Page 8 of The Garnet Daughter
“Do it.” 99’s voice booms over the sound of a battle outside, and only then do I look up and see pews stacked against a large, ornate door, Viathans and August barricading it as another bombarding crash comes from behind it.
“There needs to be three of us.” My voice trembles as I run my finger over the passages.
Selene stands behind 99, the fragrant incense smoke floating around the temple cloaking some of her expression. But she is not looking at me. Her gaze is fixed on the spell book in my hands, the one she hid from me. I am happy to see herunharmed, but the betrayal is not forgotten even in this moment of urgency.
Ferren steps forward to volunteer without question. “Tell me what to do.”
I rush to the raised portion at the front of the temple and stand near the sacred stones, all three laid together like I have never seen before. “Here.” I plant my feet.
A small voice comes from somewhere close, another volunteer to help with the spell. “I will do it. I do not know you, but if you need a third and Ferren trusts you, I do too.” A priestess dressed in elegant grey robes steps forward. She is dainty and beautiful, but she looks more defeated than any of the others.
I bow my head to her, thankful she is willing to help. Selene watches me closely. Whether she would have volunteered or not is irrelevant now.
“Join hands, do not break them.” I refocus and shuffle in closer to Ferren and the priestess. “Place your other hands on my shoulders.”
Ferren thanks the priestess next to her with such genuine affection that I’m not surprised when she addresses her by name. Thea. The high priestess Ferren has mentioned many times; the one she has known all her life. Ferren has spoken of her unwavering devotion to the temple, but she helps us now, volunteering with no certainty of who she aids.
Another forceful pound against the temple door dislodges some of the stacked pews and they crash to the floor with an unnerving echo. August and the other Viathan commanders lift them back into place with ease and brace themselves against the heap. August’s green eyes cut across the room, watching me as the thrusting door bounces the barricade they hold.
“Hurry, Calliape!” Ferren urges, squeezing my shoulder.
I run my finger across the passage and begin, trying not to picture the door bursting open and the enemy flowing in. “First Mother, hear us, cloak us in your embrace. Cast your protection across this land so that none shall pass!”
The verse sends a chill across my skin, a shiver running up my spine to where the women hold me. The rest of the spell is much like the beginning, a plea for protection, and the further in the passage I go, the more the air around us shifts. Ferren feels it too, her hair dancing across the page as I begin again, hoping to repeat it three times as it instructs for it to take hold.
A wind circles us, encasing us in charged energy that steals my breath and threatens to do the same to the words I recite. I’m unsure if the prickly sensation at the back of my neck is normal or if Thea sobbing next to me the more I speak the sacred words is from her fear or something else.
The pressure builds higher and higher with each word, more inflection added hoping to secure our safety.
But still nothing happens.
It’s not working.
Do I say the spell again? Do I beg this time?
Another bang at the door startles us. Any minute, it will give way to the tide of violence and August will be the first to fight it.
The wind whips up clothing and hair around our circle, blurring the figures watching and waiting for me to save them.
But I cannot place this ward. I am not strong enough. I’m a fool to think I can open to a page of a sacred text used by the priestesses of old and command the spells to obey me. I flip the page, looking for an alternative, but there is nothing, no other passages on warding an entire city, only one’s self.
Once more, I turn the pages so harshly the thin paper almost tears, but then the wind takes some and loses my place.
Ferren’s dilated eyes are on me, terrified and waiting.
I want to pass her the spell book, hand over the responsibility I did not ask for, one thrust upon me because I found a book in the abandoned temple I called home on Viathan.
But perhaps this is why I am here. Was this the voice calling out to me, bringing me here to this very moment? The reason I found this spell book among dusty trinkets in the first place, why the rituals to wake First Mother drew me in, not because they were interesting and forbidden but because I must wake First Mother now and every old god, as the priestesses of old tried before?
I collect myself, my destined path laid out before me, and flip a chunk of pages until the section I never thought I would come across again opens widely for me. A desperate spell written by desperate priestesses.
“First Mother, hear us in our hour of need!” The cold spikes across my skin calms, but the splitting sensation of being pulled begins again. My body begs to fold away to safety, where no one utters words like the ones written here. But I have no choice, so I continue. “We come to you at the edge of destruction. I speak into your ear while you slumber to bring you news of the end.”
The spell breaches my lips in a rapid string, not knowing if a word is more important than the next, just wanting to get them out before we all meet our demise.
“Calliape, stop this!” Selene’s voice is lost on the wind.
I command the women to repeat after me as we move through it.
