Raska Tales: The Risen Witch

This story follows as a sequel to The Fallen General, and concludes the backstory of Haru and Xerivan. There are no erotic scenes in this tale, but I hope you enjoy it none the less.

Welcome to Raska.

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Raska Tales:

The Risen Witch

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When the Valley Empire begins to extinguish its fires of war, when the blood-rivers start to run dry, a witch will rise from the death.

When fires of war lessen within the Valley Empire, when blood-rivers run dry, a witch will rise from the death.

Hair as colorless as the souls she may devour, eyes dark as the void from which she spawned, magic more powerful than any sorcerer from the mortal plane. She will be born from death, a survivor of the end, a deliverer of vengeance. She will be Risen, protected by the Fallen, and powerful beyond reckoning.

His eyes opened below the surface of a hazy, green fluid. Thick, gelatinous liquid creeped into his nose and mouth, filing his airways to deny him breath even if he were to surface again. Already he could feel his chest constricting; he was suffocating, and his vision dimmed from the lack of air.

After everything he had done and sacrificed, he had no intention to drown in his success.

Using what strength remained, he forced his body to sit up, expelling the last breath in his lungs. He broke the surface and spewed thick slime back into the murky pool, wheezing to fill his chest again. A violent cough sprayed more fluid from his throat and the terrible itch of a cornered sneeze plagued him as he fought to clear his nose.

His arms felt heavy as he grabbed onto the stone edge and pulled himself toward it. His legs shook, unable to stand as he sat waist-deep in the slimy trough still recovering from his spell. The floor of the cellar was frigid, numbing to his fingers, yet he still wiped his face, then his short, dark hair, flinging excess globs of green away before continuing to wipe down his torso. He broke out into gooseflesh as the liquid no longer insulated him, yet a broad grin quickly formed on his face. His solid white eyes cleared into wide pupils encircled by irises of light grey.

Clearing his throat, wiping away more bile trickling out of his nose, he thrust out a hand and snapped his fingers. A brown, linen housecoat was placed within his grasp and he stood up from the sickly fluid. As he slipped his arms into the sleeves and pulled the garment to cover his pale body, he found it a surprising challenge not to laugh aloud. At last he had his first success with a supposedly dead art!

Giddy anticipation consumed him as he stepped out of his pool and felt the last of the slime drip down his legs. Drops moved thick as honey over a floor with a slight incline, just enough to drain the substances back to its basin. The man himself drew a breath of cool air and stepped forward over the frozen corpses of those sacrificed to accomplish this feat. Their sunken faces still showed the agony they suffered in their final moments.

His last remaining servant, shaking in his shadow, gulped as he suddenly turned to her. A twisted chortle slipped out, echoing off the walls of the cellar..

"Fear not for now, my dear. I still have use for you. For the Risen is among us at last."

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In a valley some distance off any main road or trade route, a village was buried deep in the trees. No more than two hundred people occupied the town and its surrounding area. Few outside of it knew of its location, fewer still made the trip to visit such an isolated place. In this community of tight knit families and powerful neighbourly bonds, none bent knee for anyone save the gods.

Outside the village atop a ridge looking down, one creature sat up high in a fir tree under the shadow of a larger branch above. It had no defined shape to it, no limbs or torso. It appeared to be more of a ball of darkness that bled off a black fog with two glowing, red dots placed right in center mass. These eyes narrowed as another creature swooped in and landed upon the branch beside it, a bird hardly larger than one's hand with dull, red feathers and a white belly.

The shadowy creature glared at the bird, watching its movements as it pranced about the branch and turned to face its dark form. Then the fog stopped oozing off of it. There was a slight chill to the air as it shrank and reshaped its body into something smaller. Black feathers emerged as talons grew underneath it to grip the branch. A narrow beak sprouted from a small feathered head as red eyes opened and blinked.

The first bird flew off, taking to the sky as this shadow creature took its shape. Soon after, the second bird too spread its wings, but then looked to them in confusion. Its head glanced back and forth between the two new appendages before it tried flapping. Its body lifted slightly from the branch with the slightest amount of lift but not enough to go skyward. The dark bird pondered a moment before it looked to other avian creatures in the distance, coasting along the tree tops with wings spread and more leaping out of the forest canopy to join them.

The dark bird spread its wings again and leapt out into the sky, beating its small wings. Even as sunlight burned its back and flooded its body with a fiery pain, it pushed harder to gain height and speed, rapidly gaining altitude. The shadow creature felt elated as it banked right and turned its attention to the world below.

Right as it flew into the talons of a swooping hawk.

The predator squawked at its successful catch as it beat its wings and flew toward a nearby oak tree, unaware that its prey had started to bleed a black fog.

When the hawk came to land in its nest, the bird in its talons evaporated. The large bird squawked in surprise, looking to its feet before a shadow cast upon it. It looked up to a hovering, black cloud and immediately shrieked a threat, spreading its wings in an attempt to make itself more fearsome. It snapped its beak and screeched again, but the cloud reshaped into a funnel of teeth, twice the size of the bird, before devouring it whole.

...

Standing in a pile of feathers and ruffling its own, a black hawk with red eyes looked out from its nest into the forest. Its position was too low to see the town or the paths that led to it but it was in the shade, the sole redeeming feature of the nest. As it stepped to the edge of the mess of twigs, preparing to take flight, it heard a snapping branch on the ground.

The creature exploded into its smoky form and darted around the tree to a branch below which provided deeper shadow. There it shifted shapes again, taking on the form of a squirrel as it circled around the tree to better observe whatever, or whoever, was below.

To its relief, and surprise, it saw a familiar face. A broad-chested human with a powerfully built body standing a half-head higher than the average man. He hoisted an axe over the shoulder of his wool long-coat, scratching his greying beard and then the side of his head through chestnut hair. Then, without warning, he turned in the direction of the watching creature. Both his hands took a battle grip on his axe while his hardened eyes narrowed to search for whatever was watching him. Muscles tensed under his loose tunic and trousers, his leather boots shifting their footing.

Hector knows Xerivan watches... the creature thought, recalling his own name as the large man unknowingly provided the anchor.

He scurried off behind the tree, out of sight of the retired adventurer who chuckled and stood up straight.

"Jumping at squirrels," Hector muttered before continuing on. "Felt like I had a demon watching me. Heh."

Not wrong, Xerivan thought.

He had to admire the man's intuition and sense for danger. It took years for him to calm that sense in the retired adventurer, and indeed he still had more to go. Somehow Hector knew whenever Xerivan drew close even if he was working his forge or crafting something new. If the Demon General took on a small, corporeal form, he could he delay that warning from alerting Hector to his presence but even then, not for long.

The Demon couldn't blame the man, nor could he complain. Hector was one of the few in the village with both history and reputation outside the valley. Once in a while an admirer of his would find their way to this town to meet him, to hear his stories of his travels and battles across half the known world and many parts of what is yet to be known. His senses developed out of need during these adventures and, in retirement, out of desire to protect his adopted daughter. Xerivan's daughter, from a time when he was mortal.

Leaving Hector to his task, the demon took off back toward town First continuing on as a squirrel but soon after he shifted back to his "natural" wisp form. He made quick time on his trip and was soon at the edge of the farmer's field which separated the human village from the nature that surrounded it. Across the freshly seeded rows of dirt the closest building to him was the smithy.

The blacksmith's building possessed only two walls meant for supporting the roof and the racks of tools one would need to run the shop. The open sides of the building allowed the heat from the smelter, forge, and the labor to air out and keep the smith cool. Whenever Hector came back from his trek in the woods, he would continue to practice his craft.

Behind the smithy was a single-room house of a modest size, with hardened clay walls packed onto wood framing and tarred wooden shingles on the roof. Smoke steadily rose from a brick chimney on the side and real glass hung in the window frames. There was even tar around the windows for weather-proofing, and the level of craftsmanship in this home was just one example among a hundred in this town.

Darting over to the house, Xervian scuttled up the wall and into a hole leading inside to the rafters, ultimately settling within the shadows above the fireplace. Below him was a woman in a simple, grey dress lying on her side with a book in front of her, reading by firelight. She was older woman, showing wrinkles lining across her forehead and dimples sinking into her cheeks. With an inquisitive look she pushed a leather-wrapped stylus into the bun of her blonde hair as her aqua eyes scanned over the pages of the book of magic in front of her.

To the woman's right, sitting cross-legged and reading alongside her, was a small girl. She was no higher than a grown man's hip with white hair that came down to the shoulders of her blue dress. Below her snowy eyebrows were intelligent eyes with black rises that were nearly indistinguishable from her pupils. Humbling warmth flourished within Xerivan as he watched the girl listen to the woman's thoughts on the book with wide-eyed wonder. Had he a mouth in his current form, no doubt he'd be smiling as the child waved her hand and the book flipped to the next page. It was an improvement compared to the previous week when she had slammed the book shut on her own hand attempting the same trick.

"Excellent, Haru," the woman praised while sitting up and shifting closer to the fire. "Keep reading, I need to check lunch."

"Okay," the girl answered.

The woman moved on all fours toward the fire and the pot cooking over it. Using a thick cloth she lifted the lid and checked the meal while Haru glanced over to the bookcase beside the hearth. She looked over the numerous books and texts that expanded every topic and theme from history to crafting. One detail she could never ignore was how over half of the collection were authored by one "Sally Nerae."

"Mom, when can I read the books you written?"

Taking the pot off the fire and setting it down on the floor, Sally answered, "Once you are a bit older. You're smart, Haru, much smarter than I was when I was your age, but some of the things I documented are not for the thoughts of a six year-old. Give it some time, and when you're ready, we will go through my whole library together."

As Sally went to grab bowls to serve lunch, Haru looked to the bookcase again. Xerivan could see the curiosity in her eyes, the temptation for what was currently taboo. In the end, however, the girl sighed and shifted her attention back to the book in front of her, reading on through different spells and magic concepts the author had documented as the demon watched silently above.

...

The glow of the sun lit up the horizon, turning it orange as the day nearly broke. Essence recharged by a feast of deer, Xerivan snaked his way through town to where his daughter lived. Upon arriving he immediately moved up into the rafters of the house and settled into his dark corner. Sure enough Hector was stirring in moments, his adventurer's sense alerting him to the demon's presence.

Then a sniffle caught both his and Xerivan's ear. The demon looked to the corner across from Hector and Sally's bed, eyes instantly adapting to the near-lightless room. His girl was sitting there with her knees pulled to her chest and tears streaming her face. She only had her night g-gown on in this early hour and her blanket was abandoned at the foot of her bed on the opposite side of the room.

When Hector reached for the flint to light the candle on his nightstand, the girl snapped her fingers and lit every candle in the house. Sally was up in a flash while Hector was already sitting up and putting on his slippers.

"Haru?" he groaned, still waking up. "Why are you out of bed?"

The child wiped her eyes, sniffling before giving a statement that chilled Xerivan to the core.

"You aren't my parents."

Four words. Both Hector and Sally were just as taken aback as the Demon. Sally pressed one hand over her mouth as her other tightened its grip on her blanket. Hector came to his feet, bare chested with nothing on but his night pants as he firmed up in his stance. The retired adventurer held an expression as if his mind repeated that sentence he had just heard over and over again. Still puffy eyed, Haru stood and looked to sky through the window on the opposite wall from her, beside her parents' bed. The expression on her face far too serious for her small body.

"Seven years ago, last night," she started, double checking the calendar blocks she had set up on her parent's nightstand.

"What was seven years ago?" Hector asked, and Haru sniffled as she moved her eyes to her father figure.

"The night I died," she answered.

Before either parent could beg an explanation, the child picked up a book by her feet, bringing it over and opening it to show them. Xerivan moved carefully through the rafters, adjusting his position to see what his daughter presented. Inside the book was a bounty of drawings, many of which the Demon recognized from the instant his eyes fell upon them.

A cottage in the woods. A man and a wife standing behind two daughters who were spitting images of their mother. The younger of the two children identical to Haru. And the father...

Seeing the drawing had Xerivan's mind racing with visions of a strong, powerful man in full armor adorned with medals and decorative awards staring right at him. No, not at him. Into a mirror. Into himself. He wasn't just her father in this life, with the pale woman that had awoken him. He was Haru's Papa in her previous life... their previous life. Together they died. Death brought them back.

These fragments of memory came to Xerivan in a flash, only to leave him with many more questions.

"Died?" Hector repeated.

Haru wet her lips and bit the inside of her cheek as she nodded. "Murdered. With my family for some revolution."

"Where did these pictures come from?" Sally wondered aloud as she took the book from her daughter and flipped through the rest of the pages.

"I made them last night," Haru answered, wiping her eyes. "Using magic to move the charcoal on the pages to match the picture in my head. They came to me when I remembered who I was."

Lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and unbelieving in both what he heard, and what he saw, Hector plied his daughter with another question. "Who were you?"

"Haruyal Edson," she declared, straightening her back and raising her chin with a bit of pride. "Daughter of General Xerivan, and Mage Leliat Edson."

...

Both Hector and Sally froze with wide eyes. The girl understood their surprise at this revelation, as even she herself had trouble coming to terms with everything she felt swirling about her mind. From the moment she woke at midnight, it felt like the wisdom of a being far older than her had merged with her thoughts. Following it came flashbacks of a life from years past trying to merge with the life she had already lived. Days she spent playing games with her sister clashed with days she recalled doing the same with Sally. Her lessons in speech from one mother ran against some things she had learned from the other.

This was all coupled with other worldly knowledge that she couldn't explain as anything other than divine in nature. Languages, spells, words, so many things it felt like her brain was tearing itself apart. And the more she tried to grasp it all, the more she felt the past six years were an illusion her mind formed to cope with the horror of the eve she passed away. She wanted to go mad. To cry out to the world in misery and pain. It took much of her will to remember that she was still physically six winters old, but carrying the thoughts she did, she would have sworn she was much, much older. That she was of an old mind trapped inside a body that needed to catch up.

"General Edson?" Hector repeated in a low voice, glancing at his wife as she stared in awe at the girl.

"Did you know him?" Haru asked.

He looked to a plaque on the wall over his bed, where a sword hung over a gilded tunic of blues and dark greys.

"Met him twice. First was when I was young soldier, when the then-Field Marshal Edson rode in front of our lines before battle to boost morale. Second time was in a town far to the west, nearly ten years ago when I was coming home from my travels in the Caltiak Springs."

Haru blinked, a slight frown showing as she asked, "What was the town?"

He paused a moment, running a hand over his head to think back and try to bring the name to the front of his mind. "Elksin."

Both her eyes, and the watching Demon's, widened in recognition. The girl nearly jumped as she exclaimed, "That's where-!"

She stopped, her thoughts once again returning to the new memories. Her heart sank, that momentary excitement fading away with what ran through her head. With a great deal of solemnity, she sniffled at a runny nose and asked, "Can you take me there, Dad? To see what is left?"

Hector raised his brow, catching himself before he spoke to look to his wife in a silent request for her consent. His hope waned when he saw that hard look of disbelief slowly dominating her face. Once again, Sally went over her girl's drawings, pondering a hundred thoughts on a hundred questions.

She tried to explain away the words coming out of her adoptive daughter's mouth but there were no correlations between what she had taught the girl and what rolled off her tongue. Neither her nor her husband had mentioned any heroes from the history of their neighboring country. They had never spoken of Haru's adoption to her or anyone in the town. Until this day, their girl could barely even draw. Now she wanted to venture to the western region of a country warring against itself to find what remains of a supposed previous life?

"If you died seven years ago, how are you alive now?" Sally asked, her eyes fierce to match the interrogative tone.

"I was reborn," Haru answered, wiping the drops running her cheeks then looking down to her tiny hands. "I couldn't tell you how, or why me, but I know my Papa had something to do with it. He gave something so I could be here today and I want to pay my respects' to him. To visit what I had and try to put these old memories I got to rest."