The Witch And The Fool

• Claudia Smith, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2022

It had all started with the accusations, you see, witchcraft is not taken kindly to in the land of Decepit. When the people saw the queens’ “abilities” they rallied against the throne, and as a result King Mendax mercilessly lay waste to his own people to save the woman he claimed to love. And me? I was foolish enough to believe the tyrants.
“Word is spreading across the lands, of the woman who betrayed her own people in support of the throne.” The king said. His words echoed through the high-ceilinged throne room. The tall, dark eyed man sat on his exceptionally uncomfortable looking marble chair. “Tell me, Advisor Stultus, where does your loyalty lie?” He asked, pressing his fingertips together and narrowing his gaze at me with a smirk. There was no need for me to think about it, I knew who I was, who I let my own family die for. “You, my king.” I said, confidently. “Well then…I believe you’re ready.” A sweet voice chimed in, I turned to see the queen strutting towards me, head down. As she entered the room all I could see was a sickly woman. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in, she looked pale in comparison to her usual tan complexion and her eyes were puffy and reddened as though she’d cried recently. Something was wrong. “My queen, are you all right?” I asked, a note of concern in my voice. “Come, child, your loyalty has paid off.” She began to walk out of the room, beckoning me to follow her.
The palace was a very large place to say the least. It had to be, to house the remaining citizens of Decepit. Those who thought not to betray their queen were rewarded. However, the many who attempted to bring down the throne weren’t as lucky. They got their deserved fate. As I wandered through the halls with the queen, waiting to arrive wherever we were supposed to I realized I’d never been through this wing of the castle, nor knew it existed. The halls grew darker and darker, only lit by dim torches at its sides, until it became difficult to see. After quite a time following Her Majesty in silence, she lifted her hand in front of her sickly face, and a small, candle like fire ignited in her hands. The room came to life with light, and in a sudden I was able to see the large door, engraved with gruesome images of humans wearing Decepit force uniforms being killed by beautiful women. It was unmistakable: they were witches. Just like the queen. And me? a member of the Decepit Forces. I wished my foolishness untrue; I wished I knew not of the witch’s intentions and yet here, I was facing the disgusting truth that the people I followed wished only for my death after I had believed their innocence for so long. As I stared around the room shrouded in darkness, regret hit me like a truck.