A Witch's Calling, page 4
part #4 of Anais Blue Series
‘It’s the one I’ve chosen for myself,’ she said.
He cocked his head to one side. ‘Why?’
His interest seemed genuine. Perhaps she could gain some time to think. She adopted a stronger stance. ‘Blue is too common. To be perfectly honest, I hate it. I like purple.’
‘Then why thistle?’
‘It’s a shade of purple.’
‘Makes sense.’ Deus rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘I guess.’ He cleared his throat loudly. ‘But we are not here to discuss your name.’
Anaïs eyed him intently, desperately trying to read his face. A blank canvas, it gave nothing away. ‘No, I assume you’re here to stop me.’
‘I warned you before, Anaïs. You don’t listen. You have done a terrible thing.’ Deus glanced sideways up at Mount Etna towering above them. ‘Where is your sister?’
Anaïs followed his gaze. Fed from the crater by a smouldering, dirty, grey stream, a pall of black smoke hung over the mountain. She frowned. She had sealed the volcano. Was it active again? Or was the smoke merely remnants of her magic? Pay no attention to it. Deal with him! She turned her attention to the Ethnarch.
She replied as innocently as she could. ‘Sister?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘You know, we spoke of her before. Your caretaker—Nan.’
She made a determined effort not to avert her eyes from his face. Don’t give anything away. Whatever you do, don’t give them away. Aw heck! Maybe I’ve done it already. He better not be able to read minds. She fought to keep her expression steady. Feeling herself faltering, she knotted her brow. ‘She’s safe.’
‘She won’t stay that way forever. Her time is limited. She will fade. Only I can help her.’ He clasped the lapels of his cloak. ‘Where is she?’
‘I told you, she’s safe.’
‘I don’t have time for games, Anaïs,’ he growled. ‘Tell me.’
Anaïs formed a thin slit with her lips and spoke brusquely out of the corner of them, ‘No.’
He straightened, drawing himself up to his full height. He looked down his nose at her. ‘So be it,’ he said grimly. ‘We will do this another way.’
He released the grip on one lapel and reached deep into his cloak. From the folds he pulled the oldest book Anaïs had ever seen. Its cover was tattered and grubby. More a loose-leaf notebook than a bound volume, the ragged edges of the leaves of paper looked as if they had been stuffed between the covers. The only part of it which appeared to have avoided the rigours of age was a golden star. Embossed on the front cover, it glinted in the light in much the same way as the Ethnarch’s shaven skull.
Anaïs glanced around her, taking in the lie of the land. They were in the ruins of what appeared to be an ancient fortress. Out in the bay, between other buildings, she could make out the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. She edged sideways and peered over a low wall next to her. They were in the upper area of a town. The town itself, nestled on a hillside, fanned out below them. Along the coast and sprawling out in the distance was a large city. That has to be Catania.
Behind her was the entrance to the cave. In front he barred the only escape route: a narrow, walled, stone escarpment leading down the hill.
‘Last chance, Anaïs,’ Deus said sternly. ‘We can do this the easy way. You answer my question. Or we can do it the hard way. Either way you will tell me what I want to know.’ He paused, puffing out his chest. ‘What’s it going to be? Your choice.’
Some choice! She dropped her eyes to avoid his stare. She looked at her hands. There it was, as it had been the entire time. The little toy windmill, lying across her fingers in her loose grip. How had she forgotten about it? His talk, that’s how. Stuff his choices. I have one of my own. A plan of attack. Simple. Easy. Lift and blow.
Before she could move he stepped forward. Reaching out he placed his hand on her head. Immediately the star on the book clasped against his chest began to emit tiny blue arcs of electrical static. The arcs ran swiftly up his arm, across his shoulders and down the arm to the hand on her head.
She felt a sudden jolt. It snapped her head back, paralysing her, turning her body rigid. Her skin tingled. A shot of pain surged through her teeth as if she had just bitten up to her gums into a scoop of ice cream. She tried to cry out but her jaw was locked. Not only her jaw, but every bone in her body felt as if it had been turned to stone. The pain was excruciating. Her skin burned. It felt as if her flesh was being peeled from her body.
She tried clasping her eyelids together. She could not. Against her will, her eyes were drawn to his. They were piercing, driving right through her. They had their own force. They tugged at her eyeballs, threatening to rip them from their sockets. Little sparks flew from his lashes. Cobalt arcs of electricity flashed around his sockets. They fanned out and swept across his head as though it was a plasma globe.
His words boomed in her head. ‘Tell me, Anaïs. Where is your sister?’
The ground beneath her feet rocked. It rose, then suddenly fell. Initially Anaïs thought it was part of his force field. Then she realised otherwise. The tremor did not come from him. It came from an outside source. The surge of earth beneath them lifted both of them into the air, the ground disappearing under their feet.
He continued to hold her gaze, yet his eyes were no longer piercing. Momentarily filled with surprise, they were soon charged with fear. While still airborne, he released her head, and with it the powerful physical hold he had over her.
The electrical charge coursing through her body ceased, but not the lack of control. Instead of rigid, she was now limp. Numb. Helpless. She fell backwards. The last thing she saw before hitting the ground and blacking out was another figure perched high above her.
Balanced precariously, with one foot on the eroded pinnacle of a stone archway, stood a woman wearing a black fedora. Her mouth and nose were obscured by a thick, black scarf. The rest of her face was as pale as porcelain.
RESCUE
The blackout was momentary. Anaïs snapped her eyes open. From her prone position, lying flat on her back, she watched the battle ensue.
Over the Ethnarch’s shoulder Anaïs could see her—the mysterious woman in the fedora. How she managed to stay on what little remained of the rounded archway was miraculous. Save for the particularly large keystone positioned at the apex, there was barely anything substantial left of the structure. The keystone rocked and pivoted on the supporting stones. Atop it, the woman stood solid and secure, her torso almost motionless, while underneath her the entire archway swayed from side to side. However, her stance was not the most mind-boggling act she performed.
Rays of white heat shot from her fingertips. Each ray, brighter than the previous one and increasing steadily, flew directly at the Ethnarch. He used his tattered promptuary as a shield. Each time a bolt hit it, the star on its cover flashed. Sparks flew from its points. A shower of them cascaded over his shoulders, dousing Anaïs in fiery particles. They pricked at her exposed skin like the points of needles. She drew up her knees, curled into a ball, and pulled her collar up over her cheek to protect her face.
As Deus attempted to dodge the bolts of light he danced from side to side. Each time he moved he exposed the little witch. When in the direct line of sight of the woman, Anaïs felt her tremendous power. A wave of it swept over her. With it came a blast of pure white-hot heat. She felt what the other woman felt. Anaïs sensed her rage. The malice, bitterness and pain were palpable. The woman had clearly been hurt. Badly. She was out for revenge.
The woman’s emotions overwhelmed Anaïs. They came as a deluge. Such agony. More than anything Anaïs herself had ever experienced. Heart wrenching. Such was the force of emotion, the air became thick with it. A dark cloud formed behind the woman, framing her and adding to the weight of the emotions.
The only feeling Anaïs could compare it to was the moment Nan had died. The memory flashed through her mind. It played out like a jittery, grainy old movie, skipping the occasional frame. She saw the frantic search in the rubble for the caretaker’s body. Her feelings of hopelessness and desperation were real once more. Their awfulness painfully tangible. She saw the moment Nan’s lifeless corpse had been revealed. The anguish increased. No pain had ever been so great and so overwhelming.
Tears welled in the witch’s eyes, misting her view. Everything blurred. She slapped her palms against her sockets. She drew them back across her cheeks towards her ears. The salty water went with them. Drying instantly, the streaks pulled the skin taut across her face.
She was not alone with tears.
They streamed from the eyes of the woman balanced precariously on the arch. Eyes which Anaïs now saw clearly. The same eyes which had been mere centimetres from her own moments before the apartment in Amsterdam had collapsed. Moments before Nan’s death. The death she had caused. The transfer of emotions swapped. Now the rage was Anaïs’s.
The other woman felt it directed towards her. It distracted her. She took her eyes off the Ethnarch and stared at Anaïs. For an instant their eyes locked onto one another. She spluttered on her tears and averted her gaze. Anaïs watched her knot her brow, concentrate, and fire one last salvo at the Ethnarch.
The ray hit the ground at his feet. Splintering the rocky ground, it sent tiny shards of stone flying in all directions. A shower of them peppered Anaïs. The force of the impact launched him high into the air. It sent him sailing over the escarpment wall beside the little witch. To her amusement he let out what could best be described as a Wilhelm Scream.
The woman glanced back at Anaïs. She sighed and looked forlornly at the little witch, letting her arms fall limply by her sides. Anaïs felt the woman let go of her energy. It ebbed. It was a mistake. Distracted, with her focus on Anaïs, the force keeping her upright faltered. With nothing supporting it the arch beneath her gave way. Anaïs watched as first the lower stones collapsed, quickly followed by the keystone. The woman went down with it. A huge cloud of dust rose to replace it. The cloud obscured everything. It burgeoned. Sweeping outwards, it rolled over the little witch.
Blinded by dust, Anaïs choked on it. She drew her scarf up over her nose and mouth. She turned her face to the side, screwed her eyes shut and held her breath. Drawing her coat up over her head, she shielded it. Another shower of stones rained down on her. And then another.
Anaïs waited for the destruction to subside. Before long it did.
Feeling no more stones hitting her and satisfied it was safe, she peeked out from under her coat. The cloud had settled. She wet her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Tasting only dust, she spat out a glob of it. She coughed to clear her throat.
Propping herself up on her elbows, she took in her surroundings. Only remnants remained of what had been a relatively well-preserved ancient ruin. A thick layer of powdery, pale-yellow dust coated everything. Apart from the rubble, Anaïs was alone.
RUINS
The little witch attempted to extract herself from the rubble. Half buried, her lower legs were pinned under pulverised rock. She squirmed and writhed in an attempt to free herself. The weight of the rock was significant. Eventually she managed to dislodge enough rubble to turn herself over and wiggle out from under it.
She stood. A noise behind her drew her attention. Half expecting to see Deus Dominus and mentally preparing herself for battle as she did, she twirled around. To her relief, it was not him.
Ella and the shades emerged from the tunnel.
The Apothecary massaged her eyes, then blinked several times. Adjusting her eyesight to the outdoor glare, she surveyed her surroundings and whistled loudly. ‘Wow! What happened here?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ murmured Anaïs.
Ella ran her eyes over the little witch’s clothing. Not only her attire, but also her face and hair, were coated in an even layer of fine powder. ‘You look like a ghost.’
‘Very funny,’ said the witch sarcastically. She pinched the breast pockets of her coat and shook it in an unsuccessful attempted to dust herself off.
The shades joined the Apothecary in appraising the witch.
‘Are you okay, Anaïs?’
Anaïs sent her thoughts out to her caretaker. ‘I think so, Nan.’
‘You should see yourself. You look like a ghost.’
‘Ella just said that!’ Anaïs retorted with irritation, before realising the caretaker was joking. She grinned in return and jibed her. ‘You should speak for yourself.’
She jumped on the spot, shaking more dust off her coat. She opened her coat and rubbed her hands on her pants to clean them. She then wiped her face. The wet dirt created by her sweaty palms left black streaks across her cheeks.
‘I don’t think that’s going to work,’ said Ella, scrutinising the witch. ‘You’re just spreading it around. Probably easier to hose you down.’
Licking her lips, Anaïs tasted the dust. ‘Mmm, maybe you’re right.’ The gritty substance ground on her teeth as she rubbed them together. She snorted and spat out a glob of it. It raised a puff of powder as it hit the ground at her feet.
‘Anaïs!’
Sheepishly, she glanced sideways at her caretaker. ‘Sorry, Nan.’ She turned her attention back to the Apothecary. ‘We need to get out of here before he comes back.’
‘He?’ Ella’s eyes widened. ‘Was it the guy with the dogs again?’
‘No,’ said Anaïs, grimly shaking her head. ‘Much worse. His father.’
Ella’s eyes darted around the ruins. ‘Great! You mean there’s more of them?’
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ said Anaïs. She surveyed the ruins. ‘Any idea how we can get out of here?’
‘Nope.’ Ella shrugged. ‘Like I said before, I’ve only ever stopped for pizza in Catania. I’ve never been anywhere else on the island. Where are we anyway?’
‘The promptuary said before that we were in a place called Taormina,’ said Anaïs.
‘I think we need more than a place name.’
Anaïs retrieved the handbook from her coat pocket. ‘Let me have a look.’ She commanded the promptuary, ‘Map.’
The handbook responded as before, creating a three-dimensional image of their surroundings.
‘Look,’ said Ella. ‘There’s a train station.’
‘I see it, but it’s down at the foot of the hill. I don’t want to go there.’ She moved to the stone wall and peered over it. ‘That’s where I saw him go. We’re certain to run into him that way.’
‘Then we go back to the boat.’
‘No, that was a dead end, and besides, there’s a bunch of corpses down there. I really don’t want to face that again.’
Ella eyed the entrance to the tunnel. ‘Okay, I agree. But what do you want to do then? Fly?’
‘That would be cool. Do you have something which can do that?’
The Apothecary shook her head. ‘I wish. You saw my attempt with the broomstick on Malta. But even if it did work—which it doesn’t—it’s not here, is it?’
Anaïs sighed heavily. ‘We can’t hang around too long. Guys with dogs or not, we’re going to have other problems soon. We’ll have to deal with naturals as well. I’m sure destroying part of a monument will not go unnoticed.’
‘Monument?’
‘Yes, a minute ago this was the entrance to what looked like some kind of ancient amphitheatre.’
Ella stared at the mound of rubble, trying to visualise what it once may have looked like. ‘You destroyed an amphitheatre?’
‘No! Of course not!’ Anaïs frowned. ‘It was someone else. No time to explain. At any rate, if we hang around here too long, we’ll get the blame for it.’ Her frustration got the better of her. ‘C’mon! Someone think of something!’
‘What about this?’
Anaïs turned to face Joan. She had completely forgotten about the other shade. The body builder stood a few metres away next to a crevice. Anaïs scampered over a small mound of rubble and stood next to the shade. Both peered into the hole. A section of pathway had collapsed, revealing a stone stairwell.
The witch’s eyes lit up. She grinned broadly. ‘Cool!’ She moved to give Joan a hug of joy before thinking better of it. Too cold. She cleared her throat. ‘Thanks, Joan.’
Nan and Ella joined Anaïs and Joan. The four of them stood in a circle around the hole.
‘Right!’ exclaimed Anaïs, clapping her hands together and raising a dust cloud from her coat. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Go?’ The Apothecary gave the crevice a dubious glance. ‘You don’t know where it leads.’
Anaïs rolled her eyes. ‘Welcome to my world. I never know where I’m going. Just go with the flow. It looks like it goes down the hill and we will be out of sight. What more could we want?’
‘But there might be more of them there.’ She cocked her head at the tunnel full of corpses behind her.
‘No choice. We’ll tackle that when we come to it. We just have to keep moving.’ Anaïs did not wait for a response. She slammed the handbook shut, dropped it into her pocket and sat down. She slid towards the hole and cast her legs over the edge. She leaned forward and pushed herself off, dropping down onto the top step.
She looked up at the faces staring down at her. Framed by the entrance to the crevice and towering behind them was the peak of Mount Etna. Disturbingly, it appeared to be spewing more smoke.
Anaïs beckoned frantically to the others. ‘Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s go.’
DESCENT
The deeper Anaïs went, the darker it became. The steps of the circular staircase were damp and slippery, making progress slow. She gripped the central stone pylon for support. As she descended it grew colder. The familiar musty smell of the previous tunnel returned.
Reaching the base of the staircase she stepped off the bottom tread into pitch black. Feeling around with her feet she sensed a smooth floor. She moved forward, waving her arms, but encountered no obstacles. She stopped to listen to the footfalls of the others as they reached the lower steps.
