- Spoiler:
- “Grandma can you tell me a story please?” The young boy whined, demanding the rejuvenation of a long terminated ritual. His name was Ghost and he was the spawn of a Demon and a witch, the strongest of his kind. They say every strength is borne from a weakness and Ghost had his fair share of weaknesses. For one, he was not developing physically as fast as his peers were and he was always the straggler in any form of contest they staged. He just seemed to have neither the brains nor the brawn for it. His grandmother stood towering over the twelve year old kid who still looked to be around eight or nine years of age. She regarded him for a moment before obliging to his request and taking her seat next to the lamp that illuminated the small room lightly with a golden yellow glow as he lay tucked comfortably away from the night’s cold beneath woolen sheets. His face, oval. His eyes, piercing, even in the dim glow of the lights as he looked pleadingly at her.
She had stopped telling him stories at bedtime because he had begun having nightmares after her quite vivid tales. Ever since her son had died alongside his wife while attempting to conceal the boy who now stared up at her, she had been left to cater for him alone. Her husband, the last known Witch King, had been taken away by the Imperial Arcane Army and was feared dead. She heaved a sigh and moved to sit on the low stool that sat beside the bed.
“Promise me you won’t have nightmares.” She said in a low tone, noting the metamorphosis of his demeanor from surly to appreciative. The boy’s thin lips widened into a smile and he propped himself up on his pillow, wanting to savor every syllable from his grandmother’s tale.
“It’s an old one,” She began, pausing for effect and staring deep into his eyes, noting the glint of the lamp’s burning flame within his iris as he listened to her with a raptor like gaze that was soon to be his distinguishing feature and with a slight, almost imperceptible nod from him, she went on,
“A long time back, there was a being. This was no ordinary being but a witch king, the last surviving one. An incarnation of the Daemon itself, they were extremely strong creatures back then during the first witch war,” grandma paused and wiped a tear that blossomed at her left eyelid before continuing, “This being lived a solitary life, deep in the mountain passes, away from the people. The name witch king might seem to imply that his life was more social than it actually was as the witch king resented contact with humans, mortal or witches. Its job was to maintain the peace that existed between the witches and the mortals and it already had imps, mirror images of itself doing this job. It’s imps moved about the mortal realm employing centuries age old magic to keep the peace between it’s occupants.”
Grandma looked hard at the boy in the bed who now clutched the sheets tighter at himself as his grand mother described the witch king. He looked on in glee and nodded his head severally, egging her to go on to which she acquiesced,
“War broke out when the witches united and constituted WAR, the Witches Alliance Of Seven. The witches battled all the imps, overpowering them at the end and putting an end to them in gruesome ways thus weakening the witch king. The witch king was aware of all the brutal murders of his imps, growing weaker when any of his replicas were killed but decided to not react.” At this point, the eyes of the young child beneath the covers had started closing in. Grandma continued her tale nonetheless, “When the witches had exhausted their quest to eliminate the imps, they had one more task left, to kill the witch king. Only then could they have world domination as they craved.”
While grandma went on with her tale, the young boy’s mind had already slipped into a dreamlike state where his mind played out grandma’s words. He watched on as the Witches made their move toward the Witch king’s palace. The mountainous mass before them seemed impregnable but the witches, harnessing their magical abilities braved the hazardous crevices and drops that would have been lethal to mere mortals. Ghost’s watchful eyes followed their progress as they made impossible leaps, a horde of magic wielding people, dressed in black garbs that made them look like evil itself. The black throng arrived at the Palace after what seemed like an eternity. They completely surrounded it and broke into it. The palace’s interior looked like a monastery and a tomb combined. The witches filed inside in silence, taking the long corridor that stretched down inside it. There were doors located along the corridors walls and the rebels made quick work of them, smashing them in and looting the contents. Six rooms in all.
A throne was located at the far end of the corridor and on it sat a figure in a white kimono holding a golden scepter, the demon king.
The eyes of the Witch king were shut tightly in intense concentration, his bald head pulsating with veins that extended to his neck. His head was slightly bent at an awkward tilt and he appeared to regard the murderous mass before him. The witches looked on at the Witch king, expecting a reaction but getting none. At that, a small group of agitated bloodthirsty witches broke free from the main throng and proceeded cautiously toward the throne. The prowess of the Witch king was unmatched in battle and it was rumored that the power of a witch king was equal to that of a thousand witches. That theory was about to be put to the test then as the small group convened on the throne.
The witch king had been observant all the while. He had known that the rebellion was on since his first imp had been killed and he had followed the progress of the rebels all this time until they had crossed his mountain range and had come into his palace, the guts, he thought. They were about to feel the wrath of a Witch king at home. He regarded the thirteen people who converged on his throne with malicious intent and snapped his fingers. They were immediately eviscerated, disappearing away as if they never existed in the first place.
There were loud gasps from the witch throng which consisted mostly of women armed with wands. The witch King showed no signs of any further movement and this further provoked the crowd who were already afraid. They all wanted to exorcise themselves of this abomination who could murder some of their people without as much as a wave of his hand. They all began to rush forward as one and that was when the witch King’s eyes snapped open.
The crowd moved under the power of sheer momentum as the ones in the front lines were pushed in the direction of the witch king who was now awake and staring at them.
“Who dares defy the sanctity of my palace?” His voice echoed all around the place, tearing into the minds of the rebels’ front line warriors. They all screamed and dropped dead as their minds were shredded under the influence of the Witch king. Their deaths did not curtail in any way, the advance of the throng and as many as were killed, had more WAR rebels stepping into their place and continuing to hurl killing spells at the witch king. Every spell hurled at the witch king had no effect as he had erected a magical barrier between himself and the murderous throng right before his eyes had snapped open. His magical barrier lit up with the sheer magnitude of the amount of spells that hurtled into it and were nullified. The witch king was surrounded completely on all sides by the rebels, his only protection being the magical barrier. Even the size of the barrier was constantly shrinking due being constantly assailed by a variety of spells, aimed to kill or dismember its beshielded. The battle seemed to be at stalemate, with the witch king constantly waving his scepter about, hurtling a variety of spells in various directions, eliciting cries or silent evisceration wherever the spells went. A turn of events was brought about when suddenly from underneath the Witch king, a pair of manacles, conjured from dark magic shot up out from the ground and held onto his both feet. The white eyes of the witch king enlarged at this and his magical barrier that shielded him from the worst of the spells cast at him flickered. He had apparently been taken by surprise as a number of spells shot in at him when the shield flickered. He used both hands to hold onto the golden sceptre and struck down at the ground beneath him with fury. This caused ripples in the earth that spread out all over the place with the witch king at the epicentre. The now disorganized witches at the forefront scrambled away from the witch king who now lay sprawled while the mayhem spread out all around him.
There were loud gasps and cries from the witches. The witch king had obviously overexerted himself and now lay in one heap, his white kimono charred and torn in many places. The witches seized this opportunity and surrounded the weak demon, encasing him in a dark magic spell that kept him immobile and binding his hands and feet together with more dark spells. He was passed around by the warrior rebels and they cheered jubilantly at having put an end to the lineage of Witch Kings. They could rule over themselves and rule over the mortals now. The weak witch king cast his awareness once more out and saw satisfactorily that his grandson was safe in the arms of his wife who carried him across the land, then just before his eyes shut under the sheer darkness of the holding cell conjured of dark magic, he made a final piece of magic, he created a baby imp.
Ghost woke up in the morning with the feeling that he had just had the strangest dream. His grandmother had told him the strangest of stories and he was sure it was a very interesting one but he could not remember the contents of the story. This left him in a perplexed state of mind all day, the feeling that something was amiss continuing to haunt him all day long. He did not ask his grandmother what sort of story she had told him because she rarely ever spoke about the stories during the day. He decided that instead of pestering the frail old lady with questions she would not make any response to, Ghost decided to go fishing. It was one activity he enjoyed with the boys since he seemed to always know instinctively where he would get the most fish and usually came off with more than the others but despite that he was still ridiculed by the others and mostly felt like a castoff. Today he was going alone, not feeling in the mood to get anyone to go along with him.
Ghost walked down the paved bustling road that led to the river after finishing his morning chores. He still had that sense if foreboding hovering over his shoulders, feeling as if he carried a mental weight. He took along his fishing primitive fishing gear while whistling a merry old tune in abortive attempts to ward off the looming danger he felt was approaching.
When he got to the riverside, he set up the fishing line and hook, attached a juicy worm to the end of the hook and let it slip into the water. Still whistling, he let himself drown in the feel of the cold river breeze as it washed over his auburn hair, sending tingling sensations through his body. He closed his eyes and let go of his fears, in no time he could feel the tension in his shoulders release and let go, watching the emotions dispel into thin air as if he had never felt it. Just then he felt movement behind him. He turned instinctively but couldn’t see anyone behind him, just the lush vegetation swaying under the caress of the cool river breeze. A slight tug on the pole he was holding onto confirmed his first catch. He drew it in, taking his time to savor the feeling of having a nice new catch. He held the cod in both hands and used his right hand to twist the fish’s neck just like he was taught to. At that moment, he caught the glint of someone standing behind him in the glint of the fish’s eye. Making up his mind, Ghost said, “I can see you, I know you’re there.” Instantly the figure behind him ducked and seemingly vanished. Ghost turned around then and on seeing nobody around just as he anticipated, he decided it was time to leave and taking his gear and new catch, found his way home.
The cloud of worry and sense of foreboding had come back anew and washed over him, making him wary once more on his way back. Getting to the house, he kept his catch in the kitchen with which his grandmother would make dinner for them both and proceeded into the house. His grandmother was resting on a chair when he got in,
“I got us some fish for dinner ma.” He said. Getting no response, he moved to keep away his fishing gear and change out of his damp clothes but stopped dead in his tracks just as a shadow fell on him from behind. He turned instantly but there was no need for speed this time because the source of the shadow, a boy about his age fell down in front of the doorstep. The sound of falling accompanied by the loud thud and banging on the door awoke his grandmother who jumped with a start from the chair she had been reclining in. Grandmother and grandson looked at each other for a while, petrified looks emblazoned on their faces. A moment passed by before his grandmother moved towards the stranger. She tiptoed carefully toward him, Ghost following at arms length. Getting to the stranger who had toppled face first she turned him around, using some help from ghost. Her eyes instantly lit up as she seemingly recognized the stranger.
“Quick son, help him up, go and get water.” She screamed. Ghost ran as fast as he could to get the water, but not before he heard the stranger moan weakly the name, “Gretel.”
When Ghost came back with the pail of water he had just drawn up from the local well, his grandmother had already put the stranger up on her chair. He was dressed in a white robe which his grandmother had ripped open, revealing the source of blood that had pooled around the region he had fallen. On his abdomen was a deep gross looking wound from which stuck out the shaft of an arrow which he had probably sustained in combat Ghost guessed. The stranger was in so much pain that he had passed out, however his grandmother was working, ignoring his groans, bent on removing the arrow.
“It’s barbed!” She exclaimed suddenly after a few yanks in the arrow revealed that it was coming out with chunks of flesh attached to it’s body.
“Such barbarians!” His mother exclaimed, “Ghost this arrow is poisoned with dark magic and sucks the very life essence of this young man here, I’m going to break this arrow at the end and push it out at the other end if we’re to save him. Now, I want you to hold his body steady. Can you do that?” She asked. He nodded, still in shock that his grandmother showed so much care and concern for this apparent stranger. He went over to the strangers legs and held it tightly pressing it against the chair legs so hard hi hands hurt. The stranger was apparently in a fit because the whites of his eyes showed and he groaned from time to time. Ghost’s grandmother worked relentlessly, pushing the arrow down out the opposite side of his back, the stranger screamed and kicked out. Ghost held on, pinning his own legs against the stranger’s, not knowing where he found the strength to compete against such ferocity. Finally the other barbed end of the arrow pierced out through his back, with the stranger screaming so loud as to wake the dead, eventually coming awake and clenching his teeth at the pain.
Immediately the arrow head came out of the other side fully, Ghost’s grandmother broke off the end that was sticking out of his abdomen and drew out the head the other way making the stranger to fall unconscious instantly.
There was a sudden calm in the room. Ghost looked on as his grandmother broke down into tears instantly, weeping over the body of the stranger. She did not care if her hair got matted in his blood or if she injured him further, she just broke down and wept on while Ghost, unsure of what to do kept on looking. Finally he went closer to her and said in a heartbroken voice,
“Grandma, do you have something to tell me?”
She looked at him, smiled and said,
“my beautiful boy. Poor child, I feel so ashamed.”
“What are you saying ma?” He enquired, a lump growing in his throat.
“I have a lot to tell you boy. Sit down.” She said, cleaning off the tears that streamed down her face with the hem of her cloth.
“Have I told you about your father and mother before?” She asked suddenly.
“No. “ He said curtly.
“Then listen…” She said, then launched into a tale of the beautiful life his father and mother had lived as peasants in the countryside, when the world was at peace, when witches and mortals lived side by side. His father had been a mortal, a strong and hardworking man while his mother had been a witch as people who could control and use magic were called. They were a happy family until the baby, Ghost himself was born. That was the beginning of the family’s woes.
The witches were all subject to one they called the Witch king. The witch king was an immortal being who ruled over the community of witches, imposing laws that protected the mortals as humans who couldn’t manipulate magic were called from being harmed by them. The witch king was law and order and no one dared violate the laws set in place by him. The witches were usually all women but the few witches who were men were either extremely strong manipulators of magic or extremely weak at the magical arts. When Ghost was born, he was subjected to the witches test which he passed, meaning he would either be an extremely weak manipulator of magic or an extremely skilled mage, a witch king. Ghost’s mother was named Lora while his father was Alan. Lora’s father, who was Ghost’s grandfather was the current Witch king.
The witches had been planning a rebellion for years unknown to the witch king. Lora who had been a lover of nature was content to live in he countryside with her husband, away from the majority of the other witches. This made plotting against her father much easier since she was not privy to the others’ nefarious plans. The witches came to the conclusion that they would eliminate Lora and Alan and then move up to the Witch king’s palace and put an end to the witch Kings. Then they would appoint a group of mages for themselves who would be the new law and order.
On the day they executed their plot, little Ghost was spending his day with his grandfather at the Palace when suddenly his grandfather screamed,
“No!” Immediately his grandmother rushed and came by. His grandfather explained what had happened to his grandmother and told her to go far away to a place where none would know either her or the boy. When he was satisfied that he had made plans to secure the future of his progeny, he settled into a meditative trance to prepare himself for the battle that would see him imprisoned for the next decade.
“… And that was the last I saw of your grandfather.” Was her final statement.
Ghost sat stunned, listening to his grandmother recount the tales of events that happened before he was born.
“Do you think grandfather is still alive?” He asked, nursing a suspicion.
“That is your grandfather!” She said, confirming his suspicion.
He sat shell-shocked. What a day today had turned out to be. How possible was that? His grandfather, just a teen?
“I know you have questions but please now is not the right time Ghost, we must nurse him back to health.” His grandmother said, just as the stranger howled out in pain and went back to sleep.
His grandmother cleaned the stranger up thoroughly, bathing and cleaning his wounds with cinnamon and vinegar. She took care of him even when Ghost had fallen asleep, she was still by his bedside.
The next morning Ghost awoke. He wondered if it had been another dream, the events of the previous day. He sa up from his bed, no sign of the stranger, no sign of his grandmother. Alarm instantly set off within him and he jumped out of bed and hurried out if the house, looking to his left and right. He saw his grandmother in the distance sitting out so early with the stranger holding hands, their bodies touching. He walked towards the both of them and they laughed when he got to them.
“Hello! Ma!” He said and waved at the both of them. They regarded him for a moment before getting back to savoring the delight of being in each other’s arms again. He stood there bewildered, after some time, the stranger who now appeared completely healed turned his head toward Ghost and beckoned on him. Ghost shifted closer until he was just out of arms reach from the stranger.
“My boy, you have grown so much.” He said.
It seemed strange, hearing a boy who was not much older than him call him ‘my boy’. Ghost was not about to call this scraggly teenager Pa if that was what he wanted. Why was the stranger not pale as he had been after losing so much blood yesterday? Why did he behave as if he was not wounded at all and as if it was not just the previous day he had been at the doorstep of death.
“I know you have so many questions but there is no time Ghost, you must learn to become who you are.” The stranger said, disentangling himself from grandma and taking Ghost by the hand as well s carrying a bag that Ghost had not noticed. They walked some distance away, moving through the heart of the town but the townspeople went about their business without noticing the both of them. Ghost was perplexed at this but kept on following the stranger.
When they had come to a secluded part of the town, the stranger began,
“ You guessed right. I am not your grandfather. He made me, created me from his thoughts to protect you and your grandmother until you are ready to take on responsibility.”
Ghost looked on perplexed, wanting to ask how the stranger was reading his thoughts.
“I am merely a reflection of his power, an imp created from the same power you have locked up inside of you. The time has come to realize your true potential and stop fooling around. I have been guarding you all your life, but now the task has grown more difficult as your enemies wax stronger. You should learn how to defend yourself. As a race of Witch king’s we are extremely skilled in archery and the magical arts. Do you understand me?” The imp said.
Ghost merely nodded.
The imp smirked, “you must learn how to speak out your mind boy. Do you understand me!” It screamed at him.
“Yes.” Ghost said.
“Good, now hold this arrow in place.” The imp said, taking a bow and arrow from the bag they had brought along and bringing out a quiver filled with arrows. He nocked one in the bow for Ghost.
“Don’t worry Ghost, you’re a better shot than anyone you know or will every know.” The imp said to Ghost.
“Now for your first lesson, close your eyes and fire at the centre of that stone.” The imp commanded, pointing to a roughly hewn circular grind stone that lay many yards away.
Ghost drew on the arrow and closed his eyes, then he fired.
On opening his eyes, he saw that the arrow point was lodged exactly in the center of the stone.
Soon the sound of a book could be heard. It was Mya she was reading Ghost Journal again. Then she would say out loud. "I thought his mother's name was Lilith not no Lora his majesty is hiding something and I'm gonna find out what-"
Note
The Npc Mya reading Ghost Journal
WC4,296
