Sezithorum removed his rag, and the apprentices removed their robes. The three of them filed into the ritual room along the wall, the wizard with the Codex, and the apprentices with their notes. They walked around, careful not to disturb the chalk outline or the paraphernalia distributed along it. Sezithorum stopped at the center of the western wall, opposite the door, with Roji to his right, and Tiska at the southern end of the line. Sezithorum laid the book carefully next to him on the floor, then stood and began intoning the magical syllables.
His voice was normally deep and slightly husky, but Tiska was always surprised by the change that came over it when he began a ritual. There was no trace of the gravel or weakness anymore, simply a powerful man issuing commands. He raised his arms and made a gesture like he was picking something up with the thumb and forefinger on each hand, then lowered it to waist height. A tangible ripple of pressure passed over them, head to toe, as the wards that surrounded the keep descended.
She never thought about the wards, except when she saw him take them down and put them back up before and after these rituals. They had to be removed – there is little point in summoning something if it cannot enter, and any active applications of charm that are not integral to the ritual must be removed, or you risk interference. But why have them in the first place? It's not like anybody has any reason to hurt Sezithorum. Her previous mentor never had anything like that.
He knelt just outside the circle and touched his two index fingers together, then touched them to the chalk outline. He then extended his little fingers and touched them to the lines as well. With that second touch, the lines lit up with a faint blue glow, spreading from that point of contact throughout the entire intricate pattern and all of its subcomponents. Now that the figures had been infused with charm, they were locked, they were set. It no longer mattered if the chalk lines were smudged, the charm would continue to circulate along the pathways that had been established initially.
Tiska could feel heat radiating from the arc that passed just in front of her toes. The room felt like it was warming up much more than those little trails should be contributing, and Tiska knew from experience that the accumulating charm was adding to the sensation. Her own anxiety wasn't helping either.
She was nervous about the ritual itself, and worried about whether she would get her part right, but more significantly she was aching to release the charm that was had been building within her all morning. Her nipples and vulva throbbed with every beat of her pounding heart, and she could only imagine how her master was feeling; he was the one who had been in direct contact with the Codex all this time.
Sezithorum fell silent, stood and stepped forward into a small circle, about five handsbreadths in diameter, placed just inside and tangent to the outer main circle. He raised his arms and spoke again, beginning the ritual proper. Tiska glanced over at Roji, who was studying his notes and following along. The tip of his wand, glistening with ooze, twitched up and down as he tried to control his breathing.
Tiska stared at it and swallowed hard, her mouth dry. Not long now, before it would be buried deep inside her. Penetrating her sheath, pumping, thrusting, dragging past her drapes, making her writhe and scream. The top of the shaft grinding against her clitoris, the mushroom rubbing past her prostate.
Sezithorum signaled to Tiska, and broke her from her reverie. She blinked a few times and stepped forward toward the cushion. It lay on its wooden frame in a large circle designated for it, as the power source, where the charm would be generated. She turned around and lay down on her back, propping her legs up. She rolled her head to the right.
Roji was still carefully avoiding looking at her, focusing entirely on the parchment in his hand. She glanced toward her master, who had closed his eyes and was motioning with his hands as he continued to recite his lines. She watched with rapt attention as a droplet collected on the end of his rod and started to fall. A viscous thread slowed its descent, extending most of the way to the floor before breaking. The liberated drop fell more quickly, adding to the tiny puddle that had already collected between his feet. The remains of the filament were slowly drawn back up, as the sticky fluid recollected itself.
Tiska rolled her head back to center, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath. Slowly she let it out, and focused on the old man's words. It occurred to her as she listened that his accent and intonations sounded more natural in that milieu than when he was speaking her own language. Maybe that was his native tongue? What did that say about him, if his native language was that in which magic was written? She would have to ask about that at some point. Maybe that would get him to open up again.
Following the introduction, the ritual proceeded to some call-and-response, which was Roji's section. He took it slowly, but he managed to get all of the strange sounds out. He met her eyes, and she smiled encouragingly.
The master was already into the next section, so she raised her copy of the script, found her place, and chimed in right on time. She was more comfortable than Roji with the language, but she was still concentrating so hard on getting the words out clearly that she didn't realize until it was out of her mouth that she had said "sthrak" again. Oops. But there was no turning back, no second attempts, have to run with it.
