The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

to feel again, except for merciless wrath, hatred and insatiable hunger, just like the thirteen witches.

  His rage made him forget the cunningness of the Ninth Occultist. Right this moment, he only had vacancy for ruthless anger in his heart. It did not matter that the Occultist had higher intentions. It did not matter that she was probably the one who made him steal the scimitar. And it did not matter, that one day, this same occultist would work to grasp as much power as she craves through him. For Jermaine knew that was what the occultist wanted. With no vaticinator, the scimitar was the second most esteemed object of their world. But, no, Jermaine refused to ponder over all of those things.

  Looking back at Mikhail, the one who had caught him, the one who could have been patient enough to listen to his unfortunate tale, the one who banished his family and summoned the Ninth Occultist of their realm without even considering the fact that they were friends, Jermaine was filled with such rage that his teeth barred in a sneer while looking at a still apathetic Mikhail.

  Mikhail stared back. The scimitar safe on his back. His duty fulfilled. Yet, a sense of dread filled him as he watched Jermaine glower at him. His eyes expressing the grief of their failed friendship and revenge.

  1.My Uncomplicated Life

  Curiosity is a very peculiar thing. It may bespeak the underlying intelligence which has contributed to the vast development of our modern society over the ages. If one will not be curious, then how may he feel the encouragement to indulge in an activity? An activity that may cause progression. We live in a world that is constantly changing, constantly developing towards betterment. Curiosity is an expedient that lets us remain in the forward motion.

  On the other hand, curiosity can also kill the cat. Plunging into the unknown, especially the kind which holds a danger signal, will be…well, unhealthy. Like in a horror movie, when the protagonist walks towards the danger, just to sate her curiosity. The end is never good as we all know.

  Or curiosity can be neither of those. It may simply be…simple. The plain curiosity, like for an exemplar, a person curious to know why, and also how, the cat, which is being saved by the fire extinguisher workers, climbed the tree in the first place. ‘Snooping into vague businesses, which is not yours to begin with’ curiosity; the harmless curiosity, in my words. ‘Dumb’ curiosity, as my mother says. ‘Useless’, in my father’s opinion.

  Unfortunate for them, I happen to be the oddity who is always curious about such most irrelevant things.

  Irrelevant for my family, mind you. For me, it’s as much important to sate my curiosity as the bathing ritual every day. My mother tends to find my inquisitiveness adorable. So adorable, that she simply pinches my cheek, coos at me while laughing softly, her pearly white teeth contrasting vividly against her usually bright red lip shade, blinding me for several moments.Andthen she departs with her wheat blonde hair dancing in curls as her plump figure elegantly walks away. Without answering my ‘curious’ question. Even now, when I am not a kid anymore, and tower almost a foot over her height, she still manages to act in this similar fashion every time. It’s like the locution, a child forever remains a child for his mother.

  My aunt, Rufina Jedi, is far tamer when it comes to such reactions. She is probably the only person who doesn’t treat me like a child, but like an adult. Like her equal. But even that prestige doesn’t grant me the answers all the time. Her manner of declining an answer is far more convincing than that of my parents. Wisely, Rufina aunt will simply advise to not be this curious. Ignorance is bliss, she says. What you do not know can’t hurt you, right?

  Since the last three years I have been trying to pursue Rufina aunt’s ideology. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail miserably. I have been inclining towards the latter quite a lot, but hey, give me credit for at least trying. And it’s not like I sit back and let myself dwindle under the burden of my failed attempts. I take care to always quetch myself for being interested in useless subjects and cavalierly nose-diving into the unknown. I may not always fail…unlike right now. But I do feel severe compunction upon my failures, just like right now. Swallowing the view in front of me, I question myself, why did I get enough curious by the voices and turn into this corridor? More so, why couldn’t I just be an ignorant bullhead and continue along my original path towards the outside of the school premises?

  I am a curious kid, that’s why.

  “Hey!” I snap at the huddled crowd.

  Everybody turn their necks, as if jolted by an invisible spring, to see me approaching. For a moment, I let myself bask in the attention. And then I regret attracting the attention at all. I have never particularly felt the desire to be in the center. Not because I am socially awkward. In fact, I am fairly amiable, having a very large circle of friends. But undivided attention from an audience is never welcomed, even when I plan to execute something good. Fame can change the way people look at you, and more importantly, make people look at you more. I am different enough, and even though my digression from normal people is a positive attribute of mine, still, divulging how different I am has never been on the top of my priority list. I do not like attention and I certainly do not like people knowing about me, more than is absolutely necessary. It’s bizarre when I notice people having a completely contrary viewpoint on the subject. Like one of my friends, Ray Jecksen. Though I label him as ‘friend’ and we hang out with the same people, I have never been particularly close to Ray. Ray being the ‘hero’ of our school and therefore the attention-attracter, he is invariably someone I tend to avoid. Ray is praised by everyone for his good persona, but I do not know if simply standing like a spectator while someone gets bullied counts as something ‘good’.

  My eyes dart towards the small kid with huge terrified eyes adored by thick nerdy spectacles, being held by the scruff of his shirt collar by Viktor Lagunov. Viktor is a senior like Ray and I. He apparently believes that being the captain of the taekwondo team entitles him with the right to bully some of the juniors. I have heard of his excursions, though today is probably the first time I am witnessing it. Unlike Ray, Viktor is not my friend, neither my foe. We do happen to share a history of bitter words in the past. Our antagonistic relationship is hardly significant, yet I honor Viktor with the title of my arch nemesis.

  “Hey, Josh.” Viktor greets me, his lips turning up in a smirk while his hold hardly loosens up on the junior. “Come to join the party?”

  “Actually, Viktor, your parties are of the taste of vagrant hippies. I’d rather I take the kid,” I indicated at the junior, “and have a party of my own.”

  “I’ll vouch for that.” Ray backs me up, probably realizing that getting entertained at the expense of a kid is hardly expected of our chivalrous hero.

  The change is instant. As soon as Ray speaks up in my favor, the crowd watching the show realizes that I am supposed to be the good team. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Viktor is now standing in a compromising situation. Viktor darts his eyes from me to Ray, the scowl fixed on his face. I have also heard that Viktor is not a very great fan of Ray, so his distaste may have doubled in this situation.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?” Viktor snaps at me.

  That is a very good question. Something to which I am still looking for an answer. But I don’t tell Viktor so.

  “I could say the same to you, Lagunov.” I snap, a little irritation seeping in my voice. “Leave the kid alone and mind your bloody business.”

  “Ho hoho!” Viktor laughs mockingly, “Superman to the rescue. Apparently,” he looks down at the kid he is holding, “your Lois lane has a bit of a surprise between her legs.”

  Some daring kids, probably siding with Viktor, laugh. The nerdy kid in Viktor’s hold turns beet red at the comment.

  I simply grimace. Can he be more childish?

  “You are sick.” I tell him, which he ignores.

  Viktor instead focuses on the kid who looks beyond embarrassed. “Aww, look!” Viktor mocks, “The fag’s blushing.” He
ends up with a sneer.

  That is it for my patience. It takes me two steps and helluva brilliant reflexes to reach Viktor in the span of a single second. I do not allow Viktor the time to get surprised. I get a hold of his hand that is grasping the kid. When the strength of my hand jolts his hand off the kid, Viktor gives off a very astonishing yelp. It coincides with the squeals emanated by some of the witnesses. He tries to jerk away his hand but I tighten my hold, pressuring on the side of his wrist bone, to the point of inflicting pain. And that is what exactly happens. Viktor’s face, now very much red, contorts when he feels the burning pain in his wrist where I am holding him. Any movement and the pressure of my hand on that particular spot on his wrist would explode in pain again. Yet, I find him giving another feeble attempt at jerking away his hand. Even through the lancinating haze, he manages to express a little surprise at failing to pull his hand back.Well. He is not the captain of the taekwondo team for nothing. He stands at an eminent height, matching my own six feet, two inches. But he is endowed with much larger muscles and hence, presumably, stronger arms. What he doesn’t know is that only because I do not indulge in violence, doesn’t mean that I am physically weaker. Viktor, and almost everyone,