Duality : Book 1 of Codex Elysium

Chapter 39 (edited)

Chapter 39

Present time: Midgard

Sophia fled through Glevum's streets, she was out of breath, exhausted and had a major burning stitch in her side but she didn't dare to stop. Sophia had been on the run for nearly two weeks now. The witch hunters and police had been trailing her. People in the streets shouted and pointed as she fled past. Sophia's face was all over the news these days, and she was the most wanted person in Brittan. Her crime - being a witch. Sophia came to a halt, leaning heavily on the wall gasping for breath, she scanned her surroundings for pursuers. Evening was closing in quickly, a gentle wind ruffled the posters on the wall beside her. All of them had the same picture of a teenage girl with blonde hair and large blue eyes.  In big black letters beneath her picture, the posters read 'THIS MADNESS MUST END. DOWN WITH THE WITCH HUNTERS, MURDER IS NOT GODS WILL!'

Clicking noises and camera flashes made Sophia look up, a group of people were standing nearby and taking pictures of her. She glared at them. Didn't they have lives? Or anything better to do? Her furious looks only earned more snaps being taken. Sophia resorted to desperate measures, raising her arms above her head she began chanting an incantation. The words were complete nonsense and gibberish but it had the desired effect. The curious photographers scattered and ran for their lives, Sophia cackled like a mad woman. It was a short-lived moment, barking police dogs in the distance soon brought her back to reality. Standing at the one end of the road was a witch hunter, dressed in a long grey trench coat and wide brimmed hat, there was no way to tell if it was a man or a woman.

Sophia let out a sulphurous curse, she looked the other way and cursed again, there was another witch hunter. She turned and fled up a side alley. The witch hunters never seemed to run or even sprint but somehow, they always kept up and couldn't be outrun. Sophia desperately needed to get back to her house and her book of shadows. There was a powerful spell in it that would help her. The trouble was that the police had her house under constant surveillance.

Hiding in some bushes, Sophia watched her house. All obvious signs of police were gone. Had they given up? Or was this a trap? Sophia didn't care, she gave into desperation and raced across the street and up to her front door. She slipped inside, expecting to be seized at any second but nothing happened. All was quiet inside. Creeping through the dimming light, Sophia checked the rooms one by one. A search of the second floor also revealed nothing. At the end of the landing was another set of stairs leading up to the third floor and to Sophia's sacred space.

The sacred space was just an attic, book shelves and boxes filled with candles lined the walls. At the far end of the room was an altar with a thick book resting on it. Sophia fell to her knees in front of the altar and clutched the book tightly to her chest. Inside the book was a spell that would summon her goddess, a goddess that would protect her from everything. Once she regained her breath, Sophia went to work arranging candles on the altar. A large silver bowl of water was placed in the centre. Glancing at her reflection, Sophia saw just how much of a mess she was, blonde hair all tangled and greasy, heavy black circles under her green eyes, her skin was pale and pasty. She walked around the room lighting more thick church candles and then began to pray to the goddess.

Three witch hunters stood at the gates to Sophia's house, all wearing dark trench coats and wide brimmed hats, rain had begun to fall but the hunters stood still as statues, eyes on the attic window illuminated by candlelight. Police armed with riot shields and batons crept through the garden and began to surround the house. A crowd of onlookers had also begun to form, all with phones and cameras at the ready. A news van squealed to a halt and a beautiful young reporter stepped out, wearing a bright pink suit, red hair tied back in a tight braid. She jogged up to the garden, cameraman in tow.