Page 32 of The Coven of Ruin
Ares, on the other hand, passed her a scrap of paper. Unfolding it, she was met with writing that seemed like it had been carefully copied from somewhere else. She read over it twice before looking up at him.
“What is this?”
“Do you understand it?” Ares asked.
“Well, yes… and no. I know both languages used here, but the way they are written together is strange. I’d have to study it for some time to understand how they combined the letters to create new meanings. And I am certainly no linguist. It is almost as if it is some kind of—“
“Code?” Ares braced his forearms on his thighs as he leaned forward.
“Yes,” she agreed as she looked back at the symbols and letters. “This language is the first language. The Mother’s tongue, Hexick. You could study it for a lifetime and never understand because of the magic the Mothers created it with. It was meant to be a language uncorrupted by the gods.” She flicked her eyes to him, but he motioned for her to continue. “It is imbued with magic. Itismagic, which is why we don’t use it anymore. Since…“ she trailed off.
“Ares killed your makers,” Grae supplied happily.
“Right, since the curse, we don’t use it. Can’t, really. Our magic used to be an infinite source, or at least, we had access to much more of it. Now, if a witch uses their fill—and it varies how much that is between each mage and witch—they burn up. To use magic with every word would be madness.”
She traced the letters with her fingertip looking up to find both gods looking at her, wanting her to continue. “Well, I know it, and most healers would because healing used to be performed with the help of this language. Spells, in essence. A lot of our older research and texts were written completely in it, though we have healers whose whole purpose is to translate it over. Just the amount of magic it requires from the speaker would be devastating for us to use now.”
Ares reached over, his fingers brushing hers as he pointed to the letters. “So even to write this, a mage would have to use their own magic?”
“Yes, but by adding the non-magical language to the letters, they’ve combined them together. So, they are only pouring magic into it when they have the runes whole, like here.” She pointed it out to them. “And here.”
It was truly an interesting way of making code. Depending on how they joined the two runes, it could have any varying effect on tone or importance. “Does this have something to do with why you’re here?”
Ares swiped the parchment from her fingers.
“What—“
“Your friends are calling for you,” he interrupted, tilting his head to where Demurielle was waving.
Glaring at him until she stepped over his legs, she left to meet Dem and Zy. Her interest was piqued by the strange code, and she tried to memorize the runes they had connected together. She hadn’t read Hexick in some time, so she was quite out of practice. Even so, she was sure one of the full Hexick runes had meant ‘imprisonment.’ Whatever the missive was, Trista was certain that it could give her more answers than the god would.
“I wish you were sitting with us,” Demurielle said, greeting her with a slight pout.
“Me too,” Trista replied as she browsed the selection on the tables full of food and drink—cakes, meat pies, ale, and wine. A spell was cast over it, protecting the food from spoiling and insects. Vendors set up booths in the center aisles as well. Their tempting calls collided in the space as they promised everything from scarves made of rare spider silk to potions that could cure heartbreak.
“Are the iron generals participating in anything?” Zyana asked, glancing at Ares and Grae.
Trista looked back at the gods and then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“And howisthe general?“ Demurielle asked, batting her lashes expectantly.
“It’s not like that. He’s just… really interested in what I do. For work.”
“Of course,” the witch said as she pulled her braid over her shoulder, “for your work.”
Trista rolled her eyes at her.
“Prince Roan asked me for my favor, by the way,” Demurielle said flippantly.
“What?!”
Her friend shook her head and fists with elation.
“He wore it in jousting? No wonder he won.” Trista exclaimed beneath her breath.
Demurielle beamed and looked back at where the prince had returned to his seat next to the Witch King. “Yes, I was so surprised. But of course, I gave him one of my ribbons.”
Trista finished the last bite of a lemon cake just as someone approached them.
