Light of Darkness (Witch Apocalypse, Book 1)

By Rivka Zohar

What would you do if witches and warlocks took over the government of the United States? How would you like to be under mind control? A powerful secret society, masters of black magic and the dark arts, have taken control of all the countries of the world. Vanille Cossette, beautiful blonde with horn-rimmed glasses and a knack for the awkward, leaves her hiding place on the island to seek out medical supplies for her dying mother and brother. When she arrives at the looted, burned down city center, she finds herself in a heap of danger as the witches and warlocks come after her to enslave her or worse, torture and kill her.

In escape from the Unith Witch Coven, Vanille joins with a handsome, mysterious man who has secrets that may be just as dangerous as the world power itself, but Vanille falls undeniably in love with this strange man in a corrupt post-apocalyptic setting. Maybe it was not such a good idea to join the colony with this man or maybe it was. Life just keeps getting stranger and stranger for Vanille as her desires build and the stakes increase. Is the prophesy true that silly, awkward Vanille will be the savior of the world? Possibly Vanille is not what she seems...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rivka Zohar
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005637026

Rivka Zohar

Thank you for stopping by. Rivka Zohar appreciates your readership and hopes you have much success in your writing adventure.

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Light of Darkness (Witch Apocalypse, Book 2)

Copyright © 2021 by Rivka Zohar

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, things, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, or things, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Special Thanks to Joe Konrath for your writing advice which inspired some of this novel. Thank you to Nev & Ari for the book cover collaborations and designs. Thank you to my parents for your support. Much gratitude to my husband for your support and help with my writing. Thank you to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, my teacher. Thank you most of all to God for Your love and for Your forgiveness of all my sins.

To Eitan

Light of Darkness

(Witch Apocalypse, Book 2)

Rivka Zohar

1

The Year 2042

My mama and seven-year-old brother moan in their unconsciousness upon the makeshift bed in our cave on the Southern California island. Do not die! Perspiration beads on my forehead just below my annoying widow’s peak as I rake my long albino-white hair out of my face with my long brown fingers. Just breathe. Looking down at Mum’s motionless brown face, my heart hammers exceedingly fast against my chest causing my skinny legs to tremble.

I hear a woman’s voice in my head say, If you leave, I will make your mother betray you. I feel a hard stabbing sensation in my palm and cannot help but shriek, but I ignore the voice. Leave me alone! Is someone enacting voodoo on me? I imagine a black-haired woman stabbing a doll that she made to look like me.

Sucking in a breath of the tropical, humid air that feels thick and nearly suffocating in my state of mind, I set giant palm leaves over my mama and my little brother’s bleeding torsos. Fight… I say in a commanding voice. If I could see myself in a reflection upon the water of the nearby bayou where I like to spend time alone thinking or reading, I expect that right now if I take off my horn-rimmed glasses in the intensity of the circumstances that my normally dull blue eyes would probably look fierce and hot like the blue translucent circumferences surrounding the flames of fire. Fight… I tuck my mother’s brown curly hair and the locks of my brother’s overgrown brown hair under the palm leaves. Fight and don’t ever give up. Neither of them responds to my commands.

Before my mama, Shell Cossette, was shot, she said she would disown me if I ever go into the metropolis without her. She has her superstitious reasons and is controlling, but what can I do? As far as I am concerned, I have no choice. She and my brother, Zip, will die if I do not go.

For the past couple of days, I have been swimming to the mainland and traversing the shoreline and forest hoping to find someone I might be able to trust to help me even though my mama would forbid that too. My endeavors have been fruitless. Anyone I did see, looked suspicious to me. My intuition gave me a cautious feeling about them. I saw one tall man in profile with broad shoulders wearing a white top hat, a white leather coat, and white leather pants husking wood with a knife as he traversed the shoreline. He looked dangerous. I have no other choice but to go to the metropolis. I hope to find someone trustworthy.

It is extremely perilous leaving our hiding place on the island in pursuit of the city. Admittedly, I am frightened, but Mum and Zip require antibiotics to heal their gunshot wounds. I hope predators or witches or warlocks do not attack them and steal our survival supplies while I am away. My stomach ties in knots at the thought of practitioners of the dark arts.

If I am swift and do not get murdered, maybe I can get antibiotics to save their lives. I would be devastated without them. Even though I am already nineteen years old, my mama and brother are my everything. I have been living in isolation with them for so long. If I am lucky enough to obtain the antibiotics, I will keep it a secret where I attained them from. My lanky body trembling, I take off barefoot running toward the water.

*

After a long swim, I heave myself out of the sea into a dark nook along the Sea Forest coast on the mainland. My breathing is rapid. My long white hair clings to my nakedness covering my brown body like a short wrap-around gown tapering off at the edges of my skinny thighs. I lug a chain of wiggly fat trout and a sack of clams and sea snails for haggling. I unhook my horn-rimmed glasses from the chain, wipe them off with my fingers, and put them on my face. Even though I can see well without the glasses, I feel most comfortable having something to hide behind. I do not like people looking at me. The sky looks black with a reddish haze along the horizon where the water meets the atmosphere assumedly from the smog of looting fires in the metropolis.

Now at the edge of the forest, without drying off, I dress in my deceased grandmother’s blue plaid dress with an attached red bowtie. The day prior I flung this old gown over a branch so that it would be here for me tonight. I seize the equestrian lead rope and halter I had concealed amid some boulders.

Unexpectedly, my heartrate accelerates. My frame becomes rigid like a stiff plastic doll. I detect I might not be alone as I anticipated. In the calm tempos of the dark, I perceive the slightest resonances of consciousness. I crook my head around, holding my glasses on my face, and duck down, nearly tumbling over, but do not see a soul.

Yonder, a tree branch seems to crack. I suck in a sharp breath. At once, I whip around to see. My long, wet hair flaps out to the side and slaps against my plaid gown. What is that? Remembering my circumstances, I force my body to still. Slowly, I lean my head forward. My torso and legs are as stiff as barnacles on a coral reef. I perceive gold eyes gazing at me through some scrub. My breath quickens.

I have bullets, I cajole, hoping to frighten the seeming predator. I have never seen gold eyes. But, prior to completing my explication, the eyes seem to vanish.

My ears perceive an urgency of movement, yet I am unable to gain shrewd perception of the form that appears to dart and interchange along the shore in rapid progression. Shaggy dark hair blows in the wind and a muscular physique progresses with unexpected agility. I sense masculinity. Is the figure a man? I believe he is male, but I suspect he must be a warlock. Yet, if he has black magic at his hands, I do not understand why he runs away with such powers that I shy away from. From my knowledge, he should have attacked me.

Dumbfounded, I gaze at the silhouette rushing down the beach away from me like a huge black lion chasing after its prey as he fades into the night. I guess it is not me that he wants. My heart pounds against my chest as I crumple to the ground.

Ah, how sweet, the female voice says in my head. You like him.

I feel the salty wind slow. The lead rope and halter beside me, I inhale the earthy scents of the damp dirt and greenery mixed with the odor of my trout, clams, and sea snails on my lap still twitching. Adjusting my bowtie, I gaze up at the night sky through the trees and try to soothe myself with the plethora of glimmering stars. The heat of the hot summer air seems to dry my brown body somewhat from the seawater as I pull in my awkward legs under my plaid dress and hug my waify, boyish figure to soothe my fright.

Snap out of it, Vanille Cosette. I scold myself the way my mama does when my mind drifts off to fantasy worlds or to the beauty around me while I neglect my studies, chores, or whatever task that is at hand. At least my mama is not here to tie me to a tree. Pull yourself together. Focus. Time is precious. I remind myself I am in a distressed rush. With that, I scramble to my feet, grabbing up the lead rope and halter. At once, I take off running in the direction of the metropolis. I hope the young, hulking man with gold eyes and scary black hair does not change his mind and come after me.

Before I reach the city, below the trees I spot the abandoned horses. They are near the edge of the ravine and appear to be napping with their heads hanging low while their bodies seem in upright positions. As I move in closer, I realize that this is a different herd than I had encountered before. I wonder what happened to the horses I was familiar with. I slow my pace to a walk and then cease all movement momentarily as I survey my surroundings and then creep nearer. I brush intruding thoughts and fears of the man I saw prior on the shore from my mind forcing my attention on the rise and fall of the chest of my horse of choice. The sorrel stallion is mesmerizing! I want him so much. He looks strong and noble.

As I draw closer to the herd, I toss the twitching sea creatures over my shoulder. It is awful feeling their slimy fins through the fabric of my dress. My body tenses as I tie the lead rope into a slipknot and slide it open into a sort of circle. I swing it over my head for momentum like the cowboys of the dome cinema shows and lasso the sorrel stallion’s neck. Yes!

Astonished out of his slumber, he rears up and bucks several times. Whoa! I clasp the rope tighter. Dirt wafts skywards into the starlit night. The rest of the herd wakens snorting, huffing, and dancing around. Perspiration drips from the skin beneath the pointed tip of my white-haired widow’s peak on my forehead. I fear the mares may trample me.

I stamp my bare feet and swing my free arm as I yell out, Haw, haw! not as laughter, but as a threat. Some rear up, but seeing that their leader, presumedly a formally trained horse, is in my control, now prancing and snorting under my firm tugs, they shy away and then gallop off. I glance around regretting my hollers, hoping no witches or warlocks from the metropolis have heard me.

Woah boy, I say firmly yet calmly as I step forward with a tight grasp on the tail of the lasso. The stallion continues to settle down, blowing air through his nose while prancing slightly in place. My mama trained me well. Now that I have a closer look, I can tell by the brandings on his rear that this herd has most probably been previously broken in and trained for trail riding. In the chaos of the times, they must have strayed from their ranches.

I slide the halter over the stallion’s head. His eyes widen. He nods upwards, but I manage to fasten the clasp. Wishing I had a traditional bridle to control the horse, I make the best out of what I possess. I push my horn-rimmed glasses toward the upper part of my nose because they are sliding off from my perspiration. Undoing the lasso around his neck, I tie both sides of the rope through the lower metal ring on the halter and create reigns. With a makeshift hackamore in position on his head, I grab a lock of his mane, take a few quick steps rearward and then forward, throw my leg over his back with all my momentum, and pull myself upright into a sitting position.

Now that the full moon is rising, the light of both the moon and the stars glisten upon the stud’s sleek sorrel coat reminding me of the giant seahorses of the sea with their reddish shimmering scales. With the makeshift reigns in my hands, I squeeze the sides of the stallion with my legs and gently tap him with my heals. At the command he moves forward. I make a clicking sound with my mouth and he starts to trot. With the bouncing movement of the trot, relief washes over me now that I see the confirmation that he is indeed a trained horse. I draw in the reigns, turn his head slightly with another squeeze of my legs and a tap of my heals. Now we are off and loping out of the ravine.

He seems to love to run. In a rush, we gallop over the parched hilly trails in the direction of the metropolis’s Sunset Boulevard. It is so dark out. My long white hair flies behind as it dries in the hot wind.

The last time I was in the metropolis was in the year 2036 with my mama just before we escaped to the island for shelter and voluntary quarantine after the release of the bio warfare Pokuth virus on the world. It was the second virus the secret rulers released. The first virus was a test and much milder. The second virus occurred about six years ago. My father, who I call Pop, died of Pokuth, but my mama, my brother, and I never caught it. Pokuth virus wiped out 64 percent of the population. They forced vaccines on the populace which were supposed to counter the virus, but with that they also laced the vaccinations with string quadrinotes that vibrated at extreme frequencies causing the victims to be more susceptible to world power targeted diseases and other forms of control. Most of the world fell under the rule of the Unith Coven, a powerful organization of witches and warlocks. Some people like Mum, Zip, and I were able to escape and go into hiding. Fury shoots through my body at the memories.

After a long ride, I see boulevard floodlights sweep through the vegetation where I rope the stallion to a solid tree branch. My body stiffens. For a moment, I suspect that I see gold eyes observing me from a different scrub. I hold my breath. Though, as I focus, the vision seems to have disappeared. Maybe the perception of the gold eyes was my imagination. I exhale.

Frustrated with my rapid pulse thundering through my limbs, I begin to head down the shadowy hillside on foot. When I hear a noise or see a flash of light, I hide behind decrepit homes. A rabbit or a wild dog scurries by or an owl flies from a tree. Once in the clear, I further my decent.

As I approach the bottom of the hillside, I see something. My body freezes again. A techorb rolls across the sky. Oh no. It would be awful if I am noticed. What will happen to my mama and Zip then? Do not think that way, Vanille. I try to assuage myself as I push these debilitating thoughts out of my mind.

Sunset Boulevard seems almost silent. Gasses and smoke appear to waft up from a few of the structures. The outrageous cupola cinema billboards appear to still be intact. Neon lights and sparklers surround them. In their arrogance, the witches and warlocks apparently preserved these advertisements like monuments to their idols.

Before the release of the Pokuth virus the majority of society’s elites were secret witches and warlocks, so it did not shock me to observe their mass media ads staring at me like false deities. The occultists bask in paganism. The silence of the boulevard feels eerie—most regular citizens are impoverished and not able to fund the maintenance of their roll cruisers or XO Ports anymore. Some of those who can afford to drive, fear entrapment and chose to drive, if at all, in more inconspicuous places.

Some of my contacts on the island instructed me to trade seafood for pharmaceuticals at the ransacked and now shut down Metaops Czz’s Plant where some people hide when darkness falls. I see the plant ahead and rush around to the back of the graphitized building and notice the word, Dead painted above a high window. The fine hairs on my skinny arms raise as I climb through a much lower, glassless window into the shadowy, dilapidated structure.

It is hard to see inside. I see some lit candles hanging from the ceiling far across the room. As I inhale, I almost choke from the urine scent in the stale air.

I hear a noise… a scuffle. It sounds like something rushes from one side of the room to the other. In fear, my breath quickens. I attempt to discern my surroundings, but in the dimness, the internal structure appears blurred. My line of vision is obscured by strewn boxes and dismantled fixtures and equipment.

I feel a sudden jolt! I gasp. To my shock, something seizes me and flings me to the ground.

Hot steamy breath smothers my face. I want to gag. Who are you? the figure whispers sharply and throws me onto my posterior side like a beached seal. I feel something cold and sharp on my throat. It must be a knife!

It is difficult to talk with the metal at my esophagus. Vanille Cossette, I respond, terrified I might pass out and not receive the drugs I need for my mama and Zip. My posterior feels bruised. Somehow my eyes gain a clearer focus through the fogged-up lenses of my glasses. I see that it is a skinny male with long hair on top of me. My family was attacked. I have trout, sea snails, and clams. I want to trade for antibiotics. My voice sounds like I am choking.

Someone beside us clears his throat. With the knife still at my neck, I shift my eyes to the side. I see a different guy. He looks tall and big boned with a dark complexion and a lot of facial hair. His hand lifts over me and he runs a kind of ultra-violet light over my head and along my torso and legs. She’s pure, he says.

Pure? I wonder what he is