The Celestial Curse

THE CELESTIAL CURSE

BOOK ONE

Chapter One

~ 1692 ~    

In the heart of the forest there is a cottage, home to a powerful witch. Even though this witch is one of the good guys, she is feared through the witch clans classed as too dangerous to mingle with, as demons seem to be drawn to her, seeking her demise. She has killed all demons that have come after her, but the other witches think it is just a matter of time until one better than their sister witch comes along and manages to accomplish, what so many others have failed to do…

It is the year of 1692 and the witch hunts have been going on for many months now in this part of England, creating unrest amongst the population. Jaxon as he likes to call himself; is a demon who has been sent to eliminate a witch that strikes fear into the lesser demon’s eyes. Since the traditional approach hasn’t worked too well in the past for other demons, Jaxon decides to try another approach. After all why do all the dirty work himself, when he can get the pitiful humans to do it for him and still take the credit. With a plan of action in place, Jaxon whistles to himself while walking down the cobblestone and into the nearest bar.

An elder woman draped in black robes stands in front of her cauldron, stirring in the ingredients needed to complete her spell. With a touch of bay leaf, the wings of an Adonis Blue butterfly and a hint of brimstone, Clarabelle says the magic incantation that will complete her newest project. As a powerful witch, Clarabelle has conjured many things in her life but this the biggest, most powerful thing she has put her power into making. The cauldron bubbles up over the sides and down to the hardwood floor beneath Clarabelle’s feet. Ignoring the gunk around her robes, Clarabelle grabs the sides of the cauldron and tips out the foaming brew into the strainer attached to the sides. Pouring the brew through the strainer and down the drain on the floor until finally, they start to appear. As each card emerges, Clarabelle uses her tongs to pick them out and sits them on a side table, where she has placed a towel to absorb any liquid that may still be clinging to the cards. As the last card emerges she releases the cauldron, making it swing slightly and walks over to the table that holds her precious cards. Seventy – eight cards in total. She looks through the cards, cleaning them as she goes along and appreciates the beauty in the cards. The vibrations and energy coming from them are enough to take her breath away and make her proud at the same time of her best creation yet!  

Looking down with pride at her creation Clarabelle gathers them all onto a black satin cloth. As she walks out of the little conservatory, her working area used for magic, thoughts of how each card would be represented by a unique picture entwined with their meanings flashes through her mind.

In the main room she sits on the floor and opens the satin cloth, exposing the cards to the moon light streaming in through the windows, highlighting the top card. As she gazes at the cards, she can feel the power emanating from the deck. Tarot cards to be precise. Such beautiful cards deserve an even more beautiful name…The Celestial Tarots.

Through the open window, the rustling of bushes breaks the silence of the surrounding forest. Thinking it’s an animal foraging through the under bushes; Clarabelle thinks nothing of it and returns her attention back to the cards. More rustling and movement outside the window makes her glance outside again, but with nothing to see Clarabelle tunes it out and concentrates on the Celestial Tarots. Just as she falls into a sense of security, suddenly shouts and heavy footfalls could be heard outside the cottage. Sensing imminent danger, Clarabelle scrambles to pick up the cards quickly but carefully, re-wraps them in the black cloth and puts them into a hand carved box with a sun on the top. Weaving an invisibility spell around the box, she sends up a silent prayer to any and all spirit guides listening, for the box to remain unseen and untouchable by anyone outside of her bloodline. Then she quickly castes another spell on the cards themselves so that only the women from her bloodline would be able to use the cards to their full potential and since she was an only child and had no children of her own, only she and her distant relatives will be able to find the box and the secret it contains. She would have done those two particular spells at a later time, but under the circumstances, it would be better to be safe than sorry.

Just as the box disappears a figure emerges in the window. The male figure shouts to the others, alerting them to her presence as she makes a run for the safety of her magic room. Unfortunately, due to her small stature she is easily captured by the man who climbed through the open window. Not giving up so easily, Clarabelle fights with all her might and curses when the arms around her middle tighten and she is hauled through her little cottage and through the front door where another group of men argue amongst themselves. Silence descends as all eyes turn in her direction. Not a peep can be heard from any nocturnal mammals or insects from the forest.

Flung to the ground, Clarabelle looks up just as a man approaches from the group. He looks to be bolder than the rest and quiet possibly the leader of the witch hunters. As he gets closer she could see the indifference, with a hint of arrogance in his eyes. Pure evil energy emanates from him in waves and with his next few words, chills cascade down her spine, when she sees he is not who he is pretending to be. “Tie her to the pyre so we can commence with the burning of this evil witch.”

Slack jawed with shock at the pure joy and anticipation showing in his eyes, it takes Clarabelle a moment to see the stake set up at the side of her little cottage. When her eyes land on the stake and the people stood beside it she starts to struggle. When that doesn’t work and is still being half pushed half dragged towards her death, she begs and pleads. She tries appealing to their humanity but as they douse her with gasoline she is spiked with a resounding fear she has never felt before. With a last look at the crowd and finally landing on the man in charge, who has condemned her to death with no second thoughts, Clarabelle finds herself tied to the stake. A feeling of powerlessness overcomes her common sense and in this confusion and fear, she tries to use her magic to untie the ropes binding her to the pier. Her magic bounces off the ropes, which leads her to believe there is a demon among the people in front of her that has used their own dark magic to interfere with her good magic, basically making it impossible to break free. Coming to the conclusion that she isn’t going to be able to free herself, she hangs her head and resigns to the fact that she won’t be making it out of this alive. A man wearing a uniform stands off to the side and unveils a parchment and begins to read.

“Clarabelle River, you have been accused of witchcraft and as such have been sentenced by the crown court, in the county of Essex at Salem in their Provence of the Massachusetts Bay, to death by burning at the stake. Evidence of your blasphemy has been recorded as a witness, who shall not be named for their safety, gave a verbal statement and a thorough description of your practices. Do you have anything to add to your list of sins or last words you would like to say? Repent now and save your soul from Lucifer the Devil and be judged instead by our maker The Almighty Father in Heaven.” All eyes look to the woman on the pyre and await her answer.

As Clarabelle listened to the little man drone on, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to break free and so did not bother to waste her last breath on people who had already decided to punish her without a fair trial. That left only one thing to do. Since she had been accused of witchcraft she might as well give them a little taste of her magic. After all, she was known as one not to be crossed and these people who had known her from around the small village had certainly crossed her. Deciding to teach these people a lesson, Clarabelle decides to put a curse upon every person here, including the bold man she suspects as being a demon. The only demon that has ever been capable of doing what the others have failed.

With tears in her eyes she turns her attention deep within, right to the core of her being where her magic is stored in her immortal soul. In her mind’s eye she sees a little ball of purple swirling light. As she draws on that ball of energy it gets bigger as if coming closer from a great distance with waves guiding it to shore from the deepest depths of the ocean. Energy flows through her veins and floods her eyes, making them the same purple swirling colour that reflects the magic within. She opens her eyes to the look of horror on every man and woman’s face. The fear in their eyes fuels her desire to teach them the value of life and in some small twisted way, exact some sort of revenge for what they are about to do, for even though they are obviously afraid, they are still scrambling to light the torch to set her ablaze. With few precious seconds to spare she looks at every face before her, imprinting their features to memory for the curse she is about to inflict upon them. In a language never heard before, Clarabelle begins to chant the words needed for the curse she was inflicting on them.

Hearing the chanting, panic sets in the crowd of onlookers while two henchmen fight over lighting the torch. Finally getting a flame going one of the two men approach with caution to the chanting Clarabelle and throw down the torch at her feet, watching as the fire spreads across the straw towards the woman’s feet. But to their rising horror, the flames do not touch her. Instead they swirl around her in an orb like circle as if waves lapping at the sand and still she continues to chant. As she nears the end of the spell, the fire orb surrounding her begins to diminish and settle onto the straw around her. With the wind blowing in all directions, whipping her hair around her shoulders, Clarabelle finally stops chanting. The flames creep forward now there is nothing barring their way, licking the flesh from her legs and climbing hirer, she looks at the faces before her. Unlike the man who watches with barely restrained glee, a sad smile tips her lips into a regretful smile while tears slide down both sides of her face. The pain she would be feeling, not stopping her from issuing her last breath.

“And as you condemn me to death, I condemn you to life. A life of un-fulfilment and misery, for as long as you live, you will never find happiness or satisfaction. Your only hope is to find redemption for your actions today and that of every other day you have extinguished an innocent soul. But I will give you one ray of hope; my heir will be born into another time and place, thus inheriting my powers. It is she you will need to prove your worth too, for it is she who will decide whether you have redeemed yourself and have the curse lifted or condemned for all eternity.”

And with that parting statement, Clarabelle throws back her head and silently screams into the midnight sky above, as the flames peal the flesh from her body and continues to cry out as the pain became unbearable before finally passing out. Silence descends upon the grounds as Clarabelle’s body is consumed by flames.

Caleb

Caleb held his breath while overlooking the men taking down the charred remains of Clarabelle River. The stench was revolting, almost as much as the sight. He didn’t bother making conversation with anyone, as like him they were replaying in their heads what just happened. Ten minutes later they were given the go ahead to disperse for the night and go wherever it is they go after a night of witch hunting. Caleb watched as one by one the men left through the forest. Deciding he had seen enough for tonight he followed the other men’s trails through the forest path. Time to forget what he just saw and the best way to do that would be to loose himself in a willing woman before drinking himself unconscious. 

Jaxon

I keep my back to the human males as they leave, no doubt disturbed with the events that have just taken place. As I keep my back to them, no one sees the maniacal expression gracing my face, from my very recent success in killing that retched witch! I slowly walk around the charred remains that have been missed on the ground and pick up a handful of ash. Looking up to the cottage and sensing I am finally alone within the immediate area, I let my face contort with an evil grin, that I had managed to hold in throughout the entire process. Taking a last look around I smirk to myself while disappearing in a cloud of brimstone, my yellow glowing eyes and smirking mouth, the last of my features to disappear.