by Donovan, Rob
He had never experienced any kind of witchcraft before and deep down, despite hearing stories to the contrary, did not believe it actually existed. The sight of Jon Holdsworth’s vacant expression, completely oblivious to the witch controlling his body, haunted him.
Now, two days on, the heat of the first rays of dawn shone through the window of Janna’s room and woke him. He and Kiana had taken to keeping vigil over Janna’s bed. He had moved the rocking chair upstairs to try and make sleeping in the room more comfortable. The first night, he and Kiana had resorted to sleeping on the floor. He looked at his daughter, who stared vacantly past him as if frozen in shock. There did not seem to be any change in her condition.
He left the room and went to find Kiana and Jensen. They sat around the kitchen table each cradling a cup of hot tea. Jensen went over to the stove and made a cup for his father. Rhact attempted a smile as Jensen placed the steaming drink down in front of him. Jensen nodded in response. The tea tasted good. The warmth injected some life into the numbness he felt. Kiana was intent on chasing the spoon around her mug rather than drinking the tea. She looked terrible. Her face was pale and drawn and she seemed to have aged over night. He realised she was probably thinking the same about him.
Despite getting some sleep, he suddenly felt fatigued. He collapsed on one of the chairs, his head in his hands.
For a while none of them spoke.
“She’s not dead yet!” Jensen said. Kiana shot him a look. “What? I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t just say then. There is a thing called tact, Jensen. None of us want to hear the possibility of Janna being sacrificed at the moment,” Kiana said.
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why? It’s happening. Why pretend that it is not? Let’s deal with it. It’s not as bad as it could be.”
“On what moon of Frindoth are you living on?” Kiana exploded. “How is it not that bad? Your sister, you know, that fifteen-year-old girl up there, our daughter, has been selected as part of the Ritual. It is the worst thing that could have happened to us, you silly little boy. The thought of the Gloom touching … ripping …”
Kiana’s eyes filled with tears, she could not finish her sentence. There was an awkward silence. Rhact felt a lump form in his throat.
“What I meant,” Jensen began quietly, “is that she hasn’t been chosen yet. There is still a good chance it will not be her. Let’s despair when we get to that stage.”
“It won’t get that far,” Rhact said. He ignored the looks of disbelief on his wife’s and son’s faces and continued, “She will not be going to Lilyon.”
“What do you mean she won’t be going? We have to go. It is—”
Rhact silenced his son by raising his hand.
“Do you want to leave it to chance whether your sister lives or dies?” he said.
“Well no, of course not. But you are talking as if we have a choice,” Jensen said.
Rhact glanced at Kiana and saw the look of hope in her eyes. Moments ago she was on the edge of despair and now he could feel the love she felt for him. Loved him for wanting to do something to protect his family, for daring to believe there was another way. He knew then and there, whatever he was about to say, she would support him.
However, he didn’t get to say anything as he was distracted by the sight of a distressed Mertyn and Tyra approaching his house.
“Not a word about the stone,” he hissed to Kiana and Jensen.
He went to the door and opened it. Tyra ran the last few feet and wrapped herself in his arms. Rhact hugged her back; one look at his best friend’s ashened face told him all he needed to know.
“Who?” Rhact asked.
“Brody, we found it yesterday,” Mertyn replied, holding up a bright orange stone exactly the same shape as the one that Rhact had in his pocket. Tears filled his eyes. How could it even be possible that both their children had received a stone? Brody was like a son to him.
“I’m so sorry,” he managed to say, more to Tyra then to Mertyn.
Mertyn knew the pain that Rhact would feel at the news. He was grateful when Kiana appeared and guided Tyra away. Rhact stood aside for Mertyn to enter and impulsively hugged him too as he went past. Mertyn raised just one arm and flexed it round his friend’s back.
“Where is he?” Jensen asked.
“Down by the bridge,” Mertyn said, “he seems to be taking it well.”
Jensen ran off to find his friend. Rhact raised his eyebrows questioningly at his friend. “Well, as well anyone can take news like this,” he shrugged.
He and Kiana spent the rest of the morning consoling their friends. They were in a state of shock and all they kept on asking was “why?” Neither he nor Kiana could provide an answer. Tyra and Mertyn did not notice that Janna was nowhere to be seen. Rhact excused himself on a couple of occasions to make sure there was no change in her condition.
Janna still sat in the same position he’d left her. She stared out of the window, fixated on nothing. He waved a hand in front of her face. Her eyes flicked briefly to him and for a moment his heart soared but then just as quickly they went back to the window. He was not even sure that Janna was looking out of the window, it just happened to be the direction she faced. He put a blanket around his daughter’s shoulders and left the room.
When he came downstairs for the third time, the three of them talked more pragmatically about the situation. He wanted nothing more than to tell them about Janna and admit they were in the same situation. It would be so much easier to share in their grief. Instead he had to pretend to be mortified solely about his friend’s plight, when all he could think of was Janna and his own family. Kiana seemed to sense what he was thinking and gave him an encouraging smile.
“So what are you going to do?” Rhact asked. Mertyn frowned at this.
“What do you mean? We are going to Lilyon, of course. We have no choice in the matter, you know that.” Rhact nodded, he glanced at Kiana who did not make eye contact. He knew she wanted him to sound out Mertyn on their plans. It was a massive risk but he owed it to Mertyn to at least test the water with him. Besides, he wanted more than anything to share in his friend’s predicament. He was the closest friend Rhact ever had, but suddenly he was not sure if he could be trusted with their secret.
“Have you thought about not going to Lilyon? Maybe, running away?” Rhact asked tentatively.
He paused before suggesting the running away plan. Tyra looked at Mertyn hopefully, like a dog lifts its head when a stranger walks past.
Rhact realised she was completely broken. There was no sign of her normally impeccable appearance today. Her cheeks were puffy from crying and her blonde hair had been carelessly scooped up and tied into a bun. Mertyn snorted at the suggestion.
“And how do you suggest we get away with that one then? Tell the witch to look in the other direction whilst we make a break for it? And what about the rest of the people selected, what about Frindoth as a whole? If Brody doesn’t show up, then the other eleven poor bastard stoneholders will get sacrificed to the Gloom anyway. The Ritual will be sabotaged, the agreement between man and Gloom broken, then what? Huh? Who knows what the Gloom will do.
“I’ll tell you what, it will destroy Frindoth, devour it town by town, city by city. Once we break our agreement with it, there is nothing to stop it doing as it pleases. You know this, Rhact. You know that is why the Ritual takes place in the first place. It stinks like a Lilyon brothel, but it is life.”
“He was only trying to help,” Kiana said weakly.
“I know he was only trying to help,” Mertyn said, rounding on her. “I appreciate that, but stupid ideas are not going to help matters.”
“All I was saying is that if we were in your situation, I would be doing everything I could to protect my family,” Rhact said.
Instantly he knew he had said the wrong thing. Mertyn exploded with rage, tipping over the table. Tyra flinched at her husband’s violence. Mertyn strode o
ver to Rhact, bending over so his nose was almost touching Rhact’s. He prodded his friend in the chest. Rhact was too fixated on Mertyn’s anger to notice the pain.
“And I’m not doing enough to protect mine, is that what you are saying, friend?” he said through clenched teeth, his whole body trembling with rage.
Rhact remained seated. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it when he couldn’t think of anything to say. He could feel the rage emanating from his friend as he stared at him. The tension hung in the air like smoke. Eventually, it seemed Mertyn’s anger left him, his shoulders sagged and his head drooped. Rhact tried to put a reassuring hand on his neck, but Mertyn shrugged it aside.
Without a word he turned and left the house, leaving the door ajar. He looked at Tyra and flicked his head. Like a dutiful wife, she rose slowly and followed. Before she reached the door, Kiana tried to reconcile the situation,
“Rhact was only trying to—”
“Leave it, Kiana,” Tyra interrupted before she could finish her sentence. “We are friends.”
“So that’s it? You are just going to walk off?” Tyra paused, Kiana watched her hands clench and then relax.
“We will be leaving at noon tomorrow. It would be nice if you are there,” she said before continuing without looking back.
* * *
Jhon Roland was more commonly known as “Ucking Jhon” for the simple reason he could not get through a single sentence without using expletives. He lived alone and was generally considered a nuisance by those that knew and worked with him. He was an out and out drunk who only ever worked to pay for the next bottle of the ‘golden syrup.’
As the first rays of sunlight beamed through his bedroom window, Jhon was lying with his head leaning on his desk. Drool fell out of his mouth to form a puddle on the book he was reading. In his right hand he still gripped the half drunk bottle of whiskey from the night before. Scattered at his feet, were numerous empty bottles of ale he only vaguely remembered drinking.
“Fucking daylight,” he mumbled as he looked up at the window, squinting through one eye. “I’ll show you, you fucking bright fucker, trying to shine in my fucking window.”
He stood up to close the shutters but immediately regretted the motion as a searing pain attacked his skull.
“Fucking head! Damn whiskey! May the Gloom come and take you.”
Ucking Jhon held out the bottle of whiskey in front of him, staring at it angrily, as if it was the bottle’s fault that he was feeling so bad. After a few moments, he shrugged and gulped down some more of the drink, swaying as he did so. Squinting again against the light, he stepped toward the window but immediately found himself flying through the air. His arms windmilled as he attempted to regain his balance after he stepped on one of the empty bottles. He landed hard on his back covered in the whiskey; the bottle he had stepped on rolled away. For a moment Ucking Jhon’s mind was swimming and all he could see were stars.
“Fucking bottles,” he said.
As his head cleared, he glanced around the small room, taking in a half-empty wardrobe, a wooden chair and a small single bed. Coupled with the desk, these objects made up his life. Although he had not slept in his bed, it was still unmade from the night before last.
Ucking Jhon frowned as he caught sight of a small blue object on his pillow. Frowning, he rolled onto his side and crawled towards it. He picked up the object and examined it. It was a small, shiny stone, entirely smooth. His eyes widened as he realised what it was.
“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK …”
* * *
Mira sat sobbing on the other side of the bedroom door as her mother pounded on it. She was naked from the waist down. Beside her in a crumpled heap were her undergarments. She looked at the blood that stained them and let out a new howl.
“Mira, honey, please let me in,” her mother said. “It’s the most natural thing for a girl your age.”
Mira squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. How could bleeding that much from that area be natural? She awoke this morning to find her sheets soaked thick and red. At first she was bewildered and thought her father must have spilt wine over her when coming to check on her in the night. However, on closer inspection she realised her trousers felt heavy and they were a dark red, almost brown.
She had cautiously placed a hand down inside her trousers and was horrified when she felt the unmistakeable sticky substance between her legs. Not wanting to but feeling compelled to, she had brought her hand up in front of her face. When she saw the blood on her fingertips, she had screamed.
Her parents had responded instantly, demanding to know if she was all right. Blushing, she had rushed to bolt the door to block their entrance. It was only after several worried questions from her mother and even a threat from her father that Mira had told them what had happened. Her father had half-snorted, half-laughed before telling her mother, “all yours,” and retreated back to their bedroom.
“Mira, it happened to me, to Mona, Aunt Janey. Please let me come in and explain. There is nothing to worry about.”
“I’m going to bleed to death,” Mira replied.
“No you’re not, sweetie. You have become a woman.”
“Really?”
Mira’s head swam with a million questions. She slowly reached up and pulled back the bolt on the door. Her mother opened it and immediately threw her arms around her in a tight embrace, whispering assurances in her ear. When she withdrew, she held her daughter at arm’s length and looked at her. Mira saw her eyes fall on the blood-stained garment on the floor.
“Oh my poor baby,” she said.
Mira immediately burst in to tears again and flung herself onto the bed crying into her pillow. Her mother followed, stroking her hair.
“Mira, look at me, it’s all right. Be a brave girl now and look at me.”
Mira sat up still hugging the pillow, her eyes were puffy and red. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“You’ve become a woman, Mira. What you have just experienced was your first—”
It was then Mira’s mother’s turn to scream as she looked at the green stone that had been underneath her daughter’s pillow.
* * *
The urge had taken him again. He felt it coming on and had done everything he could to fight it. He could do nothing about it when it came, a feral, base instinct to kill. To inflict as much pain as he possibly could. It completely consumed him. He was trying to change. He had been doing so well to control it, but they had deserved it.
Frendel Cobal licked the blood as it ran down his face. It tasted sweet but metallic, a taste that satisfied and repulsed him at the same time. All around him strewn in various poses of agony were dead bodies. He had slaughtered an entire family as if they were cattle. Not one of them had put up any decent sort of resistance, the head of the household, if anything, had been the easiest to dispatch.
He now lay awkwardly draped over the upturned table he had been gorging at. His fat belly exposed for all to see and the surprise of Frendel bursting into his home still registered on his lifeless eyes. He still clutched a chicken breast in his hand as if this was more important than protecting his family.
His ugly wife had put up more of a struggle. Once he had sliced her husband, she had leapt onto his back clawing at his face. Frendel had thrown himself against the wall, ramming her skull into the stone and concussing her. He had then dragged her over to the huge pot of stew she had been slaving over and put her head into it, drowning her. She had kicked like a mule, but was powerless against him.
He looked at his hand; it was red raw where he had scalded himself holding her head in the stew. Yet Frendel did not feel any of the pain that he should have.
At his feet lay the two youngest children. They had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, their faces pale with fear and shock. In a few quick strides he was upon them, he felt nothing as consumed by the urge he had sliced their tiny throats.
Now he turned his attention to the one
remaining member of the family, the beautiful daughter. All thoughts of remorse left him as the urge overpowered him again.
He had discovered her, half-naked, trying to escape out of her bedroom window. In disgust, he yanked her to the floor by her golden hair and slammed the window shut.
Frendel had first caught sight of her serving behind the bar at the Red Dragon Inn. She had poured a mug of ale for a local and leaned forward as she gave the stranger his change to reveal a glimpse of an already large bust. The stranger told her to keep the coins and in return received a coquettish wink. Frendel had to leave the Inn there and then. The urge to have her was too strong and he was worried he might have acted upon impulse and risked taking on the whole inn. Not that it would have worried him, he knew he was more than a match for a group of drunken louts.
He had retreated, determined to become a better man and not some animal. However, she would not leave his thoughts. The memory of her body tormented him.
So he studied her, learned where she lived and what her routine was, until it got to the point where the desire had reached fever pitch and he had kicked in the door to her house.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked him.
He watched her pathetic attempt to create some degree of distance between them, whilst holding a blanket to her body to cover herself.
“I have to have you,” he said as he unbuttoned his trousers.
“But why kill my family?”
Frendel frowned at this as if it was the most stupid question he had ever been asked.
“They were in the way,” he said.
Somewhere within his mind he vaguely heard a voice pleading with him to stop. It was telling him that what he was doing was wrong and that he had changed. The urge silenced the voice. He pulled himself free, showing himself to her as he stroked his member.
“Oh three moons! Please don’t do this,” she said, her eyes widening in despair.