Anna And The Invisible Castle

Episode 3. OF KINGDOMS AND WITCHES

Nefarious! Perilous! Condemned to over a thousand years of eternal darkness, the evil forest stood profane towering over at the top of the dreaded mountain, Mountain of the Devil, her shadow cursing mayhem to the plains before her. Behind her flourished her ally, the Dead Sea, his waves undulating like the wings of Lucifer himself, washing ashore to the cliffs of his counterpart, his lifeless victims drown without mercy.

With all its might, a shining midday sun could never penetrate beyond the black branches and leaves of the ogre-shaped trees of the evil forest. These branches interlocked with its neighbors like a cobweb. About the ogre-shaped trees, rumors had it they were no ordinary trees but giants who once roamed the earth, now turned to trees by Lucifer himself to breech even the tiniest rays of sunlight from penetrating into his forest. It wasn’t just the rumor of the brutish giants that had the people cowering, but that which said the mountain’s shadow at every sunset was that of the devil himself sitting on a rock, his wings spreading out to the Dead Sea behind, his tail reaching out to the skies as if to tear down the heavens, and his horns standing out like that of an angered bull.

Speaking of women, the devil loved women. Not just ordinary women, but powerful witches who embraced evil and served at his feet, hexed evil spells on the people, shed human blood and wedged continually wars amongst kingdoms. To them, he handed over the keys of the evil forest to rule over all its creatures and entities that lived therein.

Itself, the evil forest reeked with malevolence, not just malevolence but the blood of her innocent unlucky guests who dared to tread on the dark land. Their skulls hung upside down the black branches of the mysterious trees, a warning bell to anyone who dared to try.

The atmosphere; thick, foggy, dark, is enough to leave her unwanted guest hallucinating of beings, of entities that are there with her, that watch her suffer and rejoice in her fear, until her very existence is blotted out from the face of the earth, her delicious blood splotching across the hungry trees.

From a distance, in this present day, the sound of a galloping horse echoed in the wilderness below, awakening the inhabitants of the evil forest of an approaching rider, another unwanted guest!

“Hia, hia!” the rider urged on, his horse increasing its pace in obedience to his master. As they began ascending the mountain, the face of this very rider became clearer and clearer to the onlookers in the evil forest. “Ah, it’s the mistress’s messenger!” the entities cried in uttermost disappointment.

“Hia, hia!” again spurred the rider. The horse held its head high up in the air, exhaled through its nose in a very loud snort as it carried on its master up the bloodcurdling mountain.

The moment the horse came face to face with the evil forest, it brought itself to a swift halt hurling its rider off its back roughly to ground. The onlookers smirked; this was an intelligent stallion knowing without being told it was trespassing on a cursed land. They nodded to themselves, those with hands clapping. Not even warning its master, the horse reversed and fled the mountain. It would rather wait his master in the plains of the wilderness than this godforsaken place.

The messenger scrambled to his feet muttering swearwords yet not amazed at the horse’s reaction. He began dusting himself; he should have known better the animal was not as stupid as him who dared to tread this damn land. Done with dusting himself, he checked inside the bag hung across his chest if anything inside has gone missing as a result of the fall. He sighed relieved when he found everything intact… And then he turned and faced the forbidden territory, the evil forest!

He swallowed a great lump. Although this was not his first time here, not a second, not even a third, nonetheless this very forest never ceases to terrorize him. He turned and glanced behind, down to the plains below, as if saying goodbye to the peaceful human world. And then he brought back his gaze to the evil forest before him, to the strangely shaped trees. He was sure he heard them breathe.

“Run! Now!” his poor soul warned, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, not when he had sensitive news as he carried to deliver to the mistress. And she hates waiting for her report; he reminded himself, nobody will after ten good years. The messenger reached inside his bag and brought out a torch- a stick and rag. He lit it and then held it out to the space before him, to the darkness calling out to him. He gathered courage and with a first shaky step, he entered the hair-raising forest his eyes glued to where he was going. The densely packed trees suffocated him, the darkness above pressing down on him as he scampered through the mist-filled space. He quickened his pace in a hurry to make it to the heart of the evil forest, to the fortress of his mistress, but then he heard footsteps other than his from behind. He paused, turned and looked back at the edge of the dark forest behind him.

“Is anyone there?” he spoke to the surrounding emptiness, his heart pounding in his mouth. He waited. There was no one out there, nothing out there; he forced himself to believe even though he knew better that some unseen eyes other than the mistress’s were watching him. Nodding to himself like a madman, the messenger turned and resumed in his journey while the poltergeists continue to toy with him, leaving him at once when the fortress of the mistress came to view. They know better how the mistress loathes them tormenting her messenger, especially when he carries an urgent message, just like now.

His clothes now drenched in his own sweat, the messenger felt the instant the entities left him alone. He breathed relief, but his main relief came from beholding the seven rocks and seven trees that mapped the site of the invisible fortress of her who now holds the keys to the evil forest.

He moved closer to the rocks and stopped. For the second time, he dipped a hand into his bag and this time brought out a tiny black bottle. He unscrewed the cover and opened his eyes wide. Releasing a drop of the potion in each eye, he closed his eyes for three seconds and when he re-opened them, the invisible castle had now become visible to his ordinary human eyes, its gigantic spellbinding gates towering high before where he stood. The gates opened by itself even before his hands could reach out to knock on them, it sent him a spine-tingling signal, the mistress was watching!

Switching the burning torch from his left damp palm to the right, the messenger walked into the dusty courtyard of the now visible castle. Dead leaves crunched under his feet as he shuffled across to the main building. Again the doors opened by itself, ushering him into the high stone-walled interior of the castle. He hurried across the dark hallway and entered the throne room, the scheduled place for the meeting knowing with every step he took, he was late for the meeting.

He walked into the room. The room was as he remembered, spacious, dark and empty, except for the chandelier that hung at the center of the dangerously beautiful ceiling, a spooky throne whose main frame-work was that of human skeletons combined with wolf fur. It sat on an elevated dais. He moved closer to the empty throne not believing his eyes, could the mistress herself be late for the meeting too? A sarcastic smiled lit his face.

“You’re late, Argzbar!!” her voice reverberated the room.

Trembling, heart-racing, Argzbar tilted his head about the room in search of her who owns the voice. Even the flames of the torch in his hand cowered, they threatened to go off. Well, the flames did go off, sending Argzbar’s heart racing even faster in the dark, a squeal escaped his throat. Luckily for his poor deserted soul, the flames of his torch did come up again and this time the mistress was seated on her scary throne. Argzbar fell flat to the ground in the humblest of salutation and apology, his face touching the cold terrazzo floor of the eerie room. “Accept my apology oh fearful one. Never shall this repeat itself again!”

Silence slithered into the room and all Argzbar could hear was his own noisy breath and the caws of the mistress’s pet. Was the mistress even listening to his apology? He was tempted to lift his face and have a look, if only he could stomach the fear that bloated his bowels.

“I should have your head slit and hung on a tree out there Argzbar, or perhaps considerably a finger chopped. Which do you prefer, because we agreed on this day a decade ago that this was going to be a midnight report? You kept me waiting, for hours,” she hissed.

Fresh sweat broke out on his skin. “F-for years I-I have served you, o fearful one. Do not let your servant perish for his foolishness, for the punishment he well deserves. But honor him for the deeds that he had done right. Let him find mercy this once before thy eyes, O ye evil one.”

Again silence ghosted the room and his heart palpitated with great fear.

“Arise then Argzbar, and provoke no more your mistress,” her voice echoed.

He leaped to his feet and yet inclined himself to a bow. “O she who holds the keys to the evil forest and the seven seas thereof, your servant comes with great news.”

“I command you to speak now for I am listening.”

He straightened to his full height and for the first time in ten years, his gaze fell on her. There she sat daringly on the skeleton throne, dressed in a black overflowing gown that kissed the floor beneath her feet, a golden circlet of thorns bound over her red hair. Her face was its usual scowl, her eyes unrevealing, cold like that of the crow on her shoulder. But her skin wrinkled with age, a sign she hasn’t fed in years probably hibernating as usual behind the walls of her castle. “O wicked one! It has come to my knowledge your brother has a son all these years.”

“A son?” her voice shook the walls of the castle. The pain in it overwhelmed the anger it embedded.

Even the chandelier moved and it rained bits of dusts down on poor Argzbar. He coughed at the contact yet didn’t dare to shift from the spot nor even dust himself. He stood, focused. “He shall be eighteen in seven days.”

She sprang to her feet. “Eighteen, eighteen in seven days?? And how is that possible Argzbar? I thought you’d run a survey on that thief to my throne ten years ago, how again does he have a child turning eighteen in seven days?” Her hands clenched to fists.

His free hand quickly moved across his chest, and he fell to his knees. “I’m so sorry, My Lady. My findings were wrong, very wrong. It’s ju-just that I never kn-knew the king had a son all those years until now. How he managed to keep it secret too is what baffles me the most,” Argzbar explained and his eyes tried to meet her scorching gaze, but an appalling shiver charred him down to his spines and churned his brain. He blinked and quickly looked away, to anywhere but her unwelcoming eyes. “But perhaps, it’s time for you to also leave this forest, this mountain. It’s been five decades since you lost that battle with Ascencia, Gwenemma was killed and you created this invisible castle. If you could use your dark magic to stop the both of us from aging according to our age, then I’m sure it’s time you take back what rightfully belongs to you, your kingdom.”

She wasn’t even listening to him. She paced about the raised dais, her black gown snaking after her. A hand stroked the bird resting on her shoulder. “First he snatches my throne from me, and then he begets a son to ascend my throne after him?” She paused pacing and faced the messenger squarely. A cold smile played on her lips. “Kill the boy, Argzbar and bring me his head,” she ordered and resumed pacing.

He stood. “You don’t get it, My Lady. The king…” she flashed him a bloody glare and he quickly corrected himself. “The thief to your throne, your brother-”

“Step brother!” she growled and the grounds below trembled after her voice.

Again the torch in his hands threatened to go off. “Your step brother,” he took corrections with immediate effect. “Your step brother has this son of his hidden, protected behind the walls of the palace. Even the people of Ascencia guard this secret with all their heart. They would never reveal to a stranger their king has a son. I was only privileged to find out by the lips of a woman, a rumored talkative from a remote village, Nezmae. She, also like most Ascencians, doesn’t even know what he looks like.”

Kasha's eyes flickered from amber to green. The room went air-tight. “Are you saying you won’t bring me his head?” Her pet cawed after her. How dare him, how dare him? It cawed to only her understanding.

“No, no,” Argzbar swallowed, taking a cowering step backward. “O powerful one,” he inclined himself yet to another bow. “A-all I’m saying is, it’s going to be a t-tough one since I don’t even know what h-he looks like. But I hear his name is Prince Eric.”

“To hell with his name, of what use is it to me?” she gnashed.

Luckily for Argzbar, her eyes went back to normal and she shut them tight. He watched her struggle for some seconds and he knew at once she was fighting to tame the demons inside of her, tamed them from striking him down at once. When she reopened her eyes, she sank back into her throne like a bruised cobra. “To hell with his name, all I need is to feed and every other thing will fall in place.”

Great silence fell into the room.

Argzbar arched low in total submission. He couldn’t agree less, “Yes O evil one. All you need is to feed and every headache will be taken care of. Neither do I need to be told of what to do.” He straightened to his full height again. “I shall do the needful,” he pledged but he remembered something. “How about the Prince?” he asked.

She smirked at the question. “Leave him to me, Argzbar. When I’m done dealing with him, he’d so wish he never had an aunt like me.” She began to cackle, an evil reverberating laughter that shook the evil forest, echoed through the devil’s mountain and left the plains below cringing in fear.