“The flow of water is powerful, perhaps more so than the fury of fire. It can provide a town with sustenance, give creatures a home, and allow us to have pretty fountains in our gardens, like this one. But its power can be catastrophic. It can drown people, wash away houses, and even start wars.” Striga slowly walked towards Adriana, leaning on her walking stick, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “You must use your gifts wisely, learn to control the power so that it does not control you.”
“Did you always know how to control your powers?”
Striga chuckled, taking Adriana’s hand and leading her back to the fountain. “Not at all,” she admitted. “I was never able to control my gifts because they were never truly mine. Only when I took them for my own was I able to control my powers, and my life.” Striga stared at their reflections in the water of the fountain, her brows furrowed as she seemed to ponder over her next choice of words. “You have a kind understanding of this world, my Adria. But many do not possess the same views on mortals and Daemonium living peacefully as one.”
Striga dipped her fingertips into the water, and Adriana watched in awe as it began to swirl around her hand. She had watched her great-grandmother display her powers many times, seen her do incredible things, and yet something as simple as controlling the flow of water in the basin of the fountain spoke to her. Because she had just done something similar.
“You understand how it is we came to be, yes?”
“Incantrices?” Adriana asked. “I know your mother gave you and your sisters your powers, everyone knows that story.”
It was true. The story of the Three Sisters was a tale that was told to many children. Three babies, each born with the power to control the elements, and each born with an individual gift. One with the power to see the present through another’s eyes, one with the power to predict the future, and one with the power of light. Though their names had changed in the story, Adriana knew that the Luciferus, the light bringer, was her great-grandmother.
It was a beautiful story, one of a mother’s love that was so strong she was able to devote her life to provide her children with such powers. But the look on Striga’s face concerned Adriana.
“I am afraid that story is not as truthful as the others you have been told,” Striga said, as she continued to stare into the water, her eyes glazing over as if lost in a memory. “Myself and mytwo sisters, Divina and Malefica, we are the first Incantrices. We were all born on the same day in the year 1800. We came from different families, so we were not sisters in blood, but we were sisters in death. We died at birth, almost at the exact same time.”
“You died?” Adriana asked in shock. “But, I can see you. You are right here, are you not?”
“Of course I am here,” Striga laughed. “We do not possess the power to see the dead, only Superus Mortis, the god of death, can do that.”
Adriana shuddered at the mention of Mortis, the god of death and darkness. He was the scariest of the Superi from Striga’s stories and lessons. Adriana much preferred to learn about his partner, Vita, the goddess of life and light. Whenever she pictured Vita, she pictured her great-grandmother, with their similar glowing powers providing warmth and light to everyone.
She knew of the other gods; Medela, the goddess of health and family; Quies, the god of dreams and peace; Soror, the goddess of prophecy and wisdom; Interiti, the god of war and destruction; and Tutel, the god of change and protection. Each of their powers were extravagant and necessary to learn in order to understand Daemon life, but Adriana rarely paid attention to the lessons of people she would never meet. She preferred the lessons about her own kind.
“But yes, we died, or we were dying,” Striga continued. “And as our souls travelled from the Land of the Living, we passed over the thin space that lies in-between. A world that should not exist. The Intermundum.”
“Lilith’s home,” Adriana whispered. “I remember you telling me about her.”
Adriana shuddered at the memory of the stories Striga had told her about Lilith and the Intermundum, an endless place of darkness and decay, hanging between life and death. The very air around it, according to Striga, was thick with the red dust oflost souls, and the silence was broken only by the soft sighs of their despair. They would never rest, never know peace, never be swept away in the cold embrace of Mortis.
“Yes,” Striga nodded. “We had been sent to rest in the Land of the Dead when Lilith captured our souls. She took us, forged us anew, and raised us as her own in the Intermundum. As we grew older, she bestowed her Elementai gifts upon us, making us the first Incantrices. We were branded with the lunar cycle to remind us who we came from, and then she gave us a further power each. My sister, Malefica, became the first Aspici, she could see things that others could, no matter where they were. My other sister, Divina, became the first Vanticini, she could predict the future of others based on the decisions they were planning to make.”
“You were given the gift of light,” Adriana finished for her. “Great-grandfather Thomas told me that no one else has your power.”
Striga smiled. “Yes, I am a Luciferus. But I am no longer the only one. I see it within you, Adriana. You may not feel it yet, and you may not display the marking as I do, but the power of light is in your blood—in your soul.”
Adriana smiled to herself. She had always loved her great-grandmother’s Luciferus mark, a beautiful sun that sat above the moon cycle on her back. She thought for a moment, then her face twisted in confusion once more. “But if you were raised in the Intermundum, how are you here now?”
“Because I chose to be,” Striga explained. “Divina and I chose to forsake our lives in the Intermundum, to forsake our immortality and Lilith, to live in the Land of the Living permanently. Before then, my sister and I could walk this world but we could never remain in it. We would venture here to do Lilith’s bidding, and we made… terrible decisions.”
Striga shut her eyes and gave a sharp shake of her head. Adriana had never pressed her to discuss her past, especially when it caused her pain. It was a familiar sight, the way her brow would furrow and the almost imperceptible flinch in her fingers, before she would steer the conversation away from her history. But it seemed today, the day that Adriana had finally displayed progress in her Elementai power, her great-grandmother wished to share more.
“Though I know that is not the person I am anymore,” Striga spoke through gritted teeth, “I will be forever haunted by the destruction I helped cause before I found my humanity.”
Holding onto Adriana’s hand, Striga slowly lowered herself down onto the grass until she was able to sit comfortably on the ground, her back leaning against the stone. She seemed to relax slightly, as Adriana gave her band a squeeze.
“But then, I met your great-grandfather,” she smiled as she pulled Adriana into her lap. “And I realised that we did not need to be mortal to be human. Your great-grandfather, as you know, is no mere mortal, and he is one of the two most decent men I have ever met.”
“You’d best not be comparing me to that moody bastard,” a voice shouted from across the garden.
Adriana looked up to find Thomas strolling over, his face beaming at them. She had observed the subtle nuances in Thomas’ smiles over the years, each one a distinct reflection of his feelings towards the person he addressed. For her father, it was a tight-lipped, almost sorrowful expression. He always offered the staff bright and cheerful grins, and when he smiled at Adriana it was always encouraging, filled with quiet pride. But whenever he looked at Striga, no matter where they were, his entire face seemed to soften. The lines around his eyes crinkled further, as his deep, unwavering love shone through.
Adriana had often asked him about love. It didn’t feel right to ask her father, knowing he had lost his true love, and Striga, though a loving caregiver, would often scold Adriana and tell her not to waste time fantasising about romance at such a young age. But Thomas had always been a romantic, and he was more than happy to tell her all about the importance of love. He had once confided in Adriana that growing old alongside the woman he loved was the greatest gift he could ever receive, and despite the consequences of time turning her golden hair to white and wrinkling her skin, in his eyes Striga was as beautiful as the day they met.
Striga laughed at his attempt to pull a grumpy frown and beckoned him to join them. “I would never, my love. I was just telling Adriana our stories, the truth about how we came to be.”
Thomas sat down next to them, wincing at the pain in his joints as he lowered himself to the ground. “I know, I’ve been listening,” he said.
