I see her by running through the busy streets. It is rush hour. The wind tangles her silver hair. She is wearing a long red coat. She turns right, passing the corner shop and I am determined that I won't lose her this time. I follow, pushing people aside, but when I get to the same corner, I lose sight of her. She just vanishes; I could have sworn that she walked onto the road in front of me. I decide to go back to my car and drive back to Swansea. I must forget about her for now; I have more important issues to worry about.
It’s around half past four and I am still in London, stuck in traffic. It’s so unusual being here and not visiting my mother; even if she has spent my entire life lying to me I still miss her. A few hours later, I’m driving along the M4 motorway feeling tired and hungry. Just before half past ten I arrive back in Swansea. I feel emotionally drained and exhausted. The house is empty, and I am glad to jump into a warm shower and then to my bed. The day has been eventful, but I don't have a chance to analyse everything that Herne said. I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.
When I finally decide to get up, it’s after 12 and the house is pleasantly peaceful. I am in a better mood; there is a chance to bring Gabriel back into my life again.
I focus on the impending exams. There is no point in going through university if I am going to give up just before the final hurdle. For a whole week I eat, sleep and revise. It’s hard to push aside sad memories, especially of Amy. Life is fragile. Amy was so young and had a full future ahead of her. It’s so unfair that she isn’t around anymore.
On the day of the exam, I sit down with my classmates to take American Politics, feeling heartbroken as I remember Amy’s smiling face. A couple of girls who were close with Amy give me odd looks and I know what they are thinking. They have a right to feel angry that their friend is not here. I focus on my paper, trying to ignore the negative atmosphere around me. I leave half an hour before the scheduled time and avoid talking to anyone.
Gabriel was probably in the class observing me and whispering into my ear. I miss his warm touch and his azure eyes, but I have to shut my mind off and concentrate on the material.
I realise that this past year in Swansea, I hadn’t made any effort to make new friends, and instead focussed my time on a man that I couldn’t fully have. Amy was making new friends and enjoying her life and there I was, pathetic and stuck behind closed doors, waiting for my fairy lover to turn up.
After the last exam is over, I feel deflated, wondering what I am going to do next. There is nothing left to do, no more studies to distract me and the reality hits me: I am lonelier than I have ever been before. My life has never been so depressing; I always used to have friends around me. In this sunny weather I take time to think about the end of the month, wondering if I am going to go through with the ritual. I contemplate if I need to go back to London, but I can't face my mother after telling her that I never wanted to see her again.
One evening Michael and Carl emerge from their rooms and we have a chat. They reveal that they found another house to live in next year with a few guys that they know. I take the rejection well, but I can't believe that I have been left out. I don't have accommodation for next year and have no one to live with. It's my own fault – I hadn’t even thought about the living arrangements for next year. I had always thought that I would be living with Amy.
The only person who I can talk to right now is Gosia. She is living in London and renting a two-bedroom flat with another girl. We haven’t been in touch recently, but I know that she would let me crash on her sofa if there were no other alternative. I call her and explain what's going through my mind and she tells me that her flatmate is going away for a month, so she will have a spare room. I have to move out of the house in Swansea by the end of June. The house is already empty with Michael and Carl having finished their exams and left already; they promised to keep in touch next year, but I don't think that our paths will ever cross again.
The time passes unexpectedly slow; every day seems to be dragging. Everything I do is almost mechanical; I eat, sleep and watch TV every day. I am staring at the calendar, counting the minutes and hours before the ritual. I will have to call Herne about my decision soon. Reading doesn't help pass the time, as I can't concentrate; the beach is the only place that allows me to forget about everything and think straight about what I am going to do. Finally, when the twentieth of June approaches, I make a phone call to Herne and tell her that the ticket is booked and I am going ahead with the ritual. I don't know where I will find the courage to cause my own pain, but I know I have only one chance. Herne says that she will be in Swansea in the evening with all the necessary items.
The ritual frightens me, but I can’t back down now; my future is in my hands. The day before the ritual I drive to the station to pick up Herne. The worst-case scenario is going through my head. There isn't any other way around it. I don't know how I am going to take the pain, but I’ve agreed to it now and the only person that I will let down if I don't go ahead with it is myself.
After a short greeting, we drive back in silence. It’s hard to even think about the time that I was stabbed almost a year ago. The pain was unbearable and the time in hospital after was very unpleasant too. By the time we get home it is dark. I offer Herne my bed, but she refuses and tells me that she is happy with the sofa. I make her a cup of tea and we sit down to discuss the next twenty-four hours.
‘Everything is ready on my part. Have you decided where we will complete the ritual?’ Herne asks.
‘It’s around half an hour's drive away; Oxwich Bay. It will be empty and I know the perfect spot,’ I say.
‘It's an old ritual but very simple. You need to repeat exactly what I say. I brought the knife and the first aid box,’ Herne says, looking excited but anxious.
She takes something from her backpack; the knife. It shines in the light and looks very sharp, finished with a wooden handle. I look at it for a while, wondering whether I will be able to hurt myself. This seems so crazy and dangerous.
Herne seems to notice my sudden anxious expression, and she asks, ‘What's the matter?’
‘Nothing, I’m just wondering if this is really going to work. I mean, has anyone else ever done this before?’
‘I am not sure. The book was passed to me from my great-great-grandmother,’ she explains.
‘And did she try it?’
‘Once, years ago. But the woman didn't have any ability; she was rich and desired to experience an extraordinary power.’
I swallow the giant lump in my throat and my body tenses. The swooping sensation flows through my stomach. I am going to be sick. I turn around and rush to the bathroom, quickly vomiting my dinner. All of this is so nerve-racking and stressful. I stare at my face in the mirror for a long moment. My breathing gets heavier and more laboured. I come back to the living room shaking, staring at Herne.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn't have told you that, but you have to know that you are risking your life. This isn't a joke, it's black magic,’ she says and her shiny forehead is gleaming with sweat.
‘I know that, but I want to do it. I can't live like this,’ I say, sitting on the floor. ‘Let's go over this again. We wake up at 4am, and we have to leave the house as soon as possible to get there by quarter to 5.’
‘Yes. When we get there, I will prepare everything – the ground and the knife, and you just have to repeat after me. Then when I give you the sign, use the knife,’ she explains.
‘What do I have to say?’
‘Just a few formulas in Latin. I have a good feeling about this.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ I shrug, wiping the sweat off my face.
The plan sounds simple and straightforward, but at the same time any person with common sense would try to talk me out of it. Before we go to bed, Herne once again runs through what will happen tomorrow morning when the sun appears, and the longest day of the year will begin. At 10 o'clock, I leave Herne on the sofa and I go to bed, hoping that I'll get a goo
d night’s sleep and this time tomorrow everything will be over. I fall asleep pretty quickly as my body is tired and overwhelmed with emotions.
Despite the exhaustion, I wake up at 2am with a headache and I can't get back to sleep. That is the end of my rest and it may be the end of my life. After tossing and turning for another half an hour, I walk downstairs to make a cup of tea and realise that Herne is up as well. We end up leaving the house just before 4, which is earlier than planned, but I am too nervous to even think about sitting in one place for more than five minutes.
The cold sweat starts blazing through my body and my heart starts thumping faster. It is still dark and the streets are deserted and unnaturally silent. Herne doesn't say anything while I am driving. Various thoughts are going through my head, making me more agitated. I can barely concentrate on the road. My head hurts and my mind is blank. Despite it being the end of June, it is only fifteen degrees outside. I can't imagine myself jumping into freezing water with a slashed stomach. I bite my lip and force myself to follow Herne’s plan, focusing on the last positive thought that I have about Gabriel. We walk for about twenty minutes, following the same path that I used when I was here with him a few months back.
We stop in complete darkness close to the sea between the rocks. The tide is coming in and I can hear the waves splashing on the sand. The light breeze ruffles my hair and I inhale the fresh seaside smell. I pull my jacket tightly around me, wondering how much time we have before the ritual must start.
Herne lights a few candles that she had placed around me, forming the circle. Soon the sun is going to appear on the horizon. My body feels numb and I wonder if this is really what I want. I still have time to change my mind. Herne places herself back on the ground and then starts murmuring quickly, probably in her language, while spreading a circle with the white powder. Every so often she stops and roars loudly, but my mind is blank so I don’t pay attention to her words.
I look at my watch, checking how much time I have until what may be my final moment on this earth. My heart is pounding faster and I wipe the sweat off my upper lip. I count the seconds, trying to distract myself from what’s coming. One minute, two, five, then ten minutes drag on.
‘Okay darling, come into the circle,’ she says, but her own voice is crisp and unnatural.
My body stopped responding.
She is afraid as well; she can’t hide it. She looks at me for a long time, frowning. ‘Are you okay?’
Is she seriously asking me if I am okay?
‘I am not feeling well, but let's get on with it,’ I say in a business-like tone. It is getting lighter and I can feel the sunrise in my blood.
‘Okay, you have to repeat after me: Coèuntes, sagittent inimicum meam. Sagitta Magica, Series/Convergentia.’
There isn't time to even think about what that means. I repeat, ‘Coèuntes, sagittent inimicum meam. Sagitta Magica, Series/Convergentia.’
'Three times,' she shouts. 'Repeat it three times.'
‘Coèuntes, sagittent inimicum meam. Sagitta Magica, Series/Convergentia.’
I repeat everything three times as she asks me to, word for word, but it doesn't mean anything to me. I can feel the fear passing through my body, flowing deep into my skin. I am looking upon death and darkness, nothing more is left now. My soul deserted my body, preparing for the final moment. My breaths are shallow, but I will see Gabriel's face soon. He is going to be close again.
I stare at the sharp knife. In a few seconds, it will be inside me, sliding in me, ripping apart my body. There will be pain and suffering.
‘Now! Do it now!’ roars Herne.
I look at the knife one more time. I lift it.
‘No! I can’t,’ I say, falling on the ground, unable to complete the task, burying my face in the sand. I can't stab myself for a man who doesn't love me. I am just a coward, not a hero. This whole ritual was a huge mistake. I just wasted the only chance that I had to ever see him again and I ruined it because I can’t suffer. I’m not going to die for Gabriel, for a man who was too scared to say how he really felt. I start crying, unable to control my body. I lift my eyes and look at Herne, but I feel someone's breath on my neck.
‘You only have a minute to make a decision. The sun is rising now!’ she shouts. In the darkness her eyes go wider as she starts pointing at the space behind me.
The odour of gunpowder and alcohol hits me unexpectedly. Dirty, trembling hands grab me from behind, covering my mouth like a red hot wire. My heart is in my throat.
It's a man; his hands are tied up around mine. I try to inhale the air through my nose, but I am suffocating. My body convulses with fear. Then the sun starts blazing light from the horizon. The man moves his hands to my throat. His breaths are heavy and rasped like he has been running for a long while.
‘She is a coward. She can't even save herself!’ roars the man into to my ear and the hair on my neck stands straight up. He grabs my knife. He releases his tight grip and pushes me away. I fall, hitting the large rock jutting from the sand. Several seconds pass. When I look up, the piercing pain shoots through my knee. I am bleeding but the man is no longer near me.
‘You have nowhere to escape!’ roars the man running towards Herne, who is now white as chalk. She is still standing and glancing back at me.
‘Run!’ I roar with pain.
It’s too late before Herne realises what is going on. She drops her old ritual book and stumbles backwards. She is too slow and the man grabs her from behind, forcing her down to the ground. I can’t move; my leg is probably broken. Then I recognise the man, right before the petrifying screams course through the sandy cove.
‘Shut up, witch!’ roars Richard, slapping her across the face.
The blood drains from my face as I stare at him, not believing what I am seeing. I hardly recognise the man that I know. He is wearing a long black coat; his face is almost black, covered in some kind of smudges and dirt. His eyes are wary, unpredictable and wild as if there is no more life in them. I stand up, closing my eyes, but I fall. My legs refuse to hold my body up. The pain forces me to stay down, unable to move. I start screaming.
‘Richard, what the hell are you doing?!’
‘Finishing what you started!’
Herne is trying to crawl away from him, but he grabs her by the throat with one hand, holding the ritual knife in the other. She is jerking, punching him, but he slides the small knife through her throat. She drops to the ground and the blood covers her face and neck, spreading on the sand. She stops moving after a few seconds.
I close my eyes, trying not to look, trying not to register what just happened. She can’t be dead, but she is so still now and there is so much hot, wet blood on the sand. He moves to look at me and then I get it. I have to move, otherwise he is going to get me as well. I take a few deep breaths, then I lift myself up, but my mind starts to spin.
Richard approaches me slowly. He stands in front of me for a long moment, staring at the calm sea. I crawl away, but he just laughs, then he lifts me. I moan as the pain blinds me for a moment. I inhale the same odour of gunpowder, whiskey and my own fear, hearing the squeak of seagulls above me. When I lift my heavy lids he is licking his tongue across his upper lips.
‘Richard, it's me. Ania!’ I cry out.
He laughs again, dragging me towards the sea. ‘I completed what she asked me to do,’ says Richard. His voice is so rough, unrecognisable.
He stops for a moment, looking around with hesitation. His eyes are gazing around as though he is waiting for someone. The near-black blood is dripping from the knife. I shake his coat, trying to tell him to leave me alone, but he grabs my arm.
‘The completion!’
My stomach clenches with fear, subconsciously knowing what he is going to do next. I scream as the knife enters my stomach and keep screaming until nothing else comes out of my lungs. The pain spreads through my veins, reaching my heart. I want to pass out and not feel anything else. My face touches the cold sand for a m
oment, then he lifts and carries me, but I can no longer feel anything but agony. Every inch of my flesh is burning. I try to open my eyes and I gasp for air as the water hits me. The pain increases, penetrating my whole stomach. The sea surrounds my body and chokes me and I know this is the end of me. The last part of my miserable life.
At least I will die in the sea. There is no feeling in my limbs and I am sinking deeper into the cold water that is flooding my lungs. I am drowning. My mind is not accepting this, but death is near me – close, too close. Slowly, all my memories begin to run through my mind; my whole life, my childhood, my mother. Gabriel is with me and he is a human. We are walking along the coastline, enjoying the sun… everything is perfectly still.
A second... I suffer.
A minute… the pain.
An hour… the agony.
A day… time stopped.
A week… the year is passing through.
A year… The century without him. Birth and death; we all move between these two unknowns.
19