Bird of Prey

Chapter 2: Part Two, Feast

I ran through the forest. It is so easy to escape when the people you are running from are dead. In my head the fire rages still. My burning desire to find my sister before witch hunters do lives on, strong and scorching. If I was too late to save her. If I had to watch her die. I would destroy the whole village and every-

*SNAP*

"What the-" I whipped around. An old, haggard man stood before me. He was dressed as a witch from my village,  white and silver robes in laid with gold hung to the ground, though I had never seen him before but I recognized his cloths. "Be not afraid." He said, his voice was weathered, calm but still strong and steady. "I am not here to turn you in child. You have an incredible talent. The man began making his way to me. "Father" I said, "I shall not harm thee." I sat with the man, he told me his name: Barthocrist Nathascro Adinell

I was taken a back by his name. I had heard of a name like it before, an old forest dweller with more power and ability than any other witch. He refuses to harness it, however. His greatest power is peace. I jumped of the log we shared and fell to the ground. "Father, it is an honor to meet you. Of what service my I provide for your grace."

"Child, " He said again, "I need none of your services, but only of your trust and respect."

"You have it father"

"Child, my disciple, you are on a prior designed task, you must complete it. Lay it to rest.Tell me, my child, what is this task?"

"Father, I am searching for my sister, she knows nothing of her witch hood and is in great danger. She is of power with ice." I shook with anticipation for the answer from this holy man.

"My child, I see her, she is not so far away now, you must hurry my disciple. Danger creeps towards her."

"Yes father, then I must leave. I shall do so in reverence to thee."

"Not so fast, my child, I shall travel with thee to the town where your sister lives." 

"Shall we save her?"

"We shall see."

We walked through the forest and eventually came out on the other side. We had made it to the main road. The time has come to save Sacralisa. I shall stop at nothing.

***

It seemed to take five seconds and yet five years to reach the village. With the father with me time seemed to slow down and yet, get faster. His aura was a muddle of different colors, with I couldn't fathom into a reading. Mixtures of calm blue and mysterious forest green, loving pink and feisty red. He is everything and nothing at the same time. As we walked, we came up with a plan to tell my sister who she was. She needed to take this seriously. If she didn't, it could kill her. Sacarlisa was precious and innocent. she was important to me and to my mother and if I failed her, I couldn't live with myself.

The father found her. She was just standing there. Black robes, Black cap. No shoes. Hands bound. Atop a pile of kindling. I wanted to scream. I was to late. I was to late to save her. She was the spitting image of me. My perfect sister. 

As the men of the village bent down with torches lit I sprinted in front of the fire. They lit the mass of wood on fire, I knew it would not touch me so I clung to her as she screamed in pain I told her I loved her as she died in my arms. My perfect sister. 

My dress, hair, shoes, everything, was on fire. My sister was gone. Dead. I holwed into the sky. My fire was raginf over my skin. Filling me with hatred for the people who had killed my sister.

I Screamed to them:

"Flames are my life source, flames were her death. Revenge is my future, she has none. I will avenge the death of my sister, with craft you say is savage, satanic. I say you are wrong. You have foreced my hand. 

So be it.

My words fell like hail on tin roofs. Hard. Battering. Strong. Cold. People screamed and women with children turned and ran. But I cared little of their fates. Only 10 men had to be punished. : The village councerlar, Bartholemew Lynid. The town mayor, Mathew Estil. The prison mastor, James Menasol. The exicutioners: John Macobs, James Tareson, Joseph Taylor, Andrew Medslate, Peter Monsea, Fransis Wester. And one other person, the hardest and the easiest to kill.

Myself.

Death would be feasting in hell.