A Witch's Touch

Prologue-2

Oray reached down and picked up the black box he had been talking to. Clutching the small, rectangular case between his gnarled hands, he pushed the chair back, and stepped into the shadows. His hands shook as the power inside the container began to surge, hungry for Magika and Isha’s magic. He knew what they were looking at—the box, his box. They wanted to take it from him and destroy it.

He would have given them the box if he could—but the dark magic that was wrapped around him made it impossible to surrender the small container. Instead, he protectively cradled it against his body.

“I command you to leave,” Oray ordered in a trembling voice.

“Oray, you are ill. Give me the box, and I will take you back to our living quarters to rest,” Magika requested in a gentle tone, stepping further into the room.

“This is not for you. It is my gift. No one else can have it,” Oray replied.

“When did she return it to you, Oray? The Sea Witch is banned from the Isle of Magic. You know that. You promised you would tell me if she returned. Please, husband, give the container to me. I miss who you were. Whatever unnatural magic is in the box, it is killing you,” Magika said, continuing to walk toward him.

Oray trembled. He wanted to give in to his wife’s request. He missed her soft touch, the laughter in her voice, the love they felt for each other. She completed him….

No, she is trying to trick you, a voice hissed in his head.

Our love…, Oray started to argue before wincing at the intense pain that shot through his body.

… is an illusion. They are trying to destroy you. It is time. Call the Sea Witch, the voice commanded. We will stop the deceit of the Queen and her followers.

“Please, Oray,” Magika pleaded, stopping less than a foot from him.

Oray blinked at his wife, bringing her face into focus as he automatically reached out to her when she extended her hand toward him. His lips parted on a hiss, and he stumbled back several steps. Oray stopped when he hit the bookshelf behind him.

“Sea Witch… It has… commanded me to call you,” Oray said with a shudder. He bowed his head, struggling to hold onto the last of his sanity. “Magika… You must escape. It is too late. I cannot fight it any longer.”

Magika stepped back in shock when the small box in his hands began to dissolve into a dark mist that swirled around him. Oray lifted his head to gaze at his wife in agony. His fight to keep the creature from attaching itself to his magic was draining him. His gaze moved to the young warrior who came up behind Magika.

“It is too late. I can only hope to contain him long enough for you to get our Queen to safety,” Oray forced out past the blackness wrapped around his throat.

“NO!” Magika cried, reaching out again for her husband.

“You must escape, Your Majesty,” Isha ordered, pulling her behind him. “By the magic of my sword, you will release the King.”

Isha swung his glowing sword at the black mist, but Oray knew it was already too late. The box in his hand had changed and was reforming into a ghostly creature determined to enslave him. Tentacles of black clashed with Isha’s sword. Golden sparks glowed before the magic contained in Isha’s sword sizzled and hissed. The black essence greedily absorbed the additional magic.

Oray could feel the Sea Witch’s connection with the alien life form. Deep down, he was amazed that the young girl, who he had known since she was born, had been able to fight against the evil force contained within the black essence. The link he had with it allowed him to see what had happened to Magna. The parallels to his own situation were terrifying.

She had been overpowered, the same as he had been, and she was still there, trapped within it. Yet, he could still feel the essence of the young girl hidden beneath the layers—hiding, seeking her freedom. As hard as he had fought to understand, to resist, and to contain the malevolent life form, it had still sucked him into its suffocating grasp.

“Heart as cold as ice, keep my soul safe behind its frozen wall. I command you to seal me now,” Oray whispered the spell in a tortured voice.

“Oray, NO!” Magika cried, struggling to get to her husband.

Magika’s grief-stricken cry pierced him for a moment before the spell took effect. Oray knew the only way to protect his kingdom—and what was left of him—was to cast a spell that only his Queen or the death of the entity could one day free him from. A dusting of ice formed over his skin, turning it a light blue color. He exhaled small puffs of warm breath before white crystals formed. Inside, the blood in his veins slowed until even it no longer flowed.

He was alive, yet not. His body was stiff, moving like a puppet on a string handled by an inexperienced puppeteer when pushed by the evil mass flowing around him. The emotions from his last second of awareness were frozen on his face. The last thing he would remember would be Magika’s distraught face.

Oray was unaware of what happened next. In his frozen world, he was of no use to the creature. Nothing could touch him or control him now—not even the anguished cries of his beloved could penetrate the ice protecting his soul.