Chapter 20 #2
I laugh. “Oh, this should be good. Go ahead. Give me your fucking wisdom.”
“You never understood your limits!” His voice rises, booming through the room.
“You are attempting to evade the price of dark magic. It is forbidden for a reason, Astoria! The priesthood burned to purge the world of its wickedness. Whatever you are doing, it has defied the laws of nature, the laws of magic. It is compounding the curse to create something new and terrible. This world and the one beyond tremble from this horror you have done. You stupid girl! You’ll damn us all! ”
I set my shoulders, my stance tall and my head held high as I respond, “You call me corrupted, you damn my methods, and yet you wield the same forbidden magic I do.” I throw my hand towards Vi’s body.
“Viola is awfully well kept for someone who’s been dead for months.
She should’ve been burned with the proper blessings for her soul to rest within the Tapestry, but instead, you’ve kept her like this, for what?
To hurt me?” Grief threatens to overwhelm me.
Images of my rotting aunt being reanimated like a puppet on a string to write a letter to trick me into returning has me retching.
I clutch my stomach and my tears rasp my voice.
“You are a disgrace to the laws of magic and a fucking hypocrite.”
He snaps, his pale face flooding with color, “I am the Archweaver! No laws bind me. I wield all magic.”
“So can I!”
“No! You can’t! You’ve allowed your desire for power to corrupt your mind like you allowed a curse to corrupt your soul. Viola should never have concealed what you did. She should never have attempted to bend the laws of magic and nurture your deviant threads!”
“Is that why you killed her? Because she loved me more than your precious rules?” My eyes burn and throat closes. “She saw my potential and tried to help me learn, not snuff out my power like you wanted.”
Atticus points at his sister’s body. “Viola died because she hid what you did and dared to oppose me, preventing my retrieval of you for far too long! She chose her love for you over the good of the Order.” His eyes flash. “Over the command of her Archweaver.”
“As she should! Someone should love me more than this fucking Order!” I step forward, screaming. “You should love me more!”
“I did love you!”
I bark a laugh, my hands starting to shake. “Not as much as Alasdair.”
“Alasdair understands his place.”
“Alasdair is the only reason I’m here. You don’t give a damn that I could’ve killed myself with this curse. You only care that your precious mediocre son is dying because he’s too stupid to save himself.”
Atticus roars, “I won’t have both my children die!”
“Then enjoy the death of one!” My smile stretches, my eyes wild. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m alive. I lived when lesser weavers failed. Look at me!” I throw my arms wide. “I am power incarnate!”
“Your arrogance will be the death of you.” He heaves in breaths, his eyes mirroring mine. “I knew it the moment you tried to curse me instead of seeing reason. You are too weak to stand against the corruption of real power.”
“I’m stronger than you’ll ever know.”
“You are as resilient as a roach. But you are weak, Astoria. A real weaver would’ve learned their place.” He shakes his head. “Now obey me, child. End this curse and perhaps it’s not too late to save yourself in the process.”
The pleasure that unfurls in my chest sends a shiver through me. My smile takes a cruel edge. “No. If you are so powerful, then you end it.”
His face blotches red, his mouth thinning in a hard line as I wait. I want him to admit that he doesn’t understand my curse. I want him to say out loud in front of the Order how powerless he is against it. Most importantly, I need him to admit that the Order was wrong about Dual Threads.
It is a puzzle that my father cannot fathom the end image of. He’s too rigid, too black and white in his views of magic and Dual-Threaded weavers. He never understood that magic is a flexible, living thing.
But the priesthood understood it. Viola and Rossana did too, and through their teachings and secret notebook, I understand it as well.
I communed with my great-grandmother Antonia’s grimoire to absorb her research into curse-work.
Then I combined the resulting increase in magical capabilities and knowledge with what I learned from the notebook.
I was able to forge my own curse, the likes of which no weaver has ever seen.
The runes I carved into Alasdair are of my own creation.
It allowed the curse to both be slow-acting and spreadable with the soul corruption of the foulest of dark magics.
It was through the notebook that I learned how the priests wielded curses freely. They bound their curses to grimoires. It’s why I created my grimoire while cursing Alasdair. Now, as long as my grimoire is safe, my curse will continue on, even if I die.
If my father has connected the pieces, then he knows I managed to create a grimoire, something that the Order firmly believes is impossible for a Dual. The enjoyment of hearing him admit this wrong would be immeasurable.
“Well then.” My tongue slides over my teeth. “I guess you’re fucked.”
My father’s power rises and I nearly step back. His voice lowers in that terrifying way he used to use on me. “I will give you one last chance, child. Obey your Archweaver. End. This. Curse.”
I step forward, my own magic answering the call. “No.”
Resolve sets over his face. “Then you leave me no choice.”
The ironwood stake pinning Viola’s right hand to the wall rips free.
I prepare to counter, my magic surging, but the wood streaks towards the door.
Towards Lucas. I scream, hands reaching out and magic gripping the wood.
It slows and stops to graze Lucas’ shirt.
His chest pumps, eyes wide. Valen’s hands slip from his pockets, his face too pale as he stares at the wood inches away from killing Lucas.
My father’s voice booms, echoing oddly in my mind. “Obey, or he’ll join your aunt!”
I’m shaking, my voice a shrill shriek. “Don’t touch him!”
“If your own life is not worth saving, then I’ll force your hand with the only thing you do care about.
I’ll tear your magician apart, one piece at a time, until there’s nothing left for you to knit back together.
I will take his soul and feed it to the demons of the deep Weave, so that he will know no peace in death. ”
Panic and rage flood me as I yank on the ironwood, but it doesn’t budge. I don’t have the strength to do more than hold my father’s attack back. He wiggles the stake to prove he can and I sob, my hand trembling. Lucas’ eyes fall to mine and my vision blurs.
I cannot lose him. Not Lucas. My lips tremble.
Tears burn my cheeks and mingle with his blood that’s caked on them.
“Do… not…” My heart thumps in my ears, my hand shaking.
I’m breathing too fast, panic too overwhelming.
Fear floods my system, my vision flickering.
“Touch him…” My hand convulses and I feel it.
The cliff.
Slowly, I look down the dark, endless cliff of my soul. The sea of Entropy is calm and smooth as onyx. My face reflects in it. Then mist forms, swirling in a gentle dance not unlike the darkness I saw in the halls. It draws me closer until I’m leaning out over the water, my toes gripping the edge.
The golden forest behind me is no more. A few sprigs of grass struggle in black puddles. My magic, my Creation Thread, my beautiful flame, is tapped. But the dark ocean… it is vast. Maybe I can still save us. All I need to do is claim my birthright and wield the black flame of Entropy.
A sweet, seductive voice hums from the mist, tickling my ears, and an icy chill strokes my cheek. Come…
My physical eyes blink as they begin to cool. My gaze lifts to my father. Our eyes meet and his widen at what I know he sees within mine. No longer the green of summer, my eyes are the pure matte black of the pit. Fear flickers across his face, the stake twitching. I smile. And fall.
It’s like plunging into black oil. The power clings to me and pulls me under.
Deeper. Darker. I smile, my lips stretching too wide.
A giggle bubbles up until it transforms into an endless, wild laughter.
The ironwood shatters. All of it. Tiny splinters shiver in midair and Viola’s body squelches on the ground. The sound jolts my body.
I scream and it echoes with the abyss. Power explodes forth. The splinters dive towards the source of my suffering, slicing through my father’s feeble magical shields and burying deep in his flesh. His cry of agony brings a smile back to my face.
A tornado begins.
Magic roars. Weavers attack. I hum, my tornado building. I dip back in my oily sea, falling deeper and deeper. There’s no light, only my sweet oil. My arms swish back and forth in slow, luxurious sweeps. It’s lovely, this darkness.
Coolness wraps around me, chilling my bones. I don’t like the cold. I want warmth. Like a hot bath that I can sink into. Something that will ease the aches of my soul. Something to get lost in.
The darkness whispers its sweet hum. Why not a fire…
Yes, I can do that. A fire will warm me. But… this oil… I lift my hands, feeling the darkness all around. Fire and oil… would be… bad…
It will feed the fire. Like a lamp in the night. The voice wraps around my mind. It will be so lovely.
It would be. The fire would be pure. Yes, it will cleanse the impurities. There’s so much that needs to be cleansed. Like cauterizing a hemorrhaging wound, a fire could cure it all. Yes. A fire.
A fire.
A… fire…
I lift my hand to summon my flame. Instead of the heat I’m familiar with, an icy chill nips at my palm. My brows furrow and the oil shivers, sliding around me in long strokes.
Something slides across my palm. Something I cannot see. The darkness hisses. A fire. We must have a fire!