James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"It's all right," Mara said with a cruel, victorious grin. "Jinnaoth has little luck when it comes to matters of the heart. Do not think yours will be the first scar he has worn."

Mara whispered an arcane phrase, igniting the chalk circle to a bright, flaring blue that filled the rubble-strewn tower. Energy gathered around them, swirling faster and faster, and Quessahn's thoughts spun with the magical vortex. Blinking through the light of the ritual, she caught Mara's eye and tried to set aside her fear.

"What did you see in Tallus's book?" she asked absently as the hag watched the turning streams of blue with a practiced eye, waiting for the right moment to complete the spell.

"More than I expected," Mara answered. "And enough that I fear Jinn will find the Loethe family less than appreciative of his efforts to help them."

Her voice trailed off into a murmuring chant, one hand pressing into the swirl around them with precise gestures, directing the shape and flow as her words grew louder and more demanding. Quessahn felt the floor give way beneath her feet, but in the breath she might have clung tighter to Mara for support, the tower, and everything else, disappeared in a flash of blue.

NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Bloodstained hands clawed at the air as Jinn leaped over the hissing congregation, his blade curving a wide arc toward the shadowy neck of the green-eyed skulls. They reacted swiftly, deflecting his steel with their own, spatters of blood splashing Jinn's face at the brief contact of the blades. They traded blows, a blur of shining metal flashing between them as the dark ritual of the Loethes fell into chaos. Naked bodies slid across the marble, grasping for Jinn's boots as he maneuvered away from them, furiously slashing at the glowing gaze of the nine skulls, hidden behind the eyes of a stranger.

Nine distinct voices shouted curses from one rnouth, each interrupting the last, spewing incomprehensible venom at the deva. Their vitriol washed over him comfortably, feeling right and whole as he opposed an ancient evil on his own terms. He winced as a quick cut slipped through his defense, the warm ache of the cut feeding his bloodlust.

"Idiot!" the skulls cried out. "You'll feed us all to the angel! Where will you find your vengeance then?"

Jinn did not respond, pressing his attack faster and faster, though he was intrigued by their fear of not him, but Sathariel. He turned in slow circles round the splashing thralls crawling out of the marble basin. Given time, he would slay them all, clean the ward's filthy slate, and track down the angel again. If Sathariel would not face him, he would destroy all that the angel worked for.

His sword pierced something solid within the skulls' wavering shadows, and his blade was wet when he drew back to strike again, but the skulls were ready. They spun, a swift kick catching Jinn in the chest and sending him tumbling to the back wall as they bounded through the shallow pool of blood, still cursing as they beat a hasty retreat.

"No!" he shouted.

A hand clasped onto his boot, holding him back. He barely recognized the crazed visage of the Lady Lhaerra, her body smeared with blood. Snarling at her in disgust, he kicked her away, presenting his sword to those gathered, the pitiful remains of what he presumed was the Loethe family, as he followed the skulls. Though he was loath to admit it, he knew he had likely saved their lives, protected their souls from the grasp of the circle of skulls, and the very idea of it propelled him ever faster after their possessed body.

The marble floor of the entrance hall was streaked with blood, boot prints tracked across its once-gleaming surface. A small crowd had gathered in the chamber, in servants' clothes with kitchen knives and fireplace pokers, led by a stern-faced woman of advancing years who looked from the floor to Jinn, madness in her eyes.

"What have you done?" she shrieked, raising a shining cleaver in her hand as she rushed him. "What have you-?"

With a quick swipe, Jinn knocked the blade from her hand, sending it spinning across the room as he reversed his blow and smashed her nose with the pommel of his sword. The crunch of bone echoed in the room as the woman slumped to the ground, clutching her face, dazed and bleeding. The other servants backed away from the deva, shying from his golden glare as he followed the bloody prints out of the room and back up the stairs. Wailing screams erupted behind him, and he paused on the stairs as if in the throes of a nightmare.

Movement caught his eye, shadows rushing by the windows and bobbing, green lights gathering out in the garden. The soulless ahimazzi were gone, shambling away from the house and quickly replaced by shouting officers of the Watch. He watched them gather in disbelief, wondering when the world had turned upside down, knowing the officers had come for him and not the depraved members and staff of the household.

"Chaos," he muttered as he ran up the stairs. "The world has gone mad."

In a rush of spinning black and blue energy, Quessahn felt solid ground beneath her feet as the weight of her body returned. She wavered a moment but maintained her balance despite the arcs of pain shooting up her left leg. Such instantaneous travel was not entirely uncommon for wizards, but Mara's use of the power over such a distance was extraordinary. As her eyes adjusted to the half light of a tall, marble-floored chamber, she reassessed her respect for the hag's magic-and renewed her concern over Mara's possible betrayal.

Shrieking voices echoed from a deep chamber to her right, and she eyed the dark doorway from which they emanated. The floor was covered in dark streaks of blood, most of it fresh and slick. Wet noises that reminded her of a butcher's shop came from the shadows of the doorway, each accompanied by a sharp intake of breath or a shuddering groan.

"Gods," she whispered and ran for the dark, descending the stained steps beyond and praying that she hadn't waited too long, hoping that Jinn was still alive.

She stopped at the bottom step. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked in the flickering light of candles and torches. Only bits of the scene came to her at first, flashes of horrible detail that she struggled to understand. They fell upon one another, some with long, curved daggers, others with their bare hands. Bared teeth grinned and gnashed, dark with flesh. Hair slapped against bare backs, wet and sticky as they arched in pain and pleasure. Pale limbs, limp and lifeless, suggested more bodies beneath the press, likely forgotten or ignored for their lack of feeling.

Quessahn backed away. She had known dark rites, had performed her own in years long past. She had explored avenues of magic many wizards and even warlocks had no stomach for, all in a manic attempt to find her lost Kehran or, at the very least, find some explanation for the death that had ruined her life. No spell had been too dark, no ritual too dangerous, but the indulgent self-slaughter she witnessed in the Loethes' basement was beyond her, anathema to all she had studied.

A loud bang from upstairs shocked her into movement, and she returned to the entrance hall, attempting to calm the aching tremble in her left hand. Swinging, green lights flashed through the narrow windows on either side of the front doors. Shadows approached, accompanied by shouted orders as Mara pressed her hands against the portal's frame, whispering words of magic and digging her fingernails into the wood, tiny sigils on her claws flaring to life.

"The Watch," Quessahn said, shaking her head and already imagining Dregg's smug face as he ordered his men into the house. The bodies, the blood, all of it he would blame on the undesirables his men found inside.