The Witch of Zaron
By Herbert Jerry Baker
All comes to naught in the end
Photoart by Thiel
Far far to the north, farther than even the ancient caravan route which tracks from Narkhopolis to the Eastern Sea, lies the crumbling time-dusted ruins of Zaron, long lost to the memory of man. Yet these primeval stones are not dead, for amongst the decomposing remains dwelt the witch-woman Ilwanjean.
She was older than even the ruins of fabled Zaron, and was aged ere man walked upon the world; it seemed as if she was to be amongst the eldic stones long after man had departed this realm.
Often did the witch Ilwanjean sing a song of godly defiance, for amongst all the gods of man, she feared none, for her arcane powers came from those which no man had ever worshipped and are now without name. Yet she devoted herself to them and in return these Things gave her such powers as she craved.
In accordance with the rituals by which she appeased those Other Gods, once each year, during the Summer Solstice, the Witch of Zaron gave to them the fresh heart and virgin soul of a young maiden. The witch would employ her darksome energies to bring an unfortunate victim to the age-old ruins; she would then sacrifice her to those nameless gods, and would be granted yet another boon.
It was during the Year of the Rising Star, nearing the day of the solstice, and the Witch of Zaron was busily preparing herself for the coming night's activities. All about her small hovel burnt ewers of incense and the air was heavy with its effluvia. Ilwanjean sang a non-pious chant as she took a number of colored powders and phials of foul liquids from several nooks of her hut and moved out to the piled stones which surrounded her home.
Upon one of the stones which lay flat upon the hard dried earth were scratched several obscure runes and glyphs, and over these lay the ruby darkness caused by untold years of blood-letting. The witch lit several tallows, placing them upon the stone, and began the unholy incantation which would bring another maiden to appease the foul lusts of Those she served.
Ilwanjean began to intone the ritual; the cool night breeze came to a stop, the candles blazed brighter as she finished her chant…yet no young woman lay on the stone before her. Once again the witch cast her sorcerous spell, but it was to no avail; no helpless victim lay upon her stone of blood. 
Never before had the powers of the witch failed, and in mounting fear, she raised her eyes to the cold twinkling stars and cried out to those nameless things which she served. However, the night skies remained clear and the only sound was the gentle whisk of the returning wind.
She began to perform yet another magick ritual when she saw a bright nebulous phantom floating towards her. As she watched, it came to rest upon the stone before her. The glow slowly ebbed from about the enigmatic shape and there before her stood a dark-robed figure. It pointed at her and she heard a hollow voice echo across the ruins of Zaron, and she fell back in fear.
“Witch!” intoned the stranger. “Know that I be the one called Time, and I, of all the gods of man, have been sent here to put your evil ways to an end! We have heard your mocking words and watched your horrid deeds for too long and they will be tolerated no more!”
So saying, this figure called Time stepped closer to her, yet she overcame her fear and haughtily replied, “I have no fear of thee, Time, for the Ones which I serve have more powers than all the weak gods of man have ever dreamt!”
“Even the Creator of All acknowledges the power of Time, witch!” replied the dark-robed god, grasping her by the wrist. He raised the cowl of his robe, and lifting the claw-like hand of this witch to his lips, he gently kissed it. Then, turning away, his form became dissolute and was borne away upon the gentle night breeze.
Ilwanjean watched the hazy shape disappear and then began to scoff at the words which Time had uttered. She was still here, he wasn't, and her powers would protect her from the wrath of the puny gods of man.
She thrust her hand high into the air, in preparation for another arcane ritual, when, to her horror, she saw that where Time had pressed his lips upon her hand, the skin was falling away, leaving only bones showing; then these too fell to the earth.
In pained dismay, she watched as the kiss of Time spread up her arm and across her entire body. She died ere her skeleton fell to the ground, yet it too turned to dust and was carried from the ruins of the time-lost city by the gentle breezes of night.
