30 - Ariadne #4
Opening her eyes, the sight of Iona’s imploring ones is enough to make her resolve crumble. She reaches out to touch Iona’s fire touched hair, which still has specks of ash within its strands despite her washing it thoroughly that morning.
Inhaling sharply, Ariadne takes Iona’s hand and lets her defenses down, letting Iona slip inside her mind, delving into the very depths of her consciousness where her darkest memories lay dormant, unwanted and inescapable.
For a moment her thoughts flit here and there, showing the moment she’d found her obsidian wand on the volcanic island of Nisyros with her mother watching nearby, to the time she’d dove into the freezing water to save Samaira from drowning, and a time her father had sat with her at the pianoforte in Thessaly and taught her how to practice chords.
Until all other thoughts and memories fade, and she recalls the moonless sky that had stretched above her.
She was bit shorter all those years ago, at the age of four and ten, and her limbs were far more lithe than they’ve since become.
The enormity of her life’s misfortune had yet to weigh her down.
Vivien ran ahead, leading the way through the trees, her blonde hair turned grey in the near darkness.
“It’s just ahead!” Vivien had called to her, her voice sweet and unassuming.
“It’s far too dark to swim,” Ariadne called back.
“Nonsense,” Vivien said. “What, are you frightened? A Zerynthos witch afraid of the dark? Or is it the water that intimidates you?”
“Neither.” Ariadne had frowned and quickened her steps to keep pace with her friend.
“Come on then!” Vivien hastened as they reached a break in the trees and beheld the river Pineiós.
She’d pulled impatiently at her buttons, practically tearing off her dress, before she waded into the dark water.
Ariadne had done the same, still a touch hesitant but refusing to be upstaged.
She’d taken a step and flinched at the cold, but forced herself to step further and further in, until the water reached her waist.
It was then she noticed Vivien’s eyes, which did not reflect the strained smile spread across her lips. There was an odd emotion there, something Ariadne could not quite place, but that put her on edge.
“Are you well, Vivien?” Ariadne had asked her.
“Quite well,” she had responded, too quickly and forcefully.
“It’s much too cold,” Ariadne decided, making her way back to shore. “Perhaps we can return later when the sun is out and-”
Arms had wrapped around her neck and pulled her back. At first, she’d thought Vivien was only roughhousing, and she’d laughed, played along, trying halfheartedly to break free, until Vivien’s grip had tightened.
“Vivien,” Ariadne had tried to say, but her friend had flung her out into deeper water.
That’s when Vivien had drawn her wand and whispered an incantation, conjuring a cage of wood around Ariadne. Through the gaps in the wooden boards, water seeped through in steady torrents as the box steadily sank into the water.
“This is not amusing,” Ariadne had called, her smile fading. “I’d like to return home now.”
Vivien did not listen. The water quickly rose until it reached Ariadne’s waist.
“Vivien!” she had cried, “Let me out!”
But her pleas fell on deaf ears. She’d drawn her own wand, grateful to have kept it within a pocket of her chemise and tried to break through the wood to free herself, but Vivien would only repair it, keeping her imprisoned until the water reached her chin.
“Please!” Ariadne implored. “Why are you doing this!”
“Forgive me!” Vivien sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I…”
It was that apology that had broken her, as if it would be any consolation to her at all. The admission that Vivien knew well what she did was evil, and yet she did it anyhow.
She has since agonized over the memory time and again, whenever her thoughts drift in idle moments, or whenever her nightmares return, and she believes this must have been what drove her to frenzy, to exhibit an anger she’d never before felt, and hopes never to feel again.
When the water rose over her head, and her screams were reduced to bubbles expelling from her unhinged jaw, her lungs screaming for air, she did not even need to speak the incantation, such was the fervor of her intention.
Delving into Vivien’s mind, the first illusion was formed, placing her in a pelagic landscape of pristine white sand with dark clouds above and an angry green sea stretched out before her. Ariadne could see it all from a distance, unseen and silent.
Embedded within the sand were jagged shards of broken glass.
In her distress, Vivien tried to run, and the shards cut at the soles of her feet until she’d bled and cried out.
Then the sky had opened up, showering her with glistening fragments of glass that lacerated every inch of her skin until she was covered with deep gashes, her blood coating her as she screamed.
Monstrous waves overtook her, the salt of the water burning the opened wounds, floating glass lodging into her back, her arms, and legs, making her writhe in utter agony.
The waves would almost drown her, giving her just enough air to survive, only to drag her under again.
She’d swallowed small pieces of glass that cut up her mouth and throat. An endless cycle of pain.
The illusion continued in a fluctuating, never-ending nightmare of carnage.
Soon the procellous water turned acidic, burning Vivien’s skin until it had blistered, disintegrating her hair, burning her insides until she’d vomited blood, and she became unrecognizable.
Then it shifted again so she was falling endlessly through a black sky with barely enough light to see the fast-approaching ground. On and on it went.
Ariadne had watched in a trancelike state, observing the pain she caused but not taking any measures to stop it.
She had no way of knowing how long it had lasted.
The only indications were Vivien’s screams, which started strong and horrific, but over time became weak and hopeless, until she went silent.
Then all at once, it ended. Ariadne left Vivien’s mind as quickly as she’d entered it, returning to the reality of cold water and a moonless sky.
The broken boards of wood that had nearly been her grave gently drifted downstream.
Beside her, Vivien had floated on her back, her eyes open but unseeing, her arms swaying limply at her sides.
Ariadne had remained frozen in place a moment longer until the current almost took Vivien downstream, too.
She had forced her limbs to move and reached out to take Vivien’s arm, finding her skin freezing cold.
She shook Vivien’s shoulder, but she didn’t speak or cower away.
Her chest still moved with her inhales and exhales.
“Vivien?” Ariadne’s voice had been foreign to her own ears.
Her friend did not answer, did not even blink.
Ariadne’s memory fractures, moving past the hours it took for her to carry her friend back to the Nicolos’ manor without magic left to conjure a single thing, or even make Vivien float to ease the burden of her limp weight.
The illusions had consumed every last bit of power she’d had, leaving her empty and exposed.
She recalls Tatiana’s keening lamentations as she had stood there silent and helpless to undo what she’d done.
Mrs. Nicolo had dragged her into the sitting room and cast a truth spell on her, forcing Ariadne to relive the horrible event all over again.
She had hardly been able to speak through her tears, until her mother had arrived and put an abrupt end to the interrogation.
Mrs. Nicolo had cursed the Zerynthos name, screaming until she had no words left, and wept over her youngest daughter’s comatose body.
Ari.
Ariadne blinks and the memory fades. She looks up into Iona’s cautious gaze, searching for any signs of terror or disgust, then peers into Iona’s mind, searching frantically through her thoughts. There she finds what she expects; fear, disbelief, shock, but also compassion and confusion.
“I was…” Ariadne searches for the best word, and finds none that are appropriate, “angry.”
Iona gives a shallow nod, averting her eyes, processing what she’s just seen.
“It’s a miracle that Vivien does not remember it,” Ariadne says. “All that time, I thought…”
Iona still does not speak.
“If she had remembered,” Ariadne shivers, “I very much doubt she would have forgiven me.”
“She tried to kill you,” Iona whispers, as if she were reminding herself of that fact.
“Yes, she did,” Ariadne nods, her throat growing thick. “Even so… it came to me so naturally. It terrified me, that I was capable of such evil. To call it defensive magic would be absurd. It was… merciless retribution.”
Iona meets her gaze again, and it demolishes what’s left of her restraint.
“If you wish to break the bond, I shan’t defy you.
You shouldn’t be shackled to someone like me.
I never should have agreed to it in the first place.
I love you, but… I know that is not enough.
” Ariadne swipes angrily at her cheeks to wipe away her tears.
“All I know is that you are the greatest part of my life and… I feel you slipping away from me and…”
In an instant, time falls back into its normal rhythm, with both of them still weeping openly.
“What…” Olesya looks from the chair Iona had once sat in to where she now stands by Ariadne. “How did you manage that?”
Iona opens her mouth to answer but all that comes out is a violent cough. She doubles over, one hand against her chest and the other outstretched to break her fall.
“Iona?” Ariadne reaches for her, catching her before she collapses.
“The smoke,” Olesya says, just as Iona spits a clump of black mucus, only to cough even harder.
“Philisa,” Ariadne incants, pressing a hand to Iona’s back, and it seems to help, but her breathing remains labored and rasped.
“Perhaps she should rest,” Rebekka suggests.
Ariadne nods, creating a portal to Triora, and carries Iona through.
“Nonna!” she calls. “Help!”
Her grandmother comes running with Frankie at her heels and they help her carry Iona inside. While Nonna brews a potion to relieve her ailing lungs, Ariadne tucks her into bed, keeps a tight hold of her hand, whispering healing spells over her, but the magic doesn’t seem to help in a lasting way.
Nonna administers her potion, but even she seems unnerved by the amount of effort Iona exerts just to breathe in and out. Within an hour, Iona’s breath is perilously shallow and weak, her eyes closed in fitful sleep.
“Summon Xiomara,” Nonna says. “We need her guidance.”
Ariadne crafts a portal and sends Frankie to fetch her, unwilling to leave Iona’s side for even a moment.
“She’s white as a sheet,” Nonna murmurs.
“Iona,” Ariadne says softly, running a gentle hand through her hair. “Can you hear me?”