Page 33 of Last Hope
Beside the candles on the table there was a crystal ball, the inside of it releasing tendrils and wheels of colorful smoke that swirled calmly. Isis wondered momentarily if witches really used that sort of thing when she turned to a bookshelf at random, running her fingers across the spines of each book.
Isis had never been one to read for fun. It wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy it, because she did, she supposed it just depended on the literature. She stopped and pulled a book out at random. The one she chose was thick with many pages; its cover made of black velvet, wrapped around it was a golden ribbon. She unwound the book and opened it as she made her way to sit at the table. The pages were yellow and wrinkled with old age; the scripture was cursive and smeared, almost illegible. Isis began turning page after page, each one more wrinkled than the last when a voice interrupted her mid turn.
“If Ami found you flipping through her precious literature she would strike you with dark magic.” Anya stood in the threshold, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. Her auburn hair fell over one shoulder in curls and waves and she was in white silk pajamas that set off the tan parlor of her skin.
Isis smiled. “Good thing I have you to protect me, then.” She eyed her Soul Mate as she came into the library and took a seat at the table, kicking out a chair for Isis. She sat and laid the book open, pushing it towards Anya. “Care to translate?”
Anya smiled and bent her head down, her hair falling over her face. She pushed it away with an impatient gesture, eyes scanning the book in front of her with deep concentration.
Isis could only take a moment to admire her. Her eyes were slanted at the corners, eyelashes the same auburn as her hair if only a little darker, curling up, the tips pointed sharp. Her nose was slightly pointed, her face in the shape of a perfect heart, cheeks flushed as they always were and nicely rounded. Her fingers were long and graceful as they traced the patterns of the confusing scripture on the page her movements slow and graceful and silent. Her eyebrows tightened together closely the further she got into the script, her lips forming a tight line.
“I recognize this,” she said, her voice a small whisper. “It is from thede cele LunaCoven, The Coven of the Moon. It is a diary kept by an elder witch that contains the most forbidden dark magic.” Her face at first was a mask of impassiveness which quickly changed into a pale face, narrowed eyes and tight lips; was she trying to bite back her horror? Isis wondered.
“This book is black magic?” Isis asked curiously, leaning over to get a better look at it. But it was all gibberish to her. The letters appeared to have been quilled, dipped in ink. They were smeared and fading with age and almost illegible. “How do you know it’s even from that coven?”
Anya’s gaze met hers and it was grave indeed as was her voice when she answered. “Because it was the coven where I once belonged. I am Anyade cele Luna. And Ami is also ade cele Luna.”
Isis stared at her then blinked. “Wait,” she started. “So that’s how you know her? I was beginning to wonder how you could ever be friends with such a person and now that explains a lot. So you were in the same coven? What do you meanwere? You aren’t still?”
Anya shook her head bitterly and—Isis thought—a little sadly. “We belong to no coven now. We left a long time ago.”
Isis stared and felt Anya’s emotions roll onto her at once. Hurt, sadness, anger but no regret. She put her hand on her Soul Mate’s and felt that electric shock jolt up her arm and through her body as it always did whenever she came into contact with her. The feeling sent pleasant tingles and warmth throughout her whole self, including her soul.
“What happened?” Isis asked, squeezing her hand as if for support, just in case Anya needed it.
“The rules of the coven are strict ones, which is what you must first understand. They live by their oldest laws in order to keep themselves and their race prospering. But in all of that strictness, they also run the risk of losing members.” She took a deep breath though Isis didn’t interrupt; she waited for her to continue. “The witches ofde cele Lunaall must live together under one roof, and most of the witches who reside there are relatives, which is not uncommon in my race. Within the coven, magic must not be used lightly, although they may practice it with supervision from teachers and elders—this rule mostly applies to those below age—and it must only be white magic.”
“What’s the difference between dark magic and white magic? I assume that one is bad and another is good?” Isis couldn’t help interrupting. She was curious and the only thing she knew about witches she had learned from television shows, which were never accurate.
“There is no good magic and there is no bad magic, at least, not to me. The coven will say differently. Witches are in tune with all things nature. Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Spirit; we draw our powers from these things.
“The coven believes that white magic is the kind that brings peace and love and we create these things and so much more using nature. It is more than manipulating it; wefeelnature deep in our souls for it is a part of us, just as thirst for blood is a part of you. We need it to survive; we need it to heighten our powers.
“White magic is the magic we withdraw from mother earth. Dark magic, however is considered unholy, magic channeled through evil means, through evil things that one does not associate with witches. It is brought forth with death and destruction and sacrifice, everything that the coven does not stand for. Sometimes dark magic can cause chaos, for it is too strong sometimes and may even kill the witch practicing it.”
“And how do you feel about dark magic?”
Anya smiled a half smile and shrugged one of her shoulders upward. “I have never practiced it; I have read about it but that is not the same thing as to try it out. Although I believe every witch must know dark magic as a means to fightagainstit, should the time ever come.”
“And why did you leave the coven?”
She tensed as soon as the question came out of Isis’s mouth, not in body but in thoughts; Isis had felt it as if they were her own, like she was debating whether or not to answer honestly. Finally, she relaxed and smiled a little sadly at Isis.
“It is tradition in the covens to stay locked within their home and when the women come of age, they send them off into town to find a man that they may bed, if only so they will become pregnant. Once the baby is born, if it is a girl the coven rejoices and welcomes a new witch into their mists, for all girls born of witches carry magical blood. If it is a boy, the baby is either killed or sent away, for their blood is of no use, seeing as how it contains no magical abilities.”
Isis sucked in a breath. Even though she had no need for children and didn’t want one, adopted or otherwise, it still seemed a cruel sort of tradition to give away a child just because of their gender. “How cruel,” Isis said.
“Cruel indeed.” Isis turned abruptly and saw Ami standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a serious look of anger and bitterness on her face.
Isis couldn’t help herself; she felt she had to ask, for curiosity threatened to overwhelm her. She thought of the frosty blue eyes of Othello, the silent energy he carried. “Is that why you left the coven?”
Ami’s eyes burned with fierce intensity and it took a long moment before she replied her voice as cold as ice and as sharp as knives. “They could not force me to bed a man I did not know and bear children that I knew I would love but would have to give away. They can be so cruel with their barbarictraditionsand I would not follow them.”
“So you left.”
“So I left.”
“And why didyouleave?” Isis turned to her Soul Mate. “Don’t tell me it’s because you were practicing the dark arts and they kicked you out?” she joked. Anya shook her head.
