“In fire I burn, and what keeps me going is the distant memory of Alicia whom I love and miss so much.”
Alicia and I had chosen Forrestville to settle down, temporarily, because this small town was well embraced by nature’s beauty – a forest decorated with colorful flowers and endless streams of river, animals docile in nature not afraid to mingle with the few inhabitants who lived in our small town. At times, rain drizzled in mid afternoon that in turn called upon the arrival of the rainbows. Almost every evening, a large blanket adorned with a sky full of stars would gently cover our town. It was spring throughout the year and there were dreams of nectar bestowed upon our dreamless nights. In this heaven of serenity secluded from the rest of the civilization, Alicia and I lived in a humble cottage that we called home.
In front of our cottage was a generous garden where many tea parties were held. The villagers thought that we were sisters. Both of us had long blonde hair, fair skin resemblance of porcelain, and in a ripe age of twenty four, we drew attention, inevitably so. In this world of interlaced dimensions and possibilities, we belonged to a reality whereby witches not only survived the Inquisition but also thrived. Alicia and I could well be sisters, bounded by our vows to the craft of art and spirit. We had stayed that age for far too long so much so that we could no longer remember our real age. Mother Nature has the secret remedy of life renewal. Many shamans and witches and poets and storytellers had spoken of it. Only few had grasped the true path to immortality.
Not long ago, a new family had moved into Forrestville. That was when our trouble began. We seldom met the middle aged woman with red curly hair. We however often played with her little girl in our garden and sometimes, in the little girl’s. The little girl was never introduced as the woman’s daughter. We simply assumed so, as the villagers had identified Alicia and I as sisters. It did not take long for us to spot something odd about this little girl. She seemed eerie. It was like she was there but not quite there. There was nothing visually incoherent per se. She seemed well-mannered and friendly, intelligent for her age. She seemed docile, almost too docile for someone of her age who should be screaming and dashing about, throwing tantrums and asking endless number of questions. Or simply put – making noises. None at all. She seemed to enjoy our companionship in her calm and docile manner. Always being polite, always being considerate. When we were not interacting, she would fall into a dreamy state. Was she here? Was she not? This little girl was eerie, adorably so. We grew fond of her.
One day, the little girl asked, “Would you like to see where I live?” Alicia and I were surprised because we had never been invited inside her cottage before. We looked at each other and Alicia smiled, “Sure sweetie. We would love to.” Her mother was not at home. In fact, we seldom see her mother in Forrestville.
It was a typical cottage filled with wooden furniture that combined practicality with aestheticism. In the living room, while the little girl was showing me some of her drawings, I heard Alicia gasped next door. She shouted, “You better take a look at this.”
I joined her in the study room. I too gasped at the rows and rows of photos displayed on the wall. The photos were ancient, from a different era. There were photos of the little girl and there were photos of Alicia and me. What were these? The little girl appeared at the doorway looking gloomy. And the little girl said, “She has been looking for both of you.” I asked, “Who is she?” The little girl replied, “She who found me.”
Alicia and I exchanged a cautious look and Alicia jumped in, “What do you mean by ”˜she who found me’?”
A tint of emotion seemed to have wavered in the little girl’s eyes and the little girl continued, “She who is a Witch Collector; she who reanimated me; and she who will reanimate you two. My soul has left my body long time ago. I yearn for what it was like to be living again. Through your companionship, I feel alive. I remember what it was like to breath and to smile. But I am afraid your time is running out. She is on the way home sooner than I have anticipated. I can feel her presence.”
Her words sent a chill down our spines. Witch Collectors were witches who enjoyed collecting witches of exceptional quality and beauty. To take ownership of a witch’s physical body was to expel the witch’s soul from her body and to continuously reanimate her empty shell via the dark energy channeled from within the Collector.
Alicia and I could sense that the Witch Collector was fast approaching. There was nowhere to run or hide, little time to waste. We needed to buy some time. Alicia prompted me to think fast. I conjured a mental picture of I flipping through our Book of Witchcraft. Immediately, the spell “Curse of Ten Thousand Years of Hideousness” had crossed my mind. Alicia read me and she cringed, “Must it be ten thousand years?” No, I mentally replied her. We could modify the spell as long as it rhymed. So we invoked “Curse of Ten Bloody Hours of Hideousness” just before the soon to be furious Witch Collector stepped into her home.
We were ugly, really ugly. Our faces were ugly like a tree bark. Hundreds of small spores like mushrooms that emerged after a morning shower hang loose on our faces. We did not need a mirror to confirm our ugliness. We simply looked at each other’s face. The Witch Collector spotted us and screamed, “What have you done?! What have you done?!”
Her fury had no end. Soon, a mist of swirling grey particles conjured around her as she chanted, “Wolves of the Ancient hear my call. Shred these witches to the core!”
Alicia reacted quickly and invoked a spell. A portal that led to our safe haven was opened and we promptly stepped into it. So did the little girl seconds before the portal was closed.
“Why do you follow us?” Alicia gasped.
“I do not want to live as a living corpse no more. And I don’t care where you are taking me,” cried the little girl.
“But we have no clue where we will go next, or do next,” I said.
“And we are really ugly,” Alicia added.
“For ten hours,” the little girl interjected.
She too read us. Perhaps deep inside this soulless body of hers, the gift of witchcraft remained. But the urgency of the matter prevented us from any more debates.
“How much time do we have?” asked Alicia.
The little girl pondered a little and replied, “You have till midnight until the moon rises. That is when the Wolves of the Ancient become most ferocious.”
I could see Alicia frowning, drown in deep thoughts. I could sense that she was thinking of that Ritual of the Black Portal. A portal that was powerful enough to suck every being within its proximity and dispose them into a different realm. Would the two of us be sufficient to open such ancient portal? There was no time to think. We needed to gather the materials quick.
Alicia turned to the little girl and said, “Listen. This is very important. We will attempt to obliterate the Witch Collector and her Wolves of the Ancient. It is a dangerous ritual. We want you to run as far away from us as you can. If we succeed, there is a hope that your body may be able to reunite with your soul. We don’t know how this ritual will turn out. But we want you to stay away. Do you understand?”
“No, I want to stay!” screamed the little girl. She was human enough to throw a tantrum after all.
“Please. We need to focus on this ritual. We will not be able to protect you,” added I.
I did not pay attention on how the little girl eventually departed. She vanished when I was not looking. Alicia and I were busy gathering idols and dried animal parts, precious liquid of rare plant extracts, exotic dried insects, and rare incense. We gathered the materials inside a hut not too far away from our cottage. We prepared candles and enough dye to draw an ancient mysterious pattern on the ground in order to start the ritual. It was almost midnight and there was one essential ingredient that we were still working on – two pieces of rope coated in ox blood mixed with tears of dawn dried slowly by the smoke of the earth. Ox for its strength to hold us onto our current realm and the tears as love, hope, and compassion. When the rope was ready, we tied one end around a tree and another end on our wrists. It was close to midnight. Ten hours have passed and almost instantly, we returned to our former beauty. Not too far away, we heard the howling of the wolves. We looked into each other’s eyes and nodded. There was no need for words, no time for words.
Alicia and I joined our hands and we started the Ritual of the Black Portal. Our breathing intensified. The cracking of the candle wicks around us slowly counting down to our midnight doom. Nothing happened. I looked around mentally checking all the ingredients. Nothing was missing. Everything was in order. No matter how hard we focused, the portal did not appear. The Witch Collector appeared on the other side of the river, and soon, her Wolves of the Ancient.
“My children. Look at you two. Such fine beauty. It would be a pity to tear your hearts out,” screeched the Witch Collector in her mad laughter, “Yield now! Release your soul and let me grant you my version of immortality!”
Alicia and I were determined. We would rather die fighting till the end than being reanimated as living corpses. Although we were powerful witches in our own rights, the ritual somehow could not be completed. We were perplexed and desperate as the Wolves of the Ancient drew near. It was once said that the way to kill a witch is to eat her heart and burn her body. It looked as though our end was fast approaching, as the moon rose from the horizon. Did I have any last regret? I had no regret and I had plenty of regrets. I regretted not being able to spend more time with my beloved Alicia. I looked at my beautiful Alicia. And there and then, I sensed the feeling of mutual reciprocation. Tears were running down our faces.
As the pack of wolves crossed the river, we felt a third pair of hands joining ours. Power ran through our veins. Just like that, the Black Portal was opened. A grand translucent egg as tall as a tree emerged, pulsating with dark energy ready to devour all that were not secured to this realm. The sky was blackened, roared with thunders. The portal grew stronger and there was only a small window of opportunity before it collapsed. The little girl – a former witch – has returned for us and helped us to complete the ritual. Alicia screamed, “Why do you come back?” The little girl fought back her tears and did not say a word. “You will be sucked into the same realm that this Witch Collector and these wolves are heading! Is that what you want?” I shouted. The little girl was shivering, but did not utter a single word. Her lips were tightly closed and her eyes were widely opened. In one quick movement, Alicia untied her rope, put it around the little girl’s wrist and smiled, “Live well. You deserved it. Thank you for completing our ritual.” The little girl screamed, “No! Please let me go!”
There was no time to think, no need to think. I untied my rope, wrapped it around Alicia and said, “I love you. And see you in another life.” I turned to the little girl and said, “Take care of Alicia for me.” Before they could react, I jumped into the Black Portal. Soon, the Witch Collector and the rest of her wolves followed. As magical as how the Black Portal appeared, it vanished suddenly leaving behind a veil of silence that embraced what was lost and what was gained.
On the other side the portal was the realm of Nebula Inferno. I had no recollection thereafter. In this fire I burned. In this fire we burned.
