Chapter 11

Eleven

Jack

A familiar pain pulls at my essence, alerting me to the fact that it was once again time to be caged against my will. Forcing to serve out a sentence for a crime I didn’t even commit from a time long since forgotten by all but them. While the council members may have changed their hunger for power has not. Each generation shares the secrets of the first ones before they pass on from this life, continuing the cycle of sacrifice and pain.

In the beginning I would try and fight their hold. To hide in the mists of the forests, praying they would protect me from the spell. But in the end I would find myself trapped once more inside a cursed vessel. And while the vessel may have changed, over the years going from a tiny cramped rutabaga to a much larger peponem, I have a feeling it is more out of convenience than sympathy.

Now I just allow the magic to wrap around my flames, to drag me through the fog and back to my ever changing cage.

At least this one is much nicer than the others.

Aside from being the largest peponem so far, whoever took the time to hollow it out spent many hours making sure every slimy fibrous thread and seed was removed. Smoothing down the walls until it was a perfect sphere. The red magic of my cage solidified around me, creating a hardened shell between me and the gourd. One that will break down, allowing me to escape in a few days time, as long as I remain patient. The harder I fight the stronger it becomes, drawing on my own essence to wear me down.

Settled in, I watched through the openings granted to me, a constant taunt to me of all that I have lost. Surprisingly the usually ghastly face of my prison wasn’t. Its openings were just as smooth as the inside, the large mouth wide and friendly, while the oval eyes were evenly spaced. There were sections of the rind were it was thinner, as if part of the skin was peeled back in a sort of design I could not see from inside.

Usually the openings are jagged and uneven. The feelings of rage would emanate from the edges, pressing against me in waves of pain. Keeping me away from the scarred holes as a second layer of my cage.

But the warmth and care put into this year’s carving bled through the red magic, soothing my own jagged nerves. Their presence soothing, sparking my curiosity as to who would take the time to make a prison something special for once and why?

A flame of blue wrapped around a soft glow of warm amber called to me forward, drawing my attention away from the more muted and oiled souls in the sea of people around me. The man, a Wisp in human form, wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, protecting her from the soiled magic hanging in the air. Keeping her light safe from harm.

For some reason that thought puts my own soul at ease.

Loud footsteps slapped against the stone as the warlock in charge of my prison–I’m pretty sure this one is named Master Sailas but it could be Salamander for how little I care–paced back and forth. His voice scraping against my nerves as he shouted out a fake spell, to do Stars knows what. No one has ever taken the time to explain this ceremony of theirs to me, despite using me as an unwilling participant. Off to my side a weaker power pressed against my cage, slightly tainted like the rest.

It seems the warlock has switched assistants again. I wonder how many one can go through before people start to question why.

Behind me the ancient bell tolls, its deep metallic thrum signaling the end of this farce of a ceremony. A welcome reprieve because it won’t be much longer before my cage is moved to some place dark and silent, where I won’t be the main spectacle of the evening. But that also means that they will be leaving as well, and that thought alone leaves a sense of sadness.

But at least she will be safe.

It was the creaking of old rusted hinges that woke me up from my slumber. Having nothing to do, it doesn’t take much to drift off to sleep to wait out the council’s spell. Allowing time to pass by without notice. Overhead a flame flickered to life, casting the room in light. Then the hinges creaked again, the muffled thump of a wooden door closing soon followed by light footsteps.

Strange, is the warlock’s assistant a woman this time? I’d like to think I would have noticed last night.

A set of footsteps, no two, slowly walked towards my prison.

And is that the sound of wings? Oh please don’t be another sacrifice.

“Why is it so…” the soft whispered words, definitely feminine, caressed my soul as the steps came closer, “Empty?”

Fabric shifted, most likely whoever she was talking to shrugging as they replied, “What did you expect?”

Over the years I have realized that when one does not have a body to hinder them many other senses become heightened, allowing me to listen in on conversations by those who speak near my small building. Allowing me bits and pieces of information as to how the world has changed over the years. Even so, I still find myself at a loss at the meaning of some things like cell phone and motor vehicles.

“I don’t know. Maybe something a little more dignified for the spirit risking his afterlife to protect us?”

Protect them? From what? I would roll my eyes if I had any.

The sound of someone scoffing at her words–my thoughts exactly–soon followed.

Gentle hands trail around the outside of the peponem, the touch almost physical, even a bit sensual in nature, drawing my attention to the opening.

A pair of the deepest blue eyes I have ever seen peered at me, reflecting the green light of my essence within their depths. Her warmth radiated from her as she smiled, “Hello.”

If I had been prompted to speak, that single word, filled with love and curiosity, shocked me to silence. The soft dulcet tones resonated with my soul, hinting to a bond I have searched for for many years while I was living. A bond I would have sworn until now that would be forever denied to me, and yet, here she was.

Your journey will be filled with pain and sorrow but do not lose hope. The one you seek is not here, but with time she will find you. The Crones words surfaced from memories long forgotten.

“A long journey indeed,” I muttered, the young woman’s eyes widening in shock as she jerked back.

“You can talk,” she whispered, tilting her head.

With her pulled back I was now able to see a young man standing behind her, a smirk on his lips as he rolled his eyes, “Of course he can talk. There are days he won’t shut up, though I do think this has been the quietest I have ever seen him.”

For a moment I focused on him, his appearance unfamiliar, despite talking as if we know one another. His silver hair denoted him as being a Wisp, like myself, though pure and untainted having been born rather than created. I would shudder to think about what my physical appearance would be, if I could.

In the rafters a raven chortled, staring at me with similar familiarity. His white aura denoting him as a shifter, hiding in his secondary form.

Interesting. I wonder why he’s hiding. Could it be the little witchling is keeping him captive? Using him as a familiar against his will? No, that couldn’t be it. There’s no darkness in her aura.

“It’s not like it’s very comfortable in here,” I muttered in reply, temporarily distracting myself from the beauty kneeling before me, “Though I will admit this is the nicest prison I’ve been forced to inhabit. Thank you.”

“Thank you? You’re… thanking me?” Brow furrowed, she slowly spoke the words aloud, turning them over as if she was unsure if it was the proper thing to say or not.

The Wisp knelt behind her, wrapping his arms around her in a silent show of possessiveness, leaning the side of his head alongside her own as he spoke, “Despite what the council wants you to believe he’s not in there for everyone’s safety. He did nothing dishonorable. Nothing dark and nefarious. You have no reason to fear him.”

“And what lies are the council spreading?” the young witchling looks at me in confusion once more. A look I’m beginning to enjoy, for her gaze comes to me for guidance, despite having two others nearby who can easily answer her questions, “Being summoned at the end of the ceremony, I have no knowledge as to what happens before.”

“They said you were evil. That you would unleash chaos onto the world if you were allowed to cross over,” even as she spoke the words she sounded unconvinced of their truth. Hope that there may be some end to this never-ending nightmare sparks to life, causing me to believe that maybe I’ll finally be free, “And that we must trap you in a vessel. To keep everyone safe…” She trailed off, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “But that’s not true is it? I don’t remember but I’m sure my father would tell me a different story, when I was a child.”

“Definitely not true, spark.”

Spark, a term of endearment, something akin to mate for shifters, conveying just how much the witchling means to the Wisp. More so than the possessive hold he still kept her in. Though, I’m sure if she wanted to, she could pull herself away from him, and he would let her go. The bond between them though?

“Tok tok tok,” the raven muttered from his place, sending off a wave of irritation. The Wisp smiled, scent marking the witchling as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

The witchling rolled her eyes, leaning into his hold, “Oh, stop being jealous, Raiden. Or you won’t get any caramelized nuts the next time you visit.”

“He was the first sacrifice,” the Wisp continued, ignoring the banter between the two. His words pulling her attention back to me.

“The first sacrifice?”

“Long ago, the first council of the village searched for ways to increase their power, trying everything from vows to dark ones to blood sacrifices. When they realized they could gain essence from their sacrifices they switched from rabbits and squirrels to something a bit stronger.”

“You,” the single word was nothing more than a soft exhale of air. As if speaking it aloud would make it more real.

“Yes,” I sighed, “They came into my home, arrested me for crimes I did not commit, and had me secretly sacrificed to the dark ones.

But, with time, they realized the magic they stole would not last. They needed another but knew that people would notice if people kept disappearing every Devil’s Night.”

My witchling turned slightly in the Wisp’s arms, searching for an answer I could not give, “Devil’s Night?”

“It’s now called Mischief’s Night,” the Wisp shrugged his shoulders, as he continued to explain to the both of us, “It’s now nothing more than the beginning of a time for children to run around and cause harmless havoc on their neighbors.”

“So now my essence is trapped every year, to be used as an anchor to the original spell so no one else has to be sacrificed, making it so they can siphon power from your fellow witches and warlocks without them realizing what’s happening.”

Mouth agape, eyes wide, she stared at me in horror, “How can they do that?!”

If I had shoulders I would have shrugged them. There are many things in this world I question but the lengths one will go to for power is not one of them. “Why don’t you ask the raven? I’m sure he’s overheard more than one conversation about it while walking about.”

“Walking about?” This time she did pull away from the wisp. Standing up so she could look at him directly on. “What does he mean?”

If looks could kill I would be extinguished from this existence ten times over. Being nothing more than a wisp of essence, the remainder of a soul, there was nothing he could do.

So she doesn’t know. Interesting. I wonder why he’s kept it a secret.

“Why do you hide, raven? Anyone can see you two are bonded.”

Silence settles in the room, the sound almost as suffocating as smoke growing heavier with every passing minute that the raven, Raiden, continues to sit on his perch. His eyes glowing red with an anger that is almost palpable on one's tongue.

“You don’t trust me,” my witchling’s voice hitched with a pain one could not see, “After all we’ve been through… You don’t trust me.”

Tears falling down her cheeks, she pulled away from the Wisp as he tried to reach out for her. His hand missing her own by mere inches as she raced for the door.

“Moira! Wait!” the Wisp called out in desperation, chasing after her.