The five month old babe wailed, the thin fists rocking back and forth while its pale legs pumped weakly. The reedy sound of its cries had no effect on the nearby woman, however. She had tuned out her infant daughter's vocal complaints long ago. She'd stopped feeling the cold of the room along her bare form hours ago. There was nothing else in this room but the book. The book! Her precious book with its secrets and rituals to make her stronger. To give her the power of blood that she so desired!
She caressed the tome's gold-edged tip with a cruel smile, one filth-coated nail marking her place within the pages while her eyes darted back and forth along the words. Her hair, usually a soft golden hue when clean, was just as filthy as the rest of her body. The fetid smell of dried blood, human refuse, and more wafted from her in a ghastly perfume. Lank, coated with blood and grime, her dirtied locks hung listlessly around her thin face. This, too, she had stopped noticing. Nothing had broken her concentration for the past five hours and nothing would. Not until she had the ritual down perfectly!
The components had long been gathered for tonight. The full moon, a bloody ring around it, a cold autumn evening. Venom of a snake and fangs from a basilisk. Poison from different plants. Curdled milk from the milk pod plant. And, most importantly, the sacrifice. That had been the most important of all, though she'd have willingly stolen another Jael babe from its cradle if necessary. Plucked the babe from its mother's teat while it feasted, even, and used it without a qualm of harming the newborn. The gods already knew how much she despised the spawn she'd been left with. She hated it almost as much as she'd grown to abhor the man who had created the brat inside of her.
Rothvyn Jael, guardian, paladin, lord. So high and mighty, refusing to admit to his mistake in bedding a common whore in a tavern one night. He'd flicked her off to return to his pregnant wife. He'd called her a mistake. Even when she'd sent him messages about the child he'd planted in her womb, he had ignored her. Her rancor had slowly grown along with the roundness of her stomach. Vengeance had built in her heart as the infant had suckled from her. She, the child, was a likeness of him. How many nights had she considered skewering the infant through and sending its body to his doorstep? No, it wasn't good enough for him. She deserved a far better revenge, one that would make the whole of the Jael family scream with agony. Then she'd show him. She'd show all of them. Not just a pathetic guardian who had no sense of honor, but his whole family. His wife, his children, and all of his bloodline would die through the poison that she'd infect them with. And his bastard daughter would do perfectly for what she intended tonight.
Why not use the child that had begun this shameful descent to begin with? Why not use that innocence to her will? It was only fitting. The spell would be all the stronger for the blood the infant carried, a direct link to his. It would further the poison's strength as well. And any who did not have the blood of the Jaels, well, she could see to them after. She would have the ability to turn their blood into boiling heat, burn them from the inside, twist their veins and make them scream with pain, bend them to her doing.
Snapping the book shut, she withdrew a silver dagger from the sheath at her leg. Her robes, tattered and dingy, had been discarded ages ago. Like the babe, she must be without clothing for this. She must be as unfettered beneath the moon's eye … and more importantly, to the eye of Akylios. "Akylios," she intoned, her voice rising over the feeble whines of her child. "Hear my plea! Tonight I ask for the dark magics that my ancestors eschewed. Tonight I beg that you would grant them to me, your humble servant. I give you the blood of the innocent, poisoned to filth, so that my blood may be made stronger. I ask that you would grant me the skill of magic to draw at the blood of my enemies and twist it to my will. Make me your slave! Your blood mage!" The dagger made a thin slice into the babe's arm.
The wavering cries suddenly became furious shrieks of pain. Making a similar cut into her own flesh, she pressed her arm against the child's to mingle their blood. "She is of my body and I give her freely to you." Gathering the components, she dribbled snake poison over the infant's arm. The screaming became bubbly and the free limbs began to flail harder when the poison from five different plants was next dripped across the cut. As the infant's skin turned a blazing red, she poured the milk pod's contents across the child's skin. It flowed into the cut, then stirred with the tainted blood to drip to the sides. She grinned. It was nearly finished. Taking the basilisk fang, she stirred it into the blood over the babe's arm, then rubbed it along her own cut. "Blood to my blood, tainted and weakened. Cast your eye over me, Akylios, and give the blessings of blood magic, I ask you!" Her arms raised above her head as shadow shifted, her eyes widening with delight. The moon seemed so much brighter and her skin was warm. Laughter filled the cold room as she curled her fingers up toward that bright beacon.
And then the laughter stilled. The warmth faded from her flesh. Something pulled at her, something strong. Jerking her head toward the infant, who had suddenly gone silent, she realized that something red hung in the air between them. No, not hung there, but was being drawn toward that cut she'd created on the babe's arm. Something had gone wrong. "No," she seethed as she realized what, exactly, had happened. "No, to me," she demanded with wild eyes. Surely she had read the ritual right? Surely she'd followed every step? "Akylios," she screamed, anger rising. "Give your power to me!"
"Eloise, stop!"
The door to the room slammed open, was filled by the armored hulk of the very man she'd meant to destroy. "You're too late, Rothvyn," she hissed and drew the dagger up. If she couldn't have the power of blood magic, then she would strike at him with the very thing he'd created and left her with. The sound of a rifle reverberated as a bullet struck her fist. Blood and flesh slapped into her hair, over her face. She screamed her fury even as she drew the bloodied, mangled flesh against her body. Then, scooping the wailing child up, she moved to throw it toward the window. Akylios, her mind screamed out, I beg you take this damned child and give me my powers!
No.
She stiffened. Even as something bit into her leg and she was forced toward the ground, the child pulled away from her, she could only hear that voice ringing in her head. Her ears reverberated with the vile whisper, leaving her deaf. Her arms were being pulled toward her back against her will, but she didn't bother to fight them. The child … the child … it had stolen her magic. The child had been tainted and given the ability that she'd begged for. Why, she pleaded within her head.
You are too weak. What I make will be stronger than you could ever be and will serve me far better than you could.
Then the voice faded, the high-pitched screams of the child taking over everything. There was movement, four large guards and Rothvyn binding her with protective magic, forcing her to be still against her own will. As she sank into the darkness of temporary unconsciousness, she could only say, "No, it should have been me."
