The Stone Keeper's Quest- Elrich

Queen Witch Moribund clenched her fists and spat out her words. “King Gilfillan and his bloodline will pay for what they did. I swear on my daughter’s ashes.”

Evanora nodded grimly. “We won’t stop until they are all dead. They will know our wrath.”

“Gather the ingredients of the Permanent Wanderer spell, we need to protect the village,” said Queen Witch Moribund making a dive for the ground.

With her flying stick in her right hand, Queen Witch Moribund stormed into her cottage, ignoring the greetings of the other witches. Her heart was heavy with silent grief and her eyes burned with fury. She opened her clenched jaws and let out a loud and bitter cry. She threw her stick on the floor and kicked a chair across the room.

Her screams echoed like a horn in a desolate land, scaring away the birds that nested on the branches of her baobab house. She slammed the door behind her, her eyes narrow, hard and cold. She looked around with a painful and piercing glare. She grabbed a book from a shelf and tore out the pages.

Queen Witch Moribund shouted, “Bring me Gianna and Andrea, now!” A witch nodded and ran off to fetch them.

Soon, Gianna and Andrea were hauled in, crying and struggling, their pale skin scraped raw by the rough ground. Their shrill screams drew everyone’s attention, and curious onlookers filled the pathways. Queen Witch Moribund came out of her house and lifted her hand. A silent darkness fell, heavy and oppressive, as if Witchesville was shattered by a giant mirror and splintered into a million pieces.

Queen Witch Moribund aimed her magic wand at the two girls and said, “Serilus Modekai.” Green vines burst out of the ground and scattered dust and dirt everywhere. The vines wrapped around the girls’ arms and lifted them up. The girls hung in the air; their arms stretched over their bent heads. They whimpered and begged for mercy.

Queen Witch Moribund glared at the girls and waved her magic wand at them. “They have committed a grave sin,” she declared. “Their cowardice cost the lives of two of our sisters. I must make an example of them. We never leave a witch behind,” she shouted. “Never!” She raised her wand higher and prepared to strike.

“Death is their only fate,” Queen Witch Moribund announced, ignoring the crowd’s protests and whispers. No one dared to oppose her judgment. “Banisha Karim,” she uttered. Her wand glowed with a white light that spun around like a hoop of energy. She aimed it at Gianna and fired a blast of white force that pierced through her chest and tore out her heart. Her heart was gone, replaced by a fist-sized hole that revealed her hollow chest.

The blast had torn her flesh and bones, scattering them among the horrified onlookers. A deathly silence gripped Witchesville, as fear paralyzed everyone. Then Andrea’s scream shattered the stillness. “Please, my queen, forgive me. I’ll do anything you want,” Gianna sobbed, tears streaming down her face.

The crowd pleaded for mercy. “Please, my baby, she’s only two years old!” Gianna cried.

“You should have considered that before,” Queen Witch Moribund said coldly. She uttered the same spell and aimed her wand at Andrea, tearing her heart out of her chest.

The crowd erupted in fury, throwing anything they could find at the queen and her guards. Fruits, vegetables, stones and other objects flew in the air, hitting the faces of the witches who formed a protective circle around the queen. They quickly whisked her away to her baobab house.

Evanora flew into the village. “What’s happening here?” she asked, dodging a flying object on her flying stick. She had a pouch of medicinal herbs slung across her back like a mother carrying a baby monkey.

“Queen Moribund is a killer!” a witch shouted from the crowd, hiding her identity. She threw a rotten apple at the altar, where the corpses lay in pools of crimson.

Evanora made her way to the altar, her black cloak billowing behind her. She said nothing as she pushed through the throng of people. “Out of my way,” she demanded, shoving a witch to the side. She glared at anyone who dared to look at her.

A guard witch recognized her and moved aside. “My lady,” she said. She saluted with her wand. Evanora entered the Queen’s hut. She closed the door behind her and locked it.

“The nerve of them! How ungrateful! I have given them everything they have,” Queen Witch Moribund ranted, stomping back and forth. She kicked a vase and shattered it into pieces.

Evanora spoke cautiously. “May I say something, my queen?” She bowed her head slightly.

Queen Witch Moribund sank into a cushioned armchair, panting from exertion. “Go ahead,” she said.

Evanora hesitated and clasped her hands together, “My queen, please don’t take offense, but they are witches of our own coven.”

Queen Witch Moribund slammed her palm on the wooden table, making it shake and rumble. “So what?” she snapped. “So what?” She glared at Evanora with bloodshot eyes, her face twisted with rage.

“Every action has a price. Discipline is not optional, they must learn that” Queen Witch Moribund declared, her trembling lips spitting foam.

“No one can doubt your noble goals for Witchesville, my queen,” Evanora said. She reached for the queen’s left hand with her right and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We have to protect our sisters, my Queen. If the Grand Witches join the people’s cause, we will be doomed by their rebellion,” Evanora said.

The queen’s heart sank under the burden of Evanora’s words, like ripe black grapes on a sagging vine. Queen Witch Moribund tugged at her grey chin-beard from the root, pulling it over and over as she shut her eyes. She felt a cold sweat on her forehead, knowing that Evanora was right.

“Call all of Witchesville to the altar tonight, we will cast the spell of the Permanent Wanderer before their eyes and show them that we care about their safety,” Queen Witch Moribund said. She opened her eyes and fixed them on Evanora with a determined expression.

“I agree, a choice like that will help to calm them down,” Evanora said as she moved her chair back.

“I will go and tell the people, my queen,” Evanora said with a bow. Queen Witch Moribund nodded.

Evanora left the queen’s hut and walked towards the crowd of witches. She clenched her fists and straightened her back. “Quiet! Quiet!” She waved her arms in the air, hoping to catch their attention. “Quiet, I said!” she shouted.

The loud noise gradually faded as a hushed silence spread among the restless crowd. Evanora mounted her trident-shaped flying stick and hovered just above their tangled hair. She flew around in larger and larger circles as she spoke to the witches, making eye contact with as many as possible.

“Queen Moribund feels your sorrow. The choice she made today shattered her heart into pieces. It was a hard but essential choice to keep peace and order,” Evanora said.

“Nonsense!” The crowd shouted in sync like a well-trained choir, led by a strict conductor.

“Let her come out and face us,” one voice stood out among the vague murmurs. Evanora scanned the crowd, trying to locate the source of the dissent.

“Yes! Let her come out and say sorry,” many voices joined in. Evanora felt a surge of anger and fear. She tightened her grip on her flying stick and raised her voice.

“Quiet!” Evanora yelled, her body shaking like a leaf. Her booming voice cracked like steel whips, silencing them. She glared at them with a stern expression, daring them to speak again.

“Sisters, remember that our Queen has lost her only daughter who gave her life for Witchesville, let us give her some time to grieve,” Evanora said, balancing on her flying stick.

She softened her tone and lowered her head, trying to appeal to their sympathy. “To show you her kindness, tonight you will all see the casting of the Forever Wanderer spell,” Evanora said, landing on the ground. She smiled and bowed slightly, hoping to win their approval.

*****

“Open the drawbridge!” a lady archer shouted.

The horses raced like lightning and clouds of dust swirled in the air like petals in the breeze. First Commander Zachary and his soldiers rode into the castle grounds. “Where is the king?” First Commander Zachary asked.

“His Majesty the King is in the hall, Sir!” one of the castle guards answered.

First Commander Zachary strode up a short flight of gravel steps to a large hall. He pushed one of the silver and wood double doors with such force that it slammed against the inner wall, making a loud noise that echoed through the room. The king, startled by the sound, looked at the door with wide eyes and felt his neck hairs stand on end.

“Your Majesty, please forgive me for frightening you,” First Commander Zachary said.

The King did not reply but turned his head to look at a portrait on the wall. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the left, as if trying to make sense of something.

First Commander Zachary rushed into the throne room with urgent news. ‘Your Majesty, there’s been a disturbance in the market square,’ he reported.

King Gilfillan II looked up from the portrait he was studying. ‘Do you recognize this man, Commander?’ he asked.

‘That’s King Welles, Your Majesty,’ Zachary answered. ‘He fought bravely in the Great War and defended the kingdom during the year of the dragons,’ he continued.

‘You have a good memory of our history, Commander,’ the king praised him.

He walked to the next portrait and gestured to it. ‘And this is his daughter Queen Margaret. She expanded the kingdom by winning every battle she faced,’ said First Commander Zachary.

The king smiled and said, ‘I’m glad our history is not forgotten. Now come, let me show you the last one.’ He led Zachary to the other side of the room.

“Your Majesty, this is your portrait,” said First Commander Zachary as the King admired the painting.

“Is it? I don’t recall having such a large nose,” said King Gilfillan II, comparing his profile with the image. He traced his finger along the portrait’s nose and frowned.

“Of course not, Your Majesty. You have the most delicate nose in the realm,” said First Commander Zachary with a smile. He bowed slightly and glanced at the other paintings on the wall.

“Then I must find a better painter,” said King Gilfillan II. He turned away from the portrait and walked along the gallery, admiring the faces of his ancestors.

“Or perhaps a more generous patron, Your Majesty,” said First Commander Zachary. He followed the king closely, ready to offer his counsel.

“Tell me, do you know what all these kings and queens have in common?” said King Gilfillan II. He stopped in front of a large mural depicting a battle scene.

“I’m afraid not, Sire,” said First Commander Zachary. He studied the mural, trying to identify the figures.

King Gilfillan II raised a clenched fist and declared, “They all defended the kingdom from enemies and traitors, they quelled every uprising, triumphed in every battle, sacrificed their limbs and lives for this realm.” He pointed at each ruler with pride and reverence. First Commander Zachary nodded in agreement.

“Like them, I will guard Wiltshire with my life,” the king vowed. He lowered his fist and looked at his commander with determination.

“You will not fail, my lord. You are a noble leader,” the commander praised. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.

The king then approached a blank white canvas in a frame that awaited a painting. “Commander, my son must be prepared for his duty. I will rest peacefully in the afterlife knowing the kingdom is in good hands,” said King Gilfillan II. He touched the canvas gently, as if imagining his son’s face.

“I will not let you down, my lord,” said First Commander Zachary. He stood beside the king and looked at the canvas with loyalty and devotion.

King Gilfillan II said, “I keep having the same recurring dream.”

“What do you see in the dream, my king?” asked First Commander Zachary. He leaned closer to the king, curious and concerned.

“I see a dark figure in a black hood sitting on my throne. I can’t see its face because of the smoke and mist that rises from beneath the throne. When I order it to get off, it laughs at me with a deep voice. I get furious and try to slay it with my sword, but its body stops my blade and shatters it into pieces. Then the figure disappears, my throne dissolves into a green liquid that forms a pool where it used to stand, and I wake up right away,” the king said. He clenched his fists and felt a cold sweat on his forehead.

“A dream that needs explanation, but only the seer can decipher its meaning.” King Gilfillan II sighed. He looked out of the window and saw the sun setting behind the mountains. “The people would riot if they saw their king consulting a diviner.”

“Yes, Sire.” First Commander Zachary nodded. “But there is a matter I need to report. An incident at the market square,” said First Commander Zachary. He handed the king a parchment with a sketch of the scene.

“What happened?” The king asked. He took the parchment and examined it with a frown.

“The witches interfered with the execution. They started a fire in the crowd and used it to write a message on the ground. It said, ‘the battle lines are drawn, Gilfillan’,” Zachary said. He clenched his jaw and looked away from the king’s gaze.

The king’s eyes narrowed, and his face turned red. “You let them outwit you again, Commander?” He snapped. He threw the parchment on the floor and slammed his fist on the wall.

“I swear to bring you their heads, sire.” Zachary said. He bowed his head and waited for the king’s command.

“Do you know why these kings did what they did?” King Gilfillan asked. He cut off Zachary’s attempt to answer with a swift gesture of his finger.

“They had the finest warriors, commander. Do I have the finest warriors?” said King Gilfillan massaging his bruised knuckles.

“Yes, sire. you do.” Zachary said, meeting the king’s gaze.