“Go on, try me,” I said in my best impression of gentle encouragement.
For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the occasional yip from the dogs as they charged ahead into a pile of leaves. Watching them, my breathing stilled as I waited for Anders tospeak.
With no small amount of reluctance, he said, “When I was a boy, me old Nan told me stories from her village. Stories about people going missing, their bodies turning up in pieces. They reckoned it was a rabid animal, at first. Didn’t take them long to figure out it wasn’t no beast. It was a witch using them for rituals.” A shudder at this. “They found him in the end. Found him and chopped off his head. After that, their troubles didn’t end. The cattle started dying, the land went to rot, plagues tore through the village until folks either died or took off. They say the land is still haunted by the spirit of the witch. Nasty things, those witches.”
Chills traced their way up and down my spine. “You believe this to be the work of a witch?”
“I’m sure as Seru.” He nodded vigorously. “I’ve not seen anything like it before. A mark for some kind of dark magic, I’d wager.”
My body went cold. Of course it must have been dark magic, what else would it be? “What exactly did it look like?”
“I’ll show you.” Using the stick, he sketched a symbol into a patch of mud.
The blood drained from my face. It was the symbol from the note. “Anything else?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice from wavering.
He shook his head. “You’re thinking I’ve gone mad, like the rest of them. But I swear to you, it’s witchcraft.”
“I don’t think you’ve gone mad at all, Anders. I believe you.” I lightly touched his arm.
“Flames of Erasure, Miss. You’re freezing!” he cried. “You’d better get inside or you’ll catch a chill.”
“Oh… I suppose it is a lot cooler than what I’m used to,” I said absentmindedly. I couldn’t stop thinking about the symbol. What did it mean?
“Off you go Miss, it’ll be breakfast soon.”
“Yes…” He was right—I should get out of the miserable cold.
“Thanks for looking out for me, Miss, but I’ll keep plodding along. I’ll be right soon enough.” He offered me a rueful smile before turning back to his game with the dogs.
Retracing my steps, I made my way back towards the warmth of the castle, mind swimming.The note was from the murderer.And if Anders’s suspicions were to be believed, the murderer really was a witch.
Until my recent run in with the Crow, I had never encountered a witch. My knowledge of their kind was limited to the little I’d learned from Doran.
Most looked upon witches with distrust and wariness. This was largely to do with the role many of their kind had played in the events leading up to and during The Rebellion six hundred years ago. Countless rumors surrounded the war; so many that much of it had become legend.
Almost a thousand years ago, a powerful demigod stole the goddesses’ book of spells and used it to magnify his own powers exponentially.
The first witches were mostly Velcarin high priests, priestesses and acolytes. The demigod tricked them into believing he was acting on the will of the goddesses and taught them how to channel ambient magic using the stolen book of spells.
Over time, this demigod deceived the rest of the world into believing it was the goddesses’ will for Velcarin and witches to rule. Other magical beings such as dwarves, selkies, sprites and centaurs were to be treated as second class citizens, while mortals were considered the lowest of the low. He garnered widespread support from Velcarin, but his most devout followers were the witches.
His rise to power was swift, with minimal opposition. Withthe aid of his powerful army, he conquered mortal lands and enslaved those that he did not slaughter. Anyone who challenged him was eliminated with brutality.
For many years, he reigned as supreme ruler of Orradon, but, secretly, there were those who opposed him. Over time, their numbers grew, and, eventually, rebel mortals and magical beings united in an effort to overthrow him.
A brutal war raged across the world and, after years of battle, the rebels finally defeated him.
Some of his supporters were imprisoned, while others renounced him, claiming to have been deceived by his lies. The rest completely vanished, never to be seen again.
The Treaty of Eldelys was signed, and the mortal slaves were freed from Amaros and returned to their homes. The witches divided and scattered, embracing a nomadic lifestyle.
The aftermath of the demigod’s reign left tears in the fabric of the world. Even now, people refused to speak his name, and he was referred to only as The Great Deceiver.
To this day, most mortals were wary of magical beings, and no one trusted the witches. People had long memories, especially those who were practically immortal.
Now, witches largely kept to themselves. From what I’d heard, not all used dark magic.
A witch who used dark magic was the type of witch a person should pray to never meet. The type of witch who performed unthinkable deeds. The type of witch who, apparently, was in our midst.
