Chapter 7
“I was unaware when you asked us to help you with a spell that we would be hiking, Deathless One! If we are going to cast a spell, why can we not cast it where we are?”
“Because we are looking for a very particular location to cast said spell, Agnes.” He didn’t turn around. It was taking every ounce of his concentration to bring them to where they needed to be. After all, few places in this realm were still imbued with magic.
He had a lot of energy from their sacrifices, but not nearly enough to do what he wanted to do.
A location spell was easy enough to cast, but finding a person who was likely protected by countless wards was significantly harder.
He needed earth that was steeped in old magic.
A part of this land had to have been used by witches. They were in every kingdom, after all.
Orenda wasn’t completely vacant of witchcraft, as much as the people here would like to think that it was. And he’d been hunting the perfect spot through this entire “hike,” as Agnes wanted to call it.
Fifteen coven members followed him. Agnes, Elissa, and Sybil were all among their crowd. The only one who wasn’t complaining was Elissa, and she had instead chosen to annoy everyone else that was walking with them by calling out bird species.
Right on cue, she let out a little startled noise and said, “Look! I think that’s a plover!”
A trio of groans came after her declaration.
He tried hard not to let a smile crease across his mouth at the sound of all of their annoyance.
She was making this entire trek a bit more difficult, but he quite liked knowing which birds they were coming across.
Perhaps that was a sign of his age, however.
Eventually, he found the perfect spot, but he was standing on top of it.
Frustrated, he tried to look around for some kind of entrance into a cave system, but there was nothing.
They were on top of an emerald-green rise, with a perfect view of the sea.
This was where the sacrifices should have taken place.
He would have been pleased if someone sacrificed to him here.
So where was it? Where was the ceremonial spot that was throbbing in his mind with old bewitchment?
Sybil walked up beside him, her hair windswept back from her face and her hands on the straps of the pack she wore. “What is it?”
“The sacrificial site. It’s beneath our feet.” He stared down at the green grass. “Perhaps I will make them dig.”
“Or we could walk down the rise and see if it’s a cave that’s carved into the cliff’s edge.”
Of course. This was an island kingdom with no attachment to any other land. Inverholm was different, and he was much more used to land that might be able to see the ocean but wasn’t exactly part of it.
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand down his face. “You’re right, as always. I should have thought of that.”
“Elric…” She reached out a hand and grabbed his arm. “When was the last time you slept?”
He didn’t remember. When Jessamine had been taken, most likely.
He had caught a few hours of sleep here and there, when this body of his felt like it was going to fall apart.
A few hours’ rest wasn’t nearly enough to keep his mind sharp, but it was enough to keep him going.
He’d been poring over old texts, whatever they had brought with them to this kingdom, needing to refresh his memory with spells, to spark a bit of inspiration.
But now he still didn’t know how to sleep. Not when she was out there with his brother, and he knew what Ajax would do to her.
He guided the coven down the cliff, carefully holding hands and making sure no one slipped. Each witch had a pack on her back and carried separate ingredients for the spell that he would guide them in. It would require far more detail than any of them had cast before.
But it was time to cut this coven’s teeth on dark magic. Whether they understood the implications or not, they all needed to take part in it.
Finally, he could see the cave. It was taller than most buildings.
Pretty pale stones had been smoothed by the sea, and now that the tide was low, he could pick his way carefully through them into the back of the cavern.
Seaweed made his progress slow, but it filled the air with a salty scent.
The vast room crackled with unused energy.
It was exactly what he had been looking for.
In the back of the cave was a natural stone altar. Flat and glistening, it was illuminated by a spear of sunlight breaking through the stones above. Elric imagined the witches who had first found this place would have known how special it was.
“Places like this were made for magic,” he said, his voice echoing in the grand space.
“Up until now, I have only taught you how to use your own magic. Each of you has a different flavor of power. Some of you more physical, others immaterial. Each one of you is powerful in her own right, but a coven is more than just a single witch.”
Elric approached the altar, trailing his scarred fingertips across the smooth surface.
He could feel every single sacrifice that had been laid to rest here.
From chickens to horses to people, all of those lives were marred into the black stone.
He could hear the humming of it calling out to him, whispering that he desperately needed to use the well of magic there.
He could tap into it, if only he paid the price to do so.
“Come,” he said. “Bring your hands to the altar and greet all the witches who came before you. Your magic will recognize them, just as they will recognize you.”
The altar was big enough for each of the witches to stand shoulder to shoulder, their hands pressed against the stone. And he watched as each of them felt the power crackling between them. Energy lifted out of the very stones to greet them all.
Their eyes closed as one. Elric knew none of them would look around for a while now as the magic overtook them, but he watched them.
He saw the inky magic that reached out of the stone and wrapped around their wrists.
How they all swayed as one, just the slightest movement, like a calm spring breeze as they eased back and forth.
The humming in his mind grew louder, pleased that he had brought them all here.
This was where they were meant to be. A witch needed a coven, a home, and an altar.
“Here is where our spell will take place,” he murmured, knowing his voice would mingle with the energy that currently held them in its grip.
“Together, we will pierce through the wards that the God King has set and we will find our missing gravesinger. We underestimated him the first time we saw him, but he underestimates us now. A coven will always find a missing witch. No matter the cost.”
Then he allowed the stone to pull him as well. He could feel the hunger of his coven. They wanted to use this altar to sacrifice him and draw upon him, but that was a desperate thought. They knew it, too. It seemed Sybil had actually gotten through to most of them. They needed him, for now.
“Sybil,” he said quietly. “Will you please bring out the belladonna?”
She nodded, removing herself from the circle to take her pack off and bring it out. She placed it on the altar, then anchored herself again to the humming stone.
“Now, Martha, please crush it with the mortar and pestle I had you bring.”
The newer witch was from a rural area of the kingdom, far beyond the city limits.
Freckles dotted her nose, and she had bright red hair that billowed around her head in an almost shocking volume.
She was quick to make work of what he’d asked her to do, then only hesitated once she was done.
She looked up at him for reassurance, and he nodded toward the altar.
Gently setting the stone mortar down, she tucked the pestle back into her bag before anchoring her hands again.
“Agnes,” he murmured. “Can you please conjure water out of the stone?”
The older witch looked at him with frustration before huffing out of her nose. “I should have known you were watching me practice.”
“Don’t ruin the spell with your sass,” he grumbled.
Agnes did what he asked. He had been watching her when she snuck out of the shack at night and wandered down to the water.
Her ancestor had been one of the most powerful witches he had ever seen in his life, so it was no surprise that her great-granddaughter was, too.
But even Elric had been surprised to watch Agnes crush a stone in her fist and grind it so forcefully that water came out of it.
And so the spell continued. He asked each of the witches to place something in the mortar at that point.
Water, a few more poisonous plants, a gemstone that was then crushed by another strong witch.
More and more from each woman to create a spell that was both intricate and intertwining all of their magic together into a grand beauty.
Finally, he came to Elissa. She had opened her eyes long before he got to her, trembling as she watched each of the witches give seemingly far more than she could. But her part was more important than she likely thought.
“Elissa,” he said quietly. “Please call down the stars for us. But as you do so, I need you to imagine them as runes. Each one of them must be exactly the same as the other. All runes marking command and control. Do you understand me?”
“Stars are stars, Deathless One. I cannot change them,” she whispered, her eyes so large they looked like twin moons.
“They aren’t stars. Not for you.”
He watched her hands curl into fists, and then something miraculous happened. She trusted him. She didn’t argue; she didn’t fight against what he was asking her to do. Elissa just knew that he wouldn’t ask her to do something that she couldn’t, and she did it.
Light filled the room. Tendrils of glowing energy came through the stones over their head, dancing through the air in bright images of runes.
Slash marks created the most important runes, and then she laid them all out on the altar.
One by one. They glowed like shimmering diamonds on the stone, marking it for an even more impressive spell.
All the witches remained frozen as Elric leaned forward and took the mortar in his hands. This was the moment they had been waiting for. A spell that would show them where Jessamine was.
He turned to Sybil and handed her the mortar. Without making eye contact with any of the others, he climbed onto the altar and laid himself out like an offering.
“Are you ready?” Sybil asked. Her dark eyes were creased with worry, and a wrinkle had formed between them.
Elric wiggled his shoulder blades into a more comfortable position, and then nodded. “I am.”
She brought the mortar over his lips and hesitated. He knew that she needed to steady herself. Spells were rarely pretty things, and it was very likely that they were about to watch quite the show as his mortal body fought with the spell that would soon rock through him.
But as Sybil tilted the mortar and the first drop of liquid hit his tongue, he heard Elissa gasp.
“Wait!” The word filled the space with sorrow. “Won’t that hurt him?”
He didn’t have to reply.
Sybil lifted her head to look Elissa in the eye and said, “All magic comes with a price. Every spell you have cast is because you killed something to sacrifice it to him. Just because you don’t see a personal cost yet, that does not mean one was not paid for you.
Right now, the Deathless One has chosen to pay this price for us.
Now, all of you put your hands on the altar, and together, we will seek out our missing gravesinger.
None of you lift your hands, no matter what happens. ”
Already the belladonna had numbed his lips. There were more poisonous plants in this mixture as well, and he’d made it a little stronger than it needed to be. The numbing agent would help ease the pain, but there were bits of that mixture that would make him seize very quickly.
He hadn’t wanted to tell some of the softer souls in his coven what would happen. Frankly, he’d wanted to pretend it wasn’t going to happen himself.
“But…” Elissa soldiered on even as Sybil glared at her. “I don’t want him to be in pain.”
He lifted his hand and wrapped it around Sybil’s wrist. Veins stood out on the back of his hand as he tipped the mortar and let the poison trickle into his open mouth.
It dripped down his chin, coiling down his throat and leaving a burning sensation in its wake.
But then it wasn’t all that bad anymore.
He couldn’t quite feel it moving down his throat, and even if he could, it didn’t matter.
At least, until the first seizure hit.
His body contorted around it, foam already building on his mouth as his body wheezed for air. He hated seizures. They were quite effective for the payment of spells like these, however. The amount of pain, disorientation, and the feeling of complete helplessness fed black magic spells.
Already he could see that the witches were getting somewhere.
Their eyes all slammed shut, and he could see the orbs moving underneath their lids.
They searched for her, each one of them trying to find her in a castle that was created to divert them.
Some of the witches gasped in agony as they struck runes that were meant to throw them off.
And that was all right. Their torment only funneled into the stone, which made the spell amplify.
The seizure shifted into raw pain. It was like someone was slamming a fist into his gut over and over again.
Then knives. His skin split along his knuckles, hands, and arms. He was sliced to pieces from the altar as his blood seeped out onto it, paying a price for the spell that would find his beloved.
Elric bore it all in silence. He would never give up. Not for her. Not knowing that she would never give up on him either.
And when he was breathless, tortured beyond reason, he felt the spell slowly grow lax. His body eased, the pain drifting away as the poison faded.
Tilting his head on the stone, ignoring the drool and pieces of herbs that were stuck to his chin, he asked Sybil, “Did you find her?”
She nodded, her dark eyes filled with tears. “It’s not good, Elric.”
His name echoed in the cavern. Sybil so rarely called him by it, and especially not in the company of other witches.
“I know,” he replied. “I never expected it to be good. Where is she? What is he doing to her?”
“He wants her to become a goddess. He wants her to take it into herself willingly, and he’s…” Her throat clicked around a swallow, as though her mouth had gone dry. “He’s hurting her, Elric.”
He looked around them, meeting the gazes of all the other witches in the room who had seen the same thing. They all wore matching grim expressions, defeat in the set of their shoulders.
But he wasn’t done fighting yet.
Pushing himself upright, he cracked his neck and asked, “Where?”