Faizan felt the energy inside him still building up until it had filled up every inch of the vessel that was his body. He turned to look up at the minar of the masjid that had now penetrated the thick grey clouds. For the first time, he did not feel fear when he looked at it.
He felt alive.
He tapped into the energy and looked up at Khalid’s red, embarrassed face. He was still slashing at his throat but the knife refused to penetrate. Faizan smiled.
And then let loose all the energy inside him.
The sky thundered as he tore apart the bonds holding his back, as if they were made from flimsy rubber bands. Khalid was thrown back and fell onto his back, his eyes still wide with shock. The mullah standing nearby had realised something was wrong and was now hurrying away with his servants towards a nearby alleyway. Towards the end of the lane he could see the dark blue metal exterior of something, which he realised was their car. He wanted to run towards it but a voice inside his head calmed him down, assuring him that no one would run away. The voice sounded like it was the owner of the energy that had taken over him.
Are you God? He asked.
No. I may be cruel, but I am not God.
Everyone’s attention had turned to the sky which the masjid minar had now pierced, sending waves of energy cascading all over the village. He realised now that minar was simply a marker to propagate the god-like power within him.
And he was the Vessel.
The closer he got, the more powerful the marker got.
The dark power was everywhere, as abundant as oxygen, and Faizan could feel himself tapping into it with every breath. The masjid was still a ways away from him and yet, he felt so powerful that the sky now awaited his command.
The dark power inside compelled him to answer.
Do it.
The sky thundered, so loud that all the villagemen clasped their hands around their ears. The clouds began to rapidly darken until they were as black as coal, Another loud thunder followed that sent long streaks of lightning all over the clouds, like veins, that ripped them apart.
The clouds let loose.
Screams of horror and pain followed.
Porcupine quills were raining down from the sky, like archer arrows in a medieval movie, completely enveloping everyone's vision. The quills were sharp as needles and were piercing deep into the village men's bodies as they ran around and looked for shelter. Some of them fell on the spot, the quills jabbed through their necks and spinal cords while the rest limped or crawled on the floor, until a final quill ended them on the spot. They had completely forgotten about their festival and their God.
But curiously, the quills did not affect Faizan in the least. They simply bounced off him, just like the knife had, as if they were an invincibility field around his body. The quills did not affect the witches tied to the piers either, who had broken through their bonds and were now attacking their captors or tending to their wounded sisters.
He heard Khalid let out a shriek of pain and turned around to watch him roll down the stage before shuffling underneath it. Faizan stood up slowly on the stage, the dark energy flowing through him making him feel as if he was born anew. No longer did he feel fear or terror, all he felt now was power.
He looked down at the chaos ensuing and laughed, a vengeful laugh. It was so satisfying to see them scurrying around like the cockroaches that they were and dying as death rained down on them in the thundering night.
Where was their God now?
And then the high began to falter and his consciousness came back. The fear returned along with a numbing guilt. How was he better than these people if he took pleasure in their deaths?
The rain of quills stopped. The witches who had been taking their revenge stopped too and turned to look at him.
Faizan, run. He heard Hina say. The sisters will guide you.
Faizan did as he was told and followed the witches who were heading towards the direction of the fields. They had to run around and jump over quilled bleeding bodies, some of them still writhing as the life slowly drained from their bodies. He saw dead hollow faces with quills poking through them and his skin shivered at the sight of it. Some of the faces had so many quills that they literally looked like bloodied hunks of meat. The nightmare fuel just piled on and on for him.
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Some of the villagers on the ground were not as injured and at times they would try to reach out and grab them, like zombies reaching out from their graves. The witches were ruthless, however, and would smash any man's face who tried to do so.Faizan would merely just sidestep them.
They were just about to cross the entire village square when they saw that some of the villagemen had begun to rally and had covered themselves in makeshift armour made with pots, sheets and other crude metal objects.
The masjid speaker turned on in the distance and everyone turned towards the source of the static. It was the maulvi. He did not sound pleased.
"The city boy and the witches have struck a blow onto us but God has stopped the rain. A lesson for us to not get caught up in glory and forget who he is. C'mon you believers, arm yourselves and stand up to them. Your Lord is watching!"
Faizan and witches upper their speed as the villagemen began to chase them now. They were no longer guarded by the dark power that Faizan could feel sleeping in his gut and he wondered why it had happened. Perhaps he needed to have focused more but it was too late now, he had to focus on escaping.
As they were about to exit the village square, they grabbed weapons from the stall that had been selling weapons for witch hunting. He was handed a long machete like weapon but what seemed to he the lead witch, a middle aged brown woman with creases on her face and slightly whitened hair. He heard the other witches address her as Laila.
"Stay behind us," she said in clear Urdu. "We will protect you. Do not put yourself in danger, whatever happens."
They were in the mazy village streets now and Faizan had no clue so he continued to follow the witches. The quills in their garbs were brightly visible to him, even in the shadows, and the tinkling sound they made as they shook from the movement was music to his ears. He could feel a faint rising of energy in his body which propelled him onwards. Many times they were flanked or attacked by villagemen from nearby shadows and houses, filthy curses spewing out of their mouths as they attacked. The witches were more than up to the task and defended themselves well with the weapons. He watches some of them chant spells as well as they did so, giving them temporary bursts of speed and strength. As they did so, he felt the power within him swirl around, realising that they were tapping into him for powers.
Laila was at the forefront and Faizan was amazed by how well she fought. At one point, a group of men flanked them suddenly and the lead witch dropped her weapon, moving her hands about in a slow, small dance. The men laughed and approached her but to Faizan's shock, he watched as some of the quills that made most of her outfit were levitating in front of her.
The men stopped.
The quills were pointing right at them.
She chanted the last spell with a roar and the quills flew ahead as fast as bullets, killing the men instantly, even through their armour. She rallied the rest of the witches around her and because of that, regardless of the sheer number of the men, their losses were kept to a minimum.
Faizan was doing his best to try and help but his body would tense up when he wanted to, since he had never fought like this. On top of that, the witches guarding him did not let him get close to the action, pushing him back when the fighting started or pulling him towards them when they were running.
They eventually reached a small, mud brick wall and jumped over it, corn stalks crushing beneath them as they landed on the ground. Faizan could not make out if the dark shapes he saw were corn stalks or his allies so he just followed the rustling and the women's voices, hoping for the best. The corn stalks smacked against his face as he ran ahead making it difficult for him to have any sense of direction and occasionally, he'd have to be pushed or pulled into the right direction. The sky had cleared and the moon now stood at the end of the minaar as if balancing on its tip. It kept vanishing and reappearing, like a flickering lightbulb, through the rows of corn. Behind him, he could faintly hear the villagemen yelling curses or proclaiming prayers but could not make sense of how far they were because of the rustling.
As they went deeper and deeper into the fields, Faizan's soaring anxiety was beginning to play tricks on his mind. The rustling and the rapid movement of the corn had begun to settle into his brain and he was beginning to react to all of it as if it was a potential enemy.
The masjid speaker turned on again, a shrill whistling temporarily shaking the inside of his skull before the maulvi spoke.
"They have entered the fields, my brothers. The very fields that contain our sustenance and livelihood for the year. The very fields our forefathers have sowed and reaped for centuries. Capture the sinners before they have tainted the fields and removed God's blessings from our food. And removed the future blessings for our fathers. Whoever does capture them, God will give him and his whole lineage a place in Paradise and he will have fields within it as far as his eye can see…"
Faizan tuned out the maulvi, sick of the fantasies and lies he had been feeding the village men. He wondered if this was what his religion had really been. Fantasy and lies? Powerful men like the maulvi manipulating their followers by calling the magic they didn't understand as God?
His heart leapt out of his chest when someone loudly proclaimed 'Praise God!' from the left and barraged into the group. He heard the sickening wet thunks of a blade smacking into flesh followed by the shrill screams of a witch. As he moved in closer, the curtain of corn unveiled and he saw a fallen torch illuminating a huge man with gritted yellowed out teeth slamming an axe into a writhing witch. With every swing of his axe, he became deliriously happy that God would bless him for killing a witch.
Faizan stood staring at the scene but was pulled with surprising strength by one of the witches. She was about his age with short hair and angry eyes.
"Vessel, do not stop running," she screamed into his ears. "Even if all of us die, you have to keep moving. Can’t believe we’re doing all this for a man."
Faizan did as he was told and continued running forward, his body tensed and ready to react to any attack. The maniacal howling of the villagmen was now all around them once they had realised they were in the vicinity of their prey. A few more of the witches fell victim to the savages but Faizan continued running ahead, doing as he was told. He wasn't going to die before he saw Hina again. He was going to give her the biggest hug the moment he saw her and never let go.
The witches had now formed a circle around Faizan to protect him against the imminent danger. Laila was shouting instructions in Punjabi he couldn't make out with all the noise. As more of the witches fell to the attacking villagers, the circle around him began to shorten and get closer.
"We won't make it at this rate, big sister," shouted a young witch.
"Yes, we won't," said Laila. "There is a way to slow them down but it will require sacrifice."
The witch with the short hair on his left spoke, "Will it kill those assholes?"
"Yes."
"Then count me in," she replied. They stopped running and all of them turned around to look at Laila.
"You are too young, Bano," she answered. "It is not fair."
"What's not fair is living in a world where men reign supreme over us. I would die if it meant a better world for my sisters."
"But-"
"We don't have much time," she answered and swung around, thrusting the blade in her hands straight into the gut of an attacking villager.
"Fine," Laila answered, guilt etched onto her face. "Who else?"
All the witches volunteered but she ended up choosing the oldest two. She sent a few of the witches to guard them who began battling any of the villagers who stumbled upon them.
"You know how the spell works, my sisters," she said, trying to keep a straight face but tears were streaming down her eyes. They nodded and quickly hugged her, assuring her that the sacrifice was worth it. Faizan did not know what sacrifice they were talking about but surmised that it involved the loss of lives. He did not know what else to do but stand awkwardly and look down at his feet. How was one to react when strangers he had never known before were sacrificing their lives for him? And on top of that, most of them were bitter about it. None of the witches had even turned to look at him and whenever they had, there had been disgust in their eyes. But he didn’t care much, if it meant he would get to see Hina. He wondered if she had struck a deal with the witches and found some magic to communicate with him.
What if she had realised his importance to her?