XI. Maraksus looked up from the rolls of parchment he had been reviewing, notes about the ritual that he and Dylan were about to perform.
They had both warped back with great haste to St. Capitolina's Abbey as soon as they were outside Irka's abode. The ritual of exorcism, Magnus Exorcimus, was complex and very taxing, and neither Maraksus nor Dylan specialized much in it. Most of the few masters of the ritual were off in Glastheim, trying to keep the Dark Lord from breaking out of the ruined city.
"Oh, we can do it ourselves," Dylan had said in reply to Maraksus' reminder that neither of them was really trained in the ritual. "Unless you want to wait for an exorcist to return."
Maraksus had clamped his mouth shut then, gritting his teeth. His partner was correct, of course. Exorcists rarely returned to the Abbey; they were few enough already and a post in Glastheim could rarely be abandoned.
And so, they had spent each day and even most of each night since then in the great library of the Abbey, studying the ritual. Now, after almost a week, they were ready to attempt it.
He watched as Dylan straightened from perusing the symbol they have etched onto the floor with diamond dust. Within it, surrounded by lines that glinted by torchlight, crouched their first subject. The slavering wild-eyed man kneeled upon the cold granite floor, wrapped in a tight white straight jacket. Maraksus could hardly recognize the man as one of the acolytes, a promising young healer called Shift. He was a Geffenian by the looks of it, with the blond hair and blue eyes common in that part of the Commonwealth.
Outside the circle, two acolytes walked swaying small braziers of incense from thin silver chains. Smoke from the burning incense filled the room with the soothing scent of sage. This was one of the deepest rooms in the Abbey, carved directly from the foundation stone ages ago when the Abbey was erected.
"I think we're ready to begin, Marak," Dylan said as he approached the table.
Maraksus looked over one last time at the various charts on his notes, making sure he had everything memorized. It wouldn't do to fumble this ritual. Too much was at stake. Looking back at his companion he nodded.
"Ready when you are, Dylan."
"Vangel, Krest, that'll be enough, thank you," Dylan said to the two acolytes who walked to their places around the circle. Silver-haired Vangel Mystic, hair almost the same color as Maraksus' but shorter, stood on the west side of the circle. The other acolyte, Krest, whose robes couldn't hide his stocky well-muscled build could, stood on the east side, directly in front of Vangel.
Maraksus took his own position by the west side. Dylan walked around the circle to take a position on the east side, facing Maraksus.
Two acolytes and two priests, occupying the four cardinal compass points, with the gibbering possessed inside the circle. The ritual was starting.
Catching Dylan's eyes, Maraksus launched into the prayers sung in an ancient tongue, his companion priest joining in the chanting. Almost instantly, an ethereal glowing pattern began to revolve between them, a shining disk parallel to the floor. It spun slowly, and as both priests raised their hands in unison, the first in a series of complex gestures.
The pattern superimposed itself upon the symbol, fusing into the stone floor with a flash of light. The symbol was glowing bright gold now and a vortex of magical wind was whipping the two priests coats about, drowning their chants. But still they continued the ritual. The acolytes stood on, trying to keep their feet as the winds picked at their robes, and the two braziers hanging from their hands began to sway violently in the cyclone.
Atop the roar of the winds, and the drone of chanting, mad Shift began to cackle, adding a counter tune to the cacophony.
Sweat began to flow freely into Maraksus eyes, clouding his vision. The strain of the ritual was getting to him. Across the verdant light, his companion was obscured but he knew that Dylan was trying just as hard. He struggled to continue chanting.
It was nearly done.
He heard the twin shouts of "Ruwach!" as he ended the chant, falling to his knees onto the cold floor. The acolytes had followed their instructions with precise timing.
The symbol exploded now into a shaft of golden light, a scintillating pillar that reached up to the ceiling far overhead. A green globe of light circled around each acolyte, their arcs taking them into the golden pillar of light.
Within the pillar, all they could see was the dark outline of the mad acolyte Shift, and all they could hear were his shrieks of pain. And then a cloud of darkness seemed to detach from the acolyte's form, dissipating in the revolving pillar.
It was done.
The sudden dimness of the room almost blinded Maraksus. Across him, Dylan was standing up on shaking legs. Dylan was smiling at him.
"We did it," he heard his friend say. "By the gods, we know how to cure the plague!"
Maraksus felt all his strength drained and it was all he could do to return Dylan's smile.
"Uhuh. We're not the Abbey's most powerful pair for nothing," he managed to mutter wryly, and then he was falling facedown onto the floor.
The stone was cold and hard, but Maraksus thought it was the most comfortable bed in the world.
