Coven of Swords

Chapter 7 Reduced to Embers

I woke up to a thick fog that filled the inside of my head from ear to ear.

My hands were stretched out to the sides. Ropes biting into my wrists. Numbness already spread up to my forearms. And I was freezing cold again.

The world behind my eyelids was spinning out of control. My stomach spasmed in an attempt to throw up, but I haven't eaten in ages, so only a retching spit filled my mouth. A foul smell filled the air around.

I pushed the back of my head into the hard surface and fought to hold back a yelp of pain. Someone must have hit me, because the last thing I remember was pain in the back of my head, as it swayed forward from a forceful blow. And then darkness.

The pain helped to slow down the swirling behind my eyelids.

Where was I?

Staying as still as possible, I focused on my senses. The surface under me was cold, rough and uneven, with small pits and grooves. A strong, ancient source of magic was buzzing under it. Energy was scraping over my naked back. Seeping through my pores, blinding my nerves. And the feel of it was familiar. I was lying on an altar.

In a twist world gained back the sounds: fire crackling got interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Will she even survive? She's the strongest one we have seen in years."

"Yes, very good catch! If the ritual takes a little more than necessary, all the better for us. And if she dies, we have her daughter."

My eyes snapped open, and I lifted my head, looking around. Bright torch lights around me made a vicious spin. My neck muscles fell limb, head hitting painfully against the stone.

I closed back my eyes, thinking over the glimpse of a wide meadow I caught. It was clear of snow. Dozens of swords pierced dead, black soil, forming a circle around the altar stone. The blades were of varying ages and lengths, some old and rusty, while others were new and shiny. The black, oily liquid seeping from the places where the swords penetrated the ground.

"She is awake. Bring the sword!" I heard the pastor's voice again and realized it was him, talking so calmly about my death.

I heard steps approaching and couldn't help but open my eyes again. The Pastor's face appeared in front of me. I gathered my strength and spat into the man's face.

May the Morrigan torture you for the rest of eternity.

But I was too weak. My spit didn't reach him. Pastor smiled.

"We worship the purest form of the Sun, and yet, here you are, a witch, a servant of evil. You are a disgrace, a stain on the perfection of the world."

"You killed my child," I wanted to yell, on top of my lungs, but my voice betrayed me. I croaked it instead "My sweet innocent boy! Murderer!"

"You know nothing, Dagda's spawn! All you know is using your powers for your own selfish desires."

"Child murderer."

"I won't discuss my affairs with a useless vessel. Where is our sword?" he asked, extending his arm to the side.

Someone passed him a rusty-looking piece of metal, remotely resembling a sword by shape.

"Bruno! All is ready?"

"Yes, we can start."

Pastor Dion nodded and started the ritual. As he was singing and walking in circles around me, I struggled to understand the language. It sounded foreign. I had no idea what was happening.

Something started changing inside. My power rushed towards the core at the solar plexus. The magic from the source underneath me also started reacting to the ritual and seeped into my body where it was touching the stone.