Last Witch

Last Witch


            My name is Melzadahan, Melz for short.  I turn thirteen today. I live in a fairly large town, Yahnan as an orphan. It is not a very rich town, there are only a few nobles and our government would be run better by the livestock. The streets are my home. I share a make-shift shelter with my childhood friend Kervana, also orphaned by the most recent Holy War. There have been three holy wars in my lifetime already, all of them fighting over the same imaginary ‘god.’ The only difference were the prophet witches of ages past, who quarreled with each other. They used religion to control the masses with laws and gave murderers an excuse to kill.  The only better crowd control is fear.

I know this god is fake because they tell me. They speak to me in my dreams and when I am alone. They have forgiven each other of their treachery, but the men continue to fight in their name. They tell me I’m the last witch.



Chapter 1


            I met Kervana about seven years ago.  It was a stormy night and I was attempting to meditate in my daunting one-bedroom shack.

There was just enough room for me, and my shack was small enough to be unnoticed by the majority of my slum-mates. I’ve made quite a lot of friends here; they always tell me how proud they are to see a Yahnese boy survive by himself. When I couldn’t find food to steal for myself in the upper districts, an elderly man Naple would always give me a loaf of bread that was two days old.  It may have been as hard as a rock, but it was better than nothing. Dogs eat better than me at times.  I hear a commotion outside; it sounds almost like an argument. I move back my door made of old sheets to see a child no older than me being tossed onto the gravel face first.  A burly man laughs to the left of my tent, I assume it’s her assailant. I pick up my athame and wait for the man’s steps to cross my tent towards the girl. He goes to pick up her limp body and I throw my athame into the side of his exposed neck to separate his spinal cord from his skull. He doesn’t even make a sound and he flops forwards, landing on top of the girl. There is no way I can lift this man with my hands.  I look around and no one is here to bear witness. This is good. I center my mind, channel energy towards my hands and I push the man with ease off of the girl. The perks of this witch’s curse I suppose.  I look around again to make sure there was no one here to see me use my magic and I bring the girl inside of my shack. I return outside to retrieve my athame from the man’s neck. It’s pretty lodged in there and I have to put my bare foot on his head to retrieve it. There is a snapping sound when my dagger is finally free. I may have overdone it. I check his pockets and the man had several silver billions. I pocket the currency without hesitation, no need to leave this behind. 

Even assholes deserve to be buried, so I draw a circle with my hand and mutter “Eh noth gah beliahsol.” The ground beneath the man turns into quicksand and the body sinks into the earth.  Gone without a trace.

I return to my tent and the girl seems to still be unconscious. I brush her dirty blonde hair off of her face to get a better look at the damage.  Her face looks completely ruined, her skin looks like it is struggling to stay on her.  Not a pretty sight at all. She would be damaged for life if I don’t help her. I never have had any need for healing magic yet, so I still don’t know anything about it. I may as well ask the Three for their help.  I light my candles and create a basic circle of salt for protection against sprits as I summon my ancestors.

Come forth and hear my plea
Let the darkness consume me
Bathe with me in my greed
There is something that I need from thee


The wind picks up outside and the candles start to flicker, their shadows dance along the shack. As quickly as the wind came, it returns to complete silence. There, in the flames. The mother, maiden and crone appear and start their dance. I pull out a piece of paper and pen. I let my hand sear upon the candle for a minute and pick up the pen. Once the ink hits the page, my hand starts to move autonomously.  The language is not my own, it is an ancient language full of symbols designed for secrecy in case anyone stumbled upon a book of shadows.  My hand writes faster and faster and faster until the entire page is full of symbols.  What is on the page does not translate, but rather just seeing these symbols gives me a sense of direction.  It directs me to grab the ingredients that have been conjured in my magical pouch. I’ve had this bag for as long as I know

I look to the girl who still lays unconscious and I grab fox root, ginger and other spices obtained from my magic pouch and grind them in a mortar and pestle. Add just a little water and I need to somehow get her disheveled mouth open to consume this liquid. After assisting her to drink, I clean up the area around so she does not see my secret. I lift her head and put my pillow underneath of her so she is more comfortable. When I turn my back to her, I hear a weakened voice say, “Thank you.”

Chills run down my spine. I thought she was unconscious. My head slowly turns to her as I take hold of my dagger.  She speaks again, “you saved my life. My arms and legs may be broken, but he would have killed me. Thank you.

My voice stutters more than hers, “What did you..How..What did you see??”

“Magic.” She says coldly.

“Magic doesn’t exist. It’s been gone for ages,” I try to dissuade her and try and convince her that she is delirious.

            Her eyes still remain bruised and closed. “It’s okay. My name is Kervana. I won’t tell anybody, I have no one to tell, nor do I wish to see harm come to you because you helped me.”

            I’m not sure that I can trust her.  If I were to kill her right now, there would be no exposure. No one would expect a six-year-old to murder two people in one night, without any evidence.  Despite logic, my morality attempts to filibuster me to make a decision later.  She isn’t going anywhere with broken legs.


            I eventually doze off, stressing myself on what to do with Kervana. I am woken by a sense of warmth. My right eye opens to a squint and I notice that Kervana has cuddled up next to me for warmth, and has brought my pillow back that we share.  Maybe she meant what she said.  Darkness and slumber.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'll only be posting first drafts only, no revisions or edits because I don't want to constantly keep updating these.

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A Six Year Old Witch

Research mortar and pestle. Wonderfully woven, balance between art and reality, fillibuster is an anachronism, place as setting is quite excellent . The tone and the emotional impact are melded nicely. A solid piece of prose writing this. - slc p.s. 2-21-17 is my birthday. Poem requested from he who has not posted for three weeks. - slc :D