Ascent of the Demon

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. No one lingered within view of the dilapidated structure to bear witness to the intrusion, however. In fact, not a soul besides the necromancer had dared come within a league of the cabin in a decade – so dread was the curse pronounced by its last occupant. Rentobius, however, didn’t fear profane magic. Indeed, he’d come in search of it: the last bit of missing lore necessary for the Ritual. Forgotten words, written in an ancient tongue, waiting to be unearthed by one destined for greatness …

Delilah stared out the grime-covered window, fixated on the dark rectangle of a door barely visible across the courtyard. She had been waiting for what seemed an eternity. The Mage Tower she’d grown up in loomed silent and still like a slumbering giant, offering no reprieve. Lifting her gaze to the gloomy sky, Delilah squinted to pierce the swift-moving clouds, reassuring herself no moon hovered in the inky firmament. The calendar predicted as much, but she was convinced the silver sentry did not dare stand watch on such an unholy night.

Feeling her pulse thump, she ran fingers through her long, sable hair and massaged the top of her spine. What was keeping Rentobius? He must know this waiting was torture. Of course, he always had patience in plenty. She could only guess how many decades of research and deception the necromancer invested toward attaining this final achievement; tonight, she would help him summon and bind to his will one of the mythical Deabru.

Denizens of the abyss, the Deabru inhabited nightmarish forms matched only by their cruel intellect, which they used to lord over the hapless souls remanded to their domain. Rentobius would have nearly unlimited power with such a demon under his control. Perhaps then, he would let her go.

From the corner of her eye, Delilah registered movement; her attention snapped back to the window. Across the nightshade green of the courtyard, she spotted the outline of Rentobius as he exited the calm light of the tower. Once he closed the door, however, his midnight blue robe rendered the necromancer invisible.

Moments later, the stone door of the laboratory ground open. Delilah stepped away from the window to compose herself, unwilling to give Rentobius the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. When he entered the portal, an unsettling chill accompanied him, along with the familiar stench of death.

"Kelfar." One word of magic was all it took to send the heavy door scraping closed behind him.

"I thought you would never get here." She meant to sound accusatory, but her anxiety came through plainly enough. She stared at her mentor, hoping to force an explanation. His gray beard was thin and uneven, doing little to hide his wrinkled face. She tried to read him, but the deep-set eyes glaring back at Delilah were so different from her own.

Ignoring her statement, Rentobius walked down the half-flight of stairs to the sunken portion of the laboratory. She watched him scan the room, making sure everything was in order. The torches lining the walls burned with an eerie greenish flame, casting shadows that danced like tortured puppets across the stone. Patches of hungry darkness swayed with the flame, and the flickering gave the chamber a deceptive quality Delilah thought fitting to its owner. Tall, wooden bookshelves and tables outlined the dismal chamber. Hundreds of ancient volumes and scrolls occupied the furniture, heaped in chaotic piles.

The central feature of the room was a massive obsidian altar, resting on a dais. Ancient runes were carved into its sides, and it emitted an aura of decay that must have blanched even the necromancer's soul. Strewn across the altar were the ingredients Delilah and Rentobius had been gathering for months.

"Delilah dear, have you finished cataloging the components?"

She couldn't stand it when he asked obvious questions. "Of course. I've been standing in this accursed place for over an hour. What took you so long?"

A crooked smile spread across Rentobius’s bearded face. "I was simply being a good host to my guest. Sfith knows I'll need the strength tonight.”

Although Rentobius often invoked his name, she knew the God of the Dead had nothing on her master. Warmth bloomed in Delilah’s cheeks. "At least your guest won't have to get up in the morning."

Whether the necromancer was affected by her sarcasm, he did not acknowledge it. Without another word, they began placing the ingredients from the altar into a large satchel. When they finished, Rentobius's hand delved into one of his many pockets and withdrew two lockets. The charms were identical: a circle of gold being eclipsed by one of onyx – symbol of Luprak, God of the Night. Beautiful as they were, the lockets’ value lay in their powerful magic; each contained enough energy to instantly transport its wearer to any location on the continent – in this case, the Well of Souls. Rentobius needed to conserve his own strength for the struggle of summoning and controlling the demon.

"Now, my child, place the medallion around your neck and hold my hand." Rentobius offered a locket to Delilah, who accepted the token, overcoming her instinct to draw back. As a grown woman, she felt thoroughly repulsed by the same wrinkled hand she’d found comforting in her youth. Delilah reined in her disgust and forced her hand into his grip ...

In a flash, the scenery around her transformed. Though the floor she stood upon remained chiseled stone, a chill wind instantly announced she was outdoors. She released Rentobius’s hand and drew her cloak tight to stave off the biting cold.

They stood within a secluded grove of oak trees that battled fiercely with every gust. The scent of growing plants was especially sweet after the overbearing stench of the altar. Beneath the grove sat a cracked floor of dark gray granite, scarred by intruding weeds and centuries of weathering. Though there was barely light to judge, the surrounding forest seemed impenetrably thick. Delilah had the feeling no one had disturbed this clearing for ages.

At its center stood an imposing structure like none she had ever seen. It must be the Well, she thought. The ancient foundation was composed of a strange mineral she did not recognize. Unfamiliar runes were etched into its smooth, glassy surface, and great pillars around the Well stretched toward the night sky as if to petition the gods’ attention. They stood alone, supporting nothing, monuments to something mortals were not meant to remember.

"Behold," Rentobius said in a booming voice, “the Well of Souls. Finally, Little One. All our years of work shall be rewarded tonight! Be ready, my dear, for I will need your help if I am to control the demon. The fire of magic is strong within you."

Delilah looked away; she abhorred him calling her “Little One.” She had seen twenty-three summ— suddenly, an incredible force intruded upon her mind, blocking out her thoughts. Her mouth opened to scream but no sound came. Reeling in pain, Delilah collapsed onto the hard floor. Then, just as rapidly as it arrived, the pain shifted into a strange, tingling sensation that left her relaxed and numb, drifting back into the halls of her memory…

The rumble of the tumultuous storm roused Delilah from her bed. Lightning didn't bother her so much as the thunder. Whimpering softly, she tiptoed down the hallway to her parents' room, dragging her favorite doll behind her. Their door was already ajar. When she peeked in, the lightning illuminated a gruesome scene, eliciting a scream.

The shriveled corpses of her parents lay in awkward positions upon the floor. An old man in a dark robe stood above them. The stranger saw her and spoke a single word, which she could not understand, and a soft glow issued from the pendant around his thin neck. The hypnotic light soothed her fears, as did the man's words of comfort.

"It's all right, little one. Mommy and Daddy didn't really love you, but I do. I'm going to love you so much." The man knelt and placed his hands on the quieted child's shoulders. "You're going to come live with me from now on, and I'm going to love you so much,” he repeated. Delilah felt an unnatural calm as the stranger lifted her nightgown over her head. "I'm going to love you so much." The old man enveloped her in his embrace.

A blast of thunder startled Delilah. Dark clouds swiftly advanced toward the grove. She looked to the Well of Souls – the object of her study for years, yet one she had never seen until tonight. Its rim was only waist high, but even after walking closer she could not see inside, for a dark fog of animated shadows seethed forth from its depths. Delilah gazed above the horizon to gauge the severity of the approaching storm. Heavy clouds swirled overhead, leaving only a small patch of unfamiliar stars shining through. This was not her sky.

From his satchel, Rentobius withdrew a large canister of precious salt. "Let us begin." In a low voice, he began chanting the Warding, and she instinctively joined. Then, with painstaking care, the necromancer poured the white powder on the cold granite floor, walking slowly from one pillar to the next until he had traced a ring around the Well of Souls. The summoning circle would help focus their magical energy toward its center. Their chanting ceased, and with a clap of thunder, the First Rite was complete.

"No, no, no. You're doing it all wrong, dear. The feeling is important, but what comes from inside is only the fuel for the fire. The words and gestures are what give the fire a purpose and a shape. You must control the magic and not let it overwhelm you. Now, try again."

Delilah wiped the sweat from her forehead and concentrated as best she could. She went over each word of the spell in her head and what it meant to the magic. Satisfied, she recited them with proper inflection and gestured each somatic component with pain-staking accuracy. Her heartbeat quickened as a tongue of red flame arced forth from her fingertips. Beaming, Delilah turned toward her instructor for approval.

A crooked smile formed on his lips but faded almost immediately after it appeared. “The Gift is strong within you,” he said dryly, as if the taste of truth were bitter.

"Help me with the candles!" Rentobius barked, his patience dwindling with the starlight. He waited until Delilah was beside him before reaching into the satchel. One at a time, they withdrew five candles from the bag. Delilah realized he must have enchanted the satchel, for each candle was a yard long and wrapped in fine cloth – one candle alone should have been more than the bag could hold. Careful not to damage them, Rentobius and Delilah gently removed their velvet wrappings. An eccentric acquaintance of the necromancer, only known to Delilah through his letters, made the candles with sulfur in the wax before dying them blood red. Engraved on each were the insignia of the Lords of the Abyss.

A barely visible jet-black pentagram was painted over the pale gray of the granite floor. Delilah hadn’t noticed it before. Rentobius set a candle at each point of the symbol and stood back so all were within sight.

"Elmien Nibach." With a clap of his hands, Rentobius magically ignited the profane candles. The Second Rite was complete.

Delilah’s heart pounded as she approached the old tree marking their secret meeting place. Aaron, the necromancer's stable hand, was the only boy near her age she'd seen during her twelve years at the tower. For the last two, Delilah and Aaron had spent much of their free time together and became fast friends. Simple though he was, Aaron impressed her with his kindness and the way he found joy in the mundane. She never heard complaints about the obstacles put in his path, only witnessed his determination in overcoming them.

Several months ago, as he was helping her mount her horse one day, Aaron’s hand rested on her calf longer than it should. When their eyes met and he broke into a wordless smile, she felt a growing warmth in the pit of her stomach. Since then, Delilah’s gaze often lingered on his broad shoulders or admired the perfect symmetry of his back muscles while he pitched hay outside the stables. She knew Aaron was paying attention to her emerging body as well. She sometimes adjusted her clothes to reveal more of her soft, white skin when she knew he might be looking. It wasn’t long before they were stealing kisses at every opportunity, but Rentobius always seemed to be hanging about so their desires remained unquenched.

Finally, after some careful planning, she arranged for them to be free to meet one afternoon under the old oak. They had been avoiding each other for several days, hoping to allay any suspicions the old man might have.

Here she was, on time, but Aaron was late. Delilah’s breath stopped at a rustling in the bushes behind her. She whirled around, but instead of Aaron she saw a raven, which alighted on a branch above. When a hand settled on her shoulder, Delilah jumped, startled to find Aaron standing behind her. He had a vacant look in his eyes, as if their natural light had been extinguished, but Delilah was too overjoyed to be in his arms to mention it.

They left separately as planned, but when night fell, Delilah snuck up to Aaron's loft above the stables. She just couldn’t wait to be with him again. To her surprise, Rentobius was standing over the stable boy, whose leg was in a splint. "What happened?!" she cried.

"Oh, Delilah." Aaron's voice was shaky with surprise. "I fell off Chaos when I went riding yesterday. Master Rentobius thinks I’ve broken my leg."

Delilah’s mind reeled … they had been together only a few hours ago. Her glare shifted to her mentor just in time to spot a crooked smile creeping across his lips.

Why were these specific memories surfacing so suddenly? Delilah tried to focus on the ritual – the summoning was the only important thing now.

From one of his pockets, Rentobius withdrew a splendid diamond. Precisely cut by a master craftsman, the perfectly clear gem would act as a magnet to the darkness, absorbing the shadows and drawing the demon nearer. The necromancer walked slowly toward the Well of Souls, chanting a protective charm as he approached the gateway to the great void. Delilah echoed his words, doubling the strength of their spell. Rentobius reached over the edge of the Well and released the diamond. Rather than fall into the Abyss, the gem remained suspended over the seething mist, absorbing shadows and black fog. The Third Rite was complete.

The answer was near. Delilah had been struggling for months to translate the ancient text, and her work was almost complete. The wealthy Count of Adrias had commissioned the scrolls’ translation but had no real understanding of their purpose. They were political documents from ages past, it was true, but embedded in the code of the old language were secrets to a powerful necromantic spell, lost since the Spawning. Rentobius had been uncharacteristically pleased when he found he was gaining this new spell in addition to the Count’s generous donation.

As she labored through the final lines, uproarious laughter from the party beyond pierced the thick walls of the study. Intrigued, Delilah rose from her desk and cracked the door, peering out to the well-lit salon. The gathering included many well-dressed and well-liquored gentlemen and ladies, who danced to the animated string quartet or indulged in other amusements. Delilah had never been allowed to join them, which suited her; she could practically smell the pompousness from the study.

And yet, the women’s gowns were so beautiful. Even Rentobius, who she thought looked ridiculous in anything other than his typical dark robes, was dressed in finery for the party. She considered her own drab smock and sighed.

The Count of Adrias was undoubtedly present, though she had no idea which one he was. She didn’t know any of them, as a matter of fact, but was certain her mentor would use every bit of his unnatural charm to extract promises of future funding. They were probably the ones paying for this party, she smirked. Her amusement receded when she remembered at least one of them wouldn’t be leaving at all. With that thought, she shut the door to the study and went back to work.

Thunder boomed overhead; the storm was fully upon them. Gusts of wind whipped through the grove, though the magic candles remained lit. Rentobius lifted a large wineskin out of the satchel, once again defying perception. His wrinkled hand reached into his deep-pocketed robe and came out holding a small, clay bowl, which he placed on the rough, granite floor.

He emptied a red liquid from the wineskin into the bowl, but Delilah knew from her research this was no sweet vintage. The necromancer spat into the viscous fluid and chanted. Rentobius slowly stirred the mixture with his index finger until it began bubbling. Satisfaction written upon his face, he took his finger out of the simmering liquid and traced ancient letters on the foundation of the Well of Souls – letters that spelled out the Truename of the selected Deabru.

A rumbling reverberated from deep within the well; Rentobius had gained the demon's attention. The Fourth Rite was complete.

When Delilah first learned about his spell of vampirism, she was both shocked and intrigued. Those emotions had long since faded, leaving only disgust. Her repulsion wasn’t so much for what he did – by now she expected no less from him – but for both how he made her a part of it and the small seed of jealousy his dominion over death secretly nurtured.

Rentobius occasionally rode into town for the day – the same town he’d stolen her from over twenty years ago – and returned at night with another poor soul. Sometimes they were whores, imagining they’d found an easy way to earn the night’s wages. Other times, they were beggars down on their luck, following a kind old man who made promises of a warm meal and safe place to spend the night. Safe, indeed! After they were drugged and helpless he would ravage them, draining their life-force to prolong his own.

He forced Delilah to make the potions. Rentobius taught her the mixture of herbs and roots that would quickly paralyze the imbiber. Early on, she would stay and watch as he disrobed them and prepared the spell that would transfer life from their bodies to his. After casting the spell, he would join with them, sexually, though she didn’t sense he gained exactly pleasure from the act – it was more like feeding a hunger. Either way, it seemed a necessary part of the ritual to continue his unwholesomely-long life.

She often wondered what it was like to be in that position – the helpless victim, frozen but aware, being violated in the most extreme way possible, feeling the blood in your veins slow down until it ceased to flow, dying to scream but unable to voice it. Sometimes, she wished she was physically as helpless, if only to justify the helplessness she felt.

But she also envied the taker: the power, the absolute control he must feel claiming everything he wants without the slightest regard for others – to will himself the owner of another's life and then make it so. The idea had intoxicated her beyond a point she wanted to acknowledge.

Delilah continued assisting her master even after her initial fascination subsided, not only because he gave her no choice, but because she knew that, no matter how depraved the ritual was, it remained necessary for their goal. She couldn’t imagine anyone discovering all the secrets to the Summoning in a natural lifetime, nor anyone selfless enough to share such powerful knowledge. Rentobius’s methods served both their interests. She just wished there were another way.

The time had come, again. Delilah brought her freshly brewed potion out to the parlor, where Rentobius sat with a young woman … his “guest” for the evening. The necromancer acknowledged her with his crooked smile.

Delilah stared at Rentobius, engrossed in his incantation. What had he done to her? Stolen her from her murdered parents, abused and deceived her as he did the rest of humanity, enslaved her in his tower, keeping her isolated from the rest of civilization. Destroyed any chance she might have had for a normal life.

He did not see her as an equal. She was simply his pawn, and she was helping him achieve his greatest dream! What would become of her afterward? He would likely toss her aside as he did the rest of humanity after taking what he needed. Anger welled inside her, warming her blood against the cold. She turned away from her tormentor. Tonight, she decided, everyone will get what they deserve.

Rentobius beckoned to the sky and it answered. Flashes of white-blue lightning filled the air, gaining in fury and frequency with each gesture from the necromancer. Crying aloud, Rentobius circled his arms wildly until lightning bolts hurled themselves at the stone pillars. The monoliths absorbed the surges and grounded them into the granite floor. Delilah’s legs almost gave way as the earth convulsed under the power of the summoning spell. As the Well of Souls opened before them, she stepped closer for her first look into the Abyss. The home realm of the Deabru was a mesh of swirling shadow and smoke, black intertwined with black so deep she could not help straining her eyes to find a bottom that wasn't there. Then, through the murkiness, she spotted the core – a region of such darkness it made her brain cry out for light. But she could not look away, for what pained her mind held her heart in thrall. The Fifth Rite was complete.

Although she had never seen the Abyss before, Delilah recognized its power – a power she had to have. What better way to repay Rentobius for all his atrocities than to make his dream her own? Delilah knew she had been blessed with the Gift of magic. She accepted she was less mighty than Rentobius, but only because of the necromancer's unnatural lifespan. He had taught her almost everything he knew; the rest would come in time.

The old man would be weak after performing all the Rites. Barely enough strength would be left in him to cast the Domination, a complex spell she also knew. She could strike down her aging mentor and bind the demon herself. With the might of a Deabru before her, even kings would bend their knee. She would finally have the respect she deserved, and her very name would evoke fear. A grin blossomed across Delilah’s countenance as she explored the possibilities in her mind. She slowly backed away from the Well of Souls.

It was time for the Sixth Rite. Delilah heard the spidery tongue of magic, but when she glanced at Rentobius, his mouth was shut. He was in her mind! Fear seized her. How much did he know? She saw a crooked smile creep to his face and her heart skipped a beat. She ran her fingers through her thick hair, down to her neck. It doesn’t matter, she thought. There is only one part left to the ritual, and he wouldn’t dare stop now that he has drawn the Deabru's attention. There is no turning back, and he will be too weak to stop me. Delilah prayed to Sfith she was right.

Whether oblivious to her plans or not, Rentobius continued with the Sixth Rite. After reciting a passage from an ancient scroll, he had but to utter the Deabru's Truename to complete the summoning. As he spoke, a blast of thunder exploded, hiding the dark secret from the ears of the world. The demon began its ascent.

Delilah squared to face her master directly – it was now or never. If Rentobius knew of the coming betrayal, he didn't let it show. His face was a mask, devoid of expression. His eyes, deep as the Abyss, gazed directly into hers, and Delilah could almost feel them probing her mind, her very soul.

"No more!" she exclaimed, raising her right arm above her head. "Ampos Strivak!"

The air crackled and a bolt of black-tinged lightning surged down and struck Rentobius. The flash illuminated his bones, blurring any expression of surprise from his face. She could scarcely believe she had done it. The man – if he could still be called one – who had taken everything from her was vanquished, and all it took was the conviction to act. Delilah exhaled a long-held breath.

Rentobius’s charred remains were hardly recognizable, little more than a pile of smoldering bones and a smoking, midnight blue robe. Her revenge had begun but was not complete. She still had to deal with the demon.

Delilah gazed once more into the Well of Souls, this time relishing the pain that would soon engender omnipotence. From the darkness the demon ascended, climbing closer and closer to its new master. She had only to wait until she could see it, then recite the spell of Domination. She would be queen over all she desired.

Then, the fear hit. Like a huge fist preceding the Deabru, it slammed into her mind, knocking Delilah to the ground. In a surge of clarity, she realized the presence intrudin upon her thoughts hadn’t belonged to Rentobius, after all. It was the demon itself, conjuring memories to manipulate her in order to maintain its freedom. Even now, the Deabru telepathically described the eternity of savagery it would inflict upon her for daring to summon it.

Delilah struggled to her feet and amidst panic, tried clearing her mind to cast the spell. The Deabru's hatred for her spread like a horrid disease, haunting every inch of her flesh. Years of torment had prepared her, however. The demon swiftly approached its new master, for Delilah’s intellect won out. Tranquility descended upon her as she recalled the spell Rentobius taught her to usurp the will of the demon. It was close now; she could see its massive form outlined in the darkness. With renewed confidence, Delilah triumphantly spoke the words of Domination …

Nothing happened.

She pressed both palms against the rim of the Well of Souls and peered downward as the Deabru’s ascent continued. Its huge fangs, powerful arms, and sharp claws all came into focus. Once again, she chanted the words to the spell, but felt nothing. This couldn’t be right.

With a final surge, the demon sprang forth, loosed into the world. It was too late. Now, nothing could control it, nothing could stop it. Delilah looked upon its hideous face and thought she saw a familiar, crooked smile.