The Ritual Book Online Novelas e Histórias

"They have, ever since she was born." Cassandra set the little serpent among the piles of gold coins. The creature sagged in defeat and exhaustion after lying before that terrible fire. "There it is," Vasilisa's voice came from behind a mountain of walnut-sized raw rubies. It wasn't hard to find the book. It was placed on a golden stand in between two golden Sirin statues. The grimoire turned out to be the largest book Cassandra had ever seen, with pages made of parchment illuminated with tracery, and it was open to a page thickly covered with elegant, intricate writing.

Aurelian sat in the dim light of his study, the forbidden book open before him. Its pages were brittle, its ink faded, its words written in a hand that had been dead for centuries. He had deciphered it. Not all of it—no one could decipher all of it—but enough. Enough to understand. Enough to act. The ritual required three things. A willing vessel. A blood link. A sacrifice of equal weight. He had the vessel. He would be the vessel. He had the blood link. His blood, poured in a bowl on his desk, dark and thick and waiting. He had the sacrifice. He would be the sacrifice.

As I scanned the page again I saw a heading, ‘ritual’ it read. It looked interesting and maybe I would find the ritual I had witnessed in the wood. I found the page and searched for anything. It had been divided into smaller chapters, the ritual of the initiation, the ritual of the mutation. It went on like that. I hadn't found any specific chapter so I decided to read all of them, see if I found any close to what I needed and was searching for. I read from the ritual of initiation, it explained it briefly first. It was the initiation of witches into their covens. I hadn't witnessed an initiation and so I skipped.

At the very bottom of the picture the caption said “The birth of the next generation. Sacrifice of the mother for the blessings of the son.” Seline covered her mouth to stifle a little yelp of terror that nearly escaped. She looked around the ward, but all was quiet. She picked the book back up and looked through a few more pages that showed many more scenes similar to that one. There were many rites and rituals in full description, even notes on the ideal candidate for each sacrifice. It seemed that every rite or ritual required a sacrifice. It was a horrible book. Finally Seline closed it she did not want to look at the horrors inside any more. She quickly got up and put the book back wher

I was certain that our movements were so soft and fluid that, even if Freya had awoken slightly from her sleep, she might have simply mistaken us for the wind. Once we were a safe distance away, we found a secluded spot and began to set up for the ritual. I laid out the ingredients—the tuft of fur, a bundle of sage, a small bowl of salt, and the book outlining the ritual—and lit a candle, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows across the forest floor. Nathan kept watch while I began to chant the words on the page—a language that I didn’t understand, long since lost to time. I wondered if I was even saying the words right, but the way the words rolled off of my tongue, ancient and power

Cold like a tomb that had been sealed for centuries. In the center, on a stone table, lay a book. It was old, leather-bound, its pages yellowed and brittle. The symbols on the cover matched the symbols on the Kingslayer, on the rings, on the dagger from the chest. They pulsed faintly, as if the book was still alive. Lysander opened it. His honey eyes scanned the pages, moving faster and faster. His face grew pale. A ritual, he said. To unmake the shadow. Not bind it. Not transfer it. Unmake it. Permanently.

“You didn’t find anything about shapeshifters in the book.” I hesitated. He was right. But still, “I found something else,” I said slowly. That caught both their attention. “What?” Ragnar asked. I moved to the bed, grabbing the book and flipping it open to the marked page. “This line,” I said, pointing at the strange symbols. “It’s from the ritual. I couldn’t read it.” I looked up at Caleb. “You said you’re versed in knowledge. Do you know what it means?”

“The second is through relics. Objects touched by your former self, or tied to the power you once wielded, may call memories forward.” Her gaze drifted to the old book resting in Zoe’s lap. “The Book of Life is one such relic.” Then a third finger. “The final way is through ritual.” Zoe leaned forward slightly. “What kind of ritual?” The priestess’s expression darkened. “A dangerous one,” Zack spoke for the first time since sitting down. “How dangerous?”

They sat like that for a while, shoulders touching, diary open between them. Raven reached for the black tome she’d left on the nightstand the night before. She had been studying the final sections late into the previous evening—the most dangerous rites, the ones that bound not just flesh but will, not just bodies but souls. Pages filled with warnings written in silver ink that seemed to pulse faintly when she stared too long. Victoria watched her turn the pages, expression thoughtful. After a moment she took the diary again and wrote: *We have a vast library here.*