The Waking Ritual

Scorching heat engulfed him in a burning ball of flame as he fell down, down to the earth. The atmosphere ignited his wings, feather by feather…

She was screaming. He could hear her screaming his name from the ground. Their connection allowed him a glimpse into the fear she felt in this moment as she watched him plummet through the sky.

Cold, misty clouds did nothing to cool his rising temperature as he fell, his body despondent, through the air.

The ground came rushing up, his only saving grace from the anguish of falling from the night sky. It was over within seconds. The rough red dirt ripped into his skin as he landed with a gigantic crash, carving the ground around him into a crater of ash and smoke.

“Ramiel!” a woman called as she rushed into the molten crater, unaffected by the heat. Her red curls fell into her face as she slid and stumbled through the rough terrain, “He's here! Come help me!”

There among the rubble lay his unchared body, immaculately intact, yet unmoving…

That morning, the sunlight seeped through the blinds and over his face like the soft caress of silk. His olive-toned skin, usually vibrant, was now ashy.

Next to him was a woman who sat in a chair next to his bed, her body hunched over in an uncomfortable position. Her bright red hair lay to the side in a mass of tangled spirals, and her eyes, drooping with exhaustion, were red and swollen.

“Julitha?... Julitha?” Someone's voice jolted the woman from her slumber with a start. Her green eyes immediately sought out Ramiel in vain hope that he had risen from his endless slumber. Usually brilliant green eyes, now dull and lifeless, turned to the man who had woken her up. Marcus.

Marcus was a stern and serious man with long black hair and alabaster skin; he didn't show much emotion. However, even he was looking worn as he gazed down at her with pity.

“I… I think we need to call it.” Marcus murmured, “I don't think he's going to wake up.”

“No,” she rasped, “I'm not leaving him.”

“I'm not asking you to leave him, I just want you to prepare yourself.” His frown deepened.

The room fell silent as Julitha reached out to stroke a golden curl on Ramiel’s head. Julitha tried to breath, her chest heaving deeply and slowly. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she processed his words.

“This is all my fault…” Julitha’s voice cracked, “If I had never met him, this wouldn't have happened.”

Marcus sighed, awkwardly placing a hand on her shoulder. He was uncomfortable with touching people, but on rare occasions, such as this, he muscled through it. He sighed, “I forget why I hate you sometimes… Then I remember why I have to. The rules are very clear; you didn't belong together.”

“For what it's worth,” he continued, “I don't think Ram regretted it for one second.”

Julitha grew still. She remembered an incantation that her aunt possessed in her spell book… She stood abruptly, startling Marcus with her sudden movement.

“I'm going to wake him up,” she declared, “just take care of him until I get back.”

“Of course,” Marcus nodded solemnly. Odds were that he didn't believe she would do as she said; he had already given up. However, Julitha couldn't, not on Ramiel.

She stomped downstairs and grabbed her coat, pulling it around her as she ran into the chilly morning air.

Aunt Trulle lived in the basement of a decrepit boarding house, casting spells for those who paid the price.

“No, I will not help some *angel*...” The elderly woman hissed, her spine practically bristling like a cat.

“You and I both know that witchcraft goes both ways; it is for good and evil.” Julitha snapped, chasing the woman into her home, “I've been an apprentice for you in the past. You owe me.”

“I owe a Risen nothing!” Trulle scowled, “I only practice the dark magic.”

“He's a Fallen,” Julitha beseeched, “Dark magic may be all I have to turn to now. The heavens have abandoned him, and hell won't have him without a proper contract. Magic, whether light or dark, is the only middle ground I can trust… I'll do anything.”

“I have no use for a Risen,” the woman spat, “The dark ways have discarded your soul, what use would I have for you?”

“Please,” Julitha pleaded, her hands clasping together over her chest, “I know my soul is useless to you, but I will sign a contract. I can be your slave until the day I die.”

“I have no need for you. Your soul, it burns my eyes to look at.” The woman scorned as she grabbed her book, her long, graceful fingers flipping through the pages as if in thought, “...However, I may have use for a Fallen…. Their powers are highly sought after in the dark world.”

Julitha froze, contemplating the meaning of her words. The old lady smiled a toothy grin, looking much more like a predator than a businesswoman.

“No,” Julitha frowned, “You can't have his soul.”

“It's either that or he stays asleep.” The woman cooed playfully. She seemed to be in a much better mood now that she had something she wanted.

“His soul isn't mine to give!” Julitha insisted, “I could never live with myself if I took that decision away from him.”

“Can you live with yourself if he dies?” Trulle countered. Her hand spread over the page that Julitha needed so badly.

“H-How do I sign away a soul that isn't mine?” Julitha tremored.

Trulle took this as a positive sign, gathering ingredients from around the room as she spoke, “It's simple, I just need some of his blood. After that, he'll be compelled to come to me.”

Trulle set the book down on her desk as she moved to fish something out of her desk. She grumbled. Moved to another drawer and grumbled again, “Where is it…?”

Julitha took in the page before her, a dangerous idea crossing her mind as the elderly woman kept searching her desk. The page was there. Right there for the taking…

If she could just…

Riiip!

Her hand outstretched and tore the page from the book, alerting the witch to her movements. Trulle let out a loud screech as Julitha ran, moving with inhuman speed to catch the young woman.

“I'll get you for this!” The old hag cried, “Give it back to me, you filthy—”

Julitha screamed as the woman's wrinkled hands wrapped around her blood red hair, yanking out a handful out of her scalp. Julitha kept running, and she didn't look back even as the witch cackled into the night air behind her…

The night was cold, winter steadfast approaching. Julitha curled around herself as she trudged towards the farmhouse.

Marcus opened the door for her and rushed her in, “Did you find anything?”

Julitha shuddered as her body adjusted to the temperature inside, shrugging off her jacket. She nodded quietly and set the torn page down on the kitchen table.

Marcus’s blue eyes widened as he gazed down at the scripture, “Dark magic…? How did you get this?”

“I stole it,” Julitha shrugged, her pouty lips forming a bland line.

“Do you understand how dangerous that is?” Marcus chided, “Did the witch catch you!? That's a sure way to get yourself cursed!”

“I don't care,” Julitha snapped, “I'll suffer a million curses if Ramiel wakes up.”

Marcus took a deep breath, his eyes closing as he did so. Most likely, he was willing himself to be patient with her. She knew he wanted Ramiel back just as much as she did.

The list of ingredients needed for the Waking Ritual was simple: the blood of a lamb and a goat's hoof. Then they must recite the incantation above him.

“You're sure this will work?” Marcus asked.

Julitha sighed, “Do you have any goats…?”

“No,” Marcus responded, “but the old man who lived here before us did. He buried every dead animal in a ditch not far away… I'll get the shovel.”

Julitha and Marcus made their way through the increasingly cold and foggy night, old shovels in hand.

The shovels sliced through the ground with only grunts between the two; the shallow graves of several goats were thankfully discovered after a minimum of a few hours. She chose a good one at random, breaking the leg from the rest of the bones as needed, and turned to Marcus.

“I know you two are shepherds…” she spoke through chattering teeth, “Do you have any lamb meat that I could drain of blood?”

“I'm glad you didn't suggest sacrificing one of my lambs, because I would say no.” Marcus deadpanned, “Yes, I have some raw meat in the freezer.”

Julitha sighed in relief, following Marcus back to the house. The morning sun was beginning to rise over the mountains when they entered the house. Thawing a leg of lamb was easy compared to the rest of her journey. Now Julitha stood above her lover with a bowl of lamb blood in hand and a bone goat hoof…

Ramiel lay there, breathing softly as though he were only sleeping.

“Ramiel,” Julitha called out. He did not stir.

“Ramiel,” she sighed, gearing herself up to recite the spell, “Antiquas potestates invoco, oculos tuos aperi…Antiquas potestates invoco, oculos tuos aperi…”

Julitha took the hoof in hand, dipping it in the blood, and began to sprinkle it over him.

She chanted gently, feeling the air in the room stale, “Antiquas potestates invoco, oculos tuos aperi…”

The whispers of the dead began to flow through the room, repeating after her in a dark, melodic fashion. Her hand moved faster now, the hoof splattering blood over his chest as she waved it over him. Ramiel's shallow breathing began to grow deeper; his eyes, under their lids, began to move.

“Antiquas potestates invoco…oculos tuos aperi…!”

The world grew quiet. Not a sound.

Julitha held her breath.

Slowly, Ramiel's eyes began to open, and Julitha let out a shaky whimper, “Ramiel?”

“Julitha?” He groaned as he sat up, completely unaware of the anguish she had been through since his fall from grace. She dropped the hoof, ran to his side, and threw her arms around him. She sobbed, releasing all the fear and hope that she had held inside her for so long.

Ramiel fell back, grunting in pain from his stiff muscles, “Whoa, whoa, what's the matter…?”

His voice was as harmonious as ever. His soft brown eyes peered down at her through his laughter.

Their joyous embrace was short-lived as Julitha noticed a growing pain in her throat, a searing burn that brought tears to her eyes and incapacitated her thoughts.

Ramiel's eyes widened as he realized her physical state, “Julitha!?”

Her hands flew to her throat, nails clawing at her pulse as though she could remove the burning pain. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

She fell to her knees from the bed, sinking to her side as she curled up in endless pain.

“What's happening?” Ramiel gasped before shouting at Marcus, who burst through the door, eyes wide to take in the scene before him.

“It's the dark witch,” Marcus shouted in panic, “it has to be!”

“Dark magic?” Ramiel growled, pulling Julitha into his arms, “Why would she be messing with that stuff!?”

The pain was overwhelming for Julitha. Then. It was gone. She gagged and coughed as the sensation went away.

“Julitha?” Ramiel gasped, gazing at her with distraught eyes.

She tried to speak, tried to reassure him, but nothing came out. Her lips parted, but nothing came. Had Trulle taken her voice?

She tried again to speak to no avail.

“It's a curse,” Marcus stated. Ramiel sighed, pulling her into his lap as they huddled on the hardwood floor.

“Why would you get involved with something so dangerous?” He asked Julitha, fully aware that she couldn't answer, “No matter what state I’m in, you should never risk your own life.”

Julitha scowled in defiance. She would risk her life again and again if it were for Ramiel. He seemed to understand this, letting out a gruff yet affectionate chuckle.

“Luckily,” Ramiel murmured, “I know plenty of white witches… maybe one of them can help lift a curse…”

Julitha nodded, leaning into his warm embrace. She doubted that the good witches would want to help her as a Risen Demon, or maybe they would refuse a Fallen Angel… Either way, she didn't regret her choices. Either way, she would glad spend her life without words if it meant she had Ramiel by her side.