Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
I t was not uncommon for Hekate to cycle through trials. It seemed even a goddess had limits to her creativity. But the Culling, although it had only been recorded once before in history, was the bloodiest of all Her trials. As a shepherd would cull his flock, this was a way of allowing the contestants to thin the ranks. Which made sense, considering the sheer number of witches allowed into the Witch Trials.
I wracked my memory, drawing up every little bit of knowledge I remembered. The Culling was a timed trial, with a simple outcome—survive until the toll of the next bell. That could be hours, days, or even weeks. But from the volume of the screams, I hardly imagined Hekate would require it to go on for too long. By sunrise, there would be few witches left.
I took a cautious step towards the door when a face filled my mind. Romy. I’d left her alone. Unless she’d been successful in her attempt to find allies, she was currently right in the midst of hundreds of witches out for blood.
There was no room for thought in the face of danger, only action. And right now, Romy was what drove me to run from the library and back through the dark maze of the castle. I couldn’t explain the feeling of pure need, except to repay her for trying to free me from my cell.
Deep in my gut, the beast woke. The blood-thirsty excitement of a fight. There was no quelling it, or ignoring the feeling. Although I didn’t plan to harm another witch unless provoked, there was one person in this contest I’d happily slaughter.
The Witch Hunter.
It didn’t take long for the empty corridors to fill with bodies. Witches didn’t walk out of doors, but instead came barrelling out of them. I stopped just before two of them smashed into me. The wall beside me was not so fortunate. They careened into it, the force dislodging a faded painting of flowers in a blue-white vase. The gilded frame cracked against the floor, just as one of the witches drove a fist into the other’s face.
They were a mess of tangled limbs. I stepped around the scrapping witches, trying to keep going. But my presence altered them, and instead of beating each other up they both turned on me.
‘Steady now,’ I said, backing up, hands poised and ready. It would be in that moment that Caym’s presence would’ve come in handy. ‘I’ll be on my merry way. You both can get back to your?—’
The air snapped with frost, silencing me. It scalded the back of my throat, turning my breath to fog before my lips. It didn’t take a scholar to know the sudden drop in temperature was a result of the water-witch in front of me. His eyes glowed with a circlet of sapphire, just as his hands hardened from flesh to ice. He used the wall beside him for leverage as he stood. But where his hand touched, winter spread. Shocking white cracks spread outwards, hungry as the gaze of the witch that controlled it.
‘Hector Briar, the prodigal son,’ the water-witch sang. ‘What an honour it will be to kill you.’
‘I’m getting sick and tired of hearing my name already,’ I said, cracking my neck, the beast of my Gift unfurling in my gut. I readied my stance, hands held like claws beside me. ‘I would say join the queue.’
‘He’s mine, Billy.’ The second witch got up from the ground. Her cheek was plastered with blood, oozing from the cut at her cheek. I recognised her instantly as the red-headed woman Romy had been speaking to. But from the look she threw me, my initial concern was proven correct. This was no friend of mine. Certainly no ally. That glint in her eyes, the desire for pain, was one I had seen reflected back at me before.
‘Are we going to fight over this too, Jaz ?’ Billy said, sapphire eyes glowing, ice crackling. It was as though he grasped the very air, hardening it with every passing second. ‘Or are we going to take him together?’
The red-headed witch, Jaz, stepped beside him. ‘Is this your way of accepting my invitation to coven-up?’
Billy smirked, thin lips spreading across his otherwise handsome face. Although, after staring into Arwyn’s eyes, it was hard admiring anyone else’s beauty. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
‘I do love how I can turn foes into friends,’ I said, backing away until the wall was pressed behind me. Both witches stood in front, blocking the corridor I was hoping to get through. ‘But I’m really not in the mood for another attempt on my life.’
Jaz cracked her neck, sweeping her length of hair over her shoulder, as her eyes glowed. Emerald spun around her brown eyes, giving her the look of a murderous cat. ‘Shame.’
‘I could join you,’ I lied, readying my own Gift. ‘If you’ve got space for another witch in your little coven.’
‘Your little friend already declined it on your behalf,’ Jaz said, side stepping around Billy. ‘What was her name again…Romy? Ah, yes. Painfully positive. In fact, once we’re done with you, I think we’ll go and find her next.’
I didn’t waste another moment. My power pushed out against my skin just as I sprung forwards. Jaz’s eyes flashed in warning before a splitting agony cut through my skull. I didn’t get close enough to attack before I blacked out. The floor came up to meet me, fast and hard. My knees cracked against old wood, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in my head.
I saw double as my skull split in two. I clutched in on either side, screaming out as though that would stop the pain.
‘Interesting gift, isn’t it?’ Jaz said from beyond the haze of pain. Clearly this was her doing. I attempted to blindly throw out a blast of my power, but the pain only intensified. ‘Ah, ah, ah, Hector. Every time you use your Gift, mine will punish you.’
‘May I?’ Billy lowered himself before me, ice-coated hands stretching for my face. My skin stung with the sheer chill of his aura.
Not even five minutes into the Culling and my life was almost forfeit. There was no Caym to save me, no Arwyn to act as my stand-in shadow.
But there was no fucking way I was going to fail now.
‘You….are…making’ I withdrew my power, releasing my grasp on it. Immediately, the pain ceased. Cut off, as quickly as it arrived. That was Jaz’s first mistake, telling me the limits of her Gift. If it caused me pain when I used it, then that meant it couldn’t work when I didn’t. Made sense as to why neither witch had been using their Gifts to fight when I first stumbled into their line of sight.
Free of the agony, my next words were clear. ‘A mistake.’
Instead of withdrawing from Billy, I reared my neck back then cocked the hard part of my skull forwards. It cracked against the bridge of his nose, the suddenness making him reel back. Jaz realised my change of tactic, but far too late. As Billy fell backwards, arms pinwheeling, nose gushing blood, I took control. One swift kick to her gut, and I sent Jaz falling directly into Billy. Her scream cut through the corridor as his ice-coated hand touched her flesh.
‘Get off me!’ Jaz clawed at Billy, but most importantly his frost-coated hand was currently pressed against the side of her neck. As he tried to pull back in panic, it peeled skin away. Her eyes glowed, and he was punished for the use of his power.
My heart hammered in my chest as I stared down at them. ‘Good luck with that.’
Billy was crying out as Jaz wormed her power back into him. Both witches didn’t notice as I ran off, leaving them to deal with their sudden predicament.
I didn’t stop until I recognised the area near the Great Hall. There was no point looking to see if they followed—it would only split my focus. And right now, I needed every ounce of it.
I was familiar with death. Most nights my dreams would replay the sound of my parents’ murder. Thud. Thud. Thud . Besides that, I had stalked Witch Hunters and seen the end of so many I’d lost count years ago. But, as I navigated the castle, I felt as though I had finally seen enough death to last me a lifetime.
Bodies were strewn everywhere. Not even an hour into the first trial and the floorboards were soaked with gore. Puddles of it spread over the polished floor, splatters decorating the walls like we were in a Stephen King novel.
Cautiously, I made my way back towards the Great Hall. I was sick at the thought of what I would find when I entered it. I had last seen Romy there, so it would be the first place I checked. Even if there was a sudden silence to the castle.
The screams had died down. I didn’t know what was worse, the song of terror and pain, or the quiet that followed.
My panic only intensified as I rounded the corridor to my destination. It wasn’t who I found, but what I didn’t find that sent horror slicing through me.
The doors weren’t open—they were blown off the walls. The entrance of the Great Hall was nothing more than a gaping hole of stone and broken wood. There were so many bodies outside, most of which were left face down with splinters of wood protruding from their backs. These witches must have attempted to escape right when the bell tolled, but weren’t so lucky.
I stepped around the dead, blood and flesh squelching beneath my boots. When I got my first proper look at the destruction in the Great Hall, something firm grasped my ankle.
‘Help…me.’
I could barely make out the features of the witch laid out on the ground. Their face was ruined, bone visible through the gaps of their face. It was as though their face literally…melted off.
Romy. She had to have been here at some point. I quickly surveyed the dead beyond this witch but didn’t see any sign of Romy among them. But my relief was short lived. Returning my gaze back to the pleading, dying witch, I grimaced at the agony they were clearly in. Not even an animal would’ve been left alive to suffer like this. I had seen Romy’s power used once, but the horror of it would forever be recognisable.
Pulling my ankle free, though the witch continued to reach out for me. I couldn’t tell if they were crying, or if the liquid running from their bulging eyes was brain matter or blood. They gargled on their plea, the sound as feral as they looked. I didn’t want to, but pity and despair had me kneeling close to them. Clearly, they were trying to tell me something. Maybe I should have walked away, but I couldn’t.
It wasn’t until my ear was practically beside their mangled lips that I made out their next words. ‘Kill me.’
I rocked backwards. Never had someone begged me to kill them before. Usually the Witch Hunters would plead to be spared, or saved. Forgiven even. This feeling was unpleasant. But as I looked at the person, or what little could be seen of them beneath the ruin, I felt a sense of dread.
‘I can’t,’ I spluttered, putting distance between us. ‘I’m sorry.’
They continued to reach out for me, long after I left them. Their cries followed me, sinking talons into my mind and refusing to ever let go.
This was wrong. This was all wrong. Anger reared its head at the unfair treatment. It was no wonder my mother longed to keep me away.
This was what my blood caused.
This—all the bodies, all the death—was undeniably my fault.
And as I saw the Great Hall, walls splattered with blood, the floor strewn with bodies and plates of food from the tipped-over table, I almost combusted with the emotion. One look to the chalkboard, and I could see so many spaces where names had been removed. So many dead. I knew how terrible these trials were, but seeing it first-hand was something entirely different.
Focused on finding Romy, I didn’t leave until I checked every corpse for her face. By the time I reached the last one, I doubled over and retched. Bile crept up my throat, bringing with it the stale taste of wine.
Someone or something had to deal with all these dead bodies. I almost sat amongst them, knowing if I waited long enough I could face whoever came and take the turmoil out on them.
‘Hector!’ My name split the deathly silence.
My head snapped towards the doorway, following the sound of the voice, even as I was already hiding. Moving objects or people with my power was simple, but moving myself required a more intense focus. But unless I wanted to hide beneath the piles of dead bodies, or face the vengeful witch, there was only one place I could go.
Up.
My limbs shook as I jumped, propelling my body into the shadowy rafters of the ceiling. I slunk into the shadows, longing for Caym to be here and take me away in his. But as I expected Jaz to round the corner, it was another witch who entered.
Salem, dishevelled but alive.
Salem’s single eye scanned the room. The side of his face was imprinted with his scar, which from this angle looked terrifying. I was almost relieved to see him, instead of any of the other witches I could have run into. But something stopped me from revealing myself. It was the determination in his gaze, the grimace his handsome face was set into as he looked in every corner for something.
Or someone.
Satisfied the room was empty of living witches, Salem moved on. He walked past the same witch who had pleaded for me to kill them. Unlike me though, when the same request reached Salem’s ears, he didn’t waste time to do it. I clapped hand over my mouth, stifling my gag. Maybe I should’ve closed my eyes, but doing so would’ve only proved I was a coward. If I couldn’t face the brutality now, I’d never survive the night.
Salem knelt down, his low whisper inaudible. Whatever he said frightened the dying witch. It must’ve been bad to cause a reaction in someone already facing the worst possible terror. Then he levelled his hand towards the witch, fingers splayed for a second before he fisted them. The air popped with static. Snakes of blue light danced around his slender fingers.
Even from my vantage point, I watched the wide-eyed witch reflect the light of their end as Salem lowered his hand. Upon impact, the witch… sizzled. Like meat on a barbecue. Smoke danced from their eyes, nose, and opened mouth. Even their ears steamed with it as Salem used his power to fry them from the inside out.
Salem didn’t stop until the room was choked with the smell of cooked flesh, long after the witch was dead. He straightened and placed his murderous hands into his pockets. Watching him, his brutality, took me back to when I was six years old and the violence of this nasty little prick who’d made my life hell.
This was what became of someone left to fester. Then again, how different was he from me?
I waited until I was confident Salem had moved on. It could have been minutes since he left the room, or hours. There was no way to know. Time moved strangely here, the view beyond the stained-glass windows still painted black with night.
By the time I landed back on the ground, in a pose that would make any superhero comic-book fan proud, I was running again. I had to find Romy. Either to protect her, or be protected by her presence.
There was only one other place I could imagine Romy would go. To our room. If she could’ve made it there, perhaps she’d barricaded herself in. She had the key—that thought alone gave me comfort. Maybe that was where she thought I had returned to once she’d realised I’d left the Great Hall.
I only hoped my suspicions were right, and I didn’t find her amongst the dead on my route back through the castle.
My focus was razor sharp. Pushing Salem’s brutality to the back of my mind, I left that worry to dwell on later. No point worrying about tomorrow if I didn’t make it there.
Years of survival made my ability to map an area a near military-level skill. I relied on my instinct to draw me back through the unfamiliar castle. I passed more dead. More suffering. Behind doors I heard struggling and pleading. Worst of all, I heard laughter. I forget it all, or at least I tried too. My legs burned the more stairs I raced up, my chest aching. Sweat rolled down my spine, dampening my hair line, and all the while I didn’t stop. Not until I reached the attic level.
But before I took those final steps, the door to our room almost in view, another shout rung out. The pain was so great it broke the person’s voice. I whipped up the final step, just in time to see five witches, four of whom are clearly in a coven as they face down the other.
All I could think was that witches had already reached Romy. But she was not the one facing the coven down.
It was Arwyn. My shadow. Fire dripped from his hands, its light unnaturally blue, just like his eyes. The light illuminated the underside of his face, illuminating his swollen left eye and blood-crusted nose. He was limping, being forced towards the banister at his back. And yet still he faced down the coven before him, holding those flaming hands ready as though he could take them all out.
Why was he here? Had he come to finish me off, just as I thought? Whatever his reasons had been, he’d clearly failed.
For the first time, I couldn’t turn away. My room was so close, yet with Arwyn’s growls emanating from before me, I could’ve been caught in an entirely different world.
Everything unfolded slowly.
Arwyn stepped too close to the banister at his back. The wood cracked. The coven forced him towards the edge. He was so focused on those before him that he didn’t notice when the banister disappeared. Poof , it was gone, just like magic. Literally.
But I noticed.
As his foot continued over the edge, his body tipping to a fall, his flames left an arc of sapphire light. Arwyn turned his head, his white-glowing eyes met mine.
Then he fell.