Warding Rite Ⅲ

Lighting the candles in parseltongue, Rowan grimaces in pain upon lighting the fourteen candles without the use of her wand. Though her hand ached, it was not bleeding nor was her flesh rent. It was still uncomfortable to use wandless magic, but it was manageable.

With one hand, Rowan reached down and turned off the flashlight before tucking it inside the mokeskin. Leaving the mokeskin carefully propped against the tunnel. She turned back to the shimmering candle circle. The shadows in the tunnel seem infinitely long as the candle flames move and sway from the unseen air current in the tunnel.

Raising her right foot high, Rowan lightly stepped into the middle of the altar without much disturbance to the sand or the altar items. Safely standing in the middle of the altar she knelt down in the middle of the altar as the offering. It was risky, but the ward rite required a living sacrifice be it intent or an actual sacrifice's life. She had no intention of sacrificing a creature's life in order to create a ward as such she could only offer her intent as a humble offering.

Concentrating, Rowan tries to still her instincts screaming at her to not leave her back unguarded. Her neck from facing the wall leaving her back unguarded and facing the tunnel entrance behind her. She was the vulnerable offering and she needed to show it.

Rowan raises both hands in the air (including the dagger held in her left hand). "Magic of old, heed my call," she spoke in parseltongue, "as I kneel humbly before you. I ask for nothing that has not already been wrought. I beseech not for myself, but for that which already exists. Magic of Old, hear my humble plea and accept this modest rite to forge and craft anew this ward."

Not daring to move a muscle, Rowan alertly waits to listen to every sound. She does not immediately hear anything. Then the sound of heavy footsteps is heard along with the sound of slithering scales against the stone floor. The sounds move effortlessly in unison as though it was one being rather than two.

The hairs on the back of Rowan's neck prickle and slowly begin to rise. The sound grows clearer and stops directly behind her. It felt large and heavy and stood directly behind her. She knew far better than to chance a glance behind her. Nothing ever good happened to a character of myth and legend that naively dared to gaze upon what they should not, (such as Orpheus or Lot's wife among a few).

Yet for better or worse recognized the sound of a tongue flick. It was tasting the air. Unfortunately for Rowan, she was able to see its shadow. It appeared to have the head of a snake and or the body of a serpent if the winding shadow on the wall was anything to go.

Acting as though she was unbothered, Rowan raised the silver dagger in the air. Slicing her hand open, she holds her hand directly over the inner circle and allows her blood to fall down below. "I freely offer sacrifice to forge this ward," she steadily said as she clenched her fist to make more blood drip down. Her hand shook from the sharp pain, but she didn't cry out and break the rite.

The blood drops that drip down seemingly evaporated the moment the droplets touched the ground. There is not so much as a hint that the blood had ever been there. The sand looks just as dry as before.

Seeing that there is no sign for to her stop, Rowan grits her teeth and further digs her nails into her bleeding palm. She may be internally screaming in pain; however, she cannot afford to make a sound. Instead, she grits her teeth to keep silent. She rapidly blinks to keep the moisture in her eyes at bay. She is successful for the moment.

Abruptly the lights in the chamber blew out. Rowan remains motionless, so very still. She doesn't dare to move a muscle lest something goes terribly wrong. Finally, she hears the rustling of whatever is standing behind her move and takes a step closer much to her immediate distress.

A male voice that spoke-like serpents hissed, "Speak little runespoor."

Surprised at being called a runespoor, Rowan faltered for a second, before saying, "In olden times, this Chamber was forged by the one that came before me, Salazar Slytherin. I seek to protect that which has existed since the foundation of Hogwarts. I humbly kneel and plead before the magic of old to abide by this lowly one's request."

The being is silent except for the sound of a serpent tail's moving as its scales slithered down the tunnel. "So very young," it hissed in parseltongue. "So much time has passed since I was summoned even by my own people."

The being seemed to be talking to itself. Rowan wasn't one to interrupt. Not that was trying to be polite, she just didn't have a death wish.

"I was and am the Spirit called Nehebkau," the being hissed. "I was born from the Earth and abandoned by the ones who sired and birthed me."

At the mention of the name of Nehebkau, Rowan's eyes widened. Nehebkau is the "original snake" of Egyptian mythology, an ancient, eternal god. Legend whispered that he had simply "emerged from the Earth," yet other legends whispered he was the son of Serket, Renenutet, or Geb. Perchance that is true after all, the child of many yet of none.

Nehebkau represented both the good and evil of a serpent. In early myth, he breathed fire and was an evil winding serpent who devoured human souls in the afterlife. Yet later he was honored as a benevolent and helpful being who was befriended by the gods and mankind. He was said to provide food and assistance to the deceased in the afterlife and that one day he would even assume Re's role as King of the Sky.

Recalling the pictograms and hieroglyphs shown by Professor Salah in Ancient Studies, Rowan furrowed her brow. Nehekau was described as a serpent with two legs to walk on, or that of a serpent's head and tail but with the body of a man (with two arms and two legs). Frankly, she wasn't sure which version was creepier since both images were equally disturbing.

 The silence brings Rowan to the present causing her to shiver. Finally, Nehebkau says, "Go on, serpent speaker, finish your innovation." A long, scaled tail slithered even closer to the edge of the candles, before curling back at the last second.

"To the magic of old, I beseech you to hear my words," Rowan clearly spoke, "Let no unsatiable heart nor malicious heart pass through these doors and enter in. Save for those few of my blood and of the Prince household."

"The cobras from ancient times nested to present protect their young," Rowan paused needing to take a deep breath to steady herself from the pain. The numbness was slowly becoming numb, but the pain still roared burning white hot!

"Let this be a safe haven, a welcoming nest for the young," Rowan crisply said through a tense jaw (from the pain). "Permit the young of the House of Serpents, the House of Slytherin to enter and find safety here. Yet there may be hatchlings from other nests and those few who do not fear to enter the nests of serpents and seek sanctuary in the nest of the serpents."

Digging her fingers even more, Rowan through gritted teeth continued, "I humbly beseech the magic of old to forge and craft this door to protect this sacred nest. I bow before thee," she bowed her head down even further. "Magic of old, by the power which has been spoken, so mote be!"

A strange snake-like laughter is heard, it is the strangest of sounds to the human ear. Rowan remains in her awkward stance without moving. The candles abruptly burst in flame blinding her having been in the dark so long.

Turning her head to the side, Rowan clenches her eyes shut as the light of the candles grows brighter and brighter. Soft changing can be heard by Nehebkau as the sand begins to slowly stir around her. The sand is violently thrown into her face by a fierce gust of wind.

Nehebkau's chanting grows louder as Rowan feels his coils encircle the pentagram of sand. His tail coils closer and around the altar but it cannot pass the roaring flames of the candles that seem to reach the top of the tunnel cave. The crystals begin to glow like jewels as the carved runes on the runestones begin to glow-like starlight. The herbs and twigs begin to smolder from the burning sparks of the candles filling the air with their burning scent.

Hiding her face away from the smoke and sand, Rowan tucks her face in the crook of her shoulder but keeps her bleeding hand raised in the air despite the agony. The earth seems to shake beneath her, but she dares not look up.

Plunged into darkness again, Rowan cautiously pulled her face out of her sleeve. She is unable to see anything in the pitch-black darkness. She hears movement but remains still in place.

 "The hourglass flows and Fate and Destiny return, the forsaken shall return," Nehebkau whispered, "but you already know this little runespoor."

Rowan freezes at hearing the words from the ancient lullaby that sang and warned of the ancient Hydra. She shouldn't be surprised really, but then again, it was startling to have those words quoted back to her. She didn't have time to dwell further on the subject as she pressed her lips into a thin line as her right arm shook from began to suffer from painful spasms from being held up, and further augmented by the blood loss.

"Touched by death," Nehebkau whispered out loud and the tip of his tail freely passed through the altar with rite having been completed.

The tip of a scaled tail touched the top of her hand before slowly slithering down to caress her cheek. Beads of cold sweat formed down Rowan's back as frantic shivers raced throughout her body. The tip of the tail is soft, but scaley a particular feeling. The touch was both comforting and terrifying.

The tail withdrew as Nehebkau whispered, "A simple blessing little runespoor," the large figure turned away with his trail trailing behind in goodbye. "Beware of the gifts of Death for Death is a cunning trickster."

At the mention of Death, Rowan's expression grew solemn. The only gift Nehebkau can be referring to is her elder wand that has been touched by Death. She was not the master of her wand rather her wand now held a mind of its own. She could sense it at times and it terribly worried her. It was merely biding its time for now, but one day it would act out as it so horribly desired.