Hexed

chain reaction.

I stood my ground, staring at the glowing edges of his shadow form. He was less powerful down here. The darkness drained his strongest abilities, and what little light my hair gave off did him no good.

I had to make him come to me.

“You’ll never win. You may kill me, but the Lady is out for your death and you’ll never be anything but what you are now: a shadow of your former self. Because you can’t do it now, can you? You can’t control the weather. You can’t control the ishonar, and it beckons you and drives you mad.”

He let out a howl of rage and moved closer. Pirkitta . . . I would have shared this with you. I would have brought us back together and we would have lived together in the shadow. But you mock me—and I will destroy you.

I steeled myself. “I not only mock you, I spit in your path. I abjure what you have become. I deny you, Vikkommin. I deny your power and your shadow and the madness reeling within you.”

You! You deny me! I can tear you to pieces, I can make you into what I am and you have the gall to deny my power?

And then he moved. He headed my way and I picked up my wand. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but now that I had the power of the ishonar in me, I knew I could destroy him. I waited until he was within arm’s reach, and then I raised my wand.

“To the Gates of the Underworld I send thee, to the depths of Tuonela I command thee, to the arms of Tuoni I direct thee. Thou creature of darkness and shadow, thou power-mad sorcerer—you are no longer Chosen of the Lady, you are a vile creature, an abomination, and I send thee to the arms of oblivion.”

I focused and caught hold of one of the ishonar Elementals. She was dancing on the edge of my wand, and I thrust her forward, burning in all her frozen and brilliant glory. She rose up, growing larger, and her face, faceted in ice and bathed in purple fire, changed from sublime to monstrous as her mouth opened wide and she turned in Vikkommin’s direction.

He lunged toward me, but she interceded, touching his shadow and sending shock waves of pain through the smoke. He screamed, loud and plaintive. But I held fast, dropping to my knees. This was it, this was the only way, to turn the power that he’d so craved back on him. I reached deep, sought for all of the threads within myself that knew how to use the ishonar. I gathered them up into one mass and ripped it out of myself, toward him: a rolling, wheeling spiral of energy that flamed so brightly it illuminated the chamber.

For one moment it seemed to strengthen him and then I caught his thoughts as it touched the outer edges of his being.

Pirkitta—what are you doing to me? No—how could you do this? How could you do this to me?

And then he began to scream, and his scream echoed in the chamber, rising to a howl as his anguish grew. The wheel of ishonar rolled on, encompassing him, surrounding him, and he became the center of the wheel, spokes of fire radiating out from his core, meeting to eat away at his soul and devour and break him into shards.

I covered my eyes, not wanting to watch, not wanting to see what I was wreaking on Vikkommin’s soul, and yet I could not help but lower my hands as the shriek rose to a crescendo.

Vikkommin was in the air now, caught in the currents of wind that buffeted the chamber. He was being pulled apart, scattered to the four corners, ripped asunder. The wheel of ishonar moved on, rolling through him, and then it fell over the edge of the footpath, taking what remained of my love with it, down to the depths of Hel, where he would be washed clean and returned to the universe as new matter. Oblivion’s son.

I sat in the darkness, breathing heavily. Memories flooded my thoughts, memories of that night. Yes, I had killed him at the directive of my Lady. I’d set in motion all of these events at her bequest. And she had left me to wander, to take punishment, because if I remembered what had happened, the temple would have killed me.

But what now? What of the ishonar? What of my ability to control it?

Look inside, my Ar’jant d’tel. Look inside yourself. Don’t be afraid.

And there in the darkness, I went deep into my soul, let myself sink to the depths of my core. When I came to where the power of the ishonar had dwelt, I realized that I’d ripped out my knowledge of how to use it when I killed Vikkommin’s shadow. I’d used the knowledge this one time, to end his life—for it was the only hope I had of destroying him.

My ability to use the ishonar had died with him.

I slowly picked myself up, dusted off my cloak, and gathered my wand and everything I needed. I took one last look at the depths of the cavern, and using my walking staff, I made my way back toward the entrance.

As I emerged from the cavern, Howl leapt off of the craggy ledge. He stared at me. “Oh my Lady, what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your face. Look at your face.”

I pulled out a small mirror from my pack and gazed into the glass. Along the sides of my forehead were intricate spirals and loops, beautiful designs in deep indigo, like water flowing down my cheeks in rivers and streams. I reached up and touched them. They did not hurt, but they were permanent—that much seemed clear.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to think.”

And then, Howl turned to wolf form, offered his back, and I crawled on and we began loping across the Skirts of Hel, back to the cave, back to my life.

EIGHT

CAMILLE, SMOKY, AND ROZURIAL WERE WAITING for me when I returned. I gave them a silent nod and they withdrew. Kitää motioned to one of her women, and within fifteen minutes a hot bath was waiting for me.

Camille and Kitää attended me, helping me remove my clothing. As they peeled off my tunic, Camille gasped.

“What?” I asked.

“The scars—they are different.”

I struggled to see, so Kitää brought a small mirror in for me and held it while I glanced over my shoulder, into the mirror. The scars, the lash marks from the ishonar, had shifted and changed. They now covered my back in an intricate set of coiling waterfalls—beautiful and strange and matching the tattoos on the sides of my forehead.

“You have been marked by your goddess,” Camille whispered. “I recognize the energy—it’s the same when the Moon Mother claimed me and branded me with her symbols.”

“But what could she be thinking?”

“We visit the temple tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll have your answer then?”

I nodded and stepped into the steaming tub of water, sinking gratefully into the soothing warmth. I had to visit the temple, to ask them remove the curse. To tell them of what really happened and set the record straight.

“Will you take your old name again once you are cleared?” Camille handed me a soft cloth for washing, and some soapwort.

I shook my head. “No. I have been Iris for so long . . . and truly, I am not Pirkitta anymore. It would no more fit my nature than . . . than returning to the temple for good would. I realized today, on that mountain, that part of my life is over. It was what it was, and the Lady needed me to stop Vikkommin from becoming a terrifying sorcerer who would have used our religion as a battering ram against the world.”

Camille let out a soft sigh. “Power is so easily abused.”

She still hadn’t asked me what happened, only if I had resolved things. Now, waiting for her question, I realized she wasn’t going to, not until I was ready to talk about it.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. “I will tell you after I’ve bathed and eaten. Right now, it’s still too fresh.