Slices of Midnight: The Black Craft Saga

By Jon Dottingly

Slices of Midnight

The Black Craft Saga, vol. I

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 mysterious wanderer.

In time, the cosmos would never be the same...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Obricon Adventures, LLC
• Release date: Oct 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201452216

Jon Dottingly

WHEN HE IS NOT WRITING, Jon Dottingly enjoys photography, music, travel, spending time with friends and family, and playing with his trusty Vizsla, Otis. OTHER WORKS BY JON DOTTINGLY SLICES OF MIDNIGHT LYCONIA: CRADLE OF KINGS CROW AND CHALICE VOLCIFER’S CHILD OF THE BLOOD THE BLACK CRAFT SAGA

Book preview

Prologue

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. Likewise, 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. Except for just two of these flags - 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 an extraordinary 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 acknowledgment of Lidya's magical prowess, the High Council had underestimated the witch's years by a significant 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 soon. 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. Unfortunately, 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. 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 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 scenes of the redemption 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 I cannot figure out what you are trying to accomplish with this charade for the life of me. What are you trying to prove?

Lidya opened her eyes to see Muriel Brayden, a member of the same coven she belonged to. 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, one-eyed Muriel, with her raven hair, did not look a day over twenty. Muriel had arrived atop the tower through a magical 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 her pacing long enough to pry a loose nail from one of the wooden planks that comprised the cell walls. 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 nails of this type. In addition, the metal bars on the door and the ones within the window frame were crafted from the same metal alloy. This prison could render any run-of-the-mill village witch impotent, but the voids the 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's leave this dreadful place.

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 life everlasting in the hereafter.

Muriel directed her lone eye, a baleful brown orb, toward Lidya. For 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. So why do you question me now?

Because never in your entire life have I thought you insane. Muriel donned a look of exasperation. "When you placed Marissa in my arms and charged me with her care, I thought it was some sort of joke. But no. You really did head off to Aginor. You really did allow yourself to be captured by the High Council. 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. And it looks as though she was correct. As usual."

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. Marissa 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 see her grow into a vibrant young woman. Instead, 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 planets yet unknown. Yet, through it all, this little life would one day help bring hope to the doomed race of man. And it was for this hope that Lidya was willing to offer up her body to the wizards' 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 tiny nose. Teach her the craft. Grow her up strong, sister. Spare her no misery on my account. But in the end, the decisions will be hers to make.

Hearing these finals words of instruction from Lidya pushed Muriel past the point of keeping 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'll 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 measure of comfort to Muriel, who wiped the moisture from her cheek. However, the moment of calm was short-lived. The witches heard the footfalls of what was sure to be 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 opened a magical portal with a snap of her fingers. The portal appeared as 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. Rather, she stepped forward and ushered Muriel and the baby through the portal rather forcibly, not allowing further objections or words of conjecture. No sooner had the swirling mists of the portal disappeared than