Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Final Conjuration
Seal XLIV
A slight movement near the ground caught the corner of my eye. Thor was back. And in the cat's mouth was an iron ring of keys.
"Is that where you've been?" I whispered. A quick glance out into the main room told me that Mayhew was not paying any attention at all to the prisoners--he was glancing up the stairs, fidgeting as he waited for the return of the sorcerer. He did not notice that he was no longer jangling.
I crouched and slowly took the keys from Thor's mouth, careful to not make a sound.
"What's that there?" said Septimus.
"Sh." I briefly showed him the keys. "Now's our chance."
"But that runt is out there."
"By himself. It will be him against us." I began trying the keys at the lock as Septimus peered out, keeping an eye on Mayhew's movements. On the third try, I heard a soft quick. Success!
Mayhew had taken to pacing and he was muttering to himself about how long the sorcerer was taking. He often glanced at his watch--probably counting down the minutes to the midnight hour which was the appointed time for whatever sinister ritual Blackthorne had planned. Mayhew walked toward us with his head to the ground and his hands clasped behind his back. Then he turned to pace back the way he came from.
Septimus and I moved in synchrony. The door to our prison banged open. Thor leaped out. I rushed towards Rhys with one key ready in my fingers. I jammed it into the lock on the shackles. It didn't work.
"What?" Mayhew was cut off as Septimus crashed into him and both men rolled to the ground, kicking, punching, cursing.
I tried another key, but it wouldn't turn.
"All of this commotion will only draw the sorcerer down here earlier," Rhys said lowly. "You've found your brother. Go rescue him from that fight and leave."
"I'm not leaving you here to get torn page by page."
"I didn't know you cared for me."
"Of course I care about you," I retorted. "Ah." The fourth key finally unlocked the shackles. Metal fell to the ground.
Rhys got up quickly to his feet. "We can't leave him like that."
"No." We made to intervene in the fight, but suddenly the rolling, punching bodies stopped.
Mayhew had his pistol pointed to Septimus' temple. "Take another step and I'll blow his brains out."
I froze. Septimus growled, his eyes as dark as an abyss, his mouth barred and snarling. If the seventh edition was anything like me, he could do nothing in his current position. He had no attacking spells.
Girl, do you still have my key?
I risked a glance at the Necronomicon. "Yes, why?"
Open me.
A chill skittered down my spine. "You don't know what you're asking, Al. That's dangerous."
I know I'm dangerous. But open me and keep down. I'll take care of him.
The altered key to Al felt cold against my fingers when I reached into my pocket. Slowly, I edged backward.
Rhys looked back at me. "What are you doing? Ana, don't listen to Al. He's trying to play the hero--instead he'll kill all of us with whatever horror he will unleash."
"Stop right there!" Mayhew barked. "Both of you, get back behind those bars."
Quickly, I took out the key and stuck it into Al's lock. It popped open.
Yesssss.
I pulled Rhys down with me to the ground. Reluctantly, he came with me.
The Necronomicon flipped open by itself and a stiff breeze started to blow in the room. Mayhew's eyes widened as he caught sight of something that none of us grimoires could detect. He waved his pistol wielding hand around as if he were trying to brush away a fly. With that movement, he lost his grip on Septimus who wisely rolled away to a safe distance.
Mayhew began screaming. He dropped his pistol and began clawing at his own face. The anguished cries were then stopped by chocking sounds. Mayhew went limp.
Al laughed darkly in our heads. There was a thump as the Necronomicon closed itself. The key fell out of the lock.
Septimus was the first to get up. He took the discarded pistol and shoved it into his belt loop. Then he prodded Mayhew's body with the tip of his boot.
"Is he dead?" I asked as I approached. Mayhew looked untouched. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that he was just sleeping.
"I don't know," Septimus replied. "But I'm not going to take any chances. Hey you." He nodded towards Rhys. "Help me lock him up in that alcove."
As the men dragged the body to the cell, I went back to the table. Thor had pounced onto it and was sniffing at the old grimoire and making disgusted cat noises. "What did you do to him?"
Oh, nothing that you should worry about.
The cell door slammed shut. Septimus swaggered towards the table and scooped up Al and the key. He peered at both objects with great interest. "You'd be a useful companion to take with me on my voyages."
"You can't," I said. "Don't you realize what sort of book that is? There's some really bad stuff in that grimoire."
"All the better!" Septimus made his way to the edge of the platform and jumped into one of the row boats. Thor pounced after him. "I can use it to defeat all my enemies."
"Exactly where are you going?" demanded Rhys. "You can't leave us. We have a sorcerer to catch."
My brother gave us a sloppy salute as he briefly took his captain's hat off his head. "Hey, all I wanted to do was to get out of here. The sorcerer is your problem. Cheerio!"
I stood at the waters edge dumbfounded as Septimus rowed out into the underground canal. How could he abandon family like this?
Rhys shouted after him, telling him that he was a lily-livered coward.
"The sorcerer is your business," he called back. "But I'll visit sometime. Maybe I'll bring Marguerite too." With a maniacal sounding chuckle, Septimus, Al, and Thor disappeared through one of the canal tunnels.
"Damn, I'm late."
We turned to see a figure in crimson robes rush down the stairs. The sorcerer glanced at us in surprise.
"How did you get out? Where's Mayhew?"
I opened my mouth to say something particularly mean-spirited when he shook his head and stepped into the casting circle that had been painted on the floor.
"There's no time. And you can't stop me anyway." He spread out his arms and red light flickered from the painted circle. No doubt, he had erected some sort of barrier to keep from being disturbed. "I will call the spirits and everything shall be mine!"
As Blackthorne began to speak in strange gibberish, I turned to Rhys. "What does he mean by 'everything'?"
Rhys was frowning as he was trying to make out Blackthorne's words. "I'm not sure. But we have to stop it."
As I tried to think, I took out the book lantern I had put in my coat. The political tract was still glowing, abet faintly. "This is not going to help, is it? Is that barrier impenetrable?"
"We can test it," he replied. He took out the book lantern from his own pocket and threw it in Blackthorne's direction. The sorcerer didn't even flinch or pause in his litany. The religious philosophy book, however, bounced against an invisible wall and fell with a splash into the underground canal. Rhys sighed. "Well, since you're a book of protection, do you have a spell to counteract shields?"
"Not really, but I suppose I could try." I ran through several spells in my head, wondering which one to use. In the end, I decided to try all of them. I directed my energies towards the book lantern in my hand. Black sigils ran from my skin to the book cover, covering whatever was left of the glow with black viscous ink. I handed it to Rhys. "You're a better at throwing things than I am."
He hurtled the bespelled book into Blackthorne's shield. It went up in a puff of smoke when it touched the invisible barrier. My shoulders slumped in defeat, but Blackthorne finally paused in his chanting to look over at us. The sorcerer was smiling. And his golden locks seemed to shine brighter than usual, as if he had charged himself up on a battery.
"You're pitiful...argh!"
I shielded my eyes with an arm as his hair suddenly flashed into a white inferno. The sorcerer screamed. Squinting, I could see that Blackthorne was engulfed in some sort of strange flame that rose higher and higher until it blasted through the ceiling, raining down debris. Then as suddenly as the flame arose, it went out and there was no evidence of the sorcerer's existence except for bits of crushed bricks.
Rhys walked over to the casting circle to examine the remains. After a few seconds of searching, he seemed to find what he was looking for. "So that's what went wrong."
"What?" I walked over to him. He pointed to the edge of the circle where the jeweled jar had dropped, splattering dark red paint over several symbols.
"He didn't take time to notice that his circle was ruined. And performing any sort of ritual with imperfect tools can be deadly."
I was about to agree with him when a brick fell from the ceiling and smashed into the ground. Several others began to follow.
Rhys pulled me toward the stairs as the entire room began to cave in.
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