Chapter 17 #3
The connection flared, thoughts racing through my mind like swells of starlings, all beating wings and constant motion.
I wanted to tell him how much it meant to me, how I had hoped with all hope that what I felt wasn’t false.
But in that moment, connected with him on that level, I didn’t need to say a word.
The proof was wrapped around us in all of its splendor.
We stayed like that, fixed in place by the overwhelming strength of the emotions that flowed through that tether. I reveled in it, allowing the waves of bliss to dilute any of the fear that had clung to the walls of my soul.
Whatever was going to come next, I knew that Bastien was going to be there to remind me of the man that I wished to be. When he finally pulled away, and the luminescence of our tether dimmed once more, his eyes drifted back to the herbs I had gathered, and a smile once again spread across his lips.
“I already told you that I fucked it up,” I offered, crossing my arms, even though I also couldn’t stop the grin that had commandeered my face.
“I think you’re past due for a lesson. Come on, I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”
He didn’t need to be reminded of the truth in those words.
When the last of the ingredients had been gathered from the stores, Bastien set to work preparing the space for his spellwork.
The library was equipped with half a dozen of these designated spell labs, filled to the brim with all kinds of equipment that seemed foreign to me.
Amongst the Church practitioners, a certain level of tradition had permeated the rituals.
I recalled watching the clergy members work spells from large iron cauldrons old enough to remember the first Awakening.
Rancid smoke would spew from caustic fires, and the entire chamber would reek for weeks at a time after they had resolved the spell.
But Bastien’s spellwork was beautiful in comparison.
From grinding the herbs into vibrant pastes to simmering a verdant concoction in glass vials held over flames, the way he moved was elegance in motion, drifting from one component to the next before he’d return to the compendium set on the counter to double-check his work.
The evening stretched on as Bastien toiled, checking over his work again and again till he reached a point that seemed to thwart him. He poured over the same page for a long moment, then let out a hiss between his teeth as he stepped away, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“This poison,” he explained. “The ingredient that the Sleeper told me was the key to making the spell work. I’ve never heard of one of the ingredients, and we don’t exactly have the time for me to ransack the library shelves looking for it.”
I moved to join him by the thick tome, scraps of paper scattered around the book that Bastien had scrawled on as he worked. The handwritten page was in a language I didn’t recognize—most likely one used by the Reviled before the schism—so I asked, “Which one is it?”
He pointed out the line. “I’ve not heard of it before, but maybe it’s a translation error on my part.”
“What’s the translation?”
“If my notes are correct, it means ‘breath of the divine.’ But that’s why it doesn’t make sense. The rest of the ingredients have all had literal translations. Herbs, dried insect husks, the bark of a cedar. This is the only one that appears to be some sort of coded language.”
“What if it is being literal?”
Bastien pondered that. “But how could that be?”
“What are the instructions for its application?”
Bastien returned to the tome, scanning the page. “It says to pour the breath of the divine over the amalgamation.”
I stepped up to the large stone bowl where Bastien had already combined the other ingredients, staring down into the acidic green sludge. A flicker in my chest reassured me that I was on the right track as I placed a hand on either side of the container and leaned in close.
“Careful! Even the fumes could be dangerous—”
Commanding that heat to come forth in my chest, I tapped into the Source’s blessing.
The heat quickly spread throughout my limbs, imbuing me with a surge of energy.
Sucking in a deep breath, I focused just as I had down in the Communion beneath the Cradle, holding back as long as I could before releasing the cloud of cerulean-hued vapor from my lungs.
The swirling cloud washed over the bowl, obscuring the concoction within it as the residual smoke poured over the edges and onto the counter.
My head swam as I straightened, the pull of the Source’s magic on my body far more depleting than I had imagined it would be. Bastien rushed to my side, but his attention was drawn to the bowl as the cloud of smoke had begun to clear.
“Gods be.”
The concoction glowed bright with power, casting a wraith-like glow upon Bastien’s face. He reached for an empty phial, carefully filling and securing it with a cork stopper.
He turned to me then, questions burning behind his golden eyes, but instead of voicing them, he said, “That’s the last of it. We’re ready to try to wake them.”
“I’ll make the call.”