The tingle inside my fingertips, the pulsation of my brain—it was a high of energy. Dried wounds on my arms closed by themselves, the blood peeled off my skin.
Veymor helped me stand upright and a chilling whizz against my back reminded me of my nakedness. He noticed my goosebumps and shifted his jaw to the side. “Wait here,” he said and sank through the portal.
I circled it and let the petals brush my legs, feeling their fine edges. The grass looked greener, and the sun shone brighter than I remembered. The birds chirped louder, and I saw farther, recognising the contours of pine trees on the horizon. I couldn’t sit still but had to pluck some flowers for my collection.
When I turned around, he stood behind me again, showing a fine gown.
“What?” he asked after he scanned my grimace, “I’ve got a deal with a tailor.”
The fabric rubbed against my skin, but I accustomed to it quickly.
“A tailor? How many deals do you have?”
“One hundred and seventy…,” he rubbed his chin and counted with his fingers. “Six.”
Baffled by the number, I fell silent. It was more than I expected.
“It’s not much. Not even a thousand humans measure up to one single Witch. It’s not worth the trouble, but I was desperate,” he added.
“That’s why it’s so important to claim me?”
“Exactly.”
I forced the air out of my lungs and stiffened my body. “I’m ready,” I said, louder than usual.
“For what?” he asked.
“To get claimed, whatever it is you wish.”
Instead of letting out his roaring laugh, he chuckled. “It happened when your heart stopped beating inside the dungeon. They’ll find your dead body, by the way. You should think of a new name for yourself.”
I imagined my blood-drained corpse inside the cell, naked, mutilated. Nothing like the new flesh I had obtained. I was still alive. The old carcass didn’t bother me.
Pushing one of my hands deep into my chest and the other into his, there was only silence. Not a pound or movement inside us, other than the immense current of our energy.
“You’re a part of me now,” he said, “part of the Underworld.”
“Then… why are we in the Upperworld?”
He smirked. Between his pink lips, a sharp tooth gleamed through. “I’m sending you on a quest to rebuild the faith in me as a missionary. God’s vessel, if you may.”
“But what about Gerogy? And the grimoire?”
“Forget that power-hungry moron,” he scoffed, “I’ve made a better deal. The grimoire is waiting for you past the field. Now, listen and don’t disappoint me again. Walk westwards through Pelnae and take a ship to the Isles. There, you will build a coven and a temple.”
“B-but,” I stuttered, “What about you? Aren’t you going to stay with me?”
“Don’t worry, you won’t be lonely. Remember, I am always right here.” He tapped his finger where my heart had been beating just a few breaths ago.
“Draw the pentacle, if you need me. Descending should be easier.”
When he walked into the rune, I grabbed for his arm. “Wait,” I said, “don’t go.”
There were too many questions left unanswered, and I couldn’t rest until I figured it all out.
After he took another step inside and turned around, he hugged me and kissed my forehead. “See, now you love me. Let’s see if it lasts till morrow.” Gently pushing me out of the rune, he waved me goodbye with a broad grin. “Westwards, go,” he pointed the direction and disappeared.
I had lost the ability to cry, even though I wanted to, and all I could do was mimic it.
While I strode through the field with spread out arms, I touched every flower on my way. I was free after ruining my chances of proper education, but perhaps it was best. I didn’t belong into the Dicheval academy, though I would miss Harriet, Bloum, and Claire.
She was the true victim, not me, and I hoped my request to get her into safety met my expectations. My imagination came up with the image of her brewing tea for Frya. As long as Tonio was far away from her, it would be enough.
When I reached the end of the field, I scanned the area from left to right. There was no grimoire in sight, but a trampled path that led to Pelnae.
My ears twitched from the sound of a horse stomping towards me, and I threw myself back into the field. I focused on the quakes of the earth. They slowed down as they drew closer, and I didn’t dare to stick my head out of the flowers, afraid of losing it this time instead of receiving a smack. Veymor had disappeared before I could ask him about my mortality.
Chains clanked when the rider jumped down onto the firm soil and moved in my direction while I crawled away.
The rider’s shadow stretched over me and I hesitated to look back.
“You forgot your bag,” the loveliest voice sang.
I turned around to familiar silver locks.
“What’s your name?” she giggled.
“Verra. Verra of Wolves.”
With a broad grin, she reached out her hand. “Then I am Claire. Claire of Crows. Pleased to meet you.”
THE END
[1]An athame or athamé is a ceremonial blade, generally with a black handle.
Acknowledgements
Who would’ve thought? Certainly not Felix, my dear sunshine, whom I thank for gifting me a blank notebook two years ago. You made me remember my love for writing.
Further, I’d like to thank:
My closest friend, Diana, for cheering me on 24/7 and for fighting every hater. A true Queen.
Matthew McConkey, Bird Witch, founder of ‘Writers Coven’, for his huge contribution in the editing process.
Sam Turnbull, Crystal Witch, for brainstorming with me during sleepless nights, memeing my work and teaching me neat facts about crystals.
Both Matthew and Sam can be found under ‘Janus Lyons’. Shamelessly promoting your work is the least I can do.
Quinten Eggermont, Druid Witch, for helpful insight and endless
