Tiny feet padded as silently as possible through the dark house, the small girl holding in her breath as she approached the room she wasn’t allowed to enter. The door was slightly ajar, and only the faintest sliver of a glow from candlelight could be seen. Wide brown eyes peeked in, and she watched as figures in black hooded cloaks stood solemn around a table. A fairly rotted corpse lay on an altar table in front of them, but the little girl could barely see it enough to tell whether it was male or female, if it was even possible to tell.
There was a hushed murmur from the group gathered around the table, and though it was difficult to tell, their heads were bent in concentration. Achlys’ heart pounded so hard in her chest in anticipation, she feared she would be caught. The table began to tremble, as did the corpse that lay atop of it, and a strong wind seemed to sweep through the room. A blast of cold air escaped through the tiny crack and hit Lys, and she shivered, pulled her shawl tighter around her.
The corpse shuddered as if the chill had bothered it too, but then it sat up. Its head twisted one way and then the other as if popping its neck, and then a raspy voice left it. “Why have you summoned me into this vessel of decayed flesh?”
With wide eyes, Achlys stumbled back in surprise. She knew her parents were a part of a coven of necromantic witches, she had witnessed them raise the dead and communicate with spirits before, after all. But she had never seen them summon a spirit, only to insert it into a body. Lys had already begun her training, and she could recall what her mother had told her; that doing so was not only against the coven’s rules - after all, they weren’t evil contrary to popular belief in their village - but it was extremely powerful magic that a single witch would be unable to cast by themself.
Without waiting to hear whatever reply was given to the spirit, Lys ran through the house towards her room, this time, without caring whether she made noise or not.
|
“Come on, come on!” Achlys muttered, her fingers splayed out on top of her dead cat. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was throwing all of her focus in trying to raise the feline back from the dead. The Persian had lived a pretty fulfilling life at fifteen, but Lys had loved the animal since her family adopted him as a newborn when she was four. Friends had not come easy for her, because of her magic and the fear it struck in people who didn’t understand it. But Casper? He didn’t hold that against her.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, Casper stayed dead. The only friend she’d ever had in this world, gone. And there was nothing she could do about it.
With a cry of frustration, the brunette teenager sat back, looking at the corpse of her beloved pet as she sobbed. She felt a comforting hand lay on her head, and she looked up into the face of her mother, who though she appeared stern, was actually a kind woman.
“I’m so sorry about Casper.” Her mother crouched, to the best of her abilities since her skirts made the task difficult, to get to Lys’ level. “I know you love him. But sometimes, death is a very permanent thing. Sometimes, resurrection is impossible. And besides, Casper wouldn’t be the same cat he was.”
Memories of a spirit being thrust into a rotting corpse filtered into her mind, and she said, “You did it before. The whole coven. That body. I remember you putting a spirit into it. Why can’t we just summon Casper’s soul and use his own body as the vessel?”
Her mother looked taken aback, surprised that her daughter even knew about that night. Shaking her head, she responded sadly, “That’s not how it works. Whatever you think you saw that night… It wasn’t a resurrection. I can’t tell you what it was, exactly, because as I said, it’s not something we typically do. We were desperate. If we did that to Casper, we would not only be breaking coven rules, but Casper would be a minion of darkness.”
Achlys scoffed. “‘Minion of darkness’? He’s a cat. He’s not an evil being.”
With a squeeze of her shoulder, her mother got to her feet. “I’m sorry Achlys, we cannot do that. It’s not worth the risk. You have to let him go.” |
