The Last Witch

Asher tumbled. He hit the ground over and over, slamming into the earth with his side, his arms, his legs, his back, until something knocked against his head and he finally rolled to a stop against the stone. Silence pressed down around him, made noticeable by a sharp ringing in his ears. The noise of the market had disappeared, leaving in its place a thick fog that clouded his brain. His head ached, and skin had been torn from his arms and face. 

He forced himself to his feet, then screamed in alarm. The market was gone. There were no stalls, no people, no buildings or anything. There was only shadows and rock. He lay at the bottom of a steep hill, in a strange cave with no sign of an exit. He couldn’t even see the top of the rise he had fallen down. The craggy rocks were illuminated by veins of fluorescent light, pulsing like a heartbeat in blues and reds and golds. The roof above him was made of grass. Not the moss that clung to the rocky hills outside of Ralkauda, but real, trimmed grass, complete with small dandelions and bladed weeds. Asher’s breath echoed out, panicked and sharp against the empty air. His hand gripped his sword tight enough to break the skin of his palms. 

Maybe Navarre was right; he was losing his mind. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

He glanced around desperately, searching for sign of life or something that would break the illusion. Maybe he was beneath Dalvany. Like the young man in the hospital who had fallen through the crack in Valenda. The man who was catatonic and turning grey. That didn’t mean it would happen to him, not in the same way. There had to be a way to get back. There had to be a logical explanation for this new place and the disappearing people, and the man with a face made out of teeth.

This wasn’t real. 

Asher pressed his weight into the slope of the rocky wall, but nothing gave any clue of how far he had fallen, and there was nothing he could use to support his weight either. Picking up a loose rock by his feet, he tossed it hard up the rise, but it disappeared into the shadow, and no noise sounded to suggest there was a roof or a gap of any kind. 

‘You will not get out the way you came in.’

Asher whirled around, brandishing his sword in both hands. The guard wasn’t made to be held with both, and his fingers bent awkwardly under the metal. It was the shopkeeper who stood behind him, teeth still jutting out of the holes punched in his face, one dark eye fixed on Asher. Asher tried to stop his legs from shaking. It’s not real. If it was real, he would fold and admit he had gone insane, but it wasn’t real, and he would not fold. 

‘Who are you?’ Asher demanded. ‘How--how are you doing this?’

Was he still in the market? Swinging his fake sword around and talking to shadows? How far had the madness really dug into his mind?

‘I am the Alchemist,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘And you are not Jaliti debne Nakati. Tell me where the real one is.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Asher’s whole body shook. There had to be something in this, something that would break the illusion and take him back to the market. He would check himself into the hospital and stay there until the nightmare of this image left his head. 

‘Then run.’

That bulbous, tar-like tongue burst from the creatures mouth, and Asher threw himself to the ground as it punctured the rock behind his head, driving a deep hole into the surface. Stars splattered across Asher’s vision, and he scrambled too his feet as the monster lunged forward. He swung his sword wild, the motion off balance and thrust in the creature’s general direction. It struck it’s neck, and the metal bent as though he had struck a wall. 

The sword hissed, steam bursting across the tip, before it began to melt. Acidic bubbles popped along its surface, running along the edge before it reached the guard and disintegrated completely. Hot air burned at the hairs on his hands, and Asher cried out in alarm, tossing the blade down. Only a black, bubbling goo landed at his feet. 

The monster with the teeth fixed its black eye on him, and the gash across its face split open further, mimicking a crude imitation of a smile. 

Asher ran. 

He ran fast and blind, throwing himself down the length of the cave, his feet pounding against the stone, echoing out through the wide mouth. The pulsing veins around him threw as many shadows around as they did a path he could follow, and Asher’s foot struck stray rocks, his side slammed into jagged stone, but he pushed on. He tripped and struck himself against sharp edges, his weight staggering more than once, but he continued on. Thoughts in his head were muted by blind panic, and his drive was automatic. Fear pulled him forward against his will. His will screamed for him to keep going. 

Something slammed into his ankle and he skidded across the dirt, skin tearing off his face and hands as dirt and blood filled his mouth. When he managed to pull himself up, he saw the creature with only teeth for a head standing over him again. Asher screamed, his limbs pulling himself up as he struggled to comprehend how this was even happening. The air was too quiet to be natural; he could hear his own blood pounding through his veins, every scrape of his boots against the ground, he could even swear he heard his bones rattling as his entire body shook. 

The ground gave out under him, as if the grass were nothing more than rotting timber, and the already inky blackness splattered with spots of white as Asher fell, and kept falling. He tumbled down the uneven ground, rolling and landing on his head, then his back, then his arms, his back again, before skidding to a halt and tearing the skin from his hands and cheek. Light seeped through his doubling vision, and Asher prayed he had fallen back into the market and all of this had been some crazed hallucination. Instead, when he shook himself and glanced up, he screamed. 

The wooden monster, the abomination he had discarded at the old man’s shop now stood in front of him as a real, flesh and blood creature, no longer a tiny toy, but ten feet tall. Mismatched eyes stared down at him, the human - the girl’s - eye wide and fearful and stained red. The other was a crude mess of stitches over a slit. It let out a garbled, struggling rasp of noises, then one of the bear paws - bear paws that were stitched into the human neck - tore through the air. Asher rolled out of the way as it smashed the ground where his head used to be. The creature reared up and twisted around impossibly fast, and Asher tried to get to his feet, but the paw came down again and he dove out of the way, tumbling off balance and knocking himself into a large rock. 

Stars swam across his vision, and his brain scrambled for something, anything he could use to defend himself, but he didn’t want to believe this was real, that the creature in front of him existed at all. Movement dashed across his vision from the other side of the rock, and his stomach churned at the thought there were more, his fear rooting down deep. 

The claws came down again, and Asher leapt out of the way, but they slammed into his side. Hot, blinding pain shot through his ribs and Asher cried out, hitting the ground hard. The burning stickiness of blood spread across his shirt, the searing heat digging into his skin and tearing with every breath. 

He was going to die.

The creature stood at its full height again, towering over him, and Asher dug his elbows into the ground, gritting his teeth and forcing his body to move inches at a time. He was about to die. There was nothing he could do, no sense that could be made, and that didn’t even matter. 

The ground began to rumble, shaking violently and sending another wave of stabbing pain through Asher’s side. The last of hiss strength sapped away as he scratched against the gravel, bracing for the final blow, but instead the creature above him roared. 

Asher found the strength to roll around, in time to see thick weeds burst out of the ground and wrap around the creature’s stitched limb, squeezing tight before ripping it free. Thick, black tar like blood pumped from the hole, and the monster gave another strangled scream as those same weeds went for the other leg. 

A human arm was grabbing Asher’s, pulling him to his feet. Asher struggled, but his limbs only spasmed at the pain in his ribs. It was the stranger from the alley who had hold of him, his amber eyes glowing impossibly bright in the darkness. With a shout in an unknown language, the stranger - Penn - thrust his other arm out with his fingers splayed, and the weeds wrapped around the creatures arm, then burst into a sudden flash of white flame. Asher’s scream was drowned out as the creature roared and thrashed in agony, but the now burning weeds held firm. 

The teeth monster stepped out from behind it, his face twisting into a scowl. ‘Look who finally showed up.’

Penn glared at the Alchemist, his eyes burning so bright Asher could see smoke rising from the top of his head.

 ‘You should have brought more friends along, Jaliti,’ the Alchemist chided. 

Penn thrust his arm out in a wide arch, and the grassy ceiling above them cracked with a deafening boom, before a mass of rocks and debris rained down on the creature’s head. When the pluming dust cleared, Asher heard a cackling laugh echo out. 

‘What the fuck is going on?’ he cried. 

‘Can you fight?’ Penn asked. 

Asher was growing tired of people not answering his questions. He inspected the deep gashes across his chest. They burned, sharp and constant. ‘I-I think so.’

‘The rock behind you. Pick it up.’

Asher stumbled back automatically, almost tripping over the large, long rock in question. Leaning over made his injuries scream in protest, and as he wrapped his fist around the end in an attempt to lift it, the stone instead crumbled at his touch. 

It broke into the shape of a sword. 

The surface was crude and jagged, no edge of the blade smooth enough to be considered a sword. Rather, grey, pointed teeth that jabbed out of the guard. The handle itself was perfectly fitted into his fist, and the thing had weight to it, surprisingly balanced. 

‘There is a door somewhere,’ Penn said. ‘We need to find it.’

Without another word, he turned on his heel and pushed further into the cave. He flicked his wrist upward, and his glove caught fire, a blinding white light flickering across the walls. Asher rushed to catch up. 

‘Who are you?’ he demanded. 

‘My name is Penn,’ Penn said. 

‘You said that before,’ Asher said. ‘But... how are you doing that? How did you know these things were going to happen?’

Penn didn’t answer. 

‘Are you a witch?’

‘No.’ Penn bit the word at him, making Asher flinch. He didn’t even know where that question came from. Witches weren’t real. Neither was any of this.