Below, you’ll find a preview for Blood Magic. Remember, the first episode is set to be released in January or February of 2020. If you’re exciting about the series, leave a comment on the series or about the preview in the comments below, or on the Blood Magic Forum page.
It was a dark night. All nights are dark, but there are some nights when the darkness takes on a substance of its own, when the blackened fabric of the nocturnal sky is knitted together into solid cloth once more, the holes of the stars and moon patched and repaired. This night was one of those, which did nothing to assuage the tribulations of the visitor who made his quiet way from the mainland to the Isle of Blood. It was not a trip that any made lightly, and even fewer returned. There was only one form of payment on the Isle of Blood.
The little rowboat bumped against the half rotten outcropping of wood that served as a dock for the Isle, and the cloaked and hooded visitor carefully moored the little craft before gathering his walking stick and stepping gingerly onto the platform, securing his oars. His eyes flicked guiltily to the bundled form at the bottom of the boat, before he straightened. Seaweed-slicked planks creaked in mild warning as he walked onto the Isle. A mist swirled about, obscuring the temples and other outlying buildings that housed the little island’s reclusive population. It was better that way, the visitor thought, for it served also to obfuscate the horrors he might otherwise be made to perceive. The rule of law did not reach the Isle of Blood.
Mist stirred ahead, and the visitor stopped just before the gates of the temple and waited. There was no need for him to announce his presence: it would have been noted the moment he set foot from his boat. At length, a man-shaped figured in red robes stepped from the mist to stand just in front of the visitor. The visitor adjusted his grip on his walking stick nervously and the man in red robes examined him. The red robed man’s head was bald and bare and glistened slightly in the mist, and the robe was fastened at his throat with obsidian clasps that appeared to bite slightly into his pearly white skin. Peeking out from beneath the robes, a broad, black sword was just visible.
“Welcome, Borivat, Advisor to the Prime of Merolate,” the red robed man said. His teeth had been filed to points, giving his voice a certain frothing quality. “For what reason do you presume upon the…hospitality of our sanctuary?”
The visitor, Borivat, bowed his head slightly. “I seek to lift a curse,” he said.
The red robed man smiled. With his pointed teeth, it was terrifying. “The Prime’s newborn son has been cursed, so he turns now to the very magic he has prosecuted for his entire reign?”
“No,” Borivat said, “the Prime does not seek this. He seeks the death of the witch who cast the curse, believing that will lift it.”
“And you, Borivat, Advisor to the Prime of Merolate, have come to us, because you know that the mere death of a witch will not lift the curse.” The red robed man made it a statement, not a question.
“Will you lift the curse?” Borivat asked.
“You know the price of our magic,” the red robed man said. “If the price is paid, we will break the curse upon the baby prince.”
“In the boat,” Borivat said, gesturing with his walking stick.
The red robed man reached up to the clasp of his cloak and pressed slightly. The clasp bit into his neck, blood welling up around it, but almost all of the blood was absorbed by the clasp. His eyes flared red for a moment, then returned to their previous solid black. A gesture of one hand, and tendrils of mist extended outward to the rowboat, scooping up the man-shaped package and bearing it back to the red robed man, where the package stopped and hovered, firm in the misty grasp.
“This will do,” the red robed man said. “The curse will be broken by morning.”
Borivat nodded. He did not thank the man in red as he turned to rejoin his fellow priests in the temple beyond, the man-shaped package floating along behind him. There would have been no point. Instead, the king’s advisor turned and slowly shuffled back to the little rowboat. Settling himself as best he could and storing his walking stick securely beneath the bench, Borivat took up the oars and began to slowly row himself back towards Merolate.