The Spirit of Roshit
ch 2 of a Cadovis story of Roda, fantasy
Reports of an evil spirit residing in a secluded cottage draw Cadovis and an investigative team. But when he finds nothing, Cadovis lets down his guard.
Read chapter 1 here if you missed it. Chapter 2 is next! This is a short story with only a few chapters, divided into bite-sized chunks for your reading ease.
The Spirit of Roshit
chapter 2
Cadovis held up a hand and the investigators pulled in their reins behind him. The house lay along a hollow, with all the grass, all the blooms, all the leaves on the trees dead or gone in a wide radius around the house. Birds yet chirped, but distant. The smell of plants, of all green things, had filled his nostrils as they rode, but now replaced by a sickly sulfur odor.
Ister and Loksey held arms across their faces. Angern had a smug expression, Cadovis thought, half of his mouth upturned, arms crossed, mustache bristling.
"Wait here," Cadovis said as he dismounted. "Do not approach until I give the go-head. Inderre?"
"Understood, Nür Cadovis," Aralkin and Loksey said.
"Got it," said Ister, followed by a terse nod from Tranton.
"All yours, Cadovis. Don't hesitate to call."
Cadovis waited on Angern, who shrugged. "I'm here to do your bidding, so your father said." He smirked as he emphasized father, as if to indicate some level of nepotism. Cadovis glared at him an extra beat before turning to the house.
The house was plain, two story, not more than a few rooms each level. Little more than a small box with a slanted roof and no greenery to speak of around it. He descended the slope and stepped cautiously to the front door, which stood ajar.
Cadovis pushed it open all the way. A stale odor of neglect wafted out. He glanced around the little house. The entry was a sitting area that took half of the main level. Everything appeared to be in place, if a little dusty. A painting of a woman hung on the wall, grim expression on her face. Little else caught the eye save a few worn upholstery chairs with low backs.
On the far side of the house, against a long, distorted window, was a kitchen and eating area. A shallow wash basin had a few bugs in it and no water, the counter strewn with pottery and wooden goblets. Opposite it was a little bedroom with a daybed against the wall and a stately wardrobe on the wall across.
His spirit-sense didn't ping, but it wasn't sleeping either. Perhaps it was on alert because he expected a spirit. The aura hummed in the background of his mind, but nothing more.
A ladder rose to an upper level, and Cadovis climbed it to find a little loft with lots of dust and crates for storage. He descended again, tapped a finger against his thigh, then spotted a hatch in the hall between kitchen and bedroom. He hauled it up and peered into a dank dirt cellar. It was maybe half his height, so he lowered himself into it and crouched. Very little light entered, only slivers of sunlight from cracks and imperfections in the stone foundation. The dirt was piled and lumpy to his left, but to his right it had been excavated for cold storage. A few bottles and jars littered the area.
He pulled himself back out with a sigh. All this hype for another dud? He shook his head. There was no spirit here. He leaned out the front door and whistled shrilly, gesturing with his arm. Might as well let the crew take a gander before they rode clear back to the garrison.
Cadovis moseyed back through the house, glancing casually about. He picked up a goblet, rolled it around in his hands, felt its imperfections. It had been dropped more than once and used well. He wondered who had lived here. His fingers brushed against something etched in the bottom of the cup, and he held it up for inspection. A figure, he couldn't make it out.
Out the front window, Ister led the way as they all approached the house. Cadovis's gaze roved about the room, taking it all in nonchalantly. His eyes alighted on the one halfway interesting point. The painting on the wall was fairly simplistic with basic colors, but textured, with the paint seeming to rise off the canvas. The woman had a slight smile on her face, and something about her eyes seemed to look right at him. It was a creepy effect, he thought, and turned aside.
A grim expression on her face. His eyes shot back to the painting. That's what he had told himself when he'd entered. Now she was clearly smiling, looking straight at him. Ister's feet hit the wooden slats of the porch at the front of the house. He looked down at the cup, at the etching on the bottom of it--the woman's face there as well, grinning back at him ear-to-ear in perfectly placed scratches and markings. His blood ran cold and his voice caught in his throat. From the bedroom, the sheets fluffed up, gradually but irreversibly, first into little lumps, then filling out into the shape of a woman.
"No!" he cried out at last. Ister had entered, and the others piled in after her. "Run! Get out of here now!"
They stood aghast, stunned, no one moving except Tranton, who made a lunge for the door. It slammed shut in his face, no one having touched it.
With his heart pounding and his mind screaming out for his spirit-sense, Cadovis realized--his spirit-sense wasn't waiting, humming in the background. It was shouting. But something was suppressing it.
#
Cadovis halted, wind and snow swirling around him. He cupped a hand over his eyes, peering through blowing snow into the distance. The tower should be near, by his calculations. He turned his back to the wind and unfurled the map again across his chest, as he had so many times before. He traced a gloved finger over the route. The tree of many trunks, big as a forest itself; the island shaped like a keyhole in the teardrop lake; the cave in the mouth of a great statue, once massive and impressive, now covered in vines and moss and trees.
The tower was next. He tapped a finger on it. It had to be close, if only this infernal snow would end. He ran a hand down his long, graying beard, loosening the ice crystals clinging to the hairs. He strained for a glimpse, a silhouette, a shape through the sea of white. His father would be there, trapped inside all these years, waiting for Cadovis to come for him.
He thought back to that day again. The day he learned about his father. The day everything changed.
To be continued
For more stories of Cadovis, see the following:
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