THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
Ties of Blood
Raynor paced the length of his chambers, taking large, angry strides. He struggled to keep his temper under control and only the many years of experience prevented him from flinging fireballs at the scrolls on the table.
Where the hell was Belthazor?
The boy -Raynor expected he should stop calling him 'boy' after tonight, yet in his mind his protégé would be a boy for a long time still- should have been here, studying and preparing for the initiation ceremony at midnight. Instead, when Raynor arrived, the chambers were empty, the scrolls deserted in an untidy heap on the table, and Belthazor nowhere to be found.
He had tried casting about, figuring the boy would show up on his mental radar. But he found nothing. And that could only mean one thing: Belthazor was not underground, he had gone up to the world.
"Damn that half-breed," Raynor muttered under his breath as he made yet another turn on his heels. Didn't the boy know what an honor he had been granted? It was rare for the Source to invite new demons into the Brotherhood. Only the best of the best were given that privilege. And here Belthazor was chosen at the wee age of eighteen. It was exceptional.
Footsteps in the hallway caught his attention and he squared his shoulders, ready to give Belthazor a piece of his mind. But the angry phrases fled from his memory when Raynor saw who his visitor was.
Accompanied by a single guard, the Source entered the chamber.
"Ah," he rumbled in his deep voice after looking around. "Young Belthazor is gone."
"Belthazor will be ready in time," Raynor assured him quickly. Silently, he cursed the boy for disappearing without a word.
"Of course he will," the Source said with a dismissive wave of his hand as if there was no doubt about Belthazor's presence at the ceremony. And perhaps there wasn't. Nobody ever turned down the Source's invitation to join the Brotherhood of the Thorn. "I wanted to have a word with you. In private."
Raynor bowed his head and indicated a chair, inviting the Source to sit down. The guard took up station near the entrance to make sure nobody could walk in unannounced.
"How can I be of service?" Raynor asked once they were seated.
"You have always been one of my more trustworthy servants," the Source said. "You kept your promise; you turned Belthazor into a powerful soldier. He will still need our guidance, of course. He is young. And half-human."
Raynor nodded, wondering if the Source was having second thoughts about inviting Belthazor to join the Brotherhood. "He is. He's also smart, strong, and loyal. He'll serve you well."
The Source didn't reply right away. His long fingers tapped a rhythm on the table's surface while he seemed to ponder Raynor's words. "I want to make sure he does. You still have his father's soul?"
Raynor's eyes widened. "Yes. Belthazor has been fascinated with that soul since he came to us. I promised to give it to him tonight. As a sort of... graduation present."
The Source chortled. "I like that. Graduation present." He turned his head, face hidden in the shadows of his hood. Raynor couldn't help the shiver that ran along his spine when the full might of the Source's gaze touched him. "You'll give me the soul," the Source said. "If Belthazor is that interested, it'll be an added guarantee of his loyalty."
Raynor hesitated but one second. Belthazor was not going to like this. Raynor hadn't said a word too many: ever since he was a little boy, the glowing orb that held his father's soul had fascinated the young demon. Raynor had no clue why. It was not as if the boy could put the thing to any use. Perhaps it had sentimental value. Perhaps it was merely a desire to hold on to a childhood memory, the way everyone, mortals and demons alike, tended to hold on to something from their earliest youth. Raynor himself still owned the gemstone bracelet that had belonged to the quarry of his freshman kill.
He got to his feet and walked over to a row of planks attached to the far wall. A small chest sat on top of the highest shelf. He took down the box, opened the lid and a bluish light shone up. Raynor reached in and drew out the orb. He held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, admiring the soft glow, before turning around and offering the ball to the Source.
Long fingers curled around the ball, whisking it from Raynor's hand, and with a quick gesture, Benjamin Turner's soul disappeared somewhere within the Source's long robes.
"What should I tell the boy?" Raynor asked. "He'll want to know what I did with it."
"Tell him the truth," the Source said. "Let him know he can have it in due time."
* * *
The Source's footfalls had hardly died down in the dark tunnels or Belthazor shimmered into the chambers, followed on his heels by Tarkin. Belthazor was laughing; a grin split his face, and Tarkin's smirk was at least as wide as Belthazor's when he clapped his friend on the back.
"Did you see her face?" Tarkin guffawed. "Did you? That utter look of surprise?"
"Yeah, I saw it. It was priceless."
Then Belthazor noticed Raynor watching them from the shadows. His mentor's face was dark, his expression stern, and his cold stare froze the grin on Belthazor's face.
"So good of you to come back," Raynor remarked.
"I was--We were--" Belthazor stammered. Forgotten was the joy of seduction, the pleasure of the chase. The last thing he had wanted to do was anger his teacher.
"You should've seen ol' Belthazor here," Tarkin divulged. "Like flies to honey. He's a real lothario, our Belthazor is." He hid a giggle behind his hand.
Belthazor poked Tarkin in the ribs to shut him up.
Raynor's eyes flicked from Belthazor to Tarkin and back. "Have you two been drinking?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Today, of all days?"
"Only a little," Belthazor murmured. Two brandies at the first bar. A bottle of fine wine at the second. After that, his memory got fuzzy.
"An itty-bitty little," Tarkin echoed, holding his thumb and finger an inch apart.
Without warning, Raynor's arm shot out and a flat-handed blow caught Belthazor on the left cheek. The slap echoed through the room and his head still swam when a shocked squeal from Tarkin told Belthazor that his companion got his ears boxed also.
It was enough to sober him, if not to disperse the alcohol from his blood.
"You!" Raynor said, jabbing a finger at Tarkin. The younger demon cupped his cheek in his hand and his eyes blazed with indignant fury. "Go to your own quarters. Fill a bucket with cold water and dip your head in until you are sober again. Then get dressed for the initiation ceremony."
Tarkin opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it -he wasn't that drunk, apparently- and shimmered from the room.
Raynor turned back at Belthazor. "Are you in need of a bucket too?" he asked.
Belthazor shook his head and regretted the gesture immediately. "No. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm sorry."
"Never say you're sorry," Raynor said. "Did you leave any tracks? Witnesses?"
"No."
"Did you shimmer in and out where nobody could see you?"
"Yes. We're not stupid. We used a back alley."
"Hmm." Silence reigned while Raynor studied Belthazor until the young demon shifted uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny.
"Lothario, huh?" Raynor said at last, his voice gentler. "You better get ready. Your robe is waiting for you in the other room."
* * *
It was less than an hour later that Belthazor waited outside the High Council's chambers to be called in. Waiting with him was Tarkin and another demon, a female. Her name was Jodhra and Belthazor didn't know much more about her than her name. She had to be good at what she did, though, or she wouldn't be here. He glanced sideways at his friend. Tarkin had sobered up since they returned underground from their excursion. Perhaps he had followed Raynor's advice and taken a cold bath. Or perhaps the seriousness of what was about to happen had been enough to dissipate the alcohol in the demon's system. In any case, Tarkin's face was tight. Belthazor suspected he wore the same expression. His stomach was a hard stone in the pit of his belly. Both demons were well aware that today was a very important -if not the most crucial- day of their demonic careers.
To be offered a membership to the Brotherhood of the Thorn was not an honor given lightly. Although Raynor headed the Brotherhood, it was the Source himself who decided who would be asked. The Brotherhood demanded utter loyalty, strength, and cunning from its members. In return, the Brothers could depend on and trust one another - as far as trust was possible among demons. A blood oath confirmed the relationship and forged a bond stronger than any vow.
Belthazor knew all this; Raynor had explained it to him countless times. He could reiterate the words of the pledge in his sleep. Still, knowing was a far cry from actually going into that room and take the oath in front of the mightiest of the mighty. He straightened the hood around his head and changed into his demonic form.
A bald-headed demon appeared in the doorway to the High Council hall. With a sharp nod of the head, he motioned for Belthazor and the other two to enter the chamber. Without a pause, the three initiates filed in.
Although their faces were hidden deep within the cowl of their robes and their heads were down respectfully, Belthazor couldn't suppress his curiosity and he peeked around from beneath the edge of his hood. The High Council chambers were not a place one visited often. Nor did anyone desire to - unless one was a member of the Council. This was where treason was discussed, judgments were passed, and verdicts were called and often executed.
On a raised platform to the left Belthazor recognized the robed silhouettes of the Triad, their black, soulless eyes cold and unreadable. On the right, on an even higher dais, sat the Source himself, face invisible, long hands folded across his chest. The three demons bowed their heads even deeper in greeting of their superiors.
A fire roared deep within a pit in the middle of the floor. Belthazor swallowed and despite the heat that rose from the round hole, he shivered. Traitors were cast into that pit when they were found guilty. He had been present once, when a warlock was condemned for killing a demon. If he closed his eyes, he imagined he could still hear the man's screams drifting up from far below.
The three initiates circled the pit and halted in front of an altar carved from a thick block of basalt. On its top stood a blackened chalice. An athame lay beside the chalice, its blade gleaming sharply in the light of the flickering torches. A dark priest, tall and straight-backed, stood at the altar. He was chanting, in a language so ancient that Belthazor couldn't recognize it despite his long years of studying demon history.
Behind the dignitary sat thirteen demons, the highest ranking among the Brotherhood. Raynor sat in their midst. Belthazor tried to catch his mentor's gaze, hoping perhaps for some encouragement. But Raynor's eyes were distant and slipped over him almost as if he didn't recognize his charge.
At a small gesture from the Source, the dark priest raised his hands and picked up the ancient chant in a louder voice. While Belthazor and the others watched, the chalice began to glow, emitting a dark glare that seemed to swallow the light until the torches flickered wildly and Belthazor had to squint to make out anyone or anything beyond arm's reach. The temperature in the room dropped, and the cold nipped at his skin through the thick robe. Goosebumps sprang up on his arms. Goosebumps of cold as well as fear. Ancient forces, more powerful than any he could imagine, gathered in the room. For the first time in his young life, the demon truly realized that he was part of something major, a force to be reckoned with. He couldn't help but rejoice at the thought.
His thoughts quickly melted away when Raynor approached the altar. The tall priest turned toward Belthazor's mentor and placed the athame in Raynor's hands. Intoning an ancient charm, Raynor reached out to Belthazor. They had discussed this part of the ceremony and Belthazor knew what was expected from him. He took a step forward, pulled up the sleeve of his left arm and held out his hand.
The blade was sharp as the athame sliced through his skin. Dark ruby drops of blood welled while his mentor cut his own palm to mirror Belthazor's wound. The priest took their wrists and held both their hands over the chalice. They watched the blood drip into its black nothingness.
"Tan ak la ak;
Hakra tal dralnic," Raynor recited.
"Tan ak la ak," Belthazor repeated. He translated the words in his mind as he spoke.
"My blood, your blood;
Brothers for eternity;
My life in your hands;
Your life in mine;
Together we serve the Source of bane."
They said the oath three times and the priest let go of their hands. Belthazor lowered the cowl of his robe and exposed his face so all present could see and recognize the new associate to the Brotherhood. He stepped back to take his place among the three initiates.
Another of the thirteen Brotherhood demons took Raynor's place. Tarkin's mentor, and Tarkin joined him at the altar. The ceremony was repeated until Tarkin also folded back his hood and stepped away. Then it was the turn of the third demon.
As Jodhra smoothed her cloak and returned to the edge of the pit, the priest raised his hands high, his voice growing louder and louder until it reverberated through the chamber. There was a flash of light, and a cloud of yellow vapor billowed from the chalice. Belthazor held his breath until most of the smoke had drifted away.
The Source rose to his feet and everyone turned their attention toward him.
"The Brotherhood of the Thorn is one of the most venerable fellowships I know," he said solemnly. "Ancient beyond memory, the Brotherhood has existed since before time began, and will prevail when time has ended. Serve it well, and the rewards will be plenteous."
With that, the official part was over, and the Triad and the Source withdrew. The thirteen Brotherhood demons congratulated their new brethren. "Welcome, Brother," they said, locking hands with the three members. "Welcome." Belthazor kept grinning happily, and he wasn't surprised to see his grin reflected on Tarkin's face.
"We did it, Brother," Tarkin said, reaching up to clasp Belthazor's shoulder. "We did it."
Belthazor bared his trademark row of pointed teeth.
* * *
"Follow me," Raynor said with a faint quirk of his mouth. "I have something for you."
Belthazor lifted an eyebrow, then remembered. His father's soul. Raynor promised he would give him the glowing orb once he was accepted as a full-blooded demon into the Brotherhood. How could he have forgotten!
He followed Raynor from the High Council chambers, shifting back into his human form as he walked. His demonic body was much more powerful but it took a lot of energy to maintain that strength. And it had been a long day. Belthazor was tired.
His step faltered when Raynor took a left turn. Their chambers were off to the right. Belthazor hurried to catch up. "Where are we going?" he asked.
Raynor merely smiled and walked on. A few more twists and turns in the dark tunnels of the underground and, "Here we are," he said. He gestured at a doorway that led to a small and sparsely decorated room. "Your new home."
"My what?" Belthazor asked. "Why?"
"Now that you're a full Brother, I felt you needed quarters of your own," Raynor said. He chortled. "Especially after that jaunt into the world today. You can't live with your old mentor forever, you know. I have taught you all I can. It's time you start carving your own niche."
"Oh." Belthazor didn't know what else to say. Raynor's chambers were the only home he had ever known, or at least the only home he remembered.
"You will, of course, be free to decorate it in compliance with your own taste," Raynor said. "But that'll have to wait. I have an assignment for you which will require that you find living accommodations in the human world for a while."
"Oh," Belthazor said again. "An assignment? Already?"
"Yes. What did you think? That you could dawdle your way to the top of the Brotherhood?" The faint smile on Raynor's features indicated it was a joke. He waved a hand across Belthazor's eyes for a moment, then pointed at the table. "You know what to do. All the information you need is in there." Belthazor followed the outstretched finger and noticed a paper folder on the table's surface. "I don't want to see you here again until you are successful. Don't let us down, Brother."
"I won't," Belthazor promised. "I won't."
Raynor turned to walk away.
"Wait," Belthazor said. "What about my father's soul? You said you would give it to me tonight."
"Ah," Raynor said. His face took on a pained expression. "There's been a slight change of plans."
"What?" Belthazor exclaimed. He felt anger stir deep within. He had wanted that soul all his life, waited patiently for it; it was the single thing that connected him with his past. "What do you mean? It is mine!"
"Now, no need to get all upset," Raynor hushed. "The Source has it. He wanted it. Besides, you should know better than to put all your trust in a demon's promise. Even mine."
"What does the Source want with my father's soul?" Belthazor demanded.
Raynor shrugged. "Insurance," he said. "He has not forgotten your ancestry. He is worried that you might give in to weak human emotions, like compassion and pity. As long as he holds your father's soul, he'll believe in your loyalty. He said he'd return it to you, once you have proven yourself to him."
"When will that be?" Belthazor wanted to know. "I joined the Brotherhood of the Thorn today! I killed witches for you, for him. What more does he want?"
Raynor gave another shrug. "It's not my place to question the Source's motives. And if you cherish your hide, neither will you. You'll just have to be patient a little while longer. Now, go study that file and do your job. Everything else will follow."
Belthazor gritted his teeth as he watched his former mentor walk away. Infuriating as it might be, Raynor was right. If the Source had Benjamin Turner's soul, there was nothing he could do but wait until he decided Belthazor was ready to receive it. Fuming inwardly, Belthazor turned and entered his new chamber. He grabbed the file and began to study it.
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series Charmed. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.
Ties of Blood
Raynor paced the length of his chambers, taking large, angry strides. He struggled to keep his temper under control and only the many years of experience prevented him from flinging fireballs at the scrolls on the table.
Where the hell was Belthazor?
The boy -Raynor expected he should stop calling him 'boy' after tonight, yet in his mind his protégé would be a boy for a long time still- should have been here, studying and preparing for the initiation ceremony at midnight. Instead, when Raynor arrived, the chambers were empty, the scrolls deserted in an untidy heap on the table, and Belthazor nowhere to be found.
He had tried casting about, figuring the boy would show up on his mental radar. But he found nothing. And that could only mean one thing: Belthazor was not underground, he had gone up to the world.
"Damn that half-breed," Raynor muttered under his breath as he made yet another turn on his heels. Didn't the boy know what an honor he had been granted? It was rare for the Source to invite new demons into the Brotherhood. Only the best of the best were given that privilege. And here Belthazor was chosen at the wee age of eighteen. It was exceptional.
Footsteps in the hallway caught his attention and he squared his shoulders, ready to give Belthazor a piece of his mind. But the angry phrases fled from his memory when Raynor saw who his visitor was.
Accompanied by a single guard, the Source entered the chamber.
"Ah," he rumbled in his deep voice after looking around. "Young Belthazor is gone."
"Belthazor will be ready in time," Raynor assured him quickly. Silently, he cursed the boy for disappearing without a word.
"Of course he will," the Source said with a dismissive wave of his hand as if there was no doubt about Belthazor's presence at the ceremony. And perhaps there wasn't. Nobody ever turned down the Source's invitation to join the Brotherhood of the Thorn. "I wanted to have a word with you. In private."
Raynor bowed his head and indicated a chair, inviting the Source to sit down. The guard took up station near the entrance to make sure nobody could walk in unannounced.
"How can I be of service?" Raynor asked once they were seated.
"You have always been one of my more trustworthy servants," the Source said. "You kept your promise; you turned Belthazor into a powerful soldier. He will still need our guidance, of course. He is young. And half-human."
Raynor nodded, wondering if the Source was having second thoughts about inviting Belthazor to join the Brotherhood. "He is. He's also smart, strong, and loyal. He'll serve you well."
The Source didn't reply right away. His long fingers tapped a rhythm on the table's surface while he seemed to ponder Raynor's words. "I want to make sure he does. You still have his father's soul?"
Raynor's eyes widened. "Yes. Belthazor has been fascinated with that soul since he came to us. I promised to give it to him tonight. As a sort of... graduation present."
The Source chortled. "I like that. Graduation present." He turned his head, face hidden in the shadows of his hood. Raynor couldn't help the shiver that ran along his spine when the full might of the Source's gaze touched him. "You'll give me the soul," the Source said. "If Belthazor is that interested, it'll be an added guarantee of his loyalty."
Raynor hesitated but one second. Belthazor was not going to like this. Raynor hadn't said a word too many: ever since he was a little boy, the glowing orb that held his father's soul had fascinated the young demon. Raynor had no clue why. It was not as if the boy could put the thing to any use. Perhaps it had sentimental value. Perhaps it was merely a desire to hold on to a childhood memory, the way everyone, mortals and demons alike, tended to hold on to something from their earliest youth. Raynor himself still owned the gemstone bracelet that had belonged to the quarry of his freshman kill.
He got to his feet and walked over to a row of planks attached to the far wall. A small chest sat on top of the highest shelf. He took down the box, opened the lid and a bluish light shone up. Raynor reached in and drew out the orb. He held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, admiring the soft glow, before turning around and offering the ball to the Source.
Long fingers curled around the ball, whisking it from Raynor's hand, and with a quick gesture, Benjamin Turner's soul disappeared somewhere within the Source's long robes.
"What should I tell the boy?" Raynor asked. "He'll want to know what I did with it."
"Tell him the truth," the Source said. "Let him know he can have it in due time."
* * *
The Source's footfalls had hardly died down in the dark tunnels or Belthazor shimmered into the chambers, followed on his heels by Tarkin. Belthazor was laughing; a grin split his face, and Tarkin's smirk was at least as wide as Belthazor's when he clapped his friend on the back.
"Did you see her face?" Tarkin guffawed. "Did you? That utter look of surprise?"
"Yeah, I saw it. It was priceless."
Then Belthazor noticed Raynor watching them from the shadows. His mentor's face was dark, his expression stern, and his cold stare froze the grin on Belthazor's face.
"So good of you to come back," Raynor remarked.
"I was--We were--" Belthazor stammered. Forgotten was the joy of seduction, the pleasure of the chase. The last thing he had wanted to do was anger his teacher.
"You should've seen ol' Belthazor here," Tarkin divulged. "Like flies to honey. He's a real lothario, our Belthazor is." He hid a giggle behind his hand.
Belthazor poked Tarkin in the ribs to shut him up.
Raynor's eyes flicked from Belthazor to Tarkin and back. "Have you two been drinking?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Today, of all days?"
"Only a little," Belthazor murmured. Two brandies at the first bar. A bottle of fine wine at the second. After that, his memory got fuzzy.
"An itty-bitty little," Tarkin echoed, holding his thumb and finger an inch apart.
Without warning, Raynor's arm shot out and a flat-handed blow caught Belthazor on the left cheek. The slap echoed through the room and his head still swam when a shocked squeal from Tarkin told Belthazor that his companion got his ears boxed also.
It was enough to sober him, if not to disperse the alcohol from his blood.
"You!" Raynor said, jabbing a finger at Tarkin. The younger demon cupped his cheek in his hand and his eyes blazed with indignant fury. "Go to your own quarters. Fill a bucket with cold water and dip your head in until you are sober again. Then get dressed for the initiation ceremony."
Tarkin opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it -he wasn't that drunk, apparently- and shimmered from the room.
Raynor turned back at Belthazor. "Are you in need of a bucket too?" he asked.
Belthazor shook his head and regretted the gesture immediately. "No. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm sorry."
"Never say you're sorry," Raynor said. "Did you leave any tracks? Witnesses?"
"No."
"Did you shimmer in and out where nobody could see you?"
"Yes. We're not stupid. We used a back alley."
"Hmm." Silence reigned while Raynor studied Belthazor until the young demon shifted uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny.
"Lothario, huh?" Raynor said at last, his voice gentler. "You better get ready. Your robe is waiting for you in the other room."
* * *
It was less than an hour later that Belthazor waited outside the High Council's chambers to be called in. Waiting with him was Tarkin and another demon, a female. Her name was Jodhra and Belthazor didn't know much more about her than her name. She had to be good at what she did, though, or she wouldn't be here. He glanced sideways at his friend. Tarkin had sobered up since they returned underground from their excursion. Perhaps he had followed Raynor's advice and taken a cold bath. Or perhaps the seriousness of what was about to happen had been enough to dissipate the alcohol in the demon's system. In any case, Tarkin's face was tight. Belthazor suspected he wore the same expression. His stomach was a hard stone in the pit of his belly. Both demons were well aware that today was a very important -if not the most crucial- day of their demonic careers.
To be offered a membership to the Brotherhood of the Thorn was not an honor given lightly. Although Raynor headed the Brotherhood, it was the Source himself who decided who would be asked. The Brotherhood demanded utter loyalty, strength, and cunning from its members. In return, the Brothers could depend on and trust one another - as far as trust was possible among demons. A blood oath confirmed the relationship and forged a bond stronger than any vow.
Belthazor knew all this; Raynor had explained it to him countless times. He could reiterate the words of the pledge in his sleep. Still, knowing was a far cry from actually going into that room and take the oath in front of the mightiest of the mighty. He straightened the hood around his head and changed into his demonic form.
A bald-headed demon appeared in the doorway to the High Council hall. With a sharp nod of the head, he motioned for Belthazor and the other two to enter the chamber. Without a pause, the three initiates filed in.
Although their faces were hidden deep within the cowl of their robes and their heads were down respectfully, Belthazor couldn't suppress his curiosity and he peeked around from beneath the edge of his hood. The High Council chambers were not a place one visited often. Nor did anyone desire to - unless one was a member of the Council. This was where treason was discussed, judgments were passed, and verdicts were called and often executed.
On a raised platform to the left Belthazor recognized the robed silhouettes of the Triad, their black, soulless eyes cold and unreadable. On the right, on an even higher dais, sat the Source himself, face invisible, long hands folded across his chest. The three demons bowed their heads even deeper in greeting of their superiors.
A fire roared deep within a pit in the middle of the floor. Belthazor swallowed and despite the heat that rose from the round hole, he shivered. Traitors were cast into that pit when they were found guilty. He had been present once, when a warlock was condemned for killing a demon. If he closed his eyes, he imagined he could still hear the man's screams drifting up from far below.
The three initiates circled the pit and halted in front of an altar carved from a thick block of basalt. On its top stood a blackened chalice. An athame lay beside the chalice, its blade gleaming sharply in the light of the flickering torches. A dark priest, tall and straight-backed, stood at the altar. He was chanting, in a language so ancient that Belthazor couldn't recognize it despite his long years of studying demon history.
Behind the dignitary sat thirteen demons, the highest ranking among the Brotherhood. Raynor sat in their midst. Belthazor tried to catch his mentor's gaze, hoping perhaps for some encouragement. But Raynor's eyes were distant and slipped over him almost as if he didn't recognize his charge.
At a small gesture from the Source, the dark priest raised his hands and picked up the ancient chant in a louder voice. While Belthazor and the others watched, the chalice began to glow, emitting a dark glare that seemed to swallow the light until the torches flickered wildly and Belthazor had to squint to make out anyone or anything beyond arm's reach. The temperature in the room dropped, and the cold nipped at his skin through the thick robe. Goosebumps sprang up on his arms. Goosebumps of cold as well as fear. Ancient forces, more powerful than any he could imagine, gathered in the room. For the first time in his young life, the demon truly realized that he was part of something major, a force to be reckoned with. He couldn't help but rejoice at the thought.
His thoughts quickly melted away when Raynor approached the altar. The tall priest turned toward Belthazor's mentor and placed the athame in Raynor's hands. Intoning an ancient charm, Raynor reached out to Belthazor. They had discussed this part of the ceremony and Belthazor knew what was expected from him. He took a step forward, pulled up the sleeve of his left arm and held out his hand.
The blade was sharp as the athame sliced through his skin. Dark ruby drops of blood welled while his mentor cut his own palm to mirror Belthazor's wound. The priest took their wrists and held both their hands over the chalice. They watched the blood drip into its black nothingness.
"Tan ak la ak;
Hakra tal dralnic," Raynor recited.
"Tan ak la ak," Belthazor repeated. He translated the words in his mind as he spoke.
"My blood, your blood;
Brothers for eternity;
My life in your hands;
Your life in mine;
Together we serve the Source of bane."
They said the oath three times and the priest let go of their hands. Belthazor lowered the cowl of his robe and exposed his face so all present could see and recognize the new associate to the Brotherhood. He stepped back to take his place among the three initiates.
Another of the thirteen Brotherhood demons took Raynor's place. Tarkin's mentor, and Tarkin joined him at the altar. The ceremony was repeated until Tarkin also folded back his hood and stepped away. Then it was the turn of the third demon.
As Jodhra smoothed her cloak and returned to the edge of the pit, the priest raised his hands high, his voice growing louder and louder until it reverberated through the chamber. There was a flash of light, and a cloud of yellow vapor billowed from the chalice. Belthazor held his breath until most of the smoke had drifted away.
The Source rose to his feet and everyone turned their attention toward him.
"The Brotherhood of the Thorn is one of the most venerable fellowships I know," he said solemnly. "Ancient beyond memory, the Brotherhood has existed since before time began, and will prevail when time has ended. Serve it well, and the rewards will be plenteous."
With that, the official part was over, and the Triad and the Source withdrew. The thirteen Brotherhood demons congratulated their new brethren. "Welcome, Brother," they said, locking hands with the three members. "Welcome." Belthazor kept grinning happily, and he wasn't surprised to see his grin reflected on Tarkin's face.
"We did it, Brother," Tarkin said, reaching up to clasp Belthazor's shoulder. "We did it."
Belthazor bared his trademark row of pointed teeth.
* * *
"Follow me," Raynor said with a faint quirk of his mouth. "I have something for you."
Belthazor lifted an eyebrow, then remembered. His father's soul. Raynor promised he would give him the glowing orb once he was accepted as a full-blooded demon into the Brotherhood. How could he have forgotten!
He followed Raynor from the High Council chambers, shifting back into his human form as he walked. His demonic body was much more powerful but it took a lot of energy to maintain that strength. And it had been a long day. Belthazor was tired.
His step faltered when Raynor took a left turn. Their chambers were off to the right. Belthazor hurried to catch up. "Where are we going?" he asked.
Raynor merely smiled and walked on. A few more twists and turns in the dark tunnels of the underground and, "Here we are," he said. He gestured at a doorway that led to a small and sparsely decorated room. "Your new home."
"My what?" Belthazor asked. "Why?"
"Now that you're a full Brother, I felt you needed quarters of your own," Raynor said. He chortled. "Especially after that jaunt into the world today. You can't live with your old mentor forever, you know. I have taught you all I can. It's time you start carving your own niche."
"Oh." Belthazor didn't know what else to say. Raynor's chambers were the only home he had ever known, or at least the only home he remembered.
"You will, of course, be free to decorate it in compliance with your own taste," Raynor said. "But that'll have to wait. I have an assignment for you which will require that you find living accommodations in the human world for a while."
"Oh," Belthazor said again. "An assignment? Already?"
"Yes. What did you think? That you could dawdle your way to the top of the Brotherhood?" The faint smile on Raynor's features indicated it was a joke. He waved a hand across Belthazor's eyes for a moment, then pointed at the table. "You know what to do. All the information you need is in there." Belthazor followed the outstretched finger and noticed a paper folder on the table's surface. "I don't want to see you here again until you are successful. Don't let us down, Brother."
"I won't," Belthazor promised. "I won't."
Raynor turned to walk away.
"Wait," Belthazor said. "What about my father's soul? You said you would give it to me tonight."
"Ah," Raynor said. His face took on a pained expression. "There's been a slight change of plans."
"What?" Belthazor exclaimed. He felt anger stir deep within. He had wanted that soul all his life, waited patiently for it; it was the single thing that connected him with his past. "What do you mean? It is mine!"
"Now, no need to get all upset," Raynor hushed. "The Source has it. He wanted it. Besides, you should know better than to put all your trust in a demon's promise. Even mine."
"What does the Source want with my father's soul?" Belthazor demanded.
Raynor shrugged. "Insurance," he said. "He has not forgotten your ancestry. He is worried that you might give in to weak human emotions, like compassion and pity. As long as he holds your father's soul, he'll believe in your loyalty. He said he'd return it to you, once you have proven yourself to him."
"When will that be?" Belthazor wanted to know. "I joined the Brotherhood of the Thorn today! I killed witches for you, for him. What more does he want?"
Raynor gave another shrug. "It's not my place to question the Source's motives. And if you cherish your hide, neither will you. You'll just have to be patient a little while longer. Now, go study that file and do your job. Everything else will follow."
Belthazor gritted his teeth as he watched his former mentor walk away. Infuriating as it might be, Raynor was right. If the Source had Benjamin Turner's soul, there was nothing he could do but wait until he decided Belthazor was ready to receive it. Fuming inwardly, Belthazor turned and entered his new chamber. He grabbed the file and began to study it.
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series Charmed. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.