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“Avē Satana,” Alina murmurs as she opens the infernal text she’d borrowed from her coven leader, “Hail, Satan.”
She isn’t supposed to have access to this particular text, which details how to pray directly to the dark lord of Hell, not until she has completed the final ritual and taken her place as a full member of the coven.
But it’s the ritual itself that Alina is having doubts about. She needs guidance, and she hopes that praying to the dark lord will give her the infernal inspiration she needs.
She slashes the belly of the fieldmouse she is using as an offering, letting its blood drip all over her fingers as she begins to chant the prayer she’s found in the book.
The room glows brightly. Light is her specialty, setting her apart in a coven that still views her with some suspicion despite her ten years with them. Occasionally, one of the younger witches, initiates like her, comment on how angelic her magic seems. Alina long ago figured out how to silence them, though, for light can blind and burn and boil, and more than a few witches have been permanently scarred by Alina’s magic – burns that not even salves and potions can heal.
“I … I do not doubt you, my lord,” she murmurs, “I bow as always to your dark majesty. It is only that I worry about the final ritual.”
Speak your fears, little witch.
Alina jumps at the voice in her mind.
Members of her coven have claimed to hear their dark lord’s voice before, but Alina has always had her doubts. He is known to send signs and omens, but few are chosen to commune directly with Him.
“I do not feel safe. I do not trust my coven leader.”
It’s a dangerous admittance, one she would never dare make to any other member of the coven. But she seeks the dark lord’s wisdom and, besides, she would never dare to lie to Him, as He always knows.
You are right to be suspicious, little witch.
“I am?”
I have been too long occupied with other concerns. Some have grown arrogant and think too highly of their own judgement. They make decisions in my name, but fail to seek my approval. This displeases me.
Alina shivers when his voice rumbles on the last few words, a rush of furious power washing over her.
“What must I do, my lord?”
You are the lightbringer, little witch. But not of the paltry, pale heavenly light. No, you will bring forth a light that burns all opposition and prepares the way for me.
Alina’s heart beats fast, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with excitement, “you will come among us, my lord?”
I will, little witch.
“What must I do, my lord?”
A low, pleased hum echoes through her mind. The shadows rise up, tendrils of darkness wrapping around Alina’s body, gentle caresses against her skin.
The ritual, little witch. You will show them the power of your light there – the light that marks you as mine, that shows you are more than any witch who came before you – and it will destroy those who seek to use the power I so generously and graciously gifted for their own means rather than for my works.
“It will be done, my lord,” she vows fervently, “I swear it.”
I look forward to seeing your work, lightbringer. And afterwards, you shall be richly rewarded.
The shadows vanish and Alina is alone once more.
But now she is unburdened. Now she has a purpose.
She will not fail the dark lord.
The final ritual to become a full member of the coven is one of trust.
The initiate must remove all forms of magical protection – amulets or spells – and purge themselves of any potions in their system. They must face the whole coven and be baptised by their collective magic, before offering their hand to be sliced by the ceremonial blade, so that they might mingle their blood with the coven leader’s.
It ought to be special, to feel the magic of her coven sisters and to share blood with her leader. But Alina is unwilling to leave herself vulnerable in the presence of witches who continue to view her with suspicion even though she has never given them reason to doubt her devotion to the dark lord.
Alina knows that her coven leader is unnerved by her magic but, more than that, for all she praises their dark lord, Alina knows her leader would rather that her coven views her as the absolute authority, that she may always interpret the dark lord’s teachings in her own way.
To go ahead with the ritual could well be a death sentence for Alina. She cannot trust that the coven won’t take advantage of the opportunity to kill her.
When she had prayed for guidance from the dark lord, Alina had been hoping for reassurance.
To have her fears confirmed hurts more than she thought it would, even if she’s never really been friends with anyone in the coven. More than that, though, it makes her furious.
Alina will make them pay, for the glory of the dark lord.
Her coven leader Ana lifts the ceremonial dagger, stained with the blood of dozens of previous initiates.
“Avē Satana,” they all chant, “Hail, Satan.”
“Oh great dark lord,” Ana cries out, “consecrate this dagger with your darkness as we bring a new sister into our fold.”
“Avē Satana,” the coven repeat, “Hail, Satan.”
“Come forth, Alina, and relieve yourself of your defences, that we may baptise you with our magic.”
Alina steps up onto the small dais as the coven make a circle around her.
Looking out at the crowd, she can see the vicious anticipation in some of the faces.
They are traitors, she thinks, attempting to use a sacred ritual for their own selfish purposes and thereby insulting the dark lord.
Alina lifts her hands, as if to discard the magical protections she constantly maintains.
But she does not do as Ana orders.
Instead, Alina calls on her power, the burning sun that lives inside her.
And she sets it free, lets her unholy light burst outwards in an explosion of magic.
The screaming is music to her ears, a triumphant chorus to announce the dark lord.
She can sense other witches casting spells, can feel the magic flying through the air and dissipating before it can touch her.
Before now, Alina has always been careful not to show the full strength of her magic. But she will no longer allow herself to be made small by a coven that fears what they do not understand and are jealous of the power she wields.
She’s only experimented with her light a little before, but she reaches deep inside herself and focuses on the dark lord’s wishes – to destroy those who are not loyal and faithful to Him.
There is no spell for this magic, but the strongest witches do not need spells.
Alina follows her instincts and trusts in the dark lord.
The traitors will burn.
----------
The world around her is bright and burning when there is a shift in the air.
Alina can sense His presence immediately.
Overwhelming in a good way. Intoxicatingly powerful.
She bows her head immediately, respectful despite her curiosity to see the form that He has chosen.
A few moments later, though, there is a finger under her chin, tilting her face up so she is looking directly into fathomless black eyes.
“My lord.”
He can take on many forms, she knows, some foul and others fair. Today, He has chosen the latter – a reminder that He was once the most beautiful angel in Heaven.
“Hello, my queen.”
Her brow furrows in confusion at the change in nickname.
“I told you that you would be rewarded. I have waited a very long time for a witch like you, and you shall rule beside me.”
Her eyes widen, “my lord, you honour me.”
“Little witch,” his voice is low and heavy with desire, “lightbringer, my queen.”
The acrid stench of burning flesh is all around them. The dying groans of those witches deemed unworthy and traitorous are echoing around the clearing. Those who live are trembling as they frantically repeat assurances of their loyalty.
Alina sees none of it. She only cares for the magic dancing at her fingertips and, most of all, the dark lord’s proud smile and possessive touch.
“My queen,” He slants his lips over hers, insistent and heated as He kisses her.
“My lord,” she gasps as His hands slide over her body, “it is done.”
“Yes, my queen, and it has been done well indeed.”
Over half the coven is dead, and most of the rest are covered in burns.
It is shameful, really, to see the depths of the rot within her coven.
“You need not feel disgraced,” the dark lord reassures her, “their actions were their own and they have been punished. You have always been loyal and I shall not forget it, nor shall any who serve me.”
“Still, to see so many –”
He cuts her off with another kiss, a delightful distraction from her anger at how her coven have behaved.
“It’s good to make an example once in a while,” He tells her, stroking her cheek, His shadows curling around her, “or complacency is liable to grow. This will remind the other covens to whom they owe their dark devotion and allegiance. And if a further demonstration is needed to ensure the message sinks in, then I am sure you – my eternal queen, my lightbringer – will be more than happy to teach them a lesson.”
“It would be my honour, my lord.”
“Please, little witch, my queen, call me Aleksandr. Together, we shall change the world into one of blood and flame and magic.”
Alina nods eagerly. She cannot wait to begin.