Whispers of Fate: Part 5

Part 5

Natalie sat upright in her bedroll, blank eyes staring at the opposite cave wall. Since the creation of the mystically woven curtain that covered the entrance, her makeshift home had grown both warmer and that much darker. It was the darkness that made it hard for her to believe she was awake. 

Rubbing her eyes of her nightmare, she lit herself a candle, the flame poised precariously upon her index finger. Grateful for the light which her goddess had taught her to harness, she reached over to steal the last sip of filtered snow water from her canteen. When she found it to already be empty, she wrapped her blanket around her and pushed aside the cave cover. 

Stepping out into the frozen night, she began to scoop snow into the small leather bag in her hand. Once it was full, she turned to return inside but a figure, standing stoic at the cliff, took her attention. 

Silently, Natalie approached Ashallalah only to overhear the goddess quietly crying, her golden tears turning into snowflakes. 

Hesitant for a second, Natalie eventually stood beside her and allowed herself to also look out over the mountains. After allowing the crying to be the only sound, she addressed her.

“I… I had a dream.”

“I know.”

For a moment, Natalie was stunned until she remembered with whom it was that she spoke. Ashallalah shook her head. “I should be there to help them.”

“Wait… are you saying that my dream was real? That my coven, my sisters, are in peril?” 

Ashallalah nodded, ashamed. In a voice like a whisper, she muttered to herself. “I knew this was coming but… why now, Mol? Why did it have to be now?”

“You knew about this? And you didn’t do anything?”

Natalie reached up to grab her cloak but Ashallalah’s head quickly turned, her face twisted into an angered grimace, her bright eyes boring into Natalie’s. For a moment, she had forgotten that the woman was, despite everything, still a god.

Dropping her head in an apologetic bow, her voice began to tremble. “Sorry, my goddess.”

She raised her hand to slap her wrist but found she could not lower it. Raising her head, she saw that it was Ashallalah that held her hand. Before Natalie could say anything, her body was wrapped in a sudden embrace that was as warm as her fire. That feeling quickly spread through her whole body as if her heart had become fire. 

“No, I am sorry. Go to bed, child, think nothing of what is occurring. When you wake, this too shall have passed and we will move forward together.”

Pulling away from her goddess’ arms, Natalie didn’t look back as she pushed aside the curtain and embraced the darkness beyond. Trying her hardest not to think about it, she threw the canteen to the floor and fell into her bed roll. 

Laying with her eyes wide open, she thought anyway, despite her efforts. Impulse forced her fist into the wall, the stone forming cracks on the surface from her magical fury.

“I should be there too.”

Quail flew into battle, his face a show of brave leadership, his voice that of power, and his mind a thousand miles away. Despite his bloody beginnings in Tern’s army, long before his pesky son ruined everything, he found himself despising the very arm that swung his sword. If there was any time that he wished Kestrel killed him in the throne room, it was this moment. At the time, it had been a punishment. Now, it was a form of twisted salvation. 

A witch in a purple robe, with a strange wooden owl mask, caught his eye as she blew the head off Murrelet with a well placed thunderstrike. 

Oh, poor poor Murrelet. He never was cut out for the real risks of duty.

Shaking his head, Quail redirected his vampiric horse, a loyal friend of his named Condor, towards her, sword ready at neck height. She saw him coming, of course. It was hard to miss his newly shaved head and massive stead which he steered using only his knees. 

She threw a gush of fire which he sliced through, burning two of his comrades behind him. Raising his blade, he took a swing at the witch who dodged it effortlessly before sending a blast of water straight into his eyes. He rubbed at his eyes and felt a sudden weight on his back. Into his very mind, came a phrase that would be the last thing he would ever hear: “Your armor is your coffin.”

  Just as he was about to move, his entire body was filled with the shock of a thousand storms. As was Sister Omora, her charred remains falling to the stone only to be crushed under the foot of the beast as it moved for the entrance to the rest of the coven. 

Isa had heard the cascade of the shield, and the pandemonium that quickly followed. Even when far underground, well trained ears could behold the world. They now only beheld screams. 

Isa herself felt worn out. Using magic to enhance her physical speed, she had been in millions of places at once, waking up young witches, getting their stuff packed, and ushering them to a back exit by the river. To each one, she made sure to say that they were to scatter and never look back. Each one nodded and ran off with their travel partners. Now, there was only one witch left that was not actively fighting, and she had no legs to stand on. 

Just as her tired mind began to recall her vision with the beast, there was a rumbling in the hallway, followed by an immense roar.

“Ah… just in time.”

Taking up a fighting stance she had learned from her only true sister, she took a deep breath. 

So, this is it? Must be, after all this. I have lived a very long time. Perhaps it is better to go out standing than in a bed. I wonder who my death guard, my N’kune, will be? Could it be Evelyn? I haven’t seen her in so long. I wonder if she remembers me. After all, she did save my life… Quiet, your time is nigh. Stay strong, no one else will do it for you. Come on, Isa.

Just as the beast turned the corner, as did something else: a black wolf sprinting at the feet of the creature. Isa tensed as the wolf moved ahead and leapt onto her, knocking her to the ground. She fired off a blind strike of lightning that only grazed its shoulder. It returned the favor by biting deep into hers. For a second, she could see the large beast just standing, dumb founded in the hallway. As if it were hesitant to attack her. No, it was hesitant to attack the wolf. 

She laughed, it felt good to laugh. The wolf gave her a sour look and it morphed into a figure she hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Ah… Kestrel. It's been a long time.”

He sniffed. “It hasn’t been long enough, hag.”

She sighed and rested her heavy head on the floor. “So… how is your father?”

She chuckled at her own joke. Kestrel, having had enough, kicked her in the ribs, silencing any further jokes. 

By that time, his army had caught up with him. Kestrel looked around and counted twenty in the witch’s vicinity. Looking back at her crippled form, he knew he was victorious. However, something was missing. 

Leaning down, he took a handful of her silver hair and wrenched it up to his face. “Where is my bangle?”

 When she didn’t answer, he grew impatient. “Tell me, now! Tell me, hag!”

She laughed and coughed, blood splattering his face. “I… hid it. You will never… find it. I answer to no one but my… my goddess. Birthed by darkness, called by light, served til death.”

With her mantra, Isa’s body became limp in his hands. Kestrel shook her once or twice but she was finally gone. She was gone and yet he was still not satisfied.

“It really is good to see you again, my young fledgling.”

Isa opened her eyes to a tall black figure with eyes like fires. “Evelyn? Is that you, Evelyn”

“As true as the air.”

Rushing off the floor with young bones, Isa embraced her old friend. “I missed you. It is a shame we have to meet like this.”

The N’kune returned the hug. “Nay, call it providence that we should meet at all. Let alone at a joyous event like death.”

Backing away, Isa nodded once and took a deep breath, her dead lungs filling with the freshest air in the world. “Indeed. Well, I look forward to seeing what lies ahead. Oh how I have awaited this.”

Evelyn nodded as well and took her hand. “Come with me, there is a place prepared for you. I can promise you. Just never leave my side.”

Isa laughed. “Never again.”

Once all had become still again, the wolf sniffed and the sound of cracking bones filled the hall. Seeing the beast begin to return to normal, Kestrel reached over to one of his soldiers and snatched the crossbow on his back. Loading a large bolt, he took a brief aim and shot the wolf in the back around the same place as the last bolt. The beast yelled out and Kestrel shot it again. Once more, and the transformation came to a stand still. Dropping the cross bow, Kestrel took the beast’s snout and forced it down to his eye level. “Now, onto other business.”

Pushing its nose into his injured shoulder, he could hear it whimper. “Stop crying. Just stop. We have important work to do.”

It tried to back away but he kept it still by an unnatural strength. “Now… What do you sense? The scent of flowers, the smell of magic. Follow this scent, wolf. Do you hear me?”

He wrenched its ear to his mouth. “Follow the strongest trail and bring its source back to me. Now, go.”

Pushing its head away, it ran away from him as fast as it could, its nose filled with that sickly sweet stench of a witch. 

Morning dawned over a shattered cemetery. Hundreds of graves were demolished, hundreds of those that the witches had adored, gone. Still, there were thousands of stones still standing vigil over the mass grave that stood, cracked, before the rising sun, its own stones still glistening red from the night before. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was just denial, but not a single passerby looked at the cemetery. Not a single eye met those that were scattered across their once home, their faces still screaming bloody murder at the moon that was no longer there. Countless women, each giving up their lives to participate in a battle they had no chance to win. Yes indeed, this was not a battle, nor was it an accident. No, this was a massacre and it will be remembered as such. Forever.