Villains

[luv 3469]

Google Doc Version~

 

“I don’t understand,” Braedon mutters, nervously trying to smother the light from his lamp. “There’s nothing here. It’s a dead end.” He stands at the threshold, framed by the dark stonework against the deeper darkness beyond it. He does not see the open gateway before him, nor the inscriptions that surround it. He does not see the fragments of bone that litter the flagstones beneath his boots. I smile, playing my part. “It is the simplest of things,” I tell him, “to hide in plain sight.”

 

 

The man turns, confusion and frustration written clearly upon his face. “Don’t play games with me, witch! Do you have any idea what I’m risking, being down here? Or what would happen if we’re caught? Your kind are hunted,, by order of the everyone—there are guilds of hunters everywhere!” This, at least, is true. Usually, it is encouraged to kill a witch as soon as she’s been discovered. Unfortunately, men are too full of themselves to properly combat their enemies.

 

“But they would not doubt your innocence,” I reassure  him. “A survivor of the wicked witch, no less. I lured you here and turned on you… What can they say to that? If we were spotted, you could just step back,  and wouldn't even need to run.” His expression darkens. “Oh, you don’t run from the trained swordsman…” I do not need to hear this thinly veiled propaganda again, but I let him ramble. I’ve coordinated a brilliant scheme, which requires this man’s help, though it fills my heart with rage to admit it.

 

Even so, I let Braedon have his moment. It is why we are here. His eyes fall to the ground. “The man you… he was a father, a brother- he was a good man. Times are tough, and the contract would have rewarded him enough to feed them.”

 

I nod, laying a hand on Braedon’s shoulder. “Contracted by the corrupt that have taken control over your town… He poked the bear, and that is why we will make him pay for everything he has done. You are an honorable man, anyone can see that. I have told the others all about you, and they wish to meet you for themselves.”

 

“I can’t meet anyone, witch, if we can’t get inside.” He glances around. “Aren’t Fjarri—” I recoil. “Do not use that name. It makes you sound like… well, as you said. Like you understand.” Pushing past him, I stride through the yawning mouth of the gate. He almost drops the lantern in surprise, seeing the entrance now, for the first time. Stumbling after me, Braedon checks to make sure we are not being followed, then squints into the shadows of the passageway.

 

“Is it true?” he hisses. “What they say about you, is it true?” I do not slow my pace. “Come. Find out for yourself.”
 

---

 

The cavernous chambers are not a monument. Nor are they merely a fortress, in the sense that the old owners knew it. The stone around us almost thrums with power, though Braedon is mostly oblivious. I have felt it countless times, through the centuries—he knows something is not right, but feels it only as a lethargic drag on his limbs, and a whispering itch in the back of his brain. Few mortals last long when they are this close to the altar. To his credit, he still has his wits about him, enough to reach for his dagger when a robed figure emerges from the gloom.

 

I pass both of us, coming in the other direction. I look tired. No matter. This will be concluded soon enough. Braedon eyes me suspiciously until I disappear from sight, then ambles to the side of the person he knows as Mercy. “Huh, who are these people?” Braedon asks, as more anonymous figures come and go. “I don’t recognize any of them. Are they the sisters you spoke of?”

 

I sigh. It is disappointing that men’s minds often cannot see what is right in front of them. “They are sympathetic to your family’s plight,” I reply, keeping the disdain from my voice. “We, all of us, are committed to the downfall, and the restoration of the balance. It is better that you do not know their names, or their faces.” 

 

He scoffs. “But how can we work together, if we—” The words die on his lips as we turn the last corner. We stand at the edge of the great root of the altar, plunging down into the stone of the ruins, far deeper than the rock flooring should even allow. A roiling miasma of cold blues and jealous white swirls in the distance before us, underlighting the trunk that sprouted the root.

 

There, between them, suspended above the madness, is a frightful, hulking silhouette. A husk of lifeless armor and a thousand defaced sculptures scattered across the old fortress. Braedon takes half a step back. “This can't be…” he murmurs. “It… It can't…” His voice is cracking. His eyes glisten with tears. I lean in over his shoulder, to whisper behind his ear. “Do you see the truth of it, now? The truth buried beneath the ice ? So has it been for centuries, since the days of the first kings—no witch hunter, no emperor or tyrant, can breath unless the maidens of ice allow it. Many are those who would serve, though few prove worthy andend up on the menu.” I gently pluck the lantern from his trembling fingers, and guide him away from the sight that has so transfixed him. 

 

“The Coven must rise. Our cabal is utterly committed to this, above all else, and we will sacrifice whatever we must to achieve it.” On some level, Braedon knows what he will see even before I pull back the shroud. It is the dessicated body of his brother, Thomas. The younger man’s features are frozen in a deathly rictus, yet there is an unmistakable sense of fear about it.

 

“Your family was singled out most unfairly, Braedon. Your brother and his sons were butchered, simply for remaining in the woods too late that evening. Your brother gave his life gladly in pursuit of revenge. Will you honor your debt, or will you betray me now?” Braedon sinks to his knees, looking up at me with fresh eyes. “You. You are far from us. You are a monster.”

 

He does not even flinch when a second pale woman appears at my side. We speak with the same voice. “We are everywhere. We are anyone. You know only what you need to know, and see what we want you to see.” A third pale woman steps out behind Braedon, and then a fourth. Even so, he bows his head to me, no doubt convinced he is doomed. 

 

“For the safety of my wife,,” he swears, “and the lives of my two sons… I will serve you, witch.” This naive fool thinks he will be the hero. I’ll let him think that, for it suits my purpose, which is merely to feed my sisters off the populace of this town, and when the well runs dry we’ll move elsewhere. 

 

I trace the rune of the binding in the air above Braedon’s head, marking him as our own. He’ll make sure no one interferes with the plot we shall soon devise. “Rise then. Your pledge is heard and accepted. I pray you come out victorious— May the fate of your sons not be the same as their uncle’s and your beloved wife not fall victim to the curse.”