Chapter 6: Breaking Chains

A hooded figure traipsed through the forest, clambering over gnarled roots as he made his way deeper, fallen leaves crunching and twigs snapping underfoot. The naked branches of the trees reached upwards like grasping fingers, rising from the obscuring mist that hung over them, the light of the waxing moon providing just enough light to see by. The sky above was clear of clouds, velvet black, the cold stars twinkling in the heavens.

The figure stopped at a tree, placing a gloved hand on the trunk and drawing a penknife from the pocket of his jacket. He stabbed it deep into the bark, carving a symbol into the wood, large and prominent. It was a pattern of crossed lines and small circles, a demonic sigil. When he was finished, he moved on to another tree. It was hard going, his breath condensating in the cold air as it left his lips, his features obscured beneath the shadow of his cowl.

Over the course of an hour, he had carved them into dozens of trees, maybe a hundred. The same symbol appeared everywhere, only varying in its size. When he reached a clearing in the dense woodland, he pulled a rucksack from his back, kneeling to rummage through it in search of something. He drew a large, camouflaged block from the bag, securing it around one of the trees with a belt so that it faced the clearing. He fiddled with the device for a minute, then stepped back to examine it, apparently satisfied.

The task complete, he returned to the bag and withdrew an armful of rectangular metal plates, each roughly the size and shape of a paperback book. He walked about the clearing and the surrounding area, scattering them everywhere, that same sigil etched onto each of them.

He returned to the rucksack once again, this time unzipping one of the pockets and pulling out a blood pack, the crimson liquid shining in the moonlight. Using his knife, he poked a hole in the clear plastic, handling it gingerly so as not to spill any of it on his clothes. He walked around the circumference of the clearing, splashing blood on the trunks of the trees, careful to coat the sigils that he had carved there. When he was satisfied, he squeezed the rest of the pack out onto the open soil, the ground mostly clear of dead leaves in the absence of trees.

There was a rustle as he wrapped the empty blood pack in a plastic bag to prevent it from leaking, then headed off into the forest once again. Stooping low, he scoured the ground, brushing aside the foliage as he searched the undergrowth. He soon found what he was looking for, picking up suitably sized rocks and carrying them to the center of the clearing, where he deposited them in a haphazard pile.

Once he had collected what looked to be enough, he began to lay them out, creating a rough circle in the clearing about ten feet across. He pulled a measuring tape from his pocket and extended it, judging the size to be correct, then retracted it with a click.

With a stick in hand, he walked around the rock circle, drawing lines in the dirt. He traced out concentric rings, then moved on to pentagrams and triangles, reproducing the symbols from memory. After walking back over to his pack, he withdrew a leather-bound book, referencing the drawings within to ensure that he had gotten everything right. He stowed it, then produced a large bag of table salt, cutting a small tear in it with his blade. He filled in the ruts that he had made in the soil with the powder, the summoning circle slowly taking shape, its details standing out white against the black dirt.

The shrouded figure repeated the process with the sigils and incantations, drawing swirling Hebrew script and arcane runes, pausing every few seconds to reference his book and make sure that his reproductions were accurate. It must have taken two or three hours to complete the procedure. The figure stood in the middle of his salt summoning circle, the carefully traced shapes and text glowing in the pale moonlight. It looked like a scene from a horror movie, or at least what a layman might assume an occult ritual would look like, and that was just the way he wanted it.

He sat down at the foot of a gnarled tree, getting as comfortable as possible in its tangled roots, then crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

Nahash materialized, her physical manifestation forming from the swirling mists and becoming solid, her cloven hooves meeting soft dirt underfoot. She opened her ovine eyes, blinking as her surroundings came into focus. It was dark, the environment lit only by the light of the moon, her pale skin and white fur reflecting it like a beacon as she turned her head to look around. She was in a clearing, thick forest closing in on her from all sides, mist hanging low over the ground as she felt the cool night air on her face.

This was her domain, a sense of déja-vu overcoming her, a kind of primal recognition sparking in her mind as she gazed at the tree line. She had not visited woodland for a thousand years, yet the scents and sounds were all immediately familiar to her, the chirping of insects and the smell of damp soil bringing old memories flooding back.

She wanted to break loose, to dance through these woods and vanish between the trees, the wilds calling to her with an almost irresistible intensity that rang in her head like a bell.

Those days were long over, however. With a heavy heart, she resisted the powerful urges, turning her attention to the task that her master had assigned her.

Where was Ryan? This was not his apartment. She could hear the sounds of the city in the distance, but it was faint and far away. She looked down to examine the summoning circle beneath her feet, drawn in the soil and filled in with salt. It was impeccably reproduced, considering the crude methods employed, far better than the one that Ryan had drawn on his floorboards in chalk. She noticed some irregularities. There was no triangle for the summoner to stand in, and no containment triangle for protecting the exorcist from uncooperative spirits. This could not have been used for summoning, it was merely acting as a gate, drawing in the ambient magickal energy in the environment and concentrating it here.

It felt good. This was a place where nature ruled, and the magick was strong.

Movement caught her eye, the shadow of a hooded figure walking towards her through the fog. The stranger must have been hiding just out of view, watching her materialize. Nahash bristled, but as he reached up to pull back his dark hood, she recognized him.

“Ryan?” Nahash asked, blinking her eyes. “What is the meaning of this? Why are we in a forest?”

“I wasn’t sure that it would work,” he replied cryptically, walking around the edge of the circle with his hands in his pockets as he admired his handiwork. “I figured that wherever I decided to sleep, Orobas would send you, provided that there was a circle here to offset the energy cost. Looks like I was right.”

“This circle was not designed for summoning rituals,” she mused, turning her eyes to the ground. “Did you go to the trouble of making it just to bring me here? Why?”

“That’s right,” he replied, spreading his arms wide. “After you left earlier today, I went for a little drive. I visited a few stores to buy the supplies that I needed. After all, I don’t have to worry about money anymore thanks to you. I searched for woodland that was remote, yet reasonably accessible from the city. We’re right on the edge of a national park, you know. Not many people come through here, but there are hikers and nature lovers who do, and I ensured that this clearing would be close enough to the trail that campers or hunters might stumble across it.”

“Ryan, what are you doing?” Nahash asked as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Whatever this is, it isn’t part of your contract with Orobas.”

“No, it isn’t,” he replied as he walked over to join her in the center of the circle. “This is something that I’m doing of my own volition. I’ve been paying attention to what you’ve told me. I’ve listened when you’ve talked about sigils and the power of faith, the way that magickal energy is created and distributed.”

Nahash lifted her head as she sniffed the cold night air, smelling blood and metal, her amber eyes widening.

“What have you done?” she asked, more curious than alarmed now. “You are but a novice, Ryan. If you seek to summon a greater demon or to make a game of powers that are far beyond your control, you risk inviting a terrible fate.”