Linguistic Sacrifice

Linguistic Sacrifice

Sebastian hated summer.

Students were noticeably absent, the halls devoid of any true joy.

The Veil was cast only during the school year, allowing those on Erebus Academy grounds to exist temporarily in a liminal space. Until it was cast again, he was invisible.

Invisible and utterly alone.

Waking up invisible is worse than death itself, he thought.

Each morning he descended from the rafters, the cold chapel silent. He’d find himself in front of the large ornate mirror hanging near the front hall. Gazing into the glimmering pool of glass, yet no one would stare back. He’d squeeze his eyes shut, reciting a short prayer—a desperate plea—and each time his piercing blue eyes would open, the mirror would reflect only the scene behind him.

This morning felt distinctly different, though.

The chapel’s normally icy state began to thaw, despite nearing the end of summer. The Veil Ceremony was beginning, and the Prytaneis strode across the amphitheater stage. Black robes billowed behind them, and white masks obscured their faces as they all moved in perfect unison. Cheers rose in a deafening wave.

Once the Prytaneis set the Veil, Erebus Academy would come alive with magic, and to some, Sebastian would no longer be hidden. While other ghosts inhabited the grounds, they tended to keep to themselves or only associate with the apparitions of their era.

Just as the incantation started, Sebastian noticed bright red hair blaze through the throng of students. He whipped his head towards the figure, whose Academy-issued black pleated skirt bounced behind her, tightly coiled curls mirroring its movement.

His chest warmed, but placing a cold hand to his chest, he confirmed he was still without a heart.

Who is that?

She was stunning, resplendent even. With luminous pearl-like skin, and a constellation of freckles across a button nose. Sebastian couldn’t avoid noticing the marked likeness to Isolde, his first love. Their similarities were so striking, he resolved that fate had placed her in his path.

Her name was Anastasia, he found out days later, after hiding behind a classroom door waiting for her to emerge. He wasn’t sure why he hid; he was invisible to her, after all.

Just in case.

Days went by like this, waiting outside of classrooms and cafeteria doors. In between stacks of books. He learned that she loved Tolstoy, and that she had a penchant for scriptology - her writing was an algorithm for spells, words turning into gold and fizzling in the air between them.

Air she didn’t know she shared.

He hoped she would develop a love for thanatology too, as that kind of magic connected her to death. To the fibers that gave him shape, allowing him to continue to exist.

When she passed her first thanatology test, he grinned, sinking further behind the classroom doors as she was one step closer to seeing ghosts.

On the 32nd day, Sebastian emerged from the chapel rafters refreshed. He was surprised to find her praying before the statue of Nyx. Her eyes closed, a quiet incantation on her lips. With a jolt, they opened, and a scream escaped her throat. Her face contorted into an unnatural grimace, arms catching a fall backwards as she attempted to skitter away.

Away from me, he realized, a hollowness forming in his chest.

“You can see me?” Sebastian whispered.

There was that sensation again. A warmth that spread to his toes. At least a century had passed since he had felt this. A phantom blood running through his veins.

Anastasia moved her mouth, looking as though she was trying to form words. She was so wholly surprised by his presence, existence even, that no words came.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, inching forward slightly.

“Look at you,” she said.

Her eyes were like silver pools, and they reminded him of the mirror he gazed into every morning. He wished the mirror would one day give him a reflection. Hers reflected something worse than fear.

Disgust.

Backing away, Sebastian brought a chilled hand to his face. His death hadn’t been pretty. He failed his scriptology trial, the words literally cutting into his skin when his ineffective incantation backfired. Deep-seated lines etched across his bloodless cheek, a festering grotesque wound that never scarred. Without the ability to see his reflection in the mirror, he often forgot what he looked like.

Disfigured. Monstrous.

Others made it clear they thought so too.

He nodded at Anastasia in understanding, even though her rejection was more painful than the loneliness he felt for so many years. She wasn’t Isolde incarnate after all, and his affection was unrequited.

“I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just been a long time since someone’s noticed me. I see you’ve gotten your Thanatology Rune,” Sebastian pointed to Anastasia’s left wrist. Against her alabaster skin, a small shape glowed, an indication that she had an aptitude for the magic that governed death and the veil.

She followed his gaze to her wrist. With a sharp intake of air, she ran her thumb along the amorphous letter. “I suppose so. I don’t know how, though; I was just praying that I’d pass my next exam.”

“Nyx wanted you to see the dead,” he smiled, a lopsided grin, the wounds forbidding his left side from matching his right.

Her face softened at that.

He reached a hand out to her, a phantom heart fluttering in his chest, but she only raised her eyebrows.

“I can help you up. Not just made of air, you know,” he said.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need help,” she said. Sebastian withdrew his hand, now unsure where to place it.

Brushing off her skirt and readjusting her wool sweater, he noticed her initials were embroidered over the top corner in a silver yarn.

A.K. Anastasia Kovalenko.

Sebastian remembered how she had introduced herself in class, and he considered asking where she was from. However, so many things came to his mind at that moment, he couldn’t decide on just one. He had also heard her whisper to classmates about her insecurities since starting at Erebus, and knowing that he violated those intimate moments sent a pang of guilt to his stomach.

“Can I walk you to class?” he asked, offering her an arm. She didn’t take it. Instead, she chose to walk next to him.

“I’m surprised more people don’t see you. There’s many people with thanatology runes,” she said as they neared the courtyard.

The summer had brought verdant leaves and thick ivy. It wrapped around benches, choking the legs and leaving little sitting room. The Academy was often cold, with only a few months a year at forgiving temperatures. The Carpathian mountain climate frequently sent sheets of snow and ice, leaving students confined to their rooms, or large halls where the hearths could be lit and constantly stoked. No one ever cleared away the ivy despite its pesky nature because no one ever wanted to say goodbye to all the green.

“I don’t really try to talk to people anymore. They look at me like you just did,” he said.

Anastasia looked down and twisted her face into a frown. “Sorry. Of course, I've heard about ghosts; I’ve just never seen one in person. It’s my first year.”

“I know. I remembered—would have remembered you.”

His words hung in the air between them, but she didn’t ask what they meant.

They had reached their destination now. The scriptology classroom rumbled with the sound of students moving chairs, textbooks slamming and high-pitched laughter.

Sebastian waited only for a moment before he returned to the chapel. The once bitter solitude of the rafters didn’t feel so lonely, after all.

This became a routine for them. Sebastian would meet Anastasia outside her classes, and sometimes she would accompany him to the chapel or the courtyard. Often, she ignored him completely, appearing as though she was undecided on whether keeping company with a ghost was to her benefit.

Sebastian kept returning.

If she walked away, he gave her space. Now that she could see him, he didn’t want to risk invading her privacy again.

Anastasia enjoyed frequenting the library, checking out the largest textbooks on all subjects. Her nose stayed buried in books, and she always remained focused, even when his gaze would linger.

“Could you please go away?” she said to him one day.

It was a particularly dreary day, with thick sheets of rain pelting against the stained glass windows in the library. Her mood seemed to mirror the bleak weather.

“You’re writing your incantations incorrectly,” Sebastian said. He moved towards her despite her foul attitude. “May I?”

Ghosts could only pick up items that humans permitted them to.

“Fine,” she lifted her arms in surrender and handed him the pen. “You show me then.”

“Just trying to help. I did it wrong once, and it…didn’t turn out so well,” he said, gesturing to his face.

Sebastian wrote out the incantation, line by line, before asking her to prick her finger for the finalization. “I can’t, don’t have any blood,” he reminded her.

“I know that,” she said, giving a flick of her wrist and using her haematics blade, she cut into her finger, a droplet of blood falling on the imprinted stave. It came alive, a flame hovering on the edges, an internal glow that she had only seen in texts.

Anastasia’s eyes widened, and a laugh escaped her lips. “How?”

Sebastian showed her how. The rain continued to fall as they practiced spell after spell. Each gained a different result. Ice shot out of one stave, fireworks another. Until eventually, the librarian, who was sick of the noise and flames too close to her books, shooed them both out into the downpour.

By the time they found shelter in the adjacent dormitory, Anastasia’s red hair stuck to her forehead, droplets slipping off thick lashes. She was somehow even more beautiful that way, as if the rain had washed away her steel armor and replaced it with whimsical wonder.

“You’re not wet at all,” she proclaimed, eyes wide. Touching the un-mauled side of his face, she quickly snatched her hand away, a hiss escaping her lips. “You’re freezing. How do you stand it?”

Sebastian only grinned, the touch of her delicate fingers burning his skin. He relished the sensation.

She avoided his touch after that, and Sebastian longed for the heat that had awakened his decayed nerves. They continued to meet in the library, her thanatology skills flourishing under his tutelage. After four weeks of this, he brought her a gift, wrapped in parchment paper given to him by the kitchen staff.

“Gloves!” she said, gently unwrapping them. “How elegant. Where do you find them?”

The black silk gloves had been Isolde’s, his last remaining tangible memory of her. He had never considered giving them to anyone, as they had sat untouched since she died in 1792. However, he noticed Isolde’s grasp on his heart had softened since he had met Anastasia.

“They belonged to someone I loved very much,” he answered, his icy blue eyes glistening as he blinked away the haze, knowing real tears would never form again.

Anastasia giggled, bright and airy, as she tugged the gloves over her fingers. “I can touch you now,” she said, placing a gloved hand on his injured cheek.

Sebastian placed a hand over hers. She didn’t recoil at his touch.

“My thanatology trial is next week,” she said, placing both hands back in her lap, a subtle pink glow lingering on her cheeks. “Will you come?”

Sebastian had hoped she would ask, though he couldn’t help but notice the sick feeling twisting in his gut. The thanatology trials could be deadly. Half the ghosts in Erebus had been victims of failing one. If Anastasia didn’t complete her incantation just right, she would be wrenched into the afterlife, becoming a ghost herself.

“Let’s practice,” he said, shaking off his uneasy feeling and returning to their earlier focus of spell repetition.

When it came time to give the blood sacrifice, Anastasia did so dutifully, immediately returning her gloves afterwards. She wasn’t seen without them the rest of the week, using every opportunity to touch his face, even walking together, arms linked, between the library and the dormitories. Students stared. While many had the ability to see ghosts, they rarely consorted with them, often feeling as if their lingering presence was desperate and uncomfortable.

Anastasia didn’t seem to care.

She laughed at their twisted faces and exclaimed, “he’s not going to let me fail.”

Sebastian hoped that was true but still begged her to stop saying it. “That’s a lot of pressure for someone who no longer has a heartbeat.”

“Have faith in yourself,” she said, smacking him with a gloved hand.

The night before her trial, she asked Sebastian if she could accompany him home. She wanted to pray.

“It’s…dusty in there. I’d rather walk you home and be sure you’re safe.”

“Don’t be so archaic,” she snapped playfully. “A woman can walk a man home too, you know.”

Sebastian waited patiently while she offered a silent prayer to Nyx. When she was done, she took his hand and brought it to her face, threading her fingers between his.

She was beautiful; there was no doubt. Yet, his admiration was no longer limited to just that. He now longed for the moments that they could sit and talk, her laughter like bells signaling a heart reborn.

“Wish me luck,” she whispered.

They were inches away now, and Sebastian’s gaze moved to her parted lips.

Touching them, or worse, kissing them, will only hurt her, he thought, so he didn’t move. Didn’t dare breathe.

Instead, she moved her lips to his, and where heat burned all throughout his body, ice shot through hers. She absorbed it this time, relishing the pain mingling with pleasure.

When she finally pulled away, her lips were blue, nose pink, as though she had been caught in a blizzard.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, with a finger gently resting on his lips.

The morning of the trial was another bleak day, and Sebastian watched Anastasia burrow into her wool sweater, shaking with nerves. She rubbed her gloved hands together, trying to find any heat she could.

“You have one try,” the High Prytaneis boomed from the outdoor training grounds. “You must create your own Veil utilizing the skills you’ve learned. You will have two minutes to close it successfully .”

Professors lined the rows where students nervously shuffled—staves, blades and books at the ready. The training grounds, once lush with overgrowth of plants, were now covered with frost. Dark storm clouds had surged in, the sky threatening to erupt.

“Begin!”

Anastasia had the incantation memorized, although she had never successfully closed a Veil before. Doing so was prohibited outside of the Trials.

Magic sparked from her lips, but no amount of spilled blood or books could get her Veil to close.

“I can’t do it,” she yelled back at Sebastian desperately.

He moved towards her, careful not to alert the roaming professors to his presence.

“You can,” he said, voice steady. “Try again.”

Sebastian’s eyes flitted to the hourglass. The sand was barely visible now. She had mere seconds.

“Draw the magic from me,” he whispered.

“No!” she spat.

Draining a ghost’s energy would banish them from the mortal world, even with the Veil in place. Sebastian would cease to exist.

“I won’t.” Tears sprang to Anastasia’s eyes as she frantically dripped blood on her stave.

“You’re losing too much blood.” Sebastian was raising his voice now, panic threading his words.

“I can’t lose you!” Anastasia bit back.

“You have ten seconds!” The Prytaneis boomed.

“Now!” Sebastian yelled, meeting her wide silver eyes with his.

“No,” she whispered, a guttural sound rising from her throat as she started a new incantation.

The Veil Binding Spell.

Her form was perfect. Hot flames billowed out of the stave, and when the final words left her lips, she turned to face him.

Then, wordless, she collapsed.

Sebastian threw himself against her limp form, whispering in her ear—begging—for her to return.

Return to me.

Professors and students crowded them. They quickly drew back when they touched Sebastian’s glacial skin. Eventually he had to leave her, only to avoid being sent beyond the Veil himself by an impatient professor.

He found himself back at the chapel, the rafters never feeling so cold. The wood frames were jagged bones biting into his skin. He stared listlessly at the vaulted ceiling, certain that she had uttered the incantation incorrectly and was gone.

He awoke only an hour later, the sound of whispered prayer rousing him from a fitful sleep.

Anastasia’s spectral form kneeled before Nyx. Just like the first time she had seen him.

Unlike Sebastian, whose death left him disfigured, Anastasia appeared untouched, although her translucent hue was confirmation of her fate.

She was frozen in her final moments, black pleated skirt, black silk gloves, and thick red coils of glistening hair.

“Sebastian,” she said, grinning. “Is there room for me in the rafters?”