1. Yseult
716 Words
1
Yseult
The fog stood thick over the moor, heavy as an omnipresent hand pressing down, sucking the air from our lungs. Crows cawed in the skeletons of trees as I passed. The dead grass and disfigured trees were only more proof that the land withered and died under Corpse King’s power.
The wind picked up, but I didn’t shiver, even though I was cold. Magic hummed through me, warming me even as goosebumps rose on my flesh.
“Every day he grows stronger,” one of my younger sisters raised her head. “Even the weather heeds him.”
“Shhh,” another hushed her, holding a sachet of herbs to her own face. Posies were no use. The stench of the Corpse King penetrated our very bones.
I left them and headed to the women bent around a fire. My older witch sisters stood in a tight circle, chanting as one. The neophytes hung back, allowing the ancient ones to combine power to work the spell.
I remained outside the circle. Silent, though my own lips moved with the chant.
And when shall we all meet again?
In fog or thunder or wasting rain?
When the spell we set is done,
When the battle’s lost and won
With the dying of the sun
Moonlight reigns when love doth come…
My brow creased under the weight of the magic. I labored to breath as the spell took hold, twining around my body like a vine. I swayed a little before I caught the gaze of one of my older sisters.
“Here,” the witch beckoned to me. Her body was draped in what once was a purple robe, now rags. She looked like a wasted crone, but when I took her hand, power tingled in my arm. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, I stepped into the circle of witches. Despite the sickly chill, I wore only a thin white shift, with my hair unbound down my back. My arms and feet were bare.
“Child, have you cleansed yourself?” The witch speaking was the oldest of us. I was no girl, but to her, I’d always be a child.
“I have,” I answered clearly. “Cleansed with water and hyssop.”
“Drank only mead, ate only honey?”
I nodded.
“You’re ready, then. You’ll walk through fire.”
I swallowed and stepped forward. She kept her hand in mine, guiding me firmly the last few inches before the coals. The fire would cleanse me. Burn away whatever the spell could touch. It was necessary.
It can’t hurt me. I reminded myself again as the heat hit my skin. The crone’s hand both helped and guided me, but if I bolted, she would hold me fast.
Purifying smoke shot up on either side of me, the heat blasting my face. Tingles spread over me again, as I burned without burning, the spell fire licking but not touching my skin.
Once I made it through, I took a deep breath of cool air. I felt lighter, empty. A vessel for the spell, the great power my sisters and I would call into my being.
“The cleansing is finished. Let the spell begin.”
I took my place on the cold rock as my sisters gathered around me. Ancient hands raised, the younger neophytes huddled behind, heads bowed, arms linked for protection.
I steadied my breathing and looked within.
I could do this.
Of all my witch sisters, I was the best choice, blessed with both power and youth. I must succeed. This spell was our last hope.
I don’t know how long I stood waiting for the magic to come. A minute, an hour, a day and night?
When it came it was as if it had always been.
The power rose around me, swirling my garments, spreading thickly over my skin like water, burning like fire. If there was any uncleanliness left, the spell would destroy it, and me with it. I opened my eyes and met the crone’s gimlet gaze.
I could do this.
The wind picked up, a great howling as the Corpse King battered our defenses. The outer circle of neophytes staggered and steadied. The crones all lowered their arms. The sky above them cleared, the sinister fog gone. The night sky rolled out in front of me like a black carpet studded with bright jewels, hazy around the edges with the gathering dawn. The stars winked and whirled in ageless dance. Hurry, they beckoned. Journey with us, before the dawn.
I breathed deep, and accepted the power, and rose among the stars.
- Writer
