originally from the hinterlands, like Sabine.
She was determined to end this nightmare and end it tonight. These were her people now, and they did not deserve to be perpetual victims of some sick demon's games or forbidden proclivities. But instead of wrangling an enraged mob to scatter her quarry, she thought it better to go alone. It would be easier to catch the fiend with stealth. That was how she killed the rabid snowlion years ago. Stealth and steel. Knives.
Knowing the guards would make it difficult for her to leave alone, Sabine feigned that afternoon sickness and went to bed early. It was easy enough, she had taken ill here and there recently. The doctor suspected the changing weather and spring pollens were affected her hintered constitution.
It was a simple matter of creeping out in the dead of night. During her time in the manor, she had discovered multiple hidden doors and exits. One such door lead to the stable. Moonshadow quietly awaited her, the vvulf raised with her since birth. They knew each other and were of nearly one mind. With any luck, Moonshadow would feast tonight on a murderer, finally rewarded for a dull winter mostly indoors.
Deeper in the woods now, she saw it. A faint light in the distance. Fire. Torches. Was there a farmhold out here? She could not remember. The Marquis oversaw a fair number of counties out here beyond the capital's reach. She had just got comfortable enough to ride in this foreign place recently. A comfort that mirrored her acceptance as the Marquise and all that entailed. She was starting to learn more about these folk, but not enough. Certainly not every land holding in orbit of the manor.
Sabine slowed their approach and kept to higher ground. She knew to survey the torchlight from above, like a predator.
As she approached, she realized this was not merely a small fire. It was a pyre raised high and hot. It must have been the height of six men, giant logs erected expertly and set ablaze. What man could do this? What dozen men could do this?
Her heart beat hard the closer she approached as the forest opened up, revealing nothing like a simple farmhold. Moonlight and firelight combined, illuminating everything from her dark perch. She dismounted, and Moonshadow instinctively knew to hide herself back deeper in the trees, her white fur a liability in the night. Sabine watched.
There were dozens of them. Maybe three dozen. Robed figures. Arint was not mad. Just delirious. Poor man.
They stood around the pyre facing toward a rock wall beyond it. There was a large statue there, she realized, carved of wood. Larger than the fire. An Owl. It would have taken months, nay, years to carve it. How long had it been here? Did that Marquis know about this?
On the raised dais in front of the owl, were several seated figures and a prisoner’s rack. The stone beneath it looked stained with something. Sabine's heart only beat harder. The implications of Arint's ravings were hitting her now. She was not looking for just one murderer. She checked the knives hidden in her dress, anxiously.
They were chanting something. It was in a different tongue. Older. Ancient. Wrong. It went on for minutes. None of the figures moved. They were enthralled by their own droning. Suddenly, it ended.
The figure in the middle of the dais stood up and removed his hood. "Good fellows! As spring approaches, our rituals will soon end. We have but a week. But what a week it will be!"
Cheers rose from the mob.
The leader clapped once, somehow louder than it should be, and the cheers stopped. "Behold! Our first tribute!"
Several of the cultists came from the dark behind the statue dragging a struggling shirtless man. He was young. Maybe twenty, maybe less. Sabine recognized him. He was one of the men that went with Captain Iquan the week before.
Both of his eyes were blackened and swollen shut. Various cuts and scrapes signified the fury of resistance and its consequences. They forced him over to the rack and lashed his arms and legs to the crossed beams.
"An appetizer for the Brotherhood. Prepare thyselves!" The chants began again, quiet at first. As the chants grew louder, one of the cultists pulled a slightly curved blade from his sleeve. Something was happening to the air, it seemed to grow hazy. Sabine's eyes were watering. She did not know what to do. She could run down there and kill the one with a blade, maybe. A couple throws of her knives and she may take a few more, but they would be on her then. Cursing herself and her fear, she felt paralyzed.
The air grew hazier. Hotter. Like a summer day in the south, is what some people here would say. If the south were this hot, Sabine did not want to see it. But she had to survive this first to even reject that opportunity. She would have to retreat and bring guards. With time, maybe the Varl could help here. The manor would have to be locked down as if under siege. No more acting like she could take them on alone. It was foolish. Justice would have to wait. She slowly got up, shaking from fear and the heat. When she turned, a club hit her in the face. Everything went dark.
"Heliodominos Nova Desora!"
The cultists were still chanting. She felt herself restrained. A robed figure to her right and left held her arms, feet on her legs holding her to the hot stone of the dais.
"Welcome Marquise! We were wondering when you would join us." The leader was smiling, dark thick eyebrows fighting the sweat of heat.
The chanting was becoming deafening. Her face was in agony, nose probably broken. Blood seeped down her face and neck, ruining the blouse. She could still feel the weight of her knives, though. Small miracles.
When the unholy chant almost burst her eardrums something exploded. Changed.
The moonlit Frost Forest was gone. Replaced. No, that was not exactly right.
It was as if she were in the same place, but in a different time. The shape of the land looked the same, but everything was on fire. Volcanic. She could see mountains erupting magma in the distance. Husks of burnt trees stood around them, where a once verdant forest emerging from winter had been. Godsblood, what is this? Where is the vvulf. Poor Moonshadow.
"Marquise Sabine, bear witness to the true power of the worlds." She tried to struggle, but they punched her in the kidneys. She coughed and spit up blood.
The cultist with knife approached the lashed guard, and slit his throat immediately. Blood gushed out, like he were nothing but livestock. She was close enough that torrent of blood speckled her clothes as it splashed on the dais, running toward the edge. She wanted to vomit.
The guard was gurgling. Poor young man. Had Iquan suffered the same fate?
The blood began smoking and boiling. It became gaseous. The cultists charged the edge of the dais ravenously.
They began huffing the boiling mist from the air like pigs at a trough. Pigs slaughtering cattle. She would smile if the horror was not all encompassing.
The leader was smiling. "Do you see Marquise? Do you see the true power of the spirit?" The pigs at the trough began to be satiated. Their hunched backs correcting themselves. Gnarly arthritic hands regained vigor.
The eyes. Oh, godsblood the eyes. They grew red inside the hoods. She did not want to see the faces. But she could not turn away. Human, but feral, rictus smiles exposing rows of fangs.
"Will you join us Marquise? Will you join the Brotherhood?"
The iron taste in her mouth, from the blood, was nauseating. She did not want to talk. Why did she have to go into the blasted forest?
"You see the power, don't you child?" A cultist walked over to a heap of logs and lifted one easily, tossing it into the now pointless pyre. What have should have taken five men to lift was simple to him. The size of the pyre made sense now. Too much sense.
"Strength, youth, eternity! It can be yours, if you would but say the words."
She thought of her father. Of her youth. She could see their humble, but stalwart icehold. Manned for generations, unconquered by barbarians from every direction. She saw Moonshadow as a pup. They played and chased each other in the fleeting summer meadows dotted with lillies. She remembered training with bow and spear. Knives. Sometimes she could best the men in duels, but not always. She remembered the young Varl coming to their home, not in war, but in peace. Humbled. He needed them. Her children would be protected. Honored. Allied. He spoke of things she did not understand. Nations further south and rumors of the sea. Beasts. Powers. It was exciting. Her father took time to decide, but after meeting the Marquis, relented. The old war bear was sad after that, even though he believed he made the right decision.
She was young, yet. No children, yet. She had not seen the world. But, she had lived. She had a home and a father. But no, she could not join this. She was raised better than to be a pig at a trough.
She spat out more blood. "Nay, demon. Not today. Never." Hate burned from her eyes.
"Very well." He clapped. Her captors kicked her to her feet.
To the right, a cultist brought out a saw. Cutting through the neck, he decapitated the now dead guard and threw his head to the pigs in front of the dais. Despite being drunk with blood and power, they pounced on it. The corpse was removed from the rack. And tossed to them as well.
"I think you are younger than poor Pikeman Garyn, yes?" She did not speak, but only looked with contempt. Disgust. How could men do this? War was awful, brutal, but not like this. Not a greedy slaughter.
"You see, we have to eat the older ones, to get all the power. Youth is more potent. Visceral. You may have a funeral at the manor yet."
Another cultist onstage approached her, back straight. Taller than the leader, he stood before her and dropped his hood.
He looked familiar. Beautiful. Maybe thirty, maybe less. Blue eyes. Dark hair. It…was the Marquis, only younger. Pulairn was part of this ritual, maybe a leader.
"No…gods…not you." Betrayal knifed her heart.
"Sabine, I am sorry you had to find out this way. Elder Faran is right. This is the true power of worlds. It is our right…our legacy. It can be yours and our children's. Please see reason."
Contempt seeped from her aching face. "How…why would you think I want this? You are sick. Evil!" She struggled against the arms restraining her and screamed rabidly.
"It's more than strength, sweet Sabine. It's everything. Our senses are heightened. How do you think we heard you skulking about it?"
Feeling even more foolish, like a mouse hunting snakes only to be made an appetizer, Sabine wanted to weep. Fury drove her back to her sense. "All those people. Children! How long…" she trailed off, realizing she did not want to know. The portraits at the manor made sense now. The patriarch of each generation looking eerily like the blue eyed devil in front of her. Had he lived that long?
"Did any one of them say, yes? Your other wives? Children."
He thought about it for a moment. "Some, some fought. Some ran. All or most are dead. Once you breathe the soulfire, you must continue. Traitors to the brotherhood are eliminated."
"Did you think I wouldn't notice that a sad old man left and you returned?"
"I would have come to you and made this same request, wife. In a couple days, maybe."
"My answer would have been the same. It's not worth it. No power is worth that. You are damned, demons. Damned!"
The Marquis sighed, accepting another loss. Slight remorse crossed his face. "I was beginning to love you, Sabine." He waved his hand and turned.
The cultists lashed her to the rack like poor Garyn before. She held her head up. Proud. She would not be part of this. The adventure beyond began to seem calming. Liberating. Maybe there would be justice there. Justice for these pigs. But fear struck her again. Would she live beyond if they consumed her soul?
A faint cold breeze crossed her face. She heard a distant howl. She whistled. The howl grew louder. Closer. A whistle again. The cultists started shifting with irritation, some cleaning their ears.
The Marquis turned and said, "Stop that. It's over."
She whistled again as loud as she could. The Marquis and Elder had to cover their ears.
The vvulf's howl erupted, Moonshadow flickered in the center of the dais, as if she were there and not. Or was it the forest and this volcanic hell that were oscillating? She saw the flickering vvulf heave and howl again.
The cultists were screaming as they reached for their bleeding ears. Yes, they heard well now. Too well. A vvulf's howl was powerful, capable of frightening prey into catatonia. Apparently, soul-eating cannibals were similarly afflicted.
The Frost Forest reasserted itself as cultists doubled over, including the Marquis and the Elder.
"Kill…Kill it…" huffed the Elder from his knees. One of her former captors charged the vvulf , now fully formed on the stage. Moonshadow danced to the right, and slashed at his neck with a massive foreleg.
Unholy strength, long-lives, and extraordinary senses they may have, but it appeared the cultists were not immune to vvulf claws. The assailant’s throat was torn out completely, crimson blood flowing. He collapsed in a heap. The robed figures near the stage pulled him down and began to eat again. What a brotherhood.
"Moonshadow!" The vvulf knew the tone, and howled again, just as the Marquis got to his feet before doubling over again. Sabine think he vomited. Good.
The vvulf swiped at the lashed ropes, rending them from Sabine's wrists like a surgeon. Another cultist attacked, charging the vvulf and grabbing her thick coat. He wrestled the beast down, strength paying dividends. "Again, girl!"
In some pain, the beast howled again right next to her would-be murderer's head. Blood shot out of his ears as he collapsed in a heap.
Sabine had loosened her ropes and was free. Leaping into the saddle on the loyal animal she shouted, "Run!"
With a bound, the vvulf launched them off the dais almost as Elder Faran reached them, vengeful indignation in his eyes. The other cultists, feral with soul lust grabbed their other fallen comrade and greedily ripped him apart, desperately trying to save what blood they could.
Back west, through the woods. No stopping. No looking back. She would get home. Lock the doors. Guards. Crossbows. The world flickered.
She could hear a howl of chanting. They were trying to reassert their world. It helped them somehow, their power more acute in the fire realm. It hurt her eyes, moonlight and firelight oscillating, hot reds and dark greens fighting for her vision. Moonshadow did not seem to notice, charging with fury and animal fear, adrenaline driving her on.
She looked back, some were charging them and keeping up. Impossible. Not on this terrain. Speed. Agility. More unholy power. She would have to discard what she thought was impossible after this blasted night.
One leapt, almost reaching her, instinctively she grabbed a knife from within her riding blouse and threw it. The red-eyed fiend nearly grabbed the vvulf's tail, when the knife entered his eye. He clutched for it falling into a crevasse below as they jumped over it. Several chasing cultists broke off, presumably to finish their friend, hopefully smashed on the rocks below.
Occasionally from behind, there would be flickers of the other world. What were they doing?
She could see the plains before the manor, not too far now.
A robed figure landed in front of her, somehow having leapt over and now cut her off. It was the Marquis. His eyes were glowing red. Had he feasted upon a fallen comrade?
Moonshadow tried to dodge him, but he reached out, and grabbed her pelt. With barely a huff, he heaved the vvulf and rider into the nearest tree, Sabine went flying out of the forest, doing her best to roll on the softer earth, clothes tearing on the hardscrabble and wintered brambles.
He walked out of the Frost Forest, "I ask you again, Sabine, please take the fire. See the reason in it. I won't even ask you to stay with me, but we will let you live."
She got to her feet, the pain was dull, but she was uninjured. "What you call living is something else."
"A price must be paid for power. With this, you can see the ends of the world. Other worlds. Realms. Time and again for all the experiences. Sights. Sounds. The little adventuring girl in you knows she wants this!"
She closed her eyes again and saw her father's face. "We are not meant to live forever, husband."
"Bah! Your foolish hinter myths mean nothing. This…" he clapped, and the fire realm returned. Hot. Lava was flowing behind her, close enough to feel but not to burn. He smiled, "...is meaning! The truth!"
She was steeping backwards, slowly. Deliberately. "You've been doing this for so long…you can't even see what's wrong with it."
"When you live this long, you will realize that it doesn't matter! There is no meaning to their lives. Peasants! Guards! Varls!" He was too late to catch himself. He was resolved to "save" her. "Yes…Varls. They have stood against us, but we have always won. Leaders of men, indeed. Leaders of sheep, more like. Kings of sheep. What are they to us? What would they be to you? Nothing!"
She did not respond. The temperature was rising. Soon the magma would overtake them. If she kept him here, there may be some semblance of justice. She just looked at the thing she married. The beast he was beneath.
"We…the brotherhood, we get live Sabine! Don't you see?!" He felt triumphant. He looked insane. Red eyes burning. A volcano in the far distance erupted.
The ranting finally made her think. "Than why does it work at all? What is a soul if it doesn't mean anything, and yet it's so powerful, it drives your precious cult insane?"
The crazed smile faded from Pulairn, his eyes burned less bright. He stared at the ground, and almost looked like the man she had taken to bed for the past year. She preferred that version, but it was just a facade.
Had he really not thought about it? The souls, and the power they provided? That alone had to mean something. Or had it been so long that the cult never questioned what they were doing, consumed by the power and blind to what it meant? Were these once good men and women afflicted with dependence?
Sabine almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But the crimes were seemingly endless and monstrous. It was very likely the cult had caused more suffering than most kingdoms of the world, depending on its age. Regardless, it had to go. They could beg for forgiveness beyond this life.
From behind near the torched tree line, the cult had caught up to them. The Elder spoke. "Finish her child! She has seen too much. Our way is life, hers is death!"
Breaking out of his stupor, the Marquis looked at her wistfully, "Sabine…I…can't stop now. It's been too long. If there is a judgement, I cannot face it. I'm sorry." He began moving toward her.
Smoke was approaching from the distance. Fast.
Sabine rolled out of the way of his lunge and tossed a knife. It landed in the side of his neck. He fell to a knee in pain.
The Marquis slowly pulled the knife out. Blood oozed out of the wound that would have killed most men. The torrent stopped. And reversed.
This must have been a benefit of consuming soulfire for so long. Not only was the Marquis cursed with demonic strength and speed, but wounds were fleeting. Temporary.
She glanced at the cult, which smelled the blood. Somehow, the Elder kept them in line. The river of magma to her right was drawing closer. Gods, the heat!
Again, a faint breeze passed her face. The vvulf was near, on the other side. The real side. She could almost hear her friend whining.
The Marquis lunged again, and grabbed her cloak. Before she could unlatch the neck broach, he wrenched her to the ground and then launched her over his head. When she smacked the ground, her right leg hit a rock, shattering her knee.
He approached as she writhed in pain. He turned her over and sat on top of her. "You must be very afraid for the feeding to work. I am going to have to break more bones, I think."
She grabbed her ruined knee, trying not to cry. As she closed her eyes in agony, she saw her father again. He looked distraught. But then, overjoyed. He was holding a babe. A boy. It was her child.
"Husband, don't!"
He actually stopped as if he were searching for any excuse not to do this.
"I…I'm with child. A son. Your son!"
He looked at her face and then away. "I've had children before, most were disappointments. All dead, as far as I know."
"Doesn't he deserve a chance, though? A chance to accept your … brotherhood?" She needed precious moments.
From the hill the Elder proclaimed, "You rank high, Child! But I can't keep your brothers at bay for long. They want her, and you if you delay much longer."
Sabine could see red eyes from the rabid cultists on the hill. They were likely salivating.
The vvulf howled and the brotherhood writhed and screamed in answer. The Marquis fell off of her, grabbing his ears. Sabine could not understand it, but the cult must somehow hear frequencies beyond her ears. Perhaps this is how these fearsome but loyal beasts speak to their kin. She would have to live if she wanted to ever find out.
The image of the volcanic hell faded in and out, but now the cultists only stayed on the burning side, disappearing when the full moon and early spring forest reasserted itself. The hell came back.
The Elder, in pain, but stronger than the others, shouted, "We need her blood, Pulairn! We have to keep the connection open! Get her Brothers!"
As the image faded in and out, Sabine could see Moonshadow on the hill right next to the cult, crouched in pain, her own hind leg likely broken.
No wonder the howl was so painful to these devils. It would be like having a sick babe screaming in your ear with no nipple to stop up the mouth.
They charged down the hill as Pulairn tried to stand. He looked at her for a moment, then at the cult. He could end this and nothing would matter. Another lifetime of strength and youth, with occasional sacrifices. But, he hesitated. Some part of him knew it was wrong.
The Elder bellowed from the hill, "Slit her throat now! We need the power!"
Nearby, the earth erupted, spewing molten rock into the air. It streamed randomly along the hill, instantly roasting charging cultists. The heat would take her soon. It would take them all.
"Moonshadow!"
The vvulf howled, and the fire disappeared. The loyal beast could see her now, and despite the limp, loped down the hill.
Another explosion and the fire world was back. Cultists charged as the Marquis was losing or coming to his senses. He reached for a blade under his robe.
"Husband, my boy will survive. One way or the other." She grabbed four knives in her knuckles and fanned them out in his direction. Three hit, one in the leg, the other, the heart. The third embedded into his forehead. He fell back, grabbing at the blade in his skull.
These were some of her last, and they were poisoned with snake venom from the south. She had to trade for it in secret, and she was not sure it was actually even venom, despite what she had paid. The gruesome murders of the past month had enraged her, but they also scared her. She wanted to make sure the killer suffered and died, even if she was throttled to death in the attempt. The Marquis screamed, steam boiling out of his wounds as he writhed. The Cult and the magma were almost upon them.
He pulled the blade from his leg. Then his chest.
Then his face.
The screaming stopped as he turned to face her, still sitting, unable to stand on her ruined leg.
"A good attempt, Sabine. I may name my next inconsiderate daughter after you." He smiled. The cultists were almost on them.
She stood to her feet, and pulled out her last two knives that were laced with venom. Her broken knee crunched, but she stood, somehow. She would kill one or two of these fiends before they had her.
The newly formed volcano nearby exploded and a wave of fire rocketed out in every direction. It was what she needed She would die, but so would the cult of the owl. Good riddance.
A howl, and the limping vvulf shouldered Sabine into the saddle.
"Run, Moonshadow! NOW!"
The cold air of her reality chilled her knee. She would cry if not for the adrenaline.
The vvulf barreled toward home. Sabine looked back, and the world of fire tried to become reality again. The wave of fire from the infantile eruption consumed the cultists on the hill. She could not see the Elder. The Marquis tried to to run through to the other side, but like his leader said, they did not have the power to come back.
Each vision of the osciallating hellscape was a second, an instant. He kept running toward her, but could not reach her, molten rock all around. Strobed images of his last moments burnt her vision. He leapt toward her one last time as another wave of smoke and fire overwhelmed her fading view of the other plane.
Gods willing, she would never see that world again.
She clung to the vvulf, her old friend. They did not hesitate in their escape, although the threat was trapped, if not destroyed outright. When the fear receded, Sabine felt a sadness. They deserved worse. Much worse.
The manor came into view with the morning sun behind it. The house of the Marquis. She was now a widow, the seat of the house and her son, the heir. But who would believe her, a foreign girl, from a wild tribe to the north? Not only could she not proclaim the murderers identified and the murdered avenged, she could not even explain the nature of it or the involvement of the servants' master. Attempting this alone was foolhardy and stupid. She could see that now.
Exhaustion and pain were overtaking her. She had to think. Yes, a riding accident. Yes. A bear attack, maybe. They will bring the barber from the town over the hill to set her bones. Perhaps, he could also help Moonshadow.
She would recover and then go home, hopefully in a month. Maybe two. Her true home to the north. The war bear and her will ride south to the Varl. He must know of the cult, destroyed or not. Surely, they could not be the only ones. The previous Varl was likely a victim of their machinations. With godsluck, they could purge these lands. With time, all. Men were meant to be more than feaful pigs at a trough of blood, she knew this in her heart.
She touched her stomach as they passed the guards at the manor gates, jaws agape once they registered her injuries. The vvulf collapsed in the courtyard, and she rolled off. Both beast and woman slept.
Faran was running from the fires. Jumping. Eons of consumption had given him strength beyond the pathetic brotherhood. They were tools, nothing more. Alas, bringing back the realm of prey was not possible. He needed those tools. He needed their souls to link elsewhere.
He landed hard in a pit of ash. This realm hated conflict, especially if its children were involved. It tried to extinsguish disturbances, like the brat. The Marquise. She got the better of them, though. Of him. He did not have time to save the foolish Marquis as a mountain of fire erased him. Centuries wasted. A millenia. How had he failed? Was it just arrogance? He ground his teeth, almost shattering them.
How had he got out the first time? He could not remember. Living long came with disadvangtages. A head can only fit so many memories, even if it were more than human. Demonic.
He was a demon, right? That was what she called him. The Witch? No, she was the Preistess.
Yes, he remembered her now. He would have to find her again. Call to her.
He looked up at the firelit night sky. Into it. Beyond. The thing was there. His owner. Would it erase him for this failure? Would it even look his way? Abandonment may be punishment enough.
He closed his eyes and tried to see it. Its form shifted, always changing.
The Marquis said he saw an owl when he looked. Perhaps that is all his pathetic mind could conjure when attempting to grasp the beyond. Odd. Faran thought it foolish, but the child needed symbols. The pigs needed a god, so an owl it was. They had to carve it, since Farran did not even known what an owl was. All owls had already died here, long ago, if they had existed at all.
There was a loud sound, like a mountain cracking. He turned and saw a hole in reality. A door. On the other side, she beckoned him to come through and he obeyed. He smiled knowing he was not to be left to rot. There was more work to be done. More soulfire to consume.