Hexe - The Great Exodus

[CH. 0001] - Moonbay

Hexe

Heh−xeh

Type: Noun

Meaning: A creature who is both cursed and blessed, resulting from a mutual spell performed with another individual.

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BOOK ONE

The Great Exodus

It was a beautiful night to say goodbye.

The night glowed with nine moons that adorned the sky, each in varying states of wax and wane, suspended like a string of radiant pearls across the firmament. It was almost as if the cosmos itself were paying tribute to this simple human child on her last journey. At least for now.

A wolf lingered in the shadowy border where the forest met the clearing. His fur was so deep and raven that it seemed woven from the darkness itself. The Howling Night, they called him—one of the most powerful Spirits to ever exist, believed to possess the arcane ability to weave time, to make, to stitch, and to break the strand of continuity. But now, his black eyes bore their attention only to the unfolding drama before him.

The villagers amassed at the riverbank, with faces etched in a sombre blend of pain and ritualistic sorrow. It was a child's funeral and the birth of a new Spirit. But only the wolf could know the latter.

The men lowered a small wooden boat into the water. It was the child's last vessel, bearing the fragile form of a pale, lifeless girl swaddled in linen. A howl cut through the air, raw and anguished. Not of the wolf but of a mother's cry, her pain overflowing the assembled crowd, through the whispering reeds, and across the water's surface, as if seeking to breach the very veil of night.

"My Marie, my little Marie, no, no..." she screamed, "no, no, no..." Her face contorted, teetering between despair and the futile hope that her voice might summon her back to life. "My baby, my Marie, she is... she is... no, she can't."

Friends and family began to lay offerings on the boat—wreaths of wildflowers, trinkets of bone and stone, and parcels of food for the journey to the beyond. The air became heavy with the scent of jasmine and lavender while beeswax candles flickered like the souls of the departed.

As the boat drifted and docked downriver, the archers took their positions. Longbows were nocked, their arrowheads soaked in burning oil. A reverent hush fell upon the crowd.

"May your aim be true," intoned the village elder, a grizzled man with weathered skin like tree bark, while he and two other men pushed the boat to the water.

The archers drew back in unison, sinews straining and bows creaking. A moment of suspension, like the world was holding its breath—and then they released.

But not a single arrow found its mark. They arced high, veering left and right, some plunging into the water while others vanished into the misty night with a dying flame. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"It's a sign," whispered a woman, her eyes wide.

"Or a curse," retorted another, nervously clutching her shawl.

"Try again!" the old man shouted.

The archers dipped their arrows in oil, set them aflame, and finally lifted their bows. They pulled back the strings with a sense of grief.