Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Calypso
Calypso cursed under her breath as the smell of burned porridge suddenly hit her.
This was the third batch she had ruined, and she had half a mind to serve it as is rather than start again.
The complete disbelief at how difficult this task was proving to be even had her genuinely considering apologizing to Paola when she returned to the estate.
And she never apologized to anyone. Ever.
“Switch with me,” Dalia said as she pushed a bowl of onions that needed chopping into Calypso’s hands.
More than willing to part ways with the porridge, Calypso took the onions to the counter and started chopping.
“Are you the only one in your family?” Calypso asked, making use of the small moment they had to speak.
“The only what?”
“Witch.”
Dalia stiffened, keeping her eyes focused on her own task. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I saw your mark.”
The silence stretched between them, and Calypso felt a twinge of guilt about making a woman who showed her kindness uncomfortable.
“Does it matter if I am?” Dalia finally spoke again. “It is a death sentence in this realm. I am better off living as a slave for the orcs.”
The urge to protest burned within her, but she realized Dalia was right in her assessment. Some loving families chose to protect their witch relatives. Without family or friends, surviving in the realm was near impossible.
We can create a place for witches to go.
The thought rang through her mind in Nyx’s voice, and Calypso scowled.
Before they could speak any further, the half-shaven orcess guard approached them. “Female, bring food and tea. The chieftain demons it.”
“It’s not female, it’s Calypso,” she snapped. “It’s also not demons but demands.”
Surprisingly, the orcess did not look angry at being corrected but intrigued.
“Demands it,” she repeated quietly.
As Calypso gathered ingredients, the thought of slipping a laxative in the drink crossed her mind, but the guard kept a constant watch.
Meal prepared, they headed into the tunnels. Calypso tried to memorize the directions they took, but after three turns, it all started to blend together. She was never good at walking through the shadows patiently like Nyx, instead preferring to charge forward like a bull.
They approached a wide set of doors, and the guard warned over her shoulder, “Do this with silence. Your eyes down.”
The guard knocked and waited for permission before allowing Calypso to enter the council chamber.
At the head of the wooden circular table was the chieftain, sitting on an intricate metal throne with sharp spikes that ran up its sides and back.
Should she stumble and fall on it, she would get impaled.
Around him were half a dozen other orcs, some she recognized as the older jarls she met on the first day, others she didn’t recognize at all. Most notably, Vidorak was not present.
There was actual sunlight streaming in from the heavy glass windows in the room. It seems they were close enough to the surface to allow natural light in. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, having spent over a day only in torchlight and dark tunnels.
“You can place it here,” Jarl Bruk instructed her, gesturing toward an empty section on the table.
Her steps were quiet as she walked over to the table, her eyes low but keeping the orcs in her periphery. They paid her no mind and continued talking, in half-Orcish with common language words sprinkled throughout.
As she set the plates off the tray one by one, her ears pricked up at what was being spoken. Even in the gruff orc tongue, it was unmistakable when they spoke the words “witch” and “Taybe.”
She slowed her movements, letting her eyes travel to the parchment that was scattered at the center of the table. Most were maps of the realm with markings on top of them.
The valley surrounding the northern district caught her eye, as did the gleam of fresh ink that marked it. She hadn’t doubted Vidorak, but it confirmed his claims about Urim’s intentions with the stronghold.
Even with the unexpected return of his nephew, he was very confident the deal would go through. So much so that he was moving forward with his plans for Taybe.
Little did he know, the witch who took the stronghold was right under his nose. While she was here for the amulet, these maps would also come with her. There was no way she would let a vicious orc impede her plans for revenge.
The parchment partially obstructed a word in the corner of the Taybe map. It looked to be written in the common language, and she could just make out the beginning of it. It was recognizable, but she just needed a better look.
She leaned forward a fraction too much, and her elbow hit one of the teacups, sending it rocking precariously. Some liquid sloshed out, but the cup settled without toppling.
She let out a sigh of relief and reached for a handkerchief to clean up the droplets.
The room became tense. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as the chieftain towered over her. She could have stopped him, but instead had to endure him backhanding her so roughly she fell.
“Be careful, you stupid wench!” Urim growled loudly enough that she could hear it over the ringing in her ear.
Humiliation ignited deep in her chest. There was nothing she wanted more than to reach for her magic and strike back. She could release her fire and leave a blistering mark on his cheek matching the one she now had.
Swallowing her immediate urges was not easy or natural for her. Calypso didn’t like burying her hurt. She preferred to unleash it on those who wronged her.
But for once, she accepted the foolishness of doing such a thing. There was a bigger picture at play.
Keeping her head down, she crawled forward and apologized through gritted teeth. “Forgive me, Chieftain.” It wasn’t the best performance, but it was all she could bear to do.
“Clean up your mess and go.” His boots disappeared from her sight. However, something remained that caught her eye. A long black strand of orc hair.
Calypso palmed it and stuffed it in her apron before standing up and quickly finishing her task. She left the chamber with no more disturbances and found the orcess guard shaking her head at her silently.
They returned to the kitchen, and Calypso couldn’t focus on anything else besides the hair that was burning a hole in her pocket. The hours droned on as she eagerly awaited the evening.
Once the evening meal concluded, she rushed to the quarters and found them empty. She was hoping to find Vidorak and tell him of her intentions. He had informed her he was getting the amulet, and she attributed his absence to that. Though not having an easy way to reach him was frustrating.
She gathered the hair and a pair of candles that were illuminating the room. Then she searched through the quarters for crystals to borrow. Jewels were plentiful in the mountain, and she removed a few décor pieces from the walls. She would return them after her spell.
Based on prior attempts at dreamwalking, she knew rest was beneficial, but her body was buzzing impatiently.
The last time she had entered someone’s mind had been several years back when she was gathering evidence for her mother’s trial.
She had entered the mind of Joseph Collier, the royal treasurer, and learned of his insecurities, which proved helpful during his interrogation.
It was an entire year after that when Gemma had been able to procure a hairbrush of Davinger’s and sent it to Calypso.
That was when she attempted to dreamwalk Hugh Davinger’s mind and ended up comatose for days.
His mind was re-enforced by corrupted black magic, and it attacked her immediately.
Only through Nyx and Astra’s care had she survived.
It’d be a lie to say there wasn’t a current of anxiety with attempting such a spell again. However, she didn’t sense any black magic from Urim. Just bloodthirst and orc magic.
Calypso held out until she couldn’t wait any longer and began her spell. There was no need for the spellbook. Calling upon a power of this magnitude was scorched into her mind. She put the crystals at the five points of the pentagram and then lit the candles in front of her.
In a smooth motion, she walked to the center of the formation and sat. A shiver of anticipation ran through her body. Once she spoke the words, there would be no backing out. Not only was there a risk of the other mind lashing out, but there was the risk that she could get stuck in the dreamland.
A scoff left her lips. If she were weak enough to get trapped in the mind of someone like Urim, then she deserved that fate.
Decision made, she recited, “Goddess, I call upon you. Grant me the power to walk through the mind of another. Grant me guidance to traverse the paths of the dreamlands. Grant me protection to return to the body that is my own.”
“I give you the essence of one asleep.” She kneeled in the center of the pentagram before a small wooden bowl and placed Urim’s hair.
“I give you the blood of my veins.” She sliced her hand with her nails, letting the blood drip into the bowl.
“I give you access to my mind.”
The transition was instantaneous. One moment she was in the room, surrounded by candles. The next, she was enveloped by thick, dark mists that obscured her vision.
It was both disorienting and thrilling. Every time she entered the dreamlands was different. It was impossible to prepare for, so she could only react in the moment.
Silk fabric touched her skin, and she looked down to see that she was dressed in a white chemise. Barefoot, she ventured forward into the mist.
She walked on and on until a sweat of worry broke out at the back of her neck. Just before she could convince herself to turn around, crisp grass fell underfoot, and the mist cleared.