Chapter Fifteen
Repeatedly turning and checking around her, Marlis stole to the north east of the city, far from most of the dwellings. Wrapped in her black cloak, she almost blended with the night. This corner was more open, the street wider for it led to where the city’s rubbish was dumped. Wilda had described the city to her and she’d been relieved to find that nothing had changed.
Privacy was hard to come by, living with the weaver-women. Norna, especially, seemed incapable of allowing her any time to herself. Desperation had led her to haunt the city, feeling her way, stumbling in the dark of night, and she’d finally discovered a place where she could be alone. Alone to practice her magic and call on Gadreena.
Tucked behind where the wall protruded, Marlis chanced lighting a small lamp. The sickly-sweet smell of decay coiled around her, creeping up her nose, settling on her tongue; her stomach heaved. She squeezed her eyes shut, willed herself to ignore the stench.
Removing her cloak, she unwound the cloth from around her torso to reveal the twisted metal staff that had once belonged to Wilda. From her pack, she took out Wilda’s bone bowl, now her bone bowl. Rocking slightly in the bowl were two eggs, under which were moth wings. She broke the eggs over the wings and took hold of the staff.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her head. And didn’t have to wait long to hear the tell-tale skittering of rats. Grabbing one, she stabbed it with the sharp end of the staff, cutting off its squeal. She drained some of its blood into the bowl with the eggs and wings. Taking her spindle, tied to the belt on her dress, she mixed them together with the sharpened end.
No longer did she grimace like she used to when she first started practicing the spells with Wilda. Closing her eyes, she chanted, “Gadreena, make me be a crone.” Lifting the bowl to her lips, she downed the mixture in one swallow.
The pain started slowly, in the depths of her belly, crawling outwards to repeatedly stab her entire body. Clenching her jaw as sweat prickled her skin, she refused to cry out, could not chance crying out. Gasping for breath, she snatched at her hair until finally the agony faded.
Marlis lay partly on her side, breathing heavily. She blinked to focus her gaze. By the light of the lamp, she could see her hand appeared shrunken. Holding it up, she smiled to see the wrinkled skin. The transformation had worked.
Forcing herself to move for she knew she didn’t have much time, she shakily returned the bowl to her pack. Picking up her spindle, staff and the body of the rat, she extinguished the lamp and hurried towards the chief’s hall.
To any she may have passed in the dead hours of the night, she appeared to be an old woman. But the transformation did not stop her moving with the speed of a younger woman.
Soon, but not as soon as she would have liked, Marlis was at the hall. In the shadows by the stone steps, she fished out a candle from her pack and stuck it in the dead rat, pinning the body to the ground with the spindle. It took her a minute or so to light the candle, and she whispered, “By this lighted candle, all you within sleep. Wake not, see not, hear not until the candle flame dies.”
Forcing herself to wait to give the spell time, she stepped past the guards by the doors, slumped on the floor. Creeping through the hall, she found her way to Hagen’s chambers. Thanks to the gossiping washerwomen, she knew the basic layout of the hall.
Standing inside the door, Marlis could just make out the interior from the glowing embers of the fireplace. Hagen’s bed, opposite the fireplace, was mostly in darkness. His hounds slept on the rugs between the bed and fireplace.
He slept on his back, one arm over his face, the other extended over the edge of the bed. Her old lips stretched in a smile, she leaned over to lightly touch her lips to his. His breathing altered slightly, but he remained as he was. Marlis quickly took the bowl and a small knife from her pack, and pieces of cloth. Holding his extended arm, she made a small cut, allowing the blood to fall into the bowl.
Satisfied she had enough, she quickly wrapped the cut with cloth then secured another piece of cloth over the bowl. Not caring how mystified Hagen would be over his cut arm, she made her way out.
As she was crossing the hall, she heard low voices and had to stop herself rushing out.
“Ho there, mother. No sleep this night?”
Unable to see who the speaker was in the gloom, she forced a chuckle. “The old don’t need much sleep, my boy.”
“As my good ma always says,” said the voice, clearly amused, and the other laughed softly.
She heard them move away and wondered where they had come from; hadn’t the sleep spell worked properly? Shaking her head, not caring for she already had what she’d come for, she left, glad she’d suffered the transformation.
Now that she finally had Hagen’s blood, Marlis had to work her spell within the day. As usual, she could not find a moment to herself. But it was market day, and she’d come up with a plan. Feigning an aching head, she was allowed to stay behind when the weaver-women took their ware to the market.
Finally, she thought. I’ve waited long enough to put my plan in motion. I won’t have to suffer these women for much longer.
She brought out the bowl and uncovered it. Taking the knife, she cut her upper arm, where no one would see the injury, and let her fresh red blood spill into the bowl to mingle with Hagen’s, now a darker brown.
Next, she took a wide woven band, made of intertwined cords of black, gold and red. She concentrated on Hagen, saying his name. Holding the staff in her right hand, she placed the band in the blood, swirling it around with her left hand as she chanted, “Gadreena, take our blood, his and mine together. Make him see only me, need only me and lust only for me.”
Exhaling, Marlis lifted the bloodied item from the bowl. As she watched blood drip from it, a slow smile appeared on her lips. “All there is left to do is present this to him, yet another gift from the ever-grateful Marlis of Tugenrock.”