The Novel's Sidekick

“Sirius,” Rojar Iker called, laughing at a younger man, “It's finally time.”

It seemed they have arrived. Yeriel found something amiss in her new environment. The wind didn’t swirl around there, nor was snow falling. It seemed some magical fortification was in place around there—not that distant, about twenty yards around them.

Everything seemed prepared before they arrived there. A few were already present there, standing with luminescence lamps in their hands. They welcomed the warlock and his associates as they talked for a short while and finally all their attention was drawn to her. Yeriel felt a sudden sense of panic. It was as if she was a lamb on the way to be butchered as they were accessing her.

Rojar Iker, the mastermind of all this, gestured to the underling that was carrying her as he brought her towards them. Yeriel could make out what they were saying now, while the underling put her down in the middle, which seemed to be carved as an altar. All snow was cleared out of the way as various geometrical patterns were carved in to make the entire ritual circle.

There were six openings to the circle. She tried to interpret them to the best of her capability, however, thinking about her approaching doom, she couldn’t make sense of it. Not to mention, this circle was something ancient, something out of her league—she even wondered if the warlock could even understand it.

There was no shortage of people doing what’s forbidden and don’t understand it, yet they still do it just to gain some promised strength in exchange for everything.

. . .

“Rojar,” Sirius, the one who seemed to be in charge of the other party, spoke, regarding Yeriel. “Have you taken pity on your apprentice or just want to taste new flesh? Well, I can’t blame you, this girl you captured, she sure looked the type you want to put under--”

“You know, brother?” Rojar cut him off. “You could have walked further in the path, however, this debauchery nature of yours cursed you whole. We are practitioners, all these earthly pleasures shouldn’t affect us.”

“If you say so,” Sirius joked, grinning, “Why don’t you let me do the syphoning for you, then?”

Rojar only stared at him coldly, while Rial withdrew, commanding the underlings to their guarding post. The snowstorm couldn’t find its way through the magical fortification, but it couldn’t be the same for others—the ones after them. Even though there’s a very faint chance of that with all the damage Rojar has done to them, Rial always tries to be through.

“Still so stern about everything, I was merely joking,” Sirius said and looked around, slapping the warlock in the shoulder. “Oi, Kiea, where’s my nephew, by the way? He was not the type to miss out on chances like this.”

“He’s not here,” Kiea answered and finding Sirius giving her a meaningful look, she only shrugged.

“Let’s proceed to more important business, shall we?” Rojar Iker said. “Sirius, will you bring out what I asked of you?”

Sirius nodded and withdrew, while the warlock transferred his gaze towards Yeriel again. “Kiea, proceed to prepare the altar. I’m sure you need no more instruction?”

Kiea bit her lips and nodded.

. . .

The warlock readied to open his possessions. He approached Yeriel in the middle of the altar to stoop at her eye level. First, he brought out a small vial and gave it to her. “Drink this.”

“What is in them?” Yeriel asked, not interested in drawing her palm to take it.

“Painkiller,” the Warlock said and proceeded to make sure she drank that. He caught her chin after all her struggle and poured down all the contents of the liquid in her mouth.

Yeriel didn’t have the strength to struggle more and with the foreign force pushing the chilling content into her mouth, she could do nothing against it other than swallowing it. A chilling current filled her head and throughout her body, Yeriel found a fresh surge of strength in her body, but the moment she tried to draw the energy into her channel, she felt the soul severing the pain again.

“This is not painkiller,” she muttered in between her groaning.

The seal on her channels was lifted off, however, that imprint that caused that pain was still there. She knew it was not a soul severing pain, just her mind interpreting it as one, but that didn’t make it even a bit easier. If she continued with that, it could very well break her mind, leaving a body hollow of intelligence.

“It is not,” the warlock admitted, “but it will help you resist the pain. Don’t try to do anything foolish. There’s no way out. I already told you this ritual is not lethal to you as long as you abide by what I instructed you. Yeriel Ruah, you’ll live, and might gain something from this. Don’t try to challenge that.”

Then, without any heads up, the Warlock cut her palm and collected the blood. Yeriel cried, but the warlock treated her as if nothing but some article to be used.

Kiea came back after that, bringing dozens of candles. She proceeded to light them up and let them at certain spots around the altar. While the Warlock was doing something with her blood. A blood curse, perhaps, for security. Really, she was already helpless to the core. What would a blood curse do to her other than killing her?

Only after the warlock finished what he was doing, did she find out it was not a blood curse he was preparing, but something else. In his arms were two long antlers, smeared in her blood. Yeriel felt a sudden chill in her head. She didn’t know why. Giving her a last look, the warlock cast an immobility spell on her that locked her in the very spot and withdrew.

Yeriel wept, trying to struggle out of her spot. She tried to draw spirit energy again and groaned in the ever so familiar pain—she had gone through this a dozen times already, but still, she couldn’t help it.

“You never learn, do you?” the witch said in a level tone, and perhaps this was the most neutral tone she had spoken to her so far. Kiea continued on igniting the candles circling her.

Yeriel was not sure why, but this warlock apprentice hated her. She had roughed her up before, slapping her face, punching her, saying mean things she couldn’t interpret. Only at the appearance of Althan did she stop then.

“Please,” Yeriel begged, groaning, “please tell me what you’re doing with me. I’ve never done anything to you . . . anything to . . . anyone . . . why . . .”

“I know,” the witch said. Her voice was not so hateful anymore, or was it she felt pity for her? No, that’s not it, she just was just bizarre. “Your sin is to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“All I ever wanted was to heal as many as I could.” Yeriel wept, looking up in the skies. Though the moons couldn’t be seen properly with the clouds blocking the view, they couldn’t really block all the light—over-drafting on the clouds to cast on the snow filled land in the snowstorm.

“You’ll never be able to do that after this,” Kiea said, as if stating a fact. “You might live, but you don’t look the type who would want to after this.”

“Please . . .”

“Perhaps if you can endure all the awful things that would be done to you, you’ll live, but that won’t be you, would it?” Kiea hesitated for a second before continuing in a whisper, “Or likely you’ll try to destroy everything when you get the chance, and trust me, you’ll get your chance. All matters if you’re willing to destroy. There’s a faint chance of that. My master won’t let you have it, but for a fraction of a moment, you’ll have the strength to do it. Tell me, Yeriel Ruah, will you do it?”

Yeriel found herself lost of words. She didn’t understand what she just heard now. “Please,” she wept, “I’m a healer. I heal, not destroy . . .”

“Zashin burn you,” Kiea cursed at her, “you’re more annoying than that foppish prince of yours.” She continued to curse under her breath, muttered almost in an inaudible voice. “But perhaps you’ll understand after the awful deed done to you.”

While Yeriel wept on the altar, Rojar Iker broke into an outburst after a long time.

“What’s the meaning of this, Sirius,” he shouted, pointing towards a white cub.

The white cub had short antlers on its head, eyes watery, but crystal clear, and looked like the next cutest thing. However, the warlock was furious the moment he gazed at it.

“Well, of course, your Winterheart Reindeer, Brother.” Sirius shrugged. “After all the months of searching, I can successfully found this.”

“Does it even have any magical power?” Rial asked, approaching them. His expression was not so bright, either.

“Well, you asked for a Winterheart Reindeer,” Sirius continued, “I brought you, which is merely a cub. Or do you need an adult one for your ritual?”

Rojar Iker glared at his little brother, exhaling. Yes, in the ritual there’s no mention of it the needed sacrifice to bean adult or, newborn, but even an apprentice in his first year would know, what kind of difference between an adult saint beast and a cub.

“Rojar,” Rial called, “are we going with this?”

“Yes,” the warlock said. It's too late to turn back now after all the preparation over the years. “The ritual didn’t draw power from the reindeer, it is merely the sacrifice, we have to see if a cub would suffice or not.”

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