5 Minute Reads | Anthology

Spell Caster by LynnS13

It all starts with a word. A whispered notion escaping the lips in an almost imperceptible fashion. A hint, a subtle thought made audible, willing to take a different path as that intended by destiny.

There is often a moment of doubt when the fear of God creeps upon the intention, or worse, the moment of clarity where gain versus price will dance upon the edge of reason. The consequence may be a tad too heavy, but the need... the stubbornness of will, triumphs.

Blood runs cold for a fleeting moment, and a heartbeat multiplies a thousand fold. With pulse beating inconceivably loud inside the temple, a warning is set forth to fill the body with dread. But words will find a way. Words always win. Soothing the heart, finding their own rhythm, they weave comforting lies to self, until pride takes precedence over fear.

Isn't it all about that glorious moment? Crossing the line? Hubris unfolding? It is common knowledge that mere men are not meant to have such power at their whim.

Launched by self-assurance, the voice wants to break out, like a roll of thunder, commanding with a roar that calls to war. Experience though, has taught him that it is preferable to seduce a spirit into obedience, rather than dragging it from the ether to serve a human master.

A low hum rises, following a trail of burning incense. His lips pronounce words to bind, lure in, entice, as to cross cat-like and in stealth, through the veil that divides the visible from that which is unseen.

A black candle bleeds upon a golden altar, shedding tears of polished, onyx wax upon a pale moonstone. Each drop touches the soft surface of the stone, smearing its translucent beauty, sealing it away in darkness.

The only sound, besides the spell born from a song, is the turn of pages in an old book. The paper is yellow, stained in russet, marking the trails of other sacrifices, rough to the touch. The book demands, step by step and the spell caster obeys. The conjuring makes him tremble with intimate pleasure that can only be compared to that found with flesh.

The man looks at the mirror in front of him, the only witness to his deeds. His teeth, impossibly white, press against his blood stained lips.

"Take my kiss, take my life in it." The red heat of his lips meet the cold of the dagger's metal. His hands bind that murderous, starving iron with a thin and malleable golden thread. "I bind you with gold and you shall be mine. Loving and true as a wife is to a husband. You shall follow me as night chases hurriedly after the setting sun. Your hand will be an extension of my will, my wish your heart's desire."

On the floor there is a circle adorned of lapis lazuli. Inside the circle, a star. At its center lies blood, iron, stone, gold and wax. The man grins. It is the infectious smile of someone in the certainty of having conquered a task believed impossible. "Mulier interficere inmolare. Furai lumen suun- Kill the woman at the crossroad. Steal her light."

A soft breeze rises from the circle and twirls about him, acknowledging the order first disguised as a plea. It embraces him, crushing the red velvet of his robes against the soft olive of his skin. The spirit will take its due. The man's chest tightens, his breath turns short and ragged, and the heart runs vague, close to surrender. La piccola morte- a brief glimpse into death, the price for every summoning. But the man is content, as he willingly gives away a fragment of his soul.

Outside, the city sleeps, blanketed in serenity, ignorant of the curse coursing its streets. 

His work is done. She will be dead by morning.