Origins
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Agatha studied the emerald. She picked it up and held it to the torch, watching the way the flickering flame made the greens within the jewel sparkle and dance, like sprites.

She knew there was a dark magic contained within the stone.

It was a stunning piece of jewellery. Beautiful, dangerous, and hopefully deadly. She placed it back on the table and wandered around the cave, studying the ends of the scrolls and the spines of the books of magic that lined the upper shelves. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but knew it would come to her when she saw what she needed.

As she searched, she reminded herself what the library contained. Besides the Book of the Dead, there was the Handbook of Ritual Power; the Fables of Osiris; Yellow and Black Books of Shaman-ism; the Low Country Grimoires; the Necromancy Communal; and even a translation of the Arabian Ghāyat al-Ḥakīm into Latin - the Picatrix.

“That’s it!” she cried and grabbed the Picatrix. Then she looked for the Book of the Baktiotha - the lord of serpents and of the material realm - and grabbed that too.

After all, she thought, I need the necklace to perform two tasks and be part of two futures.

She opened the books, leant over them and ran her finger along the texts, searching for what she knew was there.

When she’d finished reading, she sat back on the stool and breathed deeply, taking her time to collect her thoughts and prepare herself for what she was going to do.

She knew one life had just been lost, as one had been created, but that exchange wasn’t enough. Those that she was going to invoke wanted, no, required, more. She needed a lesson to be taught. And it required a meaningful sacrifice of some sort for a curse of that power. An eye for an eye.

Agatha grabbed a fresh wooden tablet from the pile on the table. She picked up the necklace and held the emerald firmly in her fist - she didn’t want it getting away. Then she pulled the books closer and ran her finger over the text to remind herself. She formed the shape of the Coptic words as she read and quietly practised the spell - it had been a while since she’d last spoken the language and didn’t want to get the pronunciation wrong because it could kill her.

When she was satisfied that she had it, she sighed. “Well, here we go,” she said.

She held the necklace up, the stone still clasped in her hand, with both ends of the chain hanging limply down her arm.

Slowly, steadily, in a clear voice, she read from the text.

As she did so, she felt the jewel vibrate as if it was trying to get away. She tightened her grip and carried on.

The two halves of the chain gradually stiffened and rose like a pair of snakes. They began writhing around sinuously; the ends held in mid-air by an invisible force. Then one end slithered slowly around her wrist. It unwrapped itself, and both ends began undulating. They moved hypnotically in front of her. She watched them out of the corner of her eye as she continued reading.

She got to the end of the spell and stopped. The chain went limp and fell, dangling from her fist once more. She relaxed. It didn’t work; she thought and, still clasping it firmly, held the emerald higher to examine it.

Suddenly, one end of the chain whipped out.

Quicker than she could blink, it shot forward and its clasp lacerated her left cornea. She screamed in agony and clamped her eyes shut. The pain was excruciating. She clenched her teeth together and writhed around on the chair, humming to herself as a distraction. The sting of the metal on her eye grew, and she pushed her right hand onto the lid to put pressure on it.

After a couple of minutes, she risked a glance and opened her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she was blind in her left eye. A shape moved and the other end of the chain lashed out, slitting the same eyeball in the other direction.

Agatha yelled at the top of her lungs as she felt the sharp stabbing pain and felt liquid on her cheek. She knew it wasn’t tears, but the contents of her eye draining out.

Summoning every ounce of her diminishing energy, she grabbed a vial from the shelf next to her and held it underneath to collect the drops. Her entire body was in shock, and she shook with the effort of staying upright. Her hand was so unsteady it was difficult to hold the vial still, and she had to grip her left hand with her right, to stop it from trembling.

She tried to suppress the pain as she collected what she needed of the liquid rolling down her cheek. When she was certain she had everything, she corked the vial and placed it carefully back on the table. Then let herself drop slowly from the chair to the rocky floor, and when she knew she was safe, finally allowed the agony to consume her.

She passed out.

She came around, shivering on the floor, the cave pitch black. The pain in her eye had diminished but was still unbearable, particularly when she blinked. She could feel the rough tear of the ragged cornea against the inside of her eyelid.

She pressed the left side of her face to the rock surface, using the cold stone as a compress to ease the burning pain, and lay there for a while. Then she realised she had to get on, as she had work to do. She stumbled to her feet and groped along the shelves. She knew the caves well and easily found the stock of fresh torches and flints in the dark. Soon, a new light was blazing. She went to the pond at the back of the cave and collected some water. Then she took a selection of herbs from the baskets and a couple of leaves from the bunches hanging to dry and made herself a tea on a small fire that she lit from the torch in a ring of sooty stones at the centre of the cavern. It was to relieve the pain, and she added some willow bark to the mixture as it cooled.

With the cup of tea beside her, she went back to her books, but found it difficult to read. She rummaged in a basket lying on the floor under the table, retrieved a piece of muslin, tore it into strips and tied a bandage around her head and across her left eye, working quickly because she wanted to finish up and get everything ready before nightfall. She had to climb back down, and usually as steady and sure as a goat, she didn’t fancy making the trip in the dark with one eye - she wouldn’t be able to judge distances easily.

She sat back from the table, grabbed the tablet and the vial, and, using the stylus again, wrote out the long curse she had used. Agatha had had plenty of time to think about the revenge she wanted to mete out on the Malet man for taking her beloved Constance from her and believed she had come up with a suitable punishment. She wanted him to suffer and lose his chance of happiness as she had. And she had just the thing to wound him further.

She finished and read back through what she’d written. Satisfied, she took the Amulet and wrapped its chain around the tablet. She stood and collected more herbs and spices from her supplies and placed them in a small muslin bag with a drawstring, then she added more wood from the stack by the entrance to the fire. When she was happy that it was at its hottest, she tossed the muslin bag onto the flames. The fire burned green, blue, then as it changed to purple, she threw the wooden tablet with the necklace tied around it on top.

The colour of the flames changed again. This time they went black and gave out no heat. The temperature in the cave plummeted as it sucked all the warmth out of the air. She could see her breath condensing and the cold nipped at her fingers. The fire stayed within the confines of the ring of stones, but the cold flames increased in size until they licked the roof of the cave high above her. She watched the tablet melt, and the wood became a tar-like substance. The emerald sat in the middle of the conflagration, looking up at her like a jealous cyclops, and she shivered, but not only from the plummeting temperature. She knew what she was looking at.

Gradually the black substance melted and coated the necklace and the jewel, and slowly the flames reduced until the fire died out completely, leaving just a rock-hard black ball, like a piece of coal, shining at the middle of the hearth.

Agatha gently picked it up and, being careful not to crack it, placed it in her knapsack. Then she drained the cup of tea, glanced around the cave to make sure everything was straight, and taking the torch, she crawled out of the entrance, being careful not to bash the knapsack against the rocky surfaces. She knew she had to wait until the evening before the wedding to crack open the shell and let the necklace enact her revenge.

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