The Grim Conspiracy

by C. Craig Coleman

  Agmar straightened his spine and took a deep breath causing Nokmay to smile. “Are you threatening me, Witch?”

  “No my beloved king, but time takes its toll. You will join your illustrious ancestors all too soon. Surely you wish your son to be secure on the throne when you pass. The people don’t know him now. He’s been gone for too many years. Bring him home.”

  Agmar was staring out of a window. “What you say is true, Nokmay. Compassion for the people was never your strength. You seek this for some other reason.”

  Nokmay appeared to frown, and her head cocked at an angle. “You misjudge me, my king.”

  “I’m hardly your king. While you live within my borders, you answer to no one, Nokmay. We both know that.” Then Agmar’s gaze turned to the witch. “You know should I suddenly stop paying the reparations and demand the return of my son, it would alarm King Jornak. He’d put Octar on war alert. He might even imprison or kill Malladar.”

  “Surely not, Great King. He might well wish to return Malladar now anyway. I hear your son has drawn the favor of Crown Princess Kayla. What would your people think should he marry the heir to the throne of Octar… treason? Would they feel abandoned by the royal house of Tigmoor? With such a marriage, Tigmoor would lose its independence and become a province of Octar. Can you risk that?”

  Silent, Agmar stood again staring out the window. “I think you are trying to start a war, Nokmay. You will not lead me into such a foolish venture. However, I will send an emissary to King Jornak asking for the return of my son with the annual tribute.”

  Agmar opened the door and waved Nokmay to leave. He looked to the captain of the guards, “Escort this woman out of the palace and out of the city.”

  Walking slowly back to her cave, Nokmay rethought her plot. Agmar knows me too well, she thought. There must be war. If I can’t convince Agmar to start it, I must work another option. If Tigmoor won’t initiate war on Octar, I will pay a visit to Ickletor. His compassion for people is dried up like a prune. Greed rules Ickletor. I must remind him of the rewards of such a conflict. She smiled, warmed by their mutual love of advancing their situations regardless of who paid for them.

  *

  A branch Nokmay released swung back knocking puzzled Rasa backward to the ground. The thump broke Nokmay’s concentration. Annoyed, she looked back at the girl scrambling to get up. “This is no time for a break, you idiot. Get up! We've got a long ways to go. You didn’t break the vessel I entrusted to you, did you?”

  She felt of the troll bones in her pouch to reassure herself of their presence, then turned back and started down the path again.

  Rasa’s graceful figure and smooth, mocha complexion made her a suitable companion but not one to compete with Nokmay for attention if the witch so chose. The slave stood brushing off the forest litter.

  “Sorry, Mistress.” She hurried to catch up. “No, the jar is fine and the top still sealed.”

  Nokmay hurried on, “Take good care of that jar. You’re dead if it gets broken.”

  “Where are we going, Mistress?” Rasa asked.

  “I thought you knew this is the road to Octar. We must get there before nightfall. The jungle is too dangerous at night for us to be out in it.”

  Rasa brushed her skirt to dislodge a large spider that had fallen from a tree. Distracted, she said without thinking, “We should have brought men from the village for protection.” Realizing her mistake, she froze, holding her breath. Nokmay had stopped and was staring at the girl. Rasa’s eyes swelled the whites prominent. She dropped to the ground on her knees with head bowed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your decision.”

  “Stupid girl, never dare to tell me what we should have done. I make the decisions. You obey and keep your mouth shut otherwise. I don’t know why I took you for my slave. You’re so stupid.”

  They moved on, making as little noise as possible. A great macaw dropped the large nut it was cracking and squawked before flying off into the jungle. Nokmay’s head jerked to the sound of the nut ripping through the forest leaves. The squawk splintered the previous silence. The witch sniffed the air; the scent of leaf mold was strong. Something had disturbed the forest floor.

  Seeing her mistress’ heightened alert state as she scanned the forest, Rasa halted in response.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t breathe,” Nokmay whispered.

  Leaves exploded beside the trail fragmenting the forest’s unnatural stillness. A black-spotted orange cat, as big as Rasa, sprang from the thick, fluttering leaves. Its leg muscles rippled as feet extended. Claws sprang out on the protruding paws, and its mouth gaped displaying yellowed fangs. Terror and shock made time seem to slow as the great cat sailed through the air arcing down to land on trembling Rasa. She shrank into a fetal position screaming in terror. The cat’s roar traumatized the servant.

  Nokmay thrust out her arm, projecting a blue energy arc into the cat’s side. Fangs drooling, the feline shrieked. Its head spun to challenge Nokmay. Another spark of blue fire and the beast backed off. It turned away and jumped back into the safety and cover of the forest understory. The attack was over in an eternity spanning only seconds. Holding her breath, Rasa huddled trembling. She dared not look up.

  “Get up, we need to keep moving,” Nokmay said as if nothing had happened. She started down the path toward Octar. “Wipe the blood off your arms before you attract another one.”

  Weak and unsteady, Rasa stood slowly. She picked up the satchel and vessel entrusted to her care. Seeing Nokmay disappearing in the distance, she stumbled forward then rushed to catch up.

  “What was that thing? How did you stop it? I was sure I was dead.”

  Nokmay continued down the path without looking back. “There is nothing, well maybe trolls in this jungle that I fear… in the light of day. But we must reach Octar before nightfall. Even I dare not be out in the open after dark on a night without moonlight.”

  10: Ickletor & Nokmay

  Ickletor was sitting in a garden at one of his estates contemplating how else to respond to the lack of rain.

  The people are increasingly restless, he thought. Eyes linger too long on me when I cross the plaza. How long before the desperate rise up in revolt against me having failed to deliver on my promise to bring rain? A crop failure would result in a revolt for sure. They resent the taxing demands for court and temple. Now they grieve for their children sacrificed for nothing to bring rain. Of late, few clouds have appeared to suggest even a sprinkle. The resentment and tension in the plaza are on every face. My time is running out.

  He watched as a black vulture drifted down and landed on a pillar, a garden ornament.

  “You hide but not for long, Ickletor,” Nokmay said behind him.

  Ickletor jumped up and spun around to face the Witch of Tigmoor. “How dare you sneak up on me!”

  Nokmay’s eyes narrowed then flared. “You saw my friend there on the column. I come and go as I choose. You know that well enough.”

  Jittery, the high priest glanced about to see who watched them. “Something must be bad if you show up here on your enemy’s doorstep.”

  Nokmay stepped forward and poured herself a libation from the ewer on the tray. She took a long swig while watching Ickletor squirm. “It was a long road here. I come with evil news.”

  “No doubt.” Ickletor straightened his robes gaining time to restore his composure. “And what is this news that brings you so far?”

  Nokmay slid a boney, blue-veined finger around the edge of the tray and set the goblet back down. She looked up into Ickletor’s face.

  Good, I’ve got him on the defensive, she thought.

  “What… will you not offer your guest something to eat after so long a journey?” Her missing and blackened teeth appeared in a sneer. She scanned the garden, “The fragrance of your flowers is so soothing.”

  “You shall have food, but first tell me your ill tidings, Witch.”

  “Ickletor, my dear Ickletor, no p
leasantries? How is our daughter, our beloved Eva?”

  Ickletor felt his eyes narrow as he stood up, his back straight. “Your daughter is becoming uncontrollable. She’s turned out to be something of a slut. The nobles are well aware of it. She takes after you. Lust governs her.”

  Nokmay’s posture visibly relaxed. She allowed a smile to creep across her face and a twinkle flared in her ancient eyes. “Well, she takes after her lusty father as I remember. She’s the child of your uncontrolled craving.”

  “You took the guise of a buxom young maiden. You’re the one that sashayed in front of me scantily clad on a warm night.”

  “Yes, and you took me by force, do remember that. You thought you raped me.” Nokmay’s head rolled back in unrestrained laughter.

  “Foul witch, you’ll hold that over me forever. If you ever make such a claim to another, I will deny it. You have no witnesses. I’ll have you burned alive.”

  Nokmay’s mottled flesh darkened as the lusty grin faded into a snicker. The witch’s hardening stare fixed on the high priest. She leaned to one side as if to lessen her physical exposure. “So, we are locked in this dark secret. Eva will be my revenge yet, Ickletor.”

  The priest caught the faint scent of sulfur. “What did you come all this way to inflict on me? I know there’s more on your warped mind than to torment me about our regrettable past.”

  Nokmay hesitated. Her body stiffened as she leaned forward narrowing her eyes. Ickletor noted and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. Her eyes flared, and lips pinched.

  Does she fear what she’s about to reveal? He wondered.

  “I have seen Death,” she said, her voice deep and low as if fearing someone or something else would hear.

  The whites of Ickletor’s eyes swelled. He stumbled backward. “What can you mean? Are you dying… finally?”

  “You are the high priest of a rock god, Ickletor. You have served a god that is no god. I have met the god of the underworld, and he is quite real.”

  The priest stared for a moment then turned away to consider what she’d said. He turned back, “How did you know about Yingnak? Never mind. You have met this god of death? Did you conjure him from the netherworld itself with one of your vile spells?”

  Nokmay sat down, visibly weakened from releasing her most fearful secret.

  “I was seeking a bone. It’s a long story, but I killed a troll that served the god, and he appeared to me.”

  “Crazy witch, you got drunk and summoned something that no one should have ever brought from beyond the veil.”

  Nokmay refilled and emptied her goblet. She wiped her mouth on her nasty robe’s sleeve. “I don’t care what you think, Ickletor but know that Death is now about and he won’t go away.”

  The priest approached Nokmay, “You’re in his service now, or you wouldn’t be here. You want something badly enough to risk coming to Octar. You want something Death demands.”

  Nokmay rose slowly facing the priest. She grinned, “Yes, Ickletor, Death wants something; he wants death and the flesh of the dead for his twisted creations. Soon you will serve him, too.” She cackled and walked back up the trail and disappeared around a curve into the underbrush.

  Ickletor tasted bitterness and filled his goblet, taking a drink. It was harsh and sour as unripe persimmons; he spit out the liquid. He looked up to see the vulture turn to a black vapor, fade to transparency, and disappear in a poof. Ickletor stared. Ash floated down on his hand. He backed away from the table, recovered from his shock, and rushed up the path and road back to Octar where he hoped to find refuge.

  *

  Nokmay watched from the thick underbrush and shook her head. You will find no sanctuary from Death, high priest, she thought. But then he will soon come for me unless I can deliver cold, hard bodies.

  11: Nokmay & Eva

  Nokmay returned to Rasa. They crept up through the underbrush as close as they dared to Octar’s city walls. Too many people knew of Nokmay the Witch. They knew she was from Tigmoor and an evil presence. So she sent Rasa into the city to seek Eva and bring her to her mother. In a thicket of scrub brush, Eva met the sorceress. Nokmay stood scrunched over standing by a crooked, lichen-encrusted tree trunk. She was scooping tannic, stump-hole water from a rotted stump. The mosquito larva wriggled in the tea-colored water. Suddenly, she stamped on a venomous snake’s head that slithered out of a hole from under the tree roots.

  “Oh my dear daughter,” Nokmay said on seeing Eva approach. She wiped her fouled hand on her rags and reached to embrace her daughter, who recoiled.

  Eva sneered, seeing the old hag coming towards her. She drew back and brushed the sleeve of her gown as if the nasty crone soiled it by her presence.

  “Spare me the fake affection, Nokmay. What do you want?”

  Nokmay withdrew her arms and smiled. “My dear daughter, I just wanted to forewarn you that war will be coming soon. Be careful. Ally yourself with powerful men. I understand you tease and entice the men of Octar. Make the most of your beauty, and shall we say… talents.”

  Eva frowned, “I see you’ve spoken with Ickletor. Yes, I do make the most of my ‘assets.’ What else can a bastard girl do?” She spit then straightened up, “I may soon find a noble husband or even a throne in Korkufin if my plans come to fruition.”

  Nokmay didn’t hide her surprise but grinned stroking her chin and nodding.

  “Korkufin… that city-state is beyond the Purple Mountains. How would you have contact with Korkufin?”

  Eva chuckled. The witch sensed Eva believed she was one step ahead of her mother.

  “A delegation has come from Korkufin; a prince is leading it. If I can get to him, and make the most of my substantial charms, who knows what might happen. My servant is discretely seeking information about his court position and marital status as we speak.”

  Nokmay felt goosebumps rise on her arms at this new development. She looked away as her head churned with new scenarios then turned back to Eva.

  “Korkufin… I hadn’t thought of that prospect. Well, well…”

  Eva frowned and stepped forward, “Don’t you go messing things up for me, Nokmay!”

  “Oh no, my dear, your mother would never do that.”

  Eva’s eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. “There was no sincerity in that statement. I warn you, don’t interfere.”

  Nokmay felt a flush of heat as her anger exploded. “Don’t you be threatening me, child. You don’t yet know with whom or rather what you are dealing.”

  Eve backed up, considered the situation, turned, and withdrew from the thicket back towards the city.

  The witch covered her pot of foul water. She made her way through the moldy woods to an abandoned hut she’d occupied upon arriving at the outskirts of Octar. Rasa was waiting for her there. A fire burned in the fireplace, but that was its only comfort. The servant had piled straw and dead grass on two dirt mounds for beds. Smoke mixed with the musty stench of decay in the one-room where only a single-window let in light when the dry-rotting door closed.

  “Did you get the hairs from Eva as instructed?”

  Rasa nodded and with care withdrew several strands from a pocket inside her cloak. She hesitated for a second and then extended them to the witch.

  Nokmay snatched the hairs as she glared at Rasa before tossing a rabbit to her without speaking. The servant took a knife and the carcass and left to dress it for their dinner.

  Nokmay looked at the few hair strands, rubbing them between her dirty fingers. Let’s see what she’s been up to, she thought. I may get a glimpse of this Korkufin prince, too.

  She opened her leather satchel black with age and foul things spilled in it over the years. Her cracked and chipped fingernails scratched through the contents until she’d collected just the right ingredients required for the spell she was about to cast. Nokmay had set the clay pot filled with the stump-hole water to boil in the fire’s coals. It bubbled, making soft music to the sorceress. She ground the dried animal and
plant remains in a stone mortar and pestle to a fine powder. To that, she ladled a small amount of the boiling water and made a paste that she then dissolved in the pot with the rest of the boiled water.

  “Blood, I need blood to activate this potion.” She looked around the dismal hut. When she spotted the beady eyes of a rat in the corner shadows, she grabbed a rock and threw it. The rat keeled over, an eyeball hanging loose. Nokmay snatched the carcass, slashed its throat, and held the body over the pot, so the blood drained into it. She tossed the rat aside and removed the vessel from the coals stirring the bubbling contents all the while. As it began to cool, she slid Eva’s hairs into it, watching the sludge dissolve and pull in the filaments. Another sir and it was ready.

  The door creaked and opened breaking Nokmay’s deliberation. She spun round to face the sound. Rasa stood in the doorway with the rabbit prepared for roasting. Her eyes fixed on the pot of sludge. She looked up at Nokmay whose eyes glared. Without a word, Rasa turned pale and backed out. She closed the door gingerly as if to avoid annoying the witch further.

  Nokmay turned back to the pot where the vile-smelling contents rested and thickened then transformed. She brushed rubbish from the smoothest surface near the fire and poured out the pot’s contents. With a stick, she jiggled the congealing paste, so it spread, forming a smooth even surface. Over that she poured a bit of possum oil giving the surface a mirrored appearance. Finally, she babbled the words of a spell and waited.

  While still warm and fluid, pictures began to form on the surface of Eva and her surroundings. The spell would display the person’s past activities as far back as the warmth of the goo could pick up. Rasa’s interruption had cost her days of Eva’s activities and likely the vision of the Korkufin prince.