What Once Was One (Book 2) by Marc Johnson

They yanked me towards the hole.
    The hole grew bigger and an enormous, open mouth full of tentacles waited inside. The beast smacked its ghostly teeth in anticipation.
    I cut through its bindings with magic and it roared. More tentacles shot out and latched onto me. No matter how many I dispersed, more came. Inch by inch, it reeled me in like a struggling fish. I stopped focusing on its tentacles and unleashed a torrent of fire into its mouth. It shrieked in pain, withdrawing all its feelers, burrowing itself back into its hovel.
    I propelled myself away from the shrieking hole and flew in the ghostly tunnel, ignoring the cries and promises of the other spirits around me. When more holes popped up, I dodged those lest I be pulled in and have to cast more magic. I needed to conserve it. I had five rituals to perform.
    I beckoned the goblin again, louder and with more force, even though I drew more dark spirits to me. I needed to hurry. The longer I stayed, the more I would be overwhelmed. And I worried about not having enough energy for myself and the others. There was far more at stake than I realized, and the spell scroll hadn’t gone into detail about the dangers that lay in wait.
    One spirit emerged in front of me, with more substance than the rest. Her form looked as if she still lived, making me realize that she was the one I had called.
    In the void, her transparent blue spirit floated next to me with a hollow look on her face. I knew goblins were ferocious and savage fighters, but I wasn’t sure how intelligent they were. Because of my friends’ sizes, we had to use goblins. The ogres and trolls were too big. Anything with too strong a spirit might also take over, and goblins were one of the weakest of the Wasteland creatures, unless they were in large groups.
    I grasped onto Prastian’s mana, using it as a link so the goblin could see. “I give you a chance to live again by bonding your essence to the elf. Do you accept?”
    Silence. I couldn’t tell if she pondered her choice or if she even understood me. A dark tunnel formed around us as my spell started to fade, and began to collapse. The blood magic I used was ending. If I didn’t leave now, I would be trapped here, my soul forever lost.
    “I need your answer,” I said, extending my hand to her.
    Stradus once told me the dead would rarely say no to living again, even if it was only for the briefest time, but the goblin’s pause made me think otherwise. She might not understand me. The exit back to my world dimmed. I had to go. I couldn’t stay any longer.
    As I turned to go, she took my hand. Together, we departed the land of the dead and journeyed back into the land of the living.
    A flash of light blinded me. My eyes adjusted until they brought the world into view. Everything was tilted to the side, including Prastian’s tense and worried face. I pulled myself off the ground and sat up straight. Thankfully, Prastian didn’t move from his circle and the others didn’t break it.
    “Are you all right?” Prastian asked.
    I nodded and in a hoarse voice said, “I’m almost done. Prepare yourself. This is going to hurt.”
    Prastian’s body stiffened. He couldn’t see the goblin spirit invade him. I smiled and let go of the tiring black and white manas. I worked Prastian’s green mana, interweaving it with the spirit. Dipping my hand in the mixed Wasteland blood Rebekah had provided, I created markings across Prastian’s forehead, cheeks, nose, and ears. Normally, I wouldn’t do the ears, but elves believe that’s where an elf’s soul is, and this spell was going to bind to his soul.
    “May the two essences combine and let those of this blood see only the outer skin,” I said and took a deep breath. I was exhausted and still had a lot more work to do. “There. It’s done.”
    “I don’t feel any different,” Prastian said. His green eyes shifted up and down and his ears twitched.
    “You will.”
    Prastian’s eyes suddenly bulged out.