Deep in the seldom trafficked mountain vales and sheer canyons is a small town, friendly enough to outsiders, but whose denizens make it clear that any traveler should clear out by nightfall or remain inside the inn.
Only Wraithvine can get to the bottom of this, though it might be better to work alone on this one… -- Anon Guest
Wraithvine arrived in the little town close to sunset and was confused by the sight of people hurrying to their homes and businesses rushing to close up. Then one of the staff at the Inn literally dragged him in with a shepherd's crook.
"Stay in, stay in," urged the child. "Them out after dark are found dead."
The innkeeper was urgently closing the shutters. Her husband was lighting every lamp in the chamber with a desperation to be quicker than he could manage.
Wraithvine lit all the unlit lamps with a gesture.
"Thank the gods," said the Innspouse, "please? Can you do the same for all the rooms? We need to hurry before its dark." The fact that he took the stairs two at a time made Wraithvine hurry to assist. They must have delayed because someone spied Wraithvine's approach.
They should not pay in terror for their kindness to a stranger.
Once the inn was secure, Wraithvine asked for the story.
"There was a great evil done here, once. Or close to here," said the Innkeeper. "They say that the souls of the wronged are still rampaging. Taking every intelligent creature they find to join their wild hunt. Folks stop their ears and wear blindfolds just to survive the night. Mothers hold their babies close or tie their children down just to be sure of their safety. The animals are fine unless they're cunning... but the cunning ones know to stay inside in the light."
"Of course, nobody who's seen it has lived to tell. Some have heard high voices through the wool in their ears. That's all."
This was something... eldritch.
It might even be time for hir original job. "I might be able to help," ze said. "But just in case, keep watch over my cat and my dragon."
The dragon was in a small pouch decorating hir Wizarding hat. Lilbit had to be extracted from hir portable tower, though she was content to purr by the fireplace.
Wraithvine paid for a small room and asked for it to be bolted from the outside. Then ze snuffed the lamps and opened the shutters. There were spirits, true, but not mere vengeful ghosts.
Siren's spirits, meshed with banshees. Cursed with a lust for blood by some self-propagating magic. The souls they took joined the throng, allowing the menace to go further and take more.
It had been a long, long time since the last time ze'd called for the help of hir patron goddess. Wraithvine's hat had changed over the centuries, but one constant of it was a single black feather. It was just as eternal as Wraithvine. A token of her favour. Even if someone tried to take it away, it always found its way back to hir.
Wraithvine looked up to the daughter moon, the stellar body where the goddess was meant to be in the mortal world. Ze was one of the very few living who had no fear of saying her name.
"Ereshkygal, Dread Maiden and Hostess of All Beings... Your servant needs your help. There is a curse here that defies thy law."
The singing-shriek of the phantasms tried to pull Wraithvine out of shelter by hir heart. They didn't know - nobody knew - Wraithvine's heart was already dedicated elsewhere. Even then, ze had to cling to the windowframe to resist that song.
It was horrible, and alluring, and horribly alluring. Wraithvine didn't know whether ze wanted to follow it wherever it lead, or to seek it out to kill it. Murder, ze reminded hirself, was for the unimaginative.
Death was the decision of his goddess.
The chill of the tomb made hir breath turn into small clouds, which took the shape of a bird skull against the ink of the night.
Be My Eyes, came the whisper of the ossuary.
As always, Wraithvine surrendered to her will. Ze let the goddess ride in hir form. There was cold, and a creeping, constant fear, and whispers of regrets just out of hearing. Wraithvine could see and feel what hir body did, but ze was no longer in control.
Neither were the things in the night. Not any more.
The Dread Goddess took hir body out into the open. The perfect bait. The perfect trap. Her threshing flail could gather them all in one swing, but she preferred to gather them one at a time. She was faster than a synapse firing, more vicious than a pygmy shrew, and as merciless as a jellyfish.
She was effective, but exhausting to carry.
The phantoms were gone, but their source remained. Wraithvine woke, wholly hirself, on a park bench at the dawn. Hir body felt like it had been wrung out. Ze'd have better energy after a good breakfast, but ze also had some knowledge in hir head, thanks to the goddess.
Of course there was a cursed artefact inside a maze under a nearby mountain. Of course there would be a lot of traps, puzzles, and monsters guarding it.
...and of course someone had to go drop it into an active volcano.
Just another part of the service.
[Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash]
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