Spellsinger

Wind whistled against the cliffs of Molpe, accompanied by the echo of waves crashing below to create a symphony in the night. The tinkling of the windchimes hanging on our porch added to the effect, filling my ears with their lovely sound. I scoffed. Despite my natural inclination to music, I’d long since shunned any appreciation of song.

Turning away from the cliffs and chimes, I leaned over the porch guardrail to look upwards. Stars shone dimly through the low-hanging pink and gray clouds of sunset, just beginning to open their eyes and gaze upon the earth in their twinkling glory. It would be a perfect night for the coven, which meant it would be a dreadful night for me. I pulled back, swiveling toward the front door. Already, I was formulating a plan to get out of tonight’s spellcasting by the sea.

The halls of our house were already warmly lit by candles as I followed the familiar path to our small library, where my grandmother was likely deciding what enchantment to call on tonight. As the matriarch of our family, she was the person my mother, aunts, and cousins all turned to when it came to summoning our magic. She was also the person I’d have to convince to allow me to skip tonight’s ceremony. In theory, it shouldn’t be difficult. I was the only girl born to our line of siren-descended witches who couldn’t sing, and therefore couldn’t access my magic. There was no reason for me to attend our coven’s rituals. However, my grandmother liked to ensure I attended every full-coven rite anyway, much to my chagrin.

I roamed through the twisting halls of our house, nearly to the living room when I heard the sound of my name behind a closed door. I paused, noticing it was my grandmother’s room, and the voice belonged to my mother. Despite my better judgment, I leaned closer, pressing my ear to the ornate wooden door.

“She’s eighteen, surely she can handle it now.” My mother sounded agitated.

“You know very well why we can’t do that, Selma,” my grandmother argued.

“Have you seen her recently? This lie is killing her. She hardly eats, hardly sleeps, hell, she leaves the room every time I sing a charm. Think about how she feels,” she pleaded on my behalf. My stomach twisted at her words. It was true, I couldn’t bear to hear the beautiful voices of my family when my own was so gravelly and hoarse I couldn’t even cast a simple blessing with it. But what lie was she talking about? What were they keeping from me? I held my breath, desperate to hear my grandmother’s response.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of her feelings?” she snapped. “This is what’s best for her. You know as well as I do that there’s a reason I took her voice when she was a child, and that reason hasn’t changed.”

I stumbled back, feeling my heart momentarily stop in disbelief. Air emptied from my lungs in a single whoosh of breath. My mind spun, blurring my surroundings. My voice, the reason for my isolation, my self-loathing, was taken from me by my grandmother. I needed to think, needed to process, needed to cry, but I couldn’t do it here. With my cheeks wet and salt suddenly on my tongue, I raced from the house.

I ran, my feet guiding me as those overheard words tumbled through my mind again and again. I didn’t see the concerned faces that I passed, or the corners I turned, didn’t heed the darkened alleys I raced through, until I found myself standing outside of an imposing mansion on the other side of town. Similar in size to my own, this house was also home to a coven. Unlike my home, however, which was filled with light and music, this one was covered in moss and ivy, boasting a sprawling garden of every herb, flower, and root that would grow in its soil. A family of earth witches lived here, one of whom was my closest friend, Wren.

Wiping tears from my eyes with my palms, I crept through the garden on one of the few spindly trails that led to the back of the house. A light shone dimly through one of the highest windows, hardly visible through the layers of foliage garnishing the wall. Crouching down to run my fingers through the dirt, I found an acorn and threw it at that glowing window. The silence grew heavy as I waited, dragging me back to my spiraling thoughts. I bit my lip and turned my attention back to the ground, searching for another acorn or pebble to throw at the window. I’d just launched a small rock at the pane when it swung open, tearing ivy from the wall with it. The rock flew inside.

“Ouch!” cried a familiar voice, and a moment later Wren stuck her head out the window, squinting into the darkness. Her curly dark hair hung around her face, silhouetted by the light from inside to create the appearance of a halo. She found me after a few seconds, cocking her head and leaning even farther out the window. “Elodie? What are you doing here? I thought your family practiced on full moons.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. I realized my hands were shaking. Clearing my throat, I tried again. The only thing I could get out was, “I need you”.

Wren’s face fell and she ducked inside. The light went out a moment later, and the thud of her door shutting echoed from the still-open window. My arms were stiff as I drummed my fingers against my thighs anxiously. It felt like an eternity passed before the back door opened, flooding the garden with light. Wren ran out, her bracelets jangling on her wrists with each step. Closing the distance, I collapsed against her and sobbed into her shoulder. “They took it,” I forced myself to say. “They took my voice. They took my magic.” She stiffened, as though my words had wounded her, and grabbed my arms, pushing me away to look her in the eyes.

“Slow down and tell me again,” she commanded, and so I did. I told her the conversation I’d overheard, my grandmother’s voice still ringing in my ears. The further I got into the story, the stonier her expression got. By the time I reached the end, she was nearly seething.

“How could they do that to you? To deny a witch her connection to magic, her very nature… it’s abhorrent.” She drew away and started pacing, careful to avoid stepping on any plants even in her rage. She continued to splutter and curse until she finally stopped and spun toward me, her face set with determination. “We can fix this. I’ll brew a vocal potion, and with the full moon tonight we can perform a summoning ritual, and we’ll free your voice from whatever curse your grandmother used to lock it away.”

Wren’s plan sounded desperate, possibly reckless, but having something to do eased my breathing. I nodded to her, and she immediately set to work gathering ingredients from her garden. Stepping back to let her work, I snuck inside to find Wren’s grimoire. I kept my steps quiet to avoid alerting her coven as I crept up the stairs. The matriarchs of our covens disapproved of interactions between our two families – some generations-old prejudice we held against each others’ magics – and wouldn’t be happy to find me inside the forest coven’s house.

Wren’s grimoire was easy to find, half-wedged under her mattress and sticking out haphazardly. Outside her still open window, a flash of green light awoke the night. I peered out, but couldn’t see anything in the gloom. A glance at the sky made my heart stutter, and I ducked back inside, rushing down the stairs. If we were going to do this, we had to be fast. The moon was already nearing its apex.

By the time I returned with the grimoire, Wren had finished the potion. She was popping a cork into the bottle of emerald liquid as I emerged through the back door, a satisfied smile on her face. The potion glowed slightly, reflecting in her eyes to make them gleam a vivid green in the moonlight. I held up the grimoire in one hand, and she traded me the bottle for it. The glass was warm in my palm. Upon closer inspection I realized it wasn’t the potion itself that was luminous, but rather particles within the mixture that swirled with dancing light like fireflies. I looked up and met Wren’s gaze. With a shared nod, we began the trek to the lunar circle.

It was only a short walk through the woods to reach the lunar circle. It sat atop a hill not too far into the forest, guarded by ancient illusions and wards to keep curious townspeople out. The circle had been largely unused for centuries, a relic of the lunar witches who once called Molpe home.

Wren was silent as we walked, her mouth occasionally moving but no sound escaping her lips. She gently ran her finger along a page in her grimoire, silently reciting the words she would speak. I stayed quiet, trying not to interrupt her focus as she practiced whatever spell she’d determined would work best.

The zing of the circle’s protective wards snapped over us as we crested the hill, leaving the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I shivered. Beside me, Wren coughed on the foreign magic of the long-lost lunar coven. She strode onto the gleaming white stones, standing out starkly against their brilliance. They remained polished and clean, despite the years of disuse. At the center, a full moon was engraved in stunning detail. The remaining moon stages lay evenly spaced along the edges like the numbers on a clock. Spinning in a slow, appreciative circle, Wren let out a low whistle. “This should work,” she said confidently. “Now, let’s hurry before we lose any moonlight.”

I followed her out onto the center of the circle, and she retreated to the edge. The moonlight was especially bright here, glinting off the pearly white stones to shine on me from above and below. I blinked against it, my eyes still adjusting as Wren set her grimoire open at her feet and gave me a contemplative look, her brows drawn tight in concern.

“You know, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said carefully. “We don’t know why they took your voice in the first place.”

My shoulders slumped before I could stop them. The feeling of betrayal sharpened in my heart, stabbing me with each beat. “How could you say that?” I asked. “I’ve been denied this piece of myself my entire life and we have the chance to fix that, and you don’t want to follow through?”

Wren’s mouth tightened with contrition. “Of course I want to help you, but I can’t help but wonder if we’re rushing into this. Taking your voice is such a drastic measure. Why would your family do that unless they felt they had no choice?”

I stepped toward her. The moonlight shining through the leaves danced across her anxious expression. “Please, Wren. For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt this void, this hollowness where magic should be. I’m a witch who can’t connect with nature. Imagine how you’d feel if you suddenly lost that connection. If you could feel the magic around you, always at your fingertips, and yet you couldn’t touch it.”

Her face softened. “Elodie, I’ve thought about that ever since I met you, and I’m so sorry that you’ve been denied this part of yourself. But don’t you think–”

“I don’t want your pity.” I interrupted her, my fists tightening at my sides. “I just want your help. Please.”

She chewed her lip for a moment before nodding, somewhat reluctantly. “You need to stand in the center of the circle as I chant the summoning spell. Drink the potion when the circle fills with light, and whatever you do, don’t move a step from the beginning of the spell to the end. The consequences of breaking this ritual could be disastrous.”

Gripping the bottle rigidly in both hands, I firmly planted my feet on the engraving of the full moon. The liquid within sloshed as my hands shook with nerves. Wren gave me a tight, hopeful smile. I tried to reciprocate, but all I managed was a grimace. Biting the inside of my cheek, I gave her a stiff nod to begin. Hesitation shone in her eyes, and despair started to creep around my ribcage and squeeze at the thought of her refusing to perform the ritual, but after a breath she raised her arms to the sky and began chanting.

At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly creeping out from the circle’s center until it filled every edge, the already unnaturally bright white stones began to glow. Wren’s arms filled with that same light. It cascaded down into her hair, making it ripple with wind that wasn’t there. The sounds of the forest, little more than background noise before, faded away entirely until the only sound was Wren’s labored chanting. I wondered at her power. It was so unlike the songspells of my coven, and yet musical in its own right. A guttural, heavy chant that seemed to defy gravity as it climbed moonbeams into the sky.

When the circle shone so brightly that I had to squint against the light, I uncorked the bottle and gulped down Wren’s potion. The taste was bitter, like hickory nuts, and carried notes of peppermint and eucalyptus, topped with sage. As I drank, I could feel it collect at the base of my throat, where it began to burn dully. Finishing the potion, I tossed the bottle out of the circle. Wren kept chanting as the potion began to take effect.

“Sing, Elodie!” she called through a pause in the spell, her voice sounding far away. A lump formed in my throat and I forced it down with a swallow. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and sang.

My voice was croaky as I began. It rattled out of me as though it were full of cobwebs and smoke, just as it always did when I sang. It cracked and whined with each note, making me cringe at the sound of it. I refused to open my eyes to see Wren’s reaction. Not once in my life had I ever sung in front of her, it was too humiliating. Yet as I continued to sing, there were less and less cracks. My voice morphed from rough to smooth with every word that left my tongue, until the voice that streamed out of me was foreign and lovely, and yet intimately familiar in a way I never dared dream. I felt light and free, and as my voice finally settled into its truth, I felt a rush of power. The magic that had always felt so close but out of reach now flowing over my skin like water.

I opened my eyes in disbelief, tears slipping down my cheeks. A joyful smile pulled at my lips with each note, and I threw my arms out to my sides as I basked in the sound of my own voice. Never had I felt so complete, so purely, truly happy. Wren, still chanting, kept her gaze on the moon in focus, though tears shone on her own face. I wanted to race to her, collect her in a giant hug and cry, but I had to wait until she finished the spell.

I laughed, and even the sound of that was more twinkly than before, more musical. Wrapping my arms around myself in a hug, I peered up at the stars, which sparkled as brightly as I felt.

And just as suddenly as my voice had changed, my perfect bubble of happiness popped.

"Hello," a voice said. It was just like my own, and yet not. Something other.

My arms fell to my sides and I tensed, looking around the circle to see who had joined us. There was no one there. “Hello?” I asked tentatively.

"So you’ve broken the curse our grandmother placed on us all those years ago. You’ll regret that," the voice said. A wave of cold rushed through me, my hands prickling with ice.

“What do you mean our grandmother?” I whispered, so that Wren couldn’t hear me. She gave me a quizzical look, her gaze darting to mine briefly before returning to the moon. I shook my head at her. She had to stay put until the spell was done.

"I mean exactly that," the voice replied. "Our grandmother, who cursed us to keep me at bay, to protect her precious Elodie." The way it said my name was almost mocking, drawing out the “ie” sound to make it whiny and naive. When I didn’t respond the voice continued. "Don’t you remember me?"

“No,” I said quietly. “Who are you?”

"I’m hurt, sister. How could you forget your twin?" That title, sister, made me freeze. My feet, which were already rooted to the ground, became like stones. The sensation slowly crawled up my legs and torso as well, until I felt like a statue. "That’s right," the voice chided, "sister, as in the one you absorbed in the womb. You’re the reason I never had a voice of my own. But I found a way, oh, I found a way." The voice laughed, the sound of it like bones breaking in my skull. "You’re going to regret freeing me," she said again, her voice dripping with resentment.

With those words, my body seized. The world grew cold, and in a blink I felt nothing at all. My hands raised, and my eyes inspected them, but I wasn’t in control. I could only watch helplessly as my body reacted to commands made by someone else. I was possessed by a twin sister I never knew existed. Fear, which once would have made my stomach flip and my knees quiver, instead flooded my very essence as it had nowhere to go. The sensation was near overwhelming, darkening my vision and dulling my remaining senses. Distantly, I heard a voice that was both my own and not begin to sing.

I fought against the fear that blocked my senses, the notes of the song she was singing slowly becoming clearer until my horror was renewed at the realization of what my twin was doing. The spell she sang was of dark origin, one that our ancestors sang to lure sailors to their deaths. No one had sung those notes in centuries, yet their potency was evident in the expression Wren wore.

She had turned gray, her whole body trembling with the effort of not moving to wherever my twin was commanding her. Her arms shook more violently than ever as she continued her chant. I wondered why she hadn’t stopped her casting, ending the spell and forcing the dark power within me back to its cage. I realized the answer a moment later, her warning echoing back to me gravely: “Don’t move a step, the consequences of breaking this ritual could be disastrous”.

As one of Wren’s hands began to inch toward her pocket where I knew she always kept a knife for gardening, determination settled in me, along with a wave of grief. I knew what must be done. Carefully, I pushed back against the force of my sister, testing her awareness. She didn’t react, fully focused on the spell she sang. Slowly, I flooded my consciousness downward into my left foot. I may not have been able to take back control entirely, but if I put all of my energy into one movement, I might have a chance. The song hit a crescendo, rising up and peaking on a high note. I made my move.

The effort it took was almost insurmountable. My foot was heavy as lead, but as that last high note faded into the sky, I stepped out of the circle’s center.

Immediately, the light filling the circle vanished, turning the hill and surrounding trees dark. I stumbled forward, suddenly in complete control of my body again. My sister’s presence was once again locked up, though I could have sworn I felt her pounding against my mind, desperately shrieking to be released. Falling to my knees, I panted, my reflection a swath of darkness against the polished white stones. I looked up, meeting Wren’s gaze. Color was slowly returning to her cheeks, though she stood petrified, fear flickering like lightning in her eyes.

“What happened?” Wren asked me, her voice wobbly.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I tried again, but all I could manage was a rush of air. My eyes widened involuntarily. The price of my actions, realized in silence. Concern dawned on Wren’s face, and a tear slipped down my cheek. I started to hyperventilate. Wren broke from the remains of her trance and raced into the circle, enveloping me in a hug where I sat speechless.

“That wasn’t you,” she said. “I know it wasn’t, I could feel it, there was another presence in the circle. I’m so sorry Elodie. I know that wasn’t you.”

I shook in her arms, silent sobs choking out of me as my tears soaked her dress for the second time that night. Although it was futile, my mouth kept shaping words, their sounds falling into an abyss before I could speak them into fruition. The only thing I could force past my lips was a rush of air that barely took the form of “coven”.

“What they did was unforgivable, regardless of what just happened.” Wren told me, gripping my hands tightly in hers. “We’ll be our own coven, Elodie. Screw the rest. You never have to go back to them if you don’t want to. Do you understand me?” I nodded, my breaths shaky and uneven. Wren leaned back, her hazel eyes bright with tears. “We’ll find a way to get your voice back, I promise.”

Her words warmed me, and I realized that I was crying for not just grief, but also relief. My friend, who would do anything to help me, was still alive. And if it came to it, I would give up my voice a thousand times over to keep her that way. She was my coven.