Enchanted

Merrin ran a hand across the glistening surface of the altar, grooves from long forgotten rituals carved into the surface, overlapping symbols that no longer meant anything. A black dust stained his fingers at the touch, and Merrin rubbed it between his fingers and thumb, noting the shine as it smeared across his skin. Not charcoal. But it didn’t irritate his fingers so he brushed it off against his trousers and made sure to remember to wipe it down with a rag later.

He walked over to the cart and rifled through the stash to find the one thing he wanted. Hidden beneath the pile of blankets, cloaks, and clothes, was a roughened sack worn to threading. So inconspicuous that no one would think twice about it, but the safety was worth it.

Pulling the sack from the pile, Merrin took it to the altar before laying it down gently. He carefully ripped out the loose stitches keeping it together and unravelled the sack from the velvet that lay within. The purple velvet was soft against his fingers as he rolled the cover out until he could see the layers of silk bound with golden thread.

Merrin held the bundle upright and pulled the thread until the knot came loose. As he did, the silk unravelled like the petals of a flower blooming in the sun’s early rays, revealing the glisten of the skull within the polished glass dome. It took no more than a second of the skull being exposed for Merrin to feel the all-too familiar sensation coursing through his veins.

The initial rush was better than ever, a fresh surge after spending two long days without it. His heart raced in his chest, and he felt the flush of warmth that followed.

‘That took you long enough,’ a disembodied voice said, echoing through Merrin’s head as he turned to look at the apparition.

Ryth Crowthourne was hovering just a few inches off of the ground, his ghostly form gleaming in the shining moonlight. The gold adorning his fingers glistened as he ran a hand across the black obsidian archway that hovered a half-metre above his head. The loose, jagged stones bobbed in place at Ryth’s touch, and he caught one with the tip of his gold-taloned nail ring to set it spinning.

‘Sorry if you felt trapped,’ Merrin said, not that he meant it, and Ryth knew that, but he still returned Ryth’s skull to its pedestal on the altar. ‘At least you can stretch your legs.’

The greenhouse around them brightened at Ryth’s presence, shimmers of starlight floated carelessly through the air, wrapping around Ryth’s body in a loose orbit. Closed buds blossomed at the edges of the plant-beds, glowing vines tracing the cobbled floor to swirl beneath his feet. The vines raised up off the ground, reaching out to Ryth even once he began to move. A warm smile graced his lips, his sharp teeth bared as he took in his long-abandoned greenhouse.

Even after all these years, it was his.

‘Whatever is in that anti-magic thread is stronger than anything else I have ever come across,’ Ryth said as he stretched out his limbs. ‘ It was so constricting.’

‘It was so quiet,’ Merrin said, lamenting the brief peace.

Merrin watched as he floated towards the gardens, brushing against the leaves and cupping flowers between his hands. He danced across the gleaming cobbles, gliding with an ease as if he were back on the stage.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that a few hundred years ago Ryth was doing this very thing. Though his steps would’ve made the gentlest tap on the stones, and his eyes would’ve been full of life; not the longing Merrin saw day after day when he did anything that Ryth no longer could.

Merrin had to remind himself that it was why they were here. He’d made a promise that, for once, he wanted to keep, and Ryth was only continuing to prove why.

A strange tightness gripped at Merrin’s throat as he watched the other man radiate a happiness that Merrin hadn’t seen for months. The smile on his lips was his real one, not afraid to show his teeth or the way his face creased at the move. A rare, fleeting thing that Merrin made sure to commit to memory before it got replaced by his usual, polite smile.

Ryth, like always, knew what Merrin was thinking and came to a spinning stop just in front of him.

‘Less time watching me, more time unpacking,’ Ryth said, the words no longer just in Merrin’s head.

‘Were you always like this?’ Merrin asked, paying no attention as Ryth rolled his eyes.

‘That’s not important,’ Ryth said dismissively.

‘I think it is,’ Merrin said and tried to take a step towards him.

‘Then think about something else.’ Ryth’s smile was all but gone, and he held out a hand to stop Merrin coming any closer. ‘Like setting up your precious altar.’

Before Merrin could respond, Ryth was gone, his form appearing on the opposite side of the greenhouse. He sat on the bench, leaning down at an inhuman angle to pick up the paper strewn across the floor and reorganise them. With a sigh, Merrin accepted his defeat and turned his attention back to unloading the cart.

It didn’t take long for him to set up the altar, or it didn’t feel that long. Merrin had set up so many in just the last year alone that it no longer felt as difficult to remember the correct placements of all the specific relics.

The whalebone charms had to stay on the right-hand side in order to re-energise the soul gems that sat between them and Ryth’s skull. A bowl for blood letting was in the centre, mostly for ease of access and an attempt to keep the blood in one place. On the left of the bowl was the ritual dagger with its silver blade and handle wrapped in black leather.

Merrin hadn’t fully thought out the left side, it was mostly depletable components–petals, ash, honey, wine, and so on. He hadn’t gathered a whole lot on the way over for lack of space, but it wouldn’t be long before he had just the stuff he needed.

The most important thing was the skull: Ryth’s skull. It wasn’t just acting as the reciprocal of Ryth’s being, but as the font of power for all of his rituals. Now they were here in the greenhouse, the power had bolstered even more than before. With any luck, it would only be the beginning, and Merrin would finally have enough magic to break through the chains locking Ryth’s core. It would still be a stretch, but Merrin was sure it would work.

It had to.

As Merrin painted the last rune on the altar, he felt Ryth approach behind him. Not quite close enough to be touching, but enough that Merrin felt the sparks emanating from his form.

‘I’m just finishing,’ Merrin said as he curved his finger to close the rune.

‘Took you long enough,’ Ryth scoffed, his voice hanging in the air between them.

Merrin turned around, argument primed on his tongue, but the words died in his throat once he saw Ryth.

He wasn’t looking at Merrin, instead he stood in the centre of the greenhouse, much further away than Merrin had thought. Moonlight bathed him in its pale rays, but unlike any night before, they didn’t permeate his body. It gleamed on his skin much like it would have done on Merrin’s own, and the dancer spun in place like a wind-up music box.

It was captivating; the way Ryth’s body spun the light in place, toying with the very beams until they weaved into him. Strands of the silver light snaked across his arms and legs like ribbons. For a moment, Merrin could hear the melody echoing in Ryth’s mind, the harmony of a violin and piano dancing in a time long forgotten.

Rarely was Merrin reminded of the life Ryth had once led, times he was at peace, happy…alive. Times that had made him realise the two of them couldn’t be more different if they tried.

Ryth came to a stop, one hand extended out towards Merrin while the other rested on his chest. He wanted praise, some shallow compliment that would only work to boost his ego, not that it needed much more boosting lest it burst. But he wouldn’t get any from Merrin, not out loud. It wasn’t the performance that had Merrin captivated, not fully.

As he looked at Ryth, it felt as though he was looking at just an ordinary person. Someone living, breathing, despite Ryth being neither. The only time he saw Ryth like this was in his dreams, and judging by the aches in his legs, he was still very much awake.

Ryth was waiting for a response, despite his hand falling limp.

‘Gods,’ Merrin started as he thought of the right words. ‘I can hardly see through you.’

The sharp-toothed smile Merrin got in response was fierce, hungry. Ryth dropped his arms and tilted his head to stare at the moon’s beckoning light.

‘It’s the magic,’ Ryth said, far louder than he’d ever usually speak, with a vibrancy reserved for the depths of his dreams. ‘There’s still so much of it, even after all this time.’

His voice trailed off towards the end, but Merrin could feel just how relaxed he was. A softness permeated his very bones, muscles soothing their long hardened aches until he felt…peace.

When Ryth turned back to him, Merrin could see the sparkle in his sclera, like the night sky encapsulated; it was the very same glistening that adorned his skin. If Merrin really focused, he could hear the soft whirr of the core in Ryth’s chest, the gentle hum that quickened when Merrin caught his gaze.

In just a few steps, Ryth closed the space between them, leaving barely a hand’s width. If Ryth had lungs, Merrin was certain they’d be sharing a breath.

At this distance, Ryth felt ever the more real. Cold metal-tipped fingers brushed against Merrin’s arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Golden claws caught against the loose thread of his shirt sleeve before reaching up to brush a stray hair from Merrin’s face.

Each touch stole a fleeting breath from Merrin’s lungs and reawakened an old ache in his chest. One that was only made worse when he looked up at Ryth.

The deep purple of his eyes bore into Merrin, peeling away at the layers of his physical body before reading into his subconscious. Anything he thought, Ryth would know, his thoughts weren’t a secret, and they never would be as long as Ryth was a part of him. Ryth had seen every dream Merrin had for the past year, lived through them together. Even when Merrin was in the darkest depths of the forest, he was never alone.

A secret he’d kept from everyone, including Zane. No one needed to know about him, about the magic, about those feelings Merrin had tried to bury within him, only for Ryth to dredge back up in the quietest nights.

Ryth’s eyes drank in the features of Merrin’s face, the slightest blush speckling sharp cheekbones. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at Merrin in such a way, but it was the first time Merrin could actually appreciate it. As his eyes settled on Merrin’s lips, Merrin didn’t need their shared mind to know what he was thinking.

Ryth tilted Merrin’s chin up with a finger, his other hand snaking around his waist. A shaking breath passed Merrin’s lips, and Ryth leant closer to steal it from him.

Merrin closed his eyes and pulled Ryth impossibly closer, needing to feel the chill bite of gold-pierced lips against his. For him to smother the ache in his chest and finally feel the touch he’d been denying himself of needing so badly it hurt.

But he felt nothing.

Merrin bit back his disappointment as the ache in his chest ripped through him, feeling like his heart had just been torn in two. Opening his eyes, he was met with the forlorn look that surely mirrored his own. Ryth’s thumb brushed up against Merrin’s cheek in an attempt at comfort, a move that Merrin realised too late he couldn’t even feel. His mind had simply imagined the touch he’d craved so badly that–for a brief, fleeting, moment–it was real.

‘Still not enough,’ Merrin whispered, the words sounding like a dying promise.

‘Not enough,’ Ryth repeated, voice barely tangible in the world, but Merrin could still hear the disappointment tainting them as it echoed in his mind.