Page 158 of Season Warriors & Wolves

“Whoever I see out at battle will find hell. My hell! And that I swear oath, you will all burn. Walk south, walk east or west, we will welcome you, should you choose to leave my father’s side.”

I backed into the portal Visha had opened behind me until the people of Isjord disappeared from view.

Two beasts stood chained in the middle of Visha’s quarters that suddenly looked entirely too small. “Well, well, well. Look at you making friends, Visha.”

My witch stared at me under her lashes. “Look at you giving speeches.”

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“Better have been,” Cai said, stepping inside the crowded room. “You risked a lot for that little stunt.” He nudged a beast with his foot. “Nothing could convince me to turn into this. How the hells do they still have a brain after drinking Vas’s blood soiled with all that Caligo shit?”

“They don’t,” Visha said, pulling open one of her cookbooks. “The Caligo substance poisons the head. They would be…feral, like the beasts from the Ater battles. Except, those wanted to invoke chaos without direction and these can cause chaos by order. Brainless but thinking.”

“How?”

Visha shut her grimoire. “They’ve planted something inside of them that controls their minds while they are in that state.”

I studied the creatures my father had made, tilting my head to get a better look at the mark on their neck, right where their small incisions were. “Interesting.”

“What is?” my friend asked, crossing his arms.

“A khamir,” Visha said, grinding some sort of herb. “The mark of a spirit still living in its vessel. Some stubborn souls tend to do this after passing.”

Penelope shot up from her seat, startling me. “P-p-possession? Spirit possessions aren’t real. You said they aren’t real, aunt. No spirit can cross the mantle of the Mid-world.”

“Not possession. A khamir mark is usually harmless. A way to let us know that a soul needs help to be guided beyond. No spirit has the ability to use their human form. This would also mean Melanthe had to kill them first before turning them into beasts and that makes absolutely no sense at all because they can turn to their human form. Have lives. Speak, walk, eat and remember.” She walked to them, slashing a dagger to her forearm and letting it drip to the floor. “One would also think puppeting a dead soul is an easier, much easier thing to do. If she was the God of Death himself. At best, she is a light joke he’s been told at dinner. Souls in their spirit form are one of the most difficult to control. They bear strong grudges, regret, love, longing happiness, intense desire. Easier to persuade one's mind than one's soul.”

Pen winced at her mentor’s bloody mess. “Alaric is going to be mad.”

Cai pushed off the wall he leaned against to reach closer. “Moregan has told us that her body has no command when she heeds Melanthe’s call. Is it their mind? Perhaps she really is controlling their minds.”

“No. A powerful enough Crafter can control only two or three at a time. There are a million of these beasts. She has definitely found a way to use souls, I just have to figure out whose or what part. Perhaps…something else entirely.” The blood began moving over the marble, circling the beasts at the command of Visha’s chant. She blew the powder she’d grinded in the air and the creatures began convulsing, shaking and foaming from their mouth and nostrils, slowly turning to their human form.

“Are they dead?” Pen asked, leaving her bench and crouching before the circle.

“They are,” I said. “But breathing somehow.”

“P-possession?” Penelope asked, looking up at Visha.

“No, their spirits have already departed. Whatever rot Melanthe has planted in them to control them in their beast form has killed their bodies, too.”

“Moregan told me she was struggling to remember, wake, sleep, and eat before taking the blue gyre. Was it this? Something corrupting her from the inside?”

“Possibly. The dark bane has kept the rot at bay. Slowed it.”

Penelope chewed on her finger, looking between Visha and I. “Aunt, but how is Melanthe controlling them?”

“It isn’t Melanthe controlling them,” Visha said, her fingers curling in the air to turn it a hue of red. Time changed around us, it remained almost unmoving—almost as if we were in a new one entirely. The in between as they called it, or the Mid-world, stretched parallel to us, visible under Visha’s magic. Between the crimson smoke around us, two black strings hovered afloat, tied around the men’s necks that extended toward the windows and for long miles ahead, disappearing in the distance. “Another spiritual Aura is.”

Cai’s eyes were wide. “Adriatians?”

Visha slid a finger over the strings. “With some help from a Crafter. I’ve never known any Adriatian Aura besides Kilian and Malik to have any affinity with death and beyond it. To manipulate souls outside their bodies or tie strings to control them after death.”

As if they had been summoned at the mention of their names, the two brothers stood leaning on each side of the door, their hard focus on the black strings. Both of their looks grave.

Visha’s palm opened and the red mask between the two worlds disappeared. “My first assumption is simple. They were fed the potion with Vas’s blood so they could turn into the immortal creature. Then planted with a beacon of sorts that would make it possible to control them in their animal form. This beacon feeds on mana. Once it consumes all the mana, it kills the host. And to keep the bodies from rotting, they do not turn back into their human form.” Visha blinked once, utterly emotionless as she said, “That is about five rules of living and dying broken. Melanthe is doomed.”

“So this is the work of an Adriatian?” I asked.