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“Witch, you do not know that King Metheus is the Ninurta’s minion. And yet, you all come striking. You all come killing, assassinating, when you are not sure about how these all stand. I knew the king since he was little.”
“But is that not what Ninurta was? A good man? A god of the plow? Then, suddenly, the wind changed its direction. He had become a destroyer, not a maker. Not anymore.”
“Open your eyes, Your Majesty,” whispered Samara in my ear. “You are now intuned to everything. You can see and hear at the same time.”
Her voice was seductive, calming. I opened my eyes without hesitation. Finally, I saw the scene and heard the voices, something that had never happened to me. I suspected that every time my mother would go into a trance, this was what she was experiencing.
“So, are you admitting to attempting to kill King Metheus and killing his father instead? Because I can hear the confession clearly in my ears,” Aruna screeched into the witch’s ear, but the latter did not flinch.
“No, I never admitted to anything,” the witch stubbornly replied. She raised her chin up as if she had nothing to fear. “I am simply admitting to hating the rulers of Prozeus. The fire eaters. The demigods.”
I wanted to rush through the vision and shake her until I could wipe that smile off her face. Still, I knew that it was a memory, and the woman was protected by a little bit of distance and the raging storm.
For now.
She might have been protected by my sister’s face, as well.
The Head Seer walked back and forth, peering at the witch’s face closely. She must have seen what I saw. After all, Rowali was beloved by all the Seers. They waited for her to claim her powers as a medium, although she had never been interested. Though she looked like our mother, she was more like our father. She would rather read, stay inside, and embrace her human side.
“Rama witch, why are you serving the Touch?” Aruna asked, a long index finger pointing between the witch’s eyes. Almost touching. “You hate the fire stealers and demigods, but you came from the same people. For all I know, you are a fire stealer or even a demigoddess.”
She mumbled something. Then, suddenly, the vision was gone. We were utterly back to Prozeus, body, mind, and soul.
“What happened?” I bellowed.
“That is all that I could pass on to you, Your Majesty,” Samara apologized. “They are from my memories. Now that I have shared it, it is gone, at least from my perspective. I will now see it the way you see it. From afar.”
I was filled with a mix of emotions: anger, frustration, and curiosity. Who was this Rama girl, and who taught her to hate like that? Somebody must have trained her way of thinking to have so much conviction. Yet, she did not admit to anything. Not really. She could have wept and pleaded, denying any connection with the dart – but she did not.
“That witch wanted to play a game,” I said.
“Yes. I believe she does. She is biding her time. She believes someone will come for her. Save her,” Samara suggested.
“Sounds about right,” boomed Leevar. I almost forgot he was there. However, as the last vestiges of the vision fell from my eyes, I saw the large guard standing right next to Samara. “We need her here. Teach her a lesson.”
“We will not torture anyone, Leevar,” I reminded him.
“Of course not, Your Majesty. However, we also need to make an example of her once we have proven that she is guilty.”
“Guilty? Even if she brought the dart, we are not sure she was the one who spelled it. Someone more powerful than her had sent her.”
“Oh, but are we now thinking that delicate things cannot wreak much havoc, huh, Your Majesty?” Samara teased. However, I could see her eyes had gone hard.
“I apologize. It is not because she is a woman and looks like my sister that I could not believe she did everything on her own. It is her conviction, almost fanatical, which seems out of place for someone who looks so young. I know some witches age slowly, but she looks only a few years older than my sister. Perhaps twenty?”
Samara’s eyes softened. Then, she seemed to have gone inside herself, looking for something. Searching. Leevar’s eyes were on her, finding something there.
“Do you want to see your wife and sister, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, I would like that,” I said, one fist covering my mouth in anxiety. I did not want them to see that I was terrified of what could have happened to my family. I needed to see them, but I was afraid of what I would see.
Samara then weaved her vision again, spreading it all over the Great Hall. Again, everything else disappeared, including her. Anyone who did not know how her magic worked would be terrified. Something was unsettling about being seemingly alone in a vision.
Then, I saw Rowali. I peered at her face closely. My sister had a gentler face than the woman caught by the Seers. And yet. Yet, the resemblance was uncanny. She was sitting on her bed, crying. Fuza sat on a rocking chair, watching her. She was just there to provide companionship. She knew better than to tell Rowali to hush because she often got into more of a frenzy.
My heart ached for my sister. I would still take her in my arms and hush her even though I knew it would make her cry even more. That quiet sobbing was not good for her. She should let it out. Scream. Break things. I had done neither, but that was the problem when you were a man. People thought you ought to behave a certain way.
The vision shifted. It went to my wife’s room. There, we could see that she was about to shed her clothes, standing in the middle of her chambers. I glared at Samara, warning her to protect Luella’s privacy. There were other people in the room, like Leevar. I could not see her, but she understood. The vision quickly shifted lower, showing her from the knees down.
