Spells

Prologue

                               1961

He knew it would get bloody. He knew the sacrifice it would take.

But he had vastly underestimated the effect the spell would have on him.

His goal was near, but his will was weakening... And with each second in the town of corpses, he was inching closer to death. He kept limping on the slanted pathway, barely visible now that the sun was almost under the horizon, ready to collapse as soon as he reached his destination. His mind was a blur, his vision a haze, and he wanted to give in to the overwhelming sleep. One he was sure he wouldn't wake up from. But his hunger for power kept him going.

The spell, which he believed was the strongest in the book now dangling loosely from his bony fingers, had taken him more than two years to fully understand. He had come close to death a number of times during that long duration. The beatings he took could have killed him. The weakness of going without food for days could have killed him. Or a spell in the book could have killed him.

But what was always just a small possibility had come to fruition. He had survived.

He stumbled and almost fell. His eyes weren't powerful enough to remain open, or maybe he didn't want to see his homeland blanketed in blood. He had always hated this town. It sizzled in summers and froze in winter. The land would flow in the rains, leaving his hut in danger of being washed away. He hated the isolation. The food. The insects. And most of all, he hated the people. But even he had to agree that his home, Kuldhara, was beautiful. 

Tears ran hot down his cheeks. From happiness? Or maybe from remorse? He couldn't tell. But he didn't need to think about it, not anymore. He had reached his destination.

He stood in a small park. The ground was dry and cracked, bare of even grass, fitting in right with the image of the now dead city. The only thing that existed there was a lifeless tree, standing tilted with its branches deprived of leaves.

It wasn't night yet, but the sun had passed the horizon and only reddish light radiated from the sky, glaring from within the gaps of the branches. There was absolutely no sound. All the animals were perhaps affected by the spell too. He was alone, and all he needed to describe this dead soundless town was one word… HELL. It looked like it. It felt like it. 

The spell was starting to take effect. The temperature suddenly dropped announcing the rise of the spirits. He could hear their agonizing groans, though he chose to ignore them and kept his eyes fixed on the tree... Afraid to look anywhere else lest he comes face to face with the proof of life after death. Night was crawling out of the shadows with the last of rays slowly vanishing to give way to the darkness.  Through his blood covered hands, with his lungs burning for air, he made a mark on the tree. The symbol that would complete the spell.

The dead were now aware of his presence, and he could imagine their excitement to rip out his guts.

"You are being delusional," he said to himself. “There is nothing left in this place, I killed everyone. Turn around and see for yourself."

But he didn't turn around. He just stood transfixed with his mouth open… Looking at the sky, but not really seeing it. He could sense them approaching fast. It seemed all were hungry for revenge. They were gaining speed, the wind was rising, and in the absolute darkness he only wished for one thing - a quick death.

“Maybe this really is hell,” he thought aloud. He certainly deserved it. He chuckled, barely having enough air in his lungs to do it. He was coughing blood and he knew that he had, at most, a minute to live. So he laid down, holding the book that had changed his cursed life, waiting for the inevitable. Wishing that death would come before the dead.

Plague’s last words were barely a whisper. "I will be endless. I will be forever."

The dead arrived before the minute was over.

And then the screams began!