Maksym Pachesiuk
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Warlock's Last Exam - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2025-01-10 15:55:13 +0000 UTCBloody hell! I let him slip away! Beyond the garden lay the forest, the one that first gave its name to the clan and later to the entire cou
Bloody hell! I let him slip away!
Beyond the garden lay the forest, the one that first gave its name to the clan and later to the entire county of Bremshire. Simon, like me, had been taught to walk its trails. The forest never forgave the weak, and its population of gifted beasts even less so, which was why the knowledge was hammered into the heads of neophytes with absolute finality. For the “alternatively gifted,” the instructions were delivered via a belt on the backside – hard enough to make sitting impossible.
At twelve, every boy in the clan took his first exam: a solo trip into the forest to spend the night. Before he fled the clan, Simon had passed four of them. On the last one, he had already been sealed and carried the mark of prey – a mark that made predators react to him like a cat to a mouse.
So, let’s assume the forest isn’t a danger to him.
I don’t know how long the potion he took will last. If it’s based on sun stag horn extract, it could keep him going for a solid three hours. In that time, he’d be halfway to the Elfish County mountains, hiding out in Glembatric or Inverlass, where he could catch a train heading anywhere.
Although… why bother? He could do the same here in Avoc without even venturing far into the woods. Just a quick detour under the trees to avoid the clan enclave and make it to the city. Damn it! What if he has a car? Even without one, stealing one wouldn’t be hard.
I had to catch Simon – and fast – before the trail went cold. Unfortunately, I wasn’t particularly skilled at tracking even during the day, and in my current state, I needed help.
My first attempt to get up failed miserably. My battered ribs all reminded me, in unison, that I should have been more careful. The second attempt was more successful. Slowly and carefully, I picked up speed until I was moving at a pace that wouldn’t send me toppling over. Grinding my teeth at the precious seconds slipping away, I kept having to remind myself that if I fell again, I might not be able to get back up – and crawling would take even longer.
The clan chapel faded into the background. I tried not to think about how Grandpa’s body was now lying on the floor there. Instead, I focused on the houses that began a few hundred meters ahead. No one had heard the gunshots, which meant Simon must have used some kind of sound-dampening spell. That being the case, disturbing the chapel’s nearest neighbors wouldn’t help.
There were three Bailey houses nearby, and they were friendly with the Ferons – Simon’s family. The chapel itself had originally been built on the outskirts of the settlement, but that had been ages ago. Avoc, the county capital, had grown so much that the clan settlement was now just another district of the city. Right, this area belonged mostly to the Ferons. Thomas McLilly lived here too – part of a friendly family, though his wife was a Bailey. Two more houses, and I’d be there...
A small white picket fence almost turned into an insurmountable obstacle. My hands shook and slipped on the tiny latch, but I managed to open it. Stumbling forward, I made it to the heavy oak door and pounded on it with my fist – avoiding the knocker to keep from drawing the neighbors’ attention. The stabbing pain in my ribs protested the motion, but I still had to knock twice more.
The door opened without a word. Logan, as usual, had sensed my presence in advance. He could’ve been quicker about it! Back then, Ferrish hadn’t been content to merely seal my energy nodes; he’d also branded me with the mark of a hunter. Prey animals scattered in terror at my approach, and predators preferred to keep their distance. Logan felt it too, but he easily ignored its mental influence – being a rather dangerous shifter himself.
I still remembered the shaggy wolfhound whose spirit Logan had taken. Surprisingly, it had been a remarkably good-natured dog.
“Brother...” Logan said, surprised.
I didn’t let him finish, shoving him back inside and closing the door behind me. Logan had to step aside to let me squeeze past his massive frame. His three younger sisters gasped in shock when they saw the bullet holes in my jacket and shirt. Their reaction drew the attention of Aunt Mary, who peeked into the living room.
“Good Lord, Duncan!”
“Simon is back,” I rasped.
“Simon… Feron?” Logan guessed. The dangerous orange glow in his blue eyes betrayed his half-feral nature.
“He’s the one who set up Grandpa’s death. Poisoned him with vampire blood. Grandpa rose, and I had to...”
“Elly, Zoe,” Aunt Mary commanded sharply, “go to your rooms!”
“But Mom!” protested the youngest, who was immediately silenced by a hearty smack upside the head.
“Don’t make me get the belt,” Mary warned.
The younger girls vanished as if swept away by the wind. The eldest hesitated but returned to her seat when her mother motioned for her to stay.
“We need to catch Simon,” I said. “He went toward the park from the chapel.”
Logan’s features grew more animalistic. His jaw pushed forward, and his lips curled back under the pressure of his lengthening fangs. He grabbed the door handle, but his mother’s commanding voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Stay put!” she ordered.
Ignoring his confused look, she turned to me. “Are you injured?”
I shook my head. “I used stone skin.”
“Get him to the couch,” she ordered Logan. “Ivy, draw the curtains and call your father at the pub.”
My cousin scooped me up like I weighed nothing, but the motion jostled my ribs, and I nearly growled in pain again. Ivy pulled the curtains closed and picked up the receiver of the large rotary phone on the side table. Aunt Mary continued barking orders with the confidence of a battle-hardened general, peppering her commands with a few colorful insults and commentary on the current state of the clan.
She wasn’t exactly delicate as she tore open my shirt. Buttons popped off and clattered across the floor, joined by a couple of spent bullets that had been lodged inside.
“Flying off on a chase, you boneheads. Wasn’t Grandpa enough for you? You rushing to join him in the afterlife? Bryce brought back the werewolf’s head, and now they’re all drunk celebrating it. Do you have any idea what’ll happen if you start shouting about Simon? That it was him who killed Gregor, not some rogue werewolf who overindulged on the hearts of the strong?”
“That’s why I came to you...”
“And what if one of you dies? You don’t care about me, but at least think about the family’s reputation.”
She didn’t seem interested in hearing my answer, because she immediately pressed down on my chest, sending fractures of pain shooting through my world. Even so, I managed to rasp, “He’s wounded… fleeing… and dosed on something.”
“Mom, I’ll catch him!” Logan barked.
“Sit down and stop twitching, or I’ll thrash you too!”
Logan obeyed. He always did, but he never hid how he felt about it. This time, however, his sister cut off his complaints. While we’d been arguing, she’d gotten through to their father.
“Mom,” Ivy said, pointing at the receiver.
“Did you put Grandpa to rest properly?” Mary asked me before taking the phone.
“I guarantee it.”
“Logan, get to the chapel. Make sure no one sees you. Check everything there and wait! You’ll follow the trail when help arrives.”
Logan sprang to his feet and rushed toward the door, but he abruptly changed course, darted into the closet, and emerged with a rifle and bandolier.
“Gordon, darling,” Aunt Mary said into the phone. “I don’t care what you have to do, but Bryce and Evan need to be here in a minute, or your brother can kiss his chances of becoming clan head goodbye.” She paused, then added sharply, “No, you don’t have to come yourself.”
She hung up the phone. “Ivy, fetch Sally.”
“But she’s just…”
I knew what Ivy was about to say. Sally had given birth just a week and a half ago.
“Aunt…” I tried to intercede for my cousin, who, despite being three years older than me, was still considered a junior in the family.
“Now!” Mary snapped.
Sally was a warlock, too. Ferrish had gifted her with extraordinary sensitivity, allowing her to literally see the weak points in living beings. She often used this ability for medical purposes.
The clan had more professional doctors and healers, but Aunt Mary clearly didn’t trust them with this.
The first to arrive was Evan – another cousin, a talented warlock in his early forties and, incidentally, Sally’s father. His absence from the revenge celebration was easier to explain than most.
“Who?” he asked as soon as he entered.
“Simon Feron,” Aunt Mary replied. “He pumped Grandpa full of vampire blood.”
Evan didn’t believe. He probably thought I was delirious.
Carefully, I rolled onto my side and pulled the dagger out of my jacket pocket. Strange that Aunt Mary hadn’t confiscated it right away.
Evan’s skepticism shifted to surprise. The family knew Grandpa had kept the dagger in a dimensional pocket. I extended it to him hilt-first, but the moment Evan’s fingers brushed against it, he jerked his hand back.
“It’s alive! Why? Do we have a vampire in the settlement?”
“No, I put Grandpa to rest,” I replied. “Ferrish set his price for the seals.”
“The spirit is ready to remove them?”
Before I could answer, Evan’s father – Uncle Bryce – burst into the house. Great, now I’d have to start the explanation from the beginning.
“It doesn’t matter!” I said through gritted teeth, the pain in my ribs flaring up again. “The important thing is catching Simon. He’s somehow regained the use of magic.”
“Simon who?” Bryce asked, but Evan silenced his father with a gesture and let me continue.
“Logan’s at the chapel, tracking him.”
“Let’s go!” Evan grabbed Bryce by the elbow and dragged him toward the door. “We’ve got a lead – through the runes.”
“What runes?” I asked, but no one bothered to answer. At the door, Evan bumped into Sally, pecked her on the cheek, and hurried off with Bryce in tow.
It seemed the older generation was in on some other shady dealings and had managed to connect them to Simon, leaving me completely in the dark.
For the next half hour, Sally scrutinized my ribs – and deeper. Turned out there was only one fracture, but plenty of cracks and other internal injuries to go around. Besides the muscles and bones, my lungs and liver had taken damage. With the full list of injuries at hand, the women quickly selected the necessary elixirs and began pouring them into me.
When I could no longer swallow their vile concoctions, they switched to ointments, rubbing them into my skin. I nearly suffocated from the stench. Someone else might have resisted these tortures, but by my modest calculations, the family had already spent around a thousand pounds on me in salves and potions.
“Try to sleep,” Aunt Mary said. “You’ll need to be up early.”
Not even the smell could stop me from fulfilling that request, but sleep didn’t last long. I’d barely closed my eyes when someone shook me by the shoulder.
“Duncan...”
For a moment, I thought it was Grandpa Gregor, but no – It was just Uncle Gordon. The smell of his booze-soaked breath easily overpowered the stench of the ointments, snapping me back to full awareness.
“Uncle,” I groaned, “please don’t breathe.”
“Ha? Don’t turn your face away! You think I wanted to drink myself into this state?”
“Oh, like you didn’t want to!” Aunt Mary snapped from behind him.
“At least now no one will remember Bryce and Evan weren’t there!”
“Oh, I can’t wait for the neighbors to tell me all about what you’ve been up to,” Aunt Mary said dryly.
“Here’s a bit of advice for you, boy: don’t get married. Women are ungrateful creatures. They ask you for something and then complain about how you did it.”
Mary rolled up a towel and smacked Gordon across the back of the head with it. The conflict fizzled out after that, neither side interested in prolonging it.
“Did you catch Simon?” I asked.
“No, the bastard covered his tracks well,” Gordon admitted. “Logan spent half the night running through the forest, nearly burning out his nose. The bastard used something corrosive.”
“And now what?”
“Now you take a bath. Get yourself cleaned up. Bryce will be here soon, and the conversation will be serious.”
In the bathroom, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark circles hung under my eyes, but those could be blamed on the sleepless night. What couldn’t be dismissed so easily was the mess beneath my shirt. My chest and stomach were a patchwork of bruises in shades of blue, yellow, and green.
My ribs still ached, but not as badly as they had earlier. A few hours ago, I probably wouldn’t have been able to scrub my back with a sponge, but now I managed it. It took a lot of effort, and even so, I couldn’t completely rid myself of the stench of the ointments.
As I dried off, I realized the smell had soaked into my skin. My only hope was the balm Aunt Mary applied to me after the bath.
Bryce arrived just as they were finishing rubbing the balm into my skin. I wasn’t allowed to put on a shirt over the fresh ointment, so I had to have this “serious conversation” looking anything but serious. Aunt Mary sat us down in the kitchen, placed two plates of eggs and bacon in front of us along with cups of tea, and closed the door behind her as she left. Bryce ignored the eggs but took a sip of the tea.
“Start from the beginning, with all the details,” he said.
I laid everything out the way Grandpa had taught me: just the facts, no speculation, no assumptions, no emotions. Thank God Bryce didn’t ask for clarifications.
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
“No problem.”
“No, really!” Bryce said, his tone weighty. “If you hadn’t put Father to rest, it would have dealt a heavy blow to the family. I know you loved him as much as I did, and...” The words didn’t come easily to him, and he clearly would have preferred a glass of strong whiskey over the tea. “I’m sixty now – a respectable age – and even now I doubt I could’ve done it. That was an honorable deed. Worthy of a vote in the council.”
Wait, what?! Was he offering me a place on the clan council? Logan’s twenty, and despite all his talent, he was only invited this year. Uncle Gordon was thirty when he got in. And here Bryce was talking about a seventeen-year-old sealed brat.
“All the more reason,” Bryce continued, “that it’s unpleasant to ask you for a favor.”
I nodded. I already had a general idea of what he was going to ask.
“The council was never my goal. I’ll keep quiet,” I said.
“Thank you,” Bryce said sincerely. “We lost Simon. The dagger was burning with hatred, wasn’t it?”
I nodded again, this time with more interest.
“I’ve encountered that twice before,” Bryce explained. “Both times with bloodsuckers, and both times on the frontlines. In 1916, one of our allies in the ranks turned out to be one – I had to let him go. The second, a year later, Ferrish rewarded me handsomely for. Are you sure Simon isn’t a vampire?”
“He bled,” I reminded him. “But he could command... a vampire. By the word of the matriarch.”
“We found blood, but it’s tainted. Useless for a tracking ritual. He was well-prepared.”
“You think Simon didn’t plan this alone?”
Now it was Bryce’s turn to shake his head.
“Granting someone authority over young blood by the right of the word can only be done by an elder or an ancient.”
Bloodsuckers again. Our clan had a long history of dealings with nightborn freaks practically since its founding. Ferrish paid well for dangerous prey. The last illegal nest in Bremshire was wiped out by my father in 1927. The bloodsuckers retaliated by leaving me an orphan. Grandpa went on a rampage across the country after that. Nests burned in several counties, and they say even a few ancient princes were sent to hell.
“So that werewolf who killed Grandpa...”
“He was just a tool. They carved submission runes into his skin, drugged him, fed him rare hearts, and sent him off to die.”
“But how did a rabid beast manage to take down Grandpa?”
Bryce shrugged uncertainly.
“They helped.”
“Someone from our side?”
“I don’t know! Before you told me about Simon, I suspected Sean. But even he wouldn’t use his own son.”
Sean Feron – Simon’s father – had been Bryce’s main rival in the race for clan leadership. He hated Grandpa, had no sense of honor, but genuinely loved his son. When Simon fled, Sean had nearly killed me, accusing me of every sin under the sun.
“So we keep quiet and suspect everyone?”
“Pretty much,” Bryce agreed. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
I quickly finished my breakfast, put on the fresh suit Aunt Mary had prepared for me, slid my freshly cleaned and oiled pistol into its holster, and tucked the dagger – now housed in a brand-new leather sheath – into the inner pocket of my jacket.
Uncle Bryce escorted me back to the chapel, shielding me from prying eyes with one of Ferrish’s little tricks.
The window Simon had broken was whole again. The candles were no longer scattered across the floor. The chapel had been scrubbed clean, and the bullet holes in the wall had been patched, leaving only the faint smell of fresh plaster. Grandpa had been rewrapped, redressed, and the bullet wounds hidden. He now lay peacefully in the coffin, his lips curled into a faint smile. No one could do anything about that smile – It had appeared after his second death.
I stepped into the last watch for the second time. This time, without a book and without tears.
“God is merciful,” Bryce said unexpectedly. “We are not.”
It seemed he’d made some sort of vow to Grandpa. Then he spun around, clapped me on the shoulder, and left.
Maybe it was too emotional a moment, and I got caught up in it. I had no business going after the puppeteers who stood behind Simon, but that bastard himself – I’d get him! Whatever it took – I’d get him!
