A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Twelve

I dive along the crops, where the stems grow high enough to conceal a fully-grown man. It's more than enough to conceal me. But my keen eyesight, inherited from Papa Ryu, homes in on the witch doctor. He's crouching over one tiny body. No, not just one.

Five, five children lined up in a shallow ditch.

I try to avoid thinking about the skeletons we saw upon first arriving here, the empty skins upon the earth. No, this won't happen again. Not under my watch.

I don't have time to continue that thought, as Tawil crashes in, clumsier, next to me. I pull him down to hide him before the imbecile gets us caught. Pari, surprise, surprise, follows soon after Tawil. Saban's near the piles of empty baskets across the way, behind the witch doctor's back. I can see his serious, bearded face behind the grains.

Still, as before, I cannot catch a glimpse past the witch doctor's mask. The night's cold, but my skin heats up automatically.

Saban steals forwards, bending the stalks back.

One of the stalks, still ripening and green, snaps. The witch doctor, I can't tell what they're thinking. The mask conceals all.

Heart hammering, I watch as the knife in the witch doctor's hand disappears. Within seconds, it reappears, burying itself in the older man's stomach.

So, that's what he's thinking.

I pull out Baqir, getting to my feet. Tawil and Pari join me. Pari pulls a bow and arrow, Tawil a blade. The witch doctor laughs. I hate his laugh, like a range of echoes, a room full of people, laughing all in the hollow of my head. Power invading me, like a violation.

Pari notches an arrow, but he mistimes the release. Or, at least, that's what it looks like in my eyes. The arrow goes through Tawil's shoulder. Tawil, in turn, can't keep a grip on the blade. The witch doctor raises his hand, and Tawil, unthinkingly, slashes at Pari's chest. Pari, clutching his hand to his heart, stares up at Tawil. The shock doesn't register. He still tries for the bow...

"Stop it!" I unhook the netting, hurling Baqir. The witch doctor smoothly bends backwards, flexible as no human should be.

No... no way that could have missed. He was so close.

The air, the air tastes strange on my tongue. It tastes like blood.

Blood... and magic."

"My, my, seems your paltry parlor tricks means that you can avoid my influence," he points to me, "all your little friends are killing each other, but not you. What are you going to do? Fight me alone? What a fool."

He laughs, laughs. The echoing laughter, it makes my mind muddled. It makes me question what I see. "End this, sorcerer." I run forwards. He skips away, his image flickering, then reappearing moments later.

"Dukun," the shadow behind the mask purrs. "In Jiwa, you'd call me Dukun."

"I call you murderer," I spit at him, lurching forwards. He dodges, dancing. Fingertips soaked with blood. His body, thriving off the blood from those children. Their bodies growing thinner. Weaker. Paler as he takes and takes from them. Little gold flakes dusting their clothes. "I call you filth!"

I roar, trying to pin the net around him.

His fingertips graze my skin, his power soaking into me as the blood does.

"Ah, I see now, not just a fool." The masked face leans closer, leering, "a princess."

"No, stop it. Stop it!" I wrap my arm around his neck, pressing.

He should've stopped breathing by now. But the blood magic. It keeps him strong.

I wrestle him to the ground. General Sol, where in the gods' names is she?

Screams from the house. Dark shadows, flecked with red blood. The witch doctor's doing, causing unrest in the spirit world so he can raise hell with the living.

Now I see why I still don't have any backup. General Sol's left me all alone, to fight the witch doctor myself while she defends Kura. All alone...

...to face my death.

"I see your weakness." He whispers, as I tie the net around him. His breathing, it's getting fainter. The blood magic fading. The children in the ditch struggle to life, blinking away their magic-induced slumber. "The death goddess's gift."

"You know nothing." I spit back, eyes wide. Terrified.

I scrabble for Baqir, poising it over my head. Ready to smash this mask to bits, with the Dukun's skull behind it.

"I do. I heard your thoughts. Your anxieties. One request before I die. A challenge, some might call." He sings, laughing with the voice that possesses a legion of other souls. Other terrors of the night. "I challenge you to find my name, princess. Three tries." Light flickers beneath the recesses of his mask, the wooden fangs and shadowed eyes. "Think you can beat me?"

A challenge issued, gods damn him...

I was so close too.

My blood boils, and my grip weakens on Baqir. My throat swells shut. My heart pounding as I'm brought to one knee.

I swing around, gritting my teeth. "I... accept..."

I can't see behind that mask, but I'm sure he's smiling as I'm freed from the curse. Freed long enough to smack the back of his head, non-lethally. He slumps over, and I make quick work tying the net the rest of the way around him. Tawil, Pari, Saban, I can hardly see their figures in the darkness. I'm not sure if they saw my weakness. Other squad members are either lying dead, killed by witching shadows that've dissipated with their master. The rest are tending to the five children, stunned. Luckily, their wounds still largely superficial.

But I cannot rest, not until this murderer's dead.

Not until I say his cursed name.

***

Readers,

Firstly, thank you for all the love you show me in votes/comments. I love you back.

Secondly, the challenge has finally been issued. Oh gods.

-Sophia