She struck a match, watching as it sparked to life. The flame rose high, and she worked quickly, lighting the candles as the heat slowly crept toward her hand. She lit the last candle, then blew out the match with a satisfied breath. She watched as the flames sputtered, before finally settling and sending soft shadows across the room.
She breathed in their scent, the slight acrid smell of the match, the warming beeswax, the soft perfume of frankincense and sandalwood. She sat for a moment, following lines of wax as they dripped down the sides of the candles. There was something hypnotic about watching the small fires in the dark. Something she felt, deep in her soul, something that connected her to the raw energy of the universe.
It was too bad she couldn’t just observe the slow death of the candles, she thought, as she raised her knife. There was work to be done. With her other hand, she caressed the hair of the man tied to the alter, shushing his whimpers. This time, it would work. This time, the great beings of the deep and the dark would hear her pleas, would be pleased with her offering, would bring about her vengeance.
“Third time is the charm,” she whispered to herself.
The man groaned, and began to fight his bindings. She ran her blade across his cheek, lightly, not breaking the skin, and he froze, panicked eyes meeting hers. She grinned, then raised her arms high, and spoke in a low, mesmerizing voice.
“You of the dark, you of the deep. You who listen, and you who creep. You who move through shadows, and you who work the dark. Hear me now!” She slashed down with her knife, and neatly slit the man’s throat. She continued to speak over his gurgling breaths:
“I release you! With the blood of the sacrifice, I release you! With the blood of the pure, I release you!” She stooped low, ignoring his final soft gasps, and retrieved a small bowl. She held it up to his throat, watching as the blood pooled in the marked vessel. She held the filled bowl high, paused, then brought it to her lips, taking a deep sip as he breathed his last.
“And with this blood, I bind you to me!”
The candles all went out at once, plunging her into darkness. At last.
She felt them before she heard them, felt the pulse of power, the rush of cold.
“Witch,” rasped a voice from behind her. She stood tall, refusing to cower to them.
“You take great risk,” another voice jeered, this time to her left.
“They always do,” a third from her right said, smugly.
“What makes you think you have the power to summon us, to bind us, to control us?” they said in unison.
“I seek not the last,” she said, her voice clear in the dark. “I seek only to free you, and to direct your wrath.”
The voices seemed to murmur to each other, speaking a tongue she could not understand.
“We are intrigued,” the first voice admitted.
“And we admire dedication,” chuckled the second.
“Thrice the offering does peak our interest,” added the third.
“What do you you desire?” they echoed together.
She took a deep breath, knowing her next words carried more weight than she could even imagine.
“I want your freedom,” she said. “I want you to run over this land, to lay waste to it, to destroy every man, woman, and child whose path you cross. I want cities to burn, civilizations to fall. I want it all to end.”
She felt their unease.
“You ask much of us,” the first voice said.
“Most ask for petty things,” the second mused.
“Not as challenging,” the third admitted.
“We will find resistance from the beings of light,” they chorused.
She smiled in the dark, feeling the handle of the sharp blade in her hand.
“I can handle the beings of light,” she said.
She felt the air around her stiffen.
“Why bind us?” the first said harshly.
“If we are to destroy,” the second continued.
“Which we are already inclined to do,” finished the third.
“Why the binding?”
“Because,” she said. “Once humanity is gone, I want you to leave. I want you to let the world heal, let the better beasts than us continue to live, to thrive, to have peace. I do not want the world destroyed – only the people.”
“Such strange beings these humans are,” mused the first voice.
“Strange indeed,” agreed the second.
“I rather like this one,” the third confessed.
“We agree.”
She smiled, then held the dagger high. “By my hand, by my blood, I give you my power. By my hand, by my blood, I will be your shield and sword. By my hand, by my blood, the beings of light will fall before you.” She waited a moment, two, then slid the knife across her own throat, falling quietly to the floor.
The beings around her waited. They listened to the soft drip of blood, listened to the knife clatter softly to the floor, listened to her last breath.
“Do you think it work?” the first asked, doubtfully.
“Probably not,” the second sighed.
“Wait,” the third gasped.
“She did it,” they murmured, feeling their power grow, and with howls of glee, they rose from the dark, and into the light, untouched by enemies, and unstoppable in their beautiful destruction.
When it was done, it was as she had commanded. The human population was decimated, their cities burned. It was time again for the beasts of hoof and paw, wing and fin. The beings of darkness surveyed their work, knowing that soon their power would dwindle, and they would again have to bow to the beings of light, would have to retreat to their small corners of the world.
“It is as you wished, witch of the dark,” intoned the first being.
“The time of humans is over,” the second voice said.
“We stop here,” the third affirmed.
“We release you!” they cried, and they felt the last of their extra energy release, float away. They sank back into the shadows, into the darkness, leaving the living to the light of day. They would always be there, always watching from the dark, and ruling the night. The world would move on, and balance would reclaim the world.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020