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    The King's Witch: A Short Story Introducing The World of Pangaea
    The King's Witch: A Short Story Introducing The World of Pangaea
    The King's Witch: A Short Story Introducing The World of Pangaea
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    The King's Witch: A Short Story Introducing The World of Pangaea

    By Sondra Allan Carr

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    About this ebook

    The Knowledge. It shows her what has been, what will be, and—even more fearful—what may be. Some call it a gift, but Koreen knows better. The Knowledge is a curse.

    Her story is a tragic one; The Knowledge has revealed as much. Though she cannot save herself, she may yet save others. Then her sacrifices were not in vain.

    An unspeakable evil is about to overrun the earth, while the only man able to defeat the demon hordes remains ignorant of his destiny. The future depends on her ability to convince him of the truth. But will the young king listen? Especially since he has sworn death or exile to all who practice the black arts.

    King Armander finds it difficult to believe the vile creature standing before him was the dead king’s consort. She seems more demented than evil, and unaware her life hangs in the balance. His sense of justice demands he allow her to plead for herself.

    “Can you tell me, Witch, any reason why I should spare your life?”

    As soon as she speaks, he regrets his question. She reveals his past, and the dark deed no one else could know he committed. Her knowledge of his secret adds weight to her dire prophecy: that with her execution, he will lose his only ally in defeating the dark forces loosed on his kingdom. His own life, in fact, will be forfeit.

    Does he dare defy his own edict to save himself and his people? Can he trust the woman they call The King’s Witch?

    Reader’s caveat: This story contains a single sex scene that is fairly graphic and may be disturbing to some. Those who prefer to avoid such content and those under 18 please be advised, this story may be inappropriate for you.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSondra Allan Carr
    Release dateSep 26, 2013
    ISBN9780989317801
    The King's Witch: A Short Story Introducing The World of Pangaea
    Author

    Sondra Allan Carr

    Sondra Allan Carr lives in the Bluegrass state of Kentucky with her husband of more than four decades. Sondra loves to travel and has been to Europe, China, Australia, and India. She recently spent time in the rainforest of Belize, an experience reflected in the setting for her second book in The World of Pangaea saga, The Savage. A confessed word nerd and compulsive reader, Sondra has “read all of Shakespeare” at the top of her bucket list. She believes truth is stranger than fiction and fiction is often truer than real life—or at least most of the time it makes more sense. When she isn’t reading or succumbing to the allure of the internet, she spends her time writing and trying to make sense of the world.

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      Book preview

      The King's Witch - Sondra Allan Carr

      Glyph

      Chapter One

      Bar

      She always knew they would come for her. They are coming again, the king’s men.

      The young one this time. The one Nekros called his son. She called him by another name when she suckled him, before Nekros sent his men. Before they came and snatched the baby from her breast.

      They came for him, too. The thought strikes her as funny. It makes her laugh, long and hard, until she has to hold her sides, wheezing for breath, laughing so hard her ribs ache.

      One of her jailers yells at her. Quiet, witch!

      They call her witch now. Once she had a name. Nekros called her Koreen when she pleased him. Bitch or slut or whore when she did not.

      And the baby they snatched from her breast? What did Nekros call him? What does he call himself?

      King. He calls himself King.

      He sent his guards the day after Nekros died, brought her here to await his judgment.

      If he dawdles much longer, this dungeon will be her death. Then all will be lost.

      Death surrounds her here. Its smell permeates the place. But something more taints the air, an unmistakable odor, one all too familiar. The scent of evil.

      Demons hover near.

      The one who summoned them from their netherworld lies in his grave. Now they are free, they seek a new home. And they are hungry.

      Unbidden, the Knowledge comes to her: In time, they will find a home. In time, a great man will die.

      Yes, they will find a home, but not with her. Not while she has strength to send them on their way. Their kind can be discouraged. Demons are much like humans—given a choice, they take the easier course.

      She has to struggle to get to her feet. Her joints protest every step as she travels the perimeter of her cage. Three paces north-south, three paces east-west. South-north, west-east. Three times three, the warding spell, each time around whispering their names.

      Go! The word dies in a gurgle of phlegm. Persistent coughing has flayed her throat and robbed her voice of its strength.

      Nekros’s demons are like starving curs. They must be ordered away with authority.

      She takes a deep breath. The words have to be dredged from the depths of her will. Their sharp edges score her throat, leaving a taste of blood as they emerge.

      Be off! Find someone who will welcome you.

      As if in concert with her command, a shaft of sunlight angles through her cell window. The opening is no bigger than a man’s fist, too high to reach. But she has learned by standing in the opposite corner and craning her head back, she can see a patch of sky. At night, a star might briefly lodge there.

      She turns toward the light, the way a flower turns its face to the sun, and drinks in the warmth. But it is impossible. Impossible to get warm in this place.

      The dank walls exude a constant chill. Now, on the brink of winter, a cold wind often whistles through the window. The jailers refuse her a blanket. A layer of foul-smelling straw scattered over the stone floor serves as her mattress.

      Once she shared a king’s bed.

      The ground shifts beneath her feet, the walls around her bulge and pulse as though alive, the air quivers. Her surroundings slowly melt away, dissolving into a different time, a different place. She squeezes her eyes shut to ward off the vision and mutters a useless prayer. No more of the future. Please. The present is torment enough.

      She wakes standing in the same spot. The sun has disappeared, yet she has no memory of time passing. Her limbs are cold as ice. They are clumsy and refuse to do her bidding.

      She must stay warm. Stay warm or die.

      She drops to the floor, scuttles into the corner. Her brittle nails break and bleed as she rakes the straw toward her, trying to cover herself.

      Gad, but it smells of piss.

      She hugs her knees to her chest and chants the words in a rasping whisper, reciting her single purpose: Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive.

      An hour passes, maybe more. The wind dies down. Her body no longer trembles uncontrollably. Perhaps she will live, she cannot be certain. The Knowledge has never revealed her own end.

      Something moves beneath the straw. A brief, sharp pain lances her thigh.

      Like the demons, they are hungry.

      She holds her breath, listening, knowing she has but one chance. Faster than thought, her arm shoots out, and her fingers close around the rodent’s thick tail. She yanks it into the air, holding it at arm’s length. The rat squeals and bites at her.

      Fate holds us all in its grip. She dangles the creature and laughs while it paws the air, frantically twisting this way and that.

      One of the guards yells at her from the other end of the passage. Stop your cackling, witch!

      She laughs again as she carries the rat to her cell door.

      Shut your filthy gob or I’ll empty my chamber pot down it.

      They had thought it a wonderful jest the night before when they threw the contents of their piss pot onto the floor of her cell.

      She thrusts her

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