“… eska regani Govala celaket…”

The strange chanting echoed through the large room, a room empty of any adornments or windows. The only contents of the room were four tall candle holders at each cardinal direction, the flames from the candles barely illuminating the room, a iron-wrought brazier in the centre, and its robed occupants.

A dozen robed figures stood in a circle, their hands upraised as they chanted the guttural language in low voices. The voluminous robes they wore obscured their appearance, so it was impossible to tell if the figure was male or female, large or small – they all looked the same.

A mist was slowly seeping from the glowing coals of the brazier, flowing out of the confines to lay heavily around the base. As the chanting intensified, the mist began to spread from the centre of the room until it was swirling around the figures, the occasional tendril reaching high to caress a hand or thigh before rejoining the thick mist.

” …eska regani Govala celaket…”

The chanting continued to rumble from the figures, increasing in intensity with each passing rendition. The mist in the centre of the room continued to boil out of the brazier until the entire floor of the circular room was obscured by the thick, white mist.

One by one, the chanters fell to their knees, their hoarse voices no longer able to keep up with the fevered pitch of the chant. Around them, the mist began to take on a red tinge as it began to devour the flesh of those who could not continue. The screams of the weak mixed with the chanting of those who still had strength, causing the entire room to reverberate with such intensity and power that it seemed it might collapse upon itself.

As the blood fed into the spell several more chanters reached their limit and collapsed into the mist, lending their screams and blood to the powerful magic being worked. Finally, only four figures remained standing, “… ESKA RAGANI GOVALA CELAKET!” they shouted as one, dropping their hands to their sides in a gesture of finality.

Silence reigned. Even the screams were cut short as the final syllable echoed through the chamber.

Above the brazier, the mist began to form a shape. A hunched, powerful shaped stared from the mists, its red eyes surveying the room as its tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, tasting the blood in the air. Its mouth widened into a parody of a smile, sharp misshapen teeth glowing fiercely in the flickering light. Slowly, it drew itself out of the mists to reveal a lanky, bony body with a red, leathery skin stretched tight over it. It had four limbs, although it was so double-jointed that it appeared capable of using any of its limbs as arms or legs.

The mist parted before the creature as it stepped fully out of the fiery realm it hailed from and surveyed those who had summoned it.

“Govala!” The four remaining figures cried as one, “We have summoned you. You are bound to do our bidding.”

Govala ignored the four as it walked a slow, jerky circle around the brazier, licking its lips incessantly. Finally, it stopped in front of the north-ward figure and chuckled cruelly, “I do no one’s bidding.” Casually, Govala reached out a clawed hand and tore the throat from the figure. The hood fell back to reveal an old, bald man, eyes wide with terror as his life seeped through desperately grabbing fingers.

Govala hissed in pleasure and turned to look at the other three figures. It slowly licked the old man’s blood from its claws, looking for all the world like a giant, malformed cat cleaning up milk from its paw. Suddenly, Govala leapt up in a blur, moving too fast for the human eye to follow as it darted around the room. When it finally settled down again, the three remaining figures slowly toppled to the ground, revealing two men and a middle-aged woman, all staring with sightless, fear-filled eyes as their life blood stained their robes.

“Now.” Govala rubbed his claws together eagerly, “What pleasures await me here?”

The necklace glowed for a brief moment before it shattered in her hands, the metal and gems exploding outward. With a cry, she barely managed to raise her arm in time to protect her eyes and felt the shards burn into her forearm.

Cautiously, she lowered her arm and looked at the remnants that remained in her hand – a simple chain, scorched on the ends, and a small, clear jewel that had somehow remained in her palm. There were small scorch marks on her palm, but blessedly she had not actually been burned.

“Is everything OK, Gabriella?” A voice floated over her shoulder, coming from her companion who had been waiting a few paces away.

“No, Jorge,” Gabriella said bitterly, “Everything is not OK. It’s gone.” Tears were welling up in Gabriella’s green eyes as she started into her hand, shrugging off Jorge’s comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s all over…” She tipped the remnants to the ground and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as though cold despite the thick cloak she wore over her travelling clothes.

Jorge watched as Gabriella released those few remnants, dropping to the ground with barely a whisper. “Surely we can come back from this? This can’t be the end”

“Oh but it is…” Gabriella whispered, “That necklace held all the magic of the Free People, it was the last hope in defeating these demons. It was my responsibility to keep it safe, to ensure no harm came to it before it could be used. I have failed.”

Jorge didn’t respond. What coud he say? All she said was the harsh truth – without the necklace, they had no way to fight the demons. No way to establish a safe home for themselves. His hands dropped to his side as he considered all the implications of the lost necklace, tears beginning to stream silently down his face.

Gabriella was sobbing now, clutching herself as her body shuddered with emotional pain. Finally, her sobs sputtered out and she just sat there shuddering, coughing occasionally.

Jorge and Gabriella stayed that way for a long time, each absorbed in their own thoughts and emotions as they considered this horrible setback and all that it meant for their people.

As the silence dragged out, Gabriella eventually stood and wiped the remaining tears from her face. Her features had hardened and she looked determined. “Jorge. We have to find a way to fix this.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, “Do you remember what Mage Cecilia told us when she gave us the amulet?”

“That we had better protect it or she would kill us?”

Gabriella allowed herself a small smile at that, “Well, that too. But do you remember what she said about hope? The story of Pandora?”

Jorge nodded slowly, cautiously, “I remember. She opened a box, released all the ills of the world, but found that hope remained. Or something.”

“Close enough. Hope always remains, Jorge. We just have to figure out how it remains, and what we can do about it.” She turned to face him fully, her hands on her hips “The necklace may be gone, but we are still the Free People. We will find a way. Now, let’s go. We’ve spent enough time sobbing here in the forest – we need to meet up with our contact and come up with a new plan.” She reached out and placed a hand on Jorge’s shoulder, looking deep into his eyes “We can do this.”

Read part two here!

The elf fingered the bone knife at her belt absently as she watched the forest from her treetop perch. The humans were doing their annual hunt again, and the forest was filled with their loud footsteps and yipping dogs. They had no idea who truly lived in these trees, whose soil they were trespassing upon.

The humans had been doing this hunt now for nearly 100 years. A long time, by human reckoning, but Shia could still remember the first hunt of the humans, when she had still been a small child. The first few years had been the worst, the elves had still been coming to terms with the small human settlement nearby when the humans began their annual hunt.

After those first horrific years, the elves had done what they could to protect the creatures of the forest. They realized quickly that the humans would continue to hunt, and that simply driving away all the beasts wasn’t enough to dissuade them. The humans were nothing if not stubborn and refused to give up a hunt without something to show for it. So the elves had adapted, slowly. They had conferred with the beasts’ leaders and together they had come up with a solution, a sacrifice.

Each year one of the weakest of the animals was chosen to be the hunted, to sacrifice itself for the good of the forest. Each type of large creature took a turn, and never twice in a row. Over the years, it had become a sign of pride to be chosen for the sacrifice.

And that was what Shia was watching over on this day. They had sent the sacrifice, an older deer that may not last the winter but still appeared fit, and the humans had spotted it.  Shia’s task was to make sure the humans did not stray, to gently nudge them towards their prey if they lost the path, and to warn away all other large creatures from the path. It was only the second year she had been chosen for the task but she was determined that the humans would get their hunt and leave without any delay.

A sound in the distance caused her to perk up. They hunt was coming this way.

She watched as the stag darted under her perch, it’s beautiful antlers covered in lichen and a touch of silver showing in the hair on its flanks. Shia’s breath caught at the sight of the creature and she let it out with a whispered prayer of thanks for its sacrifice today.

Despite its age, the stag was leading the hunter on quite a chase, drawing out the hunt longer to help satisfy the bloodthirsty humans. Shia hated that they had to do this, but they had tried, when the humans first settled, to encourage the settlers to move on. The humans had been stubborn from the first, digging their heels in further at each strange setback.

Shia tilted her head to listen for the hoofbeats and yipping that preceded the hunting party. Distantly, she could hear the hounds pick up the trail of the stag and start barking in a frenzy, leading their human masters onward into the forest.  Shia idly fingered her knife again, considering how easy it would be to simply kill the humans as they passed beneath her. She knew enough about their customs to know that if she cut off their head, the rest would fall to squabbling and they might even leave. Or they might burn out the forest in search of whomever had killed their leader.

It was one reason the elves hadn’t simply destroyed the humans, so long ago. Had any survived, or had another happened upon the destruction, the likelihood of retaliation on the forest that the elves had sworn to protect since before memory was far too real.

Thundering hooves began to come quickly upon her hiding spot, and Shia pulled further back into the leaves. She didn’t think she would actually be spotted, but years in hiding had taught her caution. She watched the humans as they galloped below her, all shining and brilliant. And deadly. They each had a sword strapped to their waist and a spear in hand and some had even more tools of destruction about their persons. Shia shuddered in distaste. No self-respecting elf would ever touch a weapon of metal, a weapon that they themselves had not crafted. Shia’s own bone knife had been carved by her on her 25th year, and her bow she had crafted a mere ten years before, when her archery master had deemed her talented enough to deserve her own bow.

These humans, though, were handed their weapons and not taught to respect them, or to respect those they killed. It was like they could not see the soul in everything.

Shia sighed softly to herself as she watched the last of the hunters thunder past. She stood in her perch and stretched tight muscles, getting ready to trail the hunters with her brethren. Up ahead, further elves were keeping watch, ensuring that the hunters stayed on track. Her part was finished, except to help make sure that there were no stragglers getting lost in the woods. She joined a few other elves as they slipped quietly through the shadowed forest, their quiet, smooth movement unnoticeable except to the most attentive observers.