Kings, Geezers and Bloody War (Chapter 9)

Hello my beautiful Steemits, I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas time, I know I did. Oh Santa bought me such a thoughtful gift, guess what it was...... Coal! Lots and lots of coal, I could not believe my eyes. Now there is no excuse for me to be cold this winter. Anyway I will stop my ranting and give you ->

Chapter 9

A woman looks around the large room with awe, the furniture, the paintings, the trinkets. She is a wench of fifty summers, standing in the palace of the Swadalian Princess, both scared and excited she waits. The door to the room opens abruptly and she is startled. The Princess walks right past the woman without giving her a second glance and sits in her chair, her servants scurry about getting the necessities for the her. The woman is unsure and stands perplexed, waiting.

“I-i-...” she gulps and steadies herself. “I thank you me lady for asking me here, but I know not what I have done to deserve dis.”

Junta still ignores the woman and sips from some wine at hand. The wench starts to sweat, now thinking she is being summoned for some crime. She looks around for guards but none are there, only the servants. Her heart thumps, the Princess still silent but now looks her up and down with heavy distaste.

“M-m-may I ask me lady why I be here?” she looks aside to the bustling servants then back to a glaring woman, sweat trickles down. She hovers for a moment more then slowly, hesitantly, turns for the door.

“What are you doing!” bellows Princess Junta.

The woman has jumped as well as the servants. She stands shaking, half towards to the door, half to Junta, blank in what to do.

The Princess rises slowly from her seat and walks towards the wench, her eyes piercing every inch of the woman's soul. The woman is rooted to the spot and can only watch her circle like a wolf waiting to pounce on its pray.

“Do you think you fool me, witch! I see through your illusion, stop now!” sneers Junta as she looks down her nose at the wench.

The woman slowly changes her manor from a meek wench to a maniacal witch and beams at her. “Well my lady, you are one who is not blind. To see me as I am is a power from our Gods. Though speak to me again in that tone, I will remove your tongue.”

Junta takes two full steps and backhands the witch. “I am your superiour, bitch! And I will be Queen of this land and chosen Queen of our true Lord! So speak to me with respect or I will be the one ripping out tongues!”

The witch recovers and spits with a venomous tone. “We do not bow to pathetic human sluts like you, and we laugh at your false Gods of light.” She points a finger at a gold idol and it melts to slag on the floor. The frightened servants huddle in a corner watching their Lady and the witch stare each other down.

“I did not say I was a servant to false gods but the true God, Hoor!”

The witch stands perplexed for a moment, then she eyes Junta up and down before bursting out into a cackle. “Bwhahahah, do you think me a fool! To believe the demented lies of a pathetic slut. Never! Never would our great Lord Hoor foul his magnificence with a polluted human whore of righteousness such as you. You could never be his bride, ever!”

The witch raises her hands, an ancient chants bubbles from her lips with poisonous vigour. A glow of crackling power emanates from her hands. The room fills with screams and sheiks as the servants convulse with fear. Junta rises up and clasps her hands into the power filled ones of the witch. The witch is stunted for a second at the brashness of the woman, but continues her charging of the spell with vigour, a smile playing in her dark eyes.

Junta leans in close to the witch's face and through bared teeth, challenges the witch. “Look into my eyes and tell me I am lying, look into my soul and tell me you do not see the hand of our true lord there. Look deep into my body and tell me his seed dose not slosh inside my matrix!”

The witch, though still powering up, takes a moment to do as Junta bids, and looks deep into her eyes. There, in those deep dark brown eyes, the witch sees something, something so terrifying that she is caught in a silent scream of excruciating pain. The power in her hands spit and splatter, wavering like flames being assaulted with rain.

Junta looks down at the collapsing witch with satanic glee filling her face “Do you see him there, do you see him!..” her voice changes, it is no longer the voice of Junta, but the voice of a demonic entity speaking through her. “..Do you see inside this ones matrix, witch. See my seed within. This one,..” The entity moves Junta's hands over her own body with erotic lust, “.. this one pleases me more than all before, all who have tried to be my bride. This one I want to be, this one must be made so, for this one will be your true Witch Queen.”

“Forgive me Lord, I thought the child righteous, clean, holy, not fit of being our foretold Messiah! Now I see, the whoredom, the filth, the sin. A witch Queen she shall be my Lord!”

The entity speaks again and moves Juntas body around the room, glaring at the shivering servants, licking her lips in blood lust. “Take this one, Sarai. Defile her, with the ritual. Be her servant and mentor in my name, sacrifices shall be needed, riches shall be yours if you fore-fill this task..” Suddenly The entity shoves its face into the witch's “..fail me and you shall reap endless torture, slut!”

In that instant Junta regains control but still keeps her face close to the witch's, a grin of evil spreads across her face. “So, now that our Lord Hoor has spoken, kneel before me, Bitch, and honour me as your Queen!”. Without hesitation the witch prostrates herself before her Queen. Junta stands triumphant, laughing a victorious cackle.

“So, Sarai, You be the famous Sarai of the Gofstad Woods?”

The witch, still submissive, speaks cordially. “Yes my Queen, I be she.”

Junta turns towards her cowering servants and snatches up a young woman of near 18 summers. “Well, will this one do for my defilement ritual, please say yes cause this little shit sneers at me when I am not looking.” Junta looks down at the whimpering woman with haughty eyes.

“Nay my Queen, but in time she shall come of use. The defilement must be one of your blood, kin or...”

“So, my brother or sister would do nicely.” Smiles Junta as she shoves the servant into a wall.

“In other times yes they would do nicely, but, three have come forth from your matrix and one of those you must choose.” the witch lowers herself close to the floor, awaiting Junta’s wrath.

Junta stands deadly still, her lip quivers and dampness comes to her eyes. It is the first time her heart is pulled with fear and remorse. “No, no not my sweet girls, no! They, they are to rule by my side, I..” The witch looks up with knowing eyes, but the answer is plain. “Junta hardens her countenance, “What must I do?”.

“Three defilements to be done unto the chosen, to bed them, to murder them, and finally bathe in their blood and offal. This is all to be done on the vacant moon.”

Junta, quivers a little, “Then I have 2 weeks to choose which of my daughters.”

“No, you do not choose, our Lord chooses. She whom enters here this day, with Ivy about her head. She, she will be the sacrifice.”

No sooner had the witch finished speaking, the door to Junta’s room bursts open and all three of her Daughters enter. The eldest Ises, a girl of 11 summers, roughly holding the other two, Wenda, 6 summers and U’na, 4 summers, by their arms. “Mother, I found these two playing under the bushes, dirtying their dresses!”

Junta’s eyes grow wide with dreaded fear as she points to the girls hair and speaks with distraught anger “What that be about you hair child!”. Each of the girls pull at the foliage twisted in rings around their hair. The witch rises and marches over and examines the leaves. She turns and looks Junta directly in the eyes. “Ivy”

Junta screams at the top off her lungs and runs to her girls and embraces them all into her bosom and cried.