Wicked Wicked

He laughed heartily “You’re too kind Cher.” He purred before scooping up the slick coated animal and turning to climb the stones to the base of the tree where he stopped to wait for her. Dumois was a man who adored the luxuries he could afford. As a result he had worked tirelessly until the tunnel under the tree’s roots led to three chambers; one where he could sleep lined in fur and moss, one where he could store his herbs and craft them into the mixtures he needed for his rituals and the third chamber, which he referred to as his chamber of whispers. The chamber was sealed by a thick wheel made of packed dirt and moss that could be pushed aside, revealing the portal to the chamber.

The Chamber of Whispers was shaped like a bowl with perfectly smooth walls and a ceiling that had been stripped of any roots and was only broken by a small, hollow chute of bamboo that barely jutted from the surface, yet filled the chamber with light. Directly beneath the beam sat what could only be a cauldron filled with yellowed stalks of long grass, branches from various trees, and directly in the center a bleach white human skull. It was his “nganga” a cage that held one of the most powerful spirits the world had ever known, and with it he bestowed blessings and gave predictions of the future. “Tell me Cher, what’s your pleasure? A healing for your damned soul? A glimpse into your future? Or perhaps a curse on someone that’s mistreated you?” He asked as he led her through his den and to the door. The scent wafting from beyond the moss caked seal was overpowering; a musky damp smell with an underlying hint of lavender and chamomile, a scent dense enough to make anyone’s mind hazy, which of course, was the intention.

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