Sorcerer’s Daughter excerpt 1
Wicked Witches, Devils & Dragons
©
Paul DeThroe 2017
King
Ragnar was so happy that the dragon had been defeated, that he granted my
father the hand of his queen’s sister in marriage. Soon
thereafter, I became their firstborn. As fate would have it, I was to be their
only living child, as my mother died eight years later during the birth of
their second child, a stillborn boy. My father was never the same after that
tragedy, and spent the rest of his days wasting away in deep depression.
At
that time I couldn’t accept the fact that I’d never see my mother again, nor know
my baby brother. Knowing I needed the kind of emotional support he couldn’t
deliver, my dad shipped me off to a convent for my formal education the day
after their burial. It was a crushing blow to my already bewildered psyche.
I
should’ve been fodder to the whims of the tyrannical nuns that ran the brainwashing
factory, considering my defeated emotional state, but instead I found myself
rebelling both against their morality judgments and their close-minded
bigotries that branded all things differing from the Church as heretical.
I
took their beatings like a badge of honor, letting each dreadful blow sear the
pagan religion even deeper into my soul. What I learned to do as time went on,
was to say whatever they wanted me to say, but to also keep my own beliefs and convictions
alive in my heart.
I
had no such luck with the monks from the nearby monastery. They discovered the delicate
flesh of my tender youth quite early in my seclusion, despite my protests. When
I became a whore in my teenage years to spite them and their hypocrisies, they
blamed my promiscuity on the fact that I was a woman. Their entire belief
system centered on the thought that women are the reason sin is the world
today, thus absolving themselves for their own sins against me, and others like
me, and squarely placing that guilt on the weary shoulders of the victimized.
I
wasn’t having any of it. I slept with anyone who caught my fancy. As my
reputation of being a whorish nun spread to neighboring villages, the Church
could ignore me no longer. So they whipped me one last time, branded me a heretic
and cast me away.
On
my way out, I cursed them with every affliction and foul word I could think of.
After I called the nun superior a colorful word for rotten female parts, she
lost it, plucked a heavy gold ornamental cross from the convent wall and
chucked it at me. If it would’ve landed in its intended place I wouldn’t be
writing this story, but it missed by a hair, zooming right over my shoulder and
landing on the ground with a thud.
Fearing
that pitchforks and torches were imminent, I picked up the valuable relic and
ran for my life. They gave chase, but the hags were no match for my tireless
teenage legs. I found my way to my safe spot in the woods in a matter of
moments. The religious fanatics who’d tortured me for the longest couple of
years of my life didn’t have the courage to enter Haunted Forest, fearing it
was full of witches and unnatural wolves.
I
didn’t share their dread. I’d befriend the shadow-strewn beasts of the woods as
if my life depended on it. In a way, I suppose it did. I loved the forest. I
visited it nearly every time they allowed me to go outside. It was the only
place I could escape their frequent beatings, never-ending penitents, incessant
demands for free labor and the hyper-driven libido of the filthy monks.
Now
I’d call it home. There was really nothing to fear. Sure, there were wild
beasts to contend with, but if I didn’t bother them, they likely wouldn’t
bother me. I was always good with animals. Ever since I was but a toddler I
could communicate with domestic and wild animals alike. It was my greatest paranormal
power, my gift. Even the fabled ghostly devil dogs of the forest couldn’t
resist my charms. I used my powers of telepathy, as well as my natural animal
magnetism to round them up. With a wicked glance I caused the alpha male to
submit to my will and the rest of the pack followed his lead. Now, even if the
villagers sent bands of hunters they’d have no chance of capturing me.
The
devil dogs were nothing more than my ancestor’s hunting dogs killed long ago by
invaders. They became dreaded specters of the most fearful order because of a
curse laid down by a wizard that hated the invaders for killing his prize
hunting dog. After that, most people unfortunate to cross path with these devil
dogs died cruel and painful deaths. Occasionally a victim escaped and would
invariably spread tales of the monstrous werewolves all around the local
villages. This worked in my favor. The Church inspired the current mood of
superstitious mania about Haunted Woods, which would, in turn, cause them to
leave me to my own devices. I’d take it upon myself to study the dark arts of
witchery inside the magickal confines of haunted forest.
I
vowed to someday open the people’s eyes and show them that their adopted
religion was keeping them poor and subservient. Oppression and heavy-handedness
proved to be a highly effective means of assimilating followers from one
religion into another. Of course, there would always be people like me,
malcontents who live on the fringes of society and carve our own paths.
Sure,
mine was an old path, primeval in fact, but the guidance of the Ancient Ones
was no longer available, their wisdom a forgotten piece of the past. But the
old gods and goddesses were still tugging at my heartstrings, calling upon me
to summons them back to Earth. Knowing no other way, I decided to construct my
own path to enlightenment, from scratch.
 |
| $6.66 @ Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/1543010792/ |
 |
| Paul DeThroe http://pauldethroe.com |
No comments:
Post a Comment
And your view is?