Chapter Six
The Magician
Aveta stood overher worktable. The fire burned merrily in the hearth, keeping her cottage warm and comfortable. She glanced over her shoulder to her bed.
Alaunus lay beneath the rough blankets, so still and pale that he could have been carved from stone.
However, since Aveta insisted that Caderyn and Bran bring Alaunus to her home, his skin no longer looked grey. It was only a slight improvement, but enough to strengthen Aveta’s resolve.
As she worked, crushing herbs and mixing minerals and oils, Aveta realized that the goddess had done more than just give her power. She had awakened her.
Every sight, scent, and sound seemed sharper and clearer. She could hear the rabbits that ran through her garden and the whisper of the wings of the owl that stalked them. The scent of the night blooming flowers in her garden was all around her though the shutters were shut tight over her windows.
Aveta could even see what lay in the shadowed corners of her one room cottage. Objects that should have been shrouded in darkness were as easy to see as if they had been beneath the sun at midday.
Her mind had been awakened as well. She seemed to recall everything, even the most insignificant bits of information her mother had shared with her during childhood.
The most surprising aspect of the goddess’ gift to her was the vast memories of the ancient magic. She knew things she never had before. Things learned and shared by the practitioners of long ago, those who were born at the dawn of the world itself.
When Caderyn and Bran carried Alaunus into her cottage, they had waited and watched as she prepared herbs and potions. As night began to fall, she suggested they return home to rest. When the men balked, she pointed out that she had only a single stool and bed in her home and asked where they intended to sleep.
Finally, the pair agreed to leave, but insisted that they would return shortly after dawn.
Aveta was glad to have them out of her home. After so many years away from other people, she found it difficult to tolerate the invasion of her sanctuary.
She also had no desire to explain the actions she intended to take in order to save Alaunus. When she laid hands on his chest after her meeting with the goddess, it became clear to her that he would die regardless of whichever potions or teas she fed him.
Only an incantation, the most powerful spell she could create, would save him from the dark magic that infected his lungs and his heart. Not only a spell, but a binding of their life forces to keep Alaunus tethered to this world with her.
Aveta had a moment’s trepidation as she thought of the daughter that she carried. The binding should not harm the child, but should Aveta not survive childbirth or the coming years, her death would bring about Alaunus’ demise. Her daughter could easily become an orphan.
Trust in my gifts to you, my daughter.You, your beloved, and your daughter will be safe.
The voice of the goddess drifted through her mind, calming her and bringing her peace with the path she intended to take.
As the moon rose in the sky and the midnight hour approached, Aveta prepared a potion and a powder. The curse had been administered with a powder and it seemed best to counteract the dark magic with her own powder. As for the potion, she mixed oils and herbs, stirring them until the liquid was thick and dark. Then she pricked her finger with her knife, whispering the words of binding as her blood dripped into bowl. She repeated the process at the bedside, lifting Alaunus’ limp hand and drawing a few beads of blood from his finger.
When she was done, she left the bowl on a stool near the bed and returned to her worktable to finish her preparations.
Aveta carried a cup of hot water, and the bowl of ground herbs to the bed, settling a hip next to Alaunus’ prone form. Deep within, she felt the power pulse with each beat of her heart. As the witching hour began, she anointed Alaunus and herself with the potion, marking forehead, lips, and heart with the liquid.
Quietly she began to chant the words of the spell, her voice rising and falling rhythmically. In response to her incantation, she felt the energy within her coalesce and swell.
Then she mixed a small amount of the ground herbs in the water and drank it down. The tea was bitter at first, but the flavor expanded and sweetened on her tongue as the magic took effect.
Resuming her chant, Aveta gathered a small amount of the powder in her palm and gently blew it over Alaunus’ face. She placed her left hand, the hand of the goddess, on his heart and her right hand, the one marked by the god, on his head.
As the power built within her, she directed it into Alaunus’ body, her voice lifting with each word she spoke. The language was ancient, one her ears had never heard before, yet the syllables tumbled from her tongue easily as though she had spoken it for her entire life.
Her hands began to glow where they rested against Alaunus’ skin, growing hotter as the spell rose to a fever pitch.
“By my will, it shall be.”
As she cried those words, she felt everything within her stretch taut, like a bow drawn back in preparation to loose an arrow.
Then she heard the laughter, dark and malevolent. It was not the voice of her mother goddess, but of evil itself.
“You think you have won, little witch, but you cannot.” the voice whispered, harsh and threatening. “He will live, but he is no longer the man you love. He will be a beast, a hunter. He will seek the blood and the violence of the kill, and you will be his prey. Your spell has been twisted and perverted.”
