House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  Standing, Nessa admired her handiwork.

  “Almost done,” she told herself. “Just one last thing.”

  Crossing over to her makeshift desk, Nessa ran her fingers over her small collection of jewellery. She owned nothing more than a necklace and bangle, both gifted to her by Hunter, and a pair of gemstone rings like the one she had given to Astrid. Like that one, these too were made under Pharawynn’s guidance, the gems infused with a tiny measure of magic.

  Slipping the rings onto her fingers, Nessa waited a heartbeat to see if she could perceive a change like Astrid could. Nothing happened, at least not that Nessa could notice, and she was the one who had put a drop of magic in the gems. She knew that there was magic in them. Nessa briefly wondered if Astrid had just made a lucky guess, or perhaps, was simply more susceptible to the effects.

  Such pondering would have to be entertained later.

  Perhaps with the return of my memories, I’ll know the answer?

  That thought made Nessa smile. There was no telling what she might know, what she might find hidden behind the mental block. It was an exciting prospect.

  Determination flourished, blooming in her chest, and she placed the torc bangle around her wrist, touching the purple gems with fondness. To most, they would be mistaken as simple gemstones, but she knew. She knew what they were. The truth was staring her in the face. Alone in the sanctuary of her room, she was allowed to be arm-warmer free. Her Rider’s Mark was visible, peeking out from beneath the cuff of her dress’ sleeve. The torc’s gems—remnants of Aoife’s egg—rested against it, shimmering even in the low light.

  Nessa’s fingers lingered on the bangle, a small smile curling the corners of her lips up. It was something that incorporated two of her most beloved things: Aoife and Hunter. The only thing that could have made it even more special to her was if Orm had been involved in its creation. Nessa knew that he hadn’t been. She was pretty sure that he had no idea that it even existed, let alone that Hunter had designed it. Nessa could only imagine the things Orm would say if he knew, the innuendos and crass suggestions.

  Still smiling, Nessa reached out, her fingers grazing the necklace that had been gifted alongside the torc bangle and brushing over the charms, over the shape of Ironguard, of a dragon in flight and the Hidden City’s mountains. She’d love to add more moments to the necklace, other charms to commemorate important events.

  And I will. Just as soon as I can remember them…

  As much as Nessa wanted to wear it, she didn’t, settling for simply arranging it, making sure that it sat neatly. Instead, Nessa picked up the talisman that Astrid had commandeered from Pharawynn’s collection. It wasn’t something from the storefront, a pretty pendant of polished silver and twinkling gems. No, it was from Pharawynn’s darker collection, the one that was tucked away in the backroom, hidden from the fine ladies with a delicate disposition by a heavy drape. Only Nessa and a select few knew what was inside that room.

  She saw it each time she came and went from Pharawynn’s basement.

  It was a room always shrouded in shadows, the shutters pulled closed and candles rarely lit. It was dedicated to palm readings and divinations, and the occasional theatrical conjuring. Pharawynn took select groups of people in there every now and again, rich folk who paid for a good show or those who were soon to be converted to the old ways. Sometimes there would be a visit from another spellcaster, a sorcerer who sought Pharawynn’s guidance or help.

  The room’s walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books and figurines, candles and jars that were filled with an assortment of creepy things. There were skulls, human and animal, painted and engraved with runes and glyphs, and boxes which contained rings, lockets and talismans that were covered in sigils and seals of power.

  Nessa slipped the borrowed talisman over her head, wearing it like a pendant, a lamen of protection. The chain was cool on her neck, the metal disk heavy on the spot over her heart.

  Sucking in a deep breath, trying to steady her growing nerves, Nessa picked up the lantern and removed the glass cover, exposing the dancing flame. Setting the cover on the desk, she moved around to the summoning circle, lighting each candle carefully, slowly, murmuring the blessed words as she went. They were a prayer of sorts, one filled with promise and question.

  It was a prologue for the spell that was to follow.

  With the candles lit, small flames dancing on stubby wicks, Nessa blew out the lantern. Whilst it hadn’t been all that bright, there had been something that had seemingly made its light reach further, touching the now darkened corners of Nessa’s bedroom. The candles’ illumination appeared more contained, subdued; their rings of light were soft and cast down solely onto the floor. They made the white lines of the chalk appear stark against the dark wood of the floor; they made the seals and sigils seem to glow with their own luminance. It was like nothing else existed in the room, nothing but the summoning circle and the moon perfectly framed in the window.

  Nessa stepped into the centre of the summoning circle, sitting down cross-legged in the area that was free of chalk markings. Typically, the object that was being bespelled, infused with the power of the Atheals, was positioned there. That was how Nessa had made her rings, placing them in the centre of a summoning circle that was not too dissimilar to the one she now sat in. Seeing as she was the one being bespelled, she simply took the rings’ place.

  The spirit—or spirits—that were called upon would be summoned by their seals, their powers answering the call if they felt inclined to share their otherworldly magics. The Atheals themselves wouldn’t make an appearance, not in full. That was reserved purely for conjurings, and no one was mad enough to conjure one of the high lords. They were too powerful to be controlled, to be contained by a summoning circle. If one simply called upon one of the Atheals like Nessa intended to, she would only receive a token of its presence, little more than a wisp of its essence. In some instances, depending on the strength of the spell, the Atheals may decide to send one of their subordinates to answer the call, a lower spirit which worked beneath the Atheals, acting as an extension of them, carrying out their will. This, of course, only happened if the calling was answered at all. If you didn’t give them enough of a tribute, or draw the seals quite right, nothing would happen.

  Nessa’s spell was a big one, a tricky one. Whilst the principles were the same as those she had practised with the rings, infusing them with a smidgen of magic, this was on a different scale entirely. Nessa wouldn’t be working with one of the lesser dæmons. No, she was about to call upon not one, but two of the high lords, and instead of their power going into a ring or a pendant, it was going to go deep into her, changing her.

  Fixing her.

  From the deep pocket of her skirt, Nessa pulled out a piece of parchment, one edge frayed from where she had crudely ripped it from one of her notebooks; her handwriting was wobbly and a little smudged from where she had been folding and unfolding it. She’d written the words of the summoning on that crumpled piece of parchment, taking the body of the spell from the pages of the grimoires and rewriting it so that it was easier to read. The texts in the grimoires were old and faded, written by hand in something that was in-between calligraphy and a messy scrawl. Nessa had found them incredibly hard to decipher or read easily. The last thing she wanted to do was trip over some of the words merely because she couldn’t read them.

  Nessa set the paper on her knee, one hand stroking the surface, smoothing out the worst of the creases. The shadowed light from the moon and the candles only just touched the scripture, barely illuminating the words. It didn’t matter too much. Not really. Nessa was sure that some part of her must have memorised them by now. After all, she had gone over them enough times. The notes were there as guidance, Nessa supposed. They were a comfort blanket of sorts.

  She gave one last look around the summoning circle, double-checking for the hundredth time that everything was as it should be, and sucked in a deep breath, steeling her resol
ve.

  Nessa pushed aside her doubts and hesitations.

  It was now or never.

  Gazing up at the moon, one hand reaching for the lamen, Nessa began the spell.

  Chapter 37

  It was a slow build. A steady build. But as Nessa’s confidence grew, as her low chant gathered momentum, so did the energy in the air. It swelled, filling the room, heavy and static like an oncoming thunderstorm, rolling in from the window, flowing down the chimney flue, rising through the floorboards.

  Magic brushed against Nessa’s face, phantom fingers twisting and twining her hair, stroking, toying.

  Alive.

  Playful.

  Nessa’s chant, the spell, spilled from her lips like a haunting song from a long-forgotten time. The words were not of the common tongue. They were the lingering memory of the old ways, a remnant, a language of power. A language first spoken by the Old Bloods, taught to them by the spirits before they became known as the Atheals. The words were primal, raw, tasting strange on the tongue. They conjured up images in Nessa’s head, images of roaring bonfires and wild people adorned in animistic masks and headdresses dancing in ecstasy, in feral abandonment. The echo of deep drum beats reverberated through the air, through her, and Nessa swayed in time with them, her chant taking her somewhere beyond her room, somewhere else.

  She was transported. Transcended.

  Nessa’s eyes closed.

  Nessa sang.

  Nessa cast her spell.

  The candles’ soft light became fierce, turning the insides of Nessa’s eyelids red and orange, yellow and gold. Heat buffeted her in waves, blowing hair across her face, tickling her ears, her nose. The floorboards, once wooden and hard, became earth and leaf litter, soft and welcoming, whispering and secretive just like the wind that carried the rhythmic sound of stomping feet, the heavy breathing of dancing bodies. The wind spoke to her just as the trees did, just as the stars and the rivers did.

  They chanted alongside her, copying her words, singing them with her.

  The energy grew.

  The tempo increased.

  Phantom fingers morphed into real ones, into talons and claws, into the sharp tips of wings and tails. Caressing. Stroking. Pressing against her. Testing. Trying. Curious.

  Would she bleed? the beings wondered.

  Would she cry? the creatures purred.

  Would she stop? the entities sighed.

  Or would she die?

  Nessa squeezed her eyes tighter shut, battling against the beguiling whispers that urged her to open them, to look and join the dance, the wildness. She clutched at the lamen, the raised edges of the protection sigil digging into the palm of her hand. It gave her just enough discomfort to focus on, and focus she did. She focused on the ridges that dug into her palm and the border of the pendant that stabbed into the soft flesh of her fingers as they clenched into a tight fist around it. Nessa focused and cast her spell, singing it over and over again, faster and faster. If she stopped, if she opened her eyes and gave into the whispered promises, the alluring caresses, Nessa knew that she would be lost forever, her soul left to wander in the wildness of Void for all eternity.

  The coolness of mist drifted around her, soothing her heated skin, softening the burn of the air’s crackling energy, dulling the pain that pierced her chest.

  Nessa gasped, and her hand spasmed around the lamen. A sharp point hovered over her heart, a claw or perhaps something more barbaric. She didn’t know. It pressed into her, cutting her, slowly slicing through fabric and skin. She continued her song with quiet desperation, making it sound more like a plea than the powerful incantation it was meant to be.

  Wetness ran down her chest, warm and sticky. Her nose filled with the scent of salt and copper. Nessa felt weak, scared. Her heart fluttered away like the wings of an earnest hummingbird beneath that cruel, biting point.

  Nessa wanted to turn back.

  Nessa wanted to stop.

  This was different. Too different.

  It was too late to stop, to turn back. The payment had been taken. It had been sealed in blood, just as her grimoire said it would be.

  The drumming, the dancing, faded into the background, muted, hushed. The caressing claws and the toying talons lingered for a second, hungry for the feel of her skin, and then withdrew. They didn’t go far. They were still drawn to her, reluctant to leave, compelled to hover near, watching, waiting, breathless as their masters approached.

  It was working.

  The spell was working.

  Nessa battled through the pain.

  She battled through the misgivings, the fear.

  Nessa redoubled her efforts, strengthening her resolve. It was hard. It was a challenge. Somehow, she managed to push everything to the back of her mind, building a wall around the pain, the distress, a wall that was startlingly similar to the one that was keeping Aoife from sensing what she was doing, from sensing what she was feeling.

  Nessa focused on unlocking her past, her memories, her powers. She focused on nothing but that. There was no pain, no fear or uncertainty. There was only the path to becoming whole.

  Mist wrapped around her, just as her song did, her words of power, her spell of strength and change. They twined together, binding, coiling around one another like snakes, constricting, wrestling.

  Something happened.

  Something changed.

  Nessa was thrown back, her head smacking against wooden floorboards, against the earthen ground. She was in two different places at once. Her body and soul divided, separated. It was strange. It was painful. Nessa’s back arched in agony. Her incantation came to an abrupt end as a soundless scream ripped from her throat. That didn’t matter. Not now. The spell had done all that it needed to.

  The Atheals had heard her call and they had answered.

  The candles were snuffed out.

  The moon was hidden by a deep, silent darkness. A darkness that consumed all.

  There was nothing in the world but her and an ancient energy, a magic as old as time. It made the air hum and vibrate, and Nessa’s Rider’s Mark tingled in warning before it began to itch and burn like it was coming alive, like there was something beneath her skin that wanted to rip free from its prison of blood and bone, clawing and biting for escape.

  The sensation grew and spread, slowly working its way up her arm, making her veins squirm beneath her skin like worms, like enraged snakes. It crept across her shoulders and down her other arm, seeping into her chest, her heart. Something was taking over her, changing her. Nessa could feel herself becoming something else, becoming something other…something more.

  There was an awakening in her, one that Nessa had experienced before.

  A gust of wind battered Nessa’s writhing form, blowing her hair across her face, strands sticking to the tears that she hadn’t realised flowed over her cheeks, down her temples. The wind brought with it forces unseen, forces to be reckoned with. Nessa blinked open her eyes and stared, disorientated and confused. She could sense them all around her, beings of great and terrible power.

  Nessa had an idea of what she would be calling upon, but now that it was here, now that they were here, she began to doubt herself. They flowed around her, filling the void of darkness with a power so strong that it was tangible. It was overwhelming. When she had called upon one of them to bless a ring or such, their power had felt unimaginable, but she was coming to realise that was nothing but a small drop in an unfathomable ocean. It was nothing compared to now, nothing but a tiny, minuscule peek at what they could do, what they were.

  It was terrifying.

  It was electrifying.

  The magic in the blackened void was akin to a fierce storm that bore down on her, filled with wild chaos, lightning and thunder. Nessa didn’t know what was up and what was down. Was she floating? Sinking? She couldn’t tell. She wasn’t even sure if her eyes were open or closed.

  Words reached her ears, whispered and hushed, filled with an endless echo. Nessa couldn’t
quite make out what was said, but it struck a chord with her. The thing that clawed beneath her skin paused, listening, waiting.

  Soothed.

  Tamed.

  The beings, creatures of pure energy and magic, swirled around her, murmuring those strange words; they were invisible to her, but were surrounding her, touching her, holding her, learning all that there was to her. The thing inside Nessa paused in its efforts of seeking freedom, and hovered patiently in her veins, letting itself be carried throughout Nessa’s body by her racing heart.

  Then it reached the wound on her chest and it seeped out alongside the droplets of blood.

  The beings stilled.

  A thousand eyes turned to her, to the wound.

  Nessa tried to raise her head, tried to look down at herself, wanting, needing to see what had captured so many beings’ attention. They were drawn closer to her, jostling and pushing, filling the void with crackling energy and fevered mumblings. Nessa couldn’t move. She was stuck, trapped in a prison that was her own body. Her fingers refused to twitch. Her toes refused to wiggle.

  Nessa began to panic, to struggle in any way she could, which, seeing as she couldn’t move, didn’t amount to much. A grim kind of fear grew inside her, one that spoke of her spell having gone terribly astray. Was she lost to the Void, her soul ripped from her body? Was it to wander for all eternity, lost and alone?

  Was she dead?

  Instead of taking a payment of blood, like her grimoire had said they would, what if the Atheals had taken her life? Had she made a mistake with the summoning circle? Did she say the incantation wrong? Nessa had so very little experience when it came to calling upon spirits. Anything could go wrong, and she wouldn’t know what.