The Journey of Two Witches: Part 1

I finally have, for my loneliness, a cure, a friend. Candles burn out, stars fade away, and poppies wilt, yet a friendship, as strong as iron, shall last until the planet itself is dust. Never more will I look up when I can look beside, into his eyes. My rock. My anchor. My everything.

- Inivio on his best friend, and travelling companion, Jora, Book of Kala 22: 43-45

1829

A true companion is a light in the darkest of times.

Part 1

“Anna! Anna, where are you?”

Clarissa sprinted from room to room yet found no sign of her faeling. The attack was imminent, this much was clear. If Anna were caught alone in the maelstrom of war, she wouldn’t be able to stand for even a minute.

Her heart raced as she pushed through the fleeing witches like forcing yourself against the current of a river. Every step she would take, she was met by resistance. Everyone was vying to be the first to leave the coven and so, if everyone wanted to be the first, no one was going to be. 

Finally breaking through to the bedroom which bore Anna’s name, along with several others, she pushed open the door. Nothing. The bedroom, which had previously held ten or so faelings, was now empty with Anna nowhere to be seen.

Letting out a sigh, Clarissa pushed off the door frame upon which she had been leaning and allowed herself to be washed out of the coven by the rushing river. She would have to find her outside. Inside was no longer safe.

Just as she joined her comrades as they filed out of the back exit, the whole underground shook with the force of one hundred earthquakes sending everyone to the ground as if they were dominos set up just for a massive display of falling down. 

Filled with new urgency, Clarissa helped up the poor faeling she had fallen on, brushed off her own cloak and made a run for the exit. “Anna!”

The night had become silent. Unusually silent. 

Anna had been the first to leave the coven, she had a knack for being far too early for anything. The moment that Mother Isa told them to go, she slung her pack over her shoulder and promptly marched out the back and didn’t stop moving until she was several blocks away from the coven. 

Here she now sat, her gray cloak soaking up the previous night’s rainfall. As she noticed a small thread sticking out of her sleeve, she began to pull, the hem on the cuff beginning to unravel. When she saw this, she stopped and leaned back on her hands, small eyes intently staring at the moon. Not a moment later, came a sound more powerful and unlike any she had heard in any other place. Before she could look to see where it came from, a rush of wind, and a shockwave overwhelmed the young girl. 

Pushed by the burst, she fell to her right and rolled twice before coming to a standstill. Ignoring the bruising on her arms and head, she sat up amongst the debris of a thousand shattered windows. Light flooded from the surrounding windows as the London residents awoke to the sound of the city shaking beneath their feet. Their warm candles illuminated Anna as she stared at the cuts on her hands and all across her cloak. 

Her ears ringing louder than any church bell, she tried to stand but was brought immediately back to the ground. As she looked around, she found the world, which spun so neatly on its axis, now wobbled around her in a kaleidoscope of hues and yet a total lack of sounds except for those bells. Ringing and ringing and ringing into the night with a chorus only she could hear. Anna covered her ears but the chimes only grew louder. Pulling her hands away, she could see even more blood pouring from her head through overwhelmed tears. 

Hitting her head, pulling at her ears, Anna fought to hear any other sound but was unable. As she screamed into the night, people began to look down from their windows. They shouted insults and curses yet she heard none. As her voice grew hoarse, there was a sudden embrace that surrounded her like a warm blanket. Opening her red, sore eyes, she was met by a familiar face.

Clutching to Clarissa as hard as she could, she could feel her nerves dimming down. Her fledgling became her anchor to the earth and she no longer felt as if she were a million miles away. She was right here, in her arms.

Clarissa believed it to be a miracle from Ashallalah herself that she was able to find the younger witch. But now, as she asked Anna what had happened, with no reaction or response, she saw now that the miracle had turned rotten. 

Pulling the faeling to her feet, she began to push forward. Anna whispered incessantly into the cloud of breath. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. We can’t go.”

For each chant, Clarissa responded in kind. “We have to. We have to go. Anna, please. We can’t stay here.”

Anna watched her Fledgling’s lips move but heard not a word. The bells had begun to fade away and yet they only left pure silence. She could feel herself beginning to cry. Without meaning anything by it, she yelled into her fledgling’s ear. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

Falling out of Clarissa’s arms, she sunk to the ground, her torn up sleeve viciously wiping away her tears until her eyes burned. 

Clarissa rubbed the bridge of her nose. How does one even deal with this? She prayed for wisdom. For the ability to know how. She knew they would die if they stayed but she can’t just force her to go. The vampires were bound to go hunting while the deer remained stagnant in the woods. 

In a last, desperate act, Clarissa pulled away Anna’s arms and put her hands over her ears. Making sure her eyes were focussed on her face, Clarissa mouthed out her words as clearly and overtly as she could. “I-can-hear-you. Now-listen-to-me. We-need-to-go. We-will-die. Please.”

After a moment of teary eyed comprehension, Anna nodded. Clarissa pulled away her hands and took Anna’s. Without another word being spoken, let alone being heard, they began to run through the street, their feet making for clearer ground.  

A tall figure clad in a white coat and wide brim hat, crouched to the street. Brushing aside his long amber braid, he took from the cobbles, in his slender fingers, a singular gray thread. “So. It would appear that some of the goddess’ disciples made it out.”

“Yes, it would.”

The man turned to see his master, Mol, standing in the darkness between the stars. 

“How then, do you propose you will deal with them?”

The god took a couple steps forward and took the thread from the man’s hand. “Mmmm… It seems that Kestrel will be rather busy in upcoming days. Your assassins shall do nicely. Say you what you will, Javel, it will not matter. I shall arm you with the sword of providence. If you defy me, then that sword will be at your throat.”

The man kept a cool face and simply kneeled to Mol’s feet. “If it be your will, it shall be done. My cult will be mobile at your command.”

The god waved his hand, his chains glistening in the night. “Make it so. Take these lambs to our glorious slaughter.”

Upon his last syllable, the god of death, darkness, and the shadows cast by the sun, was dust on the cobble stones. Javel, having returned to his feet, let out a small sigh. “Yes, my lord.”

Then he too, as his master before him, became the dust that buried the gray thread on the street. That night the moon shone dimmer than in days prior. One must never assume it shall ever glow as bright ever again.