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

“Father! How did you do that?”

Amara watched amazed, as her father, Azar, gazed at the ground for a long moment and there appeared a tiny crack. Azar constantly did unusual things that took Amara by surprise. She had never seen anybody else do that. Not her mother, not Arion, not Leo. Amara loved watching those graceful movements of Azar’s slender fingers and how he produced fire out of thin air. She had talked to her mother about it, but she always seemed to avoid the topic. Amara had then mentioned it to Leo once, who had seemed extremely interested and had also asked her to help him see what her father did, someday.

Azar was never up for it. He dodged it whenever Amara mentioned his unusual skills in front of Leo. Azar had also told her not to talk about it in front of anybody. But she could not resist gushing about how wonderful those skills were. She wanted to be like her father. She wanted to learn those things. Azar had told her that she was too young for it. Saddened as she was, Amara would forget it all when she saw him present his delightful expertise.

“Come and see,” said Azar and Amara grinned before skipping over to him. They were out in the lawn. It was early morning and the gentle sunrays bathed the lawns in a luscious golden light that ensured an iridescent glow around the patio. Nobody was awake. Amara was told by her mother to wake up at sunrise because she was about to be married and sleeping any longer than sunrise was unsuitable. She did not have anything against that idea because she would get to see all those magical acts Azar executed. Later he would leave for work then and she would see him only at dinner.

Amara dashed over to her father.

“Look closely. That’s only the bare earth, isn’t it?” said he. Amara kept her eyes fixated on the spot.

“Want to see something unusual?”

She eagerly nodded.

A tiny jet of water sprung from the miniature crack and retreated. Grinning, Amara admired the water appearing and disappearing momentarily. It amazed her as to how easily her father could do such things.

Azar looked down at his daughter and smiled contentedly. She was exceptionally bright, and intrigued over his abilities. He was certain that she would prove to be just as good when her time came. Azar, being a Conjurer, Amara had inherited the same. As of now she was young and joyful, and did not need to be acquainted in the darkness for now. He knew that she would grow up to be an extraordinary witch, but that had a price of its own. Azar was aware of what was going to happen in future. Hard as he tried to avoid her being with Leo, he knew that the Gods had planned this for his daughter. It was her fate and nothing could change that. To keep her aloof from what destiny had in store would be devastating for the world of Conjurers. She had to enter that world, and she had to enter it after facing some things that would scar her permanently. He hoped that it would not be too painful for her to endure. But the truth was something entirely different.

“I want to see the fire again!” She gazed up at him longingly, and Azar ruffled her hair as he complied.

Amara loved watching fire come and go out of nowhere. It was the most intriguing part of her father’s magical skills. She longed to see those beautiful, dancing flames. Azar clicked his fingers and a little flame appeared. Amara squealed in delight.

“I wish I could do that,” she mumbled dejectedly.

Azar placed a hand on her head and patted it lightly before adding, “Someday, you will, little one.”

“Really?” she beamed.

Azar nodded in response and the flame that he had produced, vanished just as it had appeared. Amara blinked and wondered when she would be able to do something of that sort.

***

Visions flooded through her mind as she lay on the ground, motionless. Her eyes were dark, dried tears stuck to her skin. A normal person would have attempted to help her up but Iris knew this place was far from normal. It was everything that she wanted to avoid. Moments ago, she had started screaming in agony and then realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. She had seen this place, she had been here, and dreams of this place had haunted her nights since the day that she opened her eyes. Her mind overflowed with numerous visions of how her parents had thought she was silly to think that she had agonizing nightmares. However, she knew that it was far from silly. It was far from normal. Others did not have such dreams. They never saw a dark chamber full of people similar to those that she had witnessed in the great hall. They never saw people dying painfully.

It was illusory. She wanted to stop those things from happening inside her head but she could barely process it all. Every day she saw a new vision. Sometimes it was of a woman killing a bird, other times it would be a man scraping a staff across a graveyard and sometimes she would see dark woods only to hear an alarming scream. Frightened would be an understatement, she thought. Whenever she saw those dreams, something changed inside her and she became more and more familiar with those visions. At times, she would see herself in those places, she would be killing someone, and she would hear herself screaming. Every time the pain and the surroundings felt real. She would wonder whether it really was a dream. This time she knew that what she felt was far from a dream. It was painstakingly true.

“Who am I?” She asked, her eyes fluttering up to Amara who stood there looking down at her impassively. Iris wondered whether or not she had any feelings at all. She seemed so inhuman, so different yet familiar. This is not going to be easy, Iris thought.

Amara knelt down beside Iris; her eyes fixed upon the timid looking girl who had no idea what she was doing there. Amara was confused herself, because unlike other Conjurers that were brought there, Iris knew next to nothing. The others at least had an idea of who they were and what their job was. Iris was different. She seemed fragile, almost insubstantial, and for a moment, Amara flinched at the pain Iris was going through. She immediately pushed that feeling away. She was not supposed to feel anything. Her heart was void of emotions; the way it was supposed to be.

“You . . .” she said, offering her a hand. “. . . are a witch.” Iris hesitantly placed her hand in Amara’s and sat up.

Iris widened her eyes. A witch? A day ago, she had been in her house, conflicted that she hadn’t gotten enough sleep the previous night, and suddenly she was thrown into a chaotic reality. She thought that she was having the worst nightmare ever. Besides, are witches not supposed to know their identity? Iris thought, and Amara settled down languidly beside Iris, with her legs stretched in front of her.

“And why am I here?” Iris enquired.

“Because you are a part of this coven and you will be trained as a Conjurer. That means you will learn witchcraft. Do you not know anything about yourself?” Amara puckered her eyebrows.

Iris scoffed. “I just found out that my parents are dead. I don’t how. I haven’t seen their bodies either, and then this huge man comes along and says something and the next thing I know I find myself in this huge chamber filled with the most terrifying people I’ve ever seen . . . and a moment later I’m screaming in pain, which is caused how, I have no idea.” She sighed remorsefully. “The only thing running through my mind is utter confusion and you ask me if I know anything about myself? I’m not even sure if I’m alive right now! It feels weird. I mean, look at this place, there is a dead dove on the table and you touch it as though it is your long lost lover. There is blood all around. Out of nowhere someone tells me I’m a witch and I, for the life of me,” she looked to her left, “don’t know how this man sitting in that corner of the room is halfway in the air. Don’t you people know there’s something called gravity?”

Amara observed Iris blankly. She was lost, clearly, and she had no clue what she was doing there. Amara tried to ignore the outburst and shut her eyes contemplating her situation for a moment. The Lord was surely trying to test her patience by sending a complete knob-head to her. She had dealt with new Conjurers but Iris was turning out to be a clueless one.

Amara hated clueless people. Letting out a sigh, she shifted her eyes back to the dead dove that lay on the table for the ritual that was supposed to be performed later that night. Iris surely had no clue what that had to do with her being a witch. She was demanding answers and Amara was the worst person one could ever go to demanding answers from.

“Okay, Iris,” said she, holding her resolve. “You don’t know anything about yourself and there is no way I’m going to be aware of who you are. So if you want answers, you talk to him,” Amara pointed to the hooded figure that was halfway in the air. Iris looked at the man.

“Who is that?”

He had not moved an inch since she had entered the chamber. The only time there was some difference was when she suddenly saw him hovering above the floor.

Is he even alive? She wondered.

“That . . .” Amara stood up. “. . . is Erasmus. When new witches need answers, they go to him. He knows everything.”

“He doesn’t seem like the one to talk.” Iris sighed wearily.

“He will.” Amara nodded and began to leave. “Go to him.” Iris could be handled by Erasmus for now.

He was far less intimidating than the others. In fact, he was the most cheerful and cooperative of all. Every new Conjurer felt comfortable with him.

“This is a bad idea,” Iris muttered under her breath after Amara had left.

Iris approached Erasmus, whose face was nearly not perceptible. She cleared her throat and half-expected him to acknowledge her but he made no effort. He merely hovered in the air for a few moments before falling gently back to the floor. His eyes were shut but Iris noticed his face that was now clear in the light of the torch amid the darkness. He had a set jaw, light brown hair and a slight hint of stubble. His face was mature yet childishly prominent and he certainly did not give off the vibe as the others she had seen. His presence was rather calming and he did not seem as dangerous as Iris thought he would be. He wore similar kind of dark coloured robes over a tunic and trousers as the others did, but he looked more welcoming.

“Iris, isn’t it?” He said with his eyes still shut. “Tall, sixteen-year-old . . . nearly seventeen. Strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes. Your mother was a well-known witch and your father a sorcerer, but they were killed in a battle against witch hunters. You were taken by humans, and hail from the village of Rue Safraan as the daughter of Rose and Philius Ralte. And now you’ve been brought here to your roots. I see you’ve been having a lot of dreams about this world. You like the colour red, don’t you?” Erasmus opened his eyes when he finished.

Iris stared at him, stunned. He hadn’t even so much as looked at her and yet he knew everything, and it was true. Even the part of her liking the colour red, but she did not understand the part about her parents. My parents were part of this world?

“You don’t know about your real parents at all, do you?” He now looked at her and gestured for her to take a seat before him. She blankly obeyed.

Iris noticed that his eyes were a bright hazel, nearly complimenting his curly brown hair. She merely shook her head in answer. She was aware of being adopted but not about her parents having anything to do with witchcraft. The family that she lived with had told her that her parents were dead. How . . . when . . . where . . . they didn’t know.

“Your parents died while fighting a battle against witch-hunters,” said Erasmus. “Then you were taken by humans and they obviously kept you in the dark about your true identity. You are a witch by birth. The only difference is that you are unfamiliar with it. Your abilities have been showing up from time to time during your life in the human world, haven’t they?”

Iris thought about how she had sometimes managed to do things that she never thought she was capable of. There were many incidents where things happened all by themselves and she never even realized that she was the cause of it all. Her foster parents always told her there was something wrong with her and that she was imagining things, yet she never believed them. A part of her said that it was real. And sometimes she nearly believed it.

“Don’t worry, now you’ll know what you are truly capable of,” he told her as she sat there perplexed.

As Erasmus began telling her about the world that she had just entered, she listened to every word carefully, not wanting to miss anything. A while later they were stood next to the window overlooking the dark woods that covered the ominous graveyard. The trees stood tall, gleaming in the moonlight that shone upon them, the darkness nearly unseen yet relevant to the eyes. Iris spotted a figure walking deep into the woods until it vanished out of her sight.

ӿ ӿ ӿ

Amara walked further in, passing the trees to reach the lake that was located in the deeper parts where she would sit all night and watch the lost souls wander around across the vast woods. She spent most of her time there when she did not have much to do. No one would go there at this time of the night. She spotted someone standing in the middle of her path and stalled.

Lord Lucifer turned around to face her quietly. Her eyes shifted to look down at the ground and she waited for him to address her.

“Where is the girl?” He spoke, breaking the silence.

“She’s with Erasmus, m’Lord.”

“Does she know anything about herself?” Amara shook her head in response.

“I thought as much. You will help her out once she gets answers from Erasmus.”

“I understand, m’Lord. I will help her.”

“She is capable of becoming a great witch and no one better than you can train her.”

“I would be honoured, m’Lord,” she replied. And a moment later, he was gone.

Letting out a sigh, Amara walked further into the woods and sat herself upon the branch of an old tree, gazing at the moonlight. She shut her eyes, inhaling deeply as the cold air created a peaceful atmosphere around. She liked being in the woods, it was calm. It was dead. The idea of a dull surrounding always made her feel comfortingly close to herself. There were whispers of the souls communicating to one another. The woods were a haven for the wandering souls that travelled around aimlessly. Amara had a silent connection to them. They never had a way of corresponding to her yet her presence was calming.

Her mind wandered around like those souls. She harboured various complex thoughts. She kept trying to find herself, but could not put a finger on the missing piece. Maybe that was why she understood what those lost souls felt like. She felt lost, stranded and aloof from everything else. There was a slight sense of loneliness that she tried to fill up by spending most of her time with the woods that had creatures like her lurking around in search of something they were not aware. The visions she saw when her eyes were closed made her want to disappear yet be in the comfort of the woods.

There were so many questions that she needed the answers to and each time she tried, she met with nothing. At times when she would sit in the woods with her eyes closed, she would see herself walk a long abandoned road that probably had no end. Then she’d suddenly wake up and struggle not to return to that place. Even though she needed the answers, she was afraid of what might happen once she got them. The visions never stopped though, most nights she would have her past flashing in front of her closed eyes that refused to open even when she tried hard enough.

That night as she sat on the branch of the tree with her eyes shut, she restrained herself from getting those visions again. Yet they crept into her mind the way they always did, and she began to lose herself in the world of her past memories. They never left her, even though a hundred-and-twenty-years had already passed.

***

They were sitting outside in the balcony of Amara’s room. She could hardly suppress the giggles erupting as Leo talked about his childhood days. They spoke in hushed whispers so as not to wake the others. God only knew how Maia would react if she saw Leo there so late at night. When he came to see Amara saying he missed her, she had initially protested but then gave in as she saw that he had brought her a beautiful red rose. She was holding it in her hands as they talked.

“Has your father performed any of his magical tricks yet?” Leo suddenly asked and Amara looked at him with gleaming eyes. She loved talking about her father’s abilities and Leo was the only one that seemed interested. In fact, he seemed more interested than her. The moment that she had first mentioned it to him, he had asked her so many questions that she lost the will to answer them all. At times, he only seemed interested in the magical abilities her father possessed, instead of paying attention to her. But those complaints faded away in her mind as soon as she began talking about her father.

“He does every morning! It would be wonderful if you be there. They are so beautiful!” She gushed as her mind went back to the incident.

“Really? What did he perform today?” He asked.

“He asked me to look closely,” she began zealously. “And then there was this tiny crack in the earth, water sprung out . . . it was marvellous! It came and went and then, out of nowhere, he produced this flame . . .” Amara sighed dreamily.

“A crack in the earth, you say?” He enquired with his eyebrows raised.

She nodded her head as though snapping out of her reverie.

“I have to leave now.” He said abruptly. “Will I see you next week?” He asked eagerly.

“But father would-”

“I spoke to him,” he cut her off. “He said yes.”

“Really?” Amara asked, surprised. Azar never seemed to agree on having Leo and Amara meet weeks before their marriage was to take place. She wondered what made him agree.

“Yes. Don’t forget,” he told her before giving her a heart-warming smile and jumping down the balcony. Amara watched as he walked away, waving goodbye to her and she then turned to go back into her room.

She had a nightmare that night. Someone was hurting her and she was crying out in pain. It was unbearable and Amara felt as though it was true. The one hurting her was Leo and she couldn’t bear it. She woke up screaming as her heart hammered inside her chest painfully. The door of her room flew open momentarily and Maia walked in. As soon as she saw Amara shivering in fright, Maia rushed towards her daughter and pulled her into an embrace.

“It’s alright, darling. I’m here. I’m here,” she murmured softly, stroking Amara’s hair.

Amara drifted off into a deep sleep in her mother’s arms.

***

Her eyes abruptly flew open and Amara realized that she was about to fall off the branch that she was sitting on. Letting out a breath, she leapt onto the ground softly. Unsure of when the memories of her past would let go of her, she moved further into the woods, looking for the one solace she so desired. She followed the calming voice and craned her neck upwards to find her owl, Sceiron, stood elegantly on the highest branch, ruffling his feathers as he hooted gently under the moonlight sky. She closed her eyes and lifted herself from the ground and towards the branch that Sceiron was perched up on. He hooted in recognition when she sat beside him. Amara gently grazed her fingers along Sceiron’s head and he shifted closer to her side. For the longest time, she sat there with him, letting all her memories drift off once again, wishing they would never come back and haunt her.

***

“What is father doing?” Arion whispered into his sister’s ear as they made their way into the kitchen for breakfast. Azar was outside on the lawn, sitting under the sun with his eyes shut.

“Meditating,” Amara answered blankly. She had seen him outside meditating nearly every morning so it wasn’t so unusual. She was up early as always but she wondered why Arion was up.

“Why are you up this early?” She enquired.

“Father said I have to assist him at work today,” he answered distractedly. “What’s meditation?”

Amara began to reply when Maia walked in and promptly shushed the both of them.

“Be quiet, Arion. You don’t speak when your father is meditating,” she said, and Arion immediately shut up.

Amara was busy grinning as she stitched another scarf. She was going to meet Leo in the forest of Majoricka today. She wondered what it was that he wanted to show her. Maybe it was going to be a boat-ride in the lake, maybe he would teach her how to climb a tree. She had always wanted to learn that. Or maybe they would talk about Azar’s magical skills. That would be interesting as always.

“Amara,” Maia called out.

Amara’s eyes were elsewhere. She paid no attention.

“Amara,” Maia said again.

Her daughter was too busy in her world to listen.

“Amara!” Maia hissed in a whisper so as not to disturb her husband.

Amara looked up and her grin vanished when she saw a furious Maia. She gulped and took in a breath.

“Yes, mother?” She asked, starry-eyed.

“Can’t blame her.” She shook her head. “She’s young and in love,” Maia mused to herself and Amara frowned, for she could barely hear what her mother had said.

“Go and call your father,” Maia said and Amara glanced at Azar once before nodding at her mother and getting up.

“Why are you disturbing father if he is meditating? Mother said you should not be speaking,” Arion said and Amara looked at Maia with her eyebrows raised. He had a point.

“Just go,” Maia said and sighed. Amara shrugged and began walking outside to call her father.

She heard soft chants when she reached. Taking a few hasty steps forward so as not to disturb him, she strained her ears to listen.

“Lord of winds and nymphs of water . . . great kings of flames and of spirits . . . hailed goddess of the Earth. Give her the vigour to outlast the evil. Her strength lies in thee, thy power so valiant, give her the command to battle those that torment. Lords of winds and nymphs of water . . . great kings of flames and of spirits . . . hailed goddess of the earth, my prayer in thy sacrament. The doom so near . . . pray give her the power . . . give her the strength to triumph over the evil . . . my prayer in thy sacrament . . . majestic gods of the realm . . .”

Amara heard as Azar chanted those words over and over again. She stood there perplexed. What was father doing? Why was he praying to some gods that she never knew existed? Why was he crying? Those questions kept running across her mind when Azar opened his eyes and looked at his daughter. He beckoned her to go towards him and she did so quietly.

“Come to call me for breakfast?” He asked and Amara nodded blankly.

“Go inside and wait for me,” he said to her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Amara stood up and left, the questions holding her captive. She made it a point to ask her father why he was chanting those words. She did so when he entered the kitchen.

“Just a prayer, sweet one,” he said and Amara opened her mouth to question again when Maia shot her a look. Amara quieted down and they all ate breakfast in silence before it was time for Azar to leave. He gave Amara a short hug and kissed the top of her head again before walking out of the door. Amara wondered why her father was being so affectionate towards her today. He was affectionate – that was for sure – but not at this rate. Nevertheless, she liked it.