The Spirit of Roshit
ch 3 of a Cadovis story of Roda, fantasy
Okay, chapter 3 is here! Don’t let this interrupt our regular programming, which continues as usual. It’s more like a bonus that you can embrace or leave be. However, if you like epic fantasy, dark storylines, strange abilities, unusual creatures and monsters, and anti-heroes, then check out the Cadovis stories set in the world of Roda.
Chapter 3— you are here
Chapter 4—upcoming
Chapter 5—CONCLUSION!
The Spirit of Roshit
chapter 3
The woman-shaped lump under the bedsheets began to rise. One leg came out, bare to the knee, and set flat on the floor, followed by the other. The woman stood and the sheet slid off. Her clothes were tattered, dirty, ruined, but Cadovis stood transfixed on her face. It was a shapely face, almost pretty, with dark hair that hung about.
He shook his head no, words and breath strangled inside him. He took a step back.
"Cadovis?" the woman said softly. She took a step toward him.
He stumbled over something and caught himself. The others were gaping about the room, on edge and startled. Something about the house had changed. What was it? They turned toward him.
"Get out!" he rasped.
They made no move. Ister was clutching the sides of her head, gritting her teeth.
Cadovis turned back to the woman. She was reaching a hand out to him. He shook his head again, staring at the hand. It was smooth, feminine. But the more he stared at it, the more it seemed to wither, fingers curling, skin shrinking against knuckles and wrinkling. He blinked and they were smooth again. He looked away, but her face drew his eyes. It was the face in the painting and on the bottom of the goblet, he could tell that now. But it wasn't that which unnerved him. But he couldn’t be sure. It had been so long.
His head darted back and forth, taking in this new cabin. Dark logs, the scent of burning firewood and flickering flames on the walls. The kitchen was in the front corner, now, separated from the eating area by a windowed wall. He recognized this place. Cadovis had shared it with his mother before she died—a mother that stood before him now with outstretched hand.
Something inside him wished with all his heart to take that hand. But something else—the spirit-sense, he realized—prevented him. As if physically holding back his arm. Instead, the woman stumbled and fell into him. She withered in his arms, turning to bones beneath her tatters. She threw her head back, gasping for breath as invisible hands wrapped around her throat. She choked, a terrible rasping dying sound. Her eyes bulged. Cadovis could only stare, dumbfounded, his hands involuntarily gripping his mother's arms. Her skin greyed and shrunk in itself, then sloughed away, leaving bones. They, too, turned to ash and fell through his fingers.
#
The tower rose before him, its height disappearing into the storm above. The door pushed open with a creak and slammed to the extent of its hinges with the wind. Stairs spiraled up the round tower with no other way to go. Cadovis shoved the door closed with effort.
His heart palpitated within him. His father would be in this tower, at the top. His long journey, so near the end. He took the first step, gaping into the endless void above him. He increased his pace, running up the steps, around and around.
Eventually he slowed, still no nearer the top. How long had he been climbing? Ten minutes? An hour? Time meant nothing. He gazed into endless blackness, steps twisting ever upward. He went on, slower, each step a burden. Surely he would reach an end. He looked at his feet, willing them to the next step, the next, the next.
His head smacked against a stone. Neck bent, he looked straight into the stone cap of the tower. There was nothing here. He cried out, pounding the stone, but it did not yield. He slumped against the steps, holding his head in his hands.
When again he lifted his eyes, a light shone from below, a faint glow reaching him. Cadovis hurried back down, corkscrewing around the tower. A hallway opened up off the steps, leading away from the tower. He tried to fathom its presence, but there were no windows to orient himself to the outside. Could there be a bridge to another tower? Maybe a whole castle or hold? He could not figure how he'd missed it the first time.
At the end of the long passage, next to another doorway, a lamp hung on the wall. He walked toward it. The corridor stretched before him. Every step forward took him one backwards. The lamp grew more and more distant. He turned around. The steps were equally as far away. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He peeked over his shoulder. The lamp and the opening into another room were there, right behind him. He took a backward step, then another, and he was in the room.
A man had been chained to the far wall next to a window slit. Snow blew in the slit and piled next to the man. He huddled with his face against the wall, his clothes torn and ragged.
"Fa'r?" Cadovis ventured a step in his direction.
The man shifted but didn't turn.
"Fa'r, I've come a long way for you." His voice broke and tears bubbled in his eyes. He walked up to him, wary but bursting with hope.
The man grunted, pulled his legs in tighter, soles of his shoes loose and flapping, skinny calves showing through the strips that remained of his trousers.
Cadovis reached a hand out to him, laying it on his shoulder gently. The man shivered under his touch and managed a weak glance into Cadovis's face. The man's face was old beyond time, weathered, worn, weary. A beard as long as Cadovis's. That gave Cadovis pause, and he touched his own beard with his free hand. Did he look as old as this man as well? He had not seen his own face in so long.
"Father!" Cadovis embraced him.
The old man didn't seem to know what to do with his own arms, but gradually set them on Cadovis's back. As Cadovis held him, tears streaming down his face, the old man gave the slightest squeeze, all his feeble strength would allow.
Cadovis blubbered on his shoulder, how much he'd missed him, telling him about his mother, about the command and the spirits, oh, he had missed so much! How did this happen, why are you here? Never mind, I'm here now. Father, I'm here and we can leave. Let me get these chains off you.
The man looked at Cadovis with a thin smile and kind eyes, but confusion behind them. "Are you my son?" he said in a weak, broken voice.
Underneath all the wrinkles and age and spots, Cadovis knew that face. "Hol," he said, holding the old man's withered cheeks in his hands. He studied his face, trying to line it up with his childhood memories. So long ago, so distorted. He had been so young. Still he wrinkled his brow.
The man turned his face away. "I do not recall having a son." His head shook, then his frame too. "I do not remember you."
"Shh, father, you do not need to remember me. Not yet."
He held the man against his chest, but a feeling tugged at him. Something wasn't right. For one heart-stopping moment, he expected the man to fall to dust like his mother had done. He held the man at arm's length again. He did know this man.
His heart sank within him. "Angern."
Meet the author:
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