by Namita Singh
exist.” He rephrases.
I shake my head, “They’re immortal.”
“I killed her myself, okay? I could tell that she doesn’t exist anymore.”
Neal immediately purses his lips after his outburst, as if he wasn’t intending to spill that. He looks around the room once, fearing eavesdroppers. But his words have flowed out in a harsh whisper, so he needn’t worry. Besides the only human is this room is snoring slightly. But I don’t tell him that. Instead he receives an absolute blank look from me.
“How?” is the word that gets past my lips after an eon. Neal looks terribly upset after his confession. At my question, his shoulders slump further.
“With that sword.” He mumbles.
The holy scimitar. Nobody informed me that that simple junk of metal, that supposedly bears the prowess of a witch, has the capability of eliminating witches. Or does someone even know? Has anyone in the past ever stood up against the Occultists and tried to see what brings them down?
I raise my good hand and run my palm over my face. “How?” I repeat, with certain edge in my voice now. I hope he understands that I seek an elaborated version.
“I didn’t intend to.” Neal speaks up, defending himself in the similar fashion he had defended his future seeing abilities for The Plutocracy. “Holding the sword made the binding spell of the Occultist on me disappear. I could move only when I held it. You think the Occultist would have let Aakir and I pass out onto the flames without a bit of retaliation on her part? It was an instinctive reaction on my part when she attacked.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the normal process of breathing feeling like a task. This is too surreal. “So, you just attacked her with the sword?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“What did you want? For me to surrender to her and stay behind?”
I glare at him.
“Don’t give me that look.” He snaps, “I am not entirely pleased with my actions either. But the least you can do is be a little happy that I am back.”
“I am happy.” I retort, scowling.
Neal snorts, “I can see that.”
“Can the sarcasm.” I snap, “Do you even realize what you’re saying you’ve done? This is almost unbelievable. The occultists are like Gods, next to our Triple Goddess, for us.”
Neal gives me a deadpan look, “I don’t think your fugly Occultists serve your ‘triple goddess’. Hell, I don’t think your ‘triple goddess’ is even real.”
“Seriously? You want to have a debate over our gods?”
“I don’t give a damn who you believe in, Josh. Worship a pony for all I care. But if I am saying now that your triple goddess doesn’t exist, it’s not because of the whims of my belief in Jesus or in any other god for that matter. The ‘house’ of your Occultist wasn’t exactly a shrine to your triple goddess. It was an empty cottage built of dark flames, where your so called Occultist recuperated herself so to be in a form in which she could converse with me. And our conversations didn’t revolve around how mighty it’d be of me to serve your triple goddess and help the world be a better place. It included threatening banters; with your Occultist demanding me to envisage ill situations over her competitors. And guess who that might be? Her fellow sisters. The so called other acolytes of your Triple Goddess. Tell me Josh, if your Goddess is really there, why isn’t she preventing her own acolytes, her own power holders, from backlashing at each other?”
Neal heaves a deep breath after his rant. I have no reply for his frustration, but more than anything it’s the use of my first name that gives me enough pause to really observe Neal. He gives me a miffed look. Cautiously, he looks around the room again, as if expecting someone to jump out of the corner. Now that I notice, he actually looks a little shaken up. I notice his hands trembling a little, but he automatically grasps the bed sheet to prevent the shaking. He doesn’t return his gaze at me.
“Aakir told me that the Ninth Occultist asked you to look over the First Occultist.” I say, calm, now feeling in a position to grasp the whole story.
“Demanded.” Neal corrects, “As if I am her servant or something. Seriously, Lichinsky, I don’t think the likes of her can be connected to any omnipotent being. When Aakir had helped me project, to enquire about my whereabouts, that one time was the only opportunity I got to look over the First Realm business. I was almost expecting something ungodly to be occurring with the way Ninth Occultist had asked me to see it. But everything was normal there, as normal as it can be. Their witch’s abode was also in the snow, I think in Alaska, but I am not sure. Anyways, when I told the Ninth Occultist of the normality there,” he gives me pissed off look, “she asked me to envisage the devastation of the First Occultist’s abode, with a slight calamity in the most concentrated colonies of the First Realm as a bonus. Now tell me, Josh, is this supposed to be some sort of a tribute to your Triple Goddess?”
I ignore Neal’s mocking tone and frown, “Why would she do that?” I ask, indignant.
I used to be vexed at Neal using his abilities for The Plutocracy and even more annoyed at other people, even Aakir, using my partner’s ability for their benefit. I remember how miffed I had been when Aakir requested Neal to envisage Silvia’s future. That had at least been requested to receive some sort of goodness, even if it slammed back in their faces. But this…the Ninth Occultist asking my partner to develop a deteriorating future for someone, pisses me off to no end.
Neal huffs, “They’re jealous of each other. That’s why. The Ninth Occultist didn’t consider that the vaticinator’s domicile lies with the First Occultist. Your First Occultist is supposed to be the strongest. And the first thing the Ninth Occultist asked me was to adversely aim the strongest of the lot.What does that make you think?”
I blink at him for a few moments, my expressions schooled, thinking of all of my conversations with Mikhail and my father regarding the Occultists.
“What do you think killed the Occultist?” I ask.
Neal looks surprised at my question, but then he frowns, “Your father said that the sword bears the power of a witch…” he trails off, looking doubtful.
“…So,” he continues, “A witch’s power can kill another witch?” he ends dubiously.
I give him a disappointed look, “You’re supposed to be intelligent.”
He scowls at me, “Sorry, I didn’t do, neither I intend to do, a major in paranormal sciences.”
“If simply a witch can kill another witch, then don’t you think the witches would have done that a long while ago? As you so point out, they’re ‘jealous’ of each other and interpreting from your words, each of them, or at least the Ninth Occultist, seeks power over a much larger portion of the world than she is currently holding. If she is blindly driven by her motives and her ‘witchy energy’ is fatal to other witches, then don’t you think some of them would already be dead through these years?”
“Don’t.” Neal says, his trembling becoming noticeable, but the stubborn tic in his jaw remains. He probably understands what I am implying. And judging by his reaction, he has probably come to the same conclusion somewhere deep down in his mind.
“The vaticinator can kill the witches.” I put it into words anyways.
Neal scowls at me, “I am not testing that theory.”
I scowl right back at him, “You already have.” As the fascination of my discovery wears off, I realize just how much this little information ticks me off. Seriously, why does my partner has to be the epitome of everything unwanted? Why does he have to be the vaticinator? Why does the Occultist want to use his power, and why the hell does it require an obsessive possession of my partner? And now, why does he have to be the ultimate weapon against those cunning witches? Most of all, why does he even have to be a ‘he’?
The poignant thoughts feel suffocating as I turn my gaze away to find something interesting on the wall in front of me.
“I don’t think it’s just me.” Neal mumbles after sometime. In my peripheral vision, I see him fidgeting with his han
ds. Is it just me, or these few days with the Occultist have made him slightly edgy? “I think it might be the combination of the witch’s power and my inherent repertoire energy.” He tiredly rubs his face as he says it. I give him a silent look and he goes on, “I couldn’t overcome the Occultist’s spell on my own, that means the energy I carry is not sufficient to overpower a witch. Only when I had the sword in my hand could I…well.” He shrugs. He suddenly looks up, frowning, “Though it was surprising that her power didn’t work on Aakir’s astral form. On second thought, not so surprising. I suppose they cannot overbear spirits. If they could, then the Occultist could have made me project on her own. I am glad that I couldn’t project a second time in that cottage, howsoever annoying it was.”
“You and Aakir escaped the cottage after you…killed the Occultist?” I ask, digging for details.
“She turned up out of nowhere. She realized soon enough that her spells aren’t working on us. She saw the sword in my hands. In fact,” he tilts his head, frowning, “now that I recall, it seemed like she was motioning to grasp the sword from me. But I took her movement as an assault and just…rammed it through her. She disappeared, her energy radiating in an explosion.”
I do remember feeling the strong explosion like pulse before I lost consciousness, but…
“How do you know for sure that she is…dead?” I ask