by Namita Singh
his son, “The probability of finding that is negligible, son. I am talking from experience.”
“Okay…” father says, “I’ll rephrase. If we know where Neal is…then what?”
“What are you suggesting?” Mikhail questions.
Father turns towards Aakir who has been silently standing and observing the commotion till then. Noticing the sudden blanket of silence, he raises his head to catch every eye directed in his direction. He raises his eyebrows, in surprise or in gesture towards our glances, I cannot guess.
“Aakir,” father begins, attracting his attention towards himself, “You’re Neal’s astral partner. How long do you think it’ll take for you to reach his consciousness?”
Understanding dawns on, not only on Aakir, but on everyone present in the room. Aakir connects his eyes with me for a moment before turning back at father.
“I guess I need a nap before I can answer you.”
And suddenly, the day doesn’t seem absolutely horrible anymore.
20.Judgmental Eyes
When Aakir said he’ll need a nap, I didn’t exactly think him to literally go on a sleeping spree. It has been quite a time since he lay down on Mikhail’s bed. Enough time for Mikhail to order all of us to start packing for a leave anyways. I have stood my ground, refusing to give in and agree to leave the Realm. The rest however have left to gather the whole family and collect our belongings. From the talks of my father, he is planning to send the rest of our family away. To where, I didn’t focus to learn. There has been a lot of argumentative discussion regarding the issue of leaving, to which my father has firmly responded to ensure the evacuation of the rest of the family. Terry uncle and Rufina aunt are probably going to lead the family out. Mikhail is furious, seeing as how his son and grandson, the main people he wanted out, are remaining back.
Fiddling with my thumbs as I lean my elbows on my knees, I watch Mikhail pacing around the room. He has indirectly hinted that I will not be left alone at any time. The thought annoys me more than anything else. But looking back at a sleeping Aakir, I am glad that I am not alone. My thoughts don’t seem to be coming down from the edge. Being alone will only fuel them more. Already my mind is filled with different scenarios in which Aakir will be encountering Neal in their astral forms. It makes me imagine them standing right next to me in the room, which may be a possibility. I wouldn’t know of course, because I cannot see them in their astral form; not unless Aakir suddenly decides to flux into an animal. The thought only depresses me more; to know that Neal may be around but I still cannot sense his aura.
“What was Jermaine accused of?” I ask, desperately in need of some sort of distraction.
Mikhail halts his pacing, looking at me, “He had stolen the scimitar.” He simply says.
I chew on that for a moment, contemplating to choose between two questions revolving in my mind.In the end, I choose the less complex question. “He hadn’t stolen it?”
“He had.”
I frown. “Eh…your wrong decision….it was to convict him for this theft?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re saying that he did steal it.”
“Not voluntarily.” Mikhail says and then sighs, “As the leader of our Realm, it was my duty to weigh all the pros and cons and then come to a conclusion. I was relatively young and…catching my friend in the act of theft forced me to naivelytake immediate action.”
“He was your friend.” I mumble.
Mikhail doesn’t respond.
I sigh, “So…you caught him stealing….that sword. And you…”
“I immediately summoned the Occultist. She didn’t take the scimitar being stolen lightly.”
Time for the second question now, “What’s so special about that sword?”
Mikhail considers me for a moment, then speaks, “It harnesses a witch’s energy.”
I nod, like I understand what he is saying. Mikhail discreetly rolls his eyes. But considering I can see it, he isn’t being very discreet.
“Around thirty generations back, a battle had taken place amongst the Realms of our world. That dates to around 1500s.” Mikhail explains, “It mainly pertained to the authority exhibited by all the Realms. The Occultists….” Mikhail sighs, “They were present when the representatives of the Realms were arguing. Each wanted to exhibit some sort of authority over the other. No one met eyes at the same terms. A battle commenced. Now the battle between therians can be quite gruesome, considering how powerful they are. Not to mention, that the leaders of all the Realms were engaged in fight.Being a leader invariably means more strength and better fighting skills, and hence an even gruesome fight between them. The witches did nothing to prevent it. They only said that the one to bear their energy shall end the fight. They were bluffing from what I could comprehend. They did not have the vaticinator by their side during those times and hence merely provided an anchor for us stupid people to hold on to. And of course we fell for their prediction.
“Our family ancestors have been leading the Realm since time immemorial. Hence, one of them had fought as the leader representative of our Realm. During it, he had somehow managed to grasp the form of the witches, his action fueled by the ‘prediction’ of the occultists. That witch must have sorely regretted her ‘prediction’ as no one anticipated that grasping the form of witches is achievable.”
“You cannot…touch a witch?” I ask, trying to remember all the basics I have read about the Occultists in all the books.
“An Occultist is simply a vessel of energy. The excessive amount of energy that they contain is mainly utilized by them for their abilities and existence. When our ancestor managed to tear a piece apart from a witch’s rag, he obtained a piece of metal junk. The separation of that part of the witch caused a slight pulse in the form of an electric blow to pass over the area. Like a minuscule explosion. But the maximum of the energy expelled by the witch through her ‘wound’ was suppressed inside that metal that our ancestor obtained. It was no ordinary metal and upon chemical testing over the years, it has been revealed to be a non-existent isotope of iron. An isotope, which actually cannot exist as per the atomic laws. But the weapon has the inherent property of keeping the energy required to maintain that state of the isotope within itself.
“That piece of junk metal was forged into a scimitar by our ancestor, seeing how swords were prevalently used during those times. An actual ceremony had taken place in our Realm for that. The Ninth Occultist had announced our family name to be the protector of the scimitar, to ensure its safety. To ensure that it doesn’t fall into wrong hands.”
“Ninth Occultist was the witch from whom the scimitar came into existence?”
“No.” Mikhail is quick to answer, “It was the Third witch. The Third witch was not pleased. Why would she be, when a part of her was literally torn off. The otherOccultists didn’t seem to mind though.” Somehow, Mikhail’s tone comes out much dry as he says the last sentence.
“So…the scimitar is….an energy filled sword?” I say, not understanding the significance. I mean, come on, we have high end pistols and rifles these days. A sword is not something I would choose during a fight.
Mikhail condescendingly stares at me, “If it could be summarized like that then I don’t see why the Occultists would demand its protection. Through all the decades we have tried to establish the importance of this weapon. And we have stumbled upon quite a few specialties.”
“Like?”
“Like the one to bear the weapon repels any sort of ill attack towards him.”
“Eh…”
“It’s like a defense mechanism. The same way in which your partner’s existence works. Anybody with the intention of seeking the vaticinator may never find him. Because the vaticinator disposes the kind of energy that will repel your aura that is resulting from the thoughts that seek him. Similarly, the scimitar cannot be found either. And the one bearing it will always repel the one that means to disarm him.”
“That’s…kind of cool.” I admit
reluctantly.
“It also contains the power to kill anything that is in its path.”
“Um…well, it’s a sword, so definitely-”
“Anything.” Mikhail stresses.
I falter, remembering Jermaine grunting in pain due to the scimitar. “What is Jermaine?” I ask.
“He is not human, as far as we know. I suppose he is in the steps that will lead to the formation of a wraith.”
It’s difficult for me to digest any more of paranormal things in my life, but I let this one pass, “And…the scimitar can kill anything, even if it is not…human.”
“It possesses the ability to make anything human. As long as the scimitar remained in contact with Jermaine’s skin, Jermaine remained human. His abilities of teleportation and the sort disappeared, because those are not borne by his human form. It left him vulnerable, easy to be killed.”
I nod at him, frowning as I take in all the information.
“So,” I begin again, “Jermaine didn’t actually steal it. He was being controlled by someone. By who?”
Mikhail sighs, “I do not know.” He grunts, “I have a theory but I am not certain of its proof.”
“What theory?”
Our conversation faces a blocker when a therian aura approaches Mikhail’s room. Sensing the usual powerful aura, I immediately know it is my father. It has started to make me wonder how I canalways distinguish his aura from the others, considering therian auras are very difficult to