Objo flew with her catch, the witch shrieking as her talons pierced flesh. Objo ignored her, she felt no compassion for the woman, she deserved none, for what she had done. It didn’t matter that if this was her first or one hundredth offense, soon her every crime would be exposed before Nemia, she always knew every offense. Her goddess was unforgiving, and Objo had unquestioning faith that all would be laid bare before her righteousness.
She flew for days, unwavering, untiring, the witch’s cries giving way to whimpers, then silence. Eventually Nemia’s volcano appeared on the horizon, smoke lazily wafting from its crest. The volcano hadn’t been active for centuries now, not since Nemia had judged the surrounding area to need a purging fire, to wipe her lands of the sickness of men. A flood of cleansing magma surged down from its peak, the heavy ash skies blocking the sun for miles and miles. It had been before Objo’s time, but the stories had been passed down among her acolyte sisters, spoken of with reverence as to Nemia’s might.
Objo soared downward as she approached, skimming the treetops, descending towards the obsidian caves that indicated the chthonic entrance to her goddess’ domain. Wild poppies marked the path, a sea of reds leading inward, downward, plunging into the underworld. The sounds of the forest cut out sharply as she entered the tunnel. This was a world of shadows, glassy obsidian reflections warping any light that made its way into the depths. But Objo’s eyes were used to the muted light, her original owl eyes enhanced by the benevolence of her god, curved moonstone lenses layering just over the iris of her eye, enhancing the muscles, directing even the smallest light inward. The heat intensified as she approached Nemia’s throne room, the light of the magma deep in the bowels of the volcano replacing the sunlight of the outside.
A cacophony of chirps and trills met her, drowning out the renewed whimpers of the witch in her grasp, the woman shivering in her sharp hold. A thrill went through Objo, anticipation of greeting Nemia with her catch sending a jolt of glee down her spine, her muscles tensing with nervous energy.
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With a final beat of her wings she soared into the throne room, a massive chamber, lit brightly by the pool of magma bubbling dangerously in its center. She deposited the witch in the center of the room just shy of the pool, the woman rolling as she hit the floor from where she unceremoniously dropped. The cackles of Objo’s sisters echoed through the cave as they espied the witch, jeering at the kin killer. Objo alitted on a rocky outcropping, jutting from the chamber walls, joining the other acolytes to watch the judgment.
Clothes now shredded by the journey and Objo’s talons, beautiful braids now tangled, the witch picked herself up to stand wide eyed, eyes fearful as she regarded the harpies surrounding her.
‘Do you know why you are here?’ A voice asked, seemingly coming from everywhere, filling the chamber, while simultaneously resonating in the mind, surrounding a being in with its rich sound in entirety. Nemia’s voice was a beautiful thing, heady and compelling, and to be so encompassed by it was to be humbled. Stumbling back from the magma pool the witch shook her head wildly, her hands going to her ears to stifle the god’s voice.
A figure emerged from the depths of the magma, flames licking down her humanesque form, clothing her nakedness. Her skin was charred, magma visible between the cracks, stumps where arms might have been. Giant magma hands emerged from the magma depths to lay ominously in front of her, clasped. Nemia was a fearsome being to behold, Objo shivered, awed even after all this time.
‘Fourteen counts of familicide you are accused, fourteen counts of familicide you will pay,’ the witch’s eyes widened and she gasped, pleadingly ‘it is way of my people,’ she beseeched, collapsing to her knees, hands clasped in front of her in supplication. ‘Please, please! It is the will of Zsa Zsa!’ her voice cracked on her gods’ name. Nemia looked at her for a long moment, before throwing back her head, a long rough laugh ringing from her lips, filling the chamber with her voice once more. Her laughter abated, though echoes lingered, ‘child, your ways are an abomination,’ she hissed venomously. ‘And now, you will be held culpable for your sins.’ With a massive magma hand she slowly reached for the woman, drawing out her panic, ‘please! Please!’ The witch sobbed, fear striking her immobile. Unmoved, Nemia grasped her in one hand, the witch shrieking as she burned, just as her kin had, days ago. Nemia smiled, satisfied with her judgment. Objo watched in thrall, leaning forward as the woman was fully consumed. Not even a ghost left in her place as her whole soul was righteously extinguished. Nemia had spoken, and all would be as she willed.