Page 54 of I Will Always Find You
The moment the aura of darkness emanating from the book ceased, the powerful Black Monks, their piercing gazes sharp as daggers, immediately discerned the deception. The expressions of the robed men hardened, showing annoyance and disdain as they confronted the unravelling of their perceptions. They were not amused.
Back at the entrance to the Black School, the Romani witch thrust his hand forward, separated his thumb and index finger from the other three digits, focused his gaze straight ahead, and shouted in ancient Sumerian. “KÁ ba-ra!” [“Open the door!”]
And the once-locked door flew open.
“There, beloved! The way to freedom!”
One positive outcome of confronting the Cannibal Hag was inspiring the Romani witch to study ancient Sumerian magic, no matter how difficult it was to uncover, let alone master. It was not all dark.
The Romani witch instructed his Black Monk companion to keep running toward the opening and not stop until he was outside and across the street. There, a black carriage awaited him, pulled by two Andalusian geldings: one white and the other chestnut-coloured. He was to get inside and wait for him.
As his beloved did as he was told, for the spell he was under gave him no choice, the Romani witch quickly turned tosee a dozen robed figures running toward him. Also, from the shadows of the walls, other dark figures emerged possessing long, claw-like fingers.
Suddenly, a fireball flew past him, which he easily dodged; it hit one of the shadow figures on his left, causing it to screech before dissolving.
Then, another fireball came for him, followed by several long spears of pure ice.
Enough of this.
The Romani witch, invoking the power of Terra, Mother Earth, clasped his hands together and shouted, “Muri terrae eos content!” [“Walls of the earth crush them!”]
The massive walls of earth and rock of the cavernous institute surged together in a formidable wave of energy, crumbling inward with a thunderous roar. This chaotic implosion filled the once-vacant expanse of the elongated corridor, this dark passage that served as an arm linking the ominous entrance to the sinister body of the Black School below, crushing the Romani witch’s pursuers.
However, that alone was not enough for the Romani witch. The wicked place that had corrupted an innocent youth and transformed him into a dark wizard, a self-proclaimed denier of love, had to be held accountable. They had to pay dearly and suffer as much as he did. More.
Upon reaching the outside, the Romani witch stood before the dilapidated, forsaken church, the false front for the Black School beneath, and began to hum. He had one last surprise to enact.
Only as he cast his spell, sharp pains suddenly surged through him; his cheek and forearm felt as if they had been savagely torn, breaking his concentration. To his shock, streams of crimson poured from the gashes, glistening in the moonlight like a shower of rubies. He had been wounded!
The black wizards had launched a sinister assault from deep underground, their magical attacks materializing outside their lair through the use of scrying pools and mystic portals.
Damn fool! You should have expected this!
“Laminae repellunt, magia deficit, nihil sinuntur perrumpere ad testam meam mortalem!” [“The blades repel, the magic fails, let nothing break through to my mortal shell!”]
Invisible energy immediately enveloped the Romani witch’s body, making the air as dense as diamond yet still breathable. This was a defensive spell he had employed for millennia, one refined over centuries to protect against not only metal and fists but also magic. He cursed himself for not having cast it immediately upon exiting the Black School.
Continuing his humming—a concentration technique—the Romani witch extended his magic downward through dirt and rock to connect with the fake grimoire underground, where it lay idle on the conjured stone table. Then, with the power of his will, he combined the Spell of Connection with his portal magic, relinking the two books. He intended to do more than merely channel an aura this time; he wanted to bring through the fire and lava within Vesuvius itself.
“Egredere!” [“Come forth!”]
The fiery elements surged forth, responding obediently to the Romani witch’s magic. They poured through a newly appeared portal that connected the bowels of Vesuvius to the Black School, created by the two now open texts, their pages flaring like the wings of a phoenix. The grimoires served as the anchors for the devastating spell.
The lava quickly filled the room and then flowed through the corridors of the Black School, destroying everything in its path and burning alive every Black Monk it encountered. Many wizards desperately attempted to halt its maddening advancewith ice and earth magic, but the dark power of Baba Yaga’s grimoire was unstoppable.
Some of the Black Monks attempted to create new portals to redirect the lava outside, but the Romani witch had anticipated this move. He had embedded a hex within his spell that turned the wizards’ portals back on themselves, redirecting the lava to various locations within the Black School, accelerating the destruction of the institute.
Keeping the spell active, along with his protective field, began to take a toll on the Romani witch. Blood began to flow from his nostrils, his eyes, and even his ears, but he would not cease his assault, not until the Black School was destroyed and every evil soul within it punished for corrupting Aeneas. He also felt he deserved the pain; the damage to his body reminded him that he was just as guilty.
Although the Romani witch half-expected the founder of the wicked place to appear to protect their asset, nobody and nothing showed up. No dark god, no daemon, no army of Unseelie fairies.
When he saw the ground rumble and split, lava flooding the deconsecrated church, the Romani witch ended the spell, severing the connection between the two grimoires and closing the portal to Vesuvius. Using the power of his mind, he tried to connect with any thoughts originating from deep beneath his feet, but all he couldhearwas silence.
The Black School had been destroyed, and every Black Monk who had dwelled within it was now dead.
I’m sure another wicked institution will rise to fill the void left by this one’s demise, but that’s not my concern to worry about, at least not today.
Exhausted and in pain, with his mana nearly depleted, the Romani witch turned his stiff neck toward the black carriage that sat idle across the street. Inside, he could see the man whowas Aeneas, whose name he did not yet know, sitting rigidly as he desperately struggled against the spell that bound him.
