The Warlord

Chapter 12: Lorelei

I agonized over what to do for hours on end. After Serestine's warlord vanished before me, probably pulled away by the queen's magic, my immediate thought was that I was dead. If I did not comply, she would have no trouble tracking me down and slaying me. But if I followed her instructions, there was a chance that I could die. My mind became a frantic mess after that, and I tried to think of every possibility where I would survive. If I left now I would not even make it halfway to the Perished Lands, and would still be in Koraness. Ditching the scroll she had given me might help a bit, but this was Serestine's warlord. She could probably find a needle in a haystack in under an hour.

I am at my wit's end by the time evening rolls around, and when the sky begins to turn rosy red, my dread only increases by tenfold. I am going to die. I am never going to see the Perished Lands again. I am never going to see my coven again. I am going to die. Tears start to spill from my cheeks as the sun sinks closer and closer to the horizon. What could I possibly do to survive? How had I been so stupid to let anyone find out that I was a witch in the first place? So many mistakes, so many regrets, so achingly little time.

I slump to the ground, playing with the parchment in my hands, wanting to rip it apart into tiny little pieces. I need help. I need guidance. I need wisdom. Some sort of dim lightbulb goes off in my head, but my face and mind are too caked with crusted tears to think straight. Wisdom, guidance... Of course! I take my pack off and dig through it, eventually pulling out my altar. The voice that has guided me and helped me for all these years should know something!

I hastily scrawl a pentagram in the dirt, and my hands tremble as I place my candles around the symbol. I set a strange sculpture of gleaming gold in the middle, and then I begin to chant before my altar, begging the voice to tell me what to do. My voice slowly becomes steadier, and I close my eyes, letting my magic ebb and flow with words. An ancient breeze laced with the sense of power blows by, tickling my skin and clearing my hair from my face. The voice will be here soon, and all will be well.

Soon, more breezes twirl around me, playing with me, answering to me. I keep on chanting, forcing my pace to remain steady and patient. The voice is testing me, as he always does. The tendrils of air swirl around my altar, circling it, almost extinguishing the candles. But my magic holds strong, and I can feel the voice coming from the upper realm. He will help me, he will save me.

What is it you desire, witch?

I stop chanting, but keep my eyes and posture the same. The voice is a force to respect, and one to never look upon, lest my mortal sight be seared away.

"Please help me, O Great One! Death awaits me at both ends, and I am at a loss of what to do. Fleeing from Serestine's warlord will only grant me a violent end, but going to her might as well do the same. Lend me your wisdom!" A silence follows, and I know the voice is pondering on what to do. Maybe he will manipulate the warlord's mind, maybe he will hide me away.

There is a soft rustle, and the breezes from the voice stir the grass, lazily floating around my altar. However the voice remains silent, and I begin to grow anxious. If the voice cannot help me... no! Of course he can! He is from the upper realm! His wisdom, strength, and magic are beyond superior to us humans!

An interesting dilemma, witch, but the answer is simple.

I let out a sigh of relief. Why was I worried at all?

Go to Serestine's warlord. She will not kill you. After all, here in the upper realm we have decided to accept your queen's proposition.