The Veiled One

Chapter Twenty-Six: I have a chat with my mother-in-law

The words flow off my tongue as easily as if I was reciting a poem I've known from birth. Confidence is one of the key parts of rituals. Pronunciation is important too, but even a mispronounced spell said with enough confidence can be very effective.

As I speak, I notice something happening in the darkness outside the pillars. It's churning, changing, thickening in some places and thinning in others. The mixture in the vat is churning violently, bubble slapping against the iron and steam gushing from the top. I'm glad I'm safe in my serpent circle. There's something out there, and it's coming my way.

Once I'm finished with the spell, I can see something hovering just beyond the darkness in between the pillars. First a woman's arm appears, then a torso and legs. Finally, a head emerges. But the figure's image is hazy, like there's gauzy fabric separating her from me. With trembling fingers, I realize that this is my last chance to pull away. If I dismiss her now, nothing will have happened. I won't have to hide this. But I'll never know the reason for my powers, the source that drives me to be so much more than everyone else.

Swallowing hard against my Adam's apple, I step forward, first out of the ourobourous and then again and again. I stretch out my own hand and reach past the blackness, into the land of the dead, until my hand brushes against the white figure in the distance.

All of the sudden, it's like I've been drenched with a bucket of ice water. A shiver runs down my spine, soaking me with chill. My fingers burn with electricity, much like when Lisentia's sword came down upon me. I try to jerk away, but I can't. Suddenly, Lisentia is hovering before me, her feet inches above the floor. I try to get away, but I trip over my own feet and have to scramble away awkwardly.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Sylas of Agramina," Lisentia drawls, somehow managing to look bored even in death.

I stare at her, unable to form words. She's here, now, with me. I did it. I summoned the goddess of magic to my aid.

Something within me realizes that I'm in control of her spirit. She'll do as I say, and nothing else. With a cocky grin, I stagger to my feet. I don't think I'll be needing that ouroborous anymore.

"I command you to answer my questions truthfully and simply. You will not twist your words," I order. I'm proud of how my voice sounds firm and sure. I expected Lisentia to start writhing in agony at my words, like faeries do in the sort of stories you tell children, but instead, she just looks mildly annoyed.

"As you wish. Why have you summoned me, boy?"

"First of all, my name is not 'boy'," I correct her. "And second, I summoned you because I want to learn the language of magic."

Lisentia is silent for a moment. Then she unleashes a laugh so loud, she shakes the floors and the liquid in the cauldron bubbles a little more.

"You? Sylas, your magic is stronger than even mine. What use could you possibly have for more magic?"

I cross my arms, frustrated. "I have limitations. I can't heal myself or others. I'm not invulnerable." A thought crosses my mind. "I can't raise the dead."

"No one can raise the dead," Lisentia scoffs. "It's against the laws of Order herself."

A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with Lisentia's ghostly presence.

"But... I was dead. Your sword killed me."

A frown crinkles the goddess's pale face. She looks much like she did in real life, only verging on see-through.

"Impossible. Perhaps it just made you comatose. That's been known to happen." She pauses for a moment, thinking. "Although, I was wondering why you didn't die right away from the blow like all the others..."