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The Sister Chp2

New characters introduced

By Danielle wPublished 2 years ago 20 min read
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The Sister Chp2
Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

14 years later

Johari

Johari woke up with a gasp, images of blood and flashes of light chasing the remnants of sleep from her mind. The sun had only begun to come up, and her room was nearly pitch black. Johari listened to the hum of crickets, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the cheerful cries of song birds outside her window. Her room was silent, absent of her sister’s soft breathing, but as she focused on the sounds around her, she could hear soft whispering accompanied by gentle footsteps on the ancient floorboards of their kitchen. Johari swung her legs out of bed and dressed before she walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

Her mother, Amana, and sister, Safiyah, sat together at the kitchen table, on the table between them lay Aman’s almanac, filled with drawings and detailed descriptions of different herbs and plants. It had a recipe for almost any ailment or malady that could befall a person, as well as recipes for the most delicious teas.

Amana looked up at Johari with a smile as she entered the room, “Looks like I can’t hold out anymore.”

“We barely have the herbs to make cold syrups, body creams, and hair growth gels. And all of the customers who put in special orders will be out of luck. All because you had a ‘bad feeling.’” Safiyah made air quotes around the last two words.

Amana tsked and swatted away Safiyah’s hands gently, “You shouldn’t mock a mother’s intuition.”

Safiyah shrugged, “Well your intuition is going to starve us.”

“I know,” Amana sighed, “You can go into town today.”

Johari had to stop herself from jumping up and down. She and Safiyah usually went into town once a week to sell Amana’s elixirs, but for the last three weeks, Amana had insisted they not go, sure something bad would happen if they did.

“We have just enough for breakfast,” Amana said brightly, you two go prepare the horses, I’ll start brewing and breakfast.”

“I’ll do the horses,” Johari amended, “You two brew and breakfast, it’ll be faster if Safiyah helps you.”

Safiyah shrugged, “I won’t argue with that.”

“Well then let’s get to it, grab the cauldron, there’s still jasmine right?”

As the women set to work, Johari eased between them and filled a waterskin with water before she slipped out the front door. She took a deep breath of the predawn air as she walked towards the horse stables where her mother’s old horse Cynara, her sister’s horse Katrina, and her horse Kudzu slept. The sun was higher in the sky now, lighting the gravel path that led to the stables. When Johari reached the end of the path, she continued around the horse stables until she was out of sight of her house.

Her mother’s house was the only one occupied within five miles, the few houses that were close to hers had long ago been abandoned. This was because the field her house had been built in was on the edge of the Fairy Forest. The people in town whispered how dangerous the Forest was. Even Amana herself had warned her time and time again to never enter the Forest. But Amana’s warning and the townspeople's gossip had not stopped Johari from chasing small animals and flowers into the forest when she had been a child, and they did not stop her now.

She searched the yellowing grass for the red flowers that she knew would lead her into the woods. She saw dozens of white and yellow flowers, budding weeds that choked each other and littered the ground. Her eyes searched the foliage until they landed on a sole red flower amidst the weeds. She picked the flower and held it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Even though the flower had just begun to bloom, it smelled like sweet gone sour, a dying rose. When she looked back at the spot she plucked the flower from, she saw a new flower in its spot. She searched for another like it and spotted one closer to the trees. She walked to it and squinted into the dim light of the forest, giving her eyes a second to adjust. She spotted a third red flower deeper inside the forest and stepped into the cover of trees to get closer to it.

She continued following the flowers deeper into the forest, until she came to a large rock, atop the rock sat what appeared to be a man, but Johari knew from years of experience that the creature sitting before her was no mortal. Even sitting down, it was easy to see that he was very tall, his skin was the color of charcoal and patterned with bright red swirls. Instead of hair, his head was covered by brown and black leaves, and the sweet-sick scent of the red flowers drifted off of him. He studied Johari, his eyes appraising her lazily.

“What are you doing in my woods, Adaeze.”

Johari grinned and pulled out her water skin. She held it in one hand and tilted it upside down, pouring the water out. Before the water could hit the forest floor, Johari raised her other hand, suspending the water in mid-air, she raised her hand and the water tightened into a ball and floated up until it was eye-level about a foot from Johari. She looked around her ball of floating water, Akanni’s eyes were flat, and his expression gave away nothing. But Johari had saved the best part for last. She bawled her hand into a fist and concentrated as hard as she could, the water began to vibrate and pulse. After a few seconds, it exploded outward, revealing a small red bird that flitted into the trees as water droplets rained down on Akanni and Johari.

“Is that all?” Akanni asked, wiping the proud grin off of Johari’s face.

“Is that all?!” she repeated incredulously, “I’ve been working on that for weeks.”

Akanni sighed and waved his hand, causing one of his flowers to sprout at Johari’s feet.

“I can’t heal the stupid rose!” Johari snapped in no mood to try a feat she failed numerous times before.

“Then your parlor trick means nothing.”

“It’s not a parlor trick, I created a bird!”

“To create life from water, from which all living things come,” Akanni shrugged, “A human could do it with the right words. So yes, Is that all?”

Part of Johari wanted to say yes and stomp away, “I’m going to the market, do you want anything.”

Akanni nodded, “Dragon scales.” Without warning, he tossed something through the air that landed on the ground at Johari’s feet. “Today is a good day to go to town.”

Johari picked up the object Akanni threw and discovered it was a small leather pouch filled with gold coins, “Why is today a good day to go to town?” Johari asked, looking back up at Akanni, but the Fairy Knight was gone, and Johari stood before the giant boulder alone. She sighed and slipped the money into her pocket before making her way back to the stables.

Once she was back at the stables, Johari began tending to the horses. She first filled water and hay for all three horses, then she walked down to Cynara’s stall and began with her mother’s mare. She grabbed a brush and set it atop the horse, she snapped her fingers and the brush began to move of its own accord, brushing the horse’s mane. She walked over to the rack that leaned against the stall and snapped her fingers again, causing the broom to leap to life, cleaning out Cynara’s stall. Johari walked to Katrina’s stall and repeated the process before she entered Kudzu’s stall. Once inside, she pulled out a stool and sat beside Kudzu. She told him stories of the battles between Witches and Fae as she brushed his mane. Johari had learned the stories from the townspeople on her visits to the market. Kudzu had heard the stories as many times as Johari, but from his happy snorts, she knew he loved them as much as she did.

Nia

Nia laid out the gown her mother wore to her Blessing decades ago. The white dress was long and fitted around her torso, flaring out at the waist, and pooling around her feet. Bibi Jaheira had insisted she wear the Ceremonial gown, but it was an unnecessary insistence. Nia had dreamed of wearing this dress since the moment her Bibi Keren had given it to her years ago. It was the only time she’d ever met her maternal grandmother as Bibi Keren lived in the Northern Coven and was rumored to seldom leave her chambers. Nia could hardly blame the woman, she’d lost both of her daughters. Her oldest was a hollow witch and her youngest, Nia’s mother had been murdered on patrol when Nia was just a toddler.

Both of Nia’s parents had been lost to the forest, and Nia was not alone in this respect. There were dozens of orphans in the Southern Coven, while most had been killed during the Great War, there was still the occasional Fey that ventured out of the Forest and caused devastation. But that was why the Kigonzi existed. That is why Nia existed.

Nia dressed quickly, she’d already spent enough time brushing the kinks out of her thick brown hair and styling it into a neat bun atop her head. She wanted to get down to the crypts before she met with the Potion Keeper. Nia struggled to reach the zipper on the back of the dress when a soft knock sounded at her door.

“Would you like some help?” Came Bibi Jaheira’s familiar voice.

Nia lowered her hands as her Bibi’s replaced them and easily closed the zipper. Jaheira turned Nia to face her, “You look beautiful. They would be so proud.”

Nia embraced the woman, “Thank you Bibi.”

Jaheira pulled away and held Nia at arm's length, “I remember your father’s ceremony as if it were yesterday. When he stepped onto the stage-”

“I know Bibi,” Nia said, quickly interrupting Jaheira's hundredth retelling of the story, anxious to get to the crypts. “He was a great Warlock.”

“And you will be a great Witch,”

“We don’t even know if I’ll be blessed,” Nia responded, unable to keep the worry from her voice.

Bibi raised an eyebrow, “You were chosen long ago Nia, for a-”

“For a purpose greater than myself.” Nia finished impatiently, “I know, but what if the Dragons don’t think I’m worthy? What if the oracles were wrong about me?” Nia knew what Bibi Jaheira's response would be, this was not their first time having this conversation. It seemed the closer they got to the Blessing, the more Nia needed reassurance.

“You hail from two of the most powerful bloodlines the Covens have ever known. Your Great Bibi Kionni is the fiercest warrior the covens have produced, your Great Bibi Sarahn was the only Witch to be blessed by Nyeusi. The greatness in your past was no accident, your parents were matched together to guarantee the greatness that will be in your future. You were born to accomplish the impossible. You have spent your entire life learning about the Forest and preparing for your destiny. You are more ready than you believe. Your Blessing is but a small impedance that you will easily overcome.” Jaheira spoke evenly and confidently, and it was impossible not to feel bolstered when she spoke this way.

Nia nodded, “I know Bibi, but thank you for reminding me.”

“Will you meet Ishara before the potion keeper?”

Nia lifted a shoulder, “Before, after, Ishara will find me, she always does.” She pulled away, “But first I’m going to the crypts,” Nia knew she would not have to explain herself, Bibi Jaheira would probably find it more curious if she didn’t visit the crypts today. “And after the potion keeper, I'll be meeting the rest of my class. So-”

“So,” Bibi Jaheira continued, “The next time I see you, you’ll be a fully conceived witch.”

Nia smiled at Bibi’s confidence in her, and nodded again, “If Jua is kind.” She kissed Jaheira goodbye and ducked out of the room before the older woman could object.

The castle where Nia lived was tremendous, nearly the same size as the small town of mortals it overlooked. Her coven was south of what remained of the Fairy Forest, one of four sister covens established by the Elders after the Great War ended. With the other covens to the north, east, and west of what remained of the Forest, each was in an optimal position to protect mortals and Witches alike from any Fair Folk that strayed from their home. Aside from protection, each coven had a special and unique purpose for the Witches. Nia’s home housed the crypts. Though Witches could not succumb to time like the mortals below them, those that had been murdered by the Fey were entombed under Nia’s home. The crypts spanned the entire basement of the Southern Coven. They had been tunneled out by the Elders during the Great War when Elder Hezekiah had been slaughtered by the Fey. Two other Elders were also buried in the crypts, Nia’s Great Bibi Sarahn being one of them.

As usual, the crypts were empty when Nia arrived. The solitude was part of the reason Nia liked coming down here. Nia walked towards the back where the tombs belonging to the Elders belonged. Each Elder was encased behind a wall that was decorated with a mural that told a story of their legacy.

In Elder Sarahn’s mural, Sarahn stood before a silhouette of Nyeusi, the Black Dragon, as fire poured out of Sarahn’s hands, burning the Fairy Forest below her. The mural stood as a reminder that the death of the Black Dragon had not been in vain, Nyeusi had provided the power to end the Great War. Nia ran her hands over the painting and felt the power of her ancestors pulse through the wall.

Nia heard a shuffle behind her, and sighed, knowing her private sanctuary had been invaded.

“I thought I’d find you down here.” Nia recognized the voice, as one of her classmates, a small mousy girl named Merah. “You’re always in this Juaforsaken place, not sure why you like-”

“Merah,” Nia patiently interrupted, “Do you need something?”

“Oh, right. Ishara just finished with the Potion Keeper, it’s your turn.”

Nia nodded, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Merah was silent for a few moments, “We’re all waiting on you.” she finally whined.

Nia did not respond, and after a while, she heard Merah’s footsteps as she retreated. Despite Bibi Jaheira's reassurance, fear of rejection still swirled in her head. If Nia was not blessed by the Dragons, she would be regulated to a secondary status of hollow Witch. Hollow Witches and Warlocks had not been deemed worthy by the Dragons and did not have access to their magic. They were human. Some were offered positions as inyeakas and worked alongside mortals in the castle. But most left the Covens to start a life among mortals. But even worse than being hollow, if the Dragons did not find her worthy, the fate of the Covens would hang in the balance. Nia’s heart sped up at the mere thought of failing her people, never being able to live the life she had trained for. She took another deep breath, attempting to relax.

After a few moments, she reluctantly pulled herself away from Sarahn’s tomb.

Nia expertly navigated her castle’s corridors as she made her way to the part of the castle where the potion keeper worked. Nia drifted past the rooms where the walls were lined with all sorts of potions and spellbooks. She paused outside one such room, inside was one of the potion keeper’s inyeakas. She wore a simple black floor length gown, the uniform of the inyeakas. Nia could not remember the woman’s name, not that it mattered, she was one of many. Nia may have never even met her before.

The room was lined with vials, some empty, others filled with a variety of brightly colored serums. In the center of the room a cauldron, small enough to fit in the palm of Nia’s hand, sat on a pedestal. On an identical pedestal a few inches away lay a small dagger and a burning black candle, a pool of wax melted at its base.

Nia watched the inyeaka move about the room, deftly plucking small potion bottles off the wall, and adding them to the cauldron in the middle of the room. Nia imagined herself working here, one of the many nameless helpers.

No, you’ll be chosen. Nia chided herself as she shook the thought and stepped into the room. She cleared her throat and the inyeaka turned and smiled. “Nia, come in, come in.” She retrieved the dagger from the pedestal and handed it to Nia.

Nia made a fist and with a deep breath pressed the blade into the flesh of her palm. Blood welled up and Nia quickly moved her hand over the cauldron letting it drip into the pot.

“Last time you’ll have to do this.” The inyeaka commented as she moved about the room adding more vials to the cauldron.

Nia pondered this, this might be the last time she got to feel the Dragon’s power, “I guess so.”

“Pass me one of those,” she gestured behind Nia to a shelf filled with empty vials. Nia grabbed one, uncorked it, and handed it to the inyeaka who now held a wooden ladle in her other hand. She ladled the potion she’d been making into the vial, when it was full, she held it out to Nia.

Nia took the small vial, the power of the Dragons, harnessed into a potion. The Witches and Warlocks of each generation used it to practice magic before they were blessed or rejected by the Dragons. “It’s smaller than usual.”

She shrugged, “It’s not supposed to last you the entire week, just until the Blessing is over.”

“Well, thanks,”

The inyeaka folded her hand over her heart and bowed at the waist, “May Jua bless you.”

Outside of the potion keeper’s study, Ishara leaned against the wall, waiting for Nia. Ishara was tall, at least a head taller than Nia, and her skin was deep ebony which was a stark contrast to her silver-white hair. She’d chosen a short, loose, long sleeve dress for the ceremony, and her hair seemed to blend into the white fabric, except it reached a few inches below the hem of her dress.

“Very traditional.” Nia teased, relieved to see Ishara.

Ishara grinned, and spun around, “Why, thank you.”

Nia couldn’t help but smile, Ishara had an energy Nia had always found infectious. The two had built a friendship based on shared experiences. Both had been orphaned after the Great War, both were chosen before they were born for destinies great than themselves by the Oracles of the Covens. Where Nia found the destiny of Kigonzi at times overwhelming, Ishara, who was to become an Oracle herself, seemed constantly bolstered by her future. The two fell into step together as they walked towards the common room where the rest of their class would be waiting for the ceremony to begin.

“Are you ready, oh chosen one?”

Nia rolled her eyes, “Stop it, I have to be chosen before I can be the chosen one.”

Ishara raised an eyebrow, “Sounds like someone needs a pep talk.”

“I’ve already had one with Bibi Jaheira, but-” Nia struggled for a moment to find the appropriate words before she shook her head, giving up, “Are you ready?”

Ishara nodded without hesitation, “I’m ready to meet Baadaye in person.”

Nia felt a pang of jealousy at Ishara’s certainty about her future.

Ishara reached down and grabbed Nia’s hand, “I may not be able to see the future yet, but I know you’ll be chosen.”

“Well if it isn’t the Savior and her sidekick,” someone called loudly from behind them.

Nia felt Ishara tense and rolled her eyes.

“I mean Psychic.” The voice edited with a chuckle as they turned to face the speaker. “Sorry.”

“Kofi.” Ishara began coldly, “Shouldn’t you be talking to the inyeakas about their experiences? Preparing for your life as a Hollow?”

Kofi grinned, “I actually just came from speaking with Kigonzi Nuri. She wanted to make sure I’d be able to assume the position of Kigonzi in case you are not blessed.” He looked at Nia. “The Southern Coven will still need a leader.”

“Nia was chosen, idiot, of course, she’ll be blessed, it’s written.”

Nia knew Ishara meant her words to be encouraging, but she felt her heart rate quicken as her friend spoke. She grabbed Ishara’s arm before Kofi could respond. “We don’t have time for this.”

As Nia turned to leave, two witches appeared at the end of the hallway. One was the current oracle of the Southern Coven and Ishara’s guardian and teacher. The other was Kigonzi Nuri, Nia’s teacher.

Kigonzi Nuri wore an extravagant bronze dress the exact color of the Dragon who blessed her, Shaba. The dress seemed to be made of scales that danced when the light hit them, furthering its likeness to the Dragon. Nuri’s tight curls were styled in a short afro, held back by a gold band. In her ceremonial attire, the only thing that marked Nuri as the fierce warrior they knew her to be was the massive hilt of her sword, Kusudi at her side.

Oracle Nova was much more identifiable. She wore the signature brown-gray robe of the Oracles.

Nia folded down her right thumb and pressed the remaining four fingers over her heart, bowing at the waist to greet the women. Next to her, Ishara and Kofi mirrored her.

Kofi’s grin broadened as they stood. “Thank you again, Kigonzi Nuri, for our discussion earlier.” His eyes found Nia as he spoke.

“Of course, Kofi,” Nuri responded politely, she turned her head to Ishara and Nia and dipped her head in greeting, “Nia, may I have a word.”

Nia couldn’t help but cut her eyes at Kofi as she followed Nuri away.

“Is something wrong?” Nia asked as Nuri led her to an empty room and shut the door behind them.

Nuri smiled, “Not at all. I just wanted you to try something.” Nuri unsheathed Kusudi and held the blade out to Nia.

Nia froze as she studied the sword and then Nuri, “I’m not allowed.” She finally breathed. “Is this a test?”

Nuri chuckled as she set Kusudi down, “Jaheira told me your concerns, I thought Kusudi would help you.”

Nia made no effort to move, only stared at the weapon in intimidation.

“Your mother had similar concerns before her ceremony,” Nuri said gently.

Nia’s head snapped up at the mention of her mother. “Really?”

Nuri nodded, “She also feared she would not be found worthy of Kigonzi, and even if she was chosen, she feared she would not live up to expectation. Kusudi helped her.”

Nuri looked down at the sword. She’d heard countless stories of her mother's heroism and bravery. She couldn’t imagine that she had ever been afraid of anything. But if she had been, and Kusudi had helped her, surely it could help Nia too. Slowly, Nia reached down and closed her hand around the hilt.

“Do you feel it?” Nuri whispered excitedly as Nia raised the blade.

Nuri nodded, her heart thudded in her chest. She felt nothing. She lowered the sword, feeling worse than before.

“It can be overwhelming,” Nuri said, misreading Nia as she sheathed Kusudi.

Nia nodded her head again, robotically this time, “I should go, I’ve already held everyone up.”

Nuri agreed, “We will meet after the Ceremony.”

Nia left the room without an answer, feeling more than ever she would not be chosen.

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