Pursuit of the Sun 1.2

The witch was missing her left ear – judging by the scar, it had been gone for a long time; the marks of interrogation remained on her hands, burned and with her nails torn out, but otherwise – we need to undress her first.

– Now that’s a businesslike conversation, – the witch clearly perked up. – If I want to live, I’ll suck like a catfish, I’ll scrub toilets. I know how to cast spells, brew potions – both healing and harmful, and I can steal – though I’m not particularly good at it, – she points to the place where her ear should be. – That’s more than most people can do, right? I’m twenty-seven years old, my name is Gita. I’ll definitely be useful.

- If you had been more talkative yesterday and less arrogant, maybe your fingers would still be intact. – Voldemar nodded towards the witch’s paws.
– “Sucking” is not necessary for me. And nothing else “in that spirit” either. I’ve had enough of one bitch to fill me up… But as for the rest… My brothers and I are opening a new “holy place” here. Instead of yours… Only there will be preaching, not these “mind cleansing” sessions of yours. I hope there’s a kitchen and a toilet there, and everything else… There will be work, in short. Does that suit you?
- Regarding spells and “healing/harming” – well, in that sense, we’re practically the same – I also heal and harm. You had the pleasure of seeing that yesterday. – Voldemar’s laughter didn’t take long to come.
- But how can you guarantee that all this won’t go against me?
- You said you can steal? Did you steal your own ear too? Remember – no stealing, except on my direct orders, understand?! And if such an order is given, it will only be in exceptional cases. Because stealing is evil!
- You said you’re 27? Are you lying? – the question is addressed to Raul?
- Gita, that’s right. I’m Voldemar. But for you – Master Voldemar. Or just “Master.” Understand?

The bald guy is generally a quiet type; sometimes he sits in a den, chats about life, writes something down, and sits there, lost in thought. He doesn’t drink or do drugs himself – I don’t know, maybe they don’t affect him.

- Did he also keep a “record” of your activities? Tell me more…
- Yes, yes… They don’t eat, they don’t drink, they don’t breathe. I’ve heard of them. And they don’t die. They are usually cut into pieces and scattered over a square kilometer so that they don’t grow back together. But the holy fire gave me a special gift. It’s much simpler there…

but she can kill with a touch or leave someone an idiot for life – they started to respect her, of course.

- Well, I turned her into nothing. Not even a charred skeleton remained. So, how about it? “Do you respect me now?” – Voldemar burst out in sarcastic laughter.

Ugh, my throat is dry. Can I at least have some water? It’s a long story.

- Give her something. – Voldemar asked the guards.