The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel

by Federico Negri

  “Can you trust him?”

  Silla places both hands around the neck of the dark rascal. “Kasia, my best friend and my Captain trusts in him and so I will do likewise.”

  He squeezes her waist in his arms, joining their bodies. “Why are we hugging?” he asks.

  “Because we have to say goodbye,” Silla explains smiling. “People embrace when they say farewell, don’t they?”

  Silla caresses his cheek, lingering on his pointed chin.

  “Wasn’t there talk of a good luck kiss?” Ahsto says softly, bringing his face closer. Silla smells the scent of wine on his breath, but also a fruity, sensual hint that stirs her somewhere deep inside.

  She laughs. “You’ve already had plenty of good luck tonight.” She crushes her belly against the man’s crotch and crosses her finger back along the nape of his neck. “Right?”

  He closes in until he brushes against her lips, but Silla sways a few inches back. “Why do you want to kiss me?” she asks.

  “I thought you wanted to kiss me,” Ahsto sighs, with a smile.

  “You know what you should do?” Silla comes closer and gets up on tiptoes until her mouth is close to his ear. “You should use the twenty thousand pieces I helped you earn and come to Gothland in ten days,” she whispers to him, grazing his earlobe with her lips.

  The man squeezes her with a hug full of promises and buries his face in her hair, seeking out her neck with his lips. Silla can’t hold back a sigh, when he starts softly caressing her skin with ravenous kisses.

  “And what should I do, up there?” He lifts his head and looks her in the eyes.

  “There’s the Sabbath. When men,” she jabs a fingernail into the middle of his chest, “and witches unite in a night of passion, without limits or rules.”

  Ahsto draws in and kisses her delicately on the lips. “You’ll be there?”

  Silla laughs again and gently moves her head away from him, gathering her wavy hair behind her. “Oh of course I’ll be there. I haven’t missed a Sabbath in my life. If I’m not there, it’ll mean I’m dead.”

  Ahsto comes closer again and this time Silla indulges his impassioned mouth for a few seconds, but as soon as the destroyer comet grows restive in the depths she pulls apart from him.

  “Wait,” she giggles, “conserve some of your ardor, in case you should need another bandage from your friend the nurse.”

  “Run away with me,” he proposes. “We have some change in our pocket, we could head north. To Gothland even, if you want.”

  “I can’t and you know that. I’m on a mission, and I can never be at peace until I find Alina. I’ve known her since she was nine years old; she’s like my younger sister.”

  Ahsto lets his hands run along her spine until his fingers rest on the hairs at the nape of her neck, provoking long, unabashed shivers.

  “You kiss well, for a witch,” he teases her again.

  “Meanwhile I adore the way you lie. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone better at it than you.” Silla rests her face on his shoulder, enjoying the warm contact of the man’s upper body against her soft bosom. After a few moments she lifts her head back up and stares straight into his dark irises. “Farewell, Ahsto. Take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll come to Gothland, Silla. A change of scenery can only do me good; what’s more, I’d like to deepen our acquaintance.”

  The woman smiles, “We’ll see how deep we go, with this acquaintance. Two Saturdays from now there’s a Blue Moon, the fourth full moon of the season. Be there early in the morning at the docks of Visby, Gothland’s port. You can have a yourself a mug. On that day they usually put up a tent where they serve hot wine. I will come find you, just take care not to give in too soon to some witch’s flirtations because there will be no shortage of them, I assure you.”

  “I will wait for you, Silla.”

  “You’d better. If I find you in a sister’s bed, it will be the last Sabbath you see. I’ll transform you into an Indian piglet and carry you around in my jacket pocket for the rest of your life.”

  “I don’t believe it,” the man smiles and holds her tight in his embrace, once again burrowing his head in her hair.

  “I’m in need of some new tricks,” she bemoans. “It seems all my old spells have been found out.” Sweetly, she detaches herself from the rogue. “Stay alive, my friend.”

  With one last glance, brimming with things not said, the two part ways in silence and she heads into the night, up the stairs.

  ***

  Kasia straightens the jacket on her chest and lifts her chin defying the glares aimed at her by various witches on the other side of the tent.

  Guild Poe has just informed the semi-circle of his research, which led him to discover the American warlock. More than one of those present didn’t hold back a scream of disbelief upon learning of the existence of a man gifted with magic powers, an event so rare it’s not present in any witch’s memory. The last appearance of a warlock dates back to over seven hundred years ago in Ireland and a few centuries before that, in Czechland, but the records of them are rather muddled.

  Guild Poe continues his exposition with the shipwreck on the coasts of the Continent and the subsequent rescue through the work of Guarischi.

  Kasia is sitting not far from him on an isolated stool. Two witches guard her, standing at either side, to indicate judgment over her actions has been turned over to the Council.

  They spared her the infamy of chains, but she needed to give up her knife.

  The American describes their rough voyage over the Channel, and the resulting disgraceful episode in Den Haag, while Kasia’s thoughts race to her niece who left her precisely on that occasion. Silla hasn’t sent any news, and the Cerriwdens are still absent. Very little good news, recently.

  “And thus,” Guild Poe concludes, “Captain Santuini agreed to accompany me here to deliver the book to Serena Goldenbit. Kasia was forced to agree to the presence of that German spy, otherwise we would have never left the docks of Den Haag.”

  Dozens of eyes turn toward her, and she returns their stares one by one.

  She reads reproach in many of them, but also admiration, especially among the younger witches, the one’s whose heads are still filled with dreams of distant lands, sick of crushing their garden herbs in the mortar.

  “Before listening to more,” Ehrinna Viscount interjects, the chancellor of this conclave, “we need to decide whether or not to formally accuse Kasia Santuini.”

  “What?” Kasia starts in. “Accuse me of having maneuvered as best I could to bring a message of absolute importance here for you? For not having let information vital to our survival fall into German hands? Of bringing you the man everyone is looking for, in possession of knowledge which will allow us to bargain as equals with the Palatinate, the English, or whomever else?”

  “Kasia,” Eleanor raises a hand, “no one questions your good intentions. However, a good part of that information of vital importance was lost to the hands of the hateful Germans. The woman you let disembark, after the attack at Serena Goldenbit’s home, has disappeared. A squad of witches is combing the island inch by inch but, for the moment, there’s no trace.”

  “She has military training,” Kasia huffs. “You should have followed her when I suggested it to you. She must be hiding herself, waiting for the right moment to jump aboard the baron’s airship. No communications from them? What of my airship? Any word?”

  “Forgive us, Santuini,” Ristapor Goldenbit shrieks from the third row, “if we didn’t rush to chase after your guest. But we didn’t think you’d be bringing a world war to our doorstep this morning! It appeared to be a day like any other.”

  “Peace,” Ehrinna continues, “Total silence from the Scourge and the Needle. Four witches are discreetly patrolling the pier to make sure no one climbs on board.”

  “He just needs to let loose a launch boat in the fog of night. No one would notice it,” Kasia remarks.

  “All we can do at the m
oment is wait.”

  “Your preferred strategy,” Kasia goes on, thrashing on the stool as if it were on fire. “I tried to warn you of the danger, but the little girl you sent to greet me—yes, you Eleanor—didn’t understand in the least. Someone more astute would have accompanied me to Serena’s. She would have ordered a patrol, she would have sent an emissary on board the Baron’s airship, a customs officer. But instead there were only sassy lines and a bit of the fresh recklessness of youth.”

  “I—” Eleanor jumps to her feet with eyes shining with rage drowned amid her voluminous curls, but the elderly Ehrinna puts a hand on her arm, so as to make her sit down again.

  “The facts are known,” the chancellor remarks. “We shall vote, without descending into useless squabbling. Raise your hand those who believe Captain Santuini should be subject to formal accusation.”

  Kasia counts the many raised hands, but the anger coursing through her temples doesn’t allow her to finish the calculation. It’s always staggering to discover how well you’re loved! She returns to counting, but before she’s finished Ehrinna declares, “Forty-eight votes in favor. There are a hundred and seven present tonight, the Council dismisses the formal accusation. You may take your place, Santuini; the number present is updated to a hundred and eight.”

  Taking her time, Kasia rises from the stool, bestowing venomous looks on all those who pushed for her incarceration. One by one, she challenges them with her gaze; there will be other votes in the coming months where tonight’s affront shall be repaid. The last glance before sitting down however is for the Viscounts, united with a short signal behind their leader. Apart from Ehrinna who couldn’t vote due to her role as chancellor, the others all kept their hands by their side, including the feisty Eleanor. They too are not immune from mistakes, and they preferred to keep a low profile.

  A nod of assent from the assembly’s chancellor and Guild Poe resumes. “It’s time for you all to know the contents of the codex.” He places a hand on the fragment of the book beside him on the table, then he takes up his story. “During the weeks of the oceanic crossing, I committed it to memory, so I will report it to you as it was written word for word, as if it were Arabel herself speaking: 'Sisters, I will tell you the story of a man who today goes by the name of Lionel. Almost fifty years ago by now, a witch of Springfield, Missouri had an affair, some say with a cousin, others a brother, but it’s not important. She ended up pregnant and her sisters confronted her with her responsibilities: either she give the baby up for adoption or she abandon the Rule. The woman was not very mentally stable, at least that’s how they tell it, and she made the others believe she freed herself of the baby. In reality, she hid it in a lair inhabited by magical hybrids, degenerated into a bestial state, whom she controlled thanks to her powers. She wasn’t a young lady mindful of her chores; indeed she lost her hold over the hybrids who turned against her and killed her. Incredibly, however, the beasts attached to the little one who grew up with them, like an animal, until the age of six.

  “‘Lionel was found by a doctor from the area, who brought him back to civilized life; he taught him to speak and sent him to school. The little boy had enormous difficulty fitting into the community, but he also had extraordinary intelligence and strong intuition. Little trace is left of Lionel’s life from six to eighteen. We know for certain he started to realize he possessed magic powers and that he was very different from his coevals.

  “‘A sister from Boston came into contact with him when he was around twenty. The woman, overwhelmed by his power, stayed with him for two months. When she returned to her community she was shocked and reported the boy possessed an enormous gift, nevertheless her memories were very confused.’”

  Guild Poe breaks off his story for a moment, but the silence is such that Kasia could hear her feet scuff against the floor. He continues with Arabel’s words, “‘Lionel was unlucky once again, since Springfield was devastated by the so-called Band of the Green Scorpion, a gang of criminals who, hiding behind pseudo-religious ravings, destroyed the Mid-West thirty years ago. They sacked and burned down fourteen cities and an unspecified number of villages until they were disbursed by the Confederate Army. The inhabitants of Springfield were forced to flee into the countryside where they were decimated by famine, diseases, and hybrids.

  “‘Here Lionel’s trail disappears completely. In all likelihood, he lived in a community of hybrids for over ten years, deep in the forest. A caravan was attacked by these beasts in that area and the sole survivor told of a man who allowed her to escape. The man moved among those bloodthirsty brutes, covered in hides, with a severe and penetrating gaze. This is the only testimony we managed to gather until word began to spread of a mysterious warlock who was gathering hybrids and witches to the north. Together with friends I went toward his court to discover more about it.’”

  Kasia listens to Guild Poe narrate the amazing adventures of Arabel: how she was able to infiltrate his closest circle, managing to seduce him while she still had control over her own actions. Nevertheless, Kasia’s thoughts also turn to her faraway niece and the ghostly silence coming from her airship.

  What is Lili plotting?

  The Viscounts declared they hadn’t received any messages from the Needle. Is it possible Lili had another episode and Riger was unable to handle it? As soon as the Council finishes, she should run to her ship to learn what’s going on.

  She brings her attention back to the American who continues to relay the witch’s thoughts verbatim: “‘Lionel is the most powerful magical being I’ve ever encountered. Ironically, he has a poor command of attack spells, but he’s amazing with those related to control. His most incredible power is the ability to implant false memories. He can make you believe you’re his sister, or his friend, and scenes will blossom in the recollection of your real childhood with him there hugging you or consoling you or with both of you laughing together with your parents. Reminiscence will arise of his hand while he caresses your cheek, the smell of his hair when you embraced as children. Absolutely astounding and without the possibility of resisting.

  “‘I remained captivated for several weeks, and I managed to get out of there thanks only to his weakness. Like us, he too is destabilized by amorous relations. While we were having sex, the whirl of false memories let up like a vice slowly opening, leaving my intellect free to distinguish reality from fiction. I had the quickness of wit to pretend nothing had happened and, at the first opportunity, I escaped. If it weren’t for that episode, I would still be there by his side. In the weeks in which I was in his society, I came to learn of his plans and realized he must be stopped.

  “‘He has assembled an army of hybrids, thousands of individuals, but he’s reached the limit of his immense power. He’s pushed beyond the boundaries of nature and united the minds of some poor wretches with those of macro-cephalic hybrids, creating two collective minds. These pseudo-beings, capable of superior logic and reasoning, helped design his transoceanic airships—a technological advancement never before realized, for which I stole the plans. However, control over these super-minds is very unstable; these creatures tend to rebel, so much so that he needs to keep them isolated from the rest of his colony.

  “‘He is convinced the key to stabilizing these collective intelligences is based on a union of all the intellects of the thousands of creatures currently comprising his horde, through a complex magic ritual he invented himself.’”

  “Why,” Ehrinna interrupts, “does he want this? Does he want to rule the world?”

  Guild Poe cuts off his rote narration and scratches his skull. “I’ll answer with the theory we formed together during the voyage to Europe. His personal experiences led him to distrust men. He believes the element that prevents people from achieving happiness is their constant desire to overpower their neighbor and especially those who are weaker. Witches, hybrids—they live at the outermost ring of society, and they’re the beings to which he’s tied his existence. I don’t think he’s in
terested in absolute dominion over us normal people, but he definitely wants magical beings to have a prominent position in our society and to make it so they can no longer be threatened or overpowered.”

  “We’re magical beings. So…?” the witch next to Kasia whispers.

  “I’ll continue the story, with what Arabel wrote: ‘When he is able to realize the mass mental communion of all his faithful, this super-organism will have such a disproportionate advantage with respect to the world’s various political communities that no one can ever harm it. All the weak, the marginalized and the disinherited, will spontaneously fuse in this mental mass so as not to feel suffering. From what I gathered, Lionel does not plan to meld himself in this aggregate, but I think he wants to act as its guide and tutor, directing the colony with his powers to control. Perhaps for good ends, but I leave it for you to consider how dangerous it would be to lose your freedom of thought and decision-making. Instead I will show you his next steps and I hope you will decide wisely, regarding the need to maintain one’s independence and autonomy.’”

  Various witches pressed forward to listen more intently.

  “‘Lionel shall bring his colony to the place where the Earth’s magic has its origins, in the circle of stones on the plain of Stonehenge. It will be on a specific day of the year, but I was unable to gather this detail. To complete the rite he needs four elements: Dependence, Control, Dominion, and Hope.

  “‘For Dependence he must find a couple whose ties have been soldered so firmly over time that they are now inseparable. I don’t have exact details on this element; I think he has seen a witch and a man connected by a bond of this kind in the depths of Central Asia, close to a city called Volgograd. For Control, he will try to recover a magical object, a scepter that the sovereign Herbert the Small had forged almost a thousand years ago by the black witches of Diordlund, before he rained war down on the Scandinavian princes. A legend that you too have heard, but he was able to identify the point in the North Sea in which the king’s vessel sunk before he could test out the artifact in battle.