Lazarus went to meet the Shaman.
The Shaman was in a small temple that was built in the premises of the palace at the south end. It was nestled between a thicket of trees and quite secluded. He was creating circles outside the temple all around it with a long stick while chanting incantation. A black robe was draped over his wiry form. He had a thick black ash line over his forehead and his eyes were lined with kohl that extended till his temples. He looked like he was in a daze.
Lazarus watched him from a distance. This Shaman was called by Maeve and his father approved of him. He gazed at the temple that was lit up by a few lanterns that hung on the lamp posts and several torches burned inside the corridors. He could smell thick sandalwood incense. The temple which was usually never even visited by the royal family was cleaned. Not a dry leaf or twig was scattered on the ground. Against the backdrop of the twilight, it looked strangely eerie.
It was said that he was a very powerful man with dark magic. He was from a different realm called Araniea where they practiced dark magic at the cost of having internal body damage. Lazarus didn't understand the need of bringing a Shaman from a different realm. Maybe, he was a castaway and sought refuge in this realm. "How long will the ritual be?" Lazarus asked as he walked towards the Shaman in a calculated manner.
The Shaman whipped his head up, a look of irritation crossing his eyes because of being interrupted. He snarled at Lazarus to warn him to stay quiet and continued forming the circle. Lazarus waited patiently for him to create the circle. When Shaman closed the loop, he discarded the stick that was half burnt in the thicket and brushed his hands off the dirt.
"It may take an hour or a few hours, who knows?" said the Shaman in a gravelly voice.
"Can you elaborate?" Lazarus asked, not happy with the answer.
"It depends on the soul who wants to possess and on the person who will be possessed. If they are unwilling, it will take a few hours. If they are willing, it can happen instantly." He looked up at the sky. The moon had begun to rise. "But the process will start only when the moon reaches its peak. Until then, I will have to recite incantations to pull the soul out of the body. The recipient of the soul has to be present right there." He took a deep breath in. "Moreover, sometimes the soul is tethered to the body in a way that untangling it with the body takes a lot of time. The procedure is painful."
Lazarus took a shaky breath. His gaze drifted to the moon. A large dark shadow glided across it. If he was surprised, he masked it and turned his eyes to the Shaman. "So you want the recipient to be here when you are performing the ritual?"
"The recipient can come later also because the soul takes time to leave the body," the Shaman replied, as he scrutinized Lazarus. "Why are you asking, Lord Lazarus? Aren't you eager for the soul casting ritual?"
ƥαṇdα-ηθνε|·ƈθm Lazarus could sense the Shaman's doubt. If he faltered at this moment, he knew that the Shaman might report it to his father or Maeve. "I am asking because I am eager. In fact I am looking forward to it more than anyone else." That was the truth and so his throat didn't burn.
The Shaman scanned his face for a moment and then gave him a satisfied nod. "I can understand," he said. "After all, goddess Maeve is someone who everyone is coveting for." He clasped his hands behind and then turned to go inside the temple. "Come here in an hour," he instructed. "I won't wait longer and if the ritual doesn't take place in time, I am not going to take the blame for it."
Lazarus watched him go inside the temple and stood there until he disappeared inside. He traced back to Yul who was now in the dungeons.
---
"Take me there," said Maeve to her maid. She was wearing a thin white muslin cloth over her body that was wrapped in many places with bandages. She looked like a mummy in recovery mode.
"But the ritual starts an hour later, m'lady," the maid said, looking flustered. "The king has asked me to take you later. If we go any earlier, the Shaman wouldn't let us go inside the temple," she reasoned.
Maeve was irritated. She wanted to get done with the ritual and do away with this horrible body. It had withered and reeked of blood and pus and infection. After the last magic in which she was asked to remove the spell from the palace in the hopes of finding Emma, her body had weakened to the level that she would have to be transported on a moving chair.
"Call Lord Lazarus. I want to talk to him," she ordered the maid.
The maid left to find Lazarus but returned in ten minutes. "He is not present in his bedchamber. The guard says that he has gone to the dungeons."
Maeve was further irritated. Lazarus should have been present near her. He should have been standing with her at the moment, encouraging her for the ritual. She knew that it was going to be a very painful process for her soul to disentangle from this sick body. But she was ready for it. If only Ailill was here. She would have been so happy. And that thought depressed her. "Go and tell the guard that as soon as he sees Lord Lazarus, he should ask him to come to meet me."
The maid raised an eyebrow at the way she was giving her an order about the prince. But she didn't say anything and turned to convey the message, rolling her eyes. In her heart she hoped that the ritual failed. She hated Maeve from the core of her heart and so did several servants of the palace. She could never comprehend why Prince Anton or Prince Lazarus liked her.
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