Blossom Blood

by Carlyle Labuschagne

  “Rewind,” Asher said. “A Time spell?” His hand went to his mouth as he thought of what this could mean.

  “You have to listen carefully. Asher.” Milla moved closer to him.

  “This is why I brought you here. You need to know how serious this situation is – and to warn you that your choices will have a future consequence.”

  “This is pretty crazy,” Asher said, running his hand through his hair.

  “There’s something else you should know. Amanda and your parents – their death is the doing of your great, great uncle.”

  “Why? What would be his motive?” He sounded just like his little brother Caleb.

  “So he could persuade you to help him with the Time spell. After your father denied his Dark Avowal, he had to find a way to make sure you, the next in line, would side with him. He will try to persuade you by telling you that you can bring them back with this spell.”

  “Why would he need my help?” Asher asked. He was already wondering if the spell could actually work. Could he somehow bring back his parents and bring down the man who threatened his family all at the same time?

  “It takes three of one family bloodline to do a Time spell. Seeing Blossom bloods are time keepers of sorts, time-spells come easily for your kind. ”

  “So who is the third?”

  Asher wasn’t thinking about all the other information she just dumped on him, like their family were keepers of time, or how his great, great uncle was a very dark warlock wanting to work a Time spell to fix his own soul --- a Time spell for heaven’s sake.

  All he wanted was to come up the hero for once. He had a chance to put things back the way they were meant to be – happy. His brother and sisters deserved a whole family. Not an upbringing shrouded in blame and regret.

  “The original Blossom blood is kept in the locket. That’s why it’s so important to him.”

  Asher stood looking at the locket he still held in his hands. “I need to go.” He shook his head as if clearing it from all distractions.

  “Where are you going, Asher?” Milla asked, taking after him.

  “I need to keep my family safe. If it’s Blossom Blood he seeks, he’ll go after one of them. Brooke? She’s the only one who seems to harness any powers.”

  “No.”

  “No?” he turned back to Milla.

  “The blood has to be a man’s. And your twenty-first birthday marked you as that man.”

  Asher stood in the middle of the street, deeply lost in his own mind. “Can we stop him?”

  “All who have tried before you have died.”

  “If I don’t stop him, Milla – he’ll come after Caleb, right?”

  Milla shrugged with a nod. “Yes.”

  “Then it’s best I stop him.”

  Eight

  Asher hardly registered their walk back home, the smell of pickled-watermelon clung to the lining of his nostrils; a stark reminder of the testing choices he faced. But he would always protect his family at all cost. And even though he didn’t know any magic himself, he was considering there might be one way to stop it all – go back in time to save his parents and Amanda. His mother, according to Milla, had been a natural born guardian of the Time masters. She had also told him that it would ensure no harm came their way.

  The hour just before dawn broke, was when the world was at its quietest. Beneath the shelter of the homemade tent, the twins lay curled into each other. Caleb’s glasses hung off the side of his nose and Cleo snored, her hand over her brother’s protectively

  Brooke was half slumped against a beanbag, her dark straight hair covering one half of her face, the other half smudged with makeup. Asher snorted, he had so much love in his heart for his siblings that he couldn’t imagine anything happening to them. The thought nearly crushed him. Nothing would happen to anyone in his household if he could help it.

  Bending down to rest on his knees, he took Caleb’s glasses and folded them up, placing them on the bench beside his little brother.

  “What?” Caleb opened one eye.

  “Just saving your glasses so they don’t get smashed.”

  Caleb nodded, closing his eyes once more. “Good, we wouldn’t want that.”

  He went back to sleep. Cleo mumbling softly. “Shhh,”

  Asher stood staring down at the twins who he knew were close even though every waking moment they appeared to try their hardest to kill each other. Milla leaned against the doorframe between lounge and kitchen. She looked exhausted, her blonde hair plastered to the nape of her neck.

  “What does your tattoo mean?” he asked, walking over to her.

  “Her hand went to her tattoo situated right behind her earlobe. “It’s to cover my birthmark. It’s strangely in the same leaf pattern.”

  Amanda’s birthmark was also the shape of a leaf. He shook his head, too tired to think of what it could mean - could two people in the world, who looked similar in his lifetime, but had never met, have the same birthmark?

  “Why did you cover it up?” He asked.

  She shrugged, and crosser her arms across her chest defensively.

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” he said apologetically.

  “I was tired of being made fun of,” she said simply. Her pale cheeks flushed with colour.

  He leaned on the doorframe beside her, their heads almost touching.

  “And the triangle on your inner wrist?”

  She smiled.

  “The Power of Three, Balance in our world is everything. You should study the simple, elegant lines of this ancient symbol.

  He smiled to himself, then thought of how calm she was in the situation, and of how brave, and how unselfish a person she must be to have given up her life to protect others. She was sent by the institute to keep an eye on her family while he was away, and knew nothing of the dangers looming nearby. She was there for Brooke when she thought she was going insane, and stepped in when Octavius refused to comply with the institute’s request. He gave her a gentle smile, very relieved she was still in one piece. He would not be able to survive being the cause of another person’s death.

  “Do you have any siblings?” He pried, still curious about the birthmark, so much like Amanda’s.

  “I wouldn’t know. I was given to the institute at birth.” She didn’t elaborate any further.

  His brows furrowed together.

  “I don’t see the point dwelling on it. I am at peace with who I am, and what I do.” Her eyes took in the Blossom family.

  She smiled. “This is my family now.”

  He nodded, still a bit apprehensive, perhaps a little mad he wasn’t the one protecting the ones he loved.

  “I’m going to clean up,” he said flatly. “I’ll be right down. Mind taking the first shift?”

  Milla shook her head. “Not at all, I’ll make some coffee. With the warding spells Kegan and I have placed around the perimeter, I doubt you’ll be discovered any time soon.”

  Asher felt a nasty tight pinch in his gut. He should tell her about his encounter with his great, great uncle – if it was indeed the same person Milla mentioned.

  As he walked by Uncle Octavius, who was passed out on the sofa, he positively reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. He grabbed a spare blanket off the tent’s roof and placed it over Octavius. He took a minute to study his Uncle, his skin the same tone as his mom’s, except he was much older than his mother would have been, with more wrinkles around his eyes and many more around his lips from all the smoking. He took note of his uncle’s thick lashes as they brushed against his upper-cheeks, high cheekbones, a trait of their Italian heritage, just like his mother. If only his uncle hadn’t taken upon himself the burden of keeping this secret, told them what he knew, perhaps he would be a happier old man.

  “You’re up to something?” Milla said softly from across the room.

  “Yes.” He spoke not looking at her. “I am going up to get some solid rest. Please keep an eye on them. ” He turned fully to face her. “I’m sorry I wa
s harsh on your baby sitting skills – but knowing what I know now...” He shuffled his feet nervously before continuing.

  “I’m glad they have you,” he said to Milla.

  With the locket securely in his pocket, he took to the attic. Taking care to pull the stairs back up behind him. He stood in middle of the room, wondering what to do next. He started his aimless quest by investigating the manuscripts, his eyes brushing over some of the words that he could understand from his short time studying ancient languages. He knew whatever artefact everyone was looking for had to be in the attic, the letter his uncle ignored stated he had just that. He was half in wonderment at the idea they were actually some sort of remnants of a spell book. There was also an encyclopaedia of potions. He studied the gross hand like thing when the smell came again, that awful smell of sweet- rotting- pickled- watermelon, which he now associated with his strange ancestor.

  When he looked up, there he stood, as if summoned by thought. The backlights of the showcases lit up his dark, bony frame. Asher nearly knocked the chair over as he jerked in surprise. Luckily he caught the back of the chair, saving him the noise that might have alerted his presence in the attic.

  “You can’t sneak up on a person like that.” Asher looked to him from the side of his vision as he placed the chair back on its legs. A cold shiver ran over him and his heart thumped with fear.

  “How did you get past the warding spells?” Asher probed.

  All he got in return was, “Thought you might have changed your mind.”

  The figure hardly moved, and Asher found it hard to find where the man ended and the shadows started. Trust him to find the only shadow in the lit attic.

  Asher crossed his arms over his chest before he said, “Let us just get this over with.”

  “Indeed.” The voice reverberated off the walls.

  There was a long pause before the silence was broken.

  “Bolaer.” The voice said.

  “I don’t understand,” Asher prompted.

  “You wish to know my name. It is Bolaer.” He answered to Asher’s thoughts.

  Asher whispered the name to himself as if to remember it. Asher was unsure of the root of the actual voice itself. As he eyes squinted to make out any movement on Bolaer’s face, there was none. Only his outlined features, and the eyes – the grey-blue Blossom eyes – stoic and gone, as if he was someplace else waiting for his body to arrive.

  “That is what I need.” Bolaer’s hand came out in gesture for Asher to look.

  “What is it you ne…” but Asher never got the chance to finish his sentence because a paper with a list of things magically appeared between his hands.

  He studied the typed up list.

  Tunc Dominus

  Key of origins

  The original time spell page

  Object of a loved one

  Time related object

  Lavender

  Olive oil

  Hand of time

  Triangle of Blood

  Candle made up of time master bone

  * * *

  After studying the list, he sat back on the chair beside Octavius’s workbench.

  “Some of these seem within my reach, some you might have to be more specific about. Like what in the bloody hell is Tunc Dominus. When Asher said the words out loud, it came to him in a flood. Tunc Dominus was Latin for Time Master, it was one of the first languages he learned studying ancient cultures, and Bolaer was the name for a Shadowman worshiped by the Onka Civilization, more than seven hundred years ago. Asher swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth. If Bolaer was his only great, great uncle, how many times had he gone back in time to have been written in to ancient civilizations writings? His hands trembling more out of the possibility that this time travel thing was seeming more like a reality than ever.

  “That glass case behind you has most of the ingredients.” The ominous voice of Bolaer filled in the cracks of his mind. Asher could think of nothing else but to make use of the spell.

  Asher brow furrowed deeply. His mind sober for just a few moments. Why couldn’t Bolear just get it himself?

  “I cannot open the damned box, boy. It takes a living being.”

  “You’re dead?” Asher almost dropped the list.

  “Things that have no soul are essentially dead, are they not?”

  “Explains why you call yourself Death,” Asher mumbled.

  Asher placed the list on the table in front of him. He couldn’t believe he was going through with this.

  “In order for me to make a deal, I need something from you.”

  Bolaer emanated anger. “The deal has already been made.”

  “The conditions of the deal were not fully discussed from my end,” Asher said.

  For a moment, Asher had no idea where the fearlessness came from. His eyes searched the dark face of Bolaer waiting for an answer.

  Asher held the list between his hands, folding his arms across his chest. “Can you take me back to that day my parent’s died?”

  “I can.”

  Asher shook his head. “No, no, no, it’s not that simple. I know how dark minds work, you will find some twisted way to make it work in your favour. I want you to take me back to the morning of the day we were all still alive.”

  Amanda’s ring burned against his chest as he thought of seeing her again. He brushed his palm over his face. He sounded positively insane.

  “Do you have something of that day that marks it?”

  He touched Amanda’s ring hanging beneath his shirt and nodded.

  “You have something of a loved one.”

  Asher simply said, “Yes.”

  “Then, all we need is lavender and olive oil, it would seem.” Asher ran downstairs, popped his head in to the lounge to see Milla asleep on the sofa with her feet curled up under her. He tiptoed to the kitchen, where a deep blue early morning light filled the room. He grabbed the oil. Lavender… he looked around, shuffled the spices around on the rack when a voice came.

  ‘Greenhouse.’ Bolaer’s voice came from right behind him. He spun only to see nothing there. He entered the Greenhouse, stalking row after row of potent aromatic herbs and spices stemming from strange looking plants. He grabbed a fist full of white, and then some purple lavender before making his way into the attic, closing the stairs behind him as he stepped inside the room.

  “You need that bowl. A black cloth with the pentagram symbol. You can find it in that drawer right behind you.”

  Asher followed his instructions, wondering how Bolaer knew where to find these tools, had he been here before? The drawer shook as he neared the cabinets that held a row of twelve or so drawers. Inside his pants pocket, he felt a tug; a slight vibration. He reached inside to retrieve his sister’s key locket. The locket seemed to jump from his hands and insert itself into the lock. He turned it and a puff of dust caused him to cough. Now, he understood why the twins were not allowed up here, should that locket and Cleo be up here at the same time, they’d discover all kinds of horrid things.

  Asher pulled out a large wooden bowl he wasn’t sure if it was weaved from twigs or if the wooden bowl itself was carved to take on the affect - almost like a nest. Quickly he went over to the table to start the spell. He knew his time was limited, his family could come in at any moment. And in his minds-eye, he could already see himself the morning of the car crash thinking of what he’d do differently. What would be the best impact… a map, he’d place a map in the backseat of the car, or slice the tyres so they wouldn’t be able to drive that day….But the words of Milla plagued him, and he had to shut it out, because Bolaer could read his mind.

  “Concentrate,” Bolaer’s voice said viciously inside his mind, causing him to bite down on his teeth in order stop the awful, painful voice. He unrolled the cloth, placing the bowl in the middle of the pentagram, and stood back waiting for instruction when, almost like he already knew, a picture of a chest appeared in his mind. Recognising it immediately.

  Asher turned t
o the display behind him trying to find a way to open the glass box like table that held the chest he needed.

  He looked up to Bolaer and said, “It’s stu…”

  He felt a sting on his finger and recoiled noticing a slice in his skin and blood trickling from it.

  “Try it now,” Bolaer’s said. For the first time, his voice held a hint of pleasure.

  Asher’s blood dripped down his palm. The wound stung like hell, the cut was deeper than need be he was sure. “Are you craz-“he was saying when the metal frame of the glass case moved right before his eyes, almost pulling away like branches, or slithering snakes to reveal a gap in the wooden chest right beneath the lock. He stuck his hand in, and the chest simply popped open. Asher nearly fell over with fright.

  “Everything in here belongs to our legacy. There is nothing your blood cannot undo in a spell. As time rules all, so do we.”

  Asher looked back over his shoulder at Bolaer, bewildered. He would think someone as evil as Bolaer would never give away secrets, unless he was trying to convert him.

  “I can show you the world, Mr Blossom.”

  Now Asher could really hear the smile in Bolaer’s voice. He pushed his own thoughts from his mind, thinking of a wall, tall and strong and forever standing. Plants and thorns growing at the edges, pushing away the darkness so eagerly trying to push through the cracks. He heard a thump, turning around to find nothing.

  “You need to hurry if you wish to save your family.”

  Asher looked to the attic windows set high above the roof trusses where shadows were burning away, dust particles dancing in the soft golden light as the sun started to rise. Stepping closer to the display he stood looking at the contents.

  Placing the chest on the table beside the cloth, he took out what was housed inside. “What the hell is this?’ Asher pulled a face whilst holding the grotesque mummified hand in his. It was an exact replica of the one kept on the shelf across the room.“The hand of time?” He sniffed it before placing it on the black cloth, scrunching his nose in disgust. Asher then reached his hand inside the chest one more time, grabbed the scroll and placed it on the table before him beside the rotten hand. He stared at the rolled up scroll, thick, hard and dusty with age. He noticed a motif imprinted in the seal, like branches with thorns and wings, at the bottom lion paws. At first he wondered if he should tear through such and intricate and old wax seal. Then he noticed that his blood from his finger -wound had smeared on the rolled up scroll and seemed to be absorbed by the paper, magically melted away the seal, and the paper unrolled itself. He translated the Latin written at the top of the page, ‘A page out of time.” He gathered that this was the spell he needed.