The world felt like it had stood still in the room, it was a hard sensation to put my finger on what exactly was strange about it or why I was convinced that time had temporarily suspended within the threshold. The incense, thick and cloying wafted through the air just a touch too lazily, its random path slowed and much less random than it should have been. The four heady sticks burning in each corner of the room were all meandering towards the center of the room and swirling over where the healer was prone, creating a sluggish cyclone above his vulnerable form. The sensation had come on as soon as the potion prepared for me by the wise woman had slid down my throat, the initial bitter taste of the liquid immensely unpleasant, but leaving a pleasant floral aroma behind that filled my senses and further added to the ethereal, otherworldly sensation.

The wise woman had drawn an intricate symbol on the floor that vaguely resembled a wagon wheel in chalk, though the eight spokes were all shaped differently and contained different symbols that she had very carefully placed, even referring to an ancient looking book to confirm their placement. Still unable to leave my bed made it difficult to get a good look at what exactly the symbols were, but from my position in the room I could see that many of them seemed to be different variations on geometric shapes and arrows with strange appendages pointing in different directions. The healer had been instructed to lay in the middle of the wagon wheel clutching a bundle of freshly picked morning glory, their blue violet petals closed tight. Once in place, the wise woman had surrounded him with crushed lavender before taking her place standing at his head.

“Florin, stay strong.”

Before I could ask her what she had meant by that, she raised her arms into the air, reaching for the ceiling and the temperature in the room felt like it rose a full few degrees in an instant, the circling of the smoke cyclone above the healer picking up rotation to a less lazy pace.

“Bidh spioradan a ’frithealadh orm,” she intoned in a low, gravely voice. (Spirits serve me.)

Despite having no clue what the words meant or even what tongue it was she was speaking, goosebumps erupted all over my body and a strange tingling sensation blossomed in the pit of my chest. The words felt like they danced on the edge of my understanding, like some deep part of my recessed memory from my ancestors should mean that I understood every nuance of what she was speaking and that I was disappointing them by not being able to decode a single syllable.

“Tàladh agus toirt a-mach.” (Lure and draw.)

The tingling became a deep ache quickly followed by a clawing sensation like something was attempting to escape from within my rib cage. My vision started to tunnel, going hazy around the edges as a very distant, but insistent voice spoke from within my head again, the void whispering its mad ramblings directly into and behind my ears. Though unable to decipher any of its insanity I could tell the creature was bargaining, a tinge of desperation to its echoing, distorted voice, I did not know exactly what it wanted me to do, but I felt a sharp tug on my consciousness and overwhelming exhaustion washed over my sense, throwing me into a dreaming fugue state.

“Florin, cùm gu daingeann. Sabaid airson an solas agus cùm ort.” (Florin, hold firmly. Fight for the light and keep going.)

Clutching desperately to reality, I concentrated on refocusing my eyes which had gone all but blind. My vision cleared enough for me to see that the wise woman and her circle were glowing with a bright inner light, the chalk of the circle appearing as if drawn with light itself and most disconcertingly, she looked to have changed her robes while I was blind, now dressed in a flowing pale green dress that cascaded to the floor, billowing gauzy sleeves bunched up at her shoulders from having her hands held above her head. Between her outstretched hands was now a great set of deer antlers perched upon her now brilliantly golden hair, ivy and wild roses had been woven around the antlers and into her hair, hiding whatever method kept the antlers firmly attached. Her age had melted from her leaving a young, vibrant woman who looked to have only recently reached the cusp of full womanhood, vitality and magical potential filling every pore of her skin and spilling out into the air around her as a pale, lilac shade.

“Tha mi air na h-aingidh a ghairm, freagraidh e.” (I have called the wicked, he will answer.)

A shrill hiss filled my ears and my vision went black again as I felt myself falling back into the void, my consciousness collapsing into itself, too heavy and cumbersome to hold onto any longer. I could feel the glee of the creature lurking in the void as I descended into the nothingness, it was winning and I felt like there was nothing to reach out and grab onto to stop myself from spiraling down to my doom. The now familiar warm embrace of the void swirled around my body and I felt myself drifting away, the pain and stress of life flowing out of me as the insane ramblings became clearer by the moment, their timber still annoyed, but now smug about the fact it was winning. Just as I thought I could surely sink no farther the creature’s ramblings increased in pitch and fervor, panic replacing its arrogance. Like someone had dove for me while I was drowning at the bottom of a deep pond, I felt myself being yanked upwards violently, unseen arms wrapping around me and enveloping me in something tangible that I could focus on to fight to cling to once again. With every bit of energy I could muster I clung to whatever was rescuing me, pushing as it pulled me back up to the surface of the void until I felt myself press against what felt like a taunt membrane, the real world garbled just through the other side but no matter how I dug my nails into the material I could not get purchase to rip a hole and save myself.

“Gèillidh tu dhomh, cnuimhe.” (You will surrender to me, worm.)

The wise woman’s voice sounded obstructed, but close, like she was speaking just on the other wise of the veil separating the void from reality. The creature roared angrily and I felt the void swell against the veil, trying to push it back and fight off the magic that was trying to draw it out of me. Just as the pressure crescendoed to something I thought would surely obliterate me against the veil, there was a sharp pop in my chest and breath rushed back into my lungs as my consciousness returned to my physical body. I gulped in air hungrily, my skin tingling madly from the lack of air and the magic that had been worked upon me and with a few deep breaths my sight and vision return and what my eyes first laid upon sent a shiver of terror straight through my body. On the floor next to my bed was a mass made of pure nothingness, calling it black was not accurate in the slightest, but it was the only description enough to begin to describe the indescribable. The mass writhed and rolled on the stone like a fish out of water, multitudes of tentacle-like appendages flailing wildly as it tried to grab onto anything around it.

“Thall an seo, olc aon.” (Over here, evil one.)

The mass undulated towards the wise woman’s voice, her hands still extended above her head, framing the adorned antlers. As if drawn to a siren, the mass began to wetly spat across the floor with its repulsive appendages, leaving behind splotches and pools of inky void as it scooted towards the circle on the floor. In a show of bravery that I did not think I would be capable of, the healer laid motionless, resisting the urge to flee even as the creature wrapped a tentacle around his foot and let out a satisfied hiss. Just as the creature touched the healer, the wise woman extended down the magical haze around her into a refined point that touched the man’s chest, blossoming a bright lilac light that lit up his stoic face. Finding the vessel acceptable, the creature slithered beneath the skin of the healer and disappeared, causing the healer to let out a low groan and clutch the flowers tighter as he struggled against the invader in his soul. As soon as the creature had integrated, the wise woman dropped her arms and reached to her belt, pulling out a small vial of clear liquid. She pulled the stopper and flung the contents into the circle before her spilling the strong scent of vinegar into the air.

“Crush the flowers,” she commanded.

The healer wrenched the flowers in his hand and there was a distant snarl of anger as the lilac magic was withdrawn and billowed back into the woman, the younger mantle she had donned faded to the elder woman she truly was. The antlers and flowers slowly faded along with her gossamer gown until I was left to wonder if I had ever actually seen anything or if it had just been some sort of fever dream. Her breathing was heavy like she had just been running and on weak legs she made her way to my desk chair and collapsed into it, putting her hands on her knees to steady herself.

“Are you alright, Jon?” she asked, voice weak and airy.

“Define alright,” he groaned, slowly sitting up and clutching his waist in pain.

“Do you hear its murmurings?”

“No,” he said after a moment, “just a clawing pain.”

She nodded her head and let out a long breath after sucking it in deep. “Good, it does not find enough power within you then. I thought it would not, I’m glad that I was correct in picking a good vessel, we have bought some time.”

“But only some time.” The healer tried to stand, but stumbled and had to sit on the floor once more.

“It will try to force itself to a new host eventually, once it recovers enough strength. We will need to destroy it before then lest it latches onto someone it can feed on and corrupt. For now, we rest, it will not harm you Jon.”

He smiled gently, but it was obvious that he was not convinced and who could blame him, he had seen pure evil and terror slither directly into his soul. I felt overwhelmingly sick realizing that the creature had lived within me and had been trying to tempt me into joining it in the darkness.

“How are you, Florin?”

I snapped my attention from the healer to the wise woman and let out a long sigh. “I feel alright, I suppose.”

“Not sleepy anymore?”

“No,” I answered. In fact I felt more rested than I had in a very long time.

“What about your legs?”

I tried to move them to get out of bed and found they still stubbornly refused to respond to my command.

“I see,” she said while nodding her head, “the two were not connected by the creature, as I thought may be true. I will work on a few remedies to perhaps try to help, though I suspect this will just become a waiting game to see how much of your function returns.”

Remembering that she had warned that it was possible to be forever paralyzed by my reckless use of my powers made me feel uneasy despite the relief of knowing the creature was gone from me. How would I defend myself when my aunts returned? If I persevered through that, even then I had never heard of a king unable to walk who could only rule from their seat. I could not think of any political or traditional reason why it would not be allowed, but I imagined that I would not garner as much respect as I might otherwise. Part of being a monarch was all about appearances of power and it would be more difficult to appear imposing when all someone would need to do to disarm me would be to push me from my chair.

“Alright,” the wise woman said, rising to her feet with much more strength than she had possessed moments before, “we need to eat, regain strength, then start to plan how we deal with the aftermath. First though, I need a drink.”

“Make it two,” the healer groaned, “as big of one as we can get. I want to wipe the memory of what crawled into me from my mind.”