The First Witches_A Descendants Short Read online

  The First Witches

  A Descendants Short

  L.D. Hall

  Contents

  The First Witches

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Also by L.D. Hall

  The First Witches

  2400 BCE. The Greek Isles. A desperate coven of witches make a last attempt to preserve their kind.

  Chapter 1

  Wyla shivered. The early morning frost had somehow crept into their caves, even the small fires they burned couldn’t keep it out. She rubbed the cool flesh of her bare arms, her teeth chattering as she uttered a Warming spell. Persistent hunger had made her magic go faint; she usually felt it simmering beneath her skin, like the fires they burned during the ritual festivals. Her magic had once burned so bright the members of the coven believed she was the strongest among them.

  She looked around the dark cave; the firelight illuminated the thin frail bodies of the other witches. Only fifty of them survived now; their coven had once numbered in the hundreds. They had been the largest and most powerful on the island surrounded by the great waters.

  When the rains stopped coming and the animals of the land and waters grew scarce, the tribes of Men and Blood Beasts had taken away the land’s scant resources.

  Wyla scowled as she thought of the Blood Beasts and Men. Men possessed no powers gifted to them from the gods, but they roamed the lands as if it were rightfully theirs, using their weapons to drive out any who dared to stand up to them. The Blood Beasts were abominations; they fed on human and animal blood, and they did not die. Though they were beasts, they were more beautiful than Men and even witches, with pale gleaming skin and eyes that glittered bright; the Elders told her their beauty concealed their monstrosity. Witches, the Elders had assured the coven, are superior to both Blood Beast and Man. It is why the gods have gifted us with magic.

  Then why are the gods allowing us to die? Wyla thought. If the gods favored them, why had the rains not come? The crops failed? The animals of the land and sea scarce? Wyla closed her eyes, expelling a breath. Her sister Asi had told her it wasn’t her place to question the Elders, and certainly not the gods. Whatever they willed was so. It was the tribes of Men and Blood Beasts who had taken what belonged to the witches.

  Wyla climbed to her feet, moving to the opening of the cave. They had sheltered in the cave for many moons now. The cave led to a shore that bordered the great waters; Wyla wondered what lie beyond them. When the famine began, many of the witches had taken to the waters, though it was forbidden; this island was their home, the Elders had proclaimed they were to dwell here for all time.

  They had once shared this island with the Blood Beasts and Men; Men had worshipped the witches as gods, while the Beasts kept their distance. When the famine began, Men had blamed the witches, while the Beasts hid amongst their populations like cowards. Men had run the witches to the edges of the island with their greater numbers and weapons; now the coven lived on the fringes, struggling to survive like the other lowly races. We should have overtaken Men when we had the chance, Wyla thought, with a stab of bitterness. Used their magic to bend them to their will. Now, it was too late; even their power wasn’t enough to keep them from dying. Like Men, witches needed food to survive.

  Wyla closed her eyes, recalling the days before the famine. She had been happy; spending her days gathering food from the fertile land and waters with the other young witches of the coven. Her parents had introduced her to the young man she would lie with to bear sons. He was called Eiren; he had golden curls and eyes the color of the great waters. His magic had been as great as hers. She knew that Asi and the other women of the coven had been jealous of her; Eiren had been the most beautiful male witch of the coven, the most powerful. But none of that mattered when the famine came. He had been the first to die.

  “Come, gather round.”

  Wyla turned. It was the weakened voice of their leader, Niaba. She huddled in front of the fire, her eyes trained on the flames as the other witches gathered around her. Wyla approached, taking a seat next to Asi, whose gaze was trained on Niaba.

  Wyla and Asi’s parents had died with many others during the first wave of the famine. Now it was just the two of them. But they shared little love between them; Wyla suspected her sister wished she had died instead of their parents.

  “It is time for us to depart this world and join the gods,” Niaba said, her golden eyes lifting from the flames to take them all in. “It must be their will that we no longer dwell here.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  “But we are the only ones gifted with powers from the gods,” Wyla protested.

  The other witches looked at her, shocked. Asi glared at her. No one was supposed to disagree with an Elder, but hunger and desperation made Wyla bold. “Men remain. The Blood Beasts remain. If we join the gods, there will be no more witches,” she continued.

  Niaba held her gaze for such a long moment Wyla thought she wouldn’t respond.

  “There may be others out there,” Niaba finally said. “But our coven's time has come to an end.”

  Fury and determination snaked through Wyla. This couldn’t be the end for them.

  “There has to be—“

  “Quiet, Wyla,” Asi hissed, but she ignored her.

  “Beasts and Men do not deserve the lands of the gods. If we must go . . . we can destroy their kind as well. The other witches who survive can claim the lands for their own.”

  Her heart hammered wildly in her chest as she spoke. She recalled something another Elder had told her before she died. A powerful spell that could survive centuries . . . that could preserve life for witches, and only witches.

  “There is a spell we can create that will destroy Beasts and Men, but preserve witches,” Wyla continued in a rush.

  Many of the witches were whispering amongst themselves now, looking at her with a combination of shock and suspicion.

  “My apologies, Elder Niaba,” Asi said, flushing. “Wyla does not mean—“

  “I have heard of this,” Niaba said, ignoring Asi and focusing on Wyla. “I have considered it, but our magic has gone faint since the famine began. I fear we do not have the power to—“

  “We can use our collective magic,” Wyla said. “We can use our remaining strength to perform the spell. Together.”

  Wyla looked around at the other witches, taking in their pale skin and frail frames. They were dying, but this spell was a way of preserving those who survived. She could see the others considering her words.

  “Do we agree with young Wyla?” Niaba asked, looking around at the other witches.

  A long moment of silence. Relief flooded her as the others soon murmured their assent.

  “Young Wyla is right,” said Mirce, a young witch who had lost her entire family when the famine began. “Though our coven may end, that does not mean our kind has to die out.”

  Something Wyla had not felt in a long time flowed through her. Hope. If they weren’t to survive, perhaps their descendants could.

  They fetched their finest clay tablet, something they used to record the lunar cycles. They would use it to record and preserve the words of the spell. Niaba told them the words of the Destruction spell they would use, urging them to commit the words to memory.

  “We will perform the spell tomorrow, as soon as the sun descends into the great waters,” Niaba said. “It will take the last of our strength . . . and our life force." She paused, allowing the weight of her words to sink in before continuing, "Tonight, say your goodbyes. Tomorrow we join the gods.”

  That night’s meal was solemn; the scraps of food they ate were the last of their food stores.

  “It was good,” Asi said quietly, as they concluded their meal. Wyla looked up. Asi studied her with a tentative smile.

  “What?”

  “Your plan,” Asi said. “To preserve our kind. I am glad you spoke of it. Mother would have been proud.”

  Wyla returned her sister’s smile. A wave of longing swept through her; perhaps they could have become close in time. But Niaba was right. The gods had willed the end of their coven. In doing so, they had willed the creation of the tablet, the object which could save their kind in the future.

  The next day, as soon as the sun began its descent, the coven stepped out of the cave to move towards the shore, standing in a circle around the tablet. Wyla joined hands with the others, meeting her sister’s eyes with a smile. She was frightened, yes, but she was also hopeful. Hopeful that their sacrifice would preserve witches and one day destroy those who now dominated the lands—Men and Blood Beasts. The lands were for witches, for their descendants. The spell they were placing within the tablet would make it so.

  Together, they uttered the words of the spell. As they chanted, their words were inscribed onto the surface of the tablet.

  Soon, the tablet rose from the sandy shore and hovered in the air. As the force of their collective magic rose, the ground beneath them began to quake. Wyla allowed her magic to flow through her, binding her forever to the tablet as she chanted the words of the spell. She met Asi’s eyes, giving her a small nod. It was a goodbye. Her sister returned the nod.

  Wyla closed her eyes. The spell was draining her life force and her magic from her; soon she would join the gods. She would see her parents. She would see Eiren, the golden-haired witch with eyes the color of the great waters.

  Seffa. Seffa. Seffa. Wyla whispered the final words of the spell, in
fusing every last remnant of her life force, of her magic, into the tablet.

  One day, a descendant would find it. She hoped her words could travel through the endless gulf of time, to reach the one it was meant for.

  Our beloved Descendant . . . the time has come . . . we need your sacrifice, our Beloved Descendant. Preserve our kind.

  2017 CE

  Athens, Greece

  The artifact looked no different than the others brought in to the museum. It was made of a dark red clay, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, its circular surface marked with inscriptions from an age now lost to the ravages of time.

  But as Naomi studied it, she sensed that this was no ordinary artifact. As soon as the conservator took it out of its storage container, she felt a magnetic pull towards it. And then there were the whispers. Impossibly, they seemed to come from the artifact; unintelligible murmurings that brushed the insides of her skull. It was as if the whispers beckoned to her.

  THE END

  of

  THE FIRST WITCHES

  The story continues in SHADOW DESCENDANT

  About the Author

  L.D. Hall writes paranormal fantasy novels. She studied film and dramatic writing at New York University. She grew up on the East Coast but now resides in a large city by the sea on the West Coast. She enjoys traveling and dreaming of new fantastical tales to tell.

  [email protected]

  Also by L.D. Hall

  (Paranormal Romance / Urban Fantasy)

  THE DESCENDANTS SERIES

  Shadow Descendant

  Marked Descendant

  As L.D. Goffigan

  (Historical Fiction / Historical Fantasy)

  THE MINA MURRAY SERIES

  The Beast of London

  Fortress of Blood

  Realm of Night

  Mina Murray Series Bundle: Books 1-3

  Copyright © 2018 by L.D. Hall

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Created with Vellum

 

 

  L. D. Hall, The First Witches_A Descendants Short

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