18 - Iona #3
They leave the sleeping Nenet in the outskirts of her parent’s land, where Marina assures them, she will wake with all her memories of the malefician’s attack.
She will only forget that they had been present with her, and how she’d gotten away.
Any will assume that the malefician was the one who took her memory to protect their own identity.
Iona’s senses are numb. She faintly perceives Ariadne’s hand at the small of her back guiding her through the portal to Rome. They track sand everywhere, but Marina insists they wait in the solarium while she goes to fetch her mother.
Iona sits while Ariadne paces back and forth, back and forth, until she suddenly stops and glares.
“Don’t,” Ariadne scolds.
“Her death is on my hands,” Iona says.
“She was dead long before we arrived.”
“Exactly. I should have seen… something. I should have known…”
“Even Samaira couldn’t predict the fatality with exact precision,” Ariadne points out. “Had we not been there, Nenet, her parents, or any number of innocent people may have perished if they’d found the ritual site first.”
“Then why did you refuse to escape when we had the chance?” Iona asks. “We should have retreated before anyone else was harmed.”
“Marina and I could have defeated them, if I hadn’t been…” Ariadne sighs, distracted.
Iona flinches, “Distracted?”
“I did not say that,” Ariadne says.
“But you thought it.” Iona narrows her eyes.
Ariadne scratches at her scalp to rid her hair of sand, refusing to meet Iona’s gaze. “I should have known you could save yourself from the sand, but I wasn’t… certain. I abandoned the fight to rescue you and-”
“We shouldn’t have needed rescuing! Nenet and I nearly died due to your obstinance,” Iona insists. “How would you have found us buried that deep?”
“I would have…” Ariadne blinks, at a loss. “I would have thought of something. You should have left with Nenet when I made the portal.”
“You know perfectly well that I never would have left you behind,” Iona says.
An awful silence stretches between them and Iona’s thoughts drift again, unable to stop depicting Sara’s cherubic face as her corpse sunk beneath the sand.
“There is nothing you could have done to stop it,” Ariadne insists.
“I know you mean to comfort me,” Iona whispers, “but there is no excuse for my failure.”
Ariadne clenches her jaw. Her guilt radiates through their bond, mixed with her fury that simmers beneath the surface. Iona closes her eyes and tries to ignore it, but Ariadne feels so deeply. Her emotions are like wildfire eviscerating everything in its wake.
“Such a tragedy,” Xiomara says as she enters with Marina close behind her.
She rushes to Ariadne and embraces her, then Iona. With a heavy sigh, she goes to stand by the solarium window, cradling a wine glass and staring out at the view, though there is not much to see in the dark. Ariadne sits beside Iona, with Marina sitting across from them.
“I thought the solstice ritual would be enough to deter these devils… To remind them of our power. It seems I was wrong. I wish you had come to find me so I may have accompanied you to Egypt.” Xiomara eyes her daughter with a trace of disapproval, but Marina holds her stare with the unwavering surety of a diviner.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Marina declares. “Ariadne and I were nearly an even match for the fiend, I must say. She fought valiantly.”
Ariadne sits up straighter in response to the praise, which is well earned. “I tried to see their face, but they kept evading me.”
“It was the same malefician who attacked in Brazil,” Iona says.
Xiomara’s eyebrows raise. “How do you know?”
“A heart was stolen from my grandfather, and Sara…” Iona cannot continue, her stomach churning.
“Her liver was stolen,” Ariadne says. “I saw it.”
“Why would they do such a thing?” Iona asks.
“Spoils of their kills?” Ariadne surmises.
“No.” Marina shakes her head. “They mean to use them as ingredients for a future ritual. To what end, I cannot imagine.”
“Their rituals require mortal remains?” Iona asks, repulsed. “Is it not enough for them to steal others’ magic? They must desecrate their bodies as well?”
Marina’s distant gaze returns as she shifts closer and places her hands in her lap.
“There is intrinsic energy in all living things. In you.” Marina gestures to Iona.
“In her.” She gestures to Wisp where she sleeps on the rug by the fire.
“In me.” She places a hand over her heart.
“We would never dream of stealing that away for our own gain but to a malefician, it is merely a life force to consume. Many maleficians use animals in this endeavor, but older, more experienced sorcerers possess the skill to sacrifice other witches, humans, anything that lives. On occasion, they are known to harvest the organs of their sacrifices.”
“How do you know all of this?” Iona asks.
Marina doesn’t respond and looks to her mother. Xiomara purses her lips.
“She won’t wish to be kept waiting,” Marina prompts.
“I know well her desires.” Xiomara’s voice is firm.
“We are beyond secrets now, would you not say?” Ariadne asks. “It is Hecate you speak of, isn’t it? What has she got to do with this?”
Xiomara regards Ariadne with conflict in her gaze. “I tried to shelter you from this for as long as I could… but it would not last forever.”
“I am not asking for protection.” Ariadne’s eyes flare. “I want this pain, this gruesome death, to end. That is all that matters now.”
“Why do you hesitate, Mother?” Marina asks. “You know as well as I that the time has come.”
“Yes, yes…” Xiomara says. “Fetch Moira. Send her to me. Then prepare the sanctuary.”
Marina stands and leaves the room without another word.
“What sanctuary?” Ariadne asks.
“In light of recent events, Hecate wishes to speak with the both of you, tonight,” Xiomara says.
Iona’s heart races in her chest as she takes Ariadne’s hand, needing to feel her. “Could you not impart her message to us now?”
“If you wish to unveil the truth, you must speak to her directly,” Xiomara says.
Ari? Iona calls to her.
I must know. Ariadne clutches her hand. This mystery has plagued me my whole life. I cannot refuse her.
Iona squeezes her hand back. I am glad to hear you admit it, finally.
Ariadne glances at her, her turmoil laid bare in her gaze. I only denied it because I never thought this day would come. To be acknowledged… for the very first time.
Then for her sake, and the sake of the dead, Iona will assent.
She will face a Goddess because she has glimpsed Ariadne’s memories, her sleepless nights praying to Hecate, begging her to answer, only to be ignored.
If this is the closure she requires for those years of silence, Iona will not deny her, even if the prospect is terrifying.
The door to the solarium opens and Moira steps in. “Marina told me everything.”
“We haven’t much time.” Xiomara stands and motions for them to follow her.
Along the way, she explains that normally they would perform this sort of ritual during a new moon, but Hecate made an exception due to the severity of their circumstances. First, they must be cleansed of any impurities before they may enter the sanctuary and present themselves.
They’re led to the atrium where the shallow pool beneath Hecate’s statue has been filled with lavender, eucalyptus, and fragrant oils. They bathe in the warm water until all the sand and blood is washed away, leaving the water a light shade of pink with a thin layer of grit beneath their soles.
Xiomara leaves them there to help Marina with the preparations, leaving them with Moira. Only when they are deemed pristine does she allow them to climb out of the pool to be anointed with oil, just as Xiomara had done to Iona in the Sibylline Mountains.
“What symbols are you drawing?” Iona asks as Moira presses an oiled finger against her spine.
“Oh, symbols of death, hatred, degeneracy,” Moira says casually.
When she stiffens, Moira laughs.
“Must you joke at a time like this?” she asks.
“As opposed to the perfect days when no one dies or suffers anywhere in the world?” Moira asks. “Misery is everywhere. You’re only fortunate to have been sheltered from the brutality of life until recently.”
Lowering her head, Iona asks, “What are the symbols then?”
“Protective runes. Runes to disenthrall your soul, to increase the potency of your magic,” Moira says. “Nothing nefarious, I swear.”
She finishes Iona’s back, then steps around to face her again, inspecting her with a shrewd gaze.
“Ah, I almost forgot.” Moira leans forward to trace a triangular symbol over Iona’s womb.
Then she draws her wand and conjures a red robe that dwarfs Iona’s form in billowing silk, so thin that she still feels exposed.
Moira then shifts her gaze to Ariadne and motions for her to approach. Hugging her chest, Iona observes Ariadne’s air of implacable indifference that hides her lingering anxieties. Iona perceives them all, along with the sharp nail Ariadne presses into her palm to keep her hands from trembling.
“I’d wondered if I’d ever see this day,” Moira muses, dipping a finger into her bowl of oil and marking a symbol on Ariadne’s forehead. “If there’s anything to be said of you, your tenacity is quite extraordinary.”
Ariadne’s eyes go wide before she recovers. “Do not go soft now.”
Moira smirks at her. “Tenacious like… a weed. Impossible to be rid of.”
“Much better.” Ariadne’s lips twitch, but she cannot manage a smile.
Moira patiently draws the symbols on Ariadne’s wrists, knees, and ankles.
“When did you first meet Hecate?” Iona asks.
“We are inducted into the coven when we reach adulthood,” Moira says.
“Nearly five years later and still I haven’t acclimated to the experience.
My mother is the only one of us who seems at ease in the Goddess’ presence, and Grandmother treated her like an old friend, though I doubt it began that way when she was young. ”
“What is she like?” Ariadne asks, her voice small.