The Witch and The Wolf: Bond of the Ancients: Tales from the Omniworld, #1

By Erik Julkin

In a world devoid of magic, how does one sever a bond forged by its very essence?

Like a raging storm, he swept into her life, tearing apart her home and taking away the only family she had. He went as far as attempting to suffocate her with his anger, giving birth to the curse they now tirelessly endeavor to break.
Caves, ancient ruins, forbidden forests… They've been to places no other human dared to set foot in. They've met races that were thought to be long extinct. Yet, upon countless failures, they have more questions than answers.
And one particular haunts her over and over again.

Does he still want to kill the last witch?

The story follows Red and Dave on their quest to break a curse—a magical bond that binds their lives. However, despite years of searching for clues, they find themselves empty-handed. Their journey takes a turn when they rescue a kidnapped bard named Joaquin. As bards are known for their knowledge of stories and old legends, Red and Dave hope Joaquin can provide insight into breaking their curse. Unbeknownst to them, Joaquin's abduction was orchestrated by a notorious figure known as Bad Wolf. The novella delves into the complicated relationship between Red and Dave, blending elements of adventure, action, and fantasy romance with subtle dark undertones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erik Julkin
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9788057055945

Book preview

Tales from the Omniworld:

The Witch and The Wolf - Bond of the Ancients

Copyright © 2024 Erik Julkin

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-80-570-5594-5

Dedicated to the one and only. Her.

Forever.

Arimungu

The East Islands

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Lucky Bard

No other duo could match Chuma and Mok’Ar as night guardians. Both seasoned and skilled, complementing each other’s strengths and weaknesses, they were once again entrusted with safeguarding a 3-km radius around their hideout. However, tonight was unlike any other.

What a bewitching night, ay?

Chuma’s pirate-like voice pierced the air, despite never seeing a ship. Mok’Ar had long since deciphered this as a sign of his partner’s concealed anxiety. And he couldn’t blame him. The forest enveloping their secret lair was palpably ominous tonight. The celestial glow of the Three Sisters was the only source of light in a world otherwise devoid of sound—no rustling leaves, no hooting owls, and no chirping crickets. Just a suspicious silence. The woods held its breath, as if wary of hidden evil.

Chuma was a short, bald man, his nose a crooked landmark on an otherwise forgettable face. He moved with the grace of a shadow, his every step almost noiseless, his actions devoid of sentiment.

Mok’Ar’s grip tightened around the hilt of his gargantuan battle-ax, its blade catching a fleeting glint from the moons above.

What? You scared, big guy? Chuma spat out, his voice strained, his eyes darting like frenzied fireflies.

In contrast to his partner, Mok’Ar was a so-called human giant: an imposing behemoth of muscle, with shoulders as broad as an ox-cart, eyes like dark pebbles, and a snout resembling a swine’s. His voice rarely ventured beyond monosyllabic grunts, but his eyes lit up like a child’s at any chance to spar. He had loved fighting since a young age, often brawling because people mocked his deformed teeth that made his lower lip look bloated.

Unbeknownst to him, or indeed anyone who encountered him, his lineage was tainted by orcish blood. He was the unwitting legacy of a lone orcish warrior who survived an ill-fated expedition to human lands. Enslaved and consigned to the unyielding rocks of a quarry, Mok’Ar’s ancestor had been a subject of fascinated stares, particularly from ladies. Although he impregnated many of them, only one woman survived childbirth. Because of these unintentional deaths, he was executed, and his lover and their newborn child were banished.

Despite the odds, his lineage persevered through the generations, the orcish genes blending with human DNA. In Mok’Ar’s case, these traits manifested with surprising strength.

Sadly, neither he nor Chuma had the privilege of familial love; they were both orphans molded by adversity into thugs, thieves, killers, and outlaws.

Two other members of their group were stationed at the entrance to their hideout, nearer to the heart of their gang and potential reinforcement. If Chuma and Mok’Ar faced danger on these outskirts, it would be too late to notice their absence. Yet, luck or divine neglect smiled upon them this night. As they circled back during their bi-hourly check-in, they’d silently offer thanks to the old gods that whatever danger roamed the woods tonight had overlooked them.

♦♦♦

You can wait here, Dave saidandgestured towards a hollow formed by the gnarled roots of a colossal oak tree. His voice, deep and smooth, shattered the night’s unsettling quiet. 

As always, Red said politely andgave a slight nod.

A breeze that rustled the leaves above carried her voice—velvety and youthful. Cascading waves of chestnut hair framing her face danced in the wind, and a stray strand of her side-swept bangs veiled her eyes.

With the grace of a dancer, she brushed the disobedient hair behind her ear with one hand, while her other hand lowered her worn leather shoulder bag onto the leaf-strewn ground. In a gesture that echoed hers, Dave let his thick, dark, silk obsidian hair fall free from its makeshift bun. It cascaded down to just below his shoulders as he handed her the leather band that had confined it.

How many are there? she asked.

Her question was a strategic calculation, devoid of curiosity or worry. She measured the wait time to plan her follow-up accordingly.

While eyeing her young, soft, and defined features through his smokey charcoal gray eyes that always seemed to hold a storm within, Dave fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his dark leather trousers pocket.

Two are on patrol. They’ll be back in two hours. Two at the entrance, six inside, he said, striking a match and igniting the tip of his cigarette.

The faint scent of sulfur mingled with the earthy aroma of fallen leaves. As he exhaled slowly, the smoke spiraled into the crisp night air, adding a tinge of smokiness to the natural fragrance around them. He glanced from her face to the dark woods, where old trees wore majestic crowns scattering the dim glow of the moons.

Twenty minutes?

She reclined against the oak’s rough bark, her fingers pulling the crimson hood over her head to shroud her features.

Dave rubbed his left eye marked by two diagonal scars—relics from a time he never spoke of, the gesture of his muscular hand swirling the smoke from his cigarette. Even though they had been traveling together for some time, his relationship with her remained complicated, and he kept many secrets from her.

Fifteen is fine, he grumbled, the words barely escaping from between his lips, which clamped a smoldering cigarette.

The smoke spiraled, cloaking his angular face in a sinister veil. Red couldn’t help but chuckle; his sharp nose, marred by a horizontal scar, seemed to slice the curling smoke as if defiantly declaring its presence.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her. Her youthful mannerisms had always annoyed him. Nonetheless, of late, there was a slow shift. The way her pink lips formed a bashful curve, a smile, was gradually becoming something worth spotting. Yet inner dissonance lingered; they had, after all, started as enemies, forced to cooperate to break the ancient magic that bonded them together. 

 

Be careful, she uttered as he moved away.

Although she knew he would be alright—Dave was always alright—a lingering sense of worry remained within her. The cruelty he was capable of still weighed heavily on her heart, yet she understood it was simply who he was. She banished the unsettling thoughts and looked around, but he was already nowhere to be seen.

Quick and quiet, as always.

A hunter who had once considered even her his prey.

♦♦♦

The two guards who had once occupied the entrance now lay just a stone’s throw away from each other, their necks contorted in an unsettling fashion that made it clear they’d met a swift end. Dave had handled it with professional efficiency. No spills of blood to clean, no commotion to stifle. Red understood the necessity; silence was paramount, ensuring no time for them to alert their companions slumbering within. 

Stepping lightly, she advanced, clutching a small but effective knife. A wavering light from a distant torch within the cave cast her shadow, which played on the irregular stone walls as if it were a misshapen specter.

During their travels, the knife with a blade specifically crafted for gathering plants had proven its worth in a more violent role on two separate occasions. The memories of those instances were brief but vivid flashes in her mind. She shook them off. No time for that now.

Her footsteps echoed, layering over the musty scent filling the air. It was a strange blend of rock salt and smoldering torch oil, a sensory combination that made the cave seem both ancient and lived-in. Somewhere deeper, a gruesome sound—like the tearing of meat—resounded.

Dave…

Before continuing, Red took a deep breath, steeling her nerves for what lay ahead. 

The chamber she next entered was more confined than she had expected, cluttered with a haphazard arrangement of travel chests and makeshift sleeping quarters. Bags presumably filled with clothes and well-crafted swords laid beside each sleeping sack.

Her brow furrowed. She wondered if they were in this place for the long haul, or if this was just a pit stop in their broader journey across the kingdom.

As she moved further in, the metallic scent of blood intensified. Three of the sleeping sacks were splattered with it, and a wide, uninterrupted trail led into the shadowy depths beyond. She trusted Dave to handle whatever was happening back there. Her task was to scavenge for anything valuable—usable goods or items for bartering.

The swords were solid and well-crafted. The wear on the blades suggested their owners knew how to use them. She sifted through the bags. Clothes, some leather straps, ropes. Mundane items mostly. As she pondered her finds, a haunting whisper of something breaking—bone, by the sound of it—echoed through the cave, causing goosebumps to ripple across her skin.

Her gaze flicked towards the entrance, ears straining for any sound.

Silence.

The patrol’s return wasn’t imminent; they had ample time to slip away undetected.

The chests were locked, keys most likely in the possession of their original owners. Red knelt, stowing her knife and retrieving a set of lockpicks from her bag. While a spell would make quick work of unlocking them, magic had faded over four centuries, leaving behind a world bereft of its once-familiar presence. She sighed, her lips curving into a melancholic smile.

I miss you, grandma.

In moments like these, her thoughts inevitably turned to her grandmother. Despite the years, the absence persisted, especially when the Three Sisters adorned the sky in the Three-Headed Goddess formation—the same as the night her grandmother had passed away.

A resounding click