Equinox

eleven

The sun was setting over the rolling hills, and I'm sat in the middle of the forest beyond the wards. Corvus's black box is in front of me, and I can't tame my heart pounding against my chest. I remove the lid and see a gold platted dagger sat at the very top of the box's contents. There's a red velvet sheet laid under me; I'd almost see it as a picnic if it weren't for the circumstances. An assortment of white and black candles lit around the edge of the sheet.

I remove the dagger and set it to the right of the box on top of the Conduction of Luna, which is opened to the ritual. Next, I pull out a gold egg with veins of like colour protruding its shell, an acromantula egg. I set the egg to rest in my lap, internally cringing in disgust. I then spot the vial of mooncalf blood, a vibrant blue glowing like a nightlight. I dump that and the remaining objects onto the velvet cloth.

The egg is to be the vessel of the magic. Why it has to be an acromantula egg, I haven't the slightest clue, but Corvus did all the work gathering the materials. I move the box out of my way, and lay out all the items in their respective spots. The sky is growing cold, and the deepest shade of night is now arriving.

I grasp the dagger in my right hand and dig the tip into my palm, breaking the skin in a wound only the size of a grape. I wince at the pain but cup my hand, holding the blood in my palm. Once the first droplet threatens to escape my grip, I bring my hand over the egg and allow my blood to fall onto it. Then use a hippogriff feather as a paintbrush and paint ruins around it in my blood.

When my head starts to become faint, I begin reciting the ritual spell.

Dianam invoco et sorores Hecaten nocturnos tuos luna alligatos

sicuti muliebria mea in somniorum bello circumscripta somni

Auxilium tuum ad tollendos terrores invoco

et pacem sompno tribuens.

The first time I'd read it I'd recognized it as a call to Diana and Hecate. Two deities that terrified me.

I take the vial of mooncalf blood in my bloody hand and pour the contents into my clean hand, allowing it to coat the flesh of my palm. Then loosen the ties of my robe and feeling the cool air run across my bare skin. If I hadn't been required to focus on the ritual alone, I'd have reservations about the necessity of being nude for it. I use my left hand and drag my blood across my chest. Then repeating with my right hand, mixing the two bloods on my skin.

Then take the blade back into my hand and sheer my hair. Each strand falling down my skin causes me to cringe. It was the only part of the ritual that made me question if it were worth it. My hair has been part of my identity as long as I can remember. As insignificant the vanity is, I can't recall a time where my hair hadn't been my key feature.

Luckily, it's only temporary. Corvus entrusted that my hair would grow back in a few days' time. For some godforsaken reason, I've realized I trust him.

With the bundle of my hair, I tie it into a knot and set it in front of me. I only allow a moment to mourn its loss. As the moment ends, I pinch the feather by the calamus and bring the fibers to the flame of a nearby candle. As the rachis sets aflame, I hold it over the egg. The moment ash begins to fall onto it I set the whole feather to rest on top. The dozens of flames scattered around me grow twice their size and turn to a bright red. I gape at the change in colour, but quickly shake my head to focus on the ritual. The egg begins to sweat, which indicates I should grab the dagger. Holding the hilt between both hands, I drive the blade into the top of the egg. A dark smoke streams out of the hole and straight up into the air.

Eice somnia

Remove me a dolore

Aufer in corde meo adhæsit terrors