Awakening: Book 1 of the Vanquisher Series [GxG]

27a

Thirty minutes ago

The color red assaulted Narvari's senses as soon as she entered Prophet Yeboah's room. Fabrics so red that Narvari was sure had been dyed in buckets of fresh blood, draped over the walls. Lighted red candles of all sizes lined up the floors while even more candles populated the red altar leaning against the wall.

But none of these shocked Narvari more than the dozens of dolls displayed on rows and rows of wooden shelves. Each doll was riddled with countless silver pins like a porcupine. Above each doll, pinned on a wooden plank, was the photo of a person.

"What in the world is this?" Narvari glanced from photo to photo.

She couldn't say she knew exactly what was going on, but if she would make an educated guess, those wooden dolls symbolized the people who were being cursed while the pins inside the dolls were the curse itself. She was right about her hypothesis because the prophet confirmed it.

"Where's Richard's effigy?" asked Azmel.

Gulping, the prophet led them to another shelf full of dolls with one of the dolls having a picture of a smiling Richard above it. The irony of it all. Narvari shook her head, glaring at the man of the cloth. More like a monster of the cloth.

The prophet explained the process behind breaking a curse like they had signed up for a masterclass in hexes. He said that to stop the curse from taking effect, he would have to pull out all the pins from the doll. But to completely break the curse, he would have to burn the picture and the doll once he removed the pins to sever his connection with his victim.

The person who gave him this power said that once he broke the curse completely, he wouldn't be able to curse them again unless he started the whole process that cursed them in the first place. The process was quite hectic, said the prophet, and it wasn't wise to go through it again.

It wasn't wise to go through it at all, thought Narvari.

When Azmel instructed him to break the hex, the prophet took the doll representing Richard and removed the pins one by one. When the doll was free of pins, he threw it into a red clay pot sitting at the foot of the altar. He ripped Richard's photo from the wall, setting it aflame with one of the candles. Then he dumped the burning photo into the pot.

The orange fire consumed the doll and the picture, and together they wasted away like damned souls.

"It is done." The prophet sighed.

"I already told you," said Azmel nonchalantly. "In thirty minutes, I'll receive a phone call to prove your word. You still have another five minutes."

Narvari glanced at her xuul.

With each passing second, sweat trickled down the prophet's face. His eyes darkened with terror as if he knew he was at the mercy of these two strangers. Or perhaps, the prophet could sense that Azmel was not bluffing when he said he would kill him if he didn't receive the call.

A part of Narvari wanted to see what Azmel would do if the call never came. She sighed in disappointment when Azmel's phone suddenly rang. The prophet on the other hand couldn't have been happier, letting out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Pheera," said Azmel.

Okay, so it wasn't a total disappointment, thought Narvari, smiling.

"Is that right?" Azmel's gaze hardened, wiping the celebratory grin off the prophet's face. "I see. Okay then." He ended the call.

The prophet gulped as Azmel simply glared at him in silence.

Did it not work? Was Richard still hexed? Before Narvari could ask Azmel what was going on, he said, "It worked. Richard is safe."

Narvari released her breath. That was good news.

"I told you it will work. Now go please, okay." His eyes pleaded. "I've done what you asked. I won't go after him again."

"You must be joking." Narvari laughed without mirth. "You will not go after anyone. Ever. You are going to undo everyone's curse in this room."

"What? Please, no." His eyes were in full panic mode. "I-I can't do that."

"Oh, so you have chosen death?"

The prophet swallowed. "No. No. I don't want to die."

"That's exactly what's going to happen if you don't break the curse over all these people."

"Narvari, wait." Azmel nodded at the prophet. "Why can't you break the other curses?"

"She's going to punish me if I do."

Narvari exchanged glances with Azmel.

"Who's going to kill you?"

"The priestess who granted me the power." The prophet paused. "She gave me specific instructions. She said I could only break one curse per day. If I disobey her, there will be consequences."

"Is that right?"

The prophet nodded quickly. "I swear. I'm not lying."

"That's the Vessel, isn't it?" Narvari asked.

"I'm positive." Turning to the prophet, Azmel asked, "Who gave you the power? Where did you find her?"

"I-I can't tell you that." The prophet's eyes reddened in fear. "Please don't make me tell you."

"And why's that?"

"I can't tell anyone about her without her permission."

"Let me guess," Narvari said, rolling her eyes, "there will be consequences."

The prophet nodded continuously as if nodding even harder will change their minds.

Suddenly, Azmel smacked the living shit out of the prophet. He screamed like a child, and down he went on the hard tiled floor.

"Get up," Azmel ordered.

Holding his stinging cheek, the prophet stood up, tears and snot running down his face. This man just got slapped once and see how he was crying. Did he have any idea of the suffering he put others through with his curses?

"The next time I hit you in the face, you will lose half your teeth. Now tell me, what's the name of the person who gave you the hexing power?"

"I don't know her real name. I swear."

"What name do you know?"

"Please, I beg you. I can't tell you."

This time Azmel punched the man in the face with such force that had he used sacred fist, the prophet's head would have simply exploded into blood and bones. He spurted a mouthful of blood with several teeth popping out of his mouth like someone had just burst open a pinata.

Well, damn, Azmel.

The prophet knelt, probably because all the strength was gone from his knees. "Obala," he shouted in frenzy. "They call her Obala. That's the only name I know."

"Where is she?"

The prophet's shoulder shook as he broke down in tears. "She's not here in Ghana." More tears. And sniffling. "She's in Nigeria."

He coughed once. Then twice. He massaged his throat.

"Where in Nigeria?"

"She's in..." The cough returned, this time incessantly. He couldn't string out a word without choking. More blood spurted out of his mouth. Narvari was sure the blood had nothing to do with Azmel's punch. Out of the prophet's eyes came not only his tears but blood. He made gurgling noises, choking on his blood. He soon dropped to the ground.

Narvari raised a brow at the lifeless body. After checking his pulse, Azmel shook his head. "He's gone."

"Wow. I guess there was a consequence." Narvari gazed at the corpse.

This was terrifying, to say the least. What exactly were Vessels capable of such that they could someone remotely? Narvari had not even met this particular Vessel but she seemed even more dangerous than Stein.

"We'll just have to break the curses ourselves," said Azmel, heading towards the other dolls.