Emille

Chapter 13

The ritual had spun too far out of control. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as searing light filled the lake. The light should have been soothing, bulging with fertility and calm. Instead, it singed Arthur's skin and made the lake water bubble. Hulking shapes began to emerge from within the depths, glinting scales swishing just beneath the water's surface. They were drawn to the light, fed by it. Gaping mouths broke the surface and gulped at the light. Swathes of light disappeared into cold, smooth lips. Scales grew sharper, larger. Tails extended and churned the waters further. Gills heaved powerfully as they adjusted to the demands of these new bodies.

It was all wrong. The fish of the lake had never exceeded two feet in length. They were now the length of a carriage, and swam with the strength of horses.

"Lillabet," Arthur shouted, voice rising above the sounds of thrashing waters. "Hone the ritual. No shortcuts."

But Lillabet didn't listen. She never did. "I can fix it," she replied, eyes still shut in concentration. "I can make it better."

But the ritual didn't need improvement. It was a fertility ritual. Its aim was to enrich the lands, spread health among the creatures and into the trees. It provided some relief from the winter months, Arthur's way of giving back what he'd taken from the woods.

This was different. Lillabet was not breathing health into the world, she was spreading gluttony. It was too much fertility, too much exuberance. Arthur wished she didn't have such a burning need to improve what didn't need improving.

Lillabet's steps grew faster, her mutterings fervent. Her movements were quick and demanding. There was no grace to her broad twirls and the twists and lifts of her feet. But there was a surety to her steps, as if she'd been performing these moves her entire life. It was a method of practitioning that was purely Lilabet.

What Lillabet was muttering, Arthur never knew. It was a habit she'd picked up somewhere along the many lessons about practitioning that Arthur had taught her. Arthur had never felt the need to speak when practitioning. Silence had always felt right. Lillabet's instincts were different. Where Arthur was silent, she was buzzing with quiet words and snippets of songs. Arthur asked the earth what was required of him to create and complete a ritual; Lillabet asked what could be done to bend unspoken rules. She wanted excitement, adventure, to expand the possibilities of practitioning. Arthur wanted to see the grass grow.

Arthur loved Lillabet's lust for the unknown. But on some days, he feared it. Today was one of those days.

Large, powerful tails broke through the water in great thrusts, pushing water onto the shore. With each passing moment, the fish grew more agitated. Gleaming streams of energy, a metallic hue of blue that glowed gently in the sun, glided over their tails and slicked the water's surface like oil. The ritual had given them too much energy for even their enormous new bodies to contain. Arthur had to intervene.

Stopping Lillabet mid-ritual could be disastrous. She was still channeling a great amount of energy, and to break her hold on it would be to let it loose on the world. She might very well level the surrounding forest. A more delicate approach was needed.

Arthur approached Lillabet, and fell into step with her. He'd need to make contact with her without breaking her concentration, lest she lose control of the ritual. Her steps were alien to him. She darted forward and twirled, landing for a second before twirling again. Then she was hopping and stomping from foot to foot. It might have been beautiful if her steps weren't hinting at an elaborate, zig-zagging trap. It was like watching a fox try to dance the polka. Arthur wondered if he looked like that during his full moon renewal ritual. He reminded himself that this was most definitely not funny.