Empress of the Gods

Atarah

The Aster era.

She wanted to feel something, and yet she felt too much.

Atarah was not a witch, but her kind was often confused with them. Perhaps it had to do with the closeness to the elements of mother Dryderia, the Goddess of creation. The only difference was driadaes were born with gifts granted—by the Gods—while the witches only used the elements of nature through the language of spells, which passed from generation to generation through grimoires, that helped the witches manipulate nature in their favor.

Driadaes were as lethal as witches were. Only driadaes were descendants of the nymphs: the lower deities of the Asteria Castle—where the Gods lived. There were times nymphs were seen in forests, but after the Gods’ victory in the celestial war, they lived with them in the castle in the sky. Rumors stated they ran from the creatures that dwelled inside the forest and protected the borders of driadae kingdoms where a wild animal would be the least of your worries.

Atarah looked at the pair of amber eyes, observing her from the bushes. A tiger with a white mane and black stripes took a moment to survey the area around her as if he was trying to detect a threat. Galad had been with her for as long as she could remember. She didn’t quite understand the magic behind him, but he appeared when she was in danger; meaning he sensed the presence of more hunters in the forest.

A loud crash of thunder was heard in the sky, announcing a storm coming. Suddenly, drops of cold water slipped one after the other on her face, soaking her dress. The sky darkened, and the only light that guided her while she was running through the trees was the one that illuminated occasionally when a loud drum was heard in the distance. Her body begged her, with each step she took, to take a break, but if she dared to do so—she risked being caught and she was not willing to let that happen.

They were getting close to where she was, so she hid behind one of the trees in her path. Her heartbeats were so loud that she swore it would lead them to her.

Atarah prayed to Goddess Dryderia to get her out of that mess and even dared to ask Eteus, the God of the night, to hide her in the dark. She’d prayed to them countless times and had yet to receive answers to those questions that tormented her, but at that moment, she somehow still expected them to answer her pleas.

“We know you’re out there,” said a man with a raucous voice.

Hunters cared more about the juicy bounty they received when they caught creatures, whether they were witches, shapeshifters, driadaes, or fae. Although she doubted those men were hunters. If they were, they would have caught her when they saw her.

“Come out from wherever you are,” the same man added with a creepy, brief laugh while he strolled to where she was hiding. Atarah tried to hold her breath for a moment, wishing to adhere herself to the tree as if it would hide her from them.

“She can’t be far from here,” said another male voice.

Galad grew uneasy inside her, waiting to get out again, but if she let him do so, she risked revealing her location. Even if Atarah couldn’t control him when he came out, she would try to hold him as much as she could. When the sky bathed everything around her in white light, the center of her chest also shone, freeing the tiger hidden inside her. Once Galad stood in her path, he glanced back at her before moving to where those men were, so he could give her time to run and lose sight of them. As soon as they heard Galad’s roar, they followed him, convinced she would be by his side.

Atarah heard another roar in the distance, knowing it was her signal to start running again, only she didn’t dare to move. She closed her eyes for an instant as she clung to the tree upon which she was leaning, trying to gather her courage.

The river. She heard a whisper of a soft, silvery female voice in the wind as a slight breeze stroked her cheek, feeling the chilly wind, which changed direction as if leading her the way, while the thunder continued its display in the sky.

After the darkness of the storm hid her once more, she ran without looking back. She tried to run as fast as she could, following the direction of the wind that was marked by dancing leaves, but after a strong drum in the sky, the rain started to come down in buckets, making it near impossible for her to hear the river. The wind changed direction a couple of times, making her wonder if it had been a clever idea to follow it, when the clash of the water against rock grew louder and louder as she approached. She looked around for a hiding spot, considering that if she went home, she would guide them straight to her sister Myrah, who was a driadae like her.

At the riverbank, Atarah noticed a motionless body that’d been thrown out by the stream. When she saw his clothes, she thought he could be a messenger sent from another realm. He reminded her of one of the messengers that went to Khrysaor, the southern kingdom of the Witches—her home—to inform Rhiannon about other kingdoms. He carried a leather bag with a belt buckle lock, which he still clung too tight against his chest. The bag was ajar, displaying something that shone from inside.

Atarah approached him, thinking there was a chance of saving his life, but with each step she took, she realized it was too late to do anything for him. The messenger’s face was pale, his eyes were open, and his lips were almost white. She didn’t see blood anywhere, but the image of him made her cover her mouth with both hands to stop a scream from escaping from her lips. She was about to leave when the wind whispered again, only this time, she heard the rustle of voices, not understanding what they were saying until she heard them mention the bag. She was hesitant to take it when something in it caught her attention, making her feel the tingling at her fingertips—she always felt it when her gifts were at hand — that made her think twice before taking it, but she heard the spirit of the wind again, dragging her out of her thoughts. When she started to walk away, the rustle of voices grew louder, forcing her to grab the bag without giving it a second thought. She only took it to make them stop.

Atarah’s hands were shaking from the moment she touched the messenger’s cold skin to move his hand when she noticed the wound in his neck. She’d thought he had drowned in the river before landing on the riverbank, but he’d clearly been murdered.

She felt curious about the bag in her hands. When she went to open it, she started listening to the voices again. Only her sight was caught on the closed bag, as though hypnotized by whatever was inside. She wondered about the insistence of the Goddess of the wind to take it.

“May the stars guide you to your ancestors, and may Uphine allow you to enter her paradise,” she whispered when she closed his eyelids.

Atarah didn’t know more suitable words than those she’d just uttered. That was the farewell she heard Rhiannon say when the coven buried the soldiers who died at the hands of the hunters after crossing Khrysaor borders.

Suddenly, the crack of a tree branch made her turn around, looking for the danger that could haunt her, only she didn’t find anything or anyone out there. Then, she rose, hung the bag on her shoulder and started to run again in Khrysaor’s direction. But she heard footsteps again nearby. A man’s silhouette passed through the trees, which meant she had not lost sight of them like she’d thought. She tried to search through the trees for whoever was following her, but the rain wouldn’t let her see clearly. As soon as she saw the silhouette again, she tried to run, but she didn’t hear someone following her, which forced her to stop and look around. There was no one there until she heard a strange whistle from a hunter who appeared behind a tree with an ax in his hand and the handle of a sword peeking out behind his head. The hunter was tall and burly, as they normally were, but he didn’t take any steps forward or even try to catch her. He only stared at her in the rain, his hood covering half his face, and when she took a few steps back to start running again, something stopped her. Then everything went dark.