A White So Red

by Krystle Jones

  His eyes lit up.

  “Touching,” Wormwart sneered, circling her. “I hope yer grip is good, because if yeh spill one drop, yeh will have to work in the mines tomorrow. Now move.”

  He poked her in the shoulder with the ax, and she yelped, stumbling forward.

  Something told her she had gotten far more than she originally bargained for.

  Chapter Seven

  Dealing with Dwarves

  Mist swirled around her legs as they walked, the shoulders and heads of the dwarves the only parts of them she could see above the fog. The canopy of silver leaves grew thicker here, shutting out the moon and welcoming shadows to take over. Dizziness collected in her, making her gait clumsy. Her skin was growing cold, but she was thankful for the constant shivering because it was the only thing keeping her awake. That and Wormwart’s relentless prodding. Once, he poked her hard in the wound and she cried out, nearly dropping the sacks as she stumbled. Feeling wretched, she gritted her teeth and fixed her pain-filled stare forward, determined not to break.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they crested a hill and her eyes widened. It was a small clearing, lit by multiple streams of pale silver light. The mist was thinner here, showing the ground, which was mostly covered in overgrown silver weeds, save for the trampled path worn to the front door of the dilapidated cottage. Of all the things she had come to expect from the Silver Forest, she never would have dreamed she would be staring at a house, or rather, what appeared to be a farm at one time.

  A stable stood off to one side of the two-story wooden house, which wore its age with a crooked set to it, like an old man leaning on his cane. The thatched roof looked ready to cave in, and the windows were so covered in dust they were opaque. Right outside the front door stood a large black hole surrounded by a short wall of gray rocks – a well.

  “I thought dwarves lived in caves or some other such dark hole,” she said.

  The tall, willowy dwarf – Goldentongue, she thought his name was – turned to look at her down the length of his pointed nose. “Perhaps if you are quite uncivilized,” he said. “We, however, are not barbarians, miss.”

  She looked at Wormwart, deciding not to say she disagreed.

  “Come along there, slave gurl!” Wormwart barked. “After I heal yeh, yeh have work to do.” He practically growled “gurl,” a menacing “I’ll-beat-you-if-you-don’t-hurry” kind of sound. She braced herself and carefully began the descent down the hill and into the meadow. Dirt stirred around her boots, mingling with the mist and turning it a deeper shade of silver. The odd thing was that the mud was no longer brown; it was slate-gray, like it too was made of metal.

  Wormwart threw open the door and stepped inside. The others quickly filed in, with her waiting at the back, ready to collapse. Somehow, she managed to have enough foresight to duck under the doorframe and not slam her head into it. The air smelled of mold and dust, which tickled her nose and scratched the back of her throat, making it itch, but she coughed and kept her distasteful look suppressed. The castle might have been old, but it was never covered in filth like this place.

  The other dwarves were scurrying around and lighting torches. One dwarf with a long, knife-like nose and a mouth that always curved up at the corner in a devious, sly smile had climbed atop a large table to light a wrought iron chandelier, which hung precariously from a halfway eroded rope in the center of the ceiling. He caught her gaze and rubbed his knobby, needle-nailed hands together. “See these candles?” he asked in a voice that reminded her of slithering worms and snakes. “Made them from human fat, I did. I wonder if yours would burn longer, since you’re magical and all.”

  She gulped. Sweat had broken out over her brow and palms.

  Wormwart pointed a yellow nail at her. “Go into the pantry, where yeh’ll find a cellar door. Open it and wait fer me down there. And take those sacks with yeh.”

  Feeling half-dead, she hefted the sacks, turned around, and dragged her feet to the entrance of the adjoining room. The air drifting out through the cracks around the door smelled funny. It took her several times to loop her finger through the latched doorknob because it kept splitting into doubles, thanks to her dizziness. Finally, she managed to grab it and pull it open – and nearly vomited. Carcasses lay stacked in heaps on the shelves and on the floor; flies gathered on some of the meat in black, bustling clusters. Holding her arm over her nose, she stiffly went inside and knelt by the brass handle on the floor, pulling it up. A dark hole split the floor in front of her, and a wooden ladder disappeared into the murky darkness. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the ladder and climbed down. Her foot missed the last step because it wasn’t there, possibly rotted-out, and she pitched forward onto her elbows. She bit her lip to stifle her cry, digging her fingers into the floor, which felt like slightly wet dirt.

  Several shiny red objects had spilled out of the sack. She gasped.

  A scattering of crystals lay before her, just like what was in her necklace and in the Queen’s crown. They were rare to come by, which made them much more valuable than silver or gold.

  The dwarves must be mining and selling them for a hefty price.

  Aside from their appetite for red meat, dwarves were known for their business sense – and their greed. She blinked, glancing behind her. If Wormwart came down here and saw the gems lying all over the floor, he would not be pleased.

  After grabbing the crystals and shoving them back in the sack, she stood.

  The rest of the room was dark; the only light came from the opening above. Her heart picked up speed, and her breathing somehow seemed twice as loud. Oh, how she wished she had a candle.

  It wasn’t exactly that she was afraid of the dark as much as it was the fact she was alone in a strange place with seven creatures who would just assume to eat her as help her.

  Grunting, she climbed to her feet and brushed off her hands. An orange glow flared to life behind her, and she turned.

  The creepy dwarf stood there, depositing the torch he held into a holder on the wall. He slowly looked her up and down and then pointed to his feet. “You see these boots?”

  She tensed, her gaze lowering to his shoes. They were peachy, like human flesh.

  “These took a long time to make,” he said. “They’re irreplaceable.” He fixed his shimmering yellow gaze on her. “Well,” he said, smiling, “almost.”

  “What do you want?” she asked sharply.

  A knife slipped from his belt. He jabbed it in her direction. “These boots are getting a bit worn out. And you don’t need all your skin to perform your chores.”

  Forcing herself not to react, she stared back at him with cool indifference. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I’d like to see you try.”

  She immediately regretted it.

  A trail of black drool oozed down his pointed chin as he smiled. “Careful, mortal. That’s what the last one said, too.”

  He approached and she stepped back.

  “Don’t be shy, love. Come to Slither.”

  Something bulky dropped down from the opening of the cellar, and within seconds, Slither was thrown onto a table with his own knife pressed against his scrawny throat. “No one harms the gurl,” Wormwart hissed. “That’s an order.”

  An odd shiver rolled over Slither’s yellow skin. “Yes, sir.” The obedience in his tone didn’t match the hostility in his eyes as he glared up at Wormwart.

  With a thrust, Wormwart straightened and tossed the knife back to Slither, who snatched it out of the air with the speed of a snake. Grumbling, Slither hobbled off and climbed up the ladder. The rest of the dwarves peeked down at them from the opening above. “What are you looking at?” Slither growled, which only made them snicker.

  Wormwart looked up and the laughter abruptly ceased.

  “To bed, all of yeh.”

  The dwarves quickly dispersed, leaving Natalia alone with Wormwart. He pointed to the sacks. “Put them by those shelves over there.”

 
“What happened just now?” she asked, jerking a finger at the table as she bent for the sacks and dragged them across the room. “What did you do to Slither?”

  “Ah, just bound him, is all,” Wormwart said, strutting past.

  “Bound?”

  Wormwart glanced back at her with a look of utter disgust. “Did they teach yeh nothing where yeh come from?”

  Her gaze narrowed, but she did not speak. She had learned a lot in her first ten years. Then her parents died, and the Queen decided Natalia had enough education and forced her into servitude. It had been so long since Natalia had even read a book that she wouldn’t be surprised if she no longer remembered how.

  “It’s a basic bit of dwarf knowledge called binding,” Wormwart said. “Dwarf clans are funny that way. The leader can issue orders the others must follow, and to go against the orders cause the subordinate dwarves great physical pain.”

  “But that’s not fair.” She dropped the sacks off in the corner by the set of shelves and briefly considered passing out on top of them. “What if the leader abuses his power?”

  “Then they usually end up dead. Commanding one’s kinsmen not to kill yeh is the only commandment that won’t work.”

  “Pity,” she muttered.

  He hobbled over to a shelf filled with bottles of various sizes. She watched as he carefully sifted through the assortment of glass jars and vials. He turned around; a small purple vial was pinched between two of his fingers. “Bare yer back.”

  Keeping her head turned so she could watch him, she turned around and pulled on the laces, releasing them before rolling down the top part of her shift. She cringed as the fabric pulled at the spots where it stuck to her skin, the dried blood acting as a sort of glue.

  A cork popped and something ice-cold dribbled onto her wounds. It prickled at first, as if hundreds of tiny bubbles were popping on her skin, growing warmer and warmer as it burned its way through her muscles. She cried out and tried to stand, but two hands pressed down on her shoulders.

  “It won’t take long,” Wormwart said.

  “What are you doing to me?” She squirmed, trying to break free, but it did about as much good as if she were trying to move a mountain.

  The pain in her back was so intense that her vision was turning red. She gasped, on the verge of blacking out, when a gust of cool air whipped over her, carrying the burning sensation with it. She gulped down a breath and reached back, delicately touching her skin. It was smooth and cold as ice. The heavy sheet of exhaustion she had felt earlier was also gone, replaced by a buzzing energy in her limbs.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and Wormwart let up his hold. “What was that?” she asked, pulling the shift back up.

  “A gift – from a faery.”

  She quickly tied the laces and stood. “You mean like magic?”

  “Ha!” He clapped a hand on his thigh, which was about the size of a log. “That’s rich, giving away magic like party favors!”

  She crossed her arms, blushing.

  “Magic,” he said, “is in the blood. Either yeh have it or yeh don’t; it’s not something yeh can gift. Yeh can, however, give the gift of yer blood.” He thumped the vial lightly with his finger for emphasis.

  Her head inclined as her mouth dropped open. “You put faery blood in me?”

  “Not in yeh – on yeh. There’s a keen difference.” Wormwart replaced the bottle on the shelf.

  She looked down at her skin warily, as if expecting it to begin glowing at any minute. “How did you come across such a token?”

  “I saved a faery’s life, and when yeh save a faery’s life, it must grant you a favor.”

  “Faeries are unpredictable, or so I’ve heard. Don’t you think asking one for its blood is a bit bold?”

  “It was worth the risk,” he said, grinning. “And it ain’t like they got a choice. They are bound to the promise they make to grant yeh whatever wish yeh want.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I thought the Fey were extinct.”

  “Not quite. They’re just in hiding because they’re scared.”

  Hearing that somehow made the temperature drop, and she shivered. “Scared of what? The Fey are the most powerful, ancient beings alive.”

  Wormwart’s dark gaze sent chills up her arms. “There is a creature older and more powerful than the Fey… and of much darker origins.”

  “More powerful than the Fey?”

  “It feasts on the Fey, if that’s any indicator.”

  She held his gaze, unblinking. “What does?”

  He stared at her without moving.

  “The father of Dark Magic,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes he takes the form of a canary; other times it’s a fish. He switches bodies to keep you off guard. This time, it looks like he’s favoring the form of a great black wolf.”

  She frowned. “A wolf? I’ve never heard of a wolf being –”

  “Agh! Forget it!” He waved a hand at her and walked across the room. “I’m tired, I’m hungry, and yeh’ve irritated me enough for one day with yer simpleton questions.” He began climbing the ladder.

  Her jaw clenched. “I am not a simpleton,” she muttered, climbing up after him. “I am merely curious.”

  “Well, yer pissing me off.”

  He waited for her to climb out before shutting the door. The smell of rotting meat seemed worse, and she hurried out of the room, slamming the door closed behind her. She coughed several times to clear her lungs of the smell, though the taste coated her tongue like mold. She opened her mouth, ready to prod more information out of the dwarf, but he was already marching through the dining room. “This way, human.”

  Throwing up her arms, she followed him.

  The next room was a den; it was so coated in dust that everything was gray. In one corner was a stairway leading up to a second level. She followed him up the stairs, which groaned so severely she feared they would break. On the landing, Wormwart scuttled down the hall, past several closed-door rooms from which she could hear loud snores. Some of the snores sounded like wind whistling through trees, while others were as loud as an erupting volcano.

  Wormwart kicked open a door at the end of the hall. She slowly peered around the corner and watched the dwarf light a candle. The room was full to the brim with stacks of books so high they towered over her nearly six-foot-tall frame.

  “This is our library,” Wormwart said.

  “It’s, er, lovely.”

  He shoved a stack of books, which tumbled to the floor in an avalanche of paper and dust. She swore she saw something small and black scamper out of the way and into the shadows, and she wiggled as a chill pinched her awake. The last thing she needed was a cockroach trying to crawl into her ear while she slept.

  “Here.” Wormwart pointed to a shaggy blanket he had thrown across the floor. “That’ll do fer now. If yer not up by sunrise cooking breakfast, I’ll send Slither in here to skin yeh alive.”

  “No!”

  He looked at her, quirking a bushy brow.

  She cleared her throat. “That, er, won’t be necessary.”

  “Better not be.”

  He went out, slamming the door shut, and she was left alone, standing among the towers of books. The light flickered, nearly blowing out in the draft, but it stayed lit long enough for her to sit down on the blanket. Her feet smarted as she tugged off her boots. Blisters oozed on her toes, and a sharp pain flared along the center of her feet as she stretched them. Wincing, she gently laid back, tucking one arm behind her head. She wondered how long she had until the huntsman found her, and if it was safe to fall asleep. Slither would surely love to slit her throat while she was dreaming.

  Rose, please be alive.

  Natalia was so tired that all of her thoughts and cares faded away within a matter of seconds. Her eyes shut soon after, long before she saw the glowing form of the girl standing in her room.

  Chapter Eight

  Something Wicked

  Something was poking her in
the shoulder.

  With a groan, she swatted it away and forced an eye open.

  Two enormous black eyes peered back, right beside her face.

  She shrieked, bolting upright. “Ah!” She grabbed her head as stars burst before her eyes.

  A small hand touched her arm and she jumped again, looking down to see flesh the color of ink. “Midnight.”

  He patted her arm, a look of alarm on his face.

  “No, it’s all right.” She smiled at him. “I’m fine.”

  He pretended to be scooping things into his mouth.

  “What are you –”

  She gasped, hearing Wormwart’s voice in her head.

  “If yer not up by sunrise cooking breakfast, I’ll send Slither in to skin yeh alive.”

  “Thank you!” she blurted to Midnight, dropping a kiss on his forehead before pulling on her boots and dashing down the stairs. Her body was so stiff and sore that she missed a few steps and nearly twisted her ankle in the process, but she at last stumbled into the kitchen. It was still dark, though the windows glowed with pale blue light. Dawn couldn’t be far.

  Bleary eyed, she ran to the meat room, holding her breath as she grabbed the first thing she saw – a skinned rabbit – and laid it across the table. Mercifully, there were still a few embers in the hearth. She blew on them, carefully adding on additional logs from the pile beside the fireplace. The fire grew, and she rummaged around until she found a pot, which she stuffed the rabbit into before hanging it over the fire.

  The smell of roasting rabbit permeated the air and her mouth watered. She found an old, wooden spoon and poked at the meat, checking to see if it was done. Parts were still pink, but she figured the dwarves wouldn’t mind. No sooner had she taken the pot off the fire, the floorboards began to shake as several bodies herded down the stairway and burst into the kitchen the moment she set the pot down on the table.

  The room quickly became chaotic as mining equipment was dispersed. She had to duck more than once as pickaxes were hurled across the room, embedding themselves in the walls or floor. Somewhere in all that mess, the rabbit literally vanished, devoured by seven hungry mouths before she could even get a bite. Sighing, she lingered by the wall, waiting for the noise to die down and trying to ignore the painful twisting of her empty stomach.