Slices of Midnight

By Jon Dottingly and Marissa Bonifay

Slices of Midnight
The Black Craft Saga, vol. 1

Marissa Bonifay was born unto magic.

The product of untold millennia of selective breeding on the part of one of the universe’s most successful covens, Marissa began life with the mind and mettle to become an all-powerful practitioner of the arcane arts. But, such greatness wasn’t in the offing. At least not yet.

A motherless child, living in a land where the practice of magic was reserved for only those of noble blood, Marissa had known only poverty.

Marissa’s fortunes, however, would change after receiving a gift from a nomad gypsy.

In time, the cosmos would never be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Obricon Adventures, LLC
• Release date: Jan 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310337277

Jon Dottingly

Jon Dottingly is the author Marissa has chosen to help tell this tale of prophecy and redemption. Through various means, Marissa is giving Jon the information needed to put pen to paper in order to make this saga available to the people of this world. When not writing, Jon enjoys photography, smoking his pipe, and taking long walks with his beloved dog (a hyperactive vizsla named Otis) in the park.

Book preview

THE FIRST SLICE

Commentary

Greetings, residents of Earth, my name is Marissa Bonifay. Long ago, I came to this corner of the universe from afar to live among the people of your world. Like you, I am a human, but I do not age in the same manner as most of our kind thanks to my proficiency in the art of sorcery. My unnatural longevity has given me the opportunity to dwell on this planet for nearly two millennia. Over the course of these many years, I have observed all that has occurred to the inhabitants of Earth. I have witnessed your triumphs as well as your tragedies, and I have documented every story from the seclusion of the shadows. Now, the time has come for me to step forward from my place of secrecy. I do so in order to share with you a tale of my own, one that has been fourteen billion years in the making.

Like any tale worth telling, my story features its share of heroes and villains. It contains deeds of valor as well as acts of unbridled malice. Through it all, I hope to entertain you, but I expect to educate you as well. In time, you will discover much about the true nature of our universe and the beings who inhabit it. As I unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, your conceptions of reality are certain to change, and for the better. But here's the best part: The final chapter of this grandest of tales has yet to conclude. The story I will present is one of prophecy, and all who read this saga are destined to have a say in its final act.

Let me begin by saying that I am a witch. Upon hearing this word, a variety of stereotypes might come to mind. For residents of Earth, the mention of a witch might conjure up thoughts of a certain town in Massachusetts, or of that laughably hideous woman from the Land of Oz. These examples center around women maligned by society due to the ways they chose to practice magic or lead their lives. Ignorance in regards to a woman's ways, which encompasses much more than just magic, often ostracizes her from others. To me, being the victim of this type of prejudice is the purest definition of what it means to be a witch. You can find us everywhere. We are on every inhabited planet in the universe.

I am an extremely old witch, relatively speaking. Witchcraft has allowed me to sustain my body in ways most others cannot. As a result, I have been around quite a while by the standards of earthbound humans. Still, I'm not nearly as long lived as most other witches of my genetic line. I had an aunt who lived to be well over one hundred thousand years old. In comparison, I am slightly younger than the Great Pyramid of Egypt. So, among the universe's witching elite, I'm just a baby.

My birth those thousands of years ago set into motion a series of events that led to the establishment of perhaps the most significant prophecy in the history of the cosmos. That statement reeks of pretentiousness, I know, and I do apologize. During previous stages of my life, ones in which I was a self-serving egotist, you could have taken that bit of pretentiousness at face value. However, I have changed. I did play a leading role in one of history's greatest sagas, that much is true. But, I can honestly say I've never been more humble when it comes to my accomplishments. Nor have I ever been more eager to further the cause of truth. I hope to do just that through my work here on this planet.

In addition to witchcraft, I have spent a fair amount of my life mastering the art of storytelling. By this means, I will convey to you events of the past and how the prophecy in question has grown and progressed toward its fulfillment. In this retelling, my wish is to take you from one far-flung world to the next so you might experience what took place, understand the supreme importance of it all, and what it means for us living in the present age. What part will you, a current day resident of Earth play in the prophecy's final act? Prepare yourself, for I will show you.

May you be forever changed.

✽✽✽

THE FIRST CHAPTER

On the 56th Day of the 4th Year of

The Reign of Asperon the Vigilant,

King of Malakanth

Wind.

For those proficient in witchcraft, the fractious torrents of air that blew across the Kingdom of Malakanth had a wide range of uses. From the wildest grassland tempest to the gentlest shoreline breeze, each of the realm's gusts and gales had a tale to tell. For instance, if a witch knew how to listen for certain clues, the howl of a spring squall could reveal the correct time of year to plant one's herb garden. An expectant mother might be able to determine the gender of her unborn child, but only if she knew how to read the rustling of birch leaves after an autumn shower, and only if she were a true devotee of the black craft.

The wind, however, was providing a much more pragmatic service to one such devotee on this day. The rolling currents, which were peculiarly strong this winter morning in the Province of Aginor, were stoking the fire beneath the stake to which a woman was chained. Throughout the cosmos, witches often meet a fiery demise whenever they were captured by those fearful or are jealous of their ways, and this woman would be no exception. Her life would end amid the roaring blaze, but swiftly. The villains responsible for her execution, the foul wizards of the Province of Aginor, would be denied the satisfaction of witnessing hours of her protracted torment, all thanks to the witch's faithful ally - the wind.

Return to the elements from whence you came, sister. Go forth into eternity. May you find rest.

From her cell atop one of the four prison towers overlooking the Court of the High Council, the site of all of Aginor's most celebrated executions, Lidya Bonifay watched the final thrashings of the poor wretch amid the hateful flames. The Court, a sprawling plaza with imposing walls on all sides, served as the seat of power for the twelve-member committee of wizards that established the rules by which magic could be lawfully practiced within the Kingdom of Malakanth. A bloodthirsty throng filled the Court. The spectacles in which the High Council exacted their punishment on magical outlaws never failed to draw enormous crowds.

Aginor's streamers were out for this event. The province's flags lined the high walls from tower to tower. With the exception of just two - the King of Malakanth's eagle banner and the battle emblem of Laeron Madrin - the waving standards, hundreds in all, were crimson in color. The profile of a golden stag, the symbol of the High Council of Aginor, shone proudly on each.

Three practitioners of forbidden magic were to be executed this morning, but the burning of Lidya Bonifay would prove to be a special triumph for the High Council. Rumored to be nearly five hundred years old, a life prolonged by twisted and perverse magic, the wizards of Aginor had hungered for the blood of the elusive Ms. Bonifay for centuries. Still, despite their supposed great learning and their acknowledgment of Lidya's magical prowess, the High Council had underestimated the witch's years by a great margin. Lidya was well over ten times her suspected age. Moreover, the wizards would have never guessed that their prized prisoner was surrendering her life to them of her own free will.

Lidya turned from the grim scene down below. She tossed aside the tome of sacred scriptures that she had been holding, the Otholitica, as it was known. The sizable book hit the wooden floor with a resonate thud, causing her lone companion within the cell, a gray rat, to scurry for cover within a pile of straw in a far corner of the room. A kindly faced priestess, a member of the Society of Laeron Madrin, had given her the copy of Malakanth's most revered book upon her arrival at the tower, but she had found no use for it. In life, Lidya had never found much comfort in reading the scriptures. As such, she saw no reason to turn to them now in the moments before her death.

Lidya peered through the metal bars that comprised her cell's lone door. "Zol'atar bambradee. Al'atrek," she whispered, her words barely audible. Two guards were sleeping just outside. Each was under the effects of a spell of slumber that she had cast on them earlier that morning. Satisfied the men were still firmly in the grips of her magic, she sat down on a plain wooden stool, her lone luxury within the cold prison tower. Then, Lidya cleared her mind.

"Zol'atar bambradee est zar'nie."

With their second victim now dead, Aginor's council of jackals would be coming for their prized prisoner. Nevertheless, there was time for a final glimpse into the mists of prophecy, one last opportunity for Lidya to look past the boundaries of this universe and gaze upon the face of immortality.

"Zol'atar bambradee. Alatrek!"

Like the countless times before when her mind had journeyed, the haze of Lidya's current reality lifted as her consciousness delved into pools of insight that allowed her to peer beyond the limitations of time and space and look upon all that shall and shall not be. Scenes of glory bombarded her. In these images, she saw a city of light - Heaven, if you will. Pain and suffering did not exist there, nor did the fruitless travails of life. Love, peace, and mercy called out to her from the expanse, enticing her with their flawless beauty while at the same time mocking her for the life of evil she had led. This paradise would not be Lidya's to claim. Due to her many iniquities, a dreadful fate awaited her, one to surpass everything she would endure upon the wizard's fiery stake.

But, prophecy strode hand in hand with Lidya Bonifay. She could gaze into the possibilities with unrivaled power, but she also had the unique ability to perceive all things associated with these revelations. After years of exploring both Heaven and Hell through her visions, she began to butt up against boundaries within these supposedly infinite locations. There were gates in places where bounds should have not have existed.

It took her more than a millennium, but Lidya finally managed to pierce through the boundaries surrounding these eternal bastions, allowing her glimpses of a beyond that rested apart from what even the greatest powers of our cosmos could contemplate. In this farseeing, Lidya discovered places where mankind's most infamous might one day find relief from Hell's torment. In these visions, she saw a place where even a villainous witch could atone for all her wrongs.

Oh, snap out of it, Lidya. Dispense with the daydreaming, already. I've come to remove you from this foul place.

Even though Lidya was awash in a sea of prophecy, perched above Heaven's most obscure gateway, she could hear the familiar voice of her friend and fellow witch calling to her from the reality of the holding cell. With a sigh, she began extricating herself from the vision. The redemptive scenes of what she might one day discover became less vivid and more sporadic. Eventually, they disappeared altogether.

Good morning, Muriel, said Lidya, once the final image, one of Heaven's emerald rainbow, vanished from sight. How are you this fine day?

Lidya Bonifay, I've known you for ten thousand years, and I love you more than any witch should. But for the life of me, I cannot figure out what you are trying to accomplish with this charade. What are you trying to prove?

Lidya opened her eyes to see Muriel Brayden, a member of the same coven to which she herself belonged. Her sister in magic was patrolling the holding cell, striding from one corner of the room to another and looking ripe for murder. Despite having lived for so many millennia, the one-eyed woman, with her raven hair, did not look a day over twenty. Muriel had arrived atop the tower by means of a portal while Lidya had been afloat in her pools of prophecy. In her arms, the witch cradled the infant daughter to whom Lidya had given birth earlier that fall. The child's name was Marissa.

Damn it, Lidya. There's no reason for you to be here. Muriel paused pacing long enough to pry a loose nail from one of the wooden planks that comprised the walls of the cell. This place couldn't possibly contain a witch of your prowess. Muriel sneered before tossing the nail to the ground.

Designed from a cunningly crafted farasite alloy, the High Council used objects like specially crafted nails to negate the use of magic in certain areas whenever the need arose. This holding cell atop the tower, which the wizards used to imprison witches, contained many such nails. In addition, the metal bars on the door as well as the ones within the window frame contained the same metal alloy. This prison could render any run-of-the-mill village witch impotent, but the voids its nails and bars created were little more than a nuisance for the likes of Lidya and Muriel. Unlike the bumbling witches who populated Malakanth's many boroughs and hamlets, these two women could lay claim to a vaunted coven lineage, one older than the world on which they currently lived.

Please, Lidya, let us leave this dreadful place. Let us depart from Aginor and never return.

Lidya shook her head. Destiny dictates otherwise, Muriel. The date of my demise is at hand. The Sisters must know I go to the stake willingly. Tell them I do so with a joyful heart, full of expectation for a life everlasting in the hereafter.

Muriel directed her lone eye, a baleful brown orb, toward Lidya. A life everlasting in the hereafter? Just listen to yourself. You're talking nonsense. Have you gone mad?

The divination of prophecy is hardly nonsense, Muriel. You've never had a problem deferring to my expertise in such matters before. Why question me now?

Because never in your entire life have I thought you insane! Muriel donned a look of exasperation. That night when you placed Marissa in my arms and charged me with her care, when you said you were off to Aginor to allow yourself to be captured by the High Council, I thought it some sort of joke. Never could I have imagined seeing you here now, waiting to die, wanting to die. Muriel trembled from pent up emotion. Mother has said for centuries that your obsession with those visions would end up being the death of you. For once, it looks as if she's correct!

Despite her friend's odious contempt for the situation, hearing Muriel speak of her mother sparked a longing within Lidya to hold Marissa one last time. May I see her? she asked, extending her arms toward her baby daughter.

Don't be silly. She is your child, your own flesh and blood. You need not ask. Muriel handed the baby to Lidya, who was still sitting on the stool.

All it took was one look into her baby's dark brown eyes to bring Lidya to the brink of tears. However, unlike what one might expect from a mother in Lidya's position, her sorrow did not stem from the fact that she would not be alive to share memories with her daughter or to see her grow into a vibrant young woman. Rather, Lidya's sorrow came from the glimpses of Marissa's future that she had received while adrift in the pools of prophecy. The life of her dear one would be fraught with physical and mental suffering. At times, malice would be her watchword. In the years to come, the rivers of this world would run red with the blood of Marissa's victims, as would ones on worlds yet unknown. Nevertheless, through it all, this little life would one day help bring hope to the doomed of the race of man. And it was for this hope that Lidya was willing to offer up her body to the fire. Fate demanded this sacrifice of her. If she failed to comply, the cauldron of her daughter's destiny would remain unlit and a prophecy, the prophecy, would go unfulfilled.

Use her father. She must spend time with him, at least for a season, during her tender years. Lidya ran a loving finger down the bridge of Marissa's little nose. Teach her the craft. Grow her up strong, Sister. Spare her no misery on my account. But, in the end, the decisions must be hers to make.

Hearing these finals words of instruction from Lidya pushed Muriel past the point of being able to keep her emotions in check. Tears rimmed her one good eye. So, you are really going to go through with this? she asked, shaking.

I'm afraid so.

Then you have truly found the key to immortality, said Muriel. And death is the key, somehow. But, if I'm to care for the child, how am I to follow after you?

Lidya shook her head. Under no circumstances are you to hand yourself over to these fools. She placed a hand on Muriel's cheek. Listen, we will meet again. We will sing and dance together in a paradise that defies my ability to describe. This I have foreseen. The key rests with Marissa, not with death itself.

Lidya's words brought a small measure of comfort to Muriel, who wiped the moisture from her cheek. However, the moment of calm was short lived. The two witches heard the footfalls of what was likely a group of wizards and armed guards coming up the spiral stairwell just outside the cell.

Lidya rose to their feet, and Muriel took the baby from her.

My time has come. Remove my daughter from this place.

In response to Lidya's directive, Muriel, with a snap of her fingers, opened a magical portal, a hovering disk of swirling red smoke that hung in midair. The witch's tears returned, and she extended a hand of desperation out to her condemned coven sister.

Lidya, however, would not be part of it. She stepped forward and ushered Muriel and the baby through the portal rather forcibly, not allowing further objections or words of