The Grey Witch Of Yga

The mystery cycle of Ygamagha

(based on confidential records in the Almanac of the Order of Mages)

Sometimes, Yga was visible on the horizon. Pale, distant and sad, it lingered behind wisps of poisonous vapour from the marshes, casting its cold light over the ravaged body of Ygamagha. Battles on the surface of the planet had ceased long ago but the scars would remain forever. The air was toxic, radiation levels ran high, several continents were consumed by smouldering fires. Life had gone all but extinct.

Ygamagha has always been a war zone contested by the witches, the mages and the military.

Then the Great Cosmic Discoveries were made.

Magha, it seemed, was boundless and mostly hostile. Threats from above and beyond forced the warring cliques on Ygamagha into an alliance and gave the war industry a boost.

The construction of the Conquest corps Defender of Magha began.

This incredible weapon was the size of a planet. According to schematics, once the Battle pulsar was complete, it would be bigger than Ygamagha itself. The first of this size, it was codenamed “Death March Horizon” in an altogether new battle class. Its construction lasted many generations and ultimately claimed their lives.

As time wore on, the skies above Ygamagha were gradually plunged into darkness by the monstrous structure. Daylight responsibilities were taken over by the battle satellite stars which orbited the Defender of Magha as its first line of defense. Each satellite shone in a different colour of the spectrum.

But Agonia yearned for the pale light of Yga. On those rare occasions when the feeble light appeared far, far away, the young witch climbed on top of one of the lonely spires of the Witch hive and gazed with longing at it.

She was a Daughter of changes and her name was Agonia Midogue.

Hierarchy among the witches was straightforward and clear. There were Daughters, Mothers and Grandmothers. Within these three communities they were trained in the mystical arts and then joined the respective army forces. Three Grandmothers ruled over the witches: The Black Grandmother of the past, the Grey Grandmother of the Present and the White Grandmother of the future. Grandmother of the past at the time was Sentesia Delpot. Codra Bogeldere held the moniker Grey Grandmother of the Present and Joanna Liezerdoug - White Grandmother of the future. This ruling trinity was most strict and demanding on matters of discipline within the Hive and the witches’ involvement in the never-ending military operations against the enemies from the stars. Each Grandmother ruled her Veils of the Hive with an iron fist.

Agonia did not like the Grandmothers.

She did not like the Defender of Magha either because it blocked Yga. She hated the military and despised the mages.

She kept these secrets to herself. She never shared with anyone. Agonia Midogue never spoke. Not because she had taken the vow of silence or because she could not. No. The reasons remained a mystery. This is how she had been found in the marshes by the Hive - naked and silent.

The rules say Daughters must never cover their bodies. Their education requires it for they need to learn to be free of prejudice and obey their seniors. Besides, they learn they are not defenseless and should rely only on themselves.

However, Daughters are never forbidden to speak.

It may be that Agonia was silent due the strange circumstances in which she was found. It happened during a giant flare on Yga, when the whole planet of Ygamagha and the almost complete Defender of Magha lit up in a flash of blinding light which lasted several seconds. This was no regular eruption or ordinary light. The eruption had released a burst of magical energy and occult light from its star. It coincided with an extremely rare alignment of constellations and at that moment, Agonia was found in the marshes by the Witch Hive.

Naked and silent.

It was obvious she understood what was being said. They took her in and she turned out a most capable student. They knew not what to call her at first. A name she needed nonetheless and since she had appeared after the flare, they took to calling “The witch of Yga”. But she had not fallen from the star. She was just a peasant girl from beyond the marshes. She had been abandoned because she was the twelfth child to parents who simply could not afford another mouth to feed. The father seemed to believe Agonia was not his daughter anyway. So, they had given her that ugly name, put her in a basket and left her in the foggy wetland. The child was saved by an old widow who lived on a boat in the marshes. Not the typical houseboat but more like a shed on a raft. This shed looked downright macabre and had quite a temper. Their paint cracked and peeling, the old shutters sat on dirty crooked windows and were rarely, if ever, open. The light that trickled in was dim on account of the fog which covered the marshes in gloom. The houseboat drifted wherever fancy took it. When it hit shallows, it lifted ponderously on its four fat scaly feet and trudged along till it found deeper water where it rested again. Nobody knew what it ate with any certainty.

For what it’s worth, the witch was a dried-up shell of a woman with a penchant for tobacco and crosswords. The old quantum console, which the widow used to download endless crosswords each cycle ^[1] was connected to the total web on Ygamagha. Agonia was always curious and learned a lot from them. And, it was boring out there in the marshes. She used to talk to herself a lot, just like all children do, and asked the widow all kinds of questions. Answers were hard to come by, but this did little to discourage the girl. Sometimes, the widow would teach Agonia a simple spell or an innocent curse. The girl had a knack for magic and put her heart and soul in learning the craft. She quickly grew to hate all mages, which the old hag despised for reasons of her own. She thought poorly of the military thanks to snippets of the news bulletin she picked up from the console. Agonia could not get her hands on the ancient device very often because the widow held on to it most of the time.

Time passed.

The widow died.

It happened during the flare from Yga.

And Agonia went silent. She remembered the blinding light but not much else. She came round, far from the houseboat that was her home and without clothes, desire to scream or make any sound at all. Back in the marshes, the orphaned houseboat went rogue and was lost for a long time.

And yet, it was as if luck had shined on the lonely child of the marshes. She received a warm welcome in the Witch Hive where no one seemed to notice she never spoke. She grew slender and soon her body was covered with tattoos that added power to sign spells and silent curses, as was only proper.

Young Agonia Midogue was the quietest Daughter of changes the Witch Hive had ever had. The witch of Yga somehow communed with her sisters without saying a word. Little by little she gained the respect of her peers, set trends in fashion and let her ideas take root in other people’s minds. Sometimes these ideas were far from innocent. Like her theory that if the Hive let men in, it would undermine the Mage order and bring power back into balance.

There hardly is a boy who wouldn’t wish to study magic surrounded by a horde of naked girls! The numbers of basic spell-casters of the Mage order or Archivers as they were accustomed to calling themselves would soon be reduced to little more than a harmless assortment of artistic designers with an eye for color.

Or her idea that the Veils of the Hive had to merge. As there was no such thing as the Past or the Present, the veils and Grandmothers that represented them just had to go.

However silent she may have been, her exotic ideas could not have passed unnoticed. And it was hardly a surprise that the young witch of Yga got herself noticed. Who first paid attention to the wild theories of the Daughter of changes is still not clear but she made her debut in a mother’s boudoir with the Mother of elements, Loma Lina Margalo.

Mother Margalo was standing by the window in her boudoir gazing at the distant marshes when the silent Agonia appeared on her doorstep.

“Don’t just stand there girl as though you are gated. Come in!” softly said Loma Lina still looking out of the window, her back to the hall.

The young witch of Yga took a step forward but remained close to the curtain that covered the entrance. She quickly looked around the boudoir and let her eyes rest on Mother Margallo.

“We found you there,” Loma Lina pointed at the fog-draped marshes, where the rotting trunk of a large tree was lying on one side on the soggy earth.

Agonia kept watching the mother. Back straight, dark violet veils hugging a fit body and silver hair worn short.

Mother Margallo turned around and her eyes bore into the girl making her flinch. Loma Lina’s eyes were surprisingly big and eerily violet and Agonia found herself gawping as if she had seen something improper.

“I see you are impressed by the Eye of elements,” said Loma and then Agonia noticed the mother holding a violet crystal globe.

The color shifted nervously under Agonia’s gaze.

Mother Margallo went over to the tea table and sat in a fine chair. She placed the globe in front of her then turned her huge eyes to the witch of Yga and ordered:

“Sit down, daughter!”

Agonia sat on the other chair by the table and glanced at the Mother of Elements trying to guess her age and failing. Her violet eyes were too distracting. The Daughter of changes peered into the globe again.

“Do not be alarmed,” Loma Lina almost smiled. “I know you commune with your friends through the crystal. Now we will use mine.”

Mother Margallo put her forefinger on the globe and adjusted it in front of the girl.

“How did you come up with such nonsense!?” the Mother of Elements was not one to mince words.

The globe responded with a wild display of colors which suggested distrust, protest, resolution, anger, and a slightly dry throat all at the same time.

“I beg your forgiveness, let me offer you some tea,” a dainty porcelain cup popped up right in front of Agonia but the sudden change in Mother Lima’s tone was confusing and rather annoying.

These emotions showed up on the globe as glowing cinders covered in smoke.

“Feisty, yes! You hide none of your thoughts and emotions but that I will take care of,” said Margallo, thinking to herself and then continued: “The rules in our world demand absolute obedience. Small digressions pose no threat and we even encourage them because they build a strong character.

The globe turned a deep grey.

“There, you can learn,” the smile only touched the corner of Loma Lina’s mouth.” You are here not only because you go beyond the limits,” her tone got harsher “but most of all because you can channel the force of your will. Girls like you are hard to come by and must receive proper care and guidance. Only one or perhaps two other girls share the same modalities as you.”

Suspicion filled the globe again.

“From now on, you will be under my direct supervision!” Mother Margallo’s voice was so cold and firm that the globe iced over.

She rubbed with some satisfaction the Eye of Elements and without looking at Agonia added:

“Go now but stay close!”

The girl obeyed in a kind of trance. She straightened up like an android, turned around stiffly and headed for the boudoir’s entrance. Before leaving, Agonia overheard the mother of Elements say:

“M-mm, yes. The globe pointed you out for a reason.”

It was as if Lima had seen something in the witch of Yga that remained hidden even to Agonia. The ire she felt quickly drove these thoughts out of her head and settled triumphantly behind the girl’s glowering eyes. Her willful nature would be at odds with Mother Margallo’s desire to keep her on a tight leash. The witch of Yga would have liked to follow her own rules instead of those of her narrow-minded superiors. She was aware the time would soon come when she would be sent to the frontline to join the fray on one of the outer rings, where Ygamagha waged its wars for justice. But she saw herself as the commander of a witch squad, not some adjutant to a Mother. Neither was she happy with the role witches played in battle. All they ever did was put up spells to protect the military and tend to the wounded. Her pretty little head entertained grand ideas about the witches replacing the mages from positions of privilege at the head of the army and overwhelming the enemy with attacking curses and spells. The world existed for War and Agonia dreamed of spearheading the attack.

How could she see her dreams fulfilled if she waned in the shadow of the hateful Margallo!?

Such painful thoughts were tearing her apart and she hadn’t noticed leaving the Witch Hive far behind, coming to her senses only once she waded in the stinking waters of the marshes. She looked around with a heavy heart. Instead of clear skies, all she could see was the hateful Defender of Magha hanging above her, whose construction had drained the resources of a thousand worlds and claimed so many lives. The huge building of the Hive loomed behind her while the endless marshes draped in fog sprawled ahead as far as the eye could see. Still further, veiled in the poisonous atmospheric gases and smothered by the ominous silhouette of the Defender, Yga shined coy, distant and elusive like a child’s dream.

The young witch of Yga went after her star.

She was not planning on going back to the Hive. She would find her way beyond the marshes, find shelter in a disused military base, steal a comet or a small Interstellar. She would fly away to a planet and set up her own Hive. And when the time was right, she would come back the leader of her own army of witches, tear the Defender of Magha down from the sky and let Yga reign again.

Her childish dreams were rudely interrupted by a treacherous muddy sinkhole which trapped her and started swallowing her young body greedily. She was no stranger to bogs and keeping her cool she wove a silent spell for just such a case. To her surprise, the magic words which sprang in her mind did not produce the desired effect other than churning the muddy water. She tried a different spell but just managed to give the foam a golden shine. Panic was already setting in when the mud in which she was fast sinking came up to her shoulders. She dared not move lest it made matters worse and delivered her faster to the depths. In her desperation she gave a piercing whistle but the sound drowned in the stink of the marshes. Besides, she thought, the noise could draw an unwelcome beast to her. Too late now as Agonia saw a dark shadow pushing through the fog and closing in. The girl’s eyes widened with horror when the enormous swamp panther leaped in the air and landed with disturbing grace on a rotten tree trunk nearby. All kind of thoughts were running in the girl’s head but none offered escape. No spell could make the beast cooperate. Such monsters were notoriously difficult to break, let alone by a daughter. The beast was facing a challenge of sorts too as clearly it knew the area well and was currently trying to figure out a way to free his prey from the grip of the sinkhole. The mud reached Agonia’s chin and the swamp panther got ready to jump hoping against hope to fly over the victim and at least snatch its head.

But quite suddenly the fearsome beast jolted and melted away into the fog without making a sound. A more experienced mother would have found this rather unusual but hardly a reason to worry. However, the young enchantress’s thoughts ran wild with panic as she tried to imagine the kind of monster that could make a beast like the swamp panther run away, tail between its legs.

Just then, she felt something touch her leg.

The Something crawled upward and a silent wail of utter terror came from the girl’s mouth.

The witch of Yga tried to fight the faceless enemy charging from the depths but she could barely move in the mud and the attacker was strong and methodical. Eventually, it tightened its grip on her and pulled her to the tree trunk. Though Agonia could not fight back she released a barrage of silent deadly curses garnered with spit. The monster shrugged it all off sending bright electrical arches in a wild dance around the two of them caught in a deadly embrace.

“Enough!” the girl felt the voice of steel like a blow to her head.

Her entire will left her and she slumped helpless in the hands of the monster.

It all grew quiet as the electricity sank in the mud while the boiling water of the marshes settled in under a blanket of fog. Two ghastly bodies rose from the mud. The shapeless silhouette of the monster climbed with its prey on the huge tree trunk without much difficulty. It rose to full height and cast the stricken witch on it. She had no strength left in her to look at it and lay listless just as she had fallen.

“Rise!” the voice boomed in her mind and her body obeyed without question.

Agonia stood rigid straight and opening her eyes made her feel dizzy. It was all a blur at first but gradually shapes started coming back into focus. She looked in abject horror at the fiend looming above her. It was a sight of dread mostly because lumps of mud and slime slid off this monster which her imagination claimed was the worst demon in the whole Boundless Magha.

Taking great care, the demon started rubbing itself clean using two of its limbs until a distinctly human body emerged from underneath all the sticky mud from the marshes. He was tall and was wearing the heavy-duty battle-suit of the Pacifist commandos. The helmet’s visor was broken and thick sludge from the marshes kept pouring out. It stank horribly just like everything else around. Agonia stood nailed to the ground before the filthy giant and watched in disgust as he thrust a hand inside his helmet and began scooping out mud through the broken visor. Once he finished grooming, the armored giant let his hands fall to his sides and stood still. His battle-suit was done for judging by the multiple cuts and the wires sticking out as well as some ruptured tubes that kept leaking waste matter. What made Agonia’s mind wail in agony, however, was the pacifist whose rotten head inside the battered helmet was giving her a toothy grin.

Two dim lights flared inside the empty eye sockets and the huge figure leaned over her.

“I find you here where I left you,” the dead pacifist did not move his lips but his voice forced its way inside the witch’s head nonetheless.

It was repulsive but overwhelming. It was like Death personified was talking.

“I am Andesaloth,” the voice filled Agonia’s mind and went on to explain: “The Lord of Death Himself!”

An eerie silence followed as the monster was clearly expecting the shock of recognition but the young girl was so paralyzed that she could not give the macabre helmet its due.

The corpse quickly figured this out and added irritably:

“Just listening will do for now!’

More silence. Apparently, the corpse was used to getting fawned over whenever he made a statement. Remembering his audience was helpless, the dead pacifist rose to his feet and walked around the witch of Yga taking his time.

“You are special to me,” Andesaloth said it as if he was speaking on behalf of the whole world. ”I chose you carefully. There are two others like you but I chose you to be the vessel of my will and spread it among your sisters. I intend to give you a very difficult task but I will assist you.”

The helmet stopped in front of the girl and leaned closer. The empty sockets searched her wild eyes and she knew she could hide nothing from him.

“You have many questions,” Andesaloth sounded intrigued. “Curious, willful, perceptive but arrogant and impatient. I like you, kid!”

The corpse straightened up authoritatively and slowly made his way to a thicket of branches in the shape of an armchair. The pacifist sat on the improvised throne and motioned to Agonia:

“Come here!” his command made the body of the girl move against her will to its master.

Another small movement of his hand and the witch of Yga regained control of her own body. He released his grip on her so suddenly that she collapsed in his feet. The corpse stood still as is only right for a corpse and radiated indifference.

“You are full of doubt and suspicion,” the statement weighed on her like a verdict. “You want to ask, so go ahead and ask!” the Daughter of changes felt both the irony and the return of her voice.

“What…are…you?” muttered Agonia for the first time after an eternity of silence.

“Ah, you mean this?” the corpse feigned surprise while the forefinger on his right hand, in contrast with the utter stillness of his dead body, completed a full circle to indicate its owner. “That’s not Me!” he sounded peeved and added: “There were no other suitable donors around so I had to possess the body of this loser. My illustrious self is beyond the stars, on Necromagha. You should not be surprised a Grand Lord like me can possess bodies from such a distance,” the tone was smug unlike the distinctly passive and terminally dead pacifist.

“But why…” Agonia was too exhausted to finish the question.

Dead men are never in a hurry.

Unliving are not either.

“Why I took your voice away?” prompted the helmet eventually because patience has its limits after all. “An inextricable part of your education.”

“Huh?” Agonia tried to keep up.

“Is it not obvious?” it was the dead man’s turn to be surprised. “You mastered the silent curses to perfection, developed your sixth sense and got attuned and no one can hold a light against you in the magic of signs…Besides, now you know I can take it all away from you.”

“What is it…you… want of me?” the girl was beginning to find her feet.

“As a rule, I demand and get total obedience,” for a corpse that had stayed in the mud for so long, the pacifist was unusually chatty. “Things will be different with you. I intend to let you in on my plans and not merely command you. Of course, you have been taught that I am the enemy. One of the many. But in time you will learn that I am the good enemy who has no interest in causing you harm. You are quite simply of little consequence to me.”

A meaningful pause.

“Except for the three of you,” finished Andesaloth in a flat monotone as if telling a future that was inevitable.

Agonia pushed herself up and looked at the recumbent figure among the branches. The rotten head inside the helmet was set at an angle rather comically but the dim lights in the empty sockets were focused on the girl.

“Who are the other two?... What do you need us for?... Why doesn’t magic work on you? How…Why…” halting questions poured out of Agonia, signaling a return to reason. The helmet interrupted her with a movement of his index finger.

The corpse settled more comfortably among the branches and seemed to smile.

“You will learn everything you need to know when the time is right,” the voice in Agonia’s head was peremptory. “Look over there, girl!” Andesaloth pointed at the glowing sphere that was Yga. “Making the star release such a burst of magical energy to send a pulse to the furthest reaches of the Boundless Magha – that is what I call Magic! Your little curses are just a tremor in the hurricane of mysteries and you owe your talents entirely to my good will, which I will continue to lavish upon you.”

The corpse fell silent and for a while it seemed as if he was lost. The witch of Yga thought it as good a time as any to say something.

“I’d rather die than serve!” Agonia blurted and shot a deadly curse at the pacifist.

The dead man remained still as stone.

The curse, on the other hand, left a trail of white-hot flame which sputtered and crackled from its contact with the poisonous air. Halfway across to its aim, the curse visibly slowed as if it had hit a barrier. Then, violating every law of the occult, the curse banked and turned laboriously heading back to its source - the stunned witch of Yga. Still very much with a mind of its own, the deadly magic slowly but surely kept advancing at the girl.

Agonia tried to get out of the way but could not move. The malignant curse came within a hair’s breadth of the chest of the Daughter of changes and halted, spitting and sizzling.

The girl dared not move.

“Would you care to learn what it means to be Unliving?” the voice in Agonia’s mind affected indifference but she sensed the gloating with every part of her body.

The curse quivered and then slowly engulfed the body of the young witch. Blades of ice tore into her and a bolt of lightning lit up her mind. She sensed she was drifting in nothingness and the world seemed a weak sigh stifled by the silence of infinity. Her body and mind faded along with all sense and feeling.

All that was left was endless agony.

Suddenly, she was summoned back and she returned to her body once more to slump in the feet of her master. Again.

“Like what you saw?” asked the helmet conversationally.

“I want you dead!” gasped the witch of Yga feebly.

“That is not possible and you know it!” he reprimanded her. “Now you have one foot in the door of the kingdom of death which means you are half mine,” the dead man was grinning as was his right but the derision in Andesaloth’s voice gave the man’s happy face inside the broken helmet a more complete look.

The glowing emptiness in the dead man’s eyes got darker and Andesaloth added:

“Those who return from the kingdom of death bear the mark. Not only on their flesh,” Andesaloth emphasized what he meant by pointing a mortal finger at her, “but on their souls as well. You are still in the dark and know nothing of souls but there will come a time when I will share some of the secrets of true wisdom with you. It will do for now to know that appearances reflect our true nature. Not always directly as it is with you now but if you know where to look you will see beyond mere appearances.”

The girl did not understand.

The hollow wail of the witch siren came from somewhere beyond the marshes. The dead man turned to look in the direction of the sound and attempted a sigh but since his chest was full of slime and mud, all that came out of his mouth was dark sticky gunk. The pacifist drew himself up from his throne in the thicket.

“There’s always a tomorrow,” Andesaloth laid out the cliché in Agonia’s mind the way a wise man reveals the great mysteries to his pupil and gave a warning. “Hear my word and hear it well! This meeting stays between you and me. You will make your return to the Hive and become the witch you are supposed to be. It’s a long road ahead but I am sure you will not disappoint. Meanwhile, you will find the other two of your sisters who will play a part in this little game of ours,” the voice of Destiny sounded jocular and somewhat sneaky.

The dead man made a gesture with one hand and the witch of Yga found herself standing on her legs, looking up at the helmet and its disgusting contents.

“You must find the other two alone,” his command filled her mind again. “Without my help,” added Andesaloth emphatically and then his tone visibly hardened: “You must not reveal your secret mission! The only thing you must do is find who they are and then report to me. I already told you everything you need to know to recognize them. Follow your instinct.”

They heard noise from the direction of the nearby misty ponds drawing closer. Andesaloth paid it no mind and said:

“I will be watching you! You will meet me here only when I summon you.”

Then, with all the easy grace of a robot, the helmet swiveled around and waded in the marshes. A few long strides and the ghastly figure disappeared in the somber depths from whence it came.

In that moment, the Lord of Death released Agonia from his bondage. Instead of collapsing in a heap on the tree trunk, this time she remained on her feet. Soon, she was surrounded by her worried sisters led by mother Loma Lina Margallo.

“What happened to you?” asked mother Margallo with concern not expecting an answer from the mute daughter.

When the words came, they caught everyone by surprise.

“I paid Death a visit.”

The sisters fussing around Agonia froze in shock and the witch of Yga went on:

“My voice is back.”

Mother Margallo’s violet eyes locked in on Agonia’s. The elder witch grew pensive and said:

“You have gone grey.”

Footnote: On different worlds (maghas) across the Boundless Magha, different units are used to measure time: days, months, years, standard cycles, cycles of various length, phases etc.

THE END

Bio: As co-authors, Radoslav Radushev-Radus and George Petkov-Mareto believe in equal rights so their stories often take unexpected turns and never arrive at their destination unchanged. Their writings first go through a process of cross-examination by a lawyer (Radus) before ending up on the desk of a long-time dedicated teacher and mentor (Mareto). All this is accompanied by much drinking of coffee, raising of eyebrows and a general lack of sympathy for broken pencils and software updates.
Radus believes in the power of free speech to teach responsibility and Mareto hastens to add that it must be properly punctuated, grammatically consistent and socially aware.
Some of their stories actually survive...

E-mail: Radoslav Radushev-Radus and George Petkov-Mareto

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.