Witches of the Wormhole by Mark Bousquet

Witches of the Wormhole by Mark Bousquet

Author:Mark Bousquet [Bousquet, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Space Buggy Press
Published: 2021-03-25T22:00:00+00:00

49. Support Your Local Emperor

The Witches Brimstone, Water, and Winged stood in tall, overgrown grass in front of a gray castle. The building looked as abandoned as it was, none of them sparing any of their power to keep the place looking sharp for the Addow.

The Addow had a name, of course, but they never used it. The Addow was always “the Addow.” The Addow was always “it,” and not “she.” The Addow was always thought of as a singular, though the Wormhole Witches knew there were hundreds of thousands of them. The Addow was always left alone.

Until now.

Their eyes peered up and around the castle, wondering if the Addow was even still there, but knowing it had to be.

When they had driven their fourth sister off the Cauldron, the Dark Things had moved the Addow in as punishment. It was there to watch them, to report back, to keep them in line by reminding them at whose mercy they served as the gatekeepers of the Deep.

“The high tower,” the Water Witch said, a chill moving through her as she pointed to skyward, where two glowing white eyes looked down at her from the uppermost window.

“I suppose it is too much to hope for it to come down—”

The Winged Witch’s words were cut off as the Addow moved out into the open. Even now, with the memory of the Addow’s first appearance emblazoned into their mind, watching it leave the window and descend the castle was something horrific.

The Addow was a shadow detached from any living being. They were the children of the Dark Things, born into a life of eternal servitude.

Their Addow had a body that was humanoid in its general shape, but all straight lines and hard angles, its body lacking things like knees and elbows unless it wanted to create them. It didn’t so much walk as it extended itself, so as it crawled down the castle, it stretched its right arm five feet down the tower, then its left twenty feet to the nearest rooftop. Its body followed along behind it only after the hand had reached its destination.

As it lowered itself, stretching out over roofs, bridges, and terraces, the Addow’s white eyes were unmoving in its head, always looking down at them, always glowing.

It reached the ground with its left hand first, stretching down from a height of thirty feet. The Addow’s body followed, and when its feet caught up with the rest of him, looking like it was doing a headstand, its head simply slid up its torso as its legs became arms and its arms became legs.

“You come to see Sharoq?” she asked, her voice quiet and inquisitive, and elongating the “s” sounds, creating an image in the minds of all who heard her of a giant snake, patiently stalking its prey. “After all these years, what is it you seek from the one you ignore?”

“An audience with the Dark Things,” the Brimstone Witch answered.

Sharoq chuckled and her body grew a little with


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