Whispers of Fate: Part 4

Part 4

The cold was a force created by Mol, the god of death, as a way of putting an end to any that stood defiant in his Winter’s wake. Ashallalah, looking upon all living things with kind eyes, as she had created each one, gave to them fur so that Winter could not tug away at their life. However, mankind, realizing their feigned greatness over the Earth, stripped themselves of fur, choosing a life of cold as opposed to a life of comfort. But soon they learned of their blunder. In order to survive, they stripped others of the fur they, having lost, now desperately desired. Angry at their defiance, Ashallalah created snow which would come down and soak their stolen fur, causing them to shiver once more. To fight back, man made an inferno, one that could swallow the whole world. One that no god, no matter how hard they tried, could take away. 

A long shiver echoed through Natalie’s bones.

“Focus, child, we will have a fire yet.”

Ashallalah took Natalie’s drooping hand and pointed it toward the empty fire pit. Fuel had run out two days ago as she had only brought enough for fifteen days and this was the seventeenth. She still was not sure why she didn’t bring enough, maybe it was instinct that something would protect her but most likely it was out of naivety that she was unprepared.

Closing her eyes, she focused her will towards her finger tips. 

“Now, embrace the inferno within you, my young Mara. Let it spill from the flame in your soul and out through your arm.”

Natalie’s brow furrowed as her mind was filled by the image of a great fire, akin to one lit at the coven to keep the witches warm as ceremonies were underway in the woods out of town. Isa was there, chanting words that she could not hear but words that spurred on a confidence within Natalie that could not be replicated.

“Open your eyes, Mara, we have fought back at Winter’s wake once more.”

Doing as she said, Natalie opened her eyes, flames glistening in her wide eyes. She turned around and looked excitedly at her otherworldly mentor. “I did it! I finally did it! Did you see?”

Ashallalah smiled, a warm, motherly smile. “Yes, my child, I have. You are learning significantly faster than any other witch of your age. Very good.”

 Natalie beamed at the fire created by her own hand. What was this strange feeling she felt? Pride? Something she had never experienced before. It made her heart warm in tandem with the flicker of the fire. It felt good to be praised.

“Good, now…”

Ashallalah raised her hand and suddenly the fire was reduced to a smoke that dwindled and disappeared. “Try it again with my bangle.”

Doing as she was told, Natalie took the bangle in her hand and slipped it over her shaking hand. Raising it once again, she pointed at the pit.

“Do this with your eyes open. Once again, feel the flame within.”

Without a full thought, a gout of fire flew from Natalie’s hand and filled the pit, its tongues melting the snow around her feet.

“Now you see. This is not just a piece of ornate jewelry. The bangle is a vessel for the magic of the gods. A vessel that only you can awaken.”

Natalie looked in awe at every stone embedded in the silver.

“Trust no one with this knowledge and share with no one this power. Many beings of evil will try to take it from you. Stay stalwart and true and never let it escape your gaze. Do you understand, Mara?”

Natalie nodded, her fingers caressing the thin band. “Yes, I do. I shall never let it leave my side.”

A light knock on her chamber door gently interrupted Drysi’s dreamless slumber. The sun was just going down outside her window, dusk awakening into a new night. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and tried to pat down her ratty halo of hair surrounding her gaunt gaze. It was to the visitor that she mumbled. “Come in.”

Through the heavy oaken door came a familiar tall figure. After shutting the door behind him, Kestrel took a seat at the foot of her bed and allowed his hand to rest on her maroon sheets. 

“Oh, hi Kes. Did you need something?”

Instead of matching her gaze, he simply looked ahead, more distant than usual. “It is time. I know you have been annoyed by our stagnation but now this stalling has been put to an end. Prepare yourself, I want you to watch as we reclaim our lives. I want you to be there. To be the first one to see the coven crumble.”

He held out his hand. “Will you come with me tonight?”

Drysi wasted no time in considering his offer. Instead, she took his hand with both of hers. “I look forward to it more than anything. Shall I wear my pink dress? No, red. No, I should wear black, Mol’s sacred color.”

Kestrel offered up a light grin, a devious glint in his eye. Indeed, he had taught her well. “Yes, my dear, black would suit you well. Our god will be pleased to see you dressed accordingly at our greatest triumph.”

Standing up, he moved for the door. “Be downstairs and ready to leave by eleven, the attack commences at twelve and I wish for both of us to have the front row seats.”

Kestrel paced the base of the grand staircase, his eyes darting back and forth between his pocket watch and the top of the stairs. The clock had struck eleven and was fifteen minutes past.   “Must she take so long?”

She pulled and pushed at the seams on the dress. No matter how she wore it, Drysi never felt comfortable in fancy clothing. It was either too big around some areas or too small in others, never right. Never right. Such was her feelings about almost everything these days. From the dress to time itself. Everything seemed to be off. So much so that she found herself doubting if she was right to want the downfall of the witches. Suppose they did curse her, what would killing all of them solve? Would their death solve all the problems in her life? Or was this simply vengeance? A superficial solution to a very real problem. Maybe… maybe Kestrel was- no, don’t be silly. He-

“Drysi! Are you ready yet?”

Her senses came back into control, her eyes staring into the mirror at her own soul. After a second’s hesitation, she yelled back. “One moment!”

Tearing her gaze away from herself, she quickly stepped through the door as if all of her doubts would be left in her room. They weren’t, of course, but it was worth a try.

“You look beautiful, my dear.”

Kestrel looked up at the young girl and held out his arm for her to take. He thought it was a waste of a good dress but it was all about appearances, naturally. 

“Shall we go? We don’t want to be late, after all.”

Drysi, fighting the shaking in her arm, rested her hand on his elbow. “Yes. Yes, let us.”

As they reached the courtyard of the castle, Kestrel released the young girl and signalled for a young vampire to approach. When she had approached, she nodded to Drysi before allowing her form to shift and stretch until, where there was once a beautiful woman, there stood a majestic stallion larger than most horses. As she climbed onto her back, Drysi found herself still in awe at the vampire’s abilities to shift into animalistic forms. She also found her jealous at how painless they made it seem, as if they couldn’t even feel it at all. They even seemed to enjoy it. She wished she could find the joy in her own transformation but only found pain.

At Kestrel’s whistle, Drysi’s steed took off at a breakneck pace, her hooves aiming for the great city: London.

It was Clarissa that had seen them first. She was watering the flowers in the cemetery, as was her usual job. At first, she only saw a singular pair of red eyes between buildings in the distance. Having seen it in her peripheral vision, she doubted if they were even there at all. But, as the number of eyes grew, she knew that, in that moment, she was not going insane.

She had seen this very moment many times through the fog of a dream. Ever since that day of the chase, she had been unable to shake her visions of the hoard of vampires chasing behind her just close enough that she could feel their cold breath on her neck. A shiver ran through her body as she realized that the time was nigh for her dreams to come true. 

In a panic, and with the stride of a fox, Clarissa sprinted down the corridors of the coven and slammed her whole body into the door of Mother Isa’s chamber. A moment after she had stopped to catch her breath, the door swung open. Clarissa opened her mouth to say something but Isa, having seen the fear in her eyes, already knew what she was about to say. 

“They are here, aren’t they?”

Clarissa nodded and Isa wasted no time in her preemptive measures. Focusing as much power as she had in her old body, the Mother addressed the entirety of the coven via her mind.

My sisters, the time is at hand. Gather those under each of your commands. Fledglings and faelings, you are to gather your things, the bare minimum you need to survive, and then you are to run. Run without direction, just, whatever you do, do not look back. Acolytes and members of The Circle of Stars, you are to report to me in the common room as fast as possible.

When she had finished her message, she turned back to the fledgling still doubled over in front of her door. Isa placed her hand on Clarissa’s back. “You have done so much and more for us, now you must leave. I am sorry.”

Straightening her back, she looked back. “I… I can fight. Let me fight. Let me stay… please.”

Isa shook her head. “No. You have earned your rest. Take the faeling under your command, I believe her name is Anna?”

Clarissa nodded. 

“Take Anna far away from this place. Keep her safe, I know you can. Now, gather your things and never turn back.”

Rushing down to the common room, Isa worked relentlessly to organize her thoughts. So much was happening so fast. Joining her in her silent stride, Halasi opened the door for the Mother to step into the grim crowd of witches. Looking around, Isa found that she could have named each and every woman in the large room and this caused a sharp pain through her heart. Despite her premeditative grief, she remained strong as the center of attention. 

Clearing her throat, she addressed them all, not as a witch but as a mother. “My sisters, my children, this is where we will stand. The Circle will take the front most position on the surface. Acolytes, you will back them up. Our primary objective is to maintain our shield, secondary is our offensive measures. We are not fighting for glory, we are not fighting for honor. We are fighting for our home, for our goddess, and each other. Watch your fellow sister and be sure to have each other’s backs. Ashallalah willing, we will get through this together. All we need to do is hold out till morning. I pray that, when the sun rises once more, we will stand victorious for, as was spoken in times of old: wherever purity persists, not a single finger of evil will be laid upon it.”

The heart beat of twenty thousand men, and yet the cobbled street stood still. Clutching her ribs, Drysi couldn’t help but wish she had worn something slightly less revealing like a cotton jacket. Instead, she shivered in the dead of night, black dress failing to keep out the cold. 

In order to see the spectacle in full, she stood beside a vampire named Murrelet. She knew him to be Quail’s right hand man, as ironic as it seemed. He was the one that was to lead the charge. She quite liked Murrelet, besides Kestrel, he was easily the most pleasant resident at Lorrington. Unlike Quail, who scared her to no end, he was a warm smile to turn to. 

“Hey, Mur?”

The man looked down, grin spreading across his face. “Yes, my little Mutt?”

Mutt was a term of endearment that he had bestowed upon her in jest when they first met. It had stuck ever since.

“How long do we have until the invasion?”

Murrelet looked back at Kestrel who was talking with Quail, then back at Drysi, a sadness in his eyes. “Not long now.”

She nodded at his answer and looked back at the cemetery before them. Despite its imminent downfall, the large stone build stood awfully silent against the flickering street lamps. It was as if it were an animal waiting for its opportunity to pounce. This thought was enough for her to take an almost imperceptible step back. 

Kestrel looked at his watch. It was just a minute past midnight. Putting the watch down, he turned his gaze toward the front of the army, all of whom stood like statues in the claustrophobic street. After a moment, his eyes narrowed on the back of Drysi’s head.

“Quail?”

The general looked down from his mount at Kestrel standing beside its flank. “Yes, my lord?”

Without looking up, Kestrel pointed at Drysi standing towards the front of the army. “It's time. Shoot the girl.”

A part of Quail felt guilty about his actions which he was about to take but still he knew this had been the plan all along. Taking his cross bow in his good hand, he took aim at the middle of her back and pulled the trigger with no other hesitation.

All was quiet, all was still. Nary a sound crept through the halls of the coven, and the above ground could only hear crickets chirping away at the night, quiet as to not wake a single mouse. The witches held their breath until they could no longer and were forced to breathe. No one wanted to blink nor move. Perhaps if they stood still, nothing would ever happen.

A roar like that of a thousand beasts crying out in unison rattled the bones of any one close enough to hear it. The witches could hear the pounding of large feet through the streets like thunder from above. Bracing themselves for whatever may come, they pushed all of their power into the shield hoping that, by some miracle, it would survive the terrible creature lurking within the shadows. 

The sound stopped for just a moment, enough for all of the witches to breathe before, as if it were a malicious streak of darkness, the beast slammed the entirety of its body weight into the shield. Despite being pushed back, The Circle stood their ground, digging their heels into the stones. Enraged with the resistance, the beast began to pound on the shield over and over again, each time the glow of a million beams of mystical light seemed to grow ever so slightly weaker. 

Wasting only a few seconds, the acolytes began to bombard the beast with all manner of spells. Lightning and fire, frost and concussive blasts rained into its fur yet it would not yield. It continued to beat away at the bubble with every ounce of anger left within its body. For a fleeting moment, Halasi caught the eyes of the beast as it screamed at the witches, a blood curdling scream, one of a lion that had been wounded by a hunter. Its pale eyes, they were in pain.  Halasi felt grief for the creature and slowly began to drop her hands as it pounded at their cage just inches in front of her feet. 

Another witch tried to yell something at her but it was too late. By the time the words had left her mouth, the bubble cracked and crumbled then erupted into a shockwave that shook the whole city and could be heard for miles. 

Instantly, Halasi, and all of the surface forces, were deafened by the blast. Defiant, she held her hand up to the beast but her gesture did not change her outcome as blood showered all of the witches behind her. They desperately wiped at their stinging eyes as it began to rampage through the crowd. 

 

Kestrel couldn’t help but smile at the cacophony of noise. “Oh how blessed is this wonderful day, is it not, Quail?”

Emotionless, Quail nodded. “Yes, yes it is.”

Taking a war horn from his side, Quail blew out a shrill call that was answered by the footfalls and hooves of the first wave of soldiers. When he lowered the horn, Kestrel patted him on the back. “Indeed, my dear friend. Had my father been here to see this, he would have never seen the glory that we see before us now. He would call me grotesque and a disappointment. He would be abhorrent, don’t you think” 

Quail couldn’t help but think that, had Tern, Kestrel’s father, been present, he would have been right. At first, he opened his maw intending to argue but quickly shut it again. “Mhmm.”

Kestrel clapped his shoulder even harder than before. “Well, it looks like you are up, my loyal general. May the luck of Mol be with you, friend.”

Quail swallowed his pride and took his horn again. This time, it took a couple tries but he eventually got off the call. Without so much as another glance at his king, Quail drew his sword and rode into battle. He couldn’t ignore the feeling of finality surrounding it all, yet he lacked the will to do anything else, and so the general rode on into the fray.