Curse of Stone

Prologue

[Seven-hundred years ago]

The fortunes of war had turned against Cephas Carne, the self-proclaimed King of the Elysium Realm.

Leaning against the granite block railing, Cephas stroked his long red beard and grimaced. He had not anticipated how united the other squabbling Covens would become to oppose his insurrection. "Perhaps," he speculated to himself, "the initial campaigns were too successful." Which forced them to band together against him.

Nonetheless, he stood resolute at the high balcony edge, surveying the battle raging below, even as it swarmed within the castle walls. The round castle keep, constructed of thick granite block, had become a final refuge.

Dry wind fluttered a long black cape. Acrid smoke stung his yellow-streaked hazel eyes, and the stench of burned flesh assaulted his nose. Cephas' soldiers, men and magically-created stone warriors alike, were all but decimated, and his supporters long since scattered. The meadows surrounding the expansive castle had become scorched killing fields littered with death.

Red fireballs arched through the air, reaching apogee, then streaking down toward the balcony on which he stood. With a casual wrist flick, they burst into countless red sparkles, drifting down like fireworks. If the spectators below were not so busy killing each other, he might have expected 'oohs and aahs.'

Enemy witches fired off bright bolts of magic, simple and deadly manifestations of kinetic energy or fire, while the golden-armored rank finished off any who avoided the bolts with wereblades, blazing swords of pure energy. No mercy or quarter was given, but then, neither had he in past battles.

"Fools," he muttered. Without strong leadership, his leadership, the Elysium Realm would eventually wallow in self-indulgent disorder. Just like the human world from which they escaped.

But a good strategist always had contingencies, even in defeat. Cephas rubbed a clear yellow-brown gem, like citrine, that hung from a heavy silver chain around his neck. As perhaps the most powerful witch in the realm, he also possessed a rare combination of two specialties — geokinesis and alchemy.

With a defiant huff, he threw off his cape, letting the wind carry it over the edge. The Talisman Crystal glowed, becoming brighter until like a miniature brownish sun. Dazzling streamers of yellow shot out from outstretched hands, swirling around him in coiled spirals. He grinned. A spell that so altered reality did not come easily, and he had spent months preparing it for this situation. No doubt there were signs — always so with such a powerful spell — but his foes would not have understood.

An enemy witch, a Coven Mistress, wearing armored leather and a blood splattered white cape, blasted through the wooden door, overwhelming the protective magic shield. Five wereblade-wielding soldiers, men and women, took flanked positions beside her. A scowl darkened her wrinkled face as the foul wind tossed her gray hair.

"Your days are done, Cephas," she spat. "Elysium is ours again."

"Oh, my dear friend Brigid," Cephas replied with a sly smile. "I have yet one more trick. If I cannot have Elysium, then neither shall you."

As he shot his hands up, the magical streamers dissolved into a translucent shimmer, encasing himself. He transformed, becoming a gray stone obelisk with jagged dark veins. With a low rumble, the shimmer expanded outward. When it touched a confused soldier, fingers of stone snaked through his body, and his lips formed a silent scream as he solidified into a chunk of stone.

Gasping, the four remaining soldiers scrambled to the exit door, but the shimmer overtook them, and they suffered the same fate.

Brigid stepped back, narrowing her eyes, and fired red orbs of energy at the advancing spell, but they merely fed the shimmer's hunger. To escape, she leaped from the balcony edge. Threads of red magic from extended hands slowed what otherwise would have been a fatal fall, allowing a deft landing on the balls of her feet.

"Run!" she screamed to all who would listen. "Retreat!"

The deadly shimmer expanded past the castle walls, transforming everything it contacted into dull stone. The meadow succumbed next, with all who stood on it, becoming a landscape of sterile, lifeless rock.

Bent from the waist, Brigid pulled deep wheezing breaths while standing atop a knoll just beyond the meadow. Only she and three soldiers remained. The shimmer continued its advance, slowing now as it spread outward.

"What was that?" a soldier asked, face paled.

"A curse." Brigid replied with an airyvoice, standing upright. "A Curse of Stone. The likes of which I have never seen."