Chapter 3 #2
The witches wait, a trembling cluster of cloaked figures standing behind their leader.
Their huddled forms stand like statues carved from fear, their faces pale in the eerie glow of their shattered protections.
The High Mother stands at their forefront, her head held high and her posture rigid, her face a mask of defiance.
But even from here, I can see the cracks.
The fear in her eyes. The knowledge of what’s coming.
Her eyes lock onto mine and I see a flicker of fear before something rarer comes to the surface. The woman is proud, and my teeth grind against each other as she refuses to acknowledge her place and looks away.
“High Mother,” Galen sneers, his magic crackling around him like a living thing. “You’ve led your coven into ruin.”
She doesn’t respond, but the tension in her body is visible. She knows there’s no escape from this. Behind her, the other witches shift nervously, their fear palpable. They know what’s coming too.
Darius steps forward, his grin as sharp as a blade. “Breaking the sigil was bold. Stupid, but bold. Did you think you could challenge us and win?”
The High Mother’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, it seems she won’t answer. But then she speaks, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
“We didn’t break the sigil.”
A laugh erupts from Galen, harsh and unrelenting. “Spare us the lies. We felt it. We see the destruction. This was your doing.”
She shakes her head and the black and silver of her hair dances with her movement. “The sigil was broken by one of our own. A rogue witch who acted against the coven’s wishes. We’ve already punished her. She’s been cast out and stripped of the bonds she needs to practice.”
“Cast out?” Galen laughs, a harsh, humorless sound. “How convenient. And yet here we stand, wading through the aftermath of your failure.”
“It wasn’t a failure,” she snaps, her composure slipping for a moment. Her fear is exquisite and I delight in it, absorbing the magic slipping from her as her control slips. “It was a betrayal. We didn’t want this. None of us wanted this.”
“Betrayal,” I echo, finally stepping forward. My voice is cold, deliberate. “Isn’t that the root of all rebellion? A witch acts out of line, and suddenly the coven falls apart. Perhaps that’s the real problem. You’ve forgotten your place and the witches beneath you don’t know theirs.”
The High Mother’s eyes flash with anger, but she reins herself in. Her magic, though faint compared to ours, bristles at the edges of the clearing, a subtle warning that she is not entirely powerless.
“We maintain control of our own,” she says sharply. “The girl’s actions were her own, and we have dealt with her accordingly.”
“And yet you refuse to name her,” Darius says, stepping closer. His voice is a low purr, but the threat of it is unmistakable. “A rogue witch with the power to break a sigil should be a warning to us all. Who is she? Where can we find her?”
The High Mother’s lips tighten again, her resolve hardening. “It’s not your concern. She is no longer part of this coven.”
Galen’s laugh is venomous, his magic crackling around him like a storm barely restrained. “Not our concern? Your coven broke the covenant, shattered the balance, and unleashed chaos. It is very much our concern.”
The High Mother’s shoulders lift, and for a moment, her defiance is almost admirable. But irritation and frustration take over, as my anger rises and I’m certain she’s protecting the girl. The women are lying and covering for the girl who broke the covenant and destroyed the order.
To break the sigil is despicable.
To lie and protect the traitor who perpetrated this act of rebellion is a crime worse than the first.
My gaze hardens as I step closer and the women tremble.
The air tastes rich with their fear and it’s a drug I’m getting high off, my senses ready to indulge themselves as the pleasure of their pain consumes me.
The witches stay silent, their eyes darting nervously between them, and I cast my eyes over them, checking that not one of them deserves to be spared for Galen.
“We want the truth,” he says, his tone dark and deadly. “And if you won’t give us the truth willingly, we’ll take it.”
The High Mother’s eyes widen as the full weight of his words sinks in.
She takes a step back, her magic flickering weakly in response to the storm brewing around us.
Her power is a dying flame and she’s no match for the gale gathering at our backs, and the hesitation in her fingers is another sign of her weakness.
“You wouldn’t,” she whispers, though there’s no conviction in her voice.
“No,” Galen replies, his lips curling into a dark smile that sends a shiver down my spine, “but he would.”
Darius moves. His darkness erupts in a wave of shadow, blackness spiling from him, drowning everything in sight in its ink. The air snaps with tension as taut as a rope and our fury erupts from the depths of our souls, raw and unrestrained.
Galen releases a wave of fire from his hands and it tears through the air with an unnatural hunger.
It rips at the air with a shriek of rage, scorching the earth beneath our feet, turning the grass to ash.
The High Mother tries to shield herself, her hands trembling as she raises a feeble barrier, but the fire doesn’t even pause.
It engulfs her, wraps around her like a living thing, consuming her in its heat.
The roar of the flames swallows her screams. Her magic flickers, sputters out like a dying candle, and then she crumbles, her body collapsing into a pile of charred remnants.
A sharp crack echoes in the air and Darius comes alive.
The coven’s magic falters as the surrounding light is devoured.
They try to fight, and I can feel the pathetic flickers of their weak spells trembling against his pull.
But it’s no use. Darius doesn’t just command the dark, he is the dark.
It wraps around their limbs, pulls at their throats, and tears the light from their hearts.
They are no more than marionettes in his grasp, squirming, gasping, as the darkness devours their very souls.
“Tell us everything,” Galen commands, his voice calm but laced with lethal intent. “Or the next step will be yours.”
The coven remains silent, too afraid to speak, their fear hanging in the air like the scent of blood. It’s too late for them now. Too late to back down, too late to change course. They made their choice when they chose to rebel and now the only decision they’ll make is how much this will hurt.
The ground trembles beneath us as I release a surge of my own magic, forcing a witch with silver eyes to her knees. Her cry is strangled as she’s dragged down, unable to fight against the sheer weight of my will.
“Where?” I demand, my voice more dangerous than it has ever been. “Where is she?”
The witch dares to look me in the eye as she spits at my feet. “Rot in Hell.”
My fingers clench and the witch’s scream echoes through the clearing as my power surges, the energy ripping through her and pulling from her essence like a black hole.
Her body goes limp, her life snuffed out in an instant.
Her soul, twisted and broken, is absorbed into the darkness I command, my heart beating faster as it enjoys taking her pathetic, meaningless life.
“Who’s next?” I ask, certain it makes little difference in the end.