A great philosopher once wrote that all people are formed of two different substances: a physical substance, which makes up the body, and a mental substance, which makes up the mind. While the body can interact with the outside world, it needs the mind to give it direction. It is only with aid of this mental substance that the body can defy the otherwise binding rules of reality that keep objects from moving on their own.
This philosopher is only half correct. It is true that mental substances can subvert the laws of the physical. But the mind too is bound by its own rules. We are restricted in what we think, and in how those thoughts affect the world around us. For most of us, two minds cannot touch each other. Most of us are not witches.
The powers of witching come not from the body or the mind, but from a third thing. When I move objects in the physical world, I use my mind to do so. But when I move minds in the mental world, the impetus must come from somewhere else. Truth be told, I don't know what that third thing is. Perhaps it is the soul.
It is for this reason that I now lie chained to this table and drugged beyond reach of my powers, constantly sedated. And it is for this reason that "Crow", as she calls herself, holds a knife to my skin, while girl no older than me sits on the table beside us.
The girl has just walked in, and now her eyes bores holes in my naked torso.
"Will it be painful?" She asks the Crow.
"Hush, girl", Crow says, "This work is delicate." The knife traces my ribs as she speaks and liquid fire runs down my side.
It is already painful. I try to speak, but my mouth is gagged shut. I don't try to move it. Instead, I bide my time. There's always a way out.
After Crow finishes her stroke, the girl repeats, "I don't want to hurt him."
"Silence, daughter." She slaps the child with the blunt side of the knife. "He's just a creature anyways. At least you have a chance at full witchdom." I want to object to her use of 'creature', but perhaps she is right. After all, Gesh or not, talent or not, men can never become full witches. The coven wouldn't allow it. And until an ascension that will never come, perhaps I am just a creature.
"The scary man didn't say he would be so young."
The scary man? I can't help but wonder which of the three people who knew where I would be had told them.
"The source told us where he would be, but didn't tell us anything about him. No age. No name. No powers."
I can see a question on the girls tongue, but a brisk movement of Crow's knife has her bite it back. She returns to observing me while Crow starts on another incision. While I curse the attempt, I cannot help but applaud her bladework. Transferring a Gesh is no simple ritual, but she is handling the strokes perfectly. Of course, with every line she makes my nerves grow. After all, no witch has ever survived having their Gesh removed, and I can still taste the metallic aftertaste of the Sterisrot circulating through my blood, surpressing my powers. As I am now, I can barely move a feather, and that's hardly use to anyone
Stolen novel; please report.
"Who is he?" the Girl asks, and the woman's knife slips. My whole side lights up in pain and I can feel blood flowing freely. Crow curse. The girl flinches back, and does not speak again until she has finished clearing the errant blood. More timidly, this time, "Did you find out his name when you captured him?"
Crow stops her work to levy her daughter a doting look. "Darling," she starts, "I don't know his name. But I know he's one of the numbers."
"Really!?" I can see the girl's nerves give way to awe. She turns to me, "You're a number? Which one?"
Three. I want to say. If only so this young girl learns whose legacy she carries, if someone must carry it. But my mouth is still bound. So instead I simply grunt. My mouth opens ever so slightly as I do, and blood gets in from the mark on my cheek. I try to cough it out, but I only choke before swallowing it down.
Crow slaps the girl again. This time it's a backhand, and the wet thud echos in the sterile chamber.
There are three parts to any Gesh transfer ritual. First, a symbol must be etched in blood on the stomach of the current Gesh-bearer. Second, that same symbol must be etched on the Gesh-bearer's head. Third, and finally, the Gesh-bearer must die of decaptation while the Gesh-reciever touches both symbols. And now a quick circular incision marks the end of Crow's work, and it is time for my decapitation.
It's strange, I think, I am oddly calm for my own decapitation. And I realise I still do not believe I am going to die. There is always a way out.
As the girl's hands reach for the symbols on my skin and I still cannot use my power, I cling to my old mantra. Then Crow's knife comes down on my neck, and the shock cuts my thoughts short. A loud ringing and a white light drown everything out. Then I come to, and I can still feel the girl's hand on my cheek. Is this the afterlife?
But I am not dead. Everything from there down is simply gone, but I, a lone head, still live. As the blood drains from the hole in my neck, I almost laugh. For as blood drains, so too does Sterisrot.
My powers come back in a flood. The knife is still embedded in the table between my head and body. Better to leave it, my mind thinks, but my soul is already working. Crow draws back the knife and stabs through her own eye. The girl takes two steps back and starts screaming. Litres of my blood are strewn about the room.
The gag slips free from my my mouth, now lacking a neck to hold it in place, and then I do laugh. It's a maniacal thing, tainted with madness and death. And I have no lungs, so it makes no sound.
For, dear reader, I am still just a headless corpse and his severed head. Soon I will have to sleep. And when I do, I will never wake up. That girl's screams will be the last thing I hear. Oh well. At least Crow died too.
Just as I teeter on the verge of the final rest, the whole world is swallowed whole.
The last thing I hear is a sterile, uncanny voice.
[Deviant creature type detected: 'Severed Head'. Adjusted for threats to life. Due to limited physical capability, entity classified as Mind-type. Creature level: 0. Temporary ability assigned]
[New Quest: Survive your digestion. Reach level 1 by either accepting your temporary ability or crafting a new one]