The Making of Witches

Chapter 6

The walk passed by in what seemed like minutes. The girls developed a rhythm and eventually they walked in sync. Occasionally Keelin would say something in her strange, drawling way of speech, or Lore would ask yet another question to try and piece together the situation she was in. She wished so badly for her fire her heart burned for it, but the binding on her hands was too clever. Every time she struggled against the ropes Keelin would slap her wrists or caress her fingers with the cold edge of a knife, asking which one she wanted to lose first. Then Lore would stiffen and Keelin would laugh before shoving her forward again. And as the journey progressed the road developed into a small town, almost completely deserted.

Occasionally a face would pop through a window or someone would walk down the street and would wave. The first time they came across someone, Lore nearly launched herself at them, her mouth already open to start screaming for help. But then they would wave at Keelin as if they were well acquainted, take no notice of the obviously captive girl and get on with their day. She should have realised at once that those folk were not ordinary people. For one, they were all scarred and cut, none unblemished. Their clothes were ragged yet they were weighed down from head to toe with weaponry. They all spoke with the same strange accent that Keelin had. Every time they walked away, Lore felt her heart crack a little more, felt her hope slipping away. Finally, after what seemed like hundreds of empty interactions, useless to Lore, she was mentioned.

"So, who's the girl?" A man with a gruesome scar cutting down the side of his face pointed a gnarled finger at her face and Lore drew back. Keelin shrugged, casually putting an arm around Lore's shoulders and hugging her tight to her side in a gesture that could only be described as menacing.

"Found this one wanderin' 'bout the border like a lost lil' lamb. Ain't that right, girlie? You an' I got well acquainted 'long the way." Keelin playfully poked her side as Lore stayed silent and the man gave a gruff laugh.

"Bloody idjit. Who would be so much of an idjit that they come onto Swift's place with no damn permit?" The man grabbed Lore's chin, forcing her neck so far up to stare into his eyes she thought her skin would rip. "You an idjit, girl?" She snarled, trying to escape his grip to no avail. "Answer the question, girl. You an idjit?"

"No." It was all Lore could muster, in a low, dark voice she had never used before, but it seemed enough for the man to release her. Keelin patted her shoulder before grabbing her bound hands once more and steering them in a different direction.

"You've 'ad your fun now, Bruiser, so me and girlie 'ere will get goin'. Best get to Swift before nightfall. We still off to blue tomorrow?"

The man, Bruiser, nodded before walking away into the ghost town, whistling as he went. Keelin walked through the ghost town, tugging Lore along with her.

"Ye must forgive ol' Bruiser for 'is force. He forgets it sometimes, leaves a nasty mark. But you don't need to worry much longer, girlie. We almost 'ere now." Dread coursed through Lore as she felt doom approaching. She felt its icy grip around her neck as Keelin took her further and further into the ghost town. She felt its chilly breath down her neck as Keelin approached a massive oak door, rapping her knuckles on the door three times, each knock ringing out into the empty land.

Lore's heart pounded to the beat of a drum, lodged in her throat as they waited for someone to open the strange door. And when it finally swung open and nothing but darkness swirled within, Lore let it swallow her whole as she stepped inside.

The room was large and circular, packed around the edges with a ring of empty wood in the middle. People bustled around, all pausing when Keelin entered before going back to their chats. They were exactly the same type of scruffy as Keelin and Bruiser and the boy from before. Weapons were everywhere, hanging from belts, stuffed in boots, peeking out of jackets, adorning the walls like trophies. One overhanging light lit the whole space in a warm, dim light that didn't reach the edges. Yells and laughs suddenly erupted from one corner of the room and Lore winced, wishing she could clap her hands over her ears. And overseeing all the chaos, seated on a high wooden throne, was a grinning woman.