To Bewitch a Devil

188 We need your blood

Zavian gritted his teeth and fisted his hands. He looked to Neera, peaceful and calm in death, and to the witches. He was left with only one option.

Powerless, he left, and set back to business immediately, anything to take his mind off barging back in and demanding to be there.

Instead of Jasmine outside the doors, he was met with Freya.

“What happened to her?” She asked.

Zavian paid her no mind and walked on to his study.

“Brother, talk to me. What happened to her?”

“I found her dead,” Zavian replied. He moved to his seat and reached for a book. The same painting of Lilah fell out of one of the pages, a reminder of his failure yet again.

Zavian bent and picked the picture. He had seen the resignation in the witches, their shoulders dragged down with the weight of a task their arguments have already deemed useless from the start, but still, he had to try. He could not go through it a second time again. It would kill him.

All the while he had refused to think, to think about the reality of it. He had pushed it to a distant place in his mind and shut it off, clinging to the slither of hope with everything in him.

.....

A hand came on his shoulder, and Freya was on the floor next to him.

“I think she fell,” Zavian said, still staring at Lilah’s painting. Two similar women, yet so different. “From a branch, the slippery mud or… I am not sure. Her ankle was twisted, and she must have struggled to come out of the water, but…”, he let out a breath. “…I asked her why she always goes there with Jasmine, only because I wanted to make it special for both of us alone. But she must have thought I didn’t like it and went there alone. If only Jasmine had been there….”

Freya’s hand squeezed his shoulder, and he felt her sit behind him.

“You’re happy now, aren’t you?” He said to her with a dead chuckle. “There is no more Neera to distract me from my duties any longer. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“I am thinking of the happy brother I am going to lose all over again,” Freya said. “And I am thinking of all the words I am going to say to ease the pain, to make you better, to show you that no matter what, I am always going to be here to make you feel better.”

So Zavian leaned into that offer, his back against his sister’s, the tiredness washing over him. Silent tears streamed down his face, and all he could do was wait for the fate that would determine the rest of his life.

A life he wasn’t looking forward to anymore if Neera wasn’t in it.

….

The summon came that afternoon, and Lydia could not describe the joy that ran through her.

She took a path down to the forest, reading the letter, more a threat to appear before the King than an invitation to the castle, but she didn’t care. She was going to go see the King and see how the prophecy was faring with her own eyes.

A gust of smoke blew behind her, and a shadow appeared, the grass around it decaying to a dry brown. Lydia smiled up at the shadow, and waved the letter at its front.

“It’s all too easy”, she said to it.

The shadow took a form, a figure resembling a man in black clothes. Orbs of fire sat where eyes should be, and the rest of his face was masked by his hood.

“Now, this is where my role comes in,” she continued. “And finally, we would be seeing some progress. I cannot wait a day more.”

“And the army is restless for a battle,” the shadow said.

Lydia smiled. “And a battle they shall get very soon.”

….

The witches chanted, their voices getting louder, their hands intertwined. It was past midnight, and several candles were lit in the room, casting Neera in light. Anna could feel the strain in her muscles, but they were getting closer, and they could almost find her soul.

The other witches felt it too, strengthening their resolve, and something crackled in their hold, like a spark passing through them, invigorating them. Anna shuddered, and she collapsed to the ground.

The chanting stopped.

The witches watched her get up, and right in the middle of her chest, despite the layers of her clothes, a light beamed.

“The King”, Anna demanded.

One of them stepped outside to communicate with a guard. Within minutes, Zavian was barging in through the doors, hope shining in his bloodshot eyes.

“Is it done?” He asked.

Anna moved to the body. “I would need your blood now. To give her soul strength to come back.”

The dark-skinned witch approached him with a knife and an ancient serpentine goblet. Zavian folded up his shirt, his eyes darting toward Anna, who had a hand clamped to her throat, and when he felt a prick, he looked at his blood flowing down into the cup. The witch nodded at him, a signal to stop, and she approached the witch.

The chants rose even higher. Anna parted Neera’s now darkened lips and poured all the blood down her mouth. Anna motioned as if to vomit, and she opened her mouth, the essence of light flowing from her and into Neera’s mouth. After, Anna slumped on the ground, chest heaving, eyes closed.

“She’s spent”, one of the witches said, tone wary.

“We have to continue,” another said. “This is the last stage.”

Anna gasped for breath in between coughs and wheezes, and the chants lowered to a murmur. Zavian chose to stay and watch, ignoring the headache, his body’s sign demanding some rest. The murmur lowered even more, like the buzzing of bees, and the witches stopped altogether. At once, they all sat in a circle, and with their eyes, remaining shut.