Slave -Original Story!-
Cursed. Enslaved. Used. Abused.
All of these can describe young Kishi's life. She is a wicken-''not'' a witch, a ''wicken''-and because of her ancestry, she must do the bidding of her master. She plots in secret an uprising with her sisters, Maya and Celeste. Each of them risks their lives for freedom....will it be worth it?
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For a moment it glows with a greenish hue, and then it returns to its regular washed-out brown color, steaming gently. Smiling grimly, I cup it in my hands and carry it out to Aaron, careful not to spill a single, precious drop. I hand it to him, and he says, "It's too hot. Blow on it."
I grit my teeth, but I bend down, purse my lips gently, and blow on the "tea" until it stops steaming. Then he takes a few sips. He frowns.
"Is something wrong, sir?" I ask, blinking my wide eyes innocently.
"It's too sweet," he murmurs suspiciously. His eyes widen in sudden comprehension, and he drops the mug. It crashes onto the stone floor and shatters, pieces and liquid scattering. He leaps to his feet, towering over me in his fury.
"You-you ''dare'' place an enchantment on me, your master?" he demands. One of his large hands closes around my throat, and my eyes widen in panic as he begins squeezing. I choke and struggle, to no avail. I cannot get any oxygen into my lungs, my head is spinning, by the time the potion takes affect it will be too late. My vision starts to go dim at the edges, and I am praying to every goddess I know that my sisters, at least, will be able to get away, that they will be safe.
And the pain begins. A piercing, stabbing agony spears my lungs. If I had the air I would be screaming. But I am helpless, and the only thing expressing my duress were the hot tears I feel trickling down my cheeks. The pressure on my throat tightens, and I feel my eyes bulging, and my muscles begin to seize and cramp, because they are not getting the oxygen they need for blood flow.
''Please let this end!'' I am begging mentally, wishing I can just black out already, anything to end the pain. And then, blessedly, the pain begins to fade. Relief floods through me. Maybe I am dying, but I do not care. If I am dying the pain is over, and so is a life of living in fear. In a way, death will be a relief for me. Sick as that may sound it is still true.
So I am almost horrified when I realize my vision is coming back, and the pain receded because I am wheezing in oxygen. I gasp heavily, half-lying on the floor, supported by my hands. Aaron is unconscious on the ground next to me, sprawled out like a drunk man passed out. I kick his side in disgust as I stand, and go to find my sisters.
"Maya, Celeste, it's time!" I call. They emerge from their rooms, giving me solemn expressions. They note my mussed hair, my heavy breathing, and the red marks on my neck with sharp eyes. But they do not comment, for which I am grateful.
"Let's hurry," Celeste says urgently. Maya and I nod and all of us crowd into my room, down at the end of the hall. Maya-bless her-has essence of white sage burning, along with sweet grass, for purification and the drawing of spirits, to increase our power for what we will attempt. I inhale deeply, and as the smoke fills my lungs my blood feels tingly in my veins, like the magic of my ancestors is filling me, strengthening me.
It's the best feeling I know.
But now's not the time to linger on that. We have an hour, maybe two, max. I sit down quickly, and Celeste and Maya sit with me, so we form a sort of triangle, with me at the focal point. There are snowdrop petals and a garnet, ground into a fine red dust, burning softly with a black fire in a bowl in the center of our triangle. The purpose of this is simple, really-it is to personalize it to me, as I was born in January. All it requires now is either a lock of my hair, or a blood sample.
I don't feel like pulling on my hair, so I draw one long nail across my wrist, close my eyes, and hold it over the bowl. Four drops of my blood drip in, causing the black flame to sizzle and crack for a moment, and then it flares up, now burning a pure, brilliant purple. Supposedly the color of my aura, representing my sincerity. (Maya has blinding white for her innocence, Celeste bright blue for her courage).
"Ego, Cusi, filia Hecate, non iurare ego uti antiquam potentiae tantum bonum nocte, et non nocere aliis," I whisper. Latin for 'I, Kishi, daughter of Hecate, do swear I use her ancient powers only for good this night, and not to harm others.' The air around us shimmers and seems to ripple, and I know we can now use the full extent of our powers. Should we break the oath, we would instantly keel over-dead. Such were the ancient laws of wickens.
I clasped hands with Celeste and Maya. An electric current seems to run through our joined hands, humming with power waiting to be used. I close my eyes and center myself, sensing the others doing the same. And then we all take one hand and reach out to touch the bowl, whispering in unison, "Frangere." And then I take my hand and close it into a fist. Immediately, the purple flames die, leaving only the ashes of the things we burned and the lingering magic.
Quickly I scoop up the ashes and sprinkle them along my collar. It surges white-hot, searing my throat. It is all I can do not to scream. Then, just as suddenly as the pain began, it ends.
And the collar shatters into a thousand tiny pieces on the floor. Which means I am free.