Prophesy: The Immortal Witch (14)

Part 13 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-13

 

Jezebel found herself, once again, wandering through sand dunes and canyons, plateaus and valleys in search of food, water and shade. She was an accomplice to a crime she couldn’t have envisaged, the perpetrator having vanished on the night of the child abduction.

Thoughts of what the winged-one had done with the youngster made her blood run cold and it was hard not to feel pangs of guilt that were even deeper than the growls of hunger. Her new-found foraging abilities were waning over time. This coincided with the beast’s absence.

She wandered amongst the Negev like a Bedouin, only she had no camel of her own. It was a listless existence, one built on survival. Jezebel had no compulsion to find others of her kind. This, she knew, was counter-intuitive but solitude was her only desire.

As much as the creature had saved her, she wanted no part in killing progenies if that was what this was.

Thoughts drifted to a time with her mother when harvesting grapes together. The memory conjured mental images: a woman dressed in a head scarf, curls of chestnut hair underneath lightened by the constant sun and hands calloused from never ending work following the death of her husband. Sarah was conscientious and benevolent but with a will of iron in keeping with a widow bringing up a child. 

“We must be kind to others, my daughter. We are duty bound to share our gifts.”

Jezebel was in her teens and curiosity was her constant companion.

“What are these gifts you mention, mother?”

“It is time for me to show you how to heal so that you can help our people. It is tradition for the women in our family.”

A breeze was blowing, wisps of fine sand kissing their faces.

“I am happy to learn. I will be all things to men.” This drew a curious look from Sarah. She wondered what was meant by the last half of the statement. Before she could ask further, Jezebel had put her wicker basket down and trotted off back towards their hut. She could feel her parent watching as she glided through the climbers, kicking up puffs of ochre soil as she did.

She knew the concern about her quietness, her introspection. She also knew of her mother’s regret of not having more children; notwithstanding several stillbirths that haunted. It seemed that destiny had fated she was to be an only child.

The death of her mother years later had been the hardest of times. It was said that Sarah’s heart gave out and she faded away. Jezebel was about to turn eighteen when she was orphaned. The days and weeks after the burial brought tears and grief.

One night when the moon was copper-coloured and hung large on the horizon like a luminous painting, she had found herself rambling aimlessly amongst the vegetation and undulations close by. The wind was strong, gusts throwing grit and silt into the air.

Staring at the sky, a colony of bats cast a silhouette against the lunar landscape, wings beating furiously, mammals amassed overhead. It was a striking sight, strange in its rarity. Turning for home, a whispering noise punctured the desert dusk.

Demons had found her.

Entreaties to worship ancient demi-gods poured into her like sweet molasses tripping over eager tongues. She listened to them murmur expelling sighs at primeval yearnings. They had been cast away to the barrens since the dawn of time and demanded to be heard, to be revered. Sacrifice was due, burnt offerings and lives snuffed out to usher in the darkness. A commune for the ages, their acolyte in the shadows. She would serve them; how could she not? Her temptation was too great. They would have their souls.

As the reverie faded, she found herself shaded by a lumbering form approaching in the eerie half-light of early evening.

“You are the witch.”

The creature had returned looking older than ever, creases and folds telling untold stories of unending millennia. Many months had passed since the fateful expedition to the village. Maybe years. It sniffed the air, nostrils flaring.

Jezebel had all but forgotten about the creature and yet she knew it would come back.

“Lives stolen away by stealthy ritual. I see this in you. It is why I could not let you die in the cavern.” The lie was effortless. 

The devious declaration of selfless salvation had omitted the fact that there had been others before.

“I have our bargain, dear witch.”

Jezebel wilted inside. She remembered the conversation from their first meeting. She would shun any prerequisite that compromised her humanity. 

Oblivious to signs of reluctance, the beast pressed on:

“You will accompany me in my quest for the life blood that sustains me. As much as I am sightless, I can fend for myself but I yearn for companionship.”

It appeared that leading it to her village had been some sort of initiation. Whilst she had been its guide, in return it was merely using her. Presumably this offer meant the creature had been pleased with the way things had gone, Jezebel pondered.

“The number necessary is thirteen. Always thirteen. After this, you shall be granted a further one hundred years of life. You will age but very slowly.”

The beast cocked its head, listening carefully for a reaction.

“You will be all but immortal – an immortal witch.” It words had become a soft whisper.

It went on:

“The cycle will repeat….until, one day, I am dust. Nothing lives forever.”

Jezebel was dazed at the offer; she had gone from pariah to a devil’s disciple. She knew that her character was blacker with the allure of the voices in the wilderness. Her interdependence with occult forces remained couched in self-doubt.

“In time, you will learn the incantation from the scrolls. There must be no treachery. My wrath is legend. So it was with those before you; denied longer life by their own frailties.”

The revelation that there had been others took Jezebel by surprise. She found herself speculating as to what had happened to them and what it was that had led to their demise.

“You will be stronger.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jezebel was conflicted. On the one hand she felt that, in essence, she was a good person. On the other, she dabbled with the Arts. Lamentations for those previously cursed weighed heavily on her now. Her victims numbered only a few but it was a few too many. The voices called to her in the night making demands. She had acquiesced.

“What if I reject your proposition? What then?”

The mood shifted, almost as though darkness became even more impenetrable with the challenge.

“That is easy…so easy my witch.”

In an instance of déjà vu, the beast restated the same outcome it had in the cave.  

“Your life will be forfeit. Your soul will be forfeit. You time will end.”

It smiled a nonchalant smile.

 

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