Page 66 of Torn Ivy
Dad’s expression grows serious. “It won’t be easy. She’s been scattered across dimensions, her essence fragmented. But there might be a way.”
“Tell me,” I growl.
Mum produces an ancient tome, its cover writhing with living shadows. “There’s a ritual. One that can call back fragments of a shattered soul. But it requires sacrifice.”
“What kind of sacrifice?” I ask instantly, knowing I will lay down my own life to save her.
My parents exchange a loaded glance before Mum answers, “The ritual requires three sacrifices: one of blood, one of power, and one of spirit.”
“Explain.”
Dad sighs heavily. “The Ancient Fae were dark. Really pitch black. Bear that in mind. The blood sacrifice is straightforward, a willing offering of life force to anchor the scattered fragments. The power sacrifice involves channelling and burning out a significant portion of one’s magical essence. The spirit sacrifice...” he trails off, looking grim.
“What?” I growl impatiently.
“The spirit sacrifice requires surrendering a core piece of one’s identity,” Mum finishes. “A fundamental aspect of self, given up willingly and permanently.”
I feel the weight of their words settle over me. These aren’t just sacrifices. They’re mutilations of self on the deepest levels.
“But this will bring Ivy back?” I ask, needing to be certain.
“It should reconstitute her essence,” Dad says carefully. “But she won’t be the same. The ritual will leave scars, both on those who perform it and on Ivy herself.”
I nod grimly. “Better scarred than scattered across dimensions.”
“You understand that you alone cannot complete this ritual,” Mum says. “It requires three willing participants. One for each sacrifice.”
My mind immediately goes to Tate and Torin. I know, without a doubt, they’d be willing to pay any price to save Ivy. The question is, who will take on which sacrifice?
“I’ll do it,” I say firmly. “I’ll gather the others, and we’ll perform the ritual.”
Dad nods solemnly. “Be warned, son. This magick is ancient and dark. It will exact a terrible price.”
“On top of what it will take from us?” I ask steadily.
Mum nods and hands me the ancient tome. Its cover shrinks away from my touch. “The instructions are within. Choose your sacrifices wisely.”
“How do we perform the ritual?” I ask, pushing aside my doubts for the moment.
“The ritual must be performed at a nexus point between realms. A place where the veils are naturally thin.”
“Thornfield,” I mutter. “Ivy ripped the place apart earlier.”
Dad nods approvingly. “That would work. You’ll need to create a ritual circle using blood from all three participants. The sacrifices must be made in a specific order - blood, then power, then spirit.”
“The blood sacrifice anchors her scattered essence,” Mum explains. “The power sacrifice provides the energy to pull her back together. And the spirit sacrifice...” she pauses, looking grim, “it gives her something to come back to. A beacon in the chaos.”
I absorb this information, my mind already racing with plans. “How long do we have?”
“Not long,” Dad says gravely. “The longer she remains scattered, the harder it will be to bring her back. And there’s a risk...”
“What risk?” I demand.
Mum’s expression grows solemn. “The longer Ivy remains scattered, the more her essence will fragment. Eventually, there may not be enough left of her original self to reconstitute.”
I feel a chill run through me at her words. “How long?”
“It’s hard to say,” Dad replies. “Time moves differently across dimensions. But I wouldn’t wait more than a day in your realm.”
