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anarchist_queenThe ritual had been written so long ago no one knew who had penned it. It had been passed through many Unseelie houses until finally landing in the library of Corwyn. The ritual had in fact, so far as anyone knew, never been tried. It's function was entirely theoretical, having been deemed far too dangerous even by Unseelie standards.
It was similar to, but not quite a resurrection spell. It was far more unnatural than that. Those had to be performed around Samhain anyway, and for what they had in mind, there would be far too much attention.
The bones had been relatively simple to acquire. However fond most mortals were of their superstitions, one could always find men callous and greedy enough to perform even grave robbing. The horror that the community of Salem felt the next day had been an added spice.
The blood though, that was far more complicated. For both practical, and ritualistic purposes, it couldn't come from just anywhere, and it couldn't all come from one place either. It had to be fresh, and it had to be potent. It had to be innocent. And it had to be from certain geological and genealogical sources. That had taken a lot of research, even more money, and required a greater amount of assistance from like minded individuals. The horror felt by those who discovered the crimes later today would be absolutely delicious.
"Bones of the unjustly condemned."
The bones of Salem were arranged as one would a fire pit, atop the burial mound.
"Blood of the Chosen."
The bones were the fuel for the fire, the blood would be the accelerant. It was poured over the remains of the "witches", and then set alight with another ancient spell. It was a misconception that there was no magic on this side of the border. That whatever had existed in this world had dried up after Faerie receded.
But there were signs all over that this simply wasn't true. There was magic here. It simply lay dormant, and it cropped up occasionally in bloodlines. You either had to know where to find the energy, or bring it with you. They had done both.
The bonefire erupted, at the precise moment of the pagan new year. When, theoretically, the weave of time could be, altered. Or in this case, burned. The flames burned through the years, the decades, the centuries, it's consumption directed by the words of the spell. The blood, instead of burning away, stayed fresh, seeping into the ground, towards she who they sought. The bones themselves fossilized.
When the last tibia and tooth became solid stone, the fire died away. And as far as any of the Unseelie on the hill could tell, nothing had happened.
Then a voice spoke up from just behind their leader. "Yous stupid son of a bitch, what did you do?"
She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and exposing his throat. When she finished with him, she made short work of the fleeing minions. Then taking a deep breath of the odd smelling modern air, she sighed.
Queen Mab of the Unseelie Court, One of the first of the Lankin, the creatures mortals had named Vampires, had returned.
And she was still hungry.
It was similar to, but not quite a resurrection spell. It was far more unnatural than that. Those had to be performed around Samhain anyway, and for what they had in mind, there would be far too much attention.
The bones had been relatively simple to acquire. However fond most mortals were of their superstitions, one could always find men callous and greedy enough to perform even grave robbing. The horror that the community of Salem felt the next day had been an added spice.
The blood though, that was far more complicated. For both practical, and ritualistic purposes, it couldn't come from just anywhere, and it couldn't all come from one place either. It had to be fresh, and it had to be potent. It had to be innocent. And it had to be from certain geological and genealogical sources. That had taken a lot of research, even more money, and required a greater amount of assistance from like minded individuals. The horror felt by those who discovered the crimes later today would be absolutely delicious.
"Bones of the unjustly condemned."
The bones of Salem were arranged as one would a fire pit, atop the burial mound.
"Blood of the Chosen."
The bones were the fuel for the fire, the blood would be the accelerant. It was poured over the remains of the "witches", and then set alight with another ancient spell. It was a misconception that there was no magic on this side of the border. That whatever had existed in this world had dried up after Faerie receded.
But there were signs all over that this simply wasn't true. There was magic here. It simply lay dormant, and it cropped up occasionally in bloodlines. You either had to know where to find the energy, or bring it with you. They had done both.
The bonefire erupted, at the precise moment of the pagan new year. When, theoretically, the weave of time could be, altered. Or in this case, burned. The flames burned through the years, the decades, the centuries, it's consumption directed by the words of the spell. The blood, instead of burning away, stayed fresh, seeping into the ground, towards she who they sought. The bones themselves fossilized.
When the last tibia and tooth became solid stone, the fire died away. And as far as any of the Unseelie on the hill could tell, nothing had happened.
Then a voice spoke up from just behind their leader. "Yous stupid son of a bitch, what did you do?"
She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and exposing his throat. When she finished with him, she made short work of the fleeing minions. Then taking a deep breath of the odd smelling modern air, she sighed.
Queen Mab of the Unseelie Court, One of the first of the Lankin, the creatures mortals had named Vampires, had returned.
And she was still hungry.
