Persephone

Chapter 7: A Spell

Chapter 7: A Spell

Gryffin Covenstead

"I can remove the curse placed upon her, but only little by little. There is Dark magick here," Adonia said quietly, looking at him with large, doe-like eyes, hands clasped together on her knees like a proper school girl. Her feet never reached the ground, but he knew that eons of wisdom and knowledge dwelt in this seven-year-old body.

Adonia Sciella was the High Priestess of the Gryffin coven. She was nothing but a squalling baby when she was chosen by Her. A year passed was worth ten years of powerful knowledge in Adonia; she was a child with the Crone's eyes, a little one with the passion of the Mother, and the caution and curiosity of a Maiden. There was no one else more powerful than her. Nor more giving, though her protectors always tell her that this would be her downfall. "An' it harm none, do what thou wilt," she had said, and never turned down the cries of help called unto her.

The Gryffin Covenstead was like a small grecian temple with white pillars, fountains, and perfect gardening greenery, bushels heavy with red blooms. The presence of red was for protection, and green empowered the minds of every witch who lived in there. The location was secret, so secret that every witch had to bewitch their selves to subconsciously find the place instead of knowing where it was.

Other than that, you just had to have the right reason why you have to have help.

"I would do anything-- anything. Just, please, help her." He couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice. "Please."

Adonia looked at him, and he immediately backed down. He felt her silver eyes pierce through his very soul. Then, "You come here bloody and with her. You seem to have put up a fight with whatever -- or whoever, I should say -- that was holding her. How is it that you found her, if I may ask?"

He kept quiet for a moment. "I... I heard her call my name."

"And...?" the witch pressed on. "She hardly knows you. Neither do you her. How is it that you heard her call your name? Was it through physical calling, or ment--"

"I heard her as if she was beside me," he interrupted her, and then rubbed his eyes. Not that he was tired. He couldn't remove the picture of her face splashed with the warlock's blood. It was the vilest thing he knew, nothing else compared of what he had done. "I heard it as if she was speaking directly beside my ear."

Adonia watched him with steady eyes and then raised her hand. "Avitri, the herbs. Prepare them. Let Rosbyn and Ramont prepare the materials. Luxys, draw the symbols. And," she paused and gave him a look, "Guard him. Make sure he doesn't move towards her or the ritual will be broken."

If anyone could describe the High Priestess' adepts, they would say that they were children or adolescents playing around with their mothers' drapes or curtains, or cosplaying. Except that these 'cosplays' were real: pouches with silver links were real, their hoods were real, everything about them was real. Not made of the stuff in the internet, but what real witchcraft was really like.

The four had pure white robes, brown belts with little pouches containing the adept's most basic herbs, athames sheathed on their left side and clothed slippers that whispered on polished marble floor.

"My robe," Adonia commanded as the other adepts worked efficiently to give what was asked. Ramont helped the witch from her humble little throne and then slipped a rich white robe laced with purple embroidery at its hood around her thin arms.

Tiny bells were heard and a low chant began to emanate from a dozen voices. He watched in silence as they drew the pentacle, it being infamous to the mundane world as the Satanic symbol; the egyptian ankh for life; the algiz rune for powerful protection; and the horned god and goddess symbol on the floor with delicately crushed crystals and shells.

Percy still hadn't opened her eyes, and her breathing was shallow. Adepts had taken off her blood-stained clothes and placed her in a silken pink robe, and had now laid her out in the middle of the pentacle. The chanting increased, and a wind picked up, blowing the flames on the candles gently. Percy stirred, black veins pulsing beneath her skin.

"Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos," Adonia began to whisper, a sticklewort in her hand, and the other on her heart. "Regna terrae, cantata Dea," she was taking steps towards the circle, her feet resounding as a feather brushing the ground. "Psallite Aradia..."

"This isn't your place, come with me." The one named Luxys gently tugged on his arm. He shook himself off the grasp, and then glared at the adept. She didn't flinch but pointed towards a doorway. "I shall lead you then. But here, you are not allowed to see this."