Grimoire Fantastica



  GRIMOIRE FANTASTICA

  Brett P. S.

  Copyright © 2014 Brett P. S.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art

  Derivative work of "Fort de Roppe : réseau souterrain" by Thomas Bresson (ComputerHotline) from flickr.com used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter I: Fading Dawn

  Chapter II: I Am

  Chapter III: Unlikely Thief

  Chapter IV: Somber Crossing

  Chapter V: Blood Offering

  Chapter VI: The Fool

  Chapter VII: Sacrifice

  Chapter VIII: Down the Mountain

  Chapter IX: Réveiller de Sommeil

  Chapter I

  Fading Dawn

  A gentle wind ruffles across the precipice, creeping over cavern walls as I tread softly ever downward. Like a dream, it feels at this point, to be spiraling down granite steps. I can hear the ache of my heart with every movement, as if it too laments over my heinous actions.

  The light grows dimmer now, what little of a pure golden dawn’s warmth can be felt from this far down. There is a stench like no other, which permeates thick walls oddly carved and caked with mold and oozy residue.

  Dreadful fatigue riddles this meager fleshy body. It yearns to rest, but I’ll not let it do so. However, the journey is not quite finished, as there is still something more I must do.

  Out of reflex, I prop myself up against the wall, gripping onto a slippery stone surface without much luck, to catch a breath. My legs and arms are weary. My heart thirsts, and I fear I cannot quench it. A bit more rations left. I’ll have to use them wisely.

  Hurriedly, I grab hold of a small satchel tied neatly to my waist, one of several, but by far the largest, pulling out a small wafer. Carefully, I raise it to my lips, and blowing softly with my last bit of strength, I utter a simple spell.

  “Manger…”

  The wafer glows a vibrant blue, with a scent and allure most divine…or at least it feels so. I stuff it down, chomping on every morsel and savoring the feeling of food for the first time in days.

  “That should do.”

  My bitter strength returning, I relinquish hold of the wall and continue downward, creeping across each piece of masonry, too shoddy for a particularly safe crossing.

  I’ve nearly come to the end. Looking back upward, I must’ve traveled at least the depth of Grandfather’s tower, a small glimmer of breaking dawn nearly unseen through the many wooden beams barely able to keep this structure intact. They stink of mold and rot, their impurity covering the last bit of sunlight as I finally reach the bottom.

  An old, strong, massive ebony door bars the way, a complicated structure carved into place. There are no handles…no locks, but rather solid black stone laminated by the same ooze as does drench the walls of this filthy gutter. My boots squish into green mud as I step over to it, pressing my hands against the surface to feel for any hidden intricacies, a weakness or order in the structure.

  “This is no illusion, I can be sure of that.”

  It must be quite thick, several inches at least, judging by the sound of my knuckles knocking against it. It is old, at least by a century, no doubt serving its purpose these many years to keep out would-be assailants, but a door is still a door.

  With a full breath, I shout, “Détruire!”

  Like fire from my hands, smoke and flame fill musty air with debris and flickering stone fragments as a finer magical force explodes with absolute precision. I wait for the dust to settle, which is quite a slow process and in hindsight, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, bits of particles burning my eyes.

  However, to my dismay, once I can readily see again, the ebony door remains unscathed, remarkably so. At the least, something must have come of it, but alas, this is not the case. I would wonder if there is…

  “It must be the Grimoire.”

  More than likely, the book’s magic protects the first gate and perhaps many more to come. I should’ve assumed it wasn’t going to be this easy, but this apparent reality is a fear now laid to rest.

  Now what is that trickling sound? As a fresh squeezed orange, it drips ever so daintily. I look down and all I see is mud of a repulsive hue, but inside my older footprints from before, small reservoirs of liquid have pooled up, casting my thoughts elsewhere. By the door itself, my spell freed up enough mud to reveal a long, narrow crack nestled at its base where bits of liquid are pouring through.

  I see, this ebony door neither swings nor slides. Rather it was meant to, “Descendre.”

  Once the spell casts, I catch wind of a rumbling that shakes the foundations of this structure, threatening to bring it tumbling down. However, the feeling is swift and short, giving way to a scratchy sliding of wet stone as the ebony door lowers itself into the muck.

  Revealed to me is another trial, a narrow winding hall filled with complete and utter darkness, crumpled, cracked and aging walls and a shrill cold gusting forth as if this place scarcely breathed in ages.

  “Lampe,” I say to cast another spell, and a small dot of luminescence appears beside me. “Shall we venture forth?”

  Chapter II

  I Am

  Shifting about as I pace is the pitter and patter of some foul vermin, witty survivors better suited to life in here than I am. The stench is foul, like rotten eggs, blowing wisps of cold, damp air through my nostrils and singeing every hair therein. I can manage, of course, though few occasions exist where I were any closer to vomiting.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  A Grimoire like ‘Fantastica’ is a beast kept secret for good reason. To bury it far beneath the earth, under piles of rubble and decay…it must certainly hold dark secrets…

  “But I only require one.”

  My spell continues to brighten a small circle, dimly lit enough to make out cobblestone flooring and inscribed walls of a much finer, polished granite. The area feels…cleaner, to put it mildly, like stepping into a different world.

  I can only imagine when it must have been that the last human being set foot where I now stand. Decades? Centuries? Who knows? Grandfather was never clear when he spoke of the Grimoire, and when he did…

  “You must be weeping now, Grandfather.”

  “My, my, what do we have here?” cackles a voice from farther down the hall, nestled deep within vine and shadow.

  “Who is that?” I say. “Show yourself!”

  I ready myself for combat, my fingers outstretched, poised for the proper spell. Cautiously, I listen for an answer or appearance of some apparition, but my call meets an eerie silence and ever more shadow.

  “Ah!” it says. “And that stance…you’re a wizard!”

  Aggravated, I shout, “I said come out!”

  “I think not, wizard. I think not.”

  This entity is not human, likely a demon, but what is its nature? It will not show itself, so either it is weak or its nature lies in the shadow. Grandfather told me there would be demons here, however much I may have mocked the thought. It would appear Fantastica is certainly attractive to its kind.

  Dumbfounded, I pause, waiting for the demon to strike. The lampe spell should be enough to see it coming, but I hear no commotion, as if it neither treads nor slithers.

  With swift force, a claw slams into my side, like a razor whipping me around. I notice the bleeding wound but not the cause. Quickly, I clutch my wound to stop the flow, gazing desperately to see where it fled.

  “He, he, he! This is fun wizard!”

  I have to think this through quickly. It was here! I know it! This wound proves that much, but how could it have gotten by with
out me seeing? My spell should have lit every…

  “I see…”

  And that’s when I notice the shadow my figure casts across the granite wall, a perfect resting place for a dweller of shades.

  “I have a name, demon,” I say.

  In jest, it replies, “Names don’t matter to the dead!”

  Like a boy, I would have died here if a single year prior, but things have changed. I’m not the young man I used to be.

  “My name is Hector Grevant,” I say, “grandson of Reinstalle Grevant.”

  “So what?” it asks.

  Clasping my hands together, I utter the spell, “Lampe Grande!”

  With almost immediate reaction, my luminescence swells to three times its size, radiating an aura of illumination so great not a single crack lies left unturned, my shadow becoming but a tiny outline underneath my shoes.

  The corridor sits completely lit from end to end, and to my expectation, there lies a tiny mass of some kind of black blob sprawled neatly on cobblestone, desperately trying to escape as it clings to every crack in futility.

  “Ack!” it cries, “It burns!”

  I walk over to the poor thing and explain, “My grandfather has slain more demons than I can count.”

  Stepping back, I raise a single finger.

  “No, please no!” it screams.

  “Détruire!”

  Chapter III

  Unlikely Thief

  A foul odor sifts through the air like a lingering serpent most malignant. I can’t discern any longer whether it is here or there, though it’s becoming less repugnant as I continue. I assume one can become…familiar with a particular scent, but I’m not entirely certain in this case.

  For now, all I hear is the scurrying of vermin this way and that, likely from nearby passages or worse…inside the walls. I happen across a crudely kept door of red oak. For being as old as it should, the piece is in surprisingly good condition, well formed; albeit some pockmarks nestled themselves into grooves.

  “Strange,” I say, resting a finger against the coarse material surprised to find it is oddly smooth.

  There’s quite a bit of moisture to the touch, so much so that fragments of wood rub off as I gently caress it from side to side. I’d imagine if I were to force it open, the whole thing would crumble, but why haven’t the rats torn it to shreds? Furthermore, should not natural forces have rendered it to a pile of pulp?

  “There is certainly something unnatural about this place.”

  The thought runs a shiver up my spine, that the Grimoire could control the laws of nature. Then again, that notion is a godsend, for the laws of nature are the thing I must fight against.

  “Isn’t that right?”

  I reach down, clamping a hand against the rather large and oddly shaped satchel where I keep my most precious possession safe, though ‘possession’ might be off. In truth, that would do a disservice to the masterpiece that is…

  “Argh!”

  I scream without reservation, clutching my side, my hands drenched in the blood of a freshly opened wound. I rally against a wall, barely able to keep myself up, racked from insatiable pain as I feel an ever so slight rumbling below the surface. A quickly shifting lump navigates away from my hands, as if trying to evade them, surging beneath my skin like a living tumor. As it makes its way to my chest, I can feel it growing. This has to stop!

  With great haste, I pull a small knife from my utilities, the handle now too smeared in the murky red liquid as I tear open my tunic to find it below my collar and as soon as I see it…I stab it! Rending flesh like a hot loaf of bread, I hear a solitary scream muffled by meat and bone and with equal force, I twist the blade and rip it out.

  My luminescence shows the creature for a moment before it burns to ash, what at one point looked not too dissimilar from the demon I’d fought earlier, if a smaller manifestation.

  “Oh right, it struck me.”

  It appears I was to be the birthing ground for its child, though much to its dismay in whatever afterlife awaits, the shadow demon will have no heirs to its name.

  “A fitting end.”

  I’ve lost too much blood, my head throbbing with a dizzy haze that refuses to vanish. Vision blurs in and out of focus as I struggle to remain awake but with little success, as I drift ever so softly into a transient state of mind. With my body finally stooped against the cobblestone, a pool of blood reaching a little farther outward by the minute, I gently gaze off to whatever dreams may lie in wait…

  In a realm between worlds, an oddly familiar voice calls out to me, “But you can’t quit now!”

  “I’m sorry,” I reply, “but I’ve failed you. I’m going to die now, Vanessa.”

  “How can you say that? Have you truly no strength left?”

  “Barely anything at all.”

  “That’s still something!”

  Bah, what does she know…?

  “Please, just let me die with dignity.”

  “No, if you’ll not finish what you started, you’ll have nothing but shame to the family name! Do you want that?”

  Always so demanding…that certainly is Vanessa through and through, or at least a close enough delusion to the real thing, but the specter does have a point. Why I’m here…what I’ve stolen…there isn’t any turning back if I’m to right the wrongs I’ve suffered.

  “I…I’ll try.”

  “You have to get up now, Hector,” she says. “Hurry! They’re taking me away!”

  With a gasp of breath, I awaken to a scene of utter blackness, realizing my spell faded shortly after losing consciousness. Whispering quietly, I cast it again.

  “Lampe!”

  As the orb forms, dim rays of illumination portray a small vermin clutching my most precious possession in its foul disease ridden fangs. To my left, the knife I’d used lies. Before it even has a chance to scamper off, I reach over and grab the weapon, promptly jamming the blade through its belly. A small squeak lets loose…then death. Carefully, I snatch it from the vermin and tie it tight and close.

  “Now, time to mend these wounds.”

  Chapter IV

  Somber Crossing

  Past a rocky outcropping, I find my way to a long, narrow curved bridge adorned with bits of precious gems of red and green, the structure held in place by vast stone pillars extending into abysmal depths. The bridge itself appears quite solid to touch, as I reaffirm by planting one foot, then the other, down on smooth stone, astonished to find a firm base. I can speculate what powers may be of Fantastica, but I must be close in a place where rot and grinding decay must surely have triumphed by now.

  “You’ll be with us soon enough.”

  I look down, but to my proper mind, hear nothing, a silence both awkward and expected. I couldn’t hope to hear her voice again except at the border between worlds, as it were. I would like to, of course…just once. However, matters beyond my own means prevent our embrace.

  Scaling forward, I begin to cross the bridge, realizing the source of this foul odor that plagued my nostrils nearly for hours. It’s coming from below, the rancid stench of something grievous and profane. Perhaps the smell is becoming too great to bear, though in my mind, I imagine a pile of carved corpses giving off a similar scent.

  “But that must’ve been decades ago…”

  However, I stop speaking as I recall my hands rubbing across a smooth textured surface without imperfection or blemish, as if it were carved yesterday, a beautiful sight, if not a bit frightening. At least in part by the Grimoire, death and decay remain suppressed.

  “Ungh…” it’s becoming worse, the dizziness I feel because of the stench. Have to keep moving, or else…

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  A specter of sorts manifests itself in the form of grandfather Reinstalle, a hazy translucent figure mixing with the earthen hues that make up the walls and soil mixed between. He stands in midair, a tall man dressed in violet robes, the kind
he seldom wears except for ceremonies. His beard is profound, trimmed short, old and graying from a natural blonde-haired person who once might have shared a similar color to my own.

  “Grandfather?”

  Insistently, he stammers, “You should turn back, Hector.”

  “Shut up, grandfather. You have no say in this.”

  “I have every say in this!” he shouts.

  Barely able to stomach the thought, I lean over one side, fighting desperately to keep from vomiting as I stare into the black abyss below. There must be dozens, I ponder to myself…troves of men who met their fate in silence and isolation, much the same as what fate may soon befall me.

  “No…” I stammer, “Not after you let Vanessa go.”

  “It was an honest decision,” the specter exclaims. “Your mother was ill, and the girl offered to make the journey.”

  “You knew she wasn’t prepared. You were just selfish.”

  “And so were you, Hector. After all,” he says with a pause, “you did take her from us.”

  The nerve of a man who stood by and watched…allowed fate to run its course when he could have done something!

  “After you took her from me!”

  I whirl around to face him once more, to see an empty, gloomy chasm, a void filled with naught but a lingering odor of death itself. Maybe it was he, perhaps by some projection spell. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. Loss of blood and pungent fumes can make one see all sorts of things.

  Silently, I make my way to the end of the chasm, finally resting these weary soles on slightly firmer footing. To my surprise, the smell is gone within moments after clearing the very last step, likely a machination of the Grimoire. Perhaps, since I’m this close, death can’t even linger, though for that, I wonder what demons might inhabit further inside.

  “I’m not the one who should atone,” I hear grandfather say one more time. “You are walking a dangerous line, my child.”

  I say, “Because there is no other. You said it yourself, did you not?”

  “Yes, but I lied…if to protect you from evil.”

  “If evil is what I must embrace to feel her touch again…so be it.”

  Chapter V

  Blood Offering

  With ragged clothes and more than well-trodden boots, I approach what appears to be a gate engraved with elaborate runes. To make doubly sure, I reach down to grip my beloved, her stoic presence radiating a calm and soothing aura.