THE WITCH

 

THE WITCH

I

Rivia

Clarice von Dyke was the daughter of a noble lord known as Maestro. Their family lived lavishly in the plateau land of Rivia. They were recognized by the King as a royal Duke family in the Kingdom’s eyes. They had a castle which was passed down to them from generation to generation.

The first royal duke of the great land of Rivia was the Dyke family, it is said that the Ancient King or the old King had a son, a fierce warrior called Cleavetes who married the first daughter of the duke, her name was Lysa von Dyke. And in that marriage, they gave birth to a daughter named Misa also known as the Dragon Queen.

The Dragon Queen was known for harboring pet dragons as her name would suggest. Small vile creatures that spat fire from their nozzles. It is said that the Dragon Queen went into exile due to her heretic notions concerning the Kings’ council.

“You couldn’t kill me yourself but you banish me to the Dessert for eternity. My father was right you are all fools! I should’ve killed you all when I had the chance!” said Misa the Dragon Queen, at her tribunal.

And with that she was banished together with her dragons to forage the Khalisi dessert.

Cleavetes and Lysa von Dyke gave birth to another child, a female, who would be the great grandmother of Clarice von Dyke. Clarice and her family were one of the most affluent in all of Middle Earth. Their acres of land spread as far as the eye could see. Stables were filled with: horses, pigs, cows and chickens to mention but a few.

On this day the sun hung low as it retreated into night. The castle was filled with the most important dignitaries of the Kingdom. The lamps burned low and slow casting huge shadows that mimicked their bodies movement. To the side of the room was the sound of music Clarice’s younger cousin Bravos played the piano effortlessly.

The scent of roses-arranged in porcelain vases around every table rented the air with sweetness and gravity. The dying sunlight cast a golden glow upon the velvet drapes and polished mahogany furniture.

The ladies wore beautiful gowns that stretched to their legs like elegant butterflies. Some were seen fanning themselves from the immense humid atmosphere. There skin filled with pale and pallor as others adorned beauty creams that made their cheeks look red and ruddy. The gentlemen were dressed in tailored tuxedos atop their heads, were top hats and a cane on their left hands, a show of royalty and opulence.

The guests seemed to be laughing in ribald coquetry as some talked in whispers and murmurs a sign of etiquette. They all drank wine in tall glasses as they conversed with each other, excited for the proposal.

Clarice von Dyke was soon to be weeded to Bran the Knight of the Rivia Kingdom. He was a tall and handsome man with a square jaw, straight backed and a charming smile. He wore a blue velvet jacket embroided with flowers and precious stones. He took his wine glass and a butter knife and beat them against each other to capture the audience’s attention.

But Clarice did not love him she only wore a façade of love on her face. She wanted something different for her life, she had a burning sense of adventure and wanted to explore the Kingdom but not sign her life away into marriage.

“Miss Clarice,” he began his voice steady and true. The audience paying attention intently as silence lingered in the air.

“From the first time I saw you. I knew my life would not be content without your presence by my side. With the blessing of your family” he glanced at her father, seated stern and proud. “I humbly ask for the honor of your hand in marriage.”

Clarice’s heart dropped and what seemed to be a happy occasion became dull to her. She smiled faintly and nodded her head slightly in approval. Her eyes a mixture of shyness and hollow joy. She rose slowly from her seat and approached her husband to be and extended her arm.

He knelt steadily and drawing from his inside pocket a small corduroy box and revealed a shinning diamond ring, blinding Clarice for a few seconds as its brilliant reflection caught her eyes.

When he slipped it onto her finger the room exhaled in a warm hum of approval as some began to applaud the young couple. Glasses clinked and trays of sherry and spiced cakes circulated. Bravos his cousin played his piano once again elegantly. Cheers were heard from the back of the ball room as they drank to their health.

Elaine her mother was filled with joy in her heart as tears of amusement and gratitude ran down her cheeks. Her father stern and filled with solemn satisfaction. The newly betrothed couple dance under the chandelier, eyes watching them carefully as the night died out.

THE WITCH

II

Rivia

On this day the earth seemed to not rotate, Bravos, the greatest Knight of Rivia seemed to irk Clarice with great stature. His very existence exasperated her. There was an annoyance demeanor the way that carried him, the way he breathed; his low hum of inhaling air made Clarice go mad with anger. He was a kind gentleman, all the more which made her nauseous and want to throw up a little in her mouth.

Bravos had already retired from the Kings’ council and would live with Clarice in his Castle North of Rivia as that was the ceremonial matrimonial home. Clarice longed for the days where she would go out in the open: Feeding wild animals, taking long strides in the forest and looking after cattle.

But now being a wife to a noble born made those very tasks mundane and for mere peasants. Servants would tend to the cattle, make lavish meals and even helped her dress into elegant clothing made especially for her: dresses embroided with pearls and diamonds that stretched to her feet.

Clarice von Dyke was completely vexed by Bravos’ ancient ways for he was too kind and genial. And that made her very bothered. His parents, Clara’s parents in laws passed away when he was still young and left a huge impact in Bravos’ life. All this while not having children.

He saw Clara as the child he never had. When it came to making love Clara would become impalpable and would not touch her as if she suffered from a great plague. Their romance quickly died out within weeks of the marriage ceremony.

And was now a stranger in the eyes of her husband.

On this morbid day, Bravos had just come from hunting a wild boar together with his ancient mates for game. Clarice von Dyke so it as an opportunity to escape his kind clutches and live freely as the butterfly she always was.

How would she survive the dark forest?

What would she do if Bravos found out?

Wouldn’t her parents disown her?

Not now, not today.

All these scenarios played in her head like a beating drum until she mustered enough courage to plan the huge escape. She dared not flee while her husband was in the forest only for her to be sought and brought back into the castle. For this was not a good plan.

She waited for the right opportunity to represent herself and it did. She gathered her small clothes and a few provisions. She was careful to make sure none of the servants were watching her as she planned her great escape.

As the night slipped into existence so did Clarice von Dyke.

The dark forest was a shadowed labyrinth of twisted trees and whispers older than time itself- a cursed legend filled with haunting stories of witches, werewolves and vampires. It stood on the periphery of a great valley known as Prometheus like a wound on the earth dark and vile.

By day it looked like any other forest: trees tall and leaves thick as curtains that formed huge canopies that protected the wild life. But when dusk was born, a dark mist would form making it home to the evil vermin that lived in these very woods.

They say the dark forest was once ruled by witches before men came to existence and pushed them off into the dire forest, their gods came with fire and crosses banishing them into the dark forest where they all lived in harmony practicing dark rituals and black magic.

There in the forest flowers bloomed black and bled sap as red as blood. Owls cried with human voices and trees whispered vile things to the stray. No one who entered the forest returned whole. Survivors of the dark forest would quickly become insane after the clutches of the evil forest.

When the moon rises full and red, you can hear them sing, soft melodic voices that would weave through the branches promising freedom to the brave and torment to the gullible. The villagers would bolt their doors and pray to the risen Christ for protection.

For in the Evil Forest, the witches are always awake.
And they are ever listening.

Fate seemed to draw Clarice into the same ominous forest like a stray dog coming home after weeks of abandonment. There she would find solace and there she would be free to live among soil and life. A great wanderer, an adventurous feline and a curios soul.

Little does she know a wake of terror awaits her.

THE WITCH

III

The dark forest pulsed with irreparable life. Insects buzzed and hummed; the crawling animals crept within the deep carcasses of the soil that the great witches worshipped. The soil on which Clarice walked on seemed to swallow her alive like a hungry mammoth.

She had not eaten or slept for days and her provisions would only last a couple of days old.

What would she do?

She would not go back to Bravos to live her life as a lie. She knew what she was and a maiden of the honorable knights she was not. Sweat trickled her face like fountain her breathing steady and low as she watched one of Bravo’s knights lurking aimlessly.

Quickly she hid from his searches behind a thick bush.

She waited and timed him until he was isolated from the rest of the search party. She would not risk being found not now not ever…She lunged steadfast towards his back with great stamina and stabbed the young knight in the back.

He did not scream nor yell. There Clarice stood over the dead body with disdain like a mad man. She was in utter shock and dropped the knife she had stole from the kitchen back at the castle. Her garments turned bloody red and crimson, wiping frantically her white gown with her bloodied hands.

Filled with blood lust she pounced on her second victim with great might biting his neck until he bled out. There, spitting out his chunks of human meat like a rabid dog. She howled into the gleaming moon like a mad dog.

Deep within the crevices was a witch waiting for Clarice von Dyke to decide her fate. She would sense her arrival for months and now every step she drew closer became a milestone. Leading right to her.

For a millennium the regalia of the witch lived in harmony until now…people that wandered into the dark forest were found dead days later at the edge of the forest like some sort of diabolical ceremony that was the nature of the dark forest.

Hungry hounds hunted her like the vermin she reduced herself too. Bravos her dear husband lead a search party everyday his wife went missing but could not would not spend time in the dark forest past the sojourning hours for the dark forest turned into a place of darkness an in despicable evil.

Children would often play past dark only to be found dead within the river a couple of days later. They say witches would lurk around this dark forest but Clarice dismissed the idea that a secret cult would live in such a place, the dark forest was a harsh enough place even for her.

As she slept in great slumber she fell into a deep sleep, laid on a small straw like carpet that she had woven through the knowledge of her sewing classes back at the castle.

There in her dream was a witch wearing a red cape her face pale as the moon, her hands covered in blood holding what seemed to be a deceased infant. There next to her was a worn-out cabin filled with lilies and crawling plants.

Her dream was so vivid she jolted in surprise as she woke. It was just a dream… or was it? The cabin looked familiar as age. Puzzled she continued her journey through the deep forest. She wondered aimlessly like a burned-out vagabond, searching for meaning, life and hope.

For everything was lost. She would not go back to Bravos and his impunity. All that remained was herself and her wit. Until she came across something familiar, something strange, the cabin in her dreams covered in moss and a chimney atop it that stretched to the canopies of the woods.

She knocked heartily at the entrance.

The door slowly creaked open to her surprise. It looked abandoned and desolate as if in a half-remembered dream. Life was slow here and motionless. Old furniture was strewn across the living room, ancient and decayed.

The fireplace surprisingly was crackling with life, wood burned radiantly giving birth to a small enough fire to keep her hands warm and her body to normal temperature. She found an old shoal and wrapped herself with it, for the place was quite chilly.

She lit a few candles that glowed with radiance lighting the room. Books were seen at the corner of her eye; some were so old that mold could be seen under the candle light. She stood grotesque like an old statue and reached for one of the wise books.

Some were written in an old language that she could not decipher or understand filled with ghastly runes and symbols. Pictures of dead old bodies that were appalling. Stories of vampires and werewolves were seen here in these ancient texts like an old ohmage of worship.

“You shouldn’t be here…” hissed a woman. Startled, Clarice looked up and saw a beautiful young woman skin as pale as the moon itself.

She wore the same red cape she saw in her dreams. The woman with the deceased infant on her hands clutching at the small babe as if clutching for her dear life. Her face was pale and ruddy. She walked swiftly as if floating through air.

Shocked, Clarice closed the mystic book and handed it to her with reverence.

“I am sorry to intrude…I didn’t mean to- “she said apologetically.

“Do not be afraid” she cut her short her voice cutting deep like steel.

“I have been waiting for you…We have been waiting for you. The prophecy is being fulfilled as we speak” the mysterious lady said with conviction.

“What prophecy?” she asked inquisitively.

“You will know in time my queen” she said bowing down as if worshipping her very feet.

Clarice’s body turned pale. Filled with questions that ringed in her head like a church bell.

What did she get herself into?

What prophecy?

Who would save her?

 

 THE WITCH

IV

“The dark forest held unspeakable atrocities and monsters that plagued the man since the beginning of time, to rule over their dominion a sisterhood of witches was formed to keep the balance, they were given the gift of magic by the old gods to restore balance to the universe but the very witches that sought to protect man usurped the gods and became evil. Their goal to wipe out all of man to rule as the lesser gods in harmony with nature.”

Clarice von Dyke read from the Dark Magic book inside the cottage with awe, the excerpt gaining weight in her shoulders as heavy as a boulder. She closed the book with a loud thump and looked at the red-haired woman which shined like embers in the night time. Her skin pale and ruddy like a new born babe.

She wore a red cowl that stretched through from her head to her feet magnificent in all the ways. Her head covered by the same red hoodie, halfway hiding her face, as if she was a wanted specimen. Her teeth were white as snow and her incisors incredibly sharp and seemingly jagged. She cast an evil smile on Clarice. Across her chest was a strapped black torniquet that was leather showing off her figure and voluptuous breasts.

“Is this true?” asked Clarice childly.

“Every word your highness” said the mysterious lady who later revealed her name to be Meryl.

“Tell me why did you venture into the dark forest?” she asked inquisitively.

“I was running…running away from the clutches of my husband…” she said stammering as she held the book trembling, almost falling it to the ground.

“But that is half the truth…you see the dark forest has a soul of its own since the beginning of time…the forest called you Clarice…” said Meryl her voice sounding like a slithery snake.

“How is that possible?” she asked laconically.

“Let me show you…,” said Meryl.

She picked up a pot with a plant that was dead, its red roses turned brown and ashy like chalk. She placed it on the table with precision. With a swirling motion she conjured a spell, she spoke of an ancient tongue that not even Clarice could decipher. Slowly the rose turned to crimson red, its roots sprouting from the pot like an emerging giant from slumber.

Its leaves became greener and greener…the stem became thicker and thicker…the roses became red like crimson, healthy and valiant like a strong new born. The rose opened slowly as if kissed by the sun, beautiful and glorious.

Meryl’s glowing hands faded like a fading lantern. She slowly picked up the pot and showed it to Clarice. There Clarice stood transfixed completely staring at the pot with bewilderment, her mouth wide open and her face filled with pallor.

How can a dying plant be engendered to such a beautiful masterpiece?

What kind of sorcery is this?

How can this pot give life to a furze of nature?

Puzzled and utterly speechless Clarice’s hands trembled again dropping the pot shattering it to several pieces. She gasped as the pot touched the ground. Meryl stood across her smiling as she bent down and picked the rose stretching out her hand offering it to her in reverence.

“You see Clarice, we are not of this realm. The sisterhood stood over man for a millennium and we take refuge here in the dark forest waiting for our Red Queen to rise for us to restore balance to the world,” said Meryl with exultation raising her hands slightly to give Clarice a warm embrace.

“You are home…Clarice, you can finally rest” said Meryl cheerfully, as if she had an epiphany. Her eyes were slightly red in color with hues of brown and crimson. She stared into Clarice’s eyes as if she could see through down to her fragile soul.

She grabbed her fiery lantern.

“Come now child, with me…” said Meryl as she stretched out her arm to meet Clarice’s bony fingers.

“You have much to learn…” she added.

Together they walked into the Dark Forest camouflaged by the darkness until they were one.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Clarice defensively.

“To your requiem my dear…,” said Meryl again speaking in riddles.

Twigs and branches scraped their skins turning their flawless pale skin into tiny bruises of blood. From a distance she could hear the hissing of a snake, the hooting of an owl and the cry of a wolf.

There in the thick of the lush green flaura Meryl shinned the light on the winding path going down and down, deeper and deeper within the crevices of the Dark Forest. Until they came across a huge hollow cave that stretched several feet.

Inside the cave were women wearing cloaks, their faces hidden under thick hoodies each holding a lantern that burned with a luminous blue flame. They formed a circle that was almost too precise. Clarice’s heart pounded fast and impetuously her head filled with precipitation.

Her hair covered in leaves and twigs her white bridal gown stained with mud and wildlife. There inside the carefully articulated circle was a man stripped naked and gagged with a piece of cloth. His back bruised with ancient runes and symbols bloodied and desecrated.

She looked closely at the man with scrutiny. There in the middle was Bravos her fiancé beaten to a pulp, his words jumbled up by the cloth, his hands and feet bound by a thick hemp rope. His eye swollen the size of an apple, the moment she saw Clarice he yelled in great cacophony.

“Is this the man you wish to wed?” asked Meryl her red eyes glowing in the lantern light she held.

“Bravos!” cried Clarice.

Meryl pulled a huge dagger from her vestments and handed it to her in a slight motion.

“Kill this treacherous man!” commanded Meryl with a booming diabolical voice.

Clarice holding the dagger with her right hand moved slowly towards Bravos who was writhing in fury, his voice muffled by the thick cloth tied around his mouth. She stood over Bravos who was completely unrecognizable his white hair stained with blood and filled with bruises.

She raised the dagger slowly above his head and slit his throat with animosity. Blood spluttered all over the ground. Her white gown stained in blood and gore. She dropped the knife that fell with a loud clung. She wiped the blood off her white porcelain like gown, futile in all its effects as it was already dried up and corrugated.

“Today we welcome a new era! The death of man itself and the coronation of our new Red Queen!” yelled Meryl.

What have I done?

Is this the end?

Bravos, my dear Bravos?

There on the ground her shoulders hung low and dropped to her knees staring at her bloodied hand once virgin.

 

THE WITCH

V

The sun hung low in the midlands of the Dark Forest. Its iridescent rays piercing through the furze to give off a spectacle. Ironically the Dark Forest was completely had luck-lustre and remained all the more morbid and evil. Above, the moon was covered in a scarlet hue of crimson red…a blood moon that signified rebirth.

Deep within the conclave of the Witch cult, Clarice Von Dyke was coronated as the Red Queen, the Queen Reagent of the Witch sect. Brandished with an antler crown she ruled, giving orders and overseeing all the rituals that made the secret community have life once again.

After the rituals Meryl, her handler, gave her a grand tour of the caves that stretched below the bowels of the Earth. It was an old mining cave and that was the epicenter for their practices. It was abandoned many years ago by man due to the evil spirits that lingered there.

Rumor had it that the old miners would hear voices deep within the caves. Making some of them go mad with insanity. Some went into the caves only not to emerge back to the surface stories of a tall demon eyed creature that ate the miners spread across the small city near the forest.

The people who lived close to the mine, abandoned it and its effects.

But not the witches, who had initially performed gypsy magic and had now advanced into the dark arts. The gypsy magic started by their ancestors gave birth to what is now the dark magic that they practiced today.

Back in the days of old…The gypsies wore colorful garments and had their own language, they immigrated to the Dark Forest as the small town of Rivia did not accommodate them kindly and were sought to be aliens by the people there.

Here in the Dark Forest they made their home. They would practice tarot readings, fortune telling and astronomy for men crossing through the Dark Forest who went to war and sought refuge in neighboring small towns. They would sleep in the forest only to be awoken by harrowing voices.

Some would say they were skin walkers’ others said it was ghosts.

The mayor at the time after hearing much complaints from the retired veterans, banned the forest and deemed it uninhabitable and placed a curse on the Dark Forest. Little did they not know a small community was already living there and had called it home.

Clarice von Dyke after the ceremonial sacrifice of the Red Moon crept down into the dungeons to see what kind of evil lurked in its bowels. To her shock she found the caves that looked like jail cells. Where countless women were chained to the hard rock.

She approached on of the ill-stricken women. Her skin pale like the moon and bony like a skeleton.

“What atrocities have you committed to be judged so?” the Red Queen asked.

“None, my Queen, the people that have given you the power of the Red Queen have deceived for I was once a Red Queen myself. Many have come before and many will come after you. For the Red Queen is used a powerful tool to conjure evil spirits and once that is done, they will strip you of your power and hierarchy and be thrown into the dungeons to rot like our fellow sisters…” the pale skinned woman said.

Clarice after hearing these words was shocked and could not believe her eyes.

Was she just another cog in the machine?

A pet to be used to at her own peril?

To be later discarded by her own sisters?

Later, she approached Meryl the chief priestess and confronted her with the new discovery.

“Do not ever go into the dungeons without me my Queen. The heretics will poison your mind…” she defended herself.

“Watch your tone! Need I remind you who you are talking to!” Clarice commanded.

And with that Meryl humbly asked for her leave.

 

The Knights’ Council

 

“We have word of Bravo’s demise…and came as quickly as possible” said Sir Kingsley one of the Knights council and brother to Bravos.

They all sat round a table ruminating over the news that had echoed through the walls. Bravos was dead, his body was found in the river beaten and dismaimed. This angered the great knights greatly for Bravos was an esteemed knight who would not dare hurt anyone.

“It’s those damned witches!” A voice emerged from the back of the hall.

“Order! Order! Order!” said Sir Kingsley using his hilt of his sword as a gavel.

Mummers lingered in the air and an array of confusion followed it.

“The Dark Forest is banned from the likes of men and women of Rivia. If we declare war there will be bloodshed,” said another Knight.

They sat in the town hall discussing strategies and who would be held responsible for the murder of their own. They wore their armor as if preparing for war, their shiny breast plates radiating over the dim glow of the fire with brandished sigils of the great houses of Rivia.

Some wore the sigil of a lion which was the highest rank. And that was which Bravos’ sigil. The low hum of the fire together with its crackling sound provided warmth in the small shelter of the heath. The Knights talking over each other, others shouting once again until they reached a consensus.

They must send an emissary to the Dark Forest declaring war on the witches if they did not stop the killings of innocent men. They chose Quintin a young Knight to take up the role. He was a very handsome knight square jawed and well built.

He accepted the mission with grace.

He rose as his name was called with great pride. The squirrel sigil across his chest.

He received a written role that was to be presented to the Red Queen of which they did not know who exactly it was at the time but rumor had it that Clarice Von Dyke had usurped the role after fleeing the clutches of her late husband.

Awakening the beginning of the one thousand year war against the witches and man once again.

 

 THE WITCH

VI

Quintin rode as if the world had narrowed to the rhythm of his horse’s hooves. The Night Wood closed around him — a corridor of black trunks and skeletal branches stitched with frost. Snow fell thin and deliberate, each flake a silver pin in the air, catching in his hair until his dark curls wore a cold, glittering crown. He hugged the reins, the leather biting into his palms, the scroll heavy and secret against his chest inside its long leather pouch.

Yield or suffer the consequences.

The words burned like a brand beneath his mail. Above the trees the sky was a bruised blue, low and leaden with weather. His stallion pushed forward, breath steaming in the cold; the animal’s hooves struck a dull drum on compacted snow. Quintin rubbed numb fingers into his palms, blew hot air over them, and forced his shoulders against the cold that wanted to pry him open like a cracked stone.

He found shelter at last — a lone cabin crouched in a clearing, its chimney like a crooked finger. A crucifix hung above the hearth, a gaunt promise of protection. Quintin took it as a sign. He made a small fire from damp twigs and boiled a mug of bitter herbal elixir. His armor clinked when he moved; he slept half upright, steel and wool welded to his skin against frostbite.

The night came like a closing fist. He woke to a howl so near it seemed threaded into the timbers. The cabin breathed around him, wind dragging snow through the doorway. A low creak, then another — something moving above.

Quintin’s hand closed on the hilt of his sword. He crept down the stairs, every muscle coiled, senses raw. The foyer lay open to the night; a blast of cold threw salt-white drifts into the room and scattered the few pots on the counters. He slammed the door shut and braced the bar with a forearm.

Then the air shifted — a sound like a thousand wings or insects taking flight. A dark mist spilled from the center of the room, a living cloud of black flies that clawed at the light. Pain flared where they found skin; the swarm chewed at his hands and face, and Quintin slashed blindly with the small axe at his belt. The insects parted like smoke around steel and reformed.

A voice coiled through the dark — soft, hissing, and threaded with laughter. “We have suffered at the hands of man for too long,” it said.

The words turned his stomach to stone. He steadied himself, blade raised. “I mean no harm,” he called, voice raw. “I am an emissary of the Knight’s Council. I bear a message for the Red Queen.”

Silence pressed in, thick and impossible. Then a woman stepped from the edge of the firelight: skin like milk left too long in the sun, hair the color of midnight, a ragged black dress that whispered with each movement. Her eyes were the dull, patient things of predators.

Above them, on the cabin’s rafters, a shape unfurled — a spider the size of a cartwheel, its legs knotted with frost, mandibles as dark as old iron. It watched.

Quintin’s fingers tightened on his sword. The creature leapt. He met it with steel; the blade struck home with a metallic scream and the monster convulsed, showering wood and splinters. He planted his shield and drove the point again, then again — iron meeting chitin.

The woman drifted closer. Her smile was a fracture. Without warning she struck, fangs flashing hungry and cold. Pain exploded along Quintin’s neck; blood warmed the air. He staggered back, every breath a serrated thing. He clawed for the pouch, for the scroll he had carried through nights and battles, but the woman was quicker. Her fingers were feather-light and merciless as she unfastened the leather, drew the scroll free, and held it up to the firelight.

“The emissary,” she murmured, tasting the word like a verdict. She set the parchment in her palm and motioned with a delicate flick. The spider, as if commanded, fell upon him. Quintin’s last sight was the flash of those articulate legs, the iron of his sword, the red bloom of his life on the snow. The witch laughed — high and reeking of victory — and left him to the dark.

---

Moonlight pooled in the cave deeper inside the forest. Witches gathered like a black tide around a shallow pit, voices threading the air in a language older than the trees. Candles guttered; bones and iron lay scattered like offerings. When the chant subsided, Meryl stepped forward, breath shallow in the cave chill.

“My queen,” she said, and inclined her head toward Clarice.

Clarice von Dyke rose from the shadowed central stone, a figure carved of hunger and ancient patience. Her fingers were long, stained, and precise as she took the small parchment. She unrolled it with a ritual slowness, eyes skimming the scratch of human ink until the letters resolved into a single line: Death to all witches. Man will rise. Surrender.

For a moment the cave held its breath. The words sat between them like a dropped blade.

“What shall we do?” Meryl asked. Fear sharpened her voice into a blade. “They have declared war. We must strike first.”

Clarice’s lips pressed thin. “No,” she said, and her voice carried like a bell through the chamber. “Nobody leaves our home. We will negotiate.”

A ripple of outrage crashed across the gathered faces. “Negotiate?” another witch spat. “They burn us, they hunt our kin — and you would sunder the web?”

“Do you question my judgment?” Clarice’s smile was a small, cruel thing. Her hand tightened on the parchment as if cherishing a map to something far more dangerous than paper. Around her, the witches simmered — anger, betrayal, and fear braided together.

Meryl’s mouth worked. Her eyes narrowed until they were knives. She smelled justice and iron: a promise she could not let go. Her jaw clenched, a vow forming like frost on the tongue.

I will put an end to this, she thought, watching her queen fold the scroll and lay it like a gauntlet at her feet. I will bring justice.

 

THE WITCH

VII

Knight’s council

“It is time to wage war on the cursed witches. They killed Quintin our emissary and now they seek retribution on man himself. God help us all” said Sir Kingsley as the other knights roared in agreement.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” they shouted while lifting their swords haphazardly.

Inside the chamber were some of the Northern Knights from the Northern Kingdom. They had come here to Pitsbury for the great meeting. And to decide the fate of the evil witches that have terrorized their people living there: Hanging the innocent, cannibalism, kidnapping and mutilation.

These foul practices were a breeding ground for human sacrifices, the Dark Forest holds a lot of secrets, to those who dare cross thy path as the saying goes. Clarice von Dyke, the Queen Reagent of the Witches also known as The Red Queen set up a meeting with the high-ranking witches to decide the fate of mankind.

There inside the caves she sat on her Red Throne decorated with roses, red candles surrounding her and a black skull on the top of the large chair. Below her was a pentagram drawn where she practiced black magic and the dark arts. On top of her head was a red crown filled with red roses, a fire was made right beside illuminating the dark cave.

“My Queen the cursed men have come to kill us and make us extinct, they hunt us and burn us to the stake, what shall we do?” said Meryl her voice cracking up with every word as if she swallowed them.

“We shall negotiate with the men at hand” she said firmly.

“These are men, they do not reason like the sisters, they lead with impulses and they only know one language, war” said Meryl now pleading.

The wind whistled from a distance chill and cold. Goosebumps formed under Clarice’s skin like decorated cloth. The moon gleamed from a distance and a wolf howled in the Dark Forest sending chills on the acolytes’ spines.

Clarice adjourned the meeting with great surety that the sister hood will be safe under her care. But Meryl did not share her vision of peace. Her kind have been hunted down for decades and a bitterness swirled within her like a raging bull.

Sir Kingsley, together with the Knights of the round table made war plans against the ill stricken witches. They made war plans and strategies of how to capture this vile race and kill them all breaking truce that was once so prevalent.

“We will need to draw them out. Fighting the witches head on in their territory would be a suicide mission. We need a distraction” said Sir Thomas Blackwood.

“Very well. We shall burn down a part of the forest, draw them out and pick them off one by one until they are no more” said Sir Kingsley.

Inside the heath were the most important men in all of the realm. They drank mead and discussed war plans against the plight of the witches. It was crowded, many young Knights were their cup bearers of the senior rankings, following orders as they so wished.

There they wore their shiny like armor with great swords mounted on their belts sheathed and ready to be used. Archers were also present their strong strung bows slinged across their backs ready to be used, ready for war.

“My fellow men! Today we ride on those wicked witches. They have plagued us for more than a century. Now it is time for retribution. It is time for war!” shouted Sir Kingsley as he raised his great sword on horseback.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the rest of the knights in unison.

Clutching the reins of their horses they sped off into the Dark Forest. The clouds shed tears and a heavy hurricane rampaged through the town. But that did not stop the tenacity of the Knights. Filled with blood lust they rode on with courage and valor.

Deep in the Dark Forest they rode in plenty and armed to the tooth.

One of the acolytes named Sara whom had the gift of sight, had a vision of the Knights breaching the Dark Forest, their domain, their home. She hurried impetuously to the Red Queen, there beneath her throne she laid on the cave floor bowing frantically.

“My Red Queen, I have seen man ride on our lands with impunity and decadence coming to kill us. We need to prepare for war” said Sara the seer.

“None shall do no such thing” said the Red Queen, she spoke eloquently and with authority.

The rest of her acolytes gasped in shock and awe.

Her very presence showered her followers with grace and serenity. They all could not understand her demeanor, all the Red Queens before her were blood-thirsty and ready for war, perhaps the prophecy is true. There will come a time when the Red Queen shall bring peace over these lands – the Witch Codex.

Meryl filled with fury, sought to usurp the great Red Queen. Little did she know her plans were toyed and fumbled for the sisters had loose tongues.

“My Chieftain Rose Blackwood, put this insurgent in chains and get her out of my sight!” said Clarice with authority in her voice that would command the wildest of animals. And so, the female guards burst into the vicinity of the conclave and bound Meryl into chains of iron not even the strongest of spells would break.

“Here me my sisters this is a time of peace. I will be your vessel into a new era…man and woman shall live in harmony once again. And I will destroy those who dared stand in my way!” she said commandingly.

Deep in the dark forest was a Red Queen

Red as the reeds has ever been

A new day has begun

And the old forgotten

For in this new day

A new dawn shall begin

Forever and ever…