Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 7 – The Witch

Note: I debated about this part quite a bit as it's the first time we take a small departure from Oan's point of view. I am not 100% happy how this turned (at least in terms of word composition and style). I stumbled at parts of it even though, it's not really that long of a piece. I'll be interested to see the reaction to this.

Disc 1
Track 7: Lie, Lie, Lie – Serj Tankian

“Take my hand and lets end it all.”

The whispers of winter had already turned to shouts in the steady breezes of the mountains. One such brisk current sped down from the highest peak called Kekur in the old kingdom of Marek, swept past the Great Hall of Metahischo where Tarek Grandar sat upon his throne in the final days of the last age and over the rocky landscape where once a great race of mountain dwellers ruled, down to the base of foothills where an ancient cave’s mouth opened to swallow it up.

The wind’s icy tongue licked up the spine of the witch, her nude body shivered. She tossed her head back, her long dark curls that reached to her waist fell about her as she cooed in surprise.

“Ohhh, I remember that cold breath, I do, I do,” She purred. “I wish it touched further down and in, I do, I do. Quell that cursed fire it would, it would. Hmmm. I remember that touch.”

She continued to mumble in a variety of languages mixed with grunts and purrs. The witch was perched upon an ancient wooden stool, her small breasts pressed against the cold oak of a door hung seemingly in stone at the back of the cave. Along the walls were glowing blue orbs that illuminated the cave as if the light of day reached that far back.

Across the top, three diamond-shapes were cut into the wood and lined up across the width of the door. Each diamond was filled with a pane of glass, the one on the far right was tinted red, one in the middle blue and the left was green. The glass diamonds were at eye-level for a normal-sized person, but the witch was short and the top of her head only reached the bottom of each diamond.

Even with the stool, she stood upon her tiptoes to peer in the green-tinted glass. Her only reward was the reflection of her eyes of the same color. Yet, she had been there all morning and as the days passed she spent more time pressed against the door waiting for any sort of vision from the opposite side of the door. She knew there was another world where children awaited gifts all year from a fat, bearded elf in celebration of the birth of some god. She felt like those children – giddy and expectant – waiting for anything to appear.

Yet, there were only her eyes staring back at her and behind that the stone of the mountain. The door was still like a sweet wine or some other nasty habit that she couldn’t kick. She needed it, the promise of its magic and of another start, another world. She needed it to block out the damp longing pulling at her loins. He was calling for her, calling to use her, and despite all her powers she could not deny the pull much longer. Soon all the women east of the Belnor would feel the pulsing throb between their legs and the insane notion to run west, to not allow any barrier stop them, even death.

Thus, the witch’s days in this world were growing short, her time to open that door again. But she dare not open it till the door’s will spoke it. A stiff penalty awaited the unwanted, unrequested visitor of the realm inbetween.

For over an age, she had not so much guarded the door, but had been its steward in its tucked away lair at the base of the mountain. For most of that time, she had dropped by every few seasons to gauge its welfare before setting off again into the world. She’d peek into the green window, sometimes witness one great wonder or another. Sometimes there was nothing, but more often than not there was some vision or another giving little bits of wisdom.

The last few seasons had been different. She dwelled closer and closer to the door checking on it more often. Then her visits were daily and finally at the beginning of summer she took permanent residence in the cave. But the door was silent, the green pane of glass still. She dare not look in any other. The blue and the red were not made for her kind.

The witch eased back on her heels resigned that no sign was swirling behind the door today. She dropped off the stool, her bare feet avoiding every sharp spot on the rough stone floor without thought. Above her, bats slept the slumber of the dead. There was no furniture in the cave, nothing to indicate that it was her home except for a small roll of clothes. From the top of the pile, she grabbed a silk green robe that she pulled shut but did not tie.

Far away, another wind started and swiftly found its way down the mountain as she neared the cave’s opening. It gushed in, blowing her robe open. She cooed again wildly letting out an unhindered cackle. Then a shadow appeared at the front of the cave, and her smile grew wider.

“Here for days upon days, I’ve waited for something from beyond that green pane,” The witch’s voice was strong and clear. Her smile grew wider. “Come my brother, come, I shall build a fire and you can tell me what it is that you dream. I shall listen with great interest, I vow to that my dear.”

She held out her hand and one just as small and frail clasped on.