Rise (War Witch Book 1) (26 page)

"I'm trying to read here," Chara sniffed, waving the book.

Throwing her a fiery look, Ramora told her that according to tradition, the priest wore nothing under the dress.

"I'm going to go to the Hells for even thinking about that,” Chara stammered, flustered.

No
, Ramora signed,
I can forgive it.

"Uh huh," Chara dead panned. "Do I have to get down on my knees for that?"

Doesn't hurt
, Ramora signed with a laugh.

"You’re a cruel, mean, hot woman," Chara grimaced.

The warrior asked if she wanted to know what else she could be.

Chara almost dropped the book. "Right now?"

Ramora shrugged, pulling her closer.

"Don't you have to prepare and stuff?" she gasped as her body pressed against the warrior’s, all her passion for the other woman flaring back up.

Ramora gave her a smile that told her everything she needed to know.

Rakiss frowned. Damn, but these two were like rabbits in spring!

She would go right through me to get the man she's after.

Chara pulled away. "You really should focus on getting ready."

Ramora felt her smile fade. While Chara was right, there was something uncomfortable about her posture that made the Blessed worry. Nodding, she turned back to her tools, watching as Chara retreated to a chair, book in hand.

Rakiss sighed heavily. It was going to be a long day.

As she sat, Chara stared at the pages in front of her without seeing them. What the hell was wrong with her? Everything she’d wanted was right there, being offered, and that stupid thought had to come wandering back into her mind.

Putting it away, she started reading, but still the niggling doubts continued. Part of her, a big part, wanted to drop the book, go over to the bed, strip the Blessed naked, and revel in her touch. It was the small part that was stopping her. The quiet voice in her mind that filled her stomach with fear, making her nauseous.

Then there was Esteban, and how he made her feel. Even though she could find no rational reason for that. It was decidedly odd when she really thought about it.

But, her mind and heart weren’t being agreeable. That was likely what it was. It was the only thing that made sense.

Irritated, she forced herself to read the book. She needed to focus as well. Across the room, Ramora was cleaning her priestly paraphernalia, and for the time being, Chara knew, they had to put their attention on Imicot.

He needed this more than she needed her world to make sense right now.

Esteban checked in on them soon after, letting them know that Imicot was in the dining hall, where he hoped to have lunch with them later. Ramora had thanked him via Chara, informing him that she would be ready to proceed with the ritual soon after that.

The two women spent the rest of the morning preparing, Ramora by consecrating the tools she would use, Chara by studying the chapter from the Blessed's book on how the ritual worked, and the words she would need to say.

As she understood it, Chara would be acting as a proxy, meaning that she would literally be Ramora's voice in this, and as such, the voice of Ramor. That was a little heady when she thought about it. The words themselves were simple, and easy to memorize, though.

They had lunch with the old man as afternoon came, and for Chara, it was her first meeting with the aged sorcerer. To her surprise, she found him delightful, warm, and funny. More than once, he said something that sent the Werejaguar's eyes rolling, but she found Esteban all the more adorable for it.

Annoyed by her sudden lustful urges for the Cat, she focused instead on talking with Imicot, who seemed to greatly enjoy the company of a young woman. While he was polite, and never crude, she could easily see how in his younger days, he would’ve been a rake.

Ramora, naturally, was quiet throughout the meal. Chara would often glance over at her and smile, getting one in return, but she couldn't help but think how lonely it must be for her, sitting in the middle of people talking, and not able to participate.

Now and then, she could see a wistful look cross her eyes, a hint of vulnerability, and she found her all the more beautiful for it. Though she smiled and laughed all through the meal, her heart was being torn in two by her desire to be with the Blessed, and her growing affection for Esteban.

Sometimes, she really wished she could go back to being ten, thinking boys had cooties, and not have to deal with the messiness of being an adult. At the very least, someone could write a handbook so she knew what to do. It seemed wrong no one had gotten around to that.

Lunch dealt with, Imicot returned to his rooms with the help of Esteban, while Ramora went to make her final preparations. Chara lingered in the dining hall, trying to sort out her emotions. She was half-tempted to say the hell with it, and look through the book for a vow of celibacy she could take, at least, until she remembered Ramor was wed to Altimar, the Goddess of sex.

Somehow, she doubted there was any kind of helpful vow like that in this book.

When Esteban returned to let her know Imicot was ready, she was grateful. Something to do besides sitting and pondering her mixed emotions was a gift. Though, she knew, she wanted to be with Ramora. That was one thing she was certain of. Whatever was going on with Esteban, it wouldn't work.

She’d spent a full hour sitting alone in the dining hall, coming to that realization. No matter what, even if it ended badly, she wanted to be with the Blessed. That was enough. It was everything.

As she and Esteban headed up the stairs, and she reached the landing, she saw Ramora come out of the room they shared and gasped. She was barefoot, hair left loose, carrying the yarn and dagger, and the red silk dress clung to her like a lover. Chara felt herself falling for her all over again.

Behind her, Rakiss fumed, but knew better than to meddle at a time like this. This was a sacred thing, and as much as he wanted to twist the young woman's heart, he couldn’t ignore that. Shaking his head, he followed the trio up the stairs, trying to figure out his next move. Chara's heart was determined to belong to Ramora, and he simply could not allow that. It would upset everything.

Perhaps it was time to adopt a more direct method.

Reaching Imicot's rooms, they entered, finding him seated in his study, where he waited with a mixture of fear and anticipation clinging to him like old perfume. His watery eyes were both hopeful and frightened as Ramora approached, kneeling before him.

Unsheathing the dagger, she laid it his lap before unwinding a length of yarn, wrapping her fingers with it and holding it up before him. Nodding to Chara, she indicated it was time to begin.

"Imicot, Master of Sorcery, speak your sins into the thread of life the Priestess holds before you. Hold nothing back, and nothing will be held against you when you face judgment."

Nodding, the old and weary man leaned forward, fingers clutching the dagger desperately. Hesitantly, he began to tell his sins.

Seventy years ago, Imicot had been an eager young sorcerer, stepping foot out of the Training Halls as a newly appointed Adept. Eager to serve the nation of Qur, where sorcerers ruled supreme, he’d signed on to become a guardian of one of the outlying farming communities the city state controlled. The Masters of Sorcery at the Halls of Mystery had seen great promise in him, too, his appointment coming from the desk of the High Mage himself.

It’d been everything Imicot had ever wanted. Everything he had devoted his life to since he’d been a child. As soon as he turned sixteen, he had petitioned the Masters of Sorcery to undergo the Baptism of Fire, the sorcery ritual that forces one’s Avatar to awaken, allowing them to work magic. Impressed with his performance during his early education, they had granted his request, bringing the slumbering Bat within him to life.

The next ten years had been the hardest of his life as he sought to excel at everything he did. Many of his instructors at the Training Hall encouraged him to take it easier, but he hadn’t listened, packing as many classes as possible into each day, studying multiple types of magic.

When he’d left there, it was with high marks, and a respectable grasp of the Elementalist Strata, as well as a wide range of spells from all ten elements, and high marks for his ritual magic skills. His assignment to a guardianship had been a sure thing.

The township he’d been appointed to, Kivos, was on the outer reaches of Qur, nestled in the foothills of the Tall Mountains, with the Haunted Wood crowding in from the west. A dangerous place, for the nearest military post was a full two days away, making the village an easy target for Demon Seed and bandits alike.

With his control of the elements, Imicot didn’t fear, however. He would be the one who stood tall against the forces that sought to bring sorrow, misery and death. He would be a rock, and they a wave, crashing against him. Dreams filled his head in those days of becoming a legend, ascending to the rank of Master, and maybe, someday, High Mage.

The people of Kivos were overjoyed to see him arrive, for their previous guardian had died in battle against a motley group of bandits some months ago. Since then, the village had known great hardship. Many had been killed by thieves serving a local warlord who lurked within the Haunted Wood, others dragged away for who knows what.

Imicot had assuaged their fears, swearing that the bandits would bother them no more. Naturally, the warlord felt the need to prove the young Adept a fool, and brought the full might of his small army down on the village within a few days, having heard the boosts of Imicot.

He hadn’t even flinched as they drove at him. Summoning forth the mystic energies his Avatar gave him control over, he’d laid waste to the warlord's army as if it were nothing. By the time the day was done, the warlord himself was captured, and sent to Qur to stand trial for his crimes against the country.

Ah, how the people had loved him. A great feast had been held in his honor, and he found he had his pick of the loveliest women the village had to offer. Being a noble soul, he did not take advantage, of course, but the recognition and accolades had certainly been nice.

Months passed as he served as guardian of Kivos. He brought his magic to bear on anything and everything the villagers needed, making their lives infinitely easier. How they loved him for it, too.

A few scattered remnants of the warlord’s army tried their hands at attacking the village in that time, but all of them were sent packing with ease. His control of the elements grew daily, and his rituals made night raids impossible, the wards he placed around the village alerting them all of any trespass by armed hooligans.

Imicot walked with his head high, reveling in his glory and fame. His pride swelled as he looked upon the village, his own personal fiefdom, and cared for the people there, as if he were their king, beloved by one and all. It was everything he’d ever wanted.

Then, the Demon Seed had come.

Marching for Qur, they emerged from the Haunted Wood, the village nothing but a place that was in their way. His wards alerted him to them well in advance, and he made ready to defend the village. He knew what to expect, for he’d studied the fiends well during his days at the Training Hall.

Nothing, however, could’ve prepared him for what he witnessed emerging from the shrouded and menacing forest. Zombies, by the hundreds, marched ahead of battalions of Orcs, falling upon any living thing that drew too near, and devouring them as they screamed. Those who escaped, faced the barb-laced whips of the Orcs, their skin flayed from the bone with a single strike.

He steeled himself against this, but the true horror was yet to come. The Lords of the Hells had a mind to take Qur, and had summoned forth things that could barely be named. Imicot had looked upon them as they cleared the woods, too horrified to even move.

True Form Demons.

Towering monstrosities, belched forth from the very pits of the Hells, he’d cowered before them, as they had trampled the village under their massive feet. Leviathans, Hydras, Wyverns, Death Golems and more came in droves, commanded by terrible Arch-Liches, the most fiendish of all Demon Seed. Kivos, and all her people, were fodder before them.