Consequences #2
There’s contempt in her voice when she talks about Mama, and it makes me angry.
You mean open the spirit pathway to my ancestors of the past? I confirm what I already know she means, but with a god, it’s always good to have them clarify exactly what they mean. They are tricky.
“Yes, a witch is meant to have access to her past ancestors so she can call on them for knowledge, power and assistance.” Hecate’s words are like poisoned honey. Sweet and innocent, but she is anything but.
It requires great strength of mind because where there are extremely strong witches, they will try to gain control of their host. In this case, it would mean the likes of Endora, who once tried to control Mama.
There are witches who were driven mad because of this.
But there’s no point in arguing with Hecate, she is one who will get offended easily.
Very well, you may restore my link to the spirits of my ancestors in return for the Tongue of Dawn.
She laughs as she circles me, her fingers ghosting my neck, clawing at my hair and scraping my arms. I remain emotionless, waiting. She laughs again, enjoying her fun. “Very well, but there’s one clause.”
What is it? I ask.
“You will not tell Helios that I had this artefact in my possession. He doesn’t forgive easily, and I don’t have time to fight him when there is plenty of drama on Earth that is extremely fun to peek in on, and I don’t want to miss anything.” She laughs. “So, do we have a deal?”
I also have one clause, I state, turning and looking her dead in the eye. She raises an eyebrow before she floats away and then spins to face me, her laughter vanishing.
“Do you think you are equal to me to demand something? I am giving you a gift by reinstating your bloodline; you should be grateful.” Her voice slithers through my mind like a slippery snake, masked by smoke.
“You forget who you are speaking to. I offer you a gift, and you are trying to bite the hand that blesses you?”
I raise an eyebrow, tossing my hair as I look her square in the eye.
Around me, my aura unfurls like a storm.
Every thread of energy of my power glows, as the place becomes illuminated with lanterns.
Every flicker of light bends to my will.
We are in my mind, and here, I control all.
I morph and shape what we are, how we talk, and where we stand. In my mind, I am the sovereign.
You speak of a gift? My tone drips with scorn as I now circle her phantom form, her silhouette flickering with black shadows.
You speak of my mother failing you? No, you’re the one who failed your daughters.
Five years ago, when you forced your children to obey you.
When you took away their control and commanded them like dogs, and if they defied you, they paid the price with their life.
So do not speak of mercy and gifts when you have given us none.
Her eyes flash, molten orange, yet so cold and full of rage.
You are the reason my father is dead, I continue.
So, before you demand gratitude from me, remember this: it is your subjects who give you strength.
And if they ever turn on you, if they ever forget you, your name will fade into nothing.
You will lose the power you so desperately cling to.
I know how gods are made, and I know how they fall, I finish in a menacing whisper, although in here no one can hear me.
The silence that follows is heavy, a stillness that hums like live electricity before a strike.
Hecate’s smirk spreads slowly, her gaze sharp enough to cut. “So that is how you play, Aldona, perhaps you will rival her,” she murmurs, her voice curling around my name like silk and poison. “Very well, then. What do you want in return?”
I meet her stare without hesitation. I want the grimoire of the First Blood Trinity.
Her expression stills. “You already possess a grimoire.”
Of the Second Blood Trinity, I correct, folding my arms. I want the original grimoire of the First Blood Trinity, the very first grimoire ever written.
For a heartbeat, the air thickens. The shadows around her ripple, whispering secrets in a tongue older than time.
They get louder, more intense, but I don’t move, don’t blink.
She studies me, as if trying to peer through my soul, one that is shielded flawlessly.
Then her smile returns, cunning and slow.
“Very well. When you return to Earth, both the link to your ancestral spirits and the grimoire shall be yours.” Her tone drops to a menacing warning, “But be warned, Aldona, that the First Blood Trinity grimoire is not a thing to be wielded lightly. It was born from the blood of the first witches. One of them, the strongest of the three, was your ancestor - the daughter of the first witch herself.”
She begins to fade, her presence unravelling into mist, but her voice lingers low, haunting.
“Power such as that demands sacrifice, Aldona. Be certain you know what you’re offering before you open that book. You have the Gift of Sight. Use it wisely, for it can make you or break you.”
Shadows swallow her form, and then it’s just me, alone in my mind.
I open my eyes, back in my chambers.
And my eyes fall to the golden coiled whip that sits in the centre of the pentagram.