The Spirit of Roshit
ch 4 of a Cadovis story of Roda, fantasy
Time for chapter 4! As said before, our regular programming continues as usual. Consider this a freebie.
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 4—you are here
Chapter 5—upcoming CONCLUSION!
Content warning: graphic violence
The Spirit of Roshit
chapter 4
Horrified, his mother's dust coating his hand and the ash flitting away, Cadovis sought Ister and his men. The house was no longer a cabin. It was a great castle with cold, stone walls, empty and abandoned, ivy reaching fingers into crevices and through window holes. The air lay hot and sultry, sweat clinging to his skin instead of cooling him off.
He ran to a towering glassless window. Treetops spread away from him into a great jungle. The sky was hazy with clouds and rain, but only a heavy mist fell among them. From around the bend came shouting. He pounded down the stone hall, stopping at a large courtyard overrun with trees and vines and all manner of underbrush.
"Cadovis!" Tranton yelled. He hacked at a tree branch which had inexplicably shot toward him like some great wooden arm. The end of it fell away at his sword, and he rolled to the side.
At the same time, Ister flailed against a great serpentine vine. One of its arms, green with flakes of bark hanging from it, twisted around her form. She cried out, strangulated, dropping her weapon. Cadovis ran for her, calling out her name.
Beyond her, Aralkin stood on the sill of another towering window. He was staring out at them, shaking his head.
"Aralkin! Come down, we need help!"
"I'm sorry, Cadovis. I can't." He shook his head slowly. "I can't." He took a step back and plummeted out of sight.
Cadovis stared where he had been for an extra tick, unbelieving, then again ran toward Ister, but caught up short. She hung in the air, face raised, legs and arms dangling. Still she flailed against her adversary, but weakly. A vine had slithered into her from underneath, up through her body and out her mouth.
"No!" Cadovis cried, sword outstretched, ready to strike.
The castle fell away from his eyes. The vines, the trees, the sultry air all vanished. Only the house remained. In front of the doorway, Ister hung on air itself. Tranton stood against the far wall, wrestling with the painting, far nearer than he had been in the courtyard.
Cadovis turned to the window where Aralkin had leapt. The glass was broken, and on the ground, not two men's height below, he lay in a bloody heap, covered in cuts with glass shards jutting at every conceivable angle.
Turning back to Ister, Cadovis felt panic rise. She bloated horribly. When he cocked his head, he thought he could see the vine inside her, its girth growing, stretching her out. He had only a moment to think. Before he could, she burst. Her chest flew open, her head cracked and split like a grape, both spilling out their contents.
"Ister! No!" Tranton yelled. He had thrown down the painting, facing Cadovis now, sword outstretched. He charged at him.
"Tranton!" Cadovis hollered back, dodging the blow with a quick parry and dart to the side. Tranton swung wildly, chopping like an axe downward, then swinging sideways as if he would see Cadovis sliced in two.
Cadovis dodged, slid aside, parried another blow. He was stumbling backward in the small space. Tranton had slammed into the kitchen counter, stunned himself, and turned back on Cadovis.
"Foul beast!" he yelled. "What have you done to Ister?" Tears flew from his face.
"Tranton, please! I'm Cadovis!"
Tranton swung wildly again, and Cadovis butted him in the head with the pommel. Tranton cried out, then recovered, charging viciously, hatred in his eyes. Cadovis took a step back and toppled over an armchair, his back slamming against the floor and sword pointing up and out at an angle.
The cries stopped, replaced by a sick gurgling sound. Tranton stood at Cadovis's upturned legs, the sword driven into his chest. He slumped against it lifeless.
Cadovis cried out, and the castle returned. It had never left. He had imagined the house, hadn't he? There had never been a house. He'd tripped over a root is all. Indeed, there it was. A great jutting root. He clambered to his feet, pulled the sword from Tranton's chest. His old friend fell to the ground dead. He had gone mad, thought Cadovis to be the enemy. No other way to explain it. Cadovis suffered one last look at Ister, barely recognizing what remained of her. She was split open and the vine was slithering through her, consuming her from within.
Cadovis stumbled out of the courtyard. Loksey and Angern, where were they? He must find them. He weaved his way through the castle, through one wide, tall corridor after another. In a great room off one of the corridors stood a stone pedestal, and at the pedestal stood Loksey, his back to Cadovis and a scroll before him.
He approached Loksey cautiously, calling out his name.
"Cadovis." Loksey turned slightly. "This"—he gestured to the scroll—"This is for you."
"What is it, Loksey?" Cadovis said, holding out a hand, the other poised to strike.
"He was here. He told me, give this to you."
Cadovis lowered his stance and took the scroll. It was a map, fanciful names and vague markings etched into it in a looping script. The map was emblazoned with extravagant drawings seeming to fall into the page. A tree with many trunks? A keyhole island? A tower? He turned back to Loksey, puzzled. "Who was here?"
"Why, the man. He said—" He paused, as if unsure of the words. "He said he had your father. Was keeping him safe for you."
Cadovis gripped Loksey by the shoulders. "What else did he say? By the shades, tell me everything!"
Loksey pointed at the tower on the map. "He said your father is here. But"—he held up a finger—"you must start here, or you will never find it." He lay the tip of his finger on the tree.
"Is that all?" Cadovis buried his gaze into the scroll. He spotted the castle, vaguely the direction of the tree. Distances were meaningless.
Loksey shook his head, backing away. "I'm sorry. I... I cannot stop it."
Cadovis gawked at Loksey's terror-stricken face. His sword had been placed tip up, and that tip now rested under his sternum. Cadovis lowered the scroll. "What are you doing?" he demanded, an edge of panic in his voice.
Loksey screwed up his face. "I do not know. I don't want to—" At that, he lunged forward.
"Loksey, no!" Cadovis hurtled himself toward the man, but too late. The tip of the sword buried several spans deep. Loksey tipped over to the floor, blood pooling from his mouth and chest.
Cadovis stumbled away, closed his eyes, and drew in deep drafts. The map. That was why he came here. They had sacrificed everything for this map, for his father. He wouldn't let their deaths be in vain. He rolled up the scroll and ran out, down the great steps, and out the castle into the jungle.
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