Witch's Reflections: Excerpt Chapter 4

Witch's Reflection

Chapter Four

 ‘Deep even breaths, Selah.’

‘Deep and even breaths.’

The inside of her eyelids were a bright pink as daylight streamed through the windows of her studio washing it in light.

Her legs, exposed by her stone washed jean shorts, pressed against the cold-waxed wooden floors. Making her skin prickle with goosebumps. Selah took another deep breath as she tried to ignore the distractions and focus.

Her thoughts began to fade with each breath. Her magic sparked and she felt an internal warmth spread through the cells of her body. Selah head fell back as her surroundings faded away.

The sound of her music no longer pumped through her ears. The feel of the ground beneath her legs disappeared. She was standing now. Her jeans were replaced by what felt like a stiff type of leather.

Her eyes drifted open. Her nose wrinkled as she looked around the room. Selah was in a small hut surrounded by dirt and the scent of burning flesh. Poverty surrounded her.

Sand and dust covered every surface. Selah felt as if she was being suffocated by it. She looked down at the grime on her skin in disgust. She hated being dirty. It has always a pet peeve of hers.

“Jarita.”

Selah rubbed a spot of dirt on her arm and looked around the tiny room. It was so bare. Devoid of any personal touch.

 Her scalp burned and itched. Her hair hung in limp oily curls around her face. Everything was covered in dirt. It was everywhere and coated her skin.

“Jarita.”

“Jarita!”

Selah jumped at the name as she twisted around towards the voice. Reflections were like an echo of the past. Witches watched their former lives looking for lessons and truth. She could not move or talk.

Her thoughts were not completely her own. It was like watching a film, she could not fast-forward through. Selah was only an observer.

Facts echoed through her mind. A woman dressed in a bark brown dress stood in the doorway. Her face was painted with archaic symbols no one in their coven had used since the late 1800s.

Thema. The leader of their coven, and Jarita’s matron. She stood at the door. Tears streamed down the older woman’s face. Her dark brown skin glistened with sweat and her eyes were rimmed with red.

“Bring  Ebunoluwa water.”

Jarita nodded carefully.

“Hurry.”

Thema turned and walked out of the room. She’d issued her orders and did not need to see it carried out. Jariata picked up a jug as her resentment bubbled beneath the surface.

She was a servant in the eyes of the tribe. A slave because of her orphan status. They treated her like a burden. Only worth carrying out their orders.

‘It is all Ebunoluwa’s fault,’ whispered a familiar angry voice in the back of her mind.

The voice had been murmuring in the back of her mind for months. Opening her eyes and showing her the injustice of her position. Who she should blame?

Jarita walked out of her hut and started down the path to the watering hole. The sounds of drums could be heard through out the village.

It had been a constant since Ebunoluwa had fallen sick. All prayed for their future leader’s heath and recovery. All except Jariata.

Jariata prayed for Ebunoluwa’s death. The hot sun made the sand burn beneath her feet. Jariata lifted her face to take in the sunlight.

‘Her death will happen soon. Just one more dose.’

Jariata said nothing as she continued to walk. Ebunoluwa was loved by most of the village. Her supposed sweet nature and easy smile misled everyone.

She saw past the thin veneer of kindness to the disaster beneath the surface. Ebunoluwa would destroy the Yemoja clan if she lived to lead.

‘Two drops. Two drops in her water, and she will not make it beyond the night. I promise.’

Jariata arrived at the watering hole and dipped the jug into it. The water bubbled as the jug filled. Once full she hefted it over her head and started down the path back to the village.

What she was doing was wrong.

Jariata knew Ebunoluwa loss was the greater good. It was what was best for the good of the clan. She looked innocent but Jariata could see what others in the clan missed. Ebunoluwa was a poison. A blight on all that they were.

Selah started to panic as she heard the dark thoughts filtering through her mind. This was her past life? She used to be some schizophrenic murderer?

‘Two drops in her water and you will save them all.’

A light giggled filled her mind as she entered the village and turned towards the home of Thema. Of course he was happy. This is what he wanted. What he had been pushing her towards.

She pushed the cloth covering the door to the side and walked into the main room. Men and women sat through out the room praying. Jariata walked past them all to the last room in the corner. A beaded cloth covered the door.

Jariata entered Ebunoluwa’s sick room. To find Thema bent over the sick girl as she chanted. Selah watched in horror as Jariata brought the jug to the small table beside.

She wanted to do something to stop her. To change the past. She wanted to drop the jug but instead her hands tipped the jug over and filled the cup partly.

Looking around carefully she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glass vial filled with clear liquid.

Jariata looked over her shoulder and opened the vial with her thumb. She watched Thema as she tipped the liquid into the cup.

‘Two drops. Two more drops and the threat would be gone.’

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