The Legends of old Lies

8 - In blood and planning

...Once...

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It stank of blood, sweat and smoke. Dirty red stains smeared on thinking faces and filthy, torn clothes. Around a makeshift table set up on overturned logs and a half broken door, stood figures. Still surrounded by the gruesome scent of the battle they had only recently ended. Successfully.

When the witches had risen, for many it had been just another attempt at rebellion by a bunch of unworthy souls. Each pathetic rebellion of the demonically-powered figures who didn't know their place, had been beaten back time and time again without any particular trouble. It was almost surprising. They were so afraid of them and made them lawless slaves, scattered all over the country in small camps where they had to serve their masters, but when they really tried to become dangerous, they were crushed like wriggling bugs.

At least until now. This uprising, by contrast, was different. This time, they were no longer just a small knife flailing in mindless panic before being wrestled back to the ground. This time they were a sword. A cutting, devastating weapon that did not break and could not be brought back to its knees. They had become a unity. Even the king was beginning to interfere, sending royal troops into the outskirts where the defiant witches refused to continue to abide by their roles. Where the gods seemed to be blind, for otherwise, they should have put an end to it long ago.

For the moment, they were only fighting in this region, but one day they would stand at the gates of the capital and defeat the ruler personally. Then no one would dare stand in their way.

Ioanne looked up from the map on the plate and past the other witches engrossed in discussion. Three women and two men were talking about the recent battle and how to proceed. Her gaze settled on the youngest of the group. Almost a girl with round cheeks and the only one without dirt or blood of a battle on her body. She was biting her nails uneasily, although she was always annoyed when she did it again. Tension seeped noticeably from her posture and seemed to make even the small forest move in a murmur at her back. When she felt Ioanne's gaze on her, a jolt went through her body. As if seized by a sudden thought, she started to move, scurrying past the others and reaching for the arm of the battle-stained witch. Just as she had always done before. When she had been brought into the ragged room, small and uncertain as a lamb, and had been assigned one of the unwashed beds. She had grown taller and her gaze had become firmer over the years. More serious, smarter and more determined. But when she became uncertain, she still reached for her older sister without really thinking about it.

"We need to talk," Keelie murmured urgently.

Confused, Ioanne looked at her. Before she could respond, however, two more came across the mossy ground to them. "Hold on, we'll talk afterwards." Ioanne pushed her sister's urgency aside for the moment.

"This here is Meia. She's from Teralon and said she knew how we could get around the defences," one witch explained, moving another in front of her.

Since a while now, they were joined almost daily by new witches who had turned against their masters or had been in hiding for some time. Some had also been freed by them directly from oppression and almost all of them joined them.

The young woman with the messy blonde hair, who was now looking wide-eyed at the assembled group, was wearing the kind of clothing given to healers. Almost similar to a priest's robe. But plainer and with criss-crossed black lines embroidered all around the collar. A symbol of the thorns of submission they imposed on cursed souls. If she still wore it, she had to have joined them only recently.

"T... There is a secret entrance. Or actually... a forgotten one." she stammered hectically and excitedly before she had even been asked. "Through the old catacombs."