Sorcerer's Shadow - Chapter 55: Rune and Rhythm

I chose a spot facing the Cycle. I can’t explain why. It felt fitting, and being fitting is critical in sorcery.

I began chewing the leaf, meditating, readying myself. After absorbing all its potency, I spat it out.

Removing my pack, I sat down. I pondered whether the gods might intervene, then decided that if they were observing me, they would have acted the moment I began setting up the spell. It was a peculiar situation, being hidden from their sight while being on their territory.

Facing the Cycle, I mustered my courage.

Procrastination would only make things harder.

I inhaled deeply and initiated the spell.

I grabbed my seldom-used knife, with an ebony handle and inlaid rubies, its thin, dull blade crafted of pure silver. Its value wasn’t as much as it appeared, but it did look rather costly.

Holding it by the tip, secured between my thumb and forefinger, I lowered myself to my knees. Slowly, almost causing my legs to quiver, I touched the knife’s point to the ground. I paused, examining the soil. It was dark, dry, and fine; I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it earlier. Touching it with my left hand, I rubbed it between my fingers. It was powdery and extremely cold.

Enough was enough. Refocusing on the knife, I slowly etched the sorcery rune for the word “to receive.” Although the rune, being in the language of magic, held no meaning in this current context, it provided a focal point for my concentration. After encircling the rune, I placed the knife aside and scrutinized my drawing, waiting for the right moment to proceed.

Opal’s presence was strongly felt, his talons creating a tangible pressure on my right shoulder, more noticeable than his actual weight. Despite the recent events, he seemed unaffected, a comforting presence like a steady rock, a frozen pillar, a firm foundation. Underestimating the importance of such steadiness was foolish.

Time passed in silence as I pondered, preparing for the next phase.

Feeling a profound connection with Opal, I realized I was sitting cross-legged before the rune of sorcery I’d inscribed. The reasoning behind its creation remained a mystery, but it felt appropriate.

The silence was profound. The gentle whisper of the wind seemed to murmur secrets in my ear. The subtle rustling of fabric as Opal shifted on my shoulder was crystal clear.

A rhythmic pulsing began to make itself felt—an unusual sensation as I was feeling it rather than hearing it. Searching for its origin led me to conclude it was emanating from within me.

Curious.

I had the option to ignore it, understand it, or integrate it. Opting for the latter, I concentrated on it. An Imperion might have found it too simplistic, but I found the rhythm comforting, even appealing. Recalling my grandfather’s tales of drums being used in spells in his homeland, I let myself sink into the rhythm until it seemed to resonate with my very being.

Then, I reached out my right hand, gently and slowly, towards the array of herbs and charms. Upon making contact with something, I lifted it, bringing it before my eyes without moving my head—a sprig of parsley. This I placed at the center of the rune. Repeating the action with my left hand, I retrieved a clump of soil from the Terran homeland of my ancestors.

The soil symbolized safe arrival, but the parsley’s significance in this context was unknown to me. Breaking the soil over the parsley, I placed a single white candle behind the rune, retrieved without looking, and lit it gently with a flint and a piece of paper. Alone, the candle’s light shone brightly, only rivaled by the faint glow of the night sky.

The horizon before me had begun to shimmer and sway, seemingly dancing to the rhythm of the invisible drums. I decided not to let this unsettling sight disturb me.

Awaiting my next move, I observed the horizon’s hypnotic dance, debating whether I liked it or if it was even relevant. The fear of losing my sanity crept in, but I swiftly dismissed it. Such fears are not unusual in such situations, sometimes even becoming a reality, but I simply couldn’t afford to entertain it.

My attention was drawn from the shifting landscape to the glowing sorcery rune, seemingly self-illuminated, etched on the ground. Blinking didn’t make it disappear. I moisten my dry lips.

The rune was alighted. Unintended, but then, I hadn’t requested it not to be.

Bringing my palms together, fingers pointed outward, I traced another rune in the air, this one symbolizing “to summon.” Contemplating the potential implications sent shivers down my spine, almost derailing the spell. Opal’s grounding presence saved the moment as I let my hands drop back to my lap.

The rhythm persisted, the landscape continued its strange dance, and the rune kept glowing.

The only new sound was the gritting of my teeth.

A mild light-headedness began to creep in, but it was anticipated and could be dismissed unless it intensified. My gaze dropped from the void before me to the luminescent rune. If the rune was here, then the object of my longing was—over there.

With my forefinger, I pressed on the spot, creating a shallow indentation. I selected a small, sharp knife from my collection and made an incision on my left palm. It caused a sharp sting. Holding it over my right hand, I collected a few droplets of blood before letting them trickle into the indentation in the soil. The blood was immediately absorbed, which was as expected.

I grasped the stiletto in my right hand, wrapping my bleeding left hand around it as well. Blood staining the handle wouldn’t disrupt the process; it might even enhance it. With the stiletto held high, I concentrated on the target, the accuracy of my aim was as crucial as when aiming at a living being. But this was easier as I had the luxury of time.

When the moment felt right, I drove the stiletto into the soil, the indent, the blood.