Nefizada
Written by: KiwiiiiBird

The world was trembling. The earth thundered and the sky cracked, splitting and re-splitting after repeatedly stitching itself back together. Shudders flashed back and forth through the air, each followed by deafening roars.

Then the shaking stopped, leaving me with nothing but a fierce pounding in my head and my tiny heart quivering underneath my feather-crested chest.

My eyes fluttered open and I picked myself up gingerly. I looked around, glancing at the gnarled trunks reaching towards the sky, enclaving the world in its roof of rustling leaves. Forest. Night. Trees. The words popped unexpectedly into my mind. I blinked, realising that I remembered little else.
   
Who am I?
   
Who?
   
Who?
   
I ruffled the spotted chocolate feathers on my wings, searching for clues of where I am, where I came from. Nothing. It was as if the ground had spit me into this place, leaving no trace, no hint, no memories at all.
   
Footsteps.
   
My mind froze, but instinct flapped my wings and I lifted off soundlessly, soaring upwards and landing on the branch of an oak tree. A wizened old woman hunched with age shuffled into my sight, crackling dried leaves and twigs under her bare feet. Even in the all-devouring darkness of midnight, I could see the patches on her threadbare cloak, and the glittering of her jet-black fingernails.
   
She stopped, then raised her head eerily so she was looking straight at me. Her shawl was pulled far over her head so that I couldn't see her eyes, though I could almost feel her uncannily icy gaze on me. Wrinkles and lines marred her entire face. Her pale, sickly-green skin was dotted with warts, some with hairs attached to the end. One of her eyes was unstaring and milky white, and the other was a light grey-blue lacking in colour, and it bore into mine. I shivered a little, wishing to shake her stare off me.
   
Finally, she spoke. "Nefizada, there you are." When she opened her mouth, it revealed merely three crooked, yellow teeth.
   
Nefizada. The name rumbled through me, but it drew no recognition, no familiarity. I searched my mind for something, anything, while the old woman stretched her arm out. Instinctively, I took off to land on it, my claws curling around her frail forearm through the worn fabric. I hopped along her arm and onto her shoulder. She spun and walked back from where she came from, apparently following a path cutting through brushes and grass, a path that I could not see-- a path perhaps no one else could see.
   
After a while the tree line receded and a wooden hut faded into view in the distance. I saw eight figures cloaked snugly in various shades of brown and grey standing by its door. The old woman muttered something intelligible under her breath, continuing to approach the hut.
   
Who? I wonder.
   
Who?
   
Who?

The eight men were gathered around a lamp while watching the old woman apprehensively. It sharpened the shadows and at the same time cast a honey glow on all those around it, like a crinkling, miniature sun. Fire. The word materialised into my mind. Along with it, a darker, more terrible one.

Danger.
   
Finally the old woman took two more steps forward and faced one of the men, who had a hard expression and lean body wrapped in a charcoal-coloured coat.

"Hag," He sneered, dipping his head in a mock greeting. I rustled my feathers in vexation and discomfort while the old woman remained impassive. "I hope you and--" His eyes roved over me in contempt, "I hope you and your owl are having a splendid night... whatever appalling business you may be returning from."

Owl? Am I an owl?

The old woman stood still, unanswering, completely devoid of any emotion. Neither warm nor cold, just... empty. I gripped her shoulder with my talons, keeping myself stoic though by some instinct I longed to either flee or scratch out the man's eyes, I was not sure which.

The man spoke again after the hag's unwillingness to reply became apparent. "Are you aware of the purpose of our visit, o mighty, all-knowing witch? Have you foreseen it in your accursed crystal ball? Or, perhaps, prophetised it in a demonic dream?"

The old woman maintained her silence. I silently applauded her.

"No? Well, let me tell you then, hag. We have come to collect your taxes, which you have not been paying for almost two decades. That means you owe, what is it, Ben?"

A young man around sixteen years of age with a creased piece of paper clutched in his hands shambled forward, slightly flustered. He had caramel hair that matched the man's, though it would still be decades before it started to grey, as well as the same strong jaw, sharp jaw and stormy eyes. He was, in all probability, the man's son. He cleared his throat. "You are fifty-three gold, fourteen silvers and eight coppers in debt." He reported, almost apologetically.

The hag let out a breath that almost sounded like a snigger. "You address me as 'hag'. Why? You do not know my name. My name is not in your tax book. Therefore, you cannot tax me."

The man took a step forward, growling, so that his nose was almost touching hers. The hag stared back unflinchingly. "Listen, hag. EVERYONE pays their tributes to the King. You are no exception."

"And you are a fool, Rentseak, for I am a force not to be readily meddled with. But I see that you have brought... six? Seven of your friends. So you came prepared. Just not quite prepared enough."

His face flushed a livid crimson. "Enough of your ploys. Seize her!"

The men closed in around her, while the hag stood there indifferently.

I had enough. I felt a vibration deep within me, threatening to escape. I let out an angry hoot, and the men paused, their gaze turning to me.

I could feel the hag's shoulder shake in silent laughter. "Ha! Look. You upset her."

Her words barely registered as the vibrations expanded, and tremors racked through the world-- tremors no one else could feel-- and I was at the center of it all. My eyes wandered over each face, before finally landing on the man with the charcoal-coloured cloak, Rentseak. As soon as our eyes connected, a shock rushed out of me, through the air, and struck him.

He grunted and staggered backwards, and I knew that at that moment something had changed. No, forget that.

I had changed something.

"WITCH! W-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" He bellowed, terror evident in his trembling voice. He looked down at his hands, as though he would be able to see the difference in them.

"No, not me," The hag murmured. "Nefizada. Now run, Samuel Rentseak, run even though it is already too late to change anything. Run because soon you won't be able to run anymore." And he staggered backwards, turned, and fled, followed by the rest of the men. The boy, Ben Rentseak, hesitated before running after them.

I felt the power coursing through me, shudders travelling from wingtip to wingtip. It was dark and terrible and beautiful. More than that. It was the lethal, it was the essence of shadows and death, the purest core of insanity, the embodiment of fear and destruction.

Who am I? Who?

The hag's cackle echoed through the night, chasing their retreating figures.

***
   
When I awoke, night has blanketed the world in its star-dotted gown once again. I was inside the hut, nested among the thatched twigs in the ceiling. The hag was asleep on a mattress in the corner. I rustled my feathers, feeling slightly restless. The walls of the hut were suffocating, too much like a cage. I longed to feel the frigid, seething wind against my wings and soar above the treetops where I was unstoppable, a savage goddess under the moon.

I flew around the room, searching for an escape, growing increasingly agitated at the lack of exits. Finally I reached for the buzzing in my chest, pulling at it, stretching it out until it tore out of me. A shiver shook the world, and when I blinked the cloudiness from my eyes, I was hovering outside the hut. I beat my wings soundlessly and followed my instincts, soaring in the direction of the wind. Soon I spotted the slumbering village, with two or three windows still glowing with firelight. I hooted crossly. The only light should be from the moon and the stars. I tugged my power out, and the world rattled. The golden light promptly extinguished, followed by several yelps of alarm.
   
Satisfied, I flew on, seeking my destination. I didn't know what I was looking for, only following my intuition and a slight pull of darkness.
   
Then I saw him, the man from last night, Samuel Rentseak. He was crouched over an auburn horse on the ground. The horse was limp, unmoving, its legs entangled in an unnatural position. I swooped in lower, and in the gloom I saw that a chunk had been torn out of the horse's left hind leg, with blood pooling underneath it. A pleasant chill washed over the night, calling to that dark and terrible and beautiful power inside me. It was enchanting.
   
The man looked up, sensing me somehow. I flapped my wings and soared away, but not before I heard a blood-curdling howl leave his dark scarlet-stained lips.

***
   
It spread.
   
The disease, leaping from one person to the next, sparing no one its mercy, closing its ruthless claws on the men and women, young and old alike.

Where did it come from? They asked.

How do you cure it?

And, most of all: What was it?

What?

Wrong question, I would think to myself. They should be asking:

Who?
   
The disease started with Samuel Rentseak, not long after he visited the hag. He began coughing and puking, and his speech slurred, becoming incoherent. Shadows settled on his face, around his unfocused eyes. But they waved it off as a common cold.
   
They found him the next morning on the ground next to his stable. Dead. There had been a bloody froth at his mouth, and his scratches leaked obsidian pus. He had killed his prized horse and gnawed on its limbs.
   
Though they mourned his death, they dismissed it, saying it was a hex from the hag, nothing more. And though they vowed to avenge him, fear, if not cowardice, drove them away from the hag's hut. Then Rentseak's wife started showing the symptoms. Coughing, puking, mumbling. They found her the next day with her own arm cut off in a bloody puddle next to her, and her remaining fingers clutched a kitchen knife tightly.

It went on from there. Her friends were infected, as well as their families. It was unstoppable. Devastation drenched the town and, soon after, the contagion spread into surrounding towns and even cities.

They called the disease "Nefizada's Curse".

    ***
   
A firm knock on the timber door of the hut startled me out of my sleep. I stretched my wings.

"Who is it?" The hag called out, without looking up from the thick leather-bound book she had been reading.

"Ben Rentseak." A wavering voice replied.

"Come in. The door is unlocked."
From the dim sunlight spilling through the doorway like butter, lighting the room on fire in shades of tangerine, cherry and mango, I could tell that the sun was just about to set.

I regarded the boy in curiosity. No one had braved the hag's audience since that night. The boy's caramel hair was tousled, his clothes disheveled, and the dark circles under his eyes were noticeable against his pale skin. He looked like he had not slept or eaten in days. I knew that the boy was one of the few people who were apparently immune to the disease, though in his case it seemed anything but a blessing. His family and friends had all been torn away from him within the first few weeks, leaving him with nothing.

"Your parents had their time. They lived a good life." The hag rasped when the boy remained silent. She didn't bother to look up. "Besides, I cannot bring dead people back to life, boy."

"She is not dead yet. And she still has a whole life to live."

The hag paused, her finger stopping halfway between two pages. She finally raised her head and met the boy's gaze, her eyes narrowing. "Who?"

Who indeed, I thought.

"H-her name is Leah Willson. She started coughing a few hours ago, and then she threw up half of her lunch..." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Please help me, ha-Miss Hag. I-I'll pay any price at all. She's the only person I have left in this world. I can't bear it if I lose her as well."

"What makes you think I can save her?"

"I... You started the disease, so surely you can cure it."

To my surprise the hag started laughing, a loud, eerie sound. "You have a lot more to learn about this world, boy. And anyway, I was not the one who started it. If there's anyone you should ask, it's Nefizada." She raised a gnarled hand and pointed at me.

He turned towards me, surprise evident on his face. Then he recognised me from that night, or perhaps he sensed the power in me by some instinct, and his eyes started pleading voicelessly. I cocked my head. We stared at each other for a long time, then finally I gave a submissive hoot, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

I prodded the power inside me. It rumbled in response and begged to be let out. This time I searched for the power outside, reeling it in, pulling it back towards me. Inside me the power squirmed, protested, and then started pushing against me. It wanted out, it wanted to work its mischief, but I looked into the boy's mourning, grey eyes and I pulled harder.

I could feel the power screaming inside me, shoving harder to get out. Back to me, my voice thundered in my mind. To me! The world was thrumming as well, pulsating as I fought to pull the power back in. I could sense my grip slipping, but I clung onto it with everything I had. Pull, just a little bit more...

The world splintered with a deafening crack and everything went black.

    ***
   
The world was trembling. The earth thundered and the sky cracked, splitting and re-splitting after repeatedly stitching itself back together. Shudders flashed back and forth through the air, each followed by deafening roars.
   
Then it all stopped, leaving me with nothing but a fierce pounding in my head and my tiny heart quivering underneath my feather-crested chest.
   
My eyes fluttered open and I picked myself up gingerly. I looked around, squinting against the blinding streetlights. Silver towers reaching vertically up, its smooth skin reflecting thousands of tiny, yellow, artificial lights, a stark contrast against the inky sky. City. Night. Skyscrapers. The words pop unexpectedly into my mind. I blinked, realising that I remembered little else.
   
I ruffled the spotted chocolate feathers on my wings, searching for clues of where I am, where I came from. Nothing. It was as if the rough, grey pavement had spit me into this place, leaving no trace, no hint, no memories at all.
   
Footsteps.
   
My mind froze, but instinct flapped my wings and I lifted off soundlessly, soaring upwards and landing on the nearest lamp post. I looked curiously as a man walked into sight, his polished shoe clicking on the shadow-laced concrete. He wore an elegant black suit and ash-coloured trousers, and as he swayed his arms slightly with every step, I could see the gleam of a polished golden watch on his wrist.
   
The man slowed down and looked up, as if sensing my gaze. I didn't break my stare, and instead met his slanted hazel eyes. As soon as our eyes connected, a shock rushed out of me, through the air, and struck him. He grunted and staggered backwards, and I knew that at that moment something had changed. No, forget that.

I had changed something.

"W-what happened?" He yelped, terror evident in his trembling voice. He looked down at his hands, as though he would be able to see the difference in them.

I felt the power coursing through me, shudders travelling from wingtip to wingtip. It was dark and terrible and beautiful. More than that. It was the lethal essence of shadows and death, the purest core of insanity, the embodiment of fear and destruction. I felt invincible, and yet I also felt afraid, afraid of myself, afraid of what I could do.

Who am I? I wondered.

Who?

Who?