Chapter 20 Trust Exercise
I blinked my eyes open, forcing them to focus on one point out in space.
A mural floated in front of me, symbols shimmering in a sigil: the silhouette of a drooping rose, bound in a red circle.
The smell of upturned soil filled my nostrils as I steadied my breath, trying to regain my senses.
As my vision cleared, fear ripened deep in my gut.
My arms were bound behind my back, and I must have twisted my ankle in the woods because it ached in the unnatural position I was sitting in. I tried to adjust my legs from under me, letting out a hoarse cry from the pain shooting up my calf.
That’s when I noticed the five cloaked figures seated around me in a circle. They raised their heads in unison and turned to me. It was too dark to make out their faces, but I knew who they were.
“Ms. Dahlia Blackburne,” said the shrouded figure across from me. “Welcome to your Initiation.”
My heart dropped. All I could think of were Julian’s last words, penned in blood, warning me about the rites at Foresyth. Warning me about the Meister. Now I found myself shackled and at his feet.
Julian. I shot my eyes frantically around, searching for my bag. His journal, his confession. Where were they?
I caught a glimpse of the waxed leather of my satchel in the far corner of the room. As if the Meister noticed this, he stepped forward from the circle, catching my eyes and not releasing them.
“Foresyth is not just an academic institution, it is also a guild of magick practitioners. We embody our motto, integrity of the word, activation of the mind, transcendence of the soul. We enrich the academic community by safeguarding secrets long buried away and raise these powerful ideas up to consciousness. We devote ourselves, and our minds, to understanding the original sources—until the knowledge becomes core to our being.” The Meister circled the rest of us as he spoke.
“And now comes the time to welcome you to the final promise. True magick is born through transcendence.”
Transcendence. The word echoed in my mind, tasting coarse and acrid. What exactly had been sacrificed to keep true to that promise?
“Over the past several weeks you have been welcomed to Foresyth Conservatory as a scholar,” the Meister continued.
“You might have realized you were being studied. Tested. Not every new scholar makes it up to this point unless they’ve demonstrated a certain magickal aptitude.
The Council was part of that test, and you passed. ”
I swallowed hard, watching the Meister’s footsteps trace in front of me. I hadn’t doubted that I was being watched at Foresyth, or that I was being tested. But what had him thinking I had any sort of magickal aptitude?
What I had witnessed at Foresyth was inexplicable, but that didn’t mean I believed it was magick.
There had to be another explanation. I had held the sacredness of logic and reason close to my chest for as long as I could remember.
Trained practically to it by my father. But there was a clear fission crackling in me that I couldn’t deny.
Nina’s blood.
Julian’s journal.
My father.
“You came to Foresyth as a scholar, and now today, you join its guild as a practitioner.”
The emblem in front of me glowed brighter, pulsing with every one of the Meister’s words. The crack inside me widened with every word, every pulse.
“I have been waiting a very long time,” he said, the Meister’s tone changing. He wasn’t speaking as the Head Meister of Foresyth in that steady cadence. No, his voice had a reverent fervor. A chill ran through me, expecting his next words. “For all the right elements to be here. And now they are.”
One of the hoods turned to me, and I spotted Nina’s eyes.
She blinked slowly, as if to say, It’ll all be okay.
But the knot in my stomach wouldn’t release.
Had Julian gone through this? Had my father, when he was a student here?
They undoubtedly had survived the Initiation, but both ended up dead sometime after it.
“I will now open the Circle to your peers, who will conduct the initiating rites,” the Meister said, falling back behind the Circle. Another figure stepped out. I could recognize the saunter a mile away, even shrouded. That lazy, bohemian saunter.
Aspen walked forward to the center of the Circle where an altar was arranged—a chalice, an athame, candle, and mound of earth. One thing caught my eye in particular. Undeniably, a deck of cards sat on the altar. Aspen picked up the athame and stepped toward me.
I steadied my breath.
His first reaction betrayed him. His eyes opened slightly in warning.
But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.
He tipped his hood back, an amused smile cresting his lips.
He kneeled beside me with the athame still in his hand.
All my muscles tensed, screaming for me to move, to run away.
I leaned away from his reach, but he caught my arm with a stone grip.
“Get your hands off of me,” I tried to say with a snarl, but only a hoarse whisper escaped.
He leaned his mouth closer to my ear. “I won’t hurt you,” he said it so softly I thought I must have imagined it.
Then he circled behind me, picking me up to my feet so quickly I pitched forward.
Before I could steady myself, I felt the cold blade of the athame between my shoulder blades. It dug into my skin.
The Meister moved forward again, breaching the Circle to cover the distance, his cloak billowing behind him. He floated toward us.
“Trust is an essential part of the equation, Dahlia. Accepting you into this sacred Circle means that you accept a blade behind your back. And trust that it won’t pierce you.”
Aspen steadied his grip on my shoulder, angling the blade to its point. The tip was dull, but with enough force, it could break skin. He applied the faintest pressure, trailing the blade down my spine. The sensation sent a shiver through me, my breath becoming unsteady.
This man must be insane to think I would trust him.
I swiveled my wrist, pushing up with all the strength I had. The blade clattered to the floor, and I moved back to pick it up, but Aspen was quicker. He had it across my neck the next second. A sharp pang shot across my wrist where Aspen was pinning me. An empty chuckle echoed against my back.
“You don’t have to listen to me, but you should listen to reason.
The Meister needs you; if he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here.
” His grip softened on my wrists, and he traced apologetic circles with his thumb on the outside of my hand.
But the hand holding the blade to my neck didn’t soften, didn’t give. I was pinned against his broad chest.
“Dahlia,” the Meister said, his tone endearing as if talking to a child, “you must accept the blade. It is the only way to be Initiated.”
I almost laughed. But I didn’t because it might have sliced my throat. How had it only been a month and change since the Meister had walked into my store? And now I found myself on my knees, with a blade to my neck.
I had been a fool to trust him, to let him hire me. His motivations were laced in something much more sinister. I simulated the options in front of me.
Any option that required force would wind up with me dead, that I was certain of.
Denying the Initiation wasn’t an option either; if I was no longer a student at Foresyth, the Meister wouldn’t have any use for me.
And now that I was getting closer to his uncovering his ploy, could I really believe that he would just let me walk out of here?
He was the most dangerous of them all.
No. The only way out was through. Aspen was right.
He wouldn’t kill me, not now. Julian had survived Initiation.
I likely would too. But the most convincing piece of evidence, the one that almost made me relax, was the Al-Ahmar.
She wanted answers, too. I saw it in her eyes.
The Meister wouldn’t betray her, not when she carried so much weight on the Council.
The Meister wouldn’t kill me. Not yet.
I braced against the weight of Aspen and nodded. He released the blade from my throat and trailed it behind me again.
“Say the words,” the Meister pressed, his eyes glowing green. The silence stretched on in the chamber so long I started to hear my pulse. At Aspen’s tug of my hand behind me, I finally found my words.
“I accept.” The words tasted like crumbling rust in my mouth. Or was that blood? I dipped my head down, bracing for the impact of the blade behind me.
Instead, they sliced through my restraints in one quick motion. I fell forward, catching myself on my aching wrists, wincing at the pain.
“There is liberation in surrender,” the Meister said, stepping forward and offering me a hand. I looked up to him, sending him the vilest look I could muster. “You’ll have to stand for the rest of the ceremony,” he said, looking down at my swollen ankle. Hatred bubbled up in my throat like acid.
The bastard.
I stumbled upward, placing the brunt of my weight on the right leg. I tried to keep from wincing.
He smiled, offering a hand. “Come,” he said. I eyed his hand for several seconds before taking it. Shame tangled in my throat, but I pushed it aside. Survival was paramount, ego came after. Ego came when I’d uncover his murderous secrets for all to see.
I staggered behind his wispy movements to the altar where the athame had been replaced, a quiet Aspen back in the formation of the Circle.
“And now, the offerings,” he said. My breath caught with an objection on my lips but died there.
The first to step forward was Leone. He wheeled himself to the center of the Circle, where I stood. His eyes narrowed to study me, as if discerning my worthiness.
It was a long moment before he spoke, but when he did, my heart could have stopped.
“Blood of my blood, bound by the Shattered Mother, I accept Dahlia Blackburne into this sacred covenant,” Leone said picking up the chalice—evidently full of liquid—and blew a breath into it.
He sat it down just as soft as he raised it and looked directly at me.
He closed his eyes slowly, solemnly. I returned the gesture, a tingle of pride threatening in my traitorous chest.
What was that?
I wasn’t used to feeling accepted. Not that I cared so much about it, given that everyone around me in Greenwich was barely worth my time, even if they were paying for it.
But Leone—he was as close to a real scholar as I had ever known.
His intelligence shone from his eyes, if not from his lack of interest in anything outside of his books.
As much as I wanted to deny it, being accepted by him felt good. It felt validating.
Leone retreated back to his place in the Circle and Aspen mirrored his motion, breaking out of the Circle.
“Missed me already?” he said with a smile that showed his teeth.
I scowled. He laughed quietly, his gaze drifting to his index finger and thumb.
I didn’t see how he lit a flame between his fingertips, but it glowed and cast his features in orange and yellow hues.
He lifted the flame to the chalice and slowly extinguished it in the cup.
“Blood of my blood, bound by the Shattered Mother, I accept Dahlia Blackburne into this sacred covenant,” Aspen said, pausing at my name.
Sequoia followed after him. As she approached the altar, I noticed her eyes were glistening.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed silently.
I furrowed my brows. What part about this exactly was she sorry about? Lying to me, or having me beaten and kidnapped into this underground chamber?
I guess it didn’t matter.
A single tear streamed down the curve of her cheek, and she caught it with her fingertips. She held it out over the chalice and flipped her finger over it. The teardrop collected into a perfect shape before splashing into the chalice.
“Blood of my blood, bound by the Shattered Mother, I accept Dahlia Blackburne into this sacred covenant,” Sequoia said, barely an audible whisper.
Her throat bobbed and I thought she would burst into tears at any second.
But she took a deep breath and lifted her chin and nodded to me. And then she stepped down.
The last was Nina. She walked solemnly to the altar, any remnant of her usual sardonic disposition and biting humor replaced by a quiet reverence.
She picked up the edges of the too-long cloak catching in her steps as she approached me.
Her hood almost swallowed her face whole, but her black eyes shone bright like the moon.
She took out a single pebble from her cloak and let it drop into the chalice, giving me a wink. “Blood of my blood, bound by the Shattered Mother, I accept Dahlia Blackburne into this sacred covenant.”
The words reverberated through my bones. Accept. Had I ever been accepted before? The feeling was strange, paradoxical almost, to be accepted by one’s enemies. It felt too real, too raw, despite all the secrets. I cursed my gullible heart.
Perhaps I had read about a similar ceremony, or perhaps the fact lived in my subconscious, but I knew what to do next.
I took the chalice in between my hands, tipping the rim to my lips and took a long, deep gulp.
Warmth spread across my neck and chest as the concoction took effect.
Everyone began to chant, and I somehow found the words and we were all chanting in unison.
A deck of Skorn was placed in my hands and we all held it up to our foreheads, chanting in the sacred tongue.
It wasn’t any language I recognized, at least on a conscious level, but it felt natural—as if I had been speaking it for years.
I tried to fight it at first, but then a rush of warmth washed over me. The elixir was kicking in. All of the worry, the pain, the fear, slipped right off. I was everything and nothing at once.
The imprint of where the cards were on my forehead burned, but I didn’t release my grip on them.
They pulsed in my hands, pinning them there.
The heat was rising, my neck slick with my perspiration.
But I didn’t let them go. An undeniable surge of power coursed my veins, and my entire body felt like it was pulsing.
I was accepted; I was one of them. It sickened and delighted me at the same time.
It was then I heard her name, her voice. She whispered it into my ear.
“Dahlia Blackburne—you all pray to a false God.” her voice gurgling as if she was under water.
Sophia.
I heard her, but I couldn’t make sense of the words.
My grip loosened, but I didn’t let go of the cards.
They must have slipped from my hands as my vision became dark.
The last thing I heard were the cards falling to the floor like a thousand claps of wings—like birds somewhere in the distance preparing for flight.