Rise (War Witch Book 1) (20 page)

"What is this?" Chara asked softly.

"Nothing," the Werecat murmured.

Ramora tried to sign to Chara, but found she couldn't begin to describe what they stood at the heart of. Passageways to other worlds, gates to the Shadow Realms, the echoed possibilities of worlds that might’ve been, created when Grannax had separated the One World into three. A rough estimation told her there were more doorways here than known Realms, meaning the old sorcerer had discovered ones that were as yet uncharted.

Realizing that mystic energy must naturally converge here, she finally understood why he had chosen to make this his home. The sheer amount of knowledge that a mage could gain from having access to so many other worlds was staggering, giving her a new respect for the power the old man wielded.

"Come," Esteban said after a moment. "This place hasn’t been used in many years. Let it lie."

Following him out, Ramora pondered the wonders the old sorcerer must’ve seen in his life. Her Avatar murmured a sweet song at the beauty of the place, the mystical energy that bound the whole of creation together flowing through the tower with such ease it found it wondrous. She reminded it that this was sorcery, though, not a natural grip on those energies, like she possessed.

It made a soft tooting to dismiss her argument, enraptured with the ebb and flow of magic that breathed in the keep, and pointed out how easily it moved.
Sorcery or not
, it whistled,
the creator of this structure respected it, and was loved by it in return.

Her little Rabbit’s awe gave her pause to think as they continued to climb, making Ramora consider the old man above a little less fearfully. If magic, a living mystical force, cared for him, then he wasn’t someone she should fear, even if he was a sorcerer.

Still, a glimpse ahead at the Werebeast that led them reminded her of the horrors sorcery was capable of, while a glance behind showed her what it was she must protect at all costs. A slight smile touched her face as she looked at Chara, the woman she was falling in love with.

An innkeeper’s daughter from a tiny farming community, the young woman had the heart of a tiger. Father had known exactly where he was sending her when she’d returned to the Middle World. She could not begin to express her thanks to him for this gift.

Climbing higher, the trio passed doors at every landing, but they all stood closed, giving her no idea what lay beyond, though already, she’d seen wonders. Nearing the top, they passed a vast dining hall that hadn’t known company for a very long time by her guess, the double doors that showed it partly pulled. At the end of the landing, a smaller single door sat closed.

At the next floor, Esteban paused by a wide door, swung it open and showed them a lush suite, saying, "This will be your room for the duration of your stay. I’m in the next over, should you need anything."

"Thank you," Chara said, staring at the enormous bed with wide eyes.

Waving them on, he led them past the door of his own chambers before heading up to the next landing, where only one door stood. Glancing down the hall at the stairs that led up, Ramora had to wonder what lay at the very top of the tower, for this must surely be where Imicot himself awaited them.

"What's up there?" Chara asked, as if reading her mind.

Esteban gave her an annoyed look. "An observatory."

"Wow," the young woman said softly.

"Indeed," the Werecat intoned. "Mistress Chara, if you will remain here, please."

Snapping her head around, defiance flaring in her hazel eyes, the young woman replied quickly, "No, I won't. As I told you before, Ramora is mute. I interpret for her."

"The master will have no need of that," the Jaguar told her. "You will not have to wait long, I assure you, but he wishes to speak with the Blessed in private."

"Ramora?" Chara asked, looking to the Blessed in concern.

Biting her lip, the warrior considered the matter. She didn’t want to anger the young woman any further, but at the same time, if this was the will of the old sorcerer, she couldn't defy that in his own home. It would be a dishonor to him, and herself.

Motioning for her to wait, she quickly signed an apology, but Chara said nothing, her face showing the hurt she felt. Wanting to comfort her, she found herself without a chance as the Were opened the door, ushering her in. Looking back, her last sight of her girlfriend made her wonder if she would ever really get to call her such.

Then, she was in the presence of Imicot, Master of Sorcery, and lord of the keep.

The chamber she found herself in was luxurious even by her standards. Taking up almost the entire floor, it was divided into a bedroom, a study, a bathing room, and a small lab where several potions sat unfinished. Scanning, she spotted the man she’d come to see, seated in the study portion, and felt a bit taken aback.

As Esteban guided her to Imicot, she realized that she’d taken all she had seen as a sign that while he was nearing death, he would still be powerful and vibrant. The withered old man reclining in an overstuffed chair, heavy blanket wrapped about him, was not what she’d expected at all.

Thin hair, wispy and white as snow, clung to a liver-spotted scalp as he looked up, watery green eyes brightening behind the glasses he wore. His face, wrinkled and heavy with age, offered her a kind smile as he raised a palsied, gaunt hand and beckoned her on.

Joining him before the fireplace that burned on nothing, like the fire pit on the ground floor, she bowed deeply, trying to be respectful as her Avatar sang out in joy at the raw mystic power emanating from the withered old man. Ramora felt certain that even without a living spirit of magic entwined around her soul, she would’ve been able to feel his own Avatar, a massive and powerful Bat that sang almost audibly.

"Thank you, Esteban," Imicot said, his voice thin and frail. "Leave us for a time, please?"

The Jaguar bowed to his master. "Of course."

"Oh, and do prepare some dinner for our guests, won't you?" the sorcerer added. "The lady and I will not be long, and I’m certain they must be hungry."

"Right away," the Cat said, excusing himself quickly.

Ramora didn’t like the idea of the towering beast alone with Chara, and watched him go with trepidation. To her surprise, Imicot chuckled at her, a heavy wheezing that did nothing to hide his humor.

"Fear not, my girl," he told her, motioning to the chair that set near his. "Esteban is a good lad. He won’t harm your young friend."

Not comforted, Ramora eased into the chair anyway, considering the weak old man before her. He truly had little time left, his body so worn from age it seemed he might collapse in on himself.

"I know what you must think," Imicot said, voice quivering. "I didn’t create him the way others do. No, I could never bring myself to perform that unholy blood ritual. Esteban is from the Savage Realm."

Ramora blinked, beyond surprised. One of the many Shadow Realms, it was home to a world where Werefolk were dominant, humans, elves and the other races never existing in their history. A world where the Gods had created children in their own image.

Imicot took a long, deep and shaky breath. "I journeyed there at times, seeking knowledge. One day, I found an orphaned Kit, lost and alone in the woods. I searched for his parents, but never found them, or anyone who knew to whom the boy belonged. In the end, I felt I had no other choice but to bring him back with me. That was forty years ago now, and I have done my best to raise him as my own son. He’s a good boy, so please, fear not for your friend. She is in good hands."

Saddened by her own distrust of the Jaguar, Ramora smiled softly and nodded, settling in the chair. Imicot smiled, seeing she understood. In that smile, Ramora saw the truth of the man: kind, gentle, and compassionate.

"I suppose," he said slowly. "That you’re wondering how I knew you were coming, aren't you?"

Ramora nodded, getting a soft chuckle from him.

"Adalynn, dear, why don't you stop hiding," he called out, voice thin and raspy.

Turning, Ramora watched the air shimmer as the Ascended dismissed her invisibility, giving the old man a chastising look. She knew the demigod instantly, as well, having met her many times during her life in the High World. The statuesque figure, flowing mane of green hair, scaled lower arms and slitted eyes were unmistakable.

The first among the Ascended of Terakus, the crocodile Goddess of death.

"Little Sister," Adalynn greeted, holding out her arms as the warrior rose to embrace her, taking in the sweet smell of cinnamon that clung to her like a perfume. "Though I suppose I should call you Ramora now, shouldn't I?"

Seeing the question in her eyes, she laughed, warm and loving. "Talbor wouldn't stop wagging his tongue about it for months. Oh, never mind him; let me have a look at you."

Stepping back, Ramora turned a bit, her smile widening.

"How you’ve grown, my precious girl," the Ascended cooed. "Such a fine, capable and beautiful woman. Just as I always said. It does my heart good to see you like this."

"As you can guess, I know a fair bit about you," Imicot told her, watching them with a gentle smile.

"Silly old man," the demigoddess purred. "I tried to be sneaky about watching over him in his final days, but he picked up on me. First mortal I've ever met who could detect an Ascended while they were cloaked."

Imicot waved it off. "It's nothing if you know how to read the flow of mystic energy."

"Listen to him," Adalynn said to Ramora. "Trying to make like it's no big thing."

Laughing silently, Ramora slid an arm around the demigoddess, settling against her with relief. She knew now, without a doubt, that Imicot would help her, for he kept only the very best of company.

"At any rate," the old man said while he shifted slightly in his chair. "Adalynn heard from this Talbor fellow that you were coming to look for me. It seems you’re seeking information about the black dragon banner, which I’m all too willing to share, but first, I have a request of you, if that is all right."

Ramora nodded easily, more than willing to help the old sorcerer.

"I believe this is the part where I say goodnight," Adalynn commented, hugging Ramora once more before leaning down to kiss Imicot on the head. "Try and sleep well tonight, my dear. I will return soon."

"I await it," he smiled before she vanished in a swirl of light. "As for you, please, sit."

Bowing in thanks, Ramora returned to the chair, waving him to proceed.

"When Adalynn told me of you, I could barely believe it," the old man said, speaking slowly. "A Blessed of Ramor, coming to ask me for help, and a Priestess at that! Ha! It was as if fate was finally smiling on me."

Settling back, she let him speak, listening with genuine interest as he talked.

"I remember when I was young, there were so few priests of Ramor around," he told her. "You would hear of one from time to time, but they were so uncommon. You know, I don't believe I've heard of any for at least forty years now. Warrior priests. Such rare creatures you are."

Smiling, she gave a shrug.

"Oh, I know," he chuckled. "You consider yourself nothing special. You do not see yourself as you truly are, though. I do. It is why I’m so grateful you have come. You, and only you, can help me now."

Her smile fading a bit, she began to sign a question, then realized what she was doing and hesitated.

He waved it off. "I know what you want to ask, dear lady. I see it written plainly in your eyes. You cannot begin to imagine what you could do for me, not in the state I’m in, so near death. As I said, you do not see how special you are."

Frowning, Ramora nodded, admitting that may be true. Leaning forward, she beckoned him on.

He began to speak, but was struck by a fit of coughing so fierce, it shook his entire body. So thin and frail, he struggled just to breathe through it. With a trembling hand, he waved at a water pitcher a few feet away, empty glass beside it.

Jumping up, she poured it and returned to him quickly, helping him sip the water until the bout passed, leaving him winded. She remained by his side for a while longer, just in case, until he smiled and motioned her back to her chair.

"Forgive me," he wheezed. "My time grows so very short. Before it comes, I would ask of you to hear my last confession, Priestess of Ramor, the God I have so terribly wronged. Before I stand in front of Garrius, I need to unburden my soul, speak my sins, and be heard by you."

Startled by this, Ramora shook her head in confusion.

"I will tell you all," he promised. "There are rituals. You know them, I’m sure. I am by nature a lover of rituals, and this is one I must do while I can. I have waited seventy years now for a priest of the War Wolf to find me, that I might seek forgiveness. Please, help me in this."

The tears in his eyes were impossible to ignore. Reaching out, she clutched his hand gently in her own, smiling as she nodded, silently promising she would.

He seemed to almost sink in on himself as he sighed in relief. "Thank you, child. My soul will forever be in your debt for this."