The Black Witch Read online

  “Wait...” I implore as she begins to walk along the fence line in the direction of the great wilderness. I follow her brisk pace, the fence separating us, leaning over it to reach her as she veers away, her back receding into the distance—a dark, ghostly figure making her way through the last of the morning mist.

  The trees swallow her up into their darkness just as the sun rises, transforming the eerie blue dreamworld of early morning into the clear, sunlit world of day.

  My fingers fumble under my cloak for the wand, half expecting it to be gone, expecting to find that I was sleepwalking and imagined all of this. But then I feel it—smooth and straight and very much real.

  * * *

  I rush back to the house, the sunlight steadily gaining strength.

  Shaken, I’m desperate to find Uncle Edwin. Surely he’ll know what to do.

  As I round the trees, I’m surprised to see Aunt Vyvian standing in the doorway watching me, her expression unreadable.

  A small wave of apprehension washes over me at the sight of her, and I immediately slow my pace, struggling to turn my expression blank, as if returning from an uneventful morning stroll. But my mind is a tumult.

  Those marks on Sage’s hands—they were so horrible. Maybe Sage is right. Maybe the Council is planning to take her baby away...

  Aunt Vyvian tilts her head and eyes me thoughtfully as I approach. “Are you done packing?” she asks. “We’re ready to go.”

  I stand awkwardly in front of her, not able to move forward as she’s blocking the doorway. “Yes, I’m done.” I’m acutely aware of the wand, my hand involuntarily drawn to it.

  My aunt’s eyes flicker in the direction of the Gaffneys’ farm. “Did you visit with Sage Gaffney?” Her face is open, welcoming me to confide in her.

  Shock flashes through me. How does she know that Sage is here?

  I glance back toward the wilds, my heart thumping against my chest.

  Sage was right. Aunt Vyvian isn’t just here for me. Clearly she’s here for Sage, too. But surely she would never harm a baby?

  Aunt Vyvian sighs. “It’s all right, Elloren. I know she’s here, and I realize it must be terribly upsetting to see her. She’s...very troubled. We’re trying to help her, but...” She shakes her head sadly. “How is she?” Her tone is one of maternal concern. Some of my tension lightens.

  “She’s terribly frightened.” The words rush out. “The baby. She thinks someone wants to harm him. That someone from the Council is coming to take him away from her.”

  My aunt doesn’t seem surprised by this. She fixes me with the type of look adults use when they are about to reveal to a child some unfortunate, troubling fact of life. “The Council is coming to take custody of her baby.”

  I blink in shocked surprise.

  Aunt Vyvian lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. “The child is deformed, Elloren. It needs a physician’s care, and much more.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I breathe, almost not wanting to know.

  Aunt Vyvian searches my eyes, hesitant to tell me what I know will be something monstrous. “Elloren,” she explains gravely, “Sage has given birth to an Icaral.”

  I recoil at the word. No! It can’t be. It’s too horrible to imagine. One of the Evil Winged Ones—like giving birth to a grotesque demon. No wonder Sage didn’t let me see her child.

  The dull thud of horses’ hooves sounds in the distance, and I spot another Mage Council carriage rounding the hills and making its way down into the valley toward the Gaffneys’ estate. It’s followed by eight Gardnerian soldiers on horseback.

  “Can the child be helped?” My voice comes out in a shocked whisper as I watch the carriage and the soldiers nearing the cottage.

  “The Council will try, Elloren.” My aunt reassures me. “Its wings will be removed and a Mage Priest will do everything he can to try and save the child’s twisted soul.” She pauses and looks at me inquisitively. “What else did Sage say to you?”

  It’s a simple enough question, but something pulls me up short, some amorphous fear. And Sage has enough problems already.

  Clearly she’s stolen this wand. It can’t possibly be the wand of myth that she imagines it to be, but it’s obviously an expensive wand. Probably belonging to Tobias.

  I’ll wait until all this dies down and find a way to return it to him. And I don’t mention that Sage has run off into the woods—I’m sure the Council will find her soon enough on their own anyway.

  “She didn’t say much else,” I lie. “Only what I’ve told you.”

  My aunt nods in approval and lets out a small sigh. “Well, then, enough of this. We’ve a big journey ahead of us.”

  I attempt a small, resigned smile in return and bury Sage’s secret deep within, as well as my guilt in keeping it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Selkie

  I stare out the window of my aunt’s grand carriage as the scenery gradually changes from wilderness interspersed with farmland to small towns with more horse traffic. We sit opposite each other on green silk-cushioned seats, windows to our sides. A red, tasseled cord hangs from the ceiling that can be pulled to get the driver’s attention.

  I run my fingers nervously along the polished wood that lines my seat, its smooth touch soothing to me. An image of its source tree suffuses my mind, delicate, pointed leaves sparkling gold in the sunlight.

  Star Maple.

  I breathe in deep and let the tree anchor me.

  All throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, my aunt quietly works on Mage Council paperwork on a small table that folds out from the wall.

  Aunt Vyvian’s the only woman to ever sit on our ruling Mage Council. She’s one of twelve Mages there, not counting our High Mage. You have to be important to be on the Mage Council, and it’s usually made up of powerful priests or Guild leaders, like Warren Gaffney, who’s the head of the Agricultural Guild. But Aunt Vyvian has especially high status, being the daughter of the Black Witch.

  Aunt Vyvian dips her pen in an inkwell with a sharp tap, her script graceful as a professional calligrapher’s.

  Glancing up, she smiles at me, then finishes up the page she’s working on and places it into a large, important-looking, black leather folder, the Mage Council’s golden M affixed to its front. After clearing the table, she collapses it back against the wall, smooths her skirts and turns her attention to me.

  “Well, Elloren,” she begins pleasantly, “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and an even longer time since we’ve had a chance to talk. I really do regret that your uncle left everything to the last minute like this. It must be very confusing for you, and I suspect you have some questions.”

  I ponder this. Sage’s deformed hands are foremost on my mind.

  “When I saw Sage this morning,” I begin, tentatively, “her hands were wounded...horribly wounded.”

  My aunt looks a bit taken aback. She sighs deeply. “Elloren,” she says, her face solemn, “Sage left her fastmate and ran off with a Kelt.”

  A rush of shock runs through me. The Kelts killed my parents. They oppressed my people for generations. How could kind, gentle Sage have run off with...a Kelt?

  My aunt’s brow tightens in sympathy. “I know this must be hard for you, since you were friendly with the girl, but wandfasting is a sacred commitment, and breaking that commitment has serious consequences.” Her face softens when she sees my troubled expression. “Do not despair, Elloren,” she says to comfort me. “There is hope yet. Tobias is willing to take Sage back, and there may be hope for her child, as well. The Ancient One is full of compassion when we truly repent and beg for forgiveness.”

  I remember Sage’s defiance and think it highly unlikely she will beg for anyone’s forgiveness, least of all Tobias’s. I’ve hidden Sage’s white wand in
side the lining of my travel trunk, so at least being in possession of a stolen wand won’t be added to her horrific troubles.

  “It doesn’t hurt to be fasted, does it?” I ask Aunt Vyvian worriedly.

  My aunt laughs at this and leans forward to pat my hand with affection. “No, Elloren. It’s not painful at all! The priest simply has the couple hold hands before waving his wand over them and reciting a few words. It’s not something you feel, although it does leave an imprint on your hand, which you’ve seen before.” My aunt holds out her hand, which is marked with graceful black swirls that extend to her wrist.

  Unlike my uncle, who never married, most Gardnerian adults have some variation of these marks on their hands and wrists, the design unique to each couple and influenced by their Mage affinity lines. Hers are quite beautiful; undimmed by time and the death of her fastmate in the Realm War.

  “Do not let Sage’s unfortunate situation color your view of wandfasting,” my aunt cautions. “Wandfasting is a beautiful sacrament, meant to keep us pure and chaste. The lure of the Evil Ones is strong, Elloren. Wandfasting helps young people such as yourself to stay on the path of virtue. It’s one of the many things that sets us apart from the heretic races all around us.” She motions toward me with both hands, palms upturned. “That is why I would like to see you wandfasted to someone you find appealing, someone who would be right for you. I’m having a party at week’s end while you’re in Valgard. Let me know if there is any young man who particularly catches your fancy.” My aunt smiles at me conspiratorially.

  A heady anticipation ripples through me.

  What if I meet a young man I like at my aunt’s party? Might he ask me to dance? Or to walk with him in a beautiful garden? There’s a dearth of young, unfasted men in Halfix, and none that I fancy. Meeting a young man in Valgard is a thrilling thought, and I spend a fair bit of time dreamily considering it.

  It takes several days to reach Valgard, and we stop often to change horses, stretch our legs and retire in the evening to sumptuous lodging. My aunt picks only the best guesthouses—delicious food brought to our rooms, fresh flowers gracing the tables and soft bedding stuffed with down.

  Over meals and during the long carriage rides, Aunt Vyvian tells me about the people she’s invited to her party: the various young men, along with their accomplishments and family connections, as well as the young women I will be meeting and who they’re wandfasted to. She also speaks about her hopes for the rise of Marcus Vogel to High Mage, our highest level of government. Our current High Mage, Aldus Worthin, is elderly and getting ready to step down in the spring.

  Marcus Vogel’s name catches my attention. I remember a conversation my brother Rafe recently had with Uncle Edwin about him. Uncle Edwin was surprisingly strident in his dismissal of Vogel, calling him a “rabid zealot.”

  “Half the Council is still behind Phinneas Callnan for our next High Mage,” Aunt Vyvian tells me, her tone clipped. “But the man has no spine. He’s forgotten his own faith and how we were almost destroyed as a people.” She shakes her head in strident disapproval. “If it was up to him, I suspect we’d all be slaves again, or half-breeds.” She pats my hand as if I need consoling on this point. “No matter, Elloren. The referendum’s not until spring, and Vogel’s support grows every day.”

  Though her harsh words make me uneasy, I find myself falling under Aunt Vyvian’s congenial spell, and she brightens in response to my rapt attention. She’s a wonderful traveling companion, charming and vivacious. And she paints such vivid pictures of each person she describes that I imagine I’ll be able to recognize them on sight.

  She seems particularly fond of a young man named Lukas Grey—a powerful, Level Five Mage and rising star in the Gardnerian military.

  “He’s the son of the High Commander of the entire Mage Guard,” she tells me as we roll along, a spectacular view of the Voltic Sea to my right, the late-afternoon sun sparkling on its waves. “And he’s a top graduate of the University.”

  “What did he study?” I ask, curious.

  “Military history and languages,” she crows.

  I can tell from the way her eyes light up when she speaks of him that he’s her first choice of fasted partner for me. I humor her, doubting that this much-sought-after young man will spare even a glance toward a shy girl from Halfix. But it’s enjoyable to listen to her enthusiastic descriptions, nonetheless.

  “Only three years out of University and already a first lieutenant,” she gushes brightly. “There’s talk that within a year’s time, Lukas Grey could be the youngest commander in the history of the Guard.”

  My aunt prattles on for a long time about Lukas and several other young men. As she speaks, I glance out the window and watch the scenery go by. Gradually, the buildings of the towns we pass through are becoming taller, grander and closer together, and lanterns are lit to welcome the twilight. Our progress is now slowed by heavier carriage and horse traffic. We crest a hill, pass through a wooded area, and then, suddenly, it’s before us—a sloping valley leading straight to Valgard, Gardneria’s capital city.

  Like an elegant cloak clasp, gleaming Valgard rings the Malthorin Bay. A glorious sunset lights the ocean beyond and bathes everything in the rich colors of a well-stoked fire. Tiny ships speckle the water. Valgard’s docks resemble the curved half of a long fishbone.

  I can scarcely breathe as I take it all in, the city glittering in the fading light, points of illumination sprouting throughout, like fireflies waking. Our carriage weaves down into the valley, and before long, we’re in the heart of the capital.

  I slide the carriage window open and stare.

  Buildings made of luxurious, dark Ironwood rise up around me, the progressively wider upper stories supported by richly carved ebony columns. Curling emerald trellises thick with lush, flowering vines flow out over the rooftops and down the buildings’ sides.

  I close my eyes and breathe in the rich Ironwood. It’s traditional for our homes to be made of this wood and styled in designs that look like forests and trees—a symbol of the Ancient One’s creation of my people from the seeds of the sacred Ironwood Tree, giving us dominion over all the trees and all the wilds.

  We pass an open-air restaurant, dining tables spilling out onto a promenade surrounded by decorative fruit trees, all of it lit by diamond-paned lanterns. The smell of rich food wafts into the carriage—roasted lamb, sautéed fish, platters of herbed potatoes.

  A small orchestra plays beneath a plum tree.

  I turn to my aunt, thrilled by the beautiful music. I’ve never heard an orchestra before. “Is that the Valgard symphony?”

  Aunt Vyvian laughs. “Heavens, no, Elloren. They’re employees of the restaurant.” She eyes me with amused speculation. “Would you like to hear the symphony while you’re here?”

  “Oh, yes,” I breathe.

  There’s an endless variety of shops, cafés and markets. And I’ve never seen so many Gardnerians together before, their uniformly dark garb lending an air of elegance and gravity to their appearance, the women’s black silken tunics set off by glittering gems. I know it says right in our holy book that we’re supposed to wear the colors of night to remember our long history of oppression, but it’s hard to keep such somber thoughts in mind as I look around. It’s all so wonderfully grand. I’m seized by a heady excitement, coupled with a desire to be part of it all. I glance down at my simple, dark brown woolen clothing and wonder what it would be like to wear something fine.

  The carriage lurches, and we turn sharply to the right and make our way down a narrow, darker road, the buildings not as lovely as the ones on the main thoroughfare, the storefront windows mysteriously harder to see through, the lighting a moody red.

  “I had my driver take a shortcut,” my aunt says by way of explanation as she flips through more Council papers, the golden lumenstone in the carriage lantern growing in br
ightness in response to the dark.

  I marvel at the lumenstone’s rich, otherworldly light. Elfin lumenstone is incredibly expensive, the golden stone the rarest. I’ve only seen swampy green lumenstone in the Gaffneys’ outdoor lamps back home.

  Aunt Vyvian lets out a sigh and pulls down one of the blinds. “This isn’t the best part of town, Elloren, but it will shave quite a bit of time off our journey. I suggest you close the window. It’s not an attractive area. Frankly, it should all be razed and rebuilt.”

  I lean forward to close my open window and draw the blind as the carriage slows to a halt. It’s been a constant stop and go ever since we reached the city because of the heavy street traffic.

  A split second before I’m about to pull the cord, something hits the window with a loud smack—a white bird’s wing, there and gone so fast, I swear I imagined it. I press my face to the window and try to locate the bird.

  They’re not just birds, they’re Watchers! Sage’s words echo in my mind.

  And that’s when I see her—a young woman only a few feet away from me.

  She is, by far, the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, even dressed as she is in a simple white tunic. Her long, silver hair sparkles like sun glinting off a waterfall and spills out over translucent skin so pale, it’s almost blue. She has a lithe, graceful figure, her legs folded together to one side, her weight supported by slender, alabaster arms.

  But it’s her eyes that are the most riveting. They’re huge and gray as a stormy sea. And they’re filled with wild terror.

  She’s in a cage. An actual, locked cage, only big enough for her to sit in, not stand, and it’s placed on a table. Two men stand staring at her while engaged in some private conversation. On the other side of the cage, two boys are poking at her side with a long, sharp stick, trying for a reaction.

  She doesn’t seem to even register that they’re there. She’s looking straight at me, her eyes absolutely locked on to mine. Her look is one of such primal fear, I pull back from the sheer force of it, my heart beginning to pound against my chest.