by Adam Bennett
“Are you afraid of the big, bad witch? Thought you would just come in here, wreck my home, steal my stones and be done with it?” The witch’s words seemed to be coming from everywhere. She took another step forward, her hands moving in small, intricate patterns at her side. A tall, wooden table sat a few feet to her left, covered in vials of liquid, bowls with powders and herbs, candles whose wax had long since puddled at their base. Directly behind her, at the far end of the cottage, was a roaring fire. The stones of the fireplace and hearth glowed bright from the blaze.
The witch was getting closer. She was going to kill him, or even worse, suck the blight from him into one of the stones, leaving him an empty husk, alive but unable to move or think. She would use him like a dairy cow, constantly draining him of his blight until the day he died.
He reached his right hand out toward the table, made a fist, and jerked it toward the witch. The table, full of all its ingredients, shot across the room, right through the witch and slamming into a wooden bed against the wall. They both shattered.
She was by the fire, laughing like a crazed jester. Isoba and Paden stopped banging. He couldn’t hear them anymore.
The witch spoke two words then pulled a pebble from her pocket and dropped it on the dusty, wooden floor. The floorboards underneath Dimas started undulating, moving like waves in the ocean. He tried to keep his balance but failed and fell to the floor. In an instant, she was on him, her mouth mere inches from his, saliva dripping from her perfect teeth onto his tongue. He tasted death.
She leaned in and kissed his lips. He felt the world sink around him as his body went limp. He couldn’t move. It was as if his insides had turned to jelly and he was just a crumpled pile of skin. The witch was standing, looking down on him, her cackle quiet this time.
Dimas heard a crash, like glass shattering. Shouts erupted and then a cry from the witch. Dimas could only see a pinprick of light, but he heard everything. Stomping. Furniture breaking. A cry of pain and a curse.
In seconds, it was over. A guttural scream from the witch, then silence.
His vision returned to normal in an instant. His bones and muscles solidified, he could move again. He sat up and found Isoba and Paden standing over the witch, Paden wiping blood and flesh from his spiked gauntlets.
“Well, that was fun,” Isoba said with a laugh. “How about next time, you stick with us. Work as a team.”
Dimas nodded and thanked them. They searched the cottage, the two warriors stuffing gold coins and trinkets into their pockets. Dimas found the blight stones, three of them, tucked away in a small, unadorned box. They were small—no bigger than a mouse—black and shiny, and smelled like charcoal.
As he picked them up, he felt them call to him. They wanted him, needed him to use them. He shoved two into his pocket then clutched the third. He reached out with his blight, a crackle of electricity blossoming like a flower in his hand. A light flashed from the stone, filling the cottage, and then it was gone; he had drained the stone, absorbed its blight.
“Dimas…” Isoba said, unable to finish his sentence. Dimas looked at him, everything in the cottage was brighter, more colourful, practically alive. He looked at his hands, a spiderweb of electricity flowed and danced around them.
He’d never felt power like this before.
“It’s time to go, are you two ready?”
Isoba and Paden both nodded, their eyes glued to Dimas. He winked, and all three blinked out of existence, reappearing at the foot of a stone tower. It appeared to grow right out of the rock, like a stony tree. A single wooden door had been cut into the base, strange glowing glyphs cut into the rock above it.
Paden looked around and grimaced. They were surrounded by similar towers, all stretching up from the rocky ground, climbing high into the clouds, their spires unable to be seen. Skeletons and bones littered the ground, as if bodies were simply tossed out of the tower windows, left to rot and decay below. “I’m guessing the wizards never come down here,” Isoba said, his voice no more than a whisper.
Dimas took a step toward the door and put his hand out, feeling the magic coming from the glyphs. After a minute, he spun around. “Your armour won’t help you, only slow you down. Take it off.”
The two warriors looked at each and shrugged, then began peeling off their old, battered armour. All that was left was Paden’s spiked gauntlets. When they finished, Dimas put a hand on their shoulders and closed his eyes, whispering something in a tongue they didn’t recognise. Black ooze slithered from his hands, climbing over their bodies, covering them head to toe, leaving only their eyes, nose, and mouth bare. The ooze was thick and malleable yet felt electric on their skin.
“This will serve you better to ward off their magic. Now listen; there are many blight stones here, I can feel them. Each of these towers have at least one, if not more. There are traps though, and the wizards themselves we’ll have to contend with.”
Paden grunted.
“Well, what’s the plan fearless leader?” Isoba asked, stretching and hopping around, preparing himself for the inevitable battles ahead.
“We’re going to teleport to where a stone is at. Snatch it, then teleport to the next one, until we have them all. Then, we’re gone. If anyone tries to stop us, we kill them. Simple as that,” Dimas said matter of factly, as if the plan was more than obvious. Electricity crackled around him. “Ready?”
The two warriors nodded. Without a word, they were at the top of the tower, inside a massive room, much bigger than what was possible for the tower. It was covered in rich tapestries displaying glorious battles, beautiful plush rugs, statues of mighty warriors. It lasted less than ten seconds and then they were in another one. They didn’t even have enough time to see Dimas grab the stones.
They popped in and out of towers five more times before it happened. It was like a being caught in a vice. They were floating, at least ten feet above the ground, a blue shimmer surrounding them.
“So, you thought you’d just come into my tower and steal my possessions? Thieves. I’ve always hated your kind,” a man said. He was wearing a long red robe that trailed behind him with gold trim and a gold belt that tied it together at the waist. His hair was black and cut short while a long beard hung down to his chest, braided on each side up to his chin.
“And you think you’re any different? Stealing blightborn children just to feed off their gift? You’re worse than a thief, you’re a murderer as well,” Dimas said, his tone sharp and cutting. The wizard laughed and pushed his hand out, the three intruders flying across the room and slamming into a stone wall, their cries of pain echoing throughout the chamber.
The wizard laughed and then sent a beam of light shooting out from his palm, hitting Paden in the chest. It fizzled upon contact, having no effect. “Well isn’t that interesting,” he said, then held both hands out, a red beam shooting out of each of his fingers. The beams cut into Paden’s magical armour, dissolving it away completely. His howl of pain was deafening.
“I’m going to kill you all now. I don’t have time for games today.” He continued burning into Paden, his screams growing louder. Soon, one of the wizard’s hands moved over to Isoba. It didn’t take long before his screams mixed with Paden’s, a cacophony of agony.
“Stop it! Let them go, just kill me instead,” Dimas said, his voice rising above the screams. The wizard merely laughed. Dimas watched his friends, torment wracking their faces. He tried teleporting them but the shimmering blue magic around them wouldn’t let him. He tried using his blight to break the spell but couldn’t.
Desperate, he pulled out two of the blight stones, holding one in each hand. He absorbed their blight, closed his eyes, focused on the pain and anguish of his friends. Anger boiled up inside of him until he exploded in raw magic. The force of it broke the spell and knocked the wizard to the ground. Isoba and Paden dropped to the floor, lying almost unconscious. They didn’t move.
Dimas stayed floating in the air, his hair and eyes black with blight.
Before the wizard could react, a bolt of light jumped from Dimas’s mouth in a scream, slamming into the wizard’s face, melting it off. When he was finished, all that was left was the robe, still red and gold, undamaged. Dimas dropped to the ground and went to his friends.
He crouched and put his hands on them, the same oozing blight slipping out and covering them. This time, instead of sticking, it soaked into their wounds. Less than a minute later, they pushed themselves up and smiled. “You’re good to have around,” Isoba said, slapping Dimas on the back.
Dimas stood, walked to the remains of the wizard and took his robe. Sliding it on, it shrunk to fit him. As the two warriors stood, they watched Dimas find the stones, put them into a pouch that hung from his belt and with a grin, whispered the word ‘home.’
They blinked out of existence, then back in again. They were standing just outside of a small cottage, next to a beautiful garden. It smelled of rain and flowers.
Janus poked his head out of a window, smiling. “You’re back! And you brought friends,” he said, before pulling his head back inside. A second later, he came out, hand in hand with Melanie.
“I see you picked up a fancy new robe too,” she said, hugging Dimas. They all introduced themselves before walking into the garden. A stone pathway cut through the lush jungle of flowers and bushes, fruit trees and produce, leading up to a small stone circle that had five wooden chairs surrounding a fire pit. As they sat, Janus looked at the pit. It burst into flames.
“The Reaping is tomorrow,” Dimas said. “But I have the stones. A lot of them, in fact.” He gathered all the blight stones he had and set them on the ground in front of them. There were twenty two in all. “Were you able to find the other blightborn?”
“We found a few. Not enough to fend off the reapers, but with the blight stones, we might be able to defeat them. The others are at the tavern, they’ll be here soon,” Melanie said, picking up one of the stones and sitting back. She rolled it around in the palm of her hand. A minute later she said, “I have an idea.”
That night, they all gathered around the fire pit. The others had joined them, all of them older than Dimas. “As you all know, tomorrow is the Reaping. Never before have we been able to fight back, until now. Thanks to Dimas, we now have the power to not only defend the village, but end this once and for all,” Janus said, holding one of the blight stones above his head. “We will use these stones to suck the life from all the reapers, at once. We will herd them to the centre of town where Dimas will use the stones in unison and end the Reaping.”
The crowd broke out in a murmur of concern and comments. Dimas watched the scene unfold in front of him, hands clenched together, his eyes darting back and forth. He wanted to disappear into the darkness. He wasn’t ready for it all to be on him.
Isoba stood up. “Don’t you worry about Dimas. We’ll watch his back. All you damned magic users just get those reapers to the centre of town. If you don’t think you can handle it, now’s the time to leave.” His words silenced the crowd.
“Now, let’s get some rest, we’ll take up positions around the village in the morning,” Melanie said, and with that, the crowd disappeared, Dimas with them.
The next morning, Isoba and Paden knocked on Dimas’ small stone hut. He was awake, pulling the door open almost immediately. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, his hair was dishevelled, and he went right back to pacing.
“Are you ready, friend?” Paden asked, stopping Dimas by putting his hands on his shoulders.
Dimas looked into his brown eyes and smiled. “Sure.”
“Then let us get this done. The faster it’s over, the faster we celebrate,” Isoba said, his boisterous voice filling room. Dimas grabbed the stones and tucked them into a pouch that hung from his belt. They took their time walking to the centre of town.
The centre was nothing more than a dirt circle surrounded by buildings—including the tavern—and a well where the town gathered their water from. Dimas sat on the edge of the well and pulled the stones from the pouch. He aligned them on the ground in an intricate pattern that resembled a star. He drew a circle around it, then, using the well’s bucket, pulled up some water and drank.
Shouting in the distance caught their attention. The rest of the town was as quiet as a grave. Dimas turned to his friends, put a hand on each of their chests, closed his eyes, and let his blight flow over them, providing them with the same magical armour they had in the wizard’s towers.
The next few minutes was a hailstorm of explosions and cries; shouts and spells being cast. They didn’t need to see to know what was happening.
One of the other blightborn was the first to appear. A tall, lanky man dressed in a leather tunic and breeches. He was running right for Dimas as if hell opened up and sent its vast army to chase him. Without words, Paden ran toward the man. Three witches were chasing him.
Paden stood his ground, setting himself into a defensive position and motioning for the man to come to him. One of the witches sprouted an ice spike from her chest as a wizard appeared behind her. The other two didn’t stop or even look back. Isoba stood next to Dimas, sword ready. Dimas stood in the centre of the blight stones.
As the man approached, he moved behind Paden, then turned and pushed his hands out, a flurry of dirt sprung up from the ground, blinding the witches. Paden charged in, swinging his spiked gauntlets and dropping both witches like sacks of turnips. A blast of energy hit him square in the chest and sent him flying back, skidding across the dirt, and leaving him groaning in pain. He lifted his head in time to see the tall lanky man fire his own spell back at the wizard.
Isoba ran to Paden and helped him up. The pair moved back to Dimas, standing on either side of him while the other blightborn battled the wizard. The next thing they knew, all hell broke loose.
All the others, including Janus and Melanie had ran back to the centre of town while the two armies of reapers came in from all angles. Lightning bolts, fireballs, mounds of earth, ice spikes, rays of pure energy, all flew this way and that as the battle grew in intensity. Paden and Isoba kept at bay anyone who came too close while Melanie cast a protective shield over Dimas.
Dimas couldn’t believe his eyes. It was near impossible to see who was fighting who as all three sides waged battle against each other. Witches were caught on fire, wizards were cut in half, blightborn were disintegrated. All the while Dimas used the stones to soak in energy and send it out to allies. Blood and death was all around him and the village burned.
The other blightborn were pushed back as the reapers advanced. Dimas didn’t know how much longer they could hold out. He called to them, to get inside the protective shield as he used his own blight to enhance it, make it bigger and stronger.
Melanie looked at him, fear saturating her eyes as Janus brought down a thunderous gale of rain and hail on the intruders. And then it happened. A witch had snuck in and thrust a crooked dagger into Dimas’ back. He cried out, fell to the ground, a burning pain arcing through every inch of his body. Melanie said something he couldn’t understand.
The world was going dark, leaving only a pinprick of light. He scrabbled about, grasping every blight stone he could. He started to shake as he felt life flooding out of him. Isoba appeared in his vision, though he looked far away. And then, he was gone.
Did they kill him? Probably so. They were all going to die, and it was his fault, and he knew it. The realisation of his failure hit him like a hammer to an anvil.
“No!” he screamed, and a burst of energy exploded out from the stones. The earth around him shook and the air smelled of ozone. The world was spinning, a violent chorus of screams surrounded him. And then, nothing.
Silence.
Light was fading from his eyes.
A hand grabbed his. It was warm, comforting, comfortable. It was Melanie’s. She was looking down at him, smiling. “You’re going to be fine. You did it. The reapers are no more.” Her words fell on him like the kisses of an angel. Light erupted from her h
and and soaked into his skin, encompassing him in its warmth. He tried to hold on to consciousness, to see what would happen next but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Darkness took over and he slept.
He woke with a start, sitting up in his bed, sweat dripping down his face. He looked around his home, he was alone.
Swinging his legs out, he climbed out of his bed and dressed himself. He reached for his back where the knife punctured him and found a crusty cloth. He touched it, ran his fingers across it as he thought back to the battle. He should be dead. All of them should be.
Leaving his hut, he walked to the tavern and found it full of townsfolk. Janus and Melanie were there, sitting at a table with Isoba and Paden. The group cheered as he walked in, calling out his name and lifting mugs of frothy ale.
He sat down with his friends, each one looking at him with a smile a mile wide.
“It’s good to see you alive and well,” Isoba said, slapping him on the back and pushing a full mug to him. Dimas tipped it back, savouring the bitter flavour that ran down his throat.
“It’s good to see you too, all of you.”
They then explained what happened after he fell. The spell he cast, the defeated reapers, the village rising up to help finish off the rest. His days of fever and sleep. Janus explained how though they defeated the reapers, there was still a world full of witches and wizards around the world that still preyed on the helpless and weak.
“What’re you going to do now?” Isoba asked Dimas.
He looked around at his friends, then the rest of the tavern, took a sip of his ale. “I’m going to hunt them down. Kill every last one of them. I’ll use the blight stones to do it.”
“We hoped you’d say that. We’ll join you in that quest, my friend,” Isoba said. Paden, smiling at him, nodded.
Janus looked at him, his ever-present smile fading. “Be careful my friend, for the monsters we declare to fight, often end up in the mirror.”
