After stuffing the letter inside an envelope, I sealed it with wax and opened all the windows with levers—they were out of reach, even for my height. I proceeded to the more or less empty side of the room: The experimental area. There, I would set up my altar, which had been flying around in my bag for weeks.
By burning bundles of rosemary, I cleansed the candles, the chalice, and the athame[1] I had bought from Deg.
During our travel, he sharpened the short blade, assuming I used it for physical protection, though the athame was never intended to cut anything but bad energy.
I walked around the room and covered every bit of it with smoke while commanding any evil presence to leave.
When I sat down by the chimney and started a fire, a noticeable weight lifted off my shoulders, I wasn’t arching my back anymore, and the tension in my head diluted into the rest of my body.
The books they left for me caught my attention, and I couldn’t wait to browse through them after my nightly wash-up.
I tapped some water from the barrel into the cauldron and placed it by the fire.
While it warmed up, I got rid of Claire’s dress and examined the stacked soaps in the cupboards.
After cleaning my face, body, and hair, I put on the nightgown and poured the dirty water down the hole in the wall behind the tub. That’s where I noticed the bathtub had a tap attached to it, too and was excited to try it the next night. Though I would spend most of the time heating the water.
I grabbed the books and placed them in front of the chimney.
The History of Roness, Dicheval Graduates, Herbs of Viflem and Heior, Count Perkolin Dich: Studies of a Mere Magician, Tales of Uraian Magic. After looking up Gerogy Volkov in Dicheval Graduates and not finding an entry, I promised to investigate the reason.
Afterwards, I browsed through Tales of Uraian Magic, hoping I would learn more about witchcraft.
The pages were barely holding on to the binding. The collection of folklore contained pages of reports with diary entries in between, and they all were of different handwriting. Thankfully, they were sorted chronologically. In the middle of the book, I found the first mentions of a Witch.
‘His demonic laugh brought terror to all but his Witch.
The townsfolk fled from Soarahaen. They left me alone in my wheelchair to witness the most horrific of all Gods.
The sky blackened and lightning struck around them when the dark Lord spoke his curse onto her.
“You shall never share a bed with men but me. You shall bring destruction to those who dare to try. And shall curses be brought upon those who seek to continue your work, upon all who dare to seek your powers. I shall claim them for myself.”
And when the Witch rose from the ground, she slit her arms open and drenched him in her blood while she chanted, “And you shall love me and those who follow in my footsteps. As you shall be the fuel to our power and bound to us until our last day.”
She laid still in his arms, and with his tears, he flooded the harbour before he disappeared.’
I skipped further and crime reports piled up, all charged with witchcraft and punished with death.
‘…cursed the cattle of Soering Dugvenur with sickness…,’ I flipped the pages, ‘…charged with bewitching… brothel… charged with attempted poisoning… victorious declaration of demonic absence in… Durgardrin proud to announce the obliteration of all Witches.’
Every page I turned caused throbbing pain in my chest, and I threw the book across the room.
I curled up and cried out loud while the suppressed memories invaded my mind. I had witnessed the hate of men, too. I remembered it all: How they dragged me through the dirt with a rope, laughing. How they forced themselves into my flesh, before lighting a fire beneath my feet. And had it not been the worst storm in years that night, I would’ve followed my sisters into the Underworld or perhaps nothingness.
I howled for hours until I fell asleep.
When I awoke, the sun had risen high, but yesterday didn’t want to leave me, and I continued crying until my eyes dried out.
Rubbing chamomile oil on to my wrists, I managed to get up and prepare tea.
The book laid open on the other side of the room. While approaching the old rubbish, I thought about destroying it, throwing it into the fireplace. But when I knelt down to pick it up, I noticed fine writing that seemed familiar.
I searched for the torn pages in my grimoire and confirmed it. The pages came from the same source. My fingers were tingling again, and I rushed my eyes through the words.
‘Descent into the Underworld, blood ritual… wine… encounter… possible death.’
The source ended with a warning.
‘Do not trust him or his offers.’
After reading the instructions multiple times, I noted two missing things to perform the ritual: Chalk and wine.
I wrapped myself in Claire’s dress again and counted the coins in my bag before I grabbed the letter and ran downstairs.
The sunrays burned inside my eyes, and I regretted not taking my hat with me.
I thought the North would be less sunny.
I’d buy a new one with the leftover of my savings, but relying on my grandfather’s coins after that seemed impudent. Perhaps I would reconsider it if I found a hat to my liking.
While I was
