Aliya's Shoes-Chapter 570: Deal of Fate (1)

The forest breathed around her, not with wind but with a strange, pulsing intent.

For a moment, the Timeless Witch felt the lure of it, the quiet call to surrender, to let herself be carried by the tide of inevitability, but she knew better than to let herself go and indulge in the things of that realm.

She was too old and experienced to fall for that. Though even with her age, she had to use all her viable senses at that time to resist what was going on. The moss seemed softer beneath her feet, the air thick with a sweetness that wanted her to forget everything and go with the flow, but that would be a big mistake on her part.

She had been there for only a few minutes, but deep inside, weariness stirred. Old and bone-deep, it dragged against the pull like an anchor of a sort. She had outlasted the rise and fall of kingdoms in its literal form, yet this forest showed her, mercilessly, that none of it mattered. When the time came, she would have no choice, no voice.

’It’s not the forest.... It’s him! That bastard!’ She cussed in her head as the truth settled cold in her chest: she was being walked toward something she could not fight, only endure. Despite her enormous power, this was one thing that was and had always been inevitable. She was not in surroundings that she could control. In here, it was all him, till she was out!

The forest pressed closer with every step, the path unravelling beneath her feet until it felt as though she was walking in circles. She could only bear it till he decided it was okay! Then, there. A figure standing just ahead, blurred at the edges, as though the shadows themselves had taken shape.

Her heart stuttered,

"Aren’t you already dead and gone?" Her voice came out as a whisper and not as she had intended. It was not certain if the words left her lips or her mind.

The man smiled .... if it could be called a smile at all.

"Why would I leave you all alone after our deal? Besides, I am here for the final part of that deal..."

Her breath caught, her fists trembling at her sides.

"I thought we were done... I have done everything and even beyond what I do. I held my part of the bargain!"

He said nothing but looked at her in that irritating way that made her want to punch the daylights out of him, but .....

"I don’t make deals with the dead."

She said flatly, holding his gaze,

"Too bad," the voice replied, curling around her ears, though the figure never moved.

"It’s a two-way street ... You can’t bargain with the dead either. The deal was set in stone a long time ago. That leaves you with little manoeuvring room."

She shook her head violently. I knew you were too good to be true then... I never signed up for this.

"...and yet here you are. You and I know what is ahead, and you knew when you accepted."

Her chest ached with the weight of it ... of whatever she had to do ....

"I have done my best for her. I bent my own rules ...." She rubbed her little hands through her hair. The scene was ridiculous, from their outward ages, but the two, more familiar with each other, found nothing of it. There had been cases where she was an old woman and he, still in his prime. It was just as it was!

"And you know, as I do, that it will never be enough. There might have been ripples along the lines, but it is what it is!"

Her voice cracked, desperate. "Fine! You drive a hard bargain, you know?"

"Hahahahaa, more than you do?" He corked an eyebrow....

"My daughter should want for nothing ... and you are right, this would have been over, had you not helped that ...."

He did not complete his statement, but they both understood.

"You brought this upon yourself by letting my precious princess suffer."

"She did not DIE!"

"But she could have!"

She sighed, knowing that she could never win an argument with him when he was alive, and death had done nothing to wear that off.

"...I wish I could go back in time...

The figure’s smile sharpened. "How glad I am that you can’t and do not have that capability!"

Her throat tore with the scream. "You!" She shrieked, the sound far too childlike, too small.

The man chuckled. "You’re cute like that"

Her fury shook her. "Do not call me cute!" she shouted into the trees.

But the figure was gone. Only silence answered her, thick and pressing, as if the forest itself mocked her rage.

’So typical of him!’ She couldn’t help but think,

’He was gone, just like that.’ It took a little while before she found herself back in her hut. She looked down at the moss still on her feet and sighed.

She lowered her gaze, trying to steady herself, and that was when the itch started .... sharp, crawling, insistent at the back of her hand. She rubbed it furiously, but the sensation burrowed deeper, into bone and memory.

She looked down at her tree-shaped tattoo, which was almost swollen and irritated.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. ’He’s really forcing my hand this time.’

Another sigh escaped her, wearier than anything. She did not fear him, but a deal was a deal. Sometimes, she did question why she had made a deal that was now detrimental to her. Because of that, he had some power over her. There was no time to dwell, not if she wished to keep anything. She stepped outside, staring at the thick trees that looked like towering monsters because of her height. They looked nothing like the place she had visited.

’Like father, like daughter!’

She stood still for slightly longer, caressing the irritating tattoo and then let out an even longer sigh. She returned to the hut in silence, the air inside suddenly colder, as though the walls themselves had heard what had transpired.

Methodically, she set about her tasks: tidying, changing her clothes, and smoothing her hair. The ordinary motions steadied her, though her hand still prickled with that phantom itch.

And then, without a sound, she vanished.

***

Miles away, laughter and music filled the wedding reception. She reappeared at its edge, mingling with the guests, every trace of her unrest buried beneath a practised smile.

A little later, she stood before a painting, gaze fixed on the desert sprawling across the canvas. She squinted her eyes at the perceived brightness from the painting. A lone, tiny figure writhed in distress within the endless sand.

She could make out the figure very clearly and couldn’t help but shake her head. Though her face remained calm, her eyes carried the depth of ages. She could see the faint traces of power on it. How could she not understand, when she had been drawn into such a world just prior?

"That couple sure is cruel! .... And she is just like her father." She muttered to herself.

A pair of workers walked by, their laughter cutting into the silence as they stared curiously at her. Maybe because they thought she was a child, they didn’t pay much heed.

But one nudged the other, pointing in her direction,

"Shouldn’t you be playing somewhere?"

"Where are your parents, little one?"

The witch did not move, did not answer. She simply watched.

Eventually, they shook their heads and turned away. But when something pulled them to glance back .... the little girl was no longer before the frame.

"Where sis she go?" One asked, walking back to the painting, where the girl had stood barely seconds prior.

Instead, within the painted desert, a second figure now stood beside the one in distress, though tiny, it was wearing the same dress as the girl! Petite, pale, impossibly real.

The workers froze, rubbing at their eyes.

"Must be the fatigue," one muttered.

"Yeah... we’re just tired," the other agreed. But their voices trembled as they hurried away, never once daring to look back.

In a blink, The Timeless Witch had reappeared in the environment of the painting.

"Ouch! It sure is hot here!" she exclaimed, appearing right beside the scorched and nearly dried-up person.

"Just a little more, and she will surpass her father!" she muttered to herself, studying the surroundings and feeling the sun like a scorching oven, wishing she were anywhere but there.

"It’s fascinating, how Shelby can do this now..."

At the name, the creature screamed in frustration or distress? It was not clear which one it was, and the witch smiled,

"I can’t take you out, Aliya. I barely made it by coming and only have one chance of maybe getting out, but why were you so stubborn? She was not someone you could touch! Hmmmmm .... But .... Anyway, there is no need for me to tell you anything. She placed you in the very environment that will break your soul and what you ar. I can’t even imagine the distress... but like my deals, you chose this outlet."

She stopped as if listening to Aliya, but in actual sense she wasn’t. Her childish voice continued,

"You know what? No one remembers you out there!"

An animalistic cry tore from Aliya as she lay in her half-turned state. The two of them knew what it meant for a Sorrow Weaver to be forgotten. It turned out that Ian’s action was not just for its sake. Everything had been meticulous to the last point.

"Anyway, my hands are tied, and .... Well, I have nothing else to say. I have a feeling that this is the last time. Farewell!"

The irony was not lost to Aliya, who could hardly think in all the pain and distress she was in.

When she forced herself out of the painting, she pushed her way into the cold room, appearing soundlessly beside the gathered group, but it was her words that made all of them look at her like she was nuts.

___

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