The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [122]
The door flew open and a Lupin entered.
Rosette’s mind raced. ‘Wait!’
Kreshkali held a hand up to La Cot. She waved him out.
‘Yes, child? Did something come to mind?’
‘There was a rhyme; I’ve always known it, but I never thought it more than a bedtime story.’
Kreshkali visibly relaxed, leading Rosette back to the table and handing her a tumbler of water.
Rosette sat down, heart pounding like a bunny’s.
‘Who taught it to you? Your mother?’
‘My mentor, Nell.’
Kreshkali’s eyes gleamed.
‘Do tell,’ the witch said.
Rosette contained her hope, hiding her anticipation in a façade of calm. ‘You’d like to learn it?’
‘Of course!’
Bingo! She took a sip of the sweet water. ‘Repeat it as I say it, High Priestess, word for word.’
‘Shoot.’
‘From the depths of Tatari five rivers flow.’
‘From the depths of Tatari five rivers flow,’ Kreshkali repeated in a smooth, sensual voice.
‘Into my hand and into my heart.’
‘Into my hand and into my heart.’
‘A vial for Passillo, sweet blessed Passillo.’
‘A vial for Passillo, sweet blessed Passillo.’
‘To recall again, to recall forever.’
‘To recall again, to recall forever.’
‘So that all shall be made anew.’
‘So that all shall be made anew.’
Rosette sighed. ‘Again. Close your eyes.’
Together the two sat at the table and repeated the verses over and over.
Rosette kept on and on, adding new phrases, changing nuances, and weaving the enchantment right under the nose of the High Priestess of Los Loma. With every new breath she was sure she’d be caught out, but she wasn’t, and she felt the spell weave tighter and tighter around Kreshkali until it had bound her firm.
The lamp above them dimmed, and the beams across the ceiling began to creak. It was almost as if they were on a great boat, rising and falling with the sea swell. Rosette felt ill, perspiration breaking out on her forehead. Still the spell grew, and she knew a power within her was mounting. Her limbs were on fire with it, her eyes blazing.
The spell was old. She’d learned it from her mother—surrogate mother—Bethsay Matosh, and Rosette had never known where the woman acquired it. All Bethsay had revealed was that it was older than she — much older.
Rosette had thought it was a mother’s spell to bring sleep to a child after a nightmare, and it was all she could think of to satisfy Kreshkali for the moment while she thought of something else. The word Passillo wasn’t even in it. This spell was about Somnia, a lesser slumber deity. At least, that’s what she’d been told. Rosette was starting to doubt everything now.
Still, she’d substituted Passillo for Somnia and Kreshkali was in a trance, and in the midst of it, Rosette clearly glimpsed where the Spell of Passillo was hidden. Her eyes went wide. She swallowed to keep from choking. Could it really be living in her blood and bones? It felt like it was.
‘It’s in your blood…’ The words came from nowhere.
As they continued to chant in unison, Rosette substituted her own name as well for Somnia—the name she had taken years ago near the woods of Espiro Dell Ray. Coloured light, blue with hues of green and gold, emanated from the tips of her fingers and hovered over the table like steam over a molten lake. The vial, resting like a bright bird upon the slick surface, was sucking it in. Watching for the right moment, Kreshkali nearly unconscious, she reached out and snatched up the vial, dropping it deep into the pocket of her fur-lined coat.
The room went dim, everything still and quiet. The only thing moving was the wave of nausea in Rosette’s stomach and the gentle sway of the lantern above. The table was rock-still, Kreshkali silent, her breath rising and falling in long, exaggerated sighs, her eyes moving rapidly beneath her closed lids. She was fast asleep and dreaming, a smile lifting the corner of her exquisitely full lips.
It worked. The woman was enchanted, perhaps wandering borderlands in the dark recesses of her own mind or travelling other worlds.