The moment I completed the circle, the world around us went quieter. The night faded into the background, leaving only my warriors and me and the anticipation of what was to come. Atlas had set up the fire pit, so I used my magic to light it, casting a spell that would keep it from burning out while our energy still permeated. Firelight flickered across Atlas’s features, making him seem more fearsome and demanding. Wes walked to join us on the other side, his body powerful in the nighttime glow.
“Remember what I said,” I told them as I set up our altar on a log between us. “We’re safe inside the circle. Just…open yourself up to the magic. Let it flow through you. No matter what happens.”
Atlas nodded as I placed our offerings on the wooden stump. I’d brought dried roses and a card depicting Saint Marta. I set up red and white candles in the center of a circle made of cinnamon and carnelian. Finally, in the middle, I put the ceremonial knife.
Even though this ritual would entail us exchanging blood, we would also be carving a symbol into each other’s chests, right over the heart. The wounds would be deep, but I’d brought satchels full of healing herbs. I just prayed I had enough magic left over at the end to close them up so they didn’t get infected.
Wes glanced at both of us before handing me the book, which I placed next to the chalice, open to the correct page. I licked my lips and swallowed the little bit of anxiety creeping up my throat.
It’ll be okay.
Have faith.
Anger into faith, faith into action.
I can do this.
We can do this.
I grabbed the goblet, having already been cleansed earlier, and held it above my head, calling the four elements to assist us as I walked around the fire. I called to the ancestors and the ancient spirits of this land.
“Hail, and welcome,” I said.
“Hail, and welcome,” Atlas and Wes repeated.
I came back to the altar and held my hands out to either side to grab onto my warriors, and they clasped palms opposite me, completing the triangle. The wind picked up, the trees rustled louder, and the cicadas buzzed fiercely in the background, echoing over the drums and deep vocals of the music.
“Gentle spirits, we call thee here to witness the binding of our blood. A sacrifice made so our magic may flow. We ask for your blessing, or let your disagreement be known.”
I focused on the candles and listened to the earth, reading the signs in the flames. They danced and flickered in the wind for only a moment, indicating initial hesitation. But then the fire glowed brighter, bursting with energy and willingness. Our sacrifice had been accepted.
“Here we go,” I murmured, picking up the knife and turning to Wes on my right. I turned my corresponding hand up and carved a triangle into the fleshy part of my palm opposite my thumb.
“By thorn and chain, by ash and rod, by serpent’s breath, by raven shod. I bind thee fast, I bind thee near, to walk with me through flame and fear.” I handed the knife to Wes, who gently cupped my left hand and carved a triangle into the same spot on my palm. I winced as the blade pierced my skin, but held firm through the spell, knowing it was a test of my strength.
Then I walked to the altar and squeezed my palms over the herbs, letting my blood drip onto our sacrifice as the candle flames glowed brighter, welcoming my magical essence.
Wes repeated the incantation as he carved the design into his right hand before turning to Atlas, holding the knife out, and gesturing for him to repeat the carving on his left. He added his life’s essence to the altar, and I watched as the crimson swirled together, sizzling and rippling with preternatural energy.
Atlas went next, saying the words as he sliced open his right before holding the knife out to me to do his left. His fingers shook as I held them, but I stared into his eyes, hoping to reassure him that it would be okay. We had the ancestors’ blessing.
We’re doing the right thing. This is the only way.
Atlas added his blood to ours, and once he stepped back, we took hands again, our wounds sealing together with warm, sticky liquid. A surge of power went through me, dense, potent electricity cascading from me and around me and into me.
It’s working.
“Blood to blood and bone to bone, what is ours shall be ours alone. Breath to breath and soul to soul. Thy will be yoked. Thy spirit be whole.”
The guys repeated after me, echoing the spell as the world faded away, leaving the three of us holding hands around the altar. We said the next part together, reading from Constance’s book, reciting the old words as magic danced from the ground, ricocheting up my legs and into my torso, spreading out to Wes and Atlas on either side.
“By fire that burns black and red, by the realms that hold all the dead, by water deep, by air that flies, I claim thee now with eternal ties.”
Wind swirled around us, but the flames held steady. The clouds brushed over the moon, casting an ominous shadow on our work, but we kept going. I steeled myself against the ecstatic vibrance burning through my veins, remembering what I’d told them earlier.
Let it flow. Open yourself to it. That’s the only way this works.
“Come shadow, come serpent, come raven, come crow. Witness the vow and the binding we sew. Let no man break it or spirit undo. This chain we weave is permanent and true.”
