Beneath the Hood

The cold wind slices through my knit sweater like a knife, chilling me down to my very bones. The small, barren bush that sits in front of me is a useless shield for blocking out the wind. I crouch down, my knees raw and scraped from having fallen against the old stone ruins of the temple behind me. My hand rests on the coarse dirt to keep me from falling over. The aching muscles in my back and legs protest sitting in this position for as long as I have, but I fight the urge to stand. Not when moving is the very thing that can get me killed.

I stare into the valley below me, watching hundreds of dark cloaked figures march in four straight lines, each carrying a glowing green orb. Their old, shriveled hands are a faint shade of purple and smell like decaying flesh. 

Every instinct screams at me to run, but I stand my ground. My heart rattles inside my chest and I force myself to keep my breathing steady. I don’t want to attract unnecessary attention.

The figures are moving towards another in the middle—one I recognize to be their leader. The leader stands in front of a large steel cauldron, stirring ever so slowly as the hooded figures deposit their orbs into the mixture, one by one. My heart jumps into my throat as I remember what the orbs represent. 

My best friend, Leah, lay victim to the nefarious green orbs. I was by her side when it happened—we were only twelve years old. I remember how the tears streamed down my face as I watched helplessly as the hooded figure—which I recognized to be a fabled dark witch—sucked the living soul out of her, taking the form of a green orb. Her limp body lay on the forest ground as the dark witch took pleasure in stealing Leah’s soul for herself, using it to grow only more powerful than she already was.

Back then it was different. Each dark witch took the orb for themselves in hopes to grow stronger, but now they bring all the stolen souls together to create a mixture to strengthen the leader, who in turn strengthens them.

I spot a group of shorter dark witches growing closer to the cauldron. My heart sinks. They’ve managed to convince children to turn, taking advantage of their young, innocent vulnerability. My younger brother almost became one of them, a punishment far worse than death. While your body may remain alive, your soul becomes corrupted and can never be saved.

I slip my hood over my head and dangle my legs over the edge of the cliff. Turning my body, I grasp the rocks on the cliff face, my forearms burning with the effort. The hours practicing scaling the walls at the survivor encampment has really paid off. Quickly, but quietly, I climb down into the valley, scanning the ground to ensure I don’t land myself into a trap. When the coast is clear, I jump the remaining distance, landing with both feet as I’ve been practicing.

The tall cliff faces on both sides of me cast an ominous shadow into the valley. The cloaked figures are chanting an ancient song as they pour the last of the orbs into the cauldron. I have to get there before it’s too late. If they make this potion, then the last remaining survivors of humankind are doomed. 

I flatten my back against the sharp rocks on the sides of the valley, using the shadows to my advantage. Before she was captured by the dark witches, Mom used to always tell me the shadows would protect me. My footsteps are near silent as I approach the dark witches. None of them notice as I approach. Standing behind one of the cloaked figures, I pull my hood further down so that my face is completely covered in shadows. I need to get to the leader. 

My fingers find the small vial of blue liquid that sits on my utility belt. I crafted this potion to disorient the dark witches. When poured into the small projectile balls I have on the other side of my utility belt, they explode, immersing the dark witches into a blue cloud of weakening mist. 

I pull the first projectile from my waist, carefully pouring only a small drop into its designated hole. I have to be smart with the placement of these projectiles. One small mistake could cost me my soul. Repeating the process with the remaining projectiles, I grip one in my right hand and eye my target.

My eyes locate a small clearing between the cloaked figures, where the projectile would hit the ground and disorient about fifty of them. I pull my arm back and throw, the projectile hitting the target exactly and spreading blue mist throughout the dark witches. They all fall to the ground, shrieking and clutching their heads, and hope flits through my chest, but it’s short lived as all the figures turn to face me. 

The closest dark witch extends his hand, his wrinkled purple hand shaking as he tries to drain my soul. I deliver an uppercut to his jaw, sending him flying backwards into the dark witches behind him. That strength training has definitely paid off.

Clutching the second projectile in my hand, I throw it into another group of dark witches, the same blue mist exploding in their faces. I repeat the same with the third and the fourth. Only one projectile remains in my utility belt, but that one is saved for the potion. 

With all the dark witches powerless, I take my chance and run through the mass of screaming figures and straight to the cauldron, facing down the largest and strongest dark witch of them all. The leader.

The leader snarls at me, flicking its fingers and sending me flying backwards into the sea of writhing dark witches. Pain courses through my body, as I land with a thud. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stand up and crack my knuckles, readying them for a fight. I remember my training back at the survivor camp and roll the last remaining projectile between my fingers. I could throw it into the cauldron from here, but the leader could just as easily swat it away. I roll my shoulders and re approach the cauldron, where the leader continues to chant and stir the potion. 

The contents of my dinner threaten to come up as I think about how many stolen souls are about to be ingested by this monster and its followers. I swallow, keeping my food inside my stomach. That rabbit I ate for dinner took hours to hunt down and I will not waste it on things I cannot control. 

I take my hood off, letting my long brown hair fly in the chilling wind. My gray eyes stare down the cloaked figure in front of me and I take deep breaths to slow my rising heart rate. To my surprise, I see the figure’s purple hand reach up and remove its hood as well. I’m fairly certain my gasp can be heard even as far as the survivor’s camp.

The wrinkled purple face staring back at me isn’t the monster I pictured it would be. Its cheekbones resemble the face of what once was a kind and caring woman with a ginger touch. Its wrinkles show signs of smile lines around the lips, nose, and eyes. The eyes. The dark witch’s once loving gray eyes stare back at me with a remembrance that shakes me to my core.

“Mom?” my voice barely above a whisper. I blink hard twice to make sure I’m not hallucinating. The long exposure to the blue potion can do that to you. But no, the face that stands before me remains the same, as much as I wish it hadn’t.

“Well I didn’t see this one coming,” my mom responds in a rough, scratchy voice that sounds as though she’s been smoking for years. Her putrid breath overwhelms my senses and my eyes begin to water.

“I thought you were dead,” I tell her, my hand still firmly wrapped around the projectile. At the survivor camp, we were told that we would encounter some of our lost relatives among the dark witches. They told us to never trust them no matter how much we wanted to. They were too far gone to be saved. 

Tears stream down my face and I fight back the urge to cup her now monstrous face in my hands for the last time. I want to hold her tight and never let her go. Suddenly I’m transported back to when I was ten years old and the news of the rise of the dark witches had begun to spread. Mom, Dad, and my little brother, Odin, were all huddled together by the warm fire in our little cabin in the woods. We vowed to always stick together. Dad and Odin died by those words, and I kept fighting to stay alive, but Mom…

I shake that thought out of my head. She isn’t the same woman she was back then, though I guess I’m not either. Once the dark witches began to rise to power, we were all forced to change—to become people we didn’t necessarily want to be. Now I stare down the fate that I could have suffered had I chosen to give up like others had done. Like my mother had done.

“Bianca,” she calls out, her ragged voice sending chills down my spine. “My child, join me.” I blink tears away and grasp her hand with my right, the projectile still in my left. I feel a faint pulse in her hand, a sign that she’s alive. Maybe in another world I would’ve been able to save her. Her eyes still feel so human, which causes guilt to overpower me, and I lower my gaze. She thinks I’ve come here to join her, which only makes this win feel even more bittersweet. While I may be saving humanity, I fear I am losing my own.

“I love you Mom,” I force out before the stream of salty tears comes falling down my cheeks in uncontrollable waves. Then I thrust the projectile into the potion and take cover.

The explosion echoes through the valley and the chorus of screams and moans that follow is earsplitting. I squeeze my hands to my ears to block out the noise. My chest rises and falls rapidly as the breaths I take become more shallow. A body lands on top of me and I cry out, quickly shoving its cloaked remains away. I lay there for a moment, hoping that somehow, by some miracle my mother has been saved. That she’s become human again.

Slowly rising to my feet, everything around me is still and silent. There isn’t a hint of life, other than myself, I glance back over my shoulder at the cauldron, and the large cloaked figure that once stood behind it is gone. My mother is gone. 

I allow myself a moment of grief and sink to my aching knees, but I can’t stay here much longer. The rest of the dark witches will surely be alerted to my presence. I have killed only one group of thousands, and now they’ll all be searching for me. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to stand, the world spinning slightly. I pull my hood up over my head and start running.