Witch Way

Chapter 20-- Dispossessed and Entombed

Chapter 20

Chanting voices rose and fell among the trees, silencing every animal and insect that called the forest home. Evil has that effect on things. The clearing in which the chanting originated glowed with an eerie orange from a large fire next to a stone altar. Two dozen or so robed figures surrounded the altar, arranged in a large circle with their hands clasped. Upon the cold, coarse stone lay Shayla, bound and still pretending to struggle for freedom. Lawrence, the only person aside from Shayla not included in the chanting circle, stood with his back to his daughter and his hands high in the air. The athame glinted orange and yellow in the firelight. He clapped his hands together once and silence fell.

It was a silence devoid of life. Still no forest creatures called out, no bugs crawled or butterflies flew. Shayla's struggles slowed as she focused her mind solely on the magic she would soon need to work. Her father's voice rose above the circle of witches, reaching every corner of the clearing. The shadows almost seemed to shrink from the sound of it.

"This night is a glorious night. Tonight you will witness a king being made." He turned toward his daughter with a smile that made her skin crawl. "This girl, blood of my blood, will make the ultimate sacrifice, albeit unwillingly, to place me upon the throne." The people surrounding him cheered.

Shayla was disgusted. These people cheered for her death and her blood. It was a perverse pep rally. She shook her head violently to clear it and focused back on her spells while Lawrence continued to go on about the changes the world would see under his rule. She forced herself not to listen, knowing it would only anger her more. How dare he imagine himself as a king to all mankind?

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father turn to her again and steeled her determination. It must be time. Would he do it quickly? Or did he plan to draw out her screams like a child pulling the wings off a moth? He stepped purposefully onto the raised patch of ground on which the stone slab was situated.

"Dearest daughter," She squeezed her eyes shut for a single second. The tone in his voice was almost fatherly and with her eyes closed she could even pretend that he was a doting father, full of love and laughter. The illusion shattered with the silence at his next words. "You give a great gift. Even though I must take it from you forcibly."

Shayla's eyes snapped open in shock. She was doing everything she could to keep her anger cold and calculating, but if he thanked her for what he was about to do, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop the boiling fury from taking over. It simmered below the surface of her mind like a thunderstorm waiting to transform into a tornado. It wanted his thanks. Then it wanted to make him eat it as it tore his limbs from his torso, like a doll in the hands of a toddler.

The dreaded, yet hungrily anticipated gratitude never came. His macabre gratefulness seemed to have been replaced with anticipation. He held the knife laden hand up and tilted the blade to catch the fire light. A sick sort of glee seemed to emanate from him as he looked down at his captive, his victim, his daughter. Had she been concentrating any less on the spell she held ready in her mind, she might have trembled as the emotions he oozed defiled her aura.

He brought the knife down toward her neck at a tortuously slow pace. She forced herself to meet his eyes unflinchingly. The glee that shone in his gaze and the malice festering in hers made father and daughter appear wholly different. Not even the shared features between them could bridge the gap. A small part of Shayla's mind, a piece not focused on her hatred or her magic, noted the line of his nose and his lower lip that was just a little bigger than the upper. She knew these features were mirrored on her own face, but the perverse eagerness he felt twisted the familiar features into something different and wrong.