The Making of Witches

Chapter 9

Lore cried out as Keelin's cold hand pressed into her side and something fiery exploded in pain, her brief sleep quickly wearing off. She had to breathe deeply to prevent a gust of flames from shooting from her hands. She wasn't going to accidentally torch her new companion just as Swift had delivered her final threat. Lore wasn't quite sure what to refer to Keelin as. Lore was there unwillingly, blackmailed into joining some sort of crew - lordie, she had no idea what Swift's crew even did (it definitely wasn't legal) - and Keelin had gone from captor to strange comfort to crutch in the span of one day. Lore's head spun just thinking about it. But Keelin was no friend. Perhaps the smartest thing to do would be to regard the criminal girl with hostility. Any attachment would only hinder her. She had a journey, even if she had no idea where she was going. She had gone from travelling the path of death to one of an outlaw and now the ethereal voice was making her ever more aware of another path she should be walking.

She had to find the source of the whispers in her head. It had transformed from a mild curiosity to a burning need, a desire to find purpose. She was as lost as a breath in the wind, being tossed around by the circumstances around her. She wanted a purpose to ignite her own path for her instead of being vulnerable to the will of others.

She was in possession of godly powers! She should not have had to bow to others when she could burn them with a single thought. And she was tired of the constant control over her life.

Bellweather was oppressive, forcing everyone into a singular mold of being. It did not take into account individuality, humanity, or freedom. And she had been compliant, along with everyone else. She had allowed herself to be brainwashed, allowed herself to stand and watch as countless were slaughtered for charges they had nothing to do with. They were cut off from life one by one and immense guilt rolled through Lore when she thought of it, making her sick to her stomach.

So many murdered. So many accused and tried for false charges of demonic actions and she, the only person practicing such horrific actions had escaped while the rest laid in the ground, forever motionless. But Lore didn't feel like a demon. She felt powerful.

And more than guilt, she felt anger.

She knew who was responsible for the deaths, for the innocent lives lost.

She remembered her leering smile and perfect pose as she grinned at the death around them.

She remembered the lies spewing from her mouth as she poisoned the town, infecting their ears until they were all compliant with her false words.

She remembered Beatrix all too well.

Lore snarled at the mere memory of Beatrix's face, fury rolling through her. She couldn't believe she had breathed the same air as that horror and not smelled the lies rolling from her tongue. But all it had taken was the loss of everything that she loved for Beatrix's innocent little facade to come crumbling down. And Lore yearned for revenge.

"Easy, girlie." Keelin murmured in her ear, still supporting most of Lore's waist. Lore hadn't realised she was heating up until a small tendril of flame was escaping from her lips as she exhaled. It hung in the air for a moment before fading away into nothingness. Keelin halted for a split second to admire the flame before continuing on.

"Sorry." She whispered, another bolt of pain spiking through her and she squeaked.

"Almos' there." Keelin whispered as she dragged Lore through the ghost town. Now that Lore could concentrate a little more on her surroundings, she caught glimpses of people in the empty houses, sharing piss-poor beds and bottles of alcohol.

"What is this place?" Lore hissed through her teeth.

"Drop point. Captain uses it when we 'ave rest days since it's abandoned anyway."