37 - Iona #2
“Aster,” I put up my hand, slowing my steps so as not to frighten him further.
Foaming at the mouth, his eyes wide and bloodshot, he fights against his apparent exhaustion.
He must have been running aimlessly about the island for days after miraculously surviving the volcano’s eruption.
He glances at me, his gaze feral and unfriendly.
He doesn’t seem to know me, and I hesitate rather than approach him.
“How did he survive the eruption?” I ask incredulously, in awe of the resilience of familiars.
“I know not, but I found him wandering the island,” Ksenia says. “He bit me, so I chained him. I would have thought one of the Zerynthos wretches would have killed him after they were through with Ariadne.”
“He escaped, and she told him to run,” I say over Aster’s snarls.
“That would explain his agitation,” Ksenia says, “but not his existence.”
“Whatever do you…” My face goes slack upon my realization.
I recall Euphemia’s funeral, when Frida the dove had been placed on the pillow by her head where she lay in her coffin.
“When a witch dies, so does their familiar,” Ksenia says, then lets out an exasperated sigh. “You truly must study more, for I cannot explain everything to you-”
“Ksenia, please, not now,” I snap. “Tell me what this means.”
She hesitates and I refuse to hope until she speaks.
“I felt her die,” I choke out. “Surely that must have been what it was.”
“You felt her soul leave this world,” Ksenia says, “but it seems she is not dead. At least not entirely, or Aster would be dead, too.”
“But… if she is neither dead nor alive, where is she?” I ask, fearing that my suspicions are correct.
“If she hasn’t reached her heaven, and nor is she here on Earth, then there is only one plane of existence she could inhabit,” Ksenia says softly. “The place in-between. Purgatory.”
A chill goes through me at remembering Ariadne’s description of purgatory. A fate worse than death.
“But… where-”
“She could be anywhere. Some hidden place on the other side where Katrin saw fit to imprison her and keep her from passing on into Death. With the help of Eris, it would be a place she’d have no hope of escape or reprieve of her eternal suffering. She’ll go mad in there…”
I shut my eyes. “No… Why could they not let her soul rest, at the very least?”
“I can only guess.” Ksenia turns her gaze to Aster with a contemplative frown. “Ariadne’s body was conjured to be a vessel for Katrin’s soul to inhabit.”
“No,” I shake my head. “You were correct in all but that. They intended to craft an empty vessel, but Ariadne was conjured instead.”
“How on earth did that happen?” Ksenia asks, her brow furrowing.
“Arachne altered the spell,” I declare, knowing she would only sense my lie if I claimed anything different.
“The weaver?” Ksenia asks. “Why would she-”
“I’ll explain later,” I say, still unsure if I should tell anyone of Ariadne’s crime, still unsure of its significance, or its merit.
If Arachne allowed her own death to occur, was it something she wanted?
Does that absolve Ariadne of her reprehensible lapse in judgement?
I still cannot decide, and until I do, I shall keep it to myself. I’ve asked Samaira to do the same.
“All you need know is that Arachne was once the weaver of fate, but no longer,” Iona says. “We are alone now. Our future is ours to determine.”
Ksenia’s eyes glint with curiosity, but she continues in her own explanation.
“Once Ariadne’s soul came into being, the body became intrinsically tied to her as is the case for all of us.
One soul for one body. Once that soul has left, the body will decay.
Katrin cannot allow Ariadne’s soul to pass on.
She’s keeping her suspended between life and death so long as she chooses to inhabit the body she’s stolen.
Possession is truly what this is, not death. ”
Bile rises in my throat. Her words resurrect the memory of Elise cursing me, nearly subjecting me to a similar fate. Ariadne had defeated her before she could succeed in transforming me into a wraith. I failed to do the same for her, and the thought makes me tremble with barely tempered rage.
Ksenia is too lost in thought to notice. “At least… that is the best I can intuit. I am not altogether sure. If I’m correct, so long as Ariadne’s soul still has the faintest tether to her body, Katrin can inhabit it and use Ariadne’s face to enact her terror on the world.”
“I could still wield the pendant,” I say. “I could… I could try to take it back, though I know not how. There are too many of them.” A stab of fear takes all the air from my lungs. “Moira wishes to kill me, though her mother swore it will not be painful. I still doubt.”
Ksenia grimaces. “That’s particularly dire.”
I clench my jaw. “I thought her enduring interest in me was purely out of concern for my ignorance.”
“Knowing her disposition, she was likely only advising you so your inevitable duel would prove a more entertaining challenge for her,” Ksenia says offhandedly, but her words ring so true, it sickens me, that Moira would go to such lengths to corrupt me simply for her own amusement.
Aster, who still bucks and pulls against his chain, throws back his head and howls again, a mournful, wretched cry that obliterates what’s left of my reticence.
Sebastian, his dark clothes rumpled and covered in sand, traipses down the beach with an unhurried gait. Wisp growls beside me but I silence her with a look.
Ksenia tenses, but I refuse to show fear as he approaches. He barely spares us a glance; his eyes trained on Aster. As I’d anticipated, his expectations of me are far too low for him to be on his guard.
“How kind of you to trap him for me,” he sneers. “I’ve been dredging this forsaken island for days and-“
The weight of time crushes me as I will it to slow, then stop.
The sensation is nearly unbearable, and I cannot fathom how Ariadne endured it with comparable ease, though her tolerance for pain was always much higher than mine.
It’s made slightly easier due to my hours of ceaseless practice in Nepal.
With nothing else to do, it was a welcome distraction.
I craft a portal directly beneath Sebastian’s feet that opens up above the Nisyros volcano. Red lava bubbles and glows beneath him, emanating immense heat in an instant.
With heavy, dragging steps, I approach him, and push him down into the portal, so that first his feet, his ankles, and his knees are submerged before the heaviness of time proves too great, and all at once it starts again.
His screams are immediate as a gruesome scene unfolds, his body sinking fully into the lava as he claws at the air, trying to escape, but in his panicked agony he’s unable to think, unable to do anything more than writhe. I know the feeling well.
His skin melts off his bones and he roars, but it’s too late. He’s beyond magic’s ability to heal. I revel in his desolate cries when he seems to realize the sudden inevitability of his death, and I memorize his expression as his anger turns to fear, helplessness, regret.
It’s far less than he deserves, and I wish the agony could be prolonged, as Ariadne’s death had been, so he can fully comprehend the pain he’d caused her, and me, but I suppose his final requiem of excruciation will have to do. For Ariadne. For Samaira. For William Kimball, and his grieving family.
Once Sebastian has sunk beneath the surface, never to be seen again, I take a deep, cleansing breath and close the portal.
Ksenia’s expression is one of utter shock. When she notices my stare, she quickly closes her mouth and feigns nonchalance.
“Sove,” I incant, and Aster slumps against the sand in peaceful sleep. “He is wild now. He will need to be caged. I cannot leave him here for Moira to find, once they realize Sebastian will not return.”
“I expect it won’t be so simple to kill them from now on,” Ksenia murmurs.
“So be it,” I say.
Wisp trots over to sniff at Aster’s face, willing him to wake, while I quickly draft a letter to Samaira and another to Crescentia, the ink forming words I cannot decipher as my amethyst ring interprets my thoughts into their respective languages. The papers vanish into thin air.
“What shall we do now?” Ksenia asks, still surreptitiously reeling from the death she’s just witnessed.
“You should return home,” I say.
Taken aback, she protests, “If you truly believe I will sit by and watch as the world is destroyed-”
“You’ve never shown any semblance of compassion for anyone,” I scoff.
“You need my help,” she insists, lifting her chin. “As you said, the Zerynthos Coven shall be damn near impossible to defeat, and the council of witches has turned their back on you.”
“Your mother made sure of that, and I trust you only marginally more than her.”
“I know what you mean to do, and it cannot be done alone,” Ksenia insists. “You’re of no use to anyone dead. Without you, we’d be left to defeat these devils alone with no hope of succeeding!”
“I never requested your help-”
“My every waking hour has been spent poring over every book and scroll in existence to unearth heavily guarded secrets at great risk to my own safety! You know nothing of my toil, and we shall never know why Arachne subjected me to this…” Ksenia lets out a shuddering sigh and I’m admittedly shocked when tears form in her icy blue eyes, but it means little to me now.
“You kept a malefician informed of their prisoner’s behaviors, divulging secrets told to you in the strictest confidence,” I say with great resentment. “You betrayed her.”
“Do you think I’m unaware of that?” she yells. “I did wrong! I know that now. I do not need you throwing my every offense back in my face! I tried to save her. I… I’ve thought of nothing else.”
I stare at her, conflicting emotions at war within me, until I decide I no longer care. In light of what she has told me, only one thing matters now.