by Namita Singh
both of you?” Ethan, who had been deadly calm the last time I saw him, looks absolutely livid now as he stares at us past Mikhail’s shoulders.
“They’re tricksters!” Pleve shouts, his face red, from beside Ethan, “Thinking of us as idiots!”
I feel Neal rolling his eyes beside me. But very little of my attention is spared on these people. My gaze is fixed at the far end of the field, a site totally sequestered save for the eight figures standing in a row. They look so surreal, ghost like statues standing in a line. They have an eerie air about them which even at this distance I can feel. Though the distance between the Occultists and the therians is not much, still the Occultists seem to be far, far away, probably because no therian is in their immediate vicinity. They stand, their faces stoic with their tattered, worn out dresses subtly blowing in the almost nonexistent wind tonight. All possess the same outward appearance; tall, skinny, wrinkly with scarce white hair flowing down their shoulders. Some even have blistering bruises on their skin, which only seems to make them look far more deadlier being than any of those present tonight. None of the explanations of my elders or Neal’s have done justice to how the Occultists actually look.
And all of them failed to mention the irrepressible auras the Occultist exude. The funny thing is that I cannot categorize that aura. I’m not even sure if I am ‘sensing’ it. The hazy hue around the forms of the witches is enough a deadly site to make me cringe away from even coming in closure with it. It is an equally intriguing sight because that hazy hue surrounds the occultists as if they all are one single being. With that revelation I recall my early curious years where I had learned a thing or two about our Occultists. And how I had expressed awe on the information of the occultists sprouting from a single energy source. In theory, all the occultists are a single entity. No wonder it took no significant time for the whole clan to know about the death of one of their sisters. A body is bound to howl in pain if the leg is ripped over.
“I have a demand.” Neal says. His voice shakes me out of my reverie. Neal stands a step ahead of me. A few feet ahead of us are the self-proclaimed leaders of the anti-Lichinsky clan. Ethan has Vincent, his partner, standing right behind him with Pleve along with the other council members and some unknown people flanking them.
“A demand?” Ethan says as if it’s a joke. “You have a demand?”
Neal shrugs, “You sound surprised.”
Ethan’s jaw clenches at that. “What are you doing, vaticinator?” he sneers, stepping forward, “What are you trying to do? Riling us up by coming in late and then trying to play games with your words? Our occultists are not waiting there patiently so you can carry out your mischiefs. They are waiting you for to make one, just one, deadly mistake, Neal. That’s all it’s going to take. So end this game and tell me. What are you doing?”
“One deadly mistake.” Neal says monotonously as he steps forward too. I watch in astonishment as he raises the scimitar, the sharp end of the sword pointed at Ethan’s chest which is only a few inches away. It is painfully obvious that Neal is trying the offence. “That’s what I am doing. Because your occultists are going to give me hell either ways.”
“So, that’s your plan?” Ethan snaps, steeping forward again, the tip of sword now almost touching his chest. “To slaughter everyone?”
My muscles lock in place as I watch Ethan’s movement like a hawk. He is a therian. Neal may not even realize when that sword would be out of his hands. For a quick moment my eyes dart sideways where father, Mikhail and Aakir stand. They are also mute, but they stand with rigid stances. Alert, but not interfering. Observing, but not controlling.
To my relief, Neal steps back. He doesn’t lower the scimitar. When he reaches my side I see him smiling at our opposition. Ethan hardly looks amused. As a matter of fact, neither do I. I honestly cannot grasp what is so funny for Neal to be smiling.
“You should know,” Neal begins, “that if I were to do that…I can absolutely do that. And your fugly witches won’t be able to do shit about it.”
Several people gasp at Neal’s ‘blasphemy’. Hushed murmurs flow through the crowd, all expressing their shock and disapproval at Neal’s words. Many glance at the witches wearily, expecting them to snap Neal’s neck like a brittle stick.
Ethan is stoic as he stares at Neal. With maintained passiveness, he speaks to Neal, “You speak too much.”
“I speak too honestly.” Neal corrects, “But we digress,” he disregards Ethan and steps sideways. He looks at me once before facing forward again…looking straight at the occultists in the distance. “As I said I have a demand.”
Neal’s request is greeted with silence as everyone glances hesitatingly at the witches in the distance. But the occultists make no move, utter no word and yet all of their undivided attention seems to be focused on Neal as he takes a further step in their direction. When no one speaks, Neal continues, “I demand…that all the members of the Lichinsky family be allowed to leave the premises of this therian colony with no harm.”
Murmurs get louder and harsher with a lot of accusing stares coming our way. I look sideways to find father and Mikhail standing stoically, while Aakir seems to be the only one who looks appalled at the proposition, irrespective of it being granted or not. Good thing too. At least someone shares my sentiments.
“No.” I speak firmly when I see none of my elders stepping in to stop Neal.
Neal’s shoulders twitch as if he is itching to turn back and slug me in the jaw. But he doesn’t turn around, allowing me to take in his tense shoulders and his delightful ignorance of me having spoken anything.
“You let the Lichinskys go and I’ll accompany you to wherever you want.” Neal says again in a much louder tone to the occultists.
“I said No.” I snap, equally loud. “Even if they allow us to go, I am not leaving.”
“If,” Ethan mutters amongst the loud whispers around us. He looks at Neal disdainfully, “Yes, If.” He stresses.
Ignoring Ethan, I step forward, “Neal-”
And three things happen at once. I feel, rather see, father stepping forward from my peripheral view. His stance appears as if he plans to stop me. At the same moment I hear Neal mutter a muffled ‘Fuck off Lichinsky’ under his breath, without turning around. The third thing prevents me from grasping whatever happens in the immediate moments. Instantly a heavy weight drops on my back; so heavy that it drives me to my knees. Hardly a grunt leaves my lips before the pressure on my back doubles and the next thing I know, I am falling face first on the grass, landing solidly on my injured arm.
This time I grunt much louder.
“Josh!” I hear father’s voice right beside me.
“Fuck.” I rasp out, blinding pain overtaking my arm and shooting up my shoulder. “Fuck.”
“Does that meet your demands, Vaticinator.” I hear Pleve’s mocking voice.
I tilt my head a little sideways, panting as I struggle to breath. Father is crouched beside me, squeezing my good shoulder in comfort. My position on the ground prevents me from tilting my head further…unless I wanted to snap my neck. The painin my right side is enough to water my eyes and convince me to remain put on the ground, only harsh whimpers escaping me as the weight becomes unbearable. Father’s position grants me one explanation and that the weight on top of me is the occultist’s doing. If it were something else, my father won’t be just sitting there and squeezing my shoulder.
“Let go of Josh.” I hear Mikhail’s voice and though his voice sounds passive, I can actually sense how strained it is. “I request a normal hearing; none of us will attempt to escape. Please, we would-”
“Look at that.” Ethan‘s voice interrupts, “Demands change too fast, don’t they Neal? What? No more demands? Petrified to the spot now that your partner is suffering for your demands?”
Father’s presence left my side in an instant. Startled voices and distinct growling convince me that my father has stupidly driven himself onto the enemy’s territory.
; “I have had enough of you, Ethan.” I hear father say.
“What you going to do, Nikolai?” Ethan seethes back, “Punch me in the face before you’re on your stomach just like your son?”
A growl resounds followed by the noise of slugs. Through blinding pain, I manage to sense the sudden commotion. People shout, many cursing as the sounds of fists and claws echo in the air. Thumping of feet increases around me and a few voices confirm that even Aakir, most probably still in his human form, has also stepped in to support my father.
“Stop.” I hear Neal’s faint voice. His already quiet voice is drowned by the loud yapping of therians around.
I hear a loud grunt and with difficulty I manage to tilt my head sideways to grasp what little I can of the action. I am greeted by the site of therians, fluxed in their half animal forms. Mikhail and Vincent seem to be verbally seething at each other as opposed to my father who seems to have gotten most of the action. Until now that is. Now he is on his knees, his hands pressed to his sides. Ethan towers above him, his fluxed canines glinting in the night as his claws tighten around my father’s neck. Aakir has a defensive position nearby, but seeing as father’s movement has been restricted, yet again by our Occultists, Aakir seems to be reconsidering the offensive moves.
“Maybe I should just rip your head off, Nikolai.
