Hemlock and the Dread Sorceress

by B Throwsnaill

  Chapter Three

  Hemlock, Tored and Mercuria walked together in the crisp morning air as the sun, still low in the morning sky, cast long and ominous shadows.

  “So, Hemlock, I didn’t realize we were literally walking back to find Mother,” Mercuria quipped.

  “I wish we could,” said Hemlock, “but our home world won’t intersect the City for a few more years.”

  As soon as she said this, Hemlock regretted it. Since she was the only one who could perceive the movements of the worlds through the great void, she disliked bringing attention to her ability. It made her feel different and strange, even though her other unusual abilities didn’t affect her that way.

  Hemlock still hadn’t discussed the matter of Falignus with Tored or her sister. She had been waiting for an opportune time, but none had presented itself, so far.

  Now is the time.

  “Look, I need to tell you both something. There’s another thing I’m hoping to do on this trip. I’ve sensed that Falignus is still alive and living on the same world as Mother. I plan to try to bring him back to the City to help us fight DuLoc.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?” asked Tored.

  “Falignus is still alive? The man was a monster!” cried Mercuria.

  “No, he wasn’t a monster. I…I’m not sure what he is now, but I hope to find him and see if he’s still…a man.”

  “Assuming that he is, how do you know that he will help you against DuLoc? Remember, he’s descended from the line of the ancient Imperator. We’ve all listened to Merit’s histories. He is your mortal enemy by blood, isn’t he?” said Tored.

  “Our relationship was complex. He believes in something I don’t. We both want to help people, but he believes in helping people by controlling them. I believe in helping them to help themselves. But I’m sure he would disapprove of DuLoc wanting to control and harm people. He will help us—if he’s able to.”

  “Do you still have feelings for him?” asked Mercuria.

  “I don’t know,” replied Hemlock, realizing it was a lie only after she had finished speaking.

  “Is that what this trip has really been about all along? I thought you were finally focusing on your family over your work. Now I realize this is just more of the same, Hemlock. It just so happens that Mother is on the same world. Otherwise, you’d be searching for Falignus and leaving Mother and me to fend for ourselves.”

  “That’s not true! I became certain about Falignus only after we decided to go. I wanted to do something to make you happy and I need to resolve things between Mother and me.”

  “I’m not buying it, Hemlock. I know you too well,” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock couldn’t muster the strength to argue any further. Plus, she had a sinking feeling that her sister’s accusation might have been closer to the mark than she wanted to accept.

  “How can four of us travel back on Penelope? I understand that she will struggle to take three between the worlds,” said Tored.

  “I have a plan for that. Just wait a few minutes and you’ll understand.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of controlling people?” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock was content to let the question remain unacknowledged.

  The trio walked in silence. Hemlock directed them toward a small bluff that overlooked the City. The white-washed buildings of the Elite district were pretty in the glow of dawn, looking even more clean and perfect in the sanctity of the morning light. She felt a pang of guilt because she hadn’t accomplished more to alleviate the poverty of the Warrens in recent months. But she had grown tired of politics and found the issues underlying the poverty were more complex than she’d anticipated.

  I’ll put that all behind me for now. We are leaving for a while. These problems will be here when we get back, and we’ll solve them then.

  “Look,” said Mercuria without enthusiasm as the graceful form of the approaching griffin was cast in a stark outline as it flew from the top of the distant Wizard Tower. Hemlock considered going to the tower to meet Penelope, but fear of another stressful encounter with Gwineval dissuaded her from that. She’d asked Merit to deliver a message to the griffin for her instead.

  The trio was transfixed by the sight of Penelope’s approach.

  “There’s someone on Penelope’s back,” said Tored.

  “Good eyes for an old man,” said Hemlock.” It’s Renevos. He’s come to see us off.”

  A few more minutes passed before the griffin landed softly on the hillside. Renevos, looking more disheveled than usual after the short flight, made a clumsy dismount then bowed in greeting. Hemlock was used to seeing the wizard, but something had changed about his appearance as of late. Since he had returned from the quest to the Witch Crags and taken his place on the Wizard Council, he began wearing his beard braided. It seemed to be an unusual point of pride for the old wizard, even though the remainder of his appearance did not benefit from a similar focus.

  “Looking good, Renevos. Are the women throwing themselves at you now that you have that nice beard?” said Hemlock.

  “Well, that’s a very crass comment to greet me with, young lady. But I won’t hold it against you. This time,” said Renevos.

  “How was the flight?”

  “A bit unnerving, I must confess. But, I am an old man—too old for this sort of running about, it would seem.”

  “Rubbish. You wish you were coming with us. Admit it!”

  “I should like another adventure, yes. But I am old and tired, too. Still, Gwineval has enlisted me to accompany his expeditionary force that he’s leading into the south. I suspect it will prove to be more than a diversion and fulfill my appetite for adventure.”

  Hemlock disliked being reminded of Gwineval and his disdain for her latest quest. She looked away from the wizard.

  “Hemlock, has Gwineval brought up the issues with Cassandra and her pleasure cult?” said Renevos.

  “No, not since last week. I was hoping things were quieting down,” said Hemlock.

  “Unfortunately, no. Unkempt youth are streaming through the City. Running amok, if you ask me. People are leaving their jobs and spending days—even weeks—on the lake. The wall of mist we put around the water preserves the illusion of modesty, at least, but everyone knows about the aberrant behavior that goes on there. Samberlin is beside himself. He is stirring up the Senate.”

  “Argh—another loose end. Look, since I’m going away, I need you to try to hold things together for me until I get back. I promise I will go see Cassandra, again, and make her calm things down.”

  “I’ll try, Hemlock. But I fear things have progressed beyond calming down. I don’t think Samberlin will rest until Cassandra and her lot are banished from the City.”

  “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Where will they go? We will condemn them to death by forcing them to leave. They need a sizable body of water to survive and Hemisphere Lake is the only place like that in the City, now. Will we force them to cross the veil?”

  “Perhaps. Couldn’t you use your second sight to find them a suitable crossing point to a pleasant destination?”

  “Maybe, but it could take years for such a world to be in alignment. I’d have to explore each place to make sure it isn’t hostile. I don’t know, Renevos. It sounds iffy.”

  “Pardon my candor, Hemlock, but this situation with the witches is…iffy. And it may take a turn for the worse unless you get back as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Hemlock, looking the old wizard in the eye. While wanting nothing more than to climb on Penelope’s back and sail into the heavens without another word, there was another matter to discuss.

  “Renevos, did you bring the bottle?” she asked.

  “Yes, I did,” said the old wizard, withdrawing a green glass bottle from his robe. It looked like a simple bottle with a cork in the top, but on closer inspection it was covered in shallow runes. A dull light
flickered and tumbled within it.

  “This is what I wanted to show you, Tored,” said Hemlock.

  “What is it?” said Tored.

  “It is a magical vessel that will allow a person to be transported within it. It is my latest invention,” said Renevos.

  “This is your plan to recover Falignus?” said Tored, looking at Hemlock.

  “Yes. We will place him inside and carry him back to the City.”

  “How does it work?”

  Hemlock detected a trace of discomfort in Renevos as he replied, “The person to be transported needs to lie down, hold the bottle, and remove the cork. It is imperative not to move during the next step. Magical energy will emerge from the bottle and consume the person, transferring their essence inside the glass, and drawing the cork back into the top. The process is slightly…unpleasant. But it’s critical not to move or cry out. It could interrupt the spell, which would have dire consequences. Simply remove the cork to reverse the process.”

  “Consumed?” said Hemlock, uncertainly.

  “Well, it’s not quite as bad as it sounds. It seems to have gotten a bit worse since I added the essence of arachnid, but I needed the extra power. We were only able to do small animals prior to adding that ingredient,” said Renevos.

  “Have you tested it?” asked Mercuria.

  “Yes, of course. We’ve tested it with small animals that we drugged beforehand. And one successful test has been done on a person.”

  “And how many unsuccessful tests were there?” asked Mercuria.

  “Look, magic is part art and part science. There are no guarantees. I will take the bottle back with me, if you’d prefer.”

  Hemlock grabbed it from the wizard. “No. We’ll take it. Thanks, Renevos. I owe you one.”

  “More than one, by my count,” teased Renevos with a wink. “Travel safely, all of you. And come back to us quickly so we can prepare for the challenges ahead. Oh, and Merit sends his regards. He asked to accompany me, but the prospect of the return walk deterred him. His legs have been troubling him lately.”

  “Thanks, and good luck to you in the south. Keep Gwineval safe! And tell Merit I’ll see him soon.”

  Renevos bowed and Hemlock gave him a light hug. Tored and Mercuria bid Renevos farewell then approached Penelope.

  “Penelope, are you ready for the journey?” asked Hemlock.

  Yes. I have been healed and magically rested. I am ready.

  “How should we mount?”

  The heaviest must be in front. Those behind must raise their legs. My wings must be free.

  Penelope bowed her front torso, and Hemlock motioned for Tored to climb onto the great beast’s back. Hemlock climbed on second, feeling slightly awkward in such close physical proximity to Tored. The fact that she had to wrap her legs around him only made matters worse. Mercuria had to climb over Tored and Hemlock to take her seat at the back. She was lighter than Hemlock and, fortunately for her, equally flexible.

  Penelope stood up with a small roar of exertion. Hemlock had prepared a rope for the journey and she tied it around an iron loop in Tored’s belt, passed it through one on her own belt, and finally handed the rope back to Mercuria, who attached herself.

  “Are we ready?” said Hemlock.

  Tored and Mercuria both said yes so Hemlock spoke to the griffin in her mind. “We are ready, Penelope.”

  Hold on!

  The griffin launched into the air with a hard stroke of its wings and continued to beat them furiously as the group slowly gained altitude. Hemlock saw the receding figure of Renevos waving to the quartet as they soared over the City toward the deepening blue sky. She could tell the griffin was struggling to fly under the increased load of three riders. The reality of Penelope’s struggle made her regret asking the creature to make the extra effort.

  Soon, the deep blue gave way to streaks of black. Suddenly, they burst through the clouds and emerged into a dark void.

  Hemlock had experienced many visions of this strange null place between worlds, but seeing it firsthand took her breath away. It felt like the context of her life was suddenly pulled away, leaving her bare in a vast, dispassionate space. She became conscious of the warmth from the bodies around her, and the sensation comforted her. She hoped Mercuria wasn’t cold.

  Hemlock turned her head and saw the fiery ball she knew as the sun rising over the City. Turning farther, she could see the edge of light that the sun cast as it moved over the eastern mountains, liberating them from the shadows of the night. Looking back, a tendril of fire behind the sun caught her attention. It seemed to emerge from the far side of the City—just beyond the rising sun—and it flared out sinuously into the massive emptiness of the void, extending far into the distance until it intersected a distant, bright ball that Hemlock realized must be another world.

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she perceived similar tongues of fire leaving the distant world and forming the great net of worlds that she had seen in her visions and in the observatory under the Wizard Tower. It made Hemlock feel strangely childlike. The fire seemed to burn with the purest form of love she had ever experienced. She could feel the intimate energy pulsing from the fire even at a great distance—perhaps even more acutely because the great void around her felt particularly devoid of love. She longed to get closer to that flame or to feel the comforting sensation of earth under her feet again. That force of love emanated from the ground, the mountains and every part of the City, but she had never been conscious of it. She had taken it for granted.

  Her thoughts returned to the inaudible beat of the griffin’s wings and the heartbeats of her companions, which she felt more than heard. It was nearly silent. The only things she could hear were her own heart beating and the dull roar of the blood coursing through her veins.

  “Is everyone alright?” she asked, her voice oddly muffled. She feared no one had heard her.

  But she felt Tored grunt affirmatively in front of her, and Mercuria said yes behind her.

  Time was difficult to quantify as they flew on in silence. They approached a line of fire, and Hemlock enjoyed the increasing sensation of warmth and comfort that the roiling flames provided. The griffin gained speed and they streaked along the fire. The small world in the distance, an orange ball ringed with white clouds, grew large before them. The griffin skirted the world and they felt a pull that forced them to hold on tightly. They hurtled away along another fiery tendril toward another distant world.

  Hemlock knew the small world in the distance was their destination. As they approached it, Tored managed to speak loudly enough for them to hear.

  “It took the monks of my people decades to achieve fleeting visions of this place. And here I sit, seeing it with my own eyes,” he said.

  As they approached their destination, known as "Urrund” when Hemlock and Mercuria lived there, they witnessed a mass of will-o-the-wisp-like balls of light near the stream of Maker’s Fire that illuminated the green world. The wisps seemed to surge out of the cloud layer and dart into the void along the stream of fire, back toward the City. But as the wisps left the vicinity of the world, their momentum faltered and most were drawn back toward the planet at great velocity, soon to be replaced by new arrivals. A few managed to break free of the pull and soon became indistinguishable from the light of the flame itself.

  “Does the fire consume them?” Mercuria asked.

  “I think not,” said Tored. “Our people believe it is possible to achieve a superior birth if one can overcome feelings of attachment to our former life. I can scarcely believe what I am saying, but I think we are witnessing that very process.”

  Nobody spoke another word. They gradually slipped through the border of the void into a verdant world with a white, cloudy sky. Hemlock visualized their destination, and the griffin altered her course. They flew over great forests, raging rivers and rolling hills, slowing as they proceeded.

  Suddenly, the terra
in looked familiar to Hemlock as she spotted a small village nestled beside a river. Beyond it, a great town loomed in the distance. The town was called Ogrun, where a king ruled over the nearby land. She had known it as a child. A single, great peak rose behind Ogrun. Hemlock had an unusual feeling as she looked it over. It always scared her when she had been able to see it above the trees. Soon, Penelope was descending rapidly. They reached the tree line and landed hard in a woodland clearing. A small brook flowed through the clearing, and a lazy light played amidst the branches and dusty pollen that surrounded them.

  Hemlock felt a sense of recognition as she stepped off the griffin’s back with a groan and looked at her surroundings attentively. She immediately knew the clearing. It was only a few hundred yards away from her old home, which was secluded in the forests outside the nearby town.

  “Hemlock, we’re really here!” exclaimed Mercuria, also dismounting.

  Hemlock turned toward her sister, intending to express her own excitement, but the sight of Penelope stopped her from speaking. The griffin’s legs trembled as she walked toward a particularly thick section of underbrush. Penelope even seemed to struggle to keep her head high enough to allow her to see where she was going.

  “Penelope, are you alright?” Hemlock asked.

  I am very tired. I must sleep now. It feels like it will be safe here. Do not wake me for at least three days.

  Hemlock looked at her companions nervously. None of them knew what to do other than honor the griffin’s request.

  “Okay. You will be safe here. I’ll make sure my mother watches over you,” said Hemlock uncertainly. She hoped her mother would be around to fulfill that promise.

  The three of them watched as Penelope nestled into the cover of the nearby underbrush, doing a good job of concealing herself.

  “I hope she’ll be okay,” said Hemlock.

  “The passage was difficult for her,” said Tored, “but I think she knows her limitations. I suspect she will be fine.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Hemlock.

  “Should we look for Mother?” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock looked in the direction of their old home. The path that led to it looked freshly cleared.

  “Yes,” said Hemlock as she started down the path. A final look back toward Penelope reassured her that the griffin’s hiding place was effective.

  The smell of pine trees comforted her as she walked. It was a chilly fall afternoon, but they had worn heavier clothes in anticipation of the colder temperatures.

  “What will Mother say when she sees us? Will she be angry?” asked Mercuria.

  Hemlock had been wondering the same thing. “Probably angry and happy at the same time.”

  “Will you make her understand why we left? Horace was never a good father. She has to understand that,” said Mercuria.

  “I think I will remain in the clearing while you meet with your mother,” announced Tored abruptly.

  “Tored, no. You can come with us,” said Mercuria.

  “No, it will be best if I remain here. I am used to being in the wilderness, and this time with your mother will be personal. It is best that I stay back.”

  “I understand,” replied Hemlock. “We’ll come get you in an hour or so. The house isn’t far if you run into any trouble. But this was a quiet wood. We should all be fine.”

  Mercuria placed her hand in Hemlock’s as they walked toward the house.

  After a few minutes, the path widened, and they could see an old cottage nestled in another small clearing. It was covered in ivy and brambles, but this made the home look like an extension of the forest rather than a decaying ruin. A small stream ran along one side of the structure, and a large paddle wheel turned lazily in the current, creaking softly. The wheel itself was a patchwork of various pieces of wood and large branches.

  Hemlock was so transfixed by the vision of her childhood home that she ignored the dull sensation of magic on the path until it was nearly too late. Suddenly, there was a cracking sound and a whoosh of wind kicked up from nowhere, pulling leaves up into a swirling cone like a small tornado. The funnel rapidly approached, blocking the pathway. Hemlock and Mercuria turned and ran.

  “One of mother’s wards!” cried Mercuria, echoing what Hemlock already knew.

  “Split up in the woods!” shouted Hemlock, knowing that the funnel would weaken amongst the brush. She darted to her right, leaping over a fallen branch and avoiding a nest of brambles.

  Hemlock heard Mercuria thrashing through the woods on the other side of the path, but the din of the funnel drowned out the sounds of her sister. Hemlock was relieved that it had followed her instead of Mercuria.

  She expected the spell to dissipate as she left the vicinity of the house, but it continued to shadow her movements and didn’t appear to be weakening as she’d hoped. She decided to double back to the path in hopes of finding Mercuria and seeking her mother’s aid to undo the spell.

  As she reached the path, the funnel seemed to regain intensity and speed. Hemlock ran as quickly as she could without seeking out the dark energy in her mind, and was barely able to outrun the spell.

  “Mercuria, run for the house!” she shouted ahead of her, hoping that her sister wouldn’t encounter additional wards.

  When she came within sight of the house, she was relieved to see her sister safely in the doorway, knocking furiously. Her magical attunement didn’t sense any more wards on the path, though there were wards all around the perimeter near the path—more than she ever remembered her mother using when she still lived at home.

  She saw a figure at the window as she neared Mercuria, and the whooshing sound behind her subsided.

  The door opened with a slow creak as she reached her sister’s side.

  The woman who greeted the girls looked overjoyed, bewildered and confused. Their mother was a little older than Hemlock remembered, and her normally disheveled appearance had worsened. She wore heavy earth-toned pants and a dull green cloak under a woven wool jacket. Dried leaves, twigs and thorns were nestled all through her garments and even in her unkempt hair.

  “Girls? Is this some trick?” said the woman with tears starting to stream down her cheeks.

  “No, Mother. We’re real. We’ve come back to see how you are getting along,” said Mercuria.

  “My baby!” cried her mother and embraced the younger girl.

  Hemlock’s heart swelled at the sight, but thoughts of her stepfather injected ambiguity into her pure feeling of joy.

  When her mother’s attention turned to her, Hemlock took a step forward to meet her embrace.

  “You’ve both grown so much!” said her mother between sobs.

  There were several more embraces before their mother regained her composure.

  “Girls, what happened to you? I’ve been worried sick for over a year! But look at you both! Has time left me behind, here?”

  “We had to go away, Mother, and then things got complicated. It took a while to find an opportunity for us to return,” said Hemlock.

  “Where have you been?”

  “In a distant city on a different world—that magic city where the toy makers come from.”

  “So, it’s real, is it? I suspected as much given the unusual merchants that come along that river. Is that how you left? On one of their boats?”

  “Yes,” said Hemlock.

  “I started to think that had to be it. I even thought about trying to find you by seeking passage with them, but something held me back. And things got complicated here, as well.”

  Hemlock’s thoughts darkened as she prepared to ask a question that she feared the answer to. “Where is Stepfather?”

  Her mother’s eyes grew shadowed then she responded, “Gone. Left soon after you did. I guess my grief was too much for him.”

  “That’s a good thing, I think,” said Hemlock. “He was a bad man, Mother.”

  Hemlock was surprised to see anger fla
re in her mother’s eyes. “A bad man? Do you think it’s easy for someone like me to find love? Dropped here as I was with no background in this world. Pregnant and alone. With magic powers that others find strange and with no father for my child. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he made me happy. He was all I had after you left. Now I have nothing but the woods and the sky.”

  “He started acting strange toward the end—making eyes at me and saying suggestive things. That’s why I left. I tried to tell you at the time, but you didn’t understand. I was going to go alone, but I feared that he’d do the same thing to Mercuria. When she showed up on the boat unexpectedly, I decided to take her too,” said Hemlock.

  “You made a lot of decisions that day, didn’t you?” said her mother.

  “And she hasn’t stopped since, believe me,” said Mercuria in a half-joking tone. “Let’s let bygones be bygones—if only for a little while. I’m so happy to see you again, Mother! But you look a mess! Have you been that distraught? Let me clean you up.”

  Mother could not resist as Mercuria washed and dressed her. Hemlock wandered around the old home. Paintings she had done as a child still sat on the fireplace mantle as they always had, and portraits her mother must have painted after they left were now displayed beside them.

  “I painted those so I wouldn’t forget your faces,” said her mother, unexpectedly at her side. Not many people could approach Hemlock without her being aware of it, but she wasn’t surprised because her mother had always moved with an unusual silence.

  “You said things got complicated here, too. What did you mean by that?” asked Hemlock, noting her sister’s singing as she cleaned up in another room.

  “Well, your stepfather leaving was one thing I referred to. Another is the Sorceress.”

  “Who is the Sorceress?”

  Her mother walked to a nearby chair and sat, beckoning Hemlock to join her on a couch.

  “There is much I didn’t share with you when you were younger. I didn’t want things to be as hard for you as they were for me. I figured the less you knew the better—and I didn’t care one whit for the burden your father placed on me. I just wanted you to have a normal life. But there is no reason not to tell it all, now.”

  Mercuria rejoined them as their mother spoke. “When I was still a girl, I lived on another world. It was different than this place—wilder, more dangerous, and more magical. But I was happy there. I knew how to survive, and I was strong, respected. Then, your father showed up—your father, Hemlock. Mercuria, your father was different—a man from this world who died during a raid. But that’s another tale. Your father, Hemlock, came to me one evening and wove a tale that entranced a young girl. He spoke of creating worlds, of destinies and treachery. He said he knew he would be betrayed, and he needed to seed the worlds with an heir—an heir that would be revealed at the proper time.”

  “He asked me to lay with him and accept the burden of a great responsibility. I scarcely believed him, though he had the air of a great man. But he showed me a wondrous griffin that he traveled on, and that made me believe. I reluctantly agreed to his terms, sacrificing everything I knew. He said my actions would restore hope to innumerable souls. How could I say no?”

  “So I lay with him, and I knew I conceived a child that night. And, as he said, the griffin returned in one month’s time to take me to the world where my child would grow to maturity. You are that special child, Hemlock.”

  Hemlock thrilled at talk of her father and recalled the vision she had of the faceless man in the red robe walking in a town.

  “Did he wear a red robe?” she asked.

  “Yes, he did. The legends are true in that regard. He was a different man. Unassuming in a certain sense, but when you spoke to him, you realized that he was somehow different from normal people. When he talked, his ideas were as irresistible as the passing of the seasons. And he was compassionate. It grieved him to ask of me what he did. But I could tell he felt he had no choice. I’m not angry at him—much. Though I must confess to some resentment toward him for certain difficulties I’ve had in my life. But whenever I think about him, I just remember his sad eyes and it’s impossible to think badly of him.”

  “Tell me about my father,” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock’s mind wandered as her mother and Mercuria spoke. She kept thinking of her father and the purpose he had for fathering her.

  I haven’t been crazy for all these years. There really is a reason I am how I am.

  Hemlock’s attention returned to her mother. She realized that she had missed the tale of Mercuria’s father—a mistake she would have to account for later by speaking to her mother in private.

  “Soon after I arrived, I encountered the Sorceress…” said Anastasia.

  …

  Anastasia had just gotten her young daughter to sleep when a sharp knock at the door resonated through her small, wooden cabin. She grabbed her staff and hurried to the door as she cursed at the cry of the roused infant.

  More angry at the inopportune interruption than concerned for her safety, she threw open the crudely planked door. A small, bespectacled man with a curled mustache and darkened circles under his eyes stood in the doorway with a plaintive look on his face.

  “Please,” he muttered.

  Anastasia detected motion in the brush behind the diminutive man and saw a small winged form loitering in the shadows. The moonlight reflected off its gray scales.

  “What has happened?” asked Anastasia, shaken by the normally effusive man’s dejected demeanor.

  “It’s Glinwilda—and the Chalice,” blubbered the man, falling into Anastasia’s arms, “both are lost.”

  “What? Come here. Duggan, pull yourself together!” she said, pushing the man onto a stool. Then she saw little Hemlock struggling to lower herself out of her crib.

  “For goodness’ sake!” she cried, leaving the man for a moment to push the small child back into the safety of her tiny bed.

  When she turned back to Duggan, he was wiping the tears from his face with a handkerchief then he replaced his spectacles. He looked nominally more composed.

  “Now, tell me exactly what happened, starting from the beginning,” she said.

  Duggan leaned forward and grabbed her hands. “It’s Glinwilda! She went after that dark woman who’s been loitering in the mountain. She’s gone missing! And Fergul the smith found the body of her wyvern outside that dark stronghold.”

  Anastasia withdrew her hands from the clasp of the man, and considered his words. “What business is it of mine? Glinwilda was never a friend to me. Wasn’t it her that denied me shelter in Ogrun when I first arrived? Didn’t she tell me that without a wyvern, I wasn’t fit to live with you? Why should I even care?”

  Duggan’s eyes widened and his lower lip quivered. “But we’ve helped you. I’ve helped you! We gave you food and helped you build this cabin.”

  “It’s a hovel barely fit for an animal!”

  “But, Anastasia, you have power—you’re a witch—like that dark woman. If Glinwilda is…gone…then we have no protection. And the dark woman has the Chalice!”

  “How is that possible? It was in your highest tower constantly guarded by men and wyverns!”

  “The men said they had strange visions and became disoriented. One fell from the tower to his death!”

  “When?”

  “Last night. The dark woman must have taken the Chalice with her magic!”

  Anastasia had to concede that this seemed a likely scenario. Like Anastasia, the dark woman had been turned away by Glinwilda. But this woman reacted with hatred and threats, skulking about in the mountains that flanked Ogrun. Anastasia had gotten a read on the woman one night at the outskirts of town. When Anastasia saw her, the woman had been staring at the tallest tower at the center of the buildings, atop which a brilliant light shone out in defiance of the darkness.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” Anastasia
said to the woman.

  The woman just looked at her slyly and nodded, not trying to conceal her malice. Yes, this dark woman did seem to be a problem, and Anastasia could tell she was a Sorceress.

  “I told Glinwilda to heed the prophecy I found in that book you lent me. It said that when Ogrun was attacked by that horde of beasts, their greatest man drank from the Chalice and transformed into a giant that protected the town. I believe that was her destiny,” said Anastasia.

  “You know she feared that path. The prophecy says that this hero lost his identity once he transformed and was never seen again after the beast-men were defeated,” said Duggan.

  “Do you think this Sorceress understood the properties of the Chalice?”

  “I do. She started asking about it when she first entered the town. Glinwilda banished her more roughly because of it.”

  “She’s a real diplomat, that one,” sneered Anastasia.

  Duggan took her hand again. “Was, not is, Anastasia. Glinwilda is dead. Her wyvern has been found dead, and her body is likely inside that stockade. None have dared to enter there to confirm our suspicions, but the light of the Chalice is visible there, even now. Look for yourself.”

  Anastasia pulled her hands away angrily. “Hemlock sleeps here, and I’ll not wake her for the journey.”

  “I will watch her.”

  “Of course you will. Your great white warrior has fallen, and now you come slinking back to the crazy woman in the woods asking for help. If Glinwilda hadn’t been so proud and stupid, she could have asked for my help sooner. What do you expect me to do? I have a daughter to consider!”

  Suddenly, a great sound like thunder echoed through the valley.

  Duggan rose. It looked like the blood had run from his face, leaving it as white as the pale moon. “Anastasia. Go quickly! The Sorceress is attacking Ogrun! You speak of your child, but think of the hundreds that will perish if you don’t act.”

  “You have hundreds of wyverns at your disposal. Defend yourselves!”

  “We’re not warriors by temperament, you know that. Glinwilda was our protector, and now she’s dead. You’re our last hope!”

  A distant explosion rang out, seeming to underscore Duggan’s point.

  Anastasia cursed again as another ominous rumble came from the direction of Ogrun.

  “Anastasia!” cried Duggan.

  Anastasia shook her head derisively. She cared little for the people of Ogrun. But something about the way the Sorceress looked at her that night when they’d met had bothered Anastasia since. She’d challenged witches to duel on her home world with less provocation than that dark look. A part of her craved to indulge her pride and deliver a comeuppance to the woman. But she was a mother now, and the Red Mage had entrusted her with the fate of the child, who he said would hold the fate of all creation in her hands.

  Anastasia cursed her decision to go along with the Red Mage before she could catch herself.

  Duggan was standing in front of her again and caught her attention as more distant explosions rang out. “If Ogrun is destroyed, where will you go? You know she won’t let you stay here. Your daughter won’t be safe. You need us!”

  Anastasia shook her head, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the sniveling coward was right. She had never been good with earth magic and couldn’t grow food magically. And she lacked the physical strength to be a good farmer. She did need them, as much as it made her sick to admit it to herself.

  She grabbed Duggan by his collar and nearly lifted him off the floor.

  “You watch her and protect her with your life. If anything happens to her, I’ll destroy Ogrun myself!”

  “Fine. Hurry!”

  Anastasia burst out the door of the cottage, but closed it carefully behind her. She glared at the small wyvern as she left. It glared at her, though it took a step back into the woods as she passed.

  She began to run as another rumble came from the direction of Ogrun. She thought she heard the snap of splintering timbers with that one.

  There were two more explosions as she ran. When she finally reached the edge of the wood, the scene before her took her breath away.

  The majestic towers of Ogrun were burning—the light of the fire replacing the illumination normally provided by the now absent Chalice. People were running and screaming everywhere, and wyverns were flying erratically overhead.

  Anastasia scanned the skyline of the burning town, trying to locate the source of the peril. She noticed a glowing light on the mountain in the distance and remembered what Duggan told her about the stolen Chalice.

  A terrible reek enveloped her as something dark passed overhead. Anastasia looked up and saw great, dark wings flapping. A bat climbed higher into the sky and flew toward the center of the town. It was impossibly large, with a wingspan that Anastasia estimated to be three times as great as the large, white wyvern that had followed Glinwilda.

  Amazing! The Sorceress has used the power of the Chalice to transform that bat instead of herself. I never considered the possibility! Anastasia thought.

  A stream of fire extended from the top of the bat to one of the yet unburned towers, interrupting Anastasia’s appreciation of the creativity of the Sorceress’ use of the Chalice. The feeling was replaced by one of horror at the appearance of the corpulent bat and the recognition that the Sorceress was riding on the back of the beast. The renewed screams of the townspeople and the buckling of the impacted tower reminded Anastasia that she had to act quickly if she meant to save the town.

  She raised her arms and held her staff aloft. In mere moments, a light breeze stirred up the night air that had been calm and still only moments before. In a few more moments, a whipping wind descended over the town, and dark rain clouds blew in over the horizon.

  Anastasia saw the bat struggle to hold its course against the force of the wind. It didn’t take long for the Sorceress to recognize opposing magic. Anastasia could see her head moving rapidly to scan the area for her unexpected opponent. The wind was causing the fires on the towers to spread rapidly. Mercifully, the dark clouds brought sheets of rain with them, which began to fight against the tongues of fire that writhed over the faces of the towers.

  But the Sorceress had seen her. The great bat took a sweeping turn then flew toward Anastasia. Anastasia conjured a shield as the first blast of fire hit her position. The force of the blast made her recoil. The heat of the conflagration that was repulsed mere feet from her fragile flesh caused her to break out in a profuse sweat.

  She heard laughter from above as the bat soared behind her and banked for another pass.

  My turn! Anastasia thought.

  Anastasia thrust her staff toward the sky and a great, whipping funnel of air and vapor descended from the darkest cloud. The tornado was farther from the bat than Anastasia intended, so she swept her staff in front of her, and the frenzied air moved across the horizon, following her motion.

  The bat managed to come out of its turn in time to avoid the oncoming funnel of air. Anastasia slammed her staff to the earth and a bolt of lightning crackled out from the funnel and impacted the bat—or rather a blue shield that now protected the beast and its rider.

  The bat faltered for a moment, and Anastasia hoped the funnel might overtake it, but it recovered and began to fly in earnest, putting some distance between it and the slower onrush of chaotic air.

  The bat reached the outskirts of Ogrun, and Anastasia was forced to allow the tornado to dissipate before its great force, which felled many trees as it proceeded across the forest, damaged the town.

  Anastasia was fatigued from her spell, but the Sorceress didn’t press her advantage. Instead the bat continued to fly across Ogrun, and the Sorceress blasted another tower as she passed. The bat veered toward the mountain stockade and passed out of sight.

  Anastasia walked into the town with a grim determination. The duel had only partially satisfied her desire to hum
ble this Sorceress. And now she knew the woman was a coward. Someone that fled from an unresolved duel deserved such a label.

  As she passed through Ogrun, weeping people surrounded her, thanking her and begging her for deliverance. She ignored them. Her only intention was to defeat the Sorceress once and for all, and discover the fate of Glinwilda. But, as she walked, she saw wounded children, and they made her think of her small daughter. A glimmer of compassion for the people of Ogrun began to take hold of her, but she dismissed it as a distraction.

  At least we should eat better once I finish this job! Anastasia thought.

  She walked up the mountain path and the ruined stockade soon stood before her, with an ominous glow shining from within its shadowy interior. She paused before the great doors, which lay slightly ajar. The torn body of Glinwilda’s once proud, white wyvern lay tangled in an unnatural heap of limbs, scales, and tattered wings—its hue of purity now sullied by an oozing crimson.

  “Come, Sorceress, we have not finished!” cried Anastasia. With a gesture of her staff, she directed the still swirling wind into a gust that threw open the doors of the stockade.

  A courtyard was revealed. The Sorceress sat on the back of the great bat, as if waiting for her.

  “Behold the last hero who attempted to face me,” said the Sorceress, pointing to a great wooden stake that had been driven into the ground. The torso of Glinwilda was nailed onto the stake and streams of blood, carried by the rain, cascaded down her ornate, ruined armor. The fallen warrior was still the picture of proud virtue. Even in death, her hair was the whitest blonde, and her face and long, lithe limbs fell in a posture suggesting peaceful slumber rather than torment.

  “This time you face no fool!” said Anastasia, directing a blast of punishing air at the bat.

  But the Sorceress had a shield up before the air struck her. The strength of the shield surprised Anastasia. She realized that if her blast had been twice as strong, it still wouldn’t have penetrated. It was the strongest defensive spell she’d ever encountered. A glow in the recesses of a distant tower seemed to pulse with the shield, and Anastasia gulped down a surge of fear.

  The Sorceress smiled as she conjured a trio of fiery blasts that threatened to penetrate Anastasia’s comparatively weak shielding.

  Impossible! I am totally outmatched! Anastasia thought.

  The situation was so dire that Anastasia’s only thought was to run. She put everything she had into her shield and began a desperate retreat down the path. The Sorceress took to the air behind her and rained a seemingly endless barrage of fire down on her. Just when the pain of the blasts threatened to overcome Anastasia’s will to continue the apparently pointless flight, the Sorceress seemed to falter. Anastasia continued to run, only pausing for a moment to marvel at her survival.

  …

  Hemlock stared at Anastasia. She never realized her mother wielded battle magic like that.

  “The Sorceress didn’t leave her stockade often after that. We both understood that I was stronger than her outside her stockade, and she was stronger inside. But something changed several months ago. She became emboldened. Though I was still mourning your loss, I honored my pact with the residents of Ogrun and came to their defense when she attacked again. But this time, she was able to defeat me. And while I was weakened, she unleashed years of pent up wrath on Ogrun. She has burned their towers again and bewitched their wyverns. Now, the small dragons answer to her instead of the people of the town. The people are like slaves now, catering to her every whim—no matter how pointless or sadistic. Your stepfather left the day she stormed the city. Since then, it’s been all I could do to protect myself and our home. I probably will need to leave this place soon. I am reduced now—no longer strong enough to resist her. And she knows it. She toys with me.”

  Hemlock felt a burning sense of righteous indignation rising in her belly. “Mother, you won’t have to worry about this Sorceress any longer. I’m going to take care of her.”

  “Hemlock, she is impossibly strong now. You are mad to make such a boast,” said Anastasia.

  “Are you forgetting who I am? I’ve changed a lot since I left, Mother. I’m not a helpless girl anymore. I’ve defied wizards and even ancient spirits from my father’s time. I will rid you of this Sorceress.”

  Several thoughts connected in Hemlock’s mind as the bold words left her mouth. She activated her world sense and visualized the world she was in. She could tell Falignus was close—very close.

  Is there some connection between Falignus and the Sorceress?

  “Mother, why didn’t you ever take us to Ogrun when we were younger?” Hemlock asked.

  “I always feared a surprise attack from the Sorceress, and I didn’t want to worry about you both in the event that she did attack.”

  It’s unfortunate that I don’t know the layout of the town. But we’ll be okay.

  “Do you know anything about this stronghold she lives in?”

  “Stop with this foolishness. Maybe you can help me pack up. We need to leave this place. It is lost, now.”

  “Mother, look at me,” said Hemlock.

  Her mother looked her in the eye.

  “Do you understand what I just told you? I’ve changed. I’m doing my father’s work now—for better or worse. This is my fate. And defeating this Sorceress is also my fate. You have to understand that things have changed.”

  Her mother fidgeted for a few moments then let out a long sigh.

  “Fine, we will return to Ogrun to face her, then. The poor, pitiful people of Ogrun do need help. I am weak, but with your help, maybe I can defeat her.”

  “No, Mother. You’re in no shape to fight her again so soon. I will go myself,” said Hemlock.

  “What?” said her mother and Mercuria simultaneously.

  “Yes, you are both staying here. Mother, we brought a friend with us who will help me face the Sorceress. I won’t be alone. His name is Tored, and he’s waiting for us in a nearby clearing.”

  “Really, Hemlock? This is absurd! You’ve just come back to me, and now you want to march off again?” said Anastasia.

  Her mother continued to berate her while Hemlock sat in silence. Finally, Mercuria talked over the older woman. “It’s no use, Mother. When she gets like this, there’s no reasoning with her. I’ve seen this look before. I will stay here with you.”

  “Let me ask again. What do you know about this stockade the Sorceress lives in?” asked Hemlock.

  Her mother seemed to weigh the prospects of continuing to argue before deciding to reply. “Only that the wyverns she now controls circle it night and day. There’s a courtyard, and a large tower where, I think, the Chalice is hidden. As I said, she’s even more powerful there, so if you are wise, you will engage her in the City.”

  “It’s a long story, Mother, but I think I may know another reason why she’s more powerful in the stronghold. I think she may be holding a powerful…friend of ours there. Someone I once left for dead, but who is still alive. I know he’s nearby.”

  “Falignus?” said Mercuria.

  “Yes,” said Hemlock.

  “Why would holding him make the Sorceress more powerful?” asked Mercuria.

  “I can’t say, exactly, but it may have something to do with the fact that he didn’t seem entirely human when I last saw him.”

  Mercuria appeared to be ready to ask more questions, but Hemlock rose from her seat and turned away. She looked out a bay window—through crude glass panes that distorted the images of the outside world—and thought of Falignus. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of his ghost-like appearance when she left him in the northern desert.

  You have to be whole again, Falignus. I need your help!

  “Let’s go get Tored. We will leave for Ogrun within the hour. Time is short and passing quickly in the City. We must remember that. We can’t afford to give DuLoc too much time,” said Hemlock.

&
nbsp; “Who is DuLoc?” said her mother as she rose.

  Mercuria explained who DuLoc was as the trio left the cottage and returned to find Tored and the sleeping griffin.

  Tored rose to greet them as they reached him. The shadow of dusk had started to fall over the woods giving it an unfamiliar, almost spectral, appearance.

  “It’s weird looking here,” said Mercuria.

  “The Sorceress delights in corrupting nature. Her spells are more potent at night,” said her mother.

  Hemlock remembered her manners. “Mother, this is Tored, a friend of ours from the City. His people are known as the Tanna Varrans. Tored, this is our mother, Anastasia.”

  “I am honored to meet you,” said Tored.

  “Likewise,” said Anastasia. “Will you protect my daughter?”

  “With my life,” said Tored.

  “Well, that seemed heartfelt. Good friends are difficult to find, Hemlock. I do feel better knowing one such as this will travel with you,” said Anastasia.

  “Often, it is she who protects me,” said Tored.

  Anastasia looked surprised as she looked over Tored’s bulk then at her comparatively slender daughter.

  “I told you things have changed,” said Hemlock.

  Hemlock quickly told Tored about the Sorceress and her suspicions that Falignus was being held in the stronghold on the mountain peak. They bid their farewells, and soon Hemlock and Tored were walking along a rarely used path toward the city of Ogrun.

  Hemlock heard a gasp from behind her and knew that Mercuria had shown the sleeping griffin to her mother. Hemlock smiled without knowing quite why.

  “So this Sorceress commands elemental magic and a flock of small dragons?”

  “Not dragons—wyverns. They’re different. The wyverns can’t fly as high as dragons, and they can’t leave this world.”

  “Do they breathe fire?”

  “Hmmm. I never asked. Let’s hope not.”

  “And the Sorceress rides a giant bat?”

  “Apparently.”

  “It is a shame we weren’t able to bring our wings. If we had a shaman with us, we could’ve fashioned some new ones.”

  “Yes, that is a shame. No flying for us, I guess.”

  That statement seemed to linger between them for a few moments then was forgotten as they reached the outskirts of Ogrun.