92 - The pendant
92 - The pendant
Nick
The witch raised her hand, mumbling something, and suddenly my pendant came to life. Not only that; it hovered opposite her lifted palm, close, but not touching. Glowing and whirling, almost as if it responded to her words.
“How on earth did this end up on you?” she whispers with her eyes wide open.
What’s this supposed to mean?
“It’s an old family heirloom. I’ve had it since childhood.” I reply sternly.
“No… Unless your mother was a powerful equilibrium witch, this is certainly not an object belonging to your family.”
She’s still observing the pendant that’s tossing and turning under her will. I could swear it’s getting hotter as she goes on with her weird chant. If this doesn’t stop, it’ll soon be burning me. An alien fury fills my mind, clouding my better judgment. Impatience stronger than ever before floods my veins, calling out to me to act against her intrusion.
But to do what?
“Okay, can someone explain to me what an equilibrium witch is and why the hell an object I’ve had on me almost all my life is suddenly burning me?”
She doesn’t seem to even notice that I talked to her, still too absorbed in talking to my pendant. It only lasts a few more moments, because she then drops her hand in a rush as if it somehow burnt her instead, although she didn’t actually touch it. The pendant falls back down on me, returning to its former lifeless state and its normal temperature. A slight weariness clouds my brain. All the tension of the past few days must be catching up with me.
“Deirdra was an equilibrium witch. Could it be hers?” asks William.
If he goes on like this, I swear I’ll punch him. I’ve tried my best to keep patient and quiet in order not to aggravate the witch who obviously dislikes me, but William playing Mr ‘Know it All’ is kind of too much for me at the moment. I’m already worried enough about everything that’s taking place here. Is it too much to ask for some peace on the rest of our issues?
The witch turns to William, a bit annoyed. For the first time since we arrived here, a breach appears in their attunement to each other.
“Deirdra was younger than your grandfather. If it was hers, how would an amulet as recent as that be passed on as a werewolves’ heirloom? Plus, this artifact here doesn’t have her imprint. No, I believe it’s much older,” she says, then turns to me.
“Equilibrium witches are the witches of balance. They possess and can yield a bit of all witchcraft types. They are meant to control other witches in order to ensure the stability of magic. With the proper practice, they usually become the strongest ones. And they are, more often than not, leaders,” she adds.
“Deirdra was Frida’s mother, right?” Greg asks and she nods.
“So Nel’s grandma was like what you could call an Alpha witch?”
She laughs, hearing the parallel Greg uses, and shrugs.
“I suppose, in a way, you could say that… Yes…”
“Are you also one?” I ask.
“No, I’m a light witch,” she is quick to answer.
“Aren’t balance witches supposed to be good ones, too?”
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
“You werewolves… The world is not just black and white… Light and dark witches are more about the type of powers we possess. Good or bad is too relevant. We don’t like to use these terms,” she retorts.
“Relevant how?”
“Light witches possess a more supporting kind of magic. They heal, they excel at locating people or objects, they can summon spirits, illuminate places, create illusions… this sort of stuff. Dark witches are potent fighters. You know; fireballs, bolts, flying daggers, storms. You’re surely more familiar with these. All covens have both categories. I can’t defend my coven if I can’t fight against an attack. And you can’t possibly have high fighting skills, but not have the power to protect your own. Light and darkness always coexist in magic as much as in everything else in life.”
“Okay, so where do the equilibrium ones come in?” Greg asks.
“There are some more types that are not as common. It’s one of them. As I said before, they are usually strong enough to control the others, so they are often the leaders of the covens.”
“So, you’re suggesting Nel’s grandmother would possibly…”
“Yes, if it wasn’t for Frida, Deirdra would most probably be the next Head of our old coven,” she sighs.
“How fucked up is that? She was like the strongest one, a potential leader and next in line for the accession to the head’s position and they threw her away, because she had a child? How do you guys procreate? Witches are all females and warlocks and wizards are not the most common creatures. What do you suggest in order not to go extinct?”
I’m getting more questions with each of her answers. Cutting off my father’s bonds with the witches of the south and minimizing our transactions with each other suddenly seems one of the best ideas I had as an Alpha.
“We usually mate with humans. The male genes need to be weaker than ours in order to ensure the smooth transition of magic and avoid possible freaky mutations. Warlocks and wizards are not our piece of cake either. Most of the times, they’re just our male children who manifest powers, which they can’t pass on to their offsprings. After all, mixing different types of magic is like mixing different shots when drinking alcohol. It’s bound to get you wasted way faster.”
“So, in your eyes, Frida was a freaky mutation?” Greg asks incredulously.
“Frida was my best friend. She was a rare creature and no, by no means a freak. No matter how weird or disturbing you find it, I understand why the Coven couldn’t take the risk. Extra potent beings can cause extra amounts of harm if they manipulate their forces the wrong way. At the same time, it’s even more understandable that Deirdra couldn’t just ceremoniously kill her own child as they asked her to.”
She shakes her head, her eyes fly away for a moment. Her otherwise expressionless appearance contorts a bit, most probably due to an unpleasant memory, and then she darts her face towards me, looking at me with a disdain that I can’t fathom.
“Back to the pendant. I can’t understand much, because it won’t reveal anything to me. Such artifacts respond only to their owners, and it’s been effectively locked by a powerful force not to accept any changes in its ownership unless willfully passed over.”
She understood all this by chanting to an object for a couple of minutes? Talk about creepy! I don’t know what to think about all this. I’m rethinking the scene when Milton gave it to me. Nothing seemed out of order. He just took the pendant out of his pocket and handed it to me. No lights, sparkles, fire or anything implying it is more than an ordinary piece of jewelry.
Greg goes on showering her with endless questions about magic and its transitions, but I zone them out for a bit. There was for sure a special reason my mentor handed this item to me. I remember asking him why my dad didn’t have it and he clearly avoided answering. All the same, I remember my dad wore a very weird expression when he saw me wearing it.
“Could it be working as some magical protection charm?” I ask out of the blue, interrupting whatever they were talking about that I didn’t even hear.
She turns and looks at me with a lot of suspicion.
“Many years ago, during the periods of the witch hunt, it was common for hunters to keep the artifacts of dead witches as loot. Usually they didn’t get the desired effect, though, as the enchanted talismans can turn aggressive and are potentially dangerous without the person who wields them. So slowly this awful charm hunting died off and a deceased witch’s belongings are more likely to be seen as cursed. None of this explains why the little ornament considers you its owner.”
She says, still observing the object, but without addressing it this time.
“How do we know this?”
“It is indeed protecting you. And it’s prone to react to people depending on your disposition…”
She looks around when I don’t understand what that would mean and then turns to me again.
“Give it to Greg.”
She orders and I oblige. I don’t see where this is leading, though, because nothing weird happens.
“Now give it to William.”
I repeat my actions. Only this time, as soon as the pendant touches William’s palm, he throws it away, and he turns to glare at her and then at me, exasperated.
“Is this supposed to be funny, Linda?” he hisses.
With her constant eerie, aloof bearing, she directs her attention to me again.
“I suppose you get what I mean… Now, I will repeat my question and I’ll be more specific about it. Who gave you this pendant?”
My words come out without me actually meaning to voice them, as if she compelled me to tell her my part of the story. Not that there’s too much to say, but when I finish, her eyes are darker, with some unsaid emotion that I can’t figure out and with a storm harboring in them. With no finesse, she gets rid of both Greg and William using lame excuses and then turns to me again.
“Listen to me carefully. This pendant carries more answers than I would have imagined. But for me to decode it, I need your permission. A magical item as powerful as this won’t cooperate unless its rightful owner wishes it to do so,” she says with a weird urgency, and her calm facade failing.
“Why would I wish so? What if you’re just trying to deceive me? It’s not as if you like me…” I retort, and she exhales in distress.
“We don’t have time for this. The threat is approaching us. We need to decode our true strength in order to fight back. And no matter what, this can’t be done here. Our magical resources here are barely enough to defend ourselves by covering our tracks. Eleanor’s new powers, though, are transmitting a potent signal that is beyond our capacity to muffle. I’ve been wondering ever since William brought her back here what caused them to manifest after so many years. To be honest, watching her from afar after her parents’ death, I was relieved that she appeared like a normal werewolf. If that was the case, then she wouldn’t be in danger simply by existing. Alas, my relief was short-lived. In the beginning, I thought it was a survival mode triggered by the near death experience, but now that I finally meet you face to face, I have a suspicion that only your pendant can confirm.”
My mind is still full of doubt. I don’t trust witches and for a good reason too, after all the trouble they stirred in my pack through the years. But before I can voice my distrust to her once more, she adds something that freezes me to the spot.
“If what I suspect is indeed true, we may have less time than we think before we lose Eleanor. And unfortunately, by ‘lose’ I don’t mean her death…”
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Hello everyone! I'm open to theories... Will he allow Linda to examine the amulet? And if yes, what will they find?