Page 23 of Shadowed Summer Sun
Sweat beaded on my brow as I pushed the Taking out of the goat’s corpse. It grasped for it, snapping and energetically thrashing against my will; a spoiled child unwilling to let go of its toy. My gut burned, nausea rippling through me in waves as it raked its malignancy through me, and still, I tried to force it from the remains.
The Sun that raged in my center boiled over, and a white-hot, radiant light flooded from me. It swirled with the Shadow dripping from my arms, a solar eclipse opening a black hole. The Taking faltered and was flung away as the animal’s spirit was released from its chains. I pulled it within the endless black between my vines, a channel to the World of Below.
Like a centipede seeking a place to hide, this piece of the Taking skittered off to rejoin with its greater self, leaving the remains plagued no longer.
I sank down to the ground, ragged breaths heaving from my lungs. Badb flew to my shoulder, lending me her strength.
“Thank you, friend.” I sat back on my heels, and she returned to my antler. “This one husk has been dealt with, but that was… The strength it possessed was more than a simple devil or spirit.”
The body was free to join the natural cycle, and I called for the Wolf Servant to retrieve it and bring it home. An answering howl sounded in the trees, and I stood.
“Badb, magic did this. Brought it here. How is that possible?” I stared at the goat’s body, now quickly decaying with the Taking’s hold released.
“I don’t know, Mistress. Perhaps a witch from beyond our borders?”
The King’s claws found my skin as I caught my breath, and his power took control of the vines circling my body, squeezing me and sliding across my most tender flesh.
“Hello, there.”
I sighed as the heat built. My King was in the coiling Shadow and rope-like vines that clung to me. He had seen what transpired.
“Finish it, Summer.”
A pinch between my legs had me gasping.
“That was the plan, my King,” I smirked, shaking my head. But his presence had lent me strength and replenished the stores of power I was still learning to use. Turning my eyes to the forest ahead, I quickly took up my walk to the Simple Bridge, refueled and ready.
Walking back toward the broken, cursed structure, a growing unease settled throughout the forest,myforest. The Taking’s infection infiltrated more of the ancient trees and beasts, a sickness that crawled and spread like a wildfire plague. The woods’ pain ricocheted through my body like a festering wound, unclosing and seeping raw into the mud.
Time was short.
The ghostly voices of the bridge still dogged my steps as I approached the rickety structure, but I now perceived their truth. Spirits only in manifestation, the fiends sent invisible nails scratching across The Simple Bridge, seeking soft spots ready for gouging. Their teeth gnashed angrily, and their stirred-up energy clung to something greater that had ripped its way through the passage on the bridge, parasites carried through by a worse predator.
A haunting red-black aura clung to the bridge, and I could see it now. The Pit Gates had claimed part of it. The Simple Bridge, already an In-Between, was now straddling the line between the Mortal Realm and the Pit of the World of Below. Reserved for demons, fiends, and evil forces, the Pit served no master, entertained no order, and heeded no plan other than to consume and destroy.
“How can it be this strong? At Ironwing, here. How has this much of the Pit bled through?”
Anger condensed in my veins. Trickery and greed colored the aura around the bridge, and I squeezed my hands into fists.
The worst of the Mortal Realm fueled the Pit, and I now believed it was increasingly likely that it was responsible for bringing the horrid place into existence. Staring at my palm, I recalled the lick of heat that had clung to my skin after touching the metal.
Badb cawed loudly as the wind picked up, tunneling toward me from The Simple Bridge, and she took off for the high trees. She knew better than to stay seen.
I moved closer, and seeping off the structure in waves was a growing putrescence that carried no association with natural decay. Something was sitting there on the planks of wood, and the area was charred. When I took a step onto the Simple Bridge, my foot scorched, lancing pain through me like the metal beams had. It was growing, a similar crack to Ironwing hovering in the air just above the site of destruction.
Using the vines to hoist my body up, I moved across the bridge’s surface, conjuring my powers of light and dark toward the surface. I could sense the anguish in the vines that carried me and hissed against the pain.
In the middle, the burnt remains of a ritual were spilled across one of the only solid portions of The Simple Bridge left. Heinous items of hexing, tools used to slaughter and maim, laid before me in vile deference of the natural order. Again using my vines to avoid direct contact, I lifted the components up, inspecting them.
Children’s bones, hanged man wax, and Fae blood were mixed in a large black bowl, charred and coated in layers of built-up grime. A dark grimoire bound in the flesh of witches sat open to a page that had been torn out. The edges of the missing page were rough and jagged; the spell ripped hastily, leaving a handful of half-words visible.
Raising up the book to get a closer look, I could make out three likely possibilities. “An—“ was probably “and.” Unhelpful. “Drin—” was possibly “drink” or “drinking.” This did hold promise, for few spells called for consuming any ingredients. Lastly, “retu—” I guessed it was the beginning of “return” or “returned.” I knew well that the spirits and flesh could not return to the Earth. Still, worry crawled over my skin as I considered that something else might be doing the returning.
The spell worker’s blood had been dripped over the ritual site. There was also a bloody box containing a human heart, weeks old and covered in maggots. The organ had somehow been frozen in stasis. Stag eyes and a bull tongue in the same state had also been stuffed into the wooden container, torn from their hosts while likely still alive.
Few knew this level of black magic, and the book was not something a person would simply come across. The ritual before me was also not the first of this kind. I could tell by the latent signature that this spell was merely a refresher.
This,this,is what had brought the Taking to my home. A first dark ritual of selfish intent that promised power in exchange for bringing the Taking into this plane. A familiarity crept through my bones as I studied the foul spellwork. Vengeful and all-consuming hatred clung to the space, fueled by a sense of spurned jealousy.
