The Dark Witch Chronicles Book One: The Curse of The Cymmerien Dragon

The sound of flute playing softly echoed in everyone’s ears. As Lilith quenched her thirst through Nicholas’s blood, there was absolute silence around apart from the sound of the flute that Sienna was playing. The music seemed to have a slow yet harsh effect on the spirit of Lilith. She began to tremble. Sienna stood at the far corner next to the castle gates, away from the rest of them. The sound that was soothing to everyone else’s ears was poison to Lilith’s. The flute had been enchanted with spells had the power to drive away all kinds of evil spirits. There was a distinct way of playing the instrument as it was used for many other purposes. To drive away evil spirits, a melodious but intimidating tune was used, which could infuriate the spirit and push it far away from vicinity.

Sienna was skilled in the same. She had the ability to play the flute in such a manner that it could instantly get rid of every evil thing around her. All bad vibrations, even the air would become pure creating a stilling and unadulterated aura everywhere. Lilith’s spirit was starting to burn on the inside. She stood up, forced to leave the graveyard and go somewhere far away to a place she knew not. Sienna played the flute effortlessly and Lilith began to tremble even more. The others were still in their positions. The aftershock of what had happened in front of them had not left their minds and the sound of the flute made their thoughts stall in one place rendering them unable to travel anywhere else.

As the music began to increase its swiftness, Lilith’s feet started moving backwards. On one hand she had her desire unfulfilled, her thirst unquenched, and on the other there was a burning sensation that was torturing her spirit more than it had when Amara was chanting the spell. Sienna began to move forward and the sound, greater than before, was beginning to torture Lilith. Her head tilted upwards as she resisted the urge to run away from there and quench her thirst. Her trembling body moved backwards on its own accord. Sienna took another step forward. Then Lilith began to sprint away. Her feet carried her to the gate of the graveyard so as to set herself free from the agony. Her weakness made it difficult for her to even scream.

Lilith stumbled and fell as the sound of the flute refused to leave her ears. Struggling on her feet, she stood up and then ran out of the graveyard, dragging her feet as fast as she could, and leaving the area of the castle to go somewhere far where she could not hear the sound. When she was away from the terrifying music, her mind began to process what had happened and she fell to the ground in the woods. After that, the only thing that occupied her mind was revenge. Now she did not seek the blood of the one that had summoned her; she sought the blood of the coven of Conjurers who had driven her out of there. She sought murder.

The moment that Sienna’s flute stopped playing, the long silence was broken by an ear splitting shriek. Iris was on the ground, tears running furiously down her eyes as she screamed in sorrow. Reality hit her straight in the chest and it felt as though her lungs had constricted rendering her breathless. She opened her mouth to say something, call out Nicholas’s name but nothing other than her cries was heard. The moment that they had witnessed the killing of their Lord’s nephew, a few witches had fainted at the sight. Others were struggling not to express their sorrow. Their minds were numb after watching everything. Sienna stood behind the crowd unable to see Nicholas’s body. Nobody knew her sorrow apart from Erasmus, who was mind numbingly cold at that point of time. His best friend’s body was right in front of him, ripped apart.

Every memory that he had ever shared with Nicholas, every day that they had spent in learning witchcraft, the hundred years that they had been friends; it all flashed before his eyes at once. But he made no sound, he made no movement. The silence was long gone as the others began to sob along with the terrible screams that Iris produced. She had seen Death but not of someone close. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that she would witness the horrific Death of her mentor and friend. Nicholas had been her guide in the world of Conjurers. He had taught her so many things. He had been her trainer, her mentor, someone she could rely on apart from Erasmus. He had helped her in getting rid of the thoughts of her human life. He had made her a better person, a better witch.

If he had not been there when she had to get trained for Amara’s task, she would never have been able to do it. She owed him her life. He gave her strength and he gave her hope. To watch his body get torn into two pieces right in front of her eyes was traumatic. She failed to realize how she fell to the ground, when Leandra ran towards her and pulled her into a hug, and she failed to realize when Eridanus took her back into the castle after he had seen and heard enough of her cries.

Amara watched as Eridanus pulled Iris away from the view. Had she not felt a ticklish sensation on her cheek, she would not have realized that a tear had stealthily slipped out of her eye. She looked at Nicholas’s body, his eyes that lay open, rolled upwards; his hands that were limp on his sides up to his shredded waist. The other part of his body that contained just his legs lay at a distance. Amara looked at it and another tear escaped until she was biting her lip to stop them. How many years have passed since I’ve cried? There was such pain inside of her and yet she had managed to control her emotions. But now as she sat there with her shoulders drooped, eyes moist and stuck on the body of the man who had helped her get trained along with the Lord, all the pain that she had hidden inside of her in the hundred years came crashing down.

She could no longer contain them. It felt as though her heart was about to burst of all the pain that she had forced inside of her. Her chest felt heavy, throat tightened and she struggled not to let out a scream similar to that of Iris’s. Although she was now in the castle, Iris’s cries echoed inside Amara’s ears clearly enough to break her soul inside. She then glanced at Azrael who sat opposite to her with his right arm leaning on a grave. His head hung low and eyes stared unblinkingly down at the ground. Amara blinked and looked away. Ambrosius stepped forward, clearing his throat and proceeded towards Nicholas’s body. He glanced at Fabian who stood at a side. He immediately followed Ambrosius and they picked up both parts of Nicholas’s body.

Fabian cringed at the sight, composing himself back to normal as he carried the body towards Ambrosius.

“We have to go to the sacrificial chamber,” he said to Fabian, who nodded in agreement.

They then carried both parts of his body back into the castle and in the sacrificial chamber. The others followed suit. When a witch or sorcerer was murdered in such a brutal way, it was a custom for everyone in the coven to be present in the sacrificial chamber where they would sacrifice the body of the victim to Isiah: the God of salvation. Only then would the soul be set free. For someone who had been murdered so mercilessly, the soul would reside on earth for years, passing through four stages of afterlife before it was free to travel to the portal of independence from the world.

The first stage was of the wanderer: one where the soul would search for another wandering soul that had been killed similarly. The second was of emulation: one where after finding the other wanderer, the two souls would together proceed to the third stage of helper: one where the souls would provide help to a seeker (a stranded, helpless witch or sorcerer in dire need of direction). When that stage was covered by both the souls, they would then reach the fourth and last stage of salvation: one where the souls would go on separate ways to find their own doors of the portal that would free their souls for eternity.

It took years to complete the first stage of afterlife. The journey was never an easy one. That was one of the reasons there were so many lost souls in the woods behind the castle. They were all looking for their pair of wanderer that would lead them to the second stage. Only some of them would find the other wanderer, others would remain lost in the world. For Nicholas, it would be a hard task. A Death like that of Nicholas’s made it harder for his soul to achieve salvation. As all of them approached the sacrificial chamber inside the castle, silence followed suit. Their heads hung low, void of any sound apart from their feet on the concrete floor.

Amara and Azrael walked together behind everyone else. No one uttered a word. Amara felt as though she had failed. She had failed in saving the one that had helped her become what she was. She had failed in saving his life after he had helped her achieve one for herself. The pain that she felt in her chest was that of her disdain upon not being able to fight back. She no longer considered herself to be as powerful as everyone thought she was. She no longer thought that she was strong enough to do anything else, if she was unable to battle one evil spirit to save her mentor. Instead, she was now walking to the chamber where his soul was to be set free of his body.

Although Azrael had not been acquainted with Nicholas as much, there had been times when he had helped him during his time of training. Whenever Lord Lucifer had other important tasks to take care of, Nicholas would substitute. He was the one that had taught Azrael the art of creating an aura around him. Azrael had then learnt to create one of Death. Every witch and sorcerer had an aura that travelled with them everywhere they went; that aura was a guarding shield. It portrayed their true nature. Azrael’s was that of Death, since he had almost been greeted by the same when he was a child. And now, seeing the Death of someone who had been there at times for him, he felt lost.

Iris and Eridanus were in the latter’s chamber. He handed Iris a cup of the Fire and Ice potion to bring her back from her semi-conscious state. Iris had now stopped crying, there were dried tears that stuck to her skin. Her eyes were bloodshot, throat was dry and as she drank the potion, her senses began to return slowly. Eridanus stood near the window, looking out at the woods behind that had turned darker than they had ever been. It seemed as though the trees and shrubs were grieving for the Death of Nicholas, as though they felt what the others were feeling. Eridanus blinked and turned to look at Iris, who was seated on a chair, her knees drawn up to her chest. She was staring at the foot of the chair without blinking. Eridanus received a message from Fabian to summon at the sacrificial chamber.

“Iris?” He whispered, crouching below in front of her on the floor and tilting his head to look at her.

Iris glanced up at him, her vacant face sent waves of pain into his eyes. The sorrow that she felt was evident even though she was not showing it anymore.

“We’ve been called to the sacrificial chamber. Will you be able to come?” He said to her, raising his eyebrows in concern.

Iris stayed silent, watching him for a while and then nodded. He took the cup from her hands and placed it on a table nearby before they proceeded to go to the said chamber. Upon reaching, they heard the chants coming from Ambrosius who was sat on the floor. Iris had been to the sacrificial chamber for the first time. The chamber was a round one, similar to the great hall. It was dark apart from the few torches of fire that rested on the walls. In the middle, there was a huge circle that surrounded a star. Candles rested on each point of intersection, and one right in the middle of the star. Nicholas’s body lay there before Ambrosius, who was chanting the sacrificial hymns to call for the god Isiah.

“Behold the power, the valour, the strength, the calmness. Descend the Lord of salvation, of doom, of light of that of the moon. We bow down to thee, great Lord, to set the soul free. We pray for salvation, we pray for redemption. Descend the Lord of deliverance, of liberation. Behold the power. Behold the valour. Behold the spirit. . .”

Ambrosius continued to chant the hymns until the light from the torches went out, plunging the chamber into complete darkness. Moments later, a silver gleam appeared right behind the star. It illuminated the chamber and blinded each and everyone there. The light then turned into the shape of a sword that descended right into Nicholas’s body. A second later, it vanished and the chamber went completely black once again. Then the torches lit up by themselves. Nicholas’s body that had been split into two was now there on the floor, clean of all the wounds and blood with the two parts joined. His face looked serene and pale white. There was a sudden chill inside the chamber that created a cold atmosphere.

Not a single drop of blood rested on Nicholas’s body. That was when they all realized that his soul had left his body. What remained was just flesh and bones that had no spirit inside. Ambrosius stood up and conjured a coffin. With the help of Fabian, he lifted Nicholas’s body that seemed extremely heavy. They did not wish to levitate his body. He deserved a proper burying. When the body was placed in the coffin, Ambrosius and Fabian carried it outside along with Erasmus and other sorcerers that helped. When they reached the graveyard, Azrael dug into the soil and in moments, created a space for the coffin to fit. Ambrosius and Fabian placed the coffin into the pit before covering it with the mud again.

They all muttered their respective words in his memory to themselves before retreating into the castle. Eridanus was at Iris’s side the whole time to make sure nothing happened to her. Erasmus stood with his eyes staring at the grave that had consumed his best friend’s body so effortlessly. Sienna was right beside him, tears dropping down her eyes fluently as she made no movement. When everyone else was gone, Erasmus and Sienna sat on the ground beside the grave. She placed her forehead on the stone, now shaking with her sobs echoing around.

Erasmus struggled not to let his tears fall, but as he began to inhale the air that no longer had Nicholas in it, his cries joined that of Sienna’s.

“He never belonged to me, did he?” asked Sienna hoarsely, raising her head from the stone to look at Erasmus. He turned his head towards her.

“As merry and happy he was with his life, he never had a place for love,” he replied.

“I wish he had loved me the way I loved him,” she said, biting her lip.

“He never had faith in love. His mother left to go with the murderer of his father. That day on, he refused to believe in love. He always told me, that if something as pure as a mother’s love is foul enough to make her abandon her own child, then there is no such thing as true love. He masked his pain with the cheerfulness. But I know how much he suffered. I saw him suffer through my own eyes.”

The memories of a fifteen-year-old Nicholas wailing for his mother to return to him haunted Erasmus a lot of times. Nicholas’s father was killed by a witch-hunter whom his mother had been in love with. After his father’s Death, Nicholas’s mother left with the witch-hunter and handed over Nicholas’s responsibility to Lord Lucifer. He taught Nicholas to mask emotions. Then he became the happiest sorcerer the coven had ever come across. Nicholas learned to cover his emotions with his never ending smile. That way, no one apart from Erasmus could ever know how broken he really was inside. When he met Sienna, he was no more than ninety-years-old. She was a new witch that had joined the coven. He was a charmer, but he never so much as even touched a witch. Yet most of them tended to fall for him. The one that got caught in his charm even after resisting a lot was Sienna.

She wished to be with him but each time she tried, he refused. To get some help, she would ask Erasmus as to why Nicholas avoided being someone’s mate. The only answer she ever got was ‘It’s the way he chooses to be’. Even after Sienna and Nicholas became good friends, she could never even get close to why he avoided love despite of being so gleeful and charming. For someone who had witches falling at his feet, he never fell for one.

“He did love you. He just wasn’t ready to accept it,” said Erasmus, after a while of silence.

Sienna said nothing. Her mind was busy thinking of all the time that she had spent with Nicholas. Each and every memory of his was stuck inside her head. The way he teased her for being so naïve, how he listened to her cribbing about the other witches that were so much better than her, the way he politely told her to keep away from him, for he could never love her back; everything stabbed Sienna inside. She felt lonely without him. She felt weak. His memories were all she now had to survive with; and the one memory that would never leave her was of him teaching her the art of playing the flute.