Under the Summoning Spell

Thancred, her bodyguard since they were teenagers, already slumbers by her door as the woman pulls her door. After she checks her locks for the final time, a young woman turns behind her. She hopes the ritual was set.

A forbidden ritual was set on the floor: red paint against the hard wooden floors she was sure her family stole from a true noble family in the markings of death and life. A ceremonial blade – she believes it’s called an athame as Thancred would correct her – ready to cut into her skin on top of an opened book.

Once she was fully confident the man outside wouldn’t disturb the ritual, the woman moves back into her room as she walks as lightly as possible against the floorboards. Life in a cage taught her well to protect her body and worse yet, she had to hurry.

The full moon, according to her charts, would pass quickly and even wane the more she hesitates.

The woman bends down and her long white hair brushes against the book. She moves it aside and her light-grey eyes flutter over the ritual’s words. She mutters it as she reads it then repeats it. Words she shouldn’t – or any witch – should repeat, especially one who doesn’t even specialize as a summoner. But desperation pushes her to do such an act. The woman had no choice as memories of two dead bodies cloud her words. Tears stream down her face and she couldn’t stop or she’d break concentration.

For a crime family, there was supposed to be a code of honor.

The woman is an adult, but she hates herself for crying like a child.

She couldn’t even blink her tears away as she knows the moon moves quicker than it should at this time of night. However, there was a window and she had to take it.

Bodies of old and young lie on the ground, bleeding and dead, and the person who caused that stared at her with a threat to keep his secret.

Thancred was unaware of what happened – he didn’t care as long as he gets a check – but suddenly, the bodyguard is pulled from his duties from the Conclave of Harmony to watch her closer. The woman objected heavily but at least she manages to steal the forbidden books she was reading out of.

She breathes heavily as she repeats the ritual’s words, now committed to her memory. Now she can close her eyes and shakes the terrifying image away. The final rotation appears in her memory of the ritual as she takes the athame and, at first, lands the sharp tip on the palm of her hand. At the last minute, she changes her mind – she needs the palm of her hand. It’d be unwise to cut that so she cuts tips of her fingers instead.

She winces and more when she hovers it over the center of the red paint. Her mutterings and chants only repeat as she squeezes her bleeding ends over it.

Would it be enough?

The woman decides it wasn’t so she squeezes it more. She trembles with pain and grits her teeth as the repeated words reverberate in her mind.

A breath in and out as the final words met their end.

She opens her eye to better judge her work.

Suddenly, the woman was surrounded by darkness. She breathes more and looks around and hopes she didn’t summon a demon instead.

Finally, a light appears in the middle of the ritual circle and she reaches over to touch it – against her better judgment, she knew better.

But if she truly knew better, this ritual wouldn’t happen in the first place.

She made sure the finger she touched the light with was still bleeding so she winces again when she pinches for more blood. A jolt of pain goes through her and she reaches out to touch it.

“Please, bring me your strongest warrior!” She whispers to it as she reaches over.

The moment she touches it with her plea attached to it, the light expands and she recoils back – even bringing her wounded hand to cover her face.

The light expands as it lowers with a ‘weight’ the woman couldn’t see immediately.

There was still a lot of darkness and the light continues to expand until she sees a pair of a man’s feet and then his hands. He’s paler than she is but she remains quiet and watchful as the light becomes a man on the ground.

Her face does redden when she realizes the man was naked and though she turns to grab the clothes she’d stolen from Thancred weeks ago, she still becomes anxious about what this man looked like. She hopes once again she didn’t accidentally summon a demon – witches were already accused of such a sordid history in this world and she knew she would have to explain everything to this newcomer eventually.

Eventually, she realizes the light has finally dimmed away and her room has its normal lighting back. The man who lies on his back opens his eyes only for her to recoil immediately.

The man’s face was handsome – still paler than her – with black bangs that cover mostly his eyes and lay on unkempt wavy hair. On his chin, there was a growing beard and on his ears had piercings much like the men in her world. His nose was as pointed as the red eyes on his face.

Between the stars, the woman should be happy the gods gave her a man to protect her – a handsome man. But the look on his face could only be described as the look of a demon. Anger boiled in the red and in the irises of a murderer.

Who had she summoned?

“Aiden Earthrun!” said an unknown voice. This causes the woman to jump and forces her heart to slam against her chest as she stands up and looks around for the source of the voice. “He has been summoned by such a forbidden act! Witch, do you not understand what you have just done?!”

“He’s my savior!”

But the presence is gone and the man groans as he sits up. A lovely tenor voice echoes out of him and he grabs his head in pain. He winces and rubs it; soon, he looks towards the woman’s direction as he didn’t seem to hear the unknown voice. He finally speaks.

“Who are you? And why are you in the death chamber with me? Are you the executioner?”