Blood of Deception [ON HOLD]

Chapter Thirty Six

For more than ninety years, the cemetery had been under the shifting shadows of the day, shrouded of the over-growing oaks with gnarled boughs that had existed as long as time itself had stood. Because the area was so large, it had gained a name of its own.

The Grave Village, it was called. And unlike other villages where smoke would rise from chimneys and every morning brought over sweet calls of waking birds lured by seducing steams from pies and pastries, the Grave Village would come awake when the hour struck zero, when the midnight air blew like frost, like a body long lost its guiding conscience. Instead of birds whistling, you'd hear the turbulent cries of the night creatures, howling, screeching. Calling.

You must never answer to the silence's beckoning.

Very few to none were null to the cemetery's eerie enticement. A majority believed the cause to be the unresting souls of those massacred in the conquering war more than a century ago, which had led to the slaughter of nearly all of Anhui's soldiers in its brutality.

Those who could venture into the accursed territory, though, without feeling the writhing silence slowly distorting their sanity would sense an entirely different world. They would regard the Grave Village as no more than a forlorn graveyard where scarce a soul remembered to visit their past heroes.

Thus, apprehension was thrown far, and they started to question the purpose of the worn-out cottage, sited on a clearing amidst the fragmented tombstones. 

Tonight, light filtered through the square windows of the cottage, a simple door between them. From the outside, it appeared like any other accommodation a needy inhabitant would consider as bliss. It looked cozy even, if you kept from peering over the decaying sills and let the inner contents spin you another story. 

Inside, a hunched old woman huddled close to her collection shelf. It towered twice her height, lining the aged walls. Her collection consisted of rows of artifacts glowing dully in the light, remains of ancient ruins, dried up insects and stranger animals, herbs you never knew existed, all caged in their individual jars. They were her treasures, and they were why those who ever sought out her help would later come to worship her.

The Teller shoved a dehydrated grasshopper the size of a pigeon into another glassware. The jar clinked against another as she displayed it accordingly to its section on the shelf. At that moment, the ceiling light suddenly shifted, a purplish glow spilled over the musty room, and as if on cue, the doorknob turned.

The Teller turned as a woman stepped in. She was dressed in a fine long robe and a few hair accessories.

She was no ordinary woman, for she was once a lady, and would have been something more if things never changed.

Fauglin's face held a sour expression. She did not usually scowl at the witch-woman on her occasional visits throughout the last decade, but the Teller hadn't been anticipating this one so soon.

        "Haven't you brought the girl?"

       "I couldn't," Fauglin replied, clearly heated. She only moved further inside upon the Teller's signal, and flopped down one of the stools only those with the Sight ever used. There weren't many in the recent years.

The Teller perched on her cushioned seat. They were facing each other, and Fauglin was scowling at the globe nestled between some cloth on the table between them.

        "That He Dongyu always has to find a way to ruin my plan," she huffed to the item. "I even went all the way to find the perfect plant to prevent raising suspicion and selected a good day to take action. And it should have been tonight!"