The Blood Witch (The Blood Reign Chronicles Book 1)

by Nielsen, D. S.

  He looked down to see the tines of the pitchfork sunk deep into his mother’s stomach, but even with the pitchfork immersed in her middle, she continued to struggle to reach him, or rather past him to Gin. Jak was baffled as to why his mother wanted Gin so badly but not him. But then again a part of him…… a strange new splinter secluded deep inside him, did know why.

  Like closing a gate, tranquility suddenly swept over his mother. It appeared to be his mother once again, the strange violent hunger gone from her eyes. She glanced down at the pitchfork that was impaling her. When she raised her eyes and met Jak’s gaze, they were filled with shock and sorrow.

  “What have you done Jak? Why did you do this to me? What have you become?”

  “No,” he cried in anguish, “stop that. You aren’t my mother. You are just some creature that wants to kill Gin”

  “Kill Gin?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “But why on earth would I want to hurt my baby?” She said as tears streamed down her face. “What is wrong with you Jak? What is wrong with your eyes? Why are you saying such hurtful things?”

  Again she exposed the change in Jak’s eyes. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe it was he who needed to be killed. Had he done all this killing somehow without knowing? Had he gone mad and killed everyone? Was he trapped in some sort of terrible nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from? Why was he standing there with a pitchfork in his own mothers guts? His head swam and he felt suddenly nauseous wanting to empty his stomach again.

  Fierce struggling brought Jak back to the moment. The hungry red eyes in his mother’s face were back again. She was forcing him backwards closer and closer to the barn where Gin was hiding. He stumbled on something and nearly lost his footing. He looked down…

  ….Father would be upset about that too. Someone had left the axe lying on the ground. Jak was the last one to split wood and he had been in a hurry to leave with Brigette the day before so he just tossed the axe towards the barn. He planned on putting it away when he got back that night….

  Jak’s mother was much stronger than Jak now and would soon overpower him. He had to do something to stop her. He plunged the handle of the pitchfork down to plant it in the ground. The handle caught in the dirt and forced his mother off balance. His hand closed around the handle of the axe as his mother’s arm pulled his leg from beneath him. Rolling over he broke free of his mother’s grasp and jumped to his feet. She was struggling to stand but the pitchfork in her stomach made it awkward. Jak raised the axe overhead, tears streaming down his face… “Forgive me mother,” he whispered softly.

  The axe fell at the base of his mother’s skull with a terrible squishing, cracking sound. Her head, severed now from her body rolled a few feet away, face towards the sky, his mother’s eyes once again, accusing. “How could you do this to me?” they seemed to say to Jak, “I am your mother”.

  Jak just stood there in utter shock with his hands shaking and his head spinning in confusion before he dropped to his knees and began to weep anew, sobs racking his entire body. Surprisingly, it was Gin who came to his side to comfort him. She put her small arms around his neck and said “It’s alright Jak. You had to do it. It wasn’t mother anymore. She would have killed us both.”

  Jak found a small amount of comfort in his sister’s words, but not nearly enough to drown the sorrow and pain.

  “I think it might be some kind of sickness or disease,” Jak finally said after several long moments, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his shirt and trying to compose himself, “like the sickness the cattle get sometimes when they foam at the mouth and act crazy. I think it would be best if we burn all the bodies to make sure it doesn’t spread.”

  He didn’t really think it was that kind of sickness but he didn’t want to take any chances on anyone else deciding to get up from apparent death and start trying to kill them, or rather Gin. His mother, in all her struggling, had not seemed to want him at all. She seemed to share a sort of kindred spirit with him apart from mother and son. Jak was all too afraid that whatever had turned his mother that way was inside him now too. Not to the same degree as her, but all the same, he just wanted to forget about it right now.

  “We need to get to it if we want to collect all the bodies for burning before it gets dark,” Jak said with more confidence than he felt.

  “But it’s not a proper death ritual,” Gin protested.

  “I know it’s not, but it will have to do for now.”

  Traditionally, when someone died in Elsdon, the villagers would build a barge from timbers lashed together with ropes. The funeral barge would be covered in pitch and the body placed on top, along with a few treasured possessions of the person who had died. More straw, timber, and pitch would be laid over the body. The barge would then be lit on fire, and set adrift out into the lake to burn, until it was consumed and taken in by the water. Each person attending the ceremony would say their favorite memory of the deceased as they watched the barge burn, until it had burned out completely and was buried in the waters of the lake. In the end, the life-giving waters of the lake would take back what it had given. That was the proper burial rites.

  Given the circumstances at the moment, Jak didn’t have the means or time to do that with each and all the bodies they had to dispose of now. They would have to just make funeral pyres and burn all the bodies together.

  Well, on second though, they might need two or three pyres to accommodate all the bodies. It would be too difficult and time consuming to drag all the bodies to one location. They would make one fire here, one near Brigette’s parent’s house, and one over near the Kollsvein’s place.

  Jak began gathering some wood and pitch and set out to prepare the pyres. Then one by, one he dragged the bodies of his family and laid them in the flames. It was strange, but moving and handling the bodies was much easier than he thought it would be. Either he was stronger than he remembered or the bodies were lighter than they should be. However, it still didn’t make the task of disposing of his family members any less painful.

  He tried to be as gentle as he could mange with the bodies of his loved ones. Showing as much respect as the circumstances allowed. Once he collected the bodies of all his family and placed them on the fire, he piled more wood, straw, and pitch on to the fire to make it burn hotly, since it needed to consume them completely.

  Jak stood there for a long moment watching the flames dance and reach towards the sky. He felt a profound sense of loneliness as he watched the fire burn. This was it; he and Gin were all alone now. There was no one left alive but them, but he felt an odd sense of relief, of all things as well.

  Gin stepped a little closer to the roaring fire and was holding something in her tiny hands, which Jak noticed was her favorite doll. Mother had made the doll for her when Gin was only three years old. Gin would always carry it with her wherever she went, and couldn’t go to sleep at night without it next to her. She also held a folded piece of paper, which Jak knew was a picture she had drawn for mother just last year. Their mother had been so pleased when Gin had given it to her, and treasured that picture so much she had put it on the wall over her and father’s bed.

  “Mommy,” Gin began to speak softly as tears leaked from her blue eyes, “you made Ali for me when I was a little girl. She has protected me and kept me safe all this time. Whenever I got scared, I would hold her tight and she would make it all better. I know you are probably scared now too because you have to go away. I will send her with you so you won’t be scared.”

  With those words, Gin tossed the doll, and the drawing into the fire to land on top of her mother’s body, to be consumed by the flames. After a moment longer Gin said, “It’s your turn Jak,”

  Jak hesitated, feeling a little more than guilty after what he had done to his mother, he wasn’t sure he could manage with this makeshift ceremony. Instead he decided to say a few words on behalf of his father.

  First Jak needed to get something, so he went inside their house, emerging a few moments later carrying a small
box, which he had retrieved from his father’s dresser. Inside this wooden box was the place where his father kept some of the things he treasured most. There was nothing of real value in the box to anyone except his father. The box contained various small items such as, locks of hair from his kids, feathers and stones that Jak had found in the mountains and given to his father, along with various mementos that held sentimental value only to their father.

  Jak stepped forward and tears began to well up in his eyes. “Father,” he said hoarsely choking back tears, “you taught me everything I know. You were always there for me when I needed you. I owe who I am to you.” Jak suddenly felt a pang of guilt as he spoke those words, after all, his father might not be proud of what he had become now. Jak wasn’t really sure what he had become, or was becoming, so he revised his eulogy. “I owe all of what is good in me to you father.” Then he tossed the box on the flames to be consumed with the bodies.

  Once Jak was finished, Gin stepped forward again, and they continued taking turns until they had completed the makeshift ritual for all their family members. Once it was all done with, they moved on to the other houses in Elsdon. After he and Gin had taken care of all the dead bodies in the village, Jak stepped back and sighed.

  “It’s just you and I now Gin….but don’t worry…..I’ll keep you safe….I promise.” However, the words might have little meaning since he had no idea how to accomplish this.

  Gin looked up at him with her best “big girl” expression and said. “I know you will Jak. We will be alright” Jak was surprised that she seemed to be more confident than he was, but tears were still leaking from the corners of her eyes. This all must have taken a tremendous toll on the small girl, but Jak had to admire the little girl for her courage.

  After a few moments, they moved over to the large apple tree by the barn, the one Jak had happily climbed and played in many times before. The pair sat at the base of the trunk and dejectedly watched their whole life, everything they loved; go up in smoke, as it slowly drifted towards the heavens and out of sight. Everything was gone.

  As Jak sat there in despair, with his arm around his baby sister, a strange nagging hunger arose inside him. He became conscious of the fact that he could smell Gin, feel her blood flowing through her veins, and acutely sense the beating of her heart. With a great effort he forced the hunger down, stomped it out with sheer force of will, until it was a distant feeling far away. The horror of the moment left him shaking and sweating. The real problem now, was that Jak didn’t know how long he could hold that voracious hunger at bay.

  Chapter 3

  Nicoldani sat atop his large black warhorse on a low rise overlooking the wide expanse that stretched all the way to the mountains far to the east. From what he could remember of the maps he had seen, these mountains on the horizon were the furthest mountains to the east. Beyond them lay the flat lands of the forsaken, or as some people called them, the Endless Plains, which stretched all the way to the eastern sea. His newest destination; a small village at the foot of these mountains, was still at least four days ride.

  The sun was at his back and was just beginning to sink below the western horizon. He was travel stained and weary from his long trek. What made matters even worse was the fact that he was out here in the middle of nowhere, leagues from civilization without really knowing exactly where he was going. Nicoldani did know what he was seeking, just no solid knowledge of exactly where to look, and even less knowledge of what he was supposed to do if he did actually find it. The village that lay ahead was just another in a series of seemingly unending dead-ends.

  Nicoldani had been traveling for months now, unable to find what it was he sought. The old priest had sent him away with only bits and pieces of a puzzle. Nicoldani had gleaned little more on his long journey, and was beginning to think the old priest had lost his wits sending him off on the impossible mission.

  Even though it had been several months since he set off on this trek, the shame and frustration was still razor sharp. It was like a sharp blade had been inserted into his gut then left to fester and rot. He should have stayed at Gethseena even if it had meant his certain death. So many of Nicoldani’s brothers had lost their lives that night in the attack, that he feared all of them were likely to be dead now.

  The men weren’t really his blood brothers, but they were sworn brothers with ties much deeper than blood. They were the Tovani Warriors. Nicoldani had been pledged to the Tovani before he was born, and trained his entire life for one sole purpose; to guard the witch’s prison to insure she was never loosed on the world again.

  Nicoldani’s hair was now more grey than black, a single braid nearly reaching his waist, tied at the back of his neck with a braided leather cord. The leather cord, or Kalna, as it was called by the Tovani, along with the Kerpai knife at his belt, had been given to him at birth when the pledge to the Tovani was made on his behalf.

  The Kalna that now bound his long hair had been crafted from braiding two sections of human skin taken from his mother’s back, and two from his father’s. That was the sacrifice his parents made when they pledged Nicoldani as an infant to the Tovani. The strips of human skin taken from his parents would be tanned, braided together, and dried in the sun in order to fashion the Kalna. It bound them all together in service of the Tovani, and served as a constant reminder of the great sacrifice that all three had made to serve.

  When Nicoldani’s training was finished and he took the oaths as Tovani, he used his Kalna to bind his hair. If for any reason he ever forsook his duties as a Tovani then the Kerpai blade would be used to cut his hair just above the Kalna, signifying the pledge that was broken. Once his hair was severed, then the blade would be plunged into his heart to take his own life. It was a ritual as old as the Tovani, and would be carried out by the offender ….. himself.

  The ritual however, had not been performed in generations, if ever. Not that it had been renounced; it was just that no one of the Tovani ever forsook his duties. None of the Tovani Warriors had ever been required to complete the ritual. As far as they were concerned, it was better to die in service, than to be disgraced and die a betrayer’s death.

  Gethseena was located in the mountains of Daggar, a half day ride from the city of Dallonburo which was the capital city of Odessia. Dallonburo was a large city by any standards, spanning many leagues, and it was where Nicoldani had been born. He received his first ten years of training and education in Dallonburo as well. Once his preliminary education was finished, he said his goodbyes to his parents, and took up residence at Gethseena to continue his training.

  Gethseena had remained his home until he was eighteen years old. When the Tovani recruits reached eighteen years of age, they were required to take up service in the Queens army. This was their final test to prove their worthiness to become Tovani.

  In the Queen’s army they would serve wherever the fighting was fiercest, which was usually along the Suchbaatar border to the north. Each Tovani warrior continued in service to the Queen until their twenty-seventh birthday. Only then, if they were still alive, would they return to Gethseena and accept the oaths which pledged their lives to the service of the Tovani. It was only then that they would bind their hair with their Kalna and take up their Kerpai. The Tovani were by far the best trained, fiercest, most respected warriors in all of Odessia

  Nicoldani had removed his Kerpai from its scabbard many times on this journey to complete the death ritual and bring justice for his betrayal and cowardice that night at Gethseena. Always it was the small bit of hope that the old priest was right, and Nicoldani would find a way to stop this impending doom, that stayed his hand and spared his own life. It did nothing for his feelings of shame and bitterness at abandoning the fight, which he felt he should never have left. However, the priest’s words were law, and it had been the high priest himself who had all but ordered Nicoldani to leave and set out on the improbable search. It would have been a dereliction of Nicoldani’s duties to disobey the High Priest, whic
h would have brought the same end; disgrace and death.

  It had all happened so quickly that night when the temple at Gethseena had come under attack. No one, including Nicoldani had ever suspected anyone would attack from the outside and try to free her. How could any sane man want to free the Blood Witch on the world again? She had caused so much strife and destruction the first time she had come to power. Many men died, even cities were destroyed in an effort to capture and imprison her so many years ago.

  According to the ancient writing in the archives, and from what Nicoldani had been taught by his instructors, it had been General Soteri with his armies, along with the twelve Arch-Mordji, that managed to destroy most of the witch’s minions and eventually capture the Blood Witch.

  Unfortunately for everyone, as it turned out, destroying the Blood Witch was all but impossible. It seemed that she had somehow managed to rise beyond mortality. When her captors had attempted to destroy her body in an effort to kill her, ultimately the witch would somehow transfer to another body, taking control over the new body in almost a parasitic relationship, in which she would take over and all but destroy the will and soul of that person. The witch had almost escaped in this manner, so destroying the body the witch inhabited turned out not to be an option. General Soteri and the twelve Arch-Mordji were finally able to capture the Blood Witch and the mordji managed to shield her in some way to stop the spread of her infectious influence. Once captured, and safely shielded they brought the witch before the fabled King Erlandas.

  King Erlandas had been the most revered and wisest king in history. When General Soteri and the mordji brought the Blood Witch before him, he held council for two weeks with all his trusted advisers along with the mordji, to decide what should be done with her. In the end, they came to an agreement to imprison the witch at Gethseena, which was as far away from civilization as was possible at the time. The monastery at Gethseena would be the place where she would be held forever, and vigilant guards would be placed on her prison to insure she would never escape. This great honor of keeping watch was bestowed upon the Priests of Ashteri and the Tovani Warriors.