Darya stood in front of her house’s decorated door. She couldn’t bring herself to open it, something deep inside her was screaming at her to run away. The house that had held all of her life’s memories suddenly felt oppressing and gloomy. The young Eastern witch was tempted to put the uneasy feeling in her last few sleepless days, yet it ran so deep in her bowels that she ultimately couldn’t. With a shaking hand and eyes weighed down by the crying and the need for sleep, she took the handle. She opened the door to a dark room, which wouldn’t be surprising on a late evening, but her Ma would always wait until well into the night to blow out her candles.
“Ma?” she called out. “Ma? I’m home!”
No one answered.
With unsure steps, she searched for matches and lit up the candles. As the light filled up the room, she noticed a few jars were missing; where her Ma would usually put her fiery peppers, ashes, and powdered egg shells, there was nothing. The fruit basket in the middle of the kitchen was empty of the lemons her Ma always kept around.
“Ma!” she cried out.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she threw her bag off of her shoulder and ran upstairs. She tripped on her long green skirt as she climbed up the narrow steps two by two.
“Ma!”
She pushed the door to her Ma’s bedroom, and there she was, surrounded by dying candles, ashes mixed with a mysterious liquid and used to make sigils all around the room. The jar of pepper and the lemons aligned in a circle, and a line of powdered egg shells all around the room. Her laying form breathed barely as Darya kneeled next to her. She took the old woman’s body in between her arms and called her again, only to be met by a labored breathing. Fear set in deeply when she read the surrounding sigils. “Wolf”. “Corpse”. “Ghost”. “Death”. Someone had repeatedly written the latter on the walls and on the ground. Darya hurriedly lifted Ma’s sleeves. A cry slipped out of her as she could only see how the black on her hands had extended up to her arms, almost to her torso.
“What have you done?” she whispered.
Darya sat on her Ma’s bed, observing her, her heart heavy with worry. She had spent the past hour pulling her into her bed with great effort. Her arms and legs were tired, both from the task and all the continuous walking and riding she had done.
“Dunya?” her Ma weakly called.
“Ma? Ma, are you okay? What did you do?”
The old woman’s eyes searched her face for a minute before a smile graced her lips.
“Oh Dunya, you’re more beautiful than I remember. Don’t worry, I took care of little Dari for you.”
Darya’s heart fell into her stomach, she hadn’t heard that name in ages.
“What have you done?” she quivered.
“I took care of her. No one will hurt her now, I promise.”
“Ma?” she asked with a small voice.
The old woman fell back in her deep sleep, her labored breathing moving her chest up and down in a slow rhythm. Darya sat on that bed for another few minutes, trying to hold back tears and stay calm. As she turned her head around toward the room, she decided that cleaning up the ritualistic mess would be best. For half the night, she swept away the ashes, the egg shell powder and the spices. She buried the lemons and the jars in a field far from her home. She painfully scrubbed away the sigils on the walls, and she smoked the house with cinnamon incense to get it back to its former cozy feeling. All the while, tears filled her eyes, and she forced them down. Her house would never feel the same, this night would leave it forever empty.
“Dunya?!” she heard her Ma exclaim weakly. Her quivering voice traveled slowly through the stone walls of the house. Darya rushed upstairs, still unsure why her Ma would call her with that name. “Ho, there you are, sweetie.”
Ma was on the floor, her arm still reaching for a particular book shelf.
“Ma!”
Darya ran up to her and helped the old woman up.
“My legs aren’t what they used to be, Dunya.” she apologized.
Darya’s heart skipped a beat as she saw her grandma’s feet, black from the gods’ curse and thin, as if she had lost all muscle mass. The young witch helped her Ma back to her bed and mumbled a ‘don’t worry’ as she put the covers back on her.
“Now that you’re here, why don’t you go get your diary?”
“What diary?” she asked.
“Well, silly, the one I bought you when you were a child. I never saw you write in it, but it looks full of entries.” the old woman gestured to the bookshelf she had tried to reach. Darya stood up, still unsure about her Ma’s mental state. She had never bought her a diary. They were never wealthy enough to even buy a used one. Darya remembered making her books with tools and materials grateful people had given her years ago, but she had never bought one. “It should be on the top shelf, the second to last, I think.”
As her Ma had shown her, there was a fabric bound diary. Water damage and mud marks had warped the pages, and it swelled with stories. It had been loved and cared for.
“Dunya.” called her grandma, her voice weaker still. Darya turned around, the well-loved book in her ungloved hands. Her Ma patted the bed next to her, and Darya obliged. “I know I wasn’t the best mother in the world, my sweetheart, but I did what I could to protect you.” she took Darya’s green hands in her black one. “It pains me to know I won’t get to serve my god in the afterlife, but I do not regret my decision. I protected you and Dari with all I had and more, and I would do it again.” tears finally flowed down Darya’s cheeks. The old woman lifted her weak hand to cup her cheek, but she faltered. The young witch picked it up and pressed it against her face. “I love you, my darling. I always will.”
In a muffled cry from Darya, the old woman let out a last labored breath. Her arm felt heavier in Darya’s hand. She delicately placed it back next to her and closed her Ma’s empty eyes. To Darya, it didn’t look like she was sleeping, she looked like an empty shell. The thing that used to make her look alive was gone. No sparkle. No emotions. No life. The emptiness that had filled her grandmother now hit her, tears stopped flowing down her face, and her sobbing stopped. Only the silence filled the room as she mindlessly stroked the diary with her thumb. The young witch stood up fast, she took two of her Ma’s black veils and walked downstairs. She took the first one to cover the only mirror in the house, and with the second one, she tied it in her hair as her Ma would have done. Most of her life, she knew this moment would come; because of her Ma’s cursed magic and her broken vow, she would not have the right to follow her god in the afterlife, therefore, she could not be granted a death ritual or any protection. Her soul would wander in the in-between forever, with no hope of reincarnation. Darya returned upstairs, her steps louder and angrier than they had ever been. On her way to her Ma’s room, she took an oak seed and gripped it tight in her hand. She opened the door and stood next to her Ma’s body, determination and anger seeping out of her. Out of her glowing hand came out roots that soon enough took her Ma and attached her onto Darya’s back. Heavier by the weight of her Ma, Darya’s legs almost gave out, yet, she gripped the roots and held on tight. With heavy steps, she took her grandma’s body from her room to the entryway.
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People stopped talking when the young eastern witch passed by. Some turned around, others stared. Those who she had counseled and helped turned off the torches in their homes and set out a candle on their windowsill. The road to the fields was long, longer than she had thought it would be. Soon enough, she found a clearing. The soft golden glow of the morning sun still shone on them. Darya stared at it, hoping he was watching, hoping he would smite her for what she had set herself to do. In another soft glow of her hand, she grew more roots and put her Ma in a rather nice chair, which sprouted with young leaves and unopened flower buds. Darya straightened her back, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. The pain in her chest kept coming back, no matter how she pushed it down. No matter how she tried, she could not remember how to perform the ritual. Her Ma had never discussed it, she did not even own any books about it. In her faint and farthest memory, she could remember something, not a spirit, nor a God. Something shapeless, as solid as fog and as dark as night. Something that should never be seen. The clinking of necklaces broke the bird’s chants and the coldest of winds blew down her back. She kept her eyes closed, her heart beating so hard in her chest she thought it would jump out of it. Then, a thought flashed in her mind. She opened her eyes and started stomping the grass in a circle around her Ma. Once it was done, she ran to the forest and found fresh roots, which she twisted into a crown. On it, she added heath and snowdrops. Once done, she ran back to her grandmother. With tearing eyes, she lifted the veil, once again facing the empty shell that used to be her Ma. Darya positioned the veil back as the old woman used to do, and added her newly made crown on it; it fitted perfectly, decorating the woman’s brow in a way Darya had seen none of her flower crowns do before. With trembling hands, she rolled the stem of the last flower in her hands. She looked down at the pink trumpet-like flower. Her heart beat in her eardrums as she placed it on her Ma’s lap. Once again, Darya closed her eyes.
“Oh, Humble One, Guardian of the Unmarked Souls. Take my grandmother with you, she has protected me and others with her life and health-”
“Fear not, my child. Her sacrifices will not go unseen,”
Darya’s blood froze in her veins as an icy hand laid on her right shoulder. She forced herself to keep her eyes closed. The long and skinny fingers gripped her tight for a second before it left her. The slight jingles of necklaces passed in front of her and the creaking of a chair pulled Darya’s heart in two. The young woman felt a soft and warm kiss on her forehead, and the jingle faded away soon after. The sun’s warmth filled up the air and left her cold. The young woman fell down on her knees and let all of her pent up pain out. Tears flowed down her face and fell in a pool on her skirt that her adventure had dirtied. She didn’t know for how long she stayed like this, kneeling in the grass at the feet of her Ma’s empty body. It’s not until she heard the clinking of metal armors and the hooves of horses on the grass that she got back to reality. The sun had gone its way westward and was almost at its decline behind the horizon, unwavering in the fate of the old woman’s soul.
“Darya Legovich?” asked a man.
The young eastern witch groggily stood up. She observed for a moment the reaction she should have at the sight of soldiers. Instead, she let her pain talk.
“What do you want?”
“We have received an urgent message from Ravenwood. Princess Leana is requesting your presence.”
Darya’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“Isn’t she-”
“We thought so too, ma’am.” answered the soldier. “Her Majesty also sent us a message for you.”
Darya heard the shuffle of papers being taken out of a pocket. The soldier hesitated before approaching her and handing out the letter. Darya took in a big breath and turned around to take the letters, she looked at the careful writing.
“When do you want us to go, ma’am?”
“Once my Ma’s ritual is over.” she answered in a saddened voice.
“We’ll be waiting by your house then.”
Darya nodded. The shuffling of their boots once again left the place to silence. Darya stayed on the ground, her eyes looking at the letter but not reading it. In a sharp exhale, she stood up, almost losing her balance because her legs had gone numb. She folded the letter and tucked it away underneath her belt. From underneath one of her pouch’s flap, she took out her silexes.
“I never thought I’d use them for you this early.” she bitterly chuckled.
In a few clicks, sparks jumped to her Ma’s dress and picked away at the woolen cloth. The little spark grew into a healthy flame, which devoured the dress and the made-up chair. In a few minutes, Darya stood in front of her Ma’s burning body. The sky seemed to have taken fire too for a moment as the sun started to set behind the horizon. Darya’s eyes were awfully dry and her cheeks felt heavy with the weight of her tears.
Once she walked back home, she found the soldier resting in front of her house under the glaring eyes of the public.
“Oh, you’re here ma’am.” said the soldier as he stood up and shook off the dirt from his pants.
“I have some things to retrieve before going with you.”
The soldier nodded, and she entered her house without stopping. It was painfully silent. Her house had never been silent, not even the clamor of the people in the young evening could cover it. With a knife in her heart, Darya walked upstairs, leaving her fingers to trace the walls that had protected her during her entire life. She retraced every sigil, every little imperfection, every tally mark showing her growth over the years. She hesitated before entering her Ma’s bedroom again. She knew she’d find it empty, but she couldn’t silence that part of her that hoped she would be in there, studying or practicing. Darya pushed the door open. She didn’t dare to look around the room again, so she went straight for the diary and left with a bitter taste in her mouth. She walked by her own room on her way to the staircase; it was still filled with healthy potted plants, her books and notebooks littered her desk and parts of her floor, and her darning tools were still on her chair, the same way she had put them down before heading out to the Night Elf inn. She closed the door softly, as if to not awaken anything that could have been sleeping in there. Darya walked down the stairs, and with one last look at her home’s altar, she walked straight toward it. She put the book down on the dining table and prepared her sigils. She cleansed a small vial before putting different herbs, salts and shards of crystals her Ma had kept a collection of. She took some twine from a hanging rosemary bundle and wrapped it around the vial’s neck five times, one for each primordial god, leaving two lengths of twine on each side. She sealed the vial with its cork and a healthy amount of black wax. Once her vial was done, she stashed it away in one of her pouches. She took the diary and walked past the mirror before reaching the door. The young woman let out a deep sigh and finally headed out.
“I’m ready.” she declared before any of the soldiers could open their mouths.
Darya finally had a good look at the one with whom she had been talking to. He was short, had long brown hair kept in a low ponytail, and the start of a stubborn beard could be seen on his face. Despite his size, Darya could guess correctly that he was around his thirties, contrary to the three teens that were accompanying him.
“As her Majesty requested a prompt journey to Ravenwood, we’ll have you sleep in the cart. We’ll quickly change horses at the three outposts on the main road. We should be there in two or three days.” Darya nodded and jumped in the shallow cart that had been mounted on one horse. “We’ll guard you until we arrive at your destination, ma’am.”
The young eastern witch nodded, gripping the diary tight in her arms. The first night, she couldn’t sleep. She stroked the back of the diary for a long time with her thumb. It was not until the sun rose from behind the tree line that sleep finally took over and closed her eyes for her. Later in the day, when she finally awoke, she took in some courage and read the diary.