The Missing Blood Rite Part 3

Artful Goldenears didn’t ask to become a hero, known as the Bat, but now he has to help a ghost save her children, can he do it in time?

The Bat watched the pyre fire reach hide into the sky, blocking out the stars. The cries of the squirrels of the Clan rung out from around the fire as Tear stared deep into the flames. The Bat could tell the massive chief of the Clan even high above the encamp. The wind grabbed his cape pulling it wildly around the black and red armor he wore from head to toe. He stayed kneeling on the edge of the building watching, waiting, as the ghost of the mother sat beside him crying.

                “I didn’t kill a single one of them,” Katheryn said after stopping her tears. “They came out of the dark and got me from behind.”

                “Any idea who they are?” The Bat asked.

                “No,” Katheryn shook her head, “but the witch might know.”

                “Witch?” The Bat asked, watching as the Clan broke away from the flames heading back to their huts, everyone expects Tear.

                “A few months ago,” Katheryn explained, “We found a witch in our Clan. She was taking children from the city around us, using them for her magic.”

                “And what did your Clan do to her?” The Bat question her being hit with a strong blast of cool wind. The wind angry the armored hero did not move with its attack.

                “We executed her,” Katheryn said.

                The Bat looked over at the ghost watching the snowflakes pass through her like an open window. She couldn’t feel the cold anymore. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. He wished she went on to the other side to meet the AllFather and be free of this mortal coil, but at least, she would not go until she found out what happen to her son.

                “This was months ago?” He asked.

                “Many months ago,” She nodded. “My husband had his War Band�" “the pointed at the shadow in against the wall flames �" “carried her head to sea.”

                The Bat noted it would take almost half a year to reach the sea from the city. A long time to keep a trap hidden for the chief to find it. “Why do you think the witch has anything to do it?”

                “She had others in her convent, I am sure of it,” Katheryn said. “They must have taken my son.”

                “I can still find him,” The Bat said, “alone.”

                “You can’t,” she snapped at him. “You would dishonor my husband and my family.”

                “Let’s hope he doesn’t kill me then,” The Bat said jumping from his place on the high building and dashing for the fire. He �" Artful �" had to keep the legend of the Bat alive which meant he had to do things which he normally would not have, like step through the flames.

                Tear’s eyes shoot wide when he saw the shadow growing in the fire heading for him. He started to back up, and Artful smirked under the helmet at the mighty warrior’s awe. He might not understand the magic keeping Artful alive in the armor, Artful didn’t understand it, but he understood it was hot in it.

                He stepped off the fire, dropping to the ground and taking another step toward the warrior. Not so much too sacred him but mostly to get away from the heat. He let out a deep breath and said,” Tear, Tear Bearskull.”

                “Are the devil?” Tear asked, reaching for a weapon he did not have on his side. “Have you come for my soul for killing the witch?”

                I get this all the time, Artful remarked to himself. I guess it is the horns, and the fire walking doesn’t help, huh?

                “I am not the devil,” The Bat said, “and I have come to help you find your son.”

                “What?” Tear growled.

                “The ghost of your wife sends me to help you,” The Bat said, seeing a few guards move in the shadow of the light.

                “You lie, demon,” Tear hissed.

                “Tell him this �" “Katheryn whispered into the Bat’s ear.

                The Bat nodded and then slowly spoke,” On the fifth night of you’re married to Katheryn, you found her crying at the foot of your bed. She missed the blue flowers of your mother, and you travel a week’s worth of time to bring her one of those flowers.”

                Tear’s mouth fell open in utter shock. “You can speak to the dead?”

                “More like the dead speaks to me,” The Bat said.

                “Is she here now?” Tear asked, coming closer with tears boiling to the edge of his eyes. “By the gods of old tell her how sorry I am, I failed her.” The tears fell over marching down his fur with his paws covering his face.

                The Bat watched the ghost wrap her arms around him, unable to comfortable the warrior. He said nothing while the massive chief cried under the flames of his wife’s funeral. He stood there still watching the edge of the light for the guards to come rushing in, but no one moved.

                “You didn’t fail me,” Katheryn keeps telling him.

                “I’m sorry,” The Bat said, stepping forward, making him glare up. “You can mourn the dead after we find your son.”

                “He is gone,” Tear shook his head, letting the angry of the face wash over his face. “My scouts and best Hunters couldn’t find him.”

                “The City Guard?” The Bat asked.

                “Useless,” Tear growled. “They care nothing of our plight and even less for my son.”

                “Your wife believes the witch you killed had a covenant,” The Bat said.

                “If the she-devil did, then I found no signs of it,” Tear said. “There was nothing.”

                The Bat’s eyes moved to the ghost beside the squirrel, wanting to ask why she believed in the covenant, but the flames behind them hissed far into the air screaming something unholy. The Bat dashed from his spot turning to see the face of a demon in flames and then fading into nothing as the fire died away.

                “What was that?” Tear asked, with his warriors rushing to his side.

                “I am not sure,” The Bat said, “but your wife might have been right. There is dark magic at work here.” But why did you know it? Artful questioned himself and staring at the ghost.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or work on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact in my when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercises or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.