Witch Saintess

Chapter 10: The Pledge

Moreno threw himself at my feet, his insane grip pulling me forwards a little. His grip was uncomfortably sweaty, and it was possibly breaking my hand.

He was kneeling before me, shaking in apprehension, as he spoke with viscous devotion.

"Saintess." He spoke clearly.

"Candidate Moreno. This is highly inappropriate. Release my hand at once." I say, as politely as possible, and edge of firmness in my voice.

"Yes, my saintess. I have but one thing to say." He replies obediently, loosening his grip, but still holding on determinedly.

"Release me, and I will hear your concerns." I say, as he lets go of my bloodless hand. His gaze is averted to the floor, and I suspiciously adjust my robe with a twitch, resting my hands together, nerves still there, the eel-spirit watching from my side.

"You do not need to worry, my saintess. I only wish to help. I can sense something about you." I tense. "Something special." I feel the silent thrum of energy calling for my fingertips, the paper star temptingly close. Moreno inhales, and then looks at my hands.

"It's something that stirs even now." I am fully awake now, all senses of relaxation gone. My power staring at my fingertips, the eel like a dog on a chain, ready to lunge. I wonder now, with a vicious question. What will it feel like to kill for the first time?

What will it feel like to see this robe stained with human blood? I swallow my questions, and wait for his next words to strike, like an arrow pulled tight to a string.

"You are chosen by God above all!" He smiles, genuine, as he bows his head, his breaths more like a shudder than anything.

I freeze. I release the power gathered at mt fingertips back to the environment, commanding the eel away. This is excellent. I won't have to kill him. The words are relieving. I am not found out.

"Moreno?" I ask, faking nervousness.

"Saintess, be assured, you could not have hidden His radiance, His guiding hand, His sways on the world, even if you tried. You are, after all, only a maiden. One chosen by God, but a woman nonetheless. It is not your fault I could see the, admittedly, unassuming vessel He chose for his will." He says comfortingly. Outwardly, I accept these words with an air of still cautious grace, but inwardly, I am astounded.

He really thinks I am struck with the unfortunate curse most of the women around me have. The curse of never thinking for themselves. The in-need of defending, yet somehow the root of all evil woman everyone expects.

The kind who wouldn't realize how blatantly she has just been insulted. And I am above his station, by a lot. 

Very fortunately, I am a witch. And I am, to say the least, offended. But not surprised.

"Moreno, you are an astute servant of God, like myself. He is truly brilliant in his generous gifts to the world." I say, bowing my head humbly to some invisible presence.

"Indeed. And it is for desire to see His will come about to this cursed earth, that I make a pledge." He drops deeper into his bow, a hand raising to his side, resting on his sword hilt.

"I Álvaro Moreno, pledge my blade, body and spirit in their complete capabilities to be tools of God. May they be used to bring His plans to their glorious fulfillment, to unite the world under His rein, so they may know his glory, or be purged as workers of the devil, in any way possible. I pledge myself through his tool, saintess Liora." He looks up like he expects me to gasp and cry in pure joy.

He unsheathes his axe with one hand, and a dull short sword in the other. I rest my fingers on them. I can smell, deep within the tiny nicks and scratches on the blades, blood. The blood of my own kind. The blood of humans too.

The eel awakens sharply at that, thrashing in excitement, and baying for action. I silence it firmly, and it slithers of to some other crevice of the spirit world, still watching...

"I accept your pledge,  Álvaro Moreno, in the name of God." I say. 

This opens a world of possibilities. My eyes glitter with excitement. I can feel the eel slip open one of it's semi-translucent eyelids, gazing at me with a curious mix of warning and macabre excitement.

It sends out a probe of thought, sampling my intentions, before withdrawing to the very edge of my mind, where the spirit world meets the witch, where it watches on, and acts with a sort of sentient self-control I have never felt from a spirit before.

"Excellent, my Saintess." He bows his head and makes the sign of the cross.

There is no doubt in my mind that Moreno is dangerous. But he is also useful. I can smell a careful, calculated action behind his words, a hint of satisfaction that he's playing me for a fool. He is using me for something.

But I shall use him too. In that strange way, a duet of manipulation is just the thing I need. Something interesting to do in the time between now and Silvera's coming of age. But I shall win in the end.

"It is getting late Moreno. I advise you rest." I say, gesturing back down the corridor.

"Yes. Saintess. Of course." He says stiffly, sheathing his weapons and bowing, eyeing me as he stalks off.

I slip into my room, closing the door behind me.

I rip the hood out of my face, and run my hands through my shining hair. My green eyes burn intensely to where I feel the eel hiding. I give it a long look.

I can't quite see it, more a shifting outline, like a figure in the gloom. But I can feel it move, a shift in my magic furiously binding the creature close, to the unmoving paper star sitting deep in a pocket in my robes.

I sit on the bed, leaving the robe on the chair.

I pull the paper star out.

It feels light in my fingertips. The yellowing sheaf is carefully folded and the deep scent of ink lingers, along with something more foul. The scent of burning, and the acid of hunger. The edge of the page is singed, the rough edge crumbling into ash and char.

At the edge, like the glow of dusk, there is a dark green tinge, an all-devouring shade, closing in on the symbols' edges. The eel coiled around my waist, waving its tail. I can feel the flow of energy through it's system in sync with my heartbeat, or leeching off of it.

I sigh. It's been a week. This, already?

A fleck of ash settles on my wrist. It's a chilling reminder of how little paper does to stronger spirits. How little of a barrier flesh is to forces so powerful. How little one witch can do when she is so.... So... So.

I sigh again, rubbing at the lines I'm making on my forehead.

I'm going to dull my own radiance at this rate. And sighing has never gotten me anywhere. I lie down and close my eyes, pointedly ignoring the spirit watching over me.