Page 34 of Soul Bound (Cursed Descent (MistHallow Academy) #2)

34

MATILDA

“Again,” Morrigan commands, her voice echoing through the clearing where I killed Chris. I haven’t told her, and it’s affecting my focus. Maybe I should come clean?

I grit my teeth and pull at the magick, feeling it surge through my veins. It comes easier now, responding to my will without the struggle I faced before. But my body is another story.

My muscles scream as I direct the energy into the complex pattern Morrigan demonstrated. Sweat drips down my face, and my hands shake with exhaustion. We’ve been at this for hours, and while my control over the magick grows stronger, the physical toll is mounting.

“Your form is sloppy,” Morrigan critiques. “The energy needs to flow naturally, not be forced.”

“It’s not exactly natural to channel Praxian magick,” I snap, then immediately regret the outburst as the clearing spins. I catch myself against a tree, trying to hide how badly I’m trembling.

“Natural or not, it’s what you are, or at the very least, what you are supposed to be,” she responds, unmoved by my condition. “Your power is growing faster than your body can adapt. We need to strengthen both.”

She’s right, damn her. Ever since consuming Bronwen’s memories, the magick has been building, changing, becoming something more. But my fragile body feels like it’s being torn apart trying to contain it. If this is just the Praxian seeping out of the ground and doing all these crazy things, what the fuck is the real deal like? My insides turn to goo when I think about it, so I shove it aside. The plan is to re-curse it. So, it will never come to me wielding the full power. Hell, I might even lose it altogether.

I consider that for all of two seconds. Will I go back to being the wonky witch who can’t cast a spell to save her life? Literally. I don’t think I want that.

I push off from the tree, determined to try again, when suddenly a memory hits me - not one of Bronwen’s this time, but something older, something that feels ancient and vast. The clearing tilts sideways as images flood my mind: a stone circle, moonlight, blood on altar stones, and a woman’s face that feels achingly familiar.

“Fuck,” I pant as the vision goes away. “Who was that?”

“Who was what?” Morrigan asks.

“The woman in my vision. It wasn’t Bronwen. It looked like her, but it wasn’t her. Older.”

Morrigan purses her lips. “Focus on what you saw,” Morrigan says, her tone shifting from drill sergeant to something more careful. “What details do you remember?”

I close my eyes, trying to grab hold of the fragments before they slip away. “She was beautiful. Powerful. The stones around her were humming with energy. She looked like me.”

The clearing suddenly feels too exposed, too raw.

“I need a break,” I say, sliding down to sit at the base of the tree. My limbs feel like lead, and my head is pounding. “This is too much. Between Bronwen’s memories and now these visions, I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

Morrigan studies me for a long moment. “Perhaps that’s because you’re trying too hard to separate them. These memories, this magick is all part of who you are.”

“Yeah, easier said than done, I’m afraid. I know we are missing so much from this puzzle, and I can’t seem to get over what those male Druids did to Bronwen and probably her daughter and… me.”

“You?” Morrigan sits next to me.

“Yeah, me. Christos, Chris. He took my virginity. He told me he would save me from my family. But then he used me and disappeared. Okay, the Praxian trapped him underground again, but for three years, I felt nothing but hurt, and now I know if he hadn’t got trapped, he would’ve kept going, you know? And Night. Stryker. Whatever his original name was abused me for years. I wasn’t strong enough to fight back until the night I ran from home to come here. Why is that, do you think?”

“The Praxian was calling to you? Gave you a boost to get away and get your perky backside to MistHallow? Who knows, Matilda. Does it matter? The fact is, you are here now, and we have to make sure that this wild magick can be harnessed. Let loose without a master, it will be catastrophic.”

“I know,” I groan. “I do, and I’m trying. My body is too weak.”

“Then, we will focus on building up physical strength for a while. Combat training.” Her eyes gleam as she rises and holds her hand out for me.

“Combat training with the former goddess of war. Fantastic,” I grumble, but slap my hand into hers and let her pull me up.

“Stance wide, guard up,” Morrigan instructs, planting her feet in front of me. “Magick isn’t always the answer. Sometimes you need to rely on your body’s natural weapons.”

I mirror her position, trying to ignore my trembling muscles. A bead of sweat rolls down my temple as I track her movement.

She strikes like a viper with a right hook that whistles past my ear as I jerk back. Before I can recover, her leg sweeps toward my ankles. I jump, but she’s already following through with an elbow aimed at my sternum.

“Shit!” I throw up a block, her blow rattling my forearms.

“Better,” she says, pressing forward with a series of quick jabs. “But you’re still thinking too much. Feel the movement.”

I backpedal, blocking what I can, her fists landing on my shoulders, my ribs. Each hit sends shockwaves through my already exhausted body. A right cross catches my jaw, not full force, but enough to make my teeth click.

“Your left side is wide open,” she taps my ribs sharply. “You keep dropping your guard.”

Frustration builds. I lash out but she slips each punch effortlessly, but I follow with a sweeping kick I saw her do earlier.

She jumps it, but I catch that slight nod of approval. “Getting creative. Good.”

“Creative won’t matter if I can’t land a hit,” I pant, circling right to avoid her counter.

“Then stop doubting your instincts.”

She launches into a brutal combination. Something shifts in my mind, like a switch being flipped. My body moves without thought, blocking the hook, slipping the uppercut. When her kick comes, I grab her ankle and shove, finally landing a solid strike to her shoulder as she recovers.

“Now that,” Morrigan says with a triumphant smile, “was natural.”

The moment shatters as voices approach through the trees. Draven, Luc, and Vex emerge into the clearing, all wearing expressions that tell me something’s up.

“Well,” Luc drawls, taking in my dishevelled state, “looks like we’re interrupting fight club.”

But there’s tension in his casual tone, and Vex clutches a notebook like it contains an explosive. Whatever they’ve discovered in the library without me isn’t good. I have a feeling my combat training is about to be the least of my worries.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, wiping sweat from my face with my sleeve. “You all look like someone raised an undead army. Again.”

Vex glances at Morrigan, his face unusually grave before he turns back to me. “We need to talk. About your heritage.”

“Bronwen?” I ask, but something in his expression makes my stomach drop.

“No. About Anu.”

“Who?” I ask with a scrunched up nose.

“The Earth-Mother goddess?” Morrigan asks sharply, her attention suddenly laser-focused on Vex. “What do you know about her?”

“We’ve been looking at this all wrong,” Vex explains, opening his notebook. “Matilda isn’t Bronwen’s descendant. She’s Anu’s daughter.”

The clearing goes silent. Even the birds seem to stop singing.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper, but even as I say it, I know nothing is impossible right now. “I had parents. I grew up with them.”

“They stole you,” Draven says quietly. “Kept you isolated. Suppressed your power.”

“The pendant Chris gave you?” Luc adds. “It was syphoning your magick to harvest it.”

My legs give out, and I sink to the ground, memories flooding back from my childhood. The abuse, the isolation, the constant belittling of my abilities. It wasn’t just cruelty. It was containment.

“The vision I just had...” I look up at Morrigan, whose face has gone pale. “Was that Anu?”

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, but she doesn’t respond.

“Some lore says you are her,” Vex says, staring at her, and I gasp, feeling like a tidal wave has swept my soul away. “It’s newer stuff. I don’t believe it. Am I wrong?”

“You aren’t wrong. Anu predates me.”

The dizziness that was making the forest swim settles at her words. “This makes no sense. Are you saying I’m ancient?”

“No, you were born to Anu twenty-one years ago, but it does mean you aren’t a vessel,” Vex says. “This is what I’ve figured out so far. Read it. Feel it.” He shoves the notebook at me. I appreciate the gesture more than words can say. If they had all started talking at me with their findings, I would’ve been lost.

I take the notebook with trembling hands, scanning Vex’s meticulous notes and diagrams. The ritual dates, the corrupted sacrifices, the attempts to create female Druids from Anu’s blood. It’s all leading to one shocking conclusion.

“So if I’m Anu’s daughter, that makes me…?”

“A demi-goddess, at the very least,” Morrigan states from my other side. I didn’t even know she’d sat down next to me. “Possibly more, depending on who your father is.”

“Correct,” Vex says. “That we don’t know, and I don’t think it has any significance.”

“How did you come across all of this?” I ask with a frown.

“It’s what I do,” Vex says with a sexy smile. “My brain sees things others don’t. It’s like a super computer.”

“Okay, but why?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Why would Anu give me up without a fight? Why would my so-called family steal me and treat me like rubbish? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t they have treasured me?”

Draven crouches in front of me, his eyes dark with anger. “You’d think, but we guess they wanted to keep you weak. To harvest your power without you knowing what you truly are. So you couldn’t hurt them.”

“So Chris was syphoning off the magick to harvest it, my family were syphoning from the syphon, and it was being harvested? For what?”

Luc sits grimly next to Draven. “We don’t really know. The event we are waiting for? To uncurse the Praxian with?”

“So we still don’t know where Anu is now? Why would she let this happen to her own daughter?”

“That’s what we still need to figure out,” Vex says. “Along with what your family was planning to do with all that harvested power, plus the power that Chris was harvesting. It’s a bit of a shitshow still. There is more we don’t know than what we know and we know a lot.”

I close the notebook, my head spinning. “So we uncurse the burial ground. It’s the only way, right?”

“Right,” Vex says.

“Or we might unleash something none of us are prepared for.” Luc gives me a look that screams caution.

The Praxian magick ripples beneath us, responding to this revelation.

“Well,” I say, standing up despite my exhaustion. “Only one way to find out.”

“Whoa, hold your horses there, sprinkles,” Vex says, rising quickly and grabbing my hand. “We have zero clue how to uncurse it. We need to take this systematically, one step at a time.”

“But—”

“I know you’re desperate for answers. But flying in blind is the worst idea imaginable.”

“Fine,” I concede, though every cell in my body screams to act now. “Where do we start?”

“First,” Morrigan interjects, “you need food and rest. Your body is already struggling to contain the power you have. We can’t risk?—“

A sharp crack interrupts her as the ground beneath us splits and black tinged rainbow light seeps through like blood from a wound. The Praxian magick responds to my frustration, my need for answers.

“Matilda,” Draven warns, stepping closer. “Deep breaths.”

“I am breathing,” I snap, but I force myself to inhale slowly. The ground seals itself, but I can feel the power throbbing just beneath the surface, waiting. “I don’t understand so much. I need answers about what my life was and is! Don’t you get it?”

“We get it, Matilda and we are doing everything we can. I’m going to speak to Luke on my own and see where he can help. He has to know something. Morrigan? Anything you can add?”

She shakes her head. “No, but give me time. If Matilda is, in fact, a daughter of Anu, then things have just exploded in a cosmic way.”

The trees around us sway, though there’s no wind. I clench my fists, trying to contain the surge of rage and betrayal.

“What about Laurent?” I ask, desperate to focus on something else. “Where does she fit in?”

“That’s another mystery,” Vex admits. “Along with the sacrifices, your pseudo-family’s endgame, and Xanthos’s role in all this.”

“And my father,” I add quietly. “Who—or what—is he?”

Morrigan shifts beside me, her gaze boring into mine.

“What?”

She blinks and that look she had on her face when I revealed about the rape of Bronwen appears on her face again and I shake my head.

“No,” I say, putting my hand up. “She is a goddess . There is no way the male Druids could’ve done that to her.”

“Maybe not in exactly that way, but you have to remember that times were different then. Sex was a tool, and a powerful one, to enhance magick. It still is in some cases. Maybe not rape, but one of those males ,” she spits the word out like it’s filth, “could be your father.”

“Please don’t let it have been Chris,” Luc mutters under his breath, but I heard him anyway and stifle the urge to vomit.

“I think that is probably unlikely,” Vex states, to my relief. “The male Druids?—”

“Douche canoes,” Luc interrupts.

“Douche canoes,” Vex snaps, “were involved in some seriously black activity. They used her blood to try to create the goddesses. Anu only had you twenty-one years ago. She wouldn’t consent to being with one of them then, and I agree that she is too powerful for them to overpower her. Whoever your father is, I don’t think it’s one of them, and I still believe it is irrelevant for the purposes of this curse. Yes, you want to know, but it’s secondary information right now.”

He glares at Morrigan, who glares back, but I see an understanding pass between them. Good for them because I’m screaming into the void inside, wishing I knew which way was up.