Novel & Cerita The Shaman Blade Chapter 1

But it no longer dictated, She held her book in one hand, her blade in the other. And stared up at the creature built from her pain. “You think you’re me,” she said. The figure tilted its featureless head. “You’re not.” The pages that made up its body rustled. “You’re my guilt,” she said. “My shame. My failure. My regret.” She raised the blade. “But I’m not your host. I’m your author.” The blade sliced through one of the figure’s arms, The chapter heading there The Luna Who Lied was erased, Instantly, Gone. The monster screamed, a sound like thousands of crumpled voices.

Jace, on the shaman's directive cuts his palm with a silver blade and lets the blood drip into the basin, I watched as the silver-crimson liquid began to sizzle violently as it recognized the tainted lineage blood. "We return that which was taken. We surrender what was broken." The old man cried out with a loud voice as whispers echoed through the clearing. "Now to you, my child, the spirit of Mother Earth will guide you on what to do." The shaman handed me the silver blade and stood aside. Without wasting time, I gave Selva full control to guide me through the process. I flinched at the stinging of the silver blade. As my blood dripped into the basin, the sizzling stopped and the liquid sta

I was stuck, helpless. Helga stepped forward and began chanting in a tongue I didn’t recognize. I struggled to free myself, as the sound scraped against my ears, and made my skin crawl. Another shaman moved in beside me, face painted in streaks of red, and grabbed my arm. I couldn’t fight him as he pulled out a long and curved silver blade with etchings, and dragged it down my palm in one clean motion. Pain sliced through me, as my blood seeped out of my hand and into a bowl.

Then, without thinking, reached into her satchel and drew the ceremonial blade. One prick. One drop of blood. It struck the page. The book shivered. A glow erupted from within, and runes on the walls flared brighter, casting strange constellations across the floor. Her vision blurred, then vanished into light. And then came everything. A child left crying on a cold altar. Her eyes. Her. A priestess, sobbing, carrying the child away into shadowed exile. A council. Men cloaked in secrets and iron. Burning scrolls that bore the Moonshade name.

Pain surges through me, and I hit the ground hard. “Aria!” Lena screams. I push myself up, vision foggy. I can’t win like this. But then, I recall the flames. The golden flame. I close my eyes and reach deep inside. There it is. A spark. A flicker. I pull it forward. The flame bursts from me again, stronger this time, wrapping around my arms and legs like armor. My claws sparkle with golden light. I charge. We clash in the center of the chamber. His blade touches my claws, and for the first time, he staggers.

Dor was back in it, hacking at Kimball’s clawed feet. And then the shaman was coming for me, power gathered around him like an electrical storm. I couldn’t fight him on his own terms. Not as exhausted as I was, and not with panic singing in my veins. Ian, Ian might be dying — sharp pain coursed through the bond, crippling me for a crucial moment. The shaman let out a ululating chant, his magic pulsing in every syllable, and curses rained down on me. They sizzled as they impacted Dor’s wards, and I swatted away the others, but I fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

I screamed, my knees hitting the floor, my hands clamping over the Shaman’s staff to pull it away. Images flashed behind my eyes sloppy tactical drills at the academy, the back row of the classroom, the heavy oversized sweaters. But the images were warping. I saw myself writing in the leather journal Derek had thrown on the table. I saw myself watching him from the shadows of the gym, my heart fluttering with a pathetic, desperate longing. No, I thought, fighting through the pain. This isn't real. It’s a glamour. "The line is clear," the Shaman’s voice boomed through the room, echoing in the minds of everyone present. "She belongs to the Blackwood Ridge. The bond was sealed three moons ago."

The shaman walked around the circle, tracing another powered substance outside the circle while muttering to himself. “Now,” he said, “we summon the moon goddess and see what she has to offer.” The flames hw had lit earlier flickered all at once. A sudden wind rose from nowhere, circling around me, almost like a tornado. The stromg wind stirred hair, my body shaking. My breath caught insanely and pain hit me instantly. Sharp. Deep. In my head and my chest. I clutched my chest firmly, grimacing. Another pain hit me. I gasped, dropping to my knees as I clutched my stomach also.

Marretje adds when she sees me stare longer than necessary at the books; little does she know that I have less interest in reading. I have my hands on the drawing in no time, my fingers neatly trailing the stained, softened edges of the paper. Something about the rough sketch etches a feeling of familiarity with it, but I am not certain if Katelyn once showed it to me. Without warning, my head pulls back and my hands freeze, a bright white light flashing in front of my eyes before I could blink twice. My neck seems to snap from the force that is. I am lost—somewhere in a cold acre full of ice and snow, so much snow that I struggle to keep my legs steady.

The shaman whispered a new chant—slow, deliberate. “Vel’kara… sha’tena… tora’vesh…” (“Marked one… your life begins to fade… prepare for offering…”) Jenna didn’t understand the words. But she understood the intent. The shaman smiled. A sharp‑toothed, hungry smile. A crack of thunder split the sky. Rain began at once—cold, needling, relentless. The fire hissed but did not die. The ropes grew slick around their wrists. Lucia whimpered. Steeve tensed. Jenna gritted her teeth.