Enchantress

by Christine Schumaker

  There was no need for her to be desolate yet, they had not left the shore. Sir Roan eyed the shifting craft nervously.

  The wolf perched precariously in the center of the floating cog. His lack of enthusiasm was evident in his wary eyes which watched for the distant shore.

  As they rowed away from the beach, the feeling of satisfaction which they had felt earlier had drifted away. A feeling of heaviness entered their spirits.

  The grey cloudless sky echoed their thoughts while the lake itself was lifeless and gloomy.

  Serese felt as if they rowed through a giant puddle of ink as she noticed the white oars were stained black. She shivered when she remembered how earlier she had swum in this very same water.

  Truly, she would need to master her wayward desires if she wanted to accomplish her aim. Although wanting to bathe hardly seemed an illicit desire. She had never smelled like a herd of goats. It was not a smell she longed to grow accustomed to. Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

  Sir Roan cautiously leaned his head over the side, peering into the lake, while sniffing deeply, “I see no fish and no bottom. It smacks of Serpentine’s handiwork.”

  Serese looked at the craggy cliffs on the other side and then at the impenetrable surface of the water. There were no hawks circling overhead, no movement in the dense lake; indeed, it reeked of rotten eggs. Truly, her nose was being most cruelly bombarded with unsavory stenches.

  The princess noticed the hull of their cog stained as if with pitch.

  She dreaded reaching into the dark water to fill her flask, but she knew she must follow Queen Arianna’s instructions.

  Serese withdrew the ancient silver flask out of her gown’s pocket, holding it ready in her hands.

  “Jonathan, we need to stop rowing. I need to fill my flask with some of the lake water.”

  The shepherd’s eyes widened as he said, “I have some water in my leather skin you may drink.”

  “God’s teeth! You think I want to drink this? Queen Arianna told me how to make the counter potion. A little faith in me would be encouraging.” Serese pursed her lips in agitation.

  “I am sorry, princess, I meant no disrespect. I am used to living by my own wits, not consulting with princesses about the formulation of counter potions,” Jonathan said.

  “Deus! I am accustomed to giving orders and immediate obedience. Hold the cog steady, while I reach over the side.”

  Jonathan raised his eyebrows, resting his oar over his legs, making sure the dripping water fell back into the lake and not into the cog.

  Sir Roan growled low in his throat as his ears stood at alert. His hackles rose and he barred his teeth, while remaining planted in the center of the swaying craft.

  Serese carefully reached her right hand over the side, dipping the flask into the water. She held the ornate silver container by its small handle, thereby avoiding contact with the noxious smelling water. As the flask touched the surface, the lake sizzled, releasing steam.

  A rotten smell filled their nostrils but she concentrated on holding the flask still as water slowly seeped into it. After it was nearly full, Serese tried to lift it but found it was too heavy. “By a splintery spindle, I cannot move it! It is but a simple flask but it weighs as a sack of silver.”

  Sir Roan bit onto Serese’s sleeve, pulling the arm holding the silver flask. Jonathan grabbed her arm and braced against the cog’s side as he also pulled. The three of them gradually pulled the heavy flask back into the cog.

  They placed it on the floor next to Sir Roan. A terrible stench emanated from it.

  The wolf backed away slightly as their cog settled deeper into the water. Jonathan shook his head, “I do not have fond memories of magical experiments. My brothers once attempted to turn copper coin into gold.”

  Serese could not resist her curiosity when she turned to ask, “Pray tell me, shepherd, what was the outcome?”

  Jonathan replied, “The fools burnt our wood shed to the ground and Simon singed his eyebrows completely away. To this day, he paints them on with ash.”

  Serese grinned, “Well, I shall try not to do the same. I am following Queen Arianna’s instructions. I trust her judgment. Wait a moment,” and the princess used her dagger to pry an emerald away from her belt.

  Once the gemstone landed in her lap, Serese used her dagger to attempt to crush it. Nothing happened. The princess sighed and grasped her opal; once the talisman was in her hand, the emerald broke into tiny pieces in her palm.

  Serese dropped the emerald fragments into the flask and waited.

  If there was an incantation which would accomplish the making of the potion; she did not know it.

  Not for the first time, Serese realized there were gaps in her training which her father had overlooked. Why had her mother not presented her with the spell book sooner? She might have studied them, gleaning meanings out of the cryptic words.

  A green mist floated over the flask as the liquid in it foamed and hissed. It splashed green drops of water which singed Sir Roan’s coat, causing the wolf to slink out of its way.

  The three of them watched with trepidation as the mossy mist formed into black spirals. Slowly the spirals turned grey, eventually becoming a pale violet smoke, which smelled like blooming roses. Suddenly, their cog lightened again.

  Sir Roan moved closer and watched as Serese sniffed the flask water. “It brings to mind the Argot gardens when the spring crocuses first peek out. I think it will do.”

  Serese saw her face in the liquid’s surface and another reflection appeared; Queen Arianna smiled, nodding her approval.

  Had Serese imagined her? But then she realized that Queen Arianna used water as a medium just as Queen Amber used fire. The princess smiled then as she realized she had managed to follow the queen’s instructions.

  The water soothed her such as nothing she had ever drunk before had.

  Jonathan expelled his breath, which he had been holding. “This would fetch a fine price at Gwynne’s Pub back in the village,” and he grinned.

  Sir Roan fixed his eyes sternly on the shepherd, “The liquid in that flask is beyond price. If it fails to accomplish its purpose, the cost to us all will be very dear.”

  “I am sorry, Sir Roan, I meant no disrespect.” Jonathan said, “The water is churning. We would make better time if the princess sat beside me to assist with the rowing.”

  Serese pondered Sir Roan’s words in her heart; the elderly wolf had placed his entire trust in her. What if she could not kill Serpentine or cure Lord Forn? It would certainly mean the loss of her life. And to think her greatest fear had been to die during child birth.

  The princess placed the wax cork firmly in the flask as she picked up the heavy oar. Jonathan smelled like wet sheep and a spicy damp leaf smell; her nose tingled as she sat carefully next to the shepherd. He was not uncomely, with his brown skin and his brown eyes.

  Serese rowed, ignoring the stabbing pain which pulsed across her back and shoulders. Her neck ached from staying in the same position for so long. Jonathan made it look so effortless.

  What she would not give for her maid’s soothing ministrations and a hot bath. Perhaps her sisters were right in seeking the pampered beauty treatments they had. Serese was sorry she had thought their rituals silly. It was likely she would never have the opportunity again. “Oh Deus!” she thought, “I am tiring myself with this self-pity. I only need to reach the other side. Then I may rest.”

  The wind gathered strength while the sun darkened, looming over them like a swollen black eye. It seemed as if the sky fought against the clouds as the air grew cold and Serese’s hair blew into her eyes.

  The water churned restlessly against the sides of the cog, occasionally splashing her cloak and leaving a scorched spot.

  Sir Roan had crawled under Serese’s cape (after his fur had been pock-marked with burns) where he longed for the feel of solid ground under his paws. He was not much good on the water.

  Jonathan wrapped his lamb skins more tightly
around himself. His leather breeches resisted the water drops remarkably well; whatever troubled the water apparently had an aversion to mutton.

  They rowed but their progress was slow, for every two strokes they made, the pulsing waves pushed them one back. It was a constant, irritating effort and Serese planned on never sitting in a cog again.

  How could the bards in her father’s hall romanticize sea journeys when in reality they were nothing of the kind?

  Serese did not notice the drop in temperature until she saw her breath form icy clouds. The water dripping from her oars became slushy. She watched with alarm as the foamy waves splashing against the cog began to freeze. The air suddenly chilled as if it were deep winter. Instead of only the beginning of that bitter season.

  The turbulent waves suddenly ceased as they formed into a crackling layer of ice. The deafening noise of the ice cracking caused the travelers to cover their ears.

  They stared, aghast, at one another as the lake changed into frozen glass with razor-sharp shards of ice. Their little wooden craft tossed side-to-side as it groaned with the strain.

  “Jonathan, pass the flask to me. Perhaps if I splash a drop of its’ liquid over the side, it might help,” Serese instructed.

  “I thought you were not to waste it,” the shepherd questioned.

  “Have you any better ideas on breaking that ice? The oar is fastened to the cog and I doubt you have the strength to release it. I thought you might have learned to trust me,” Serese’s tone of voice caused Jonathan to stretch out his boot, barely touching the flask, “I can almost reach it,” he said.

  He tried a second time and carefully scooted the flask over to his waiting hand. Handing it to Serese, they both sighed when she quickly poured a few drops into the frozen lake.

  The ice moaned as it broke apart and the lake hissed as it slowly became moving water once again. The sturdy cog had a hole near its front top side but otherwise it was watertight.

  “Well done, princess,” Jonathan remarked, “I would keep that magical potion close.”

  “Yes, I had thought of that. I shall keep it in my pocket,” Serese said as she lifted her cloak, peering underneath at the wolf, “Sir Roan, you are positively green. Come out, the fresh air will enliven you.”

  The wolf gingerly padded to his place in the center of the cog while Jonathan rowed. The breeze ruffled Sir Roan’s fur as his eyes gradually lost their vague dullness, turning, if not exactly bright, at least less pained in their expression.

  Serese continued assisting in the rowing despite the growing ache in her back, but Sir Roan noticed the slight scowl on her face.

  Jonathan was quiet, dipping his oar at an angle and Serese wondered what the stoic shepherd was thinking. He deserved a chance for the future he longed for; she hoped someday she would be able to knight him. She feared instead that she would bury him.

  Serese focused on the small shrubs growing near the beach’s edge, across the lake from them. She hoped one of them bore the enchanted rose but she doubted such an opportune location would be likely. This flower fetching business was proving more difficult than she had anticipated.

  Serese laid her oar across her lap, grasping her opal charm for a moment, hoping for a sign, but she felt nothing. She sighed in aggravation, picking up her oar again and rowing. Her shoulder muscles protested loudly, but she ignored them.

  The visible shore line made them row faster for they seemed to be almost there. But the contrary waves resisted their efforts. If Serese never saw another lake again, it would not be too soon.

  It irked Serese that she struggled to keep up with Jonathan; he was quite strong for a lad of seventeen summers. His arm muscles moved easily beneath his linen shirt; he had removed his woolen tunic. Grey goose feathers! He was whistling again. Of course, it was that same bawdy tune from when she had first met him. Why was this young man proving to be so aggravating?

  Her nerves stretched tightly as they drifted closer to the bank. Suddenly, she had a panicky sensation in her stomach. It encouraged her when the water changed to a pale grey color instead of the inky black it had been; perhaps the curse was wearing thin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Duchess Claudine glanced with annoyance at her husband and continued pacing the great hall, pausing periodically before the fireplace to warm her hands.

  Serese’s eldest sister touched the white linen bandage on her neck and glanced at her green gown trimmed with topaz jewels. Her engraved boots clopped like a newly shod colt as she walked in figure eights throughout the room.

  The great hall of the Cardwell castle had tapestries of hunting scenes and stag antlers mounted throughout served as reminders of previous hunts.

  The stone fireplace had a stuffed elk head over it—a cunning expression in its glass eyes.

  The Duke Cardwell, the fine hunter himself, sat at the table, chewing his breakfast. He was a healthy blonde bearded gentleman of agreeable looks with a large frame.

  The duke eyed his wife warily, “My dear, you shall wear a groove in our floor with your pacing. I have sent my hardiest knights to capture the villain who attacked you. Once they find him, I will administer his punishment myself.”

  Duchess Claudine’s beauty drew the eye, but her dark green eyes were worried when she turned to her husband, “It is not a lack of justice I fear, Henry. I believe it was Lord Forn, himself, who attacked me. I know he managed to take my blood. What if the sorceress has concocted a potion against Mother or Father? Or Serese? Do you not see? I once wore the opal. My blood is still powerful.”

  “Have you any proof?” Henry asked.

  “There was a black wolf in my chamber. He was far too intelligent to be an ordinary wolf. I think he was one of the enchanted ones who protected us. I am certain he chased Lord Forn away.”

  “You could be right, my dear. We must travel to Argot Castle and warn your parents. After breakfast we shall make the arrangements. Now, please eat, for you shall need your strength.”

  Duchess Claudine acquiesced to her husband’s wishes, but her spirit was troubled and she did not relish the food she ate. She sensed danger and had the nagging feeling that death awaited her as well.

  Claudine remembered the nightmares she suffered as a girl.

  She had dreamt a gamesman had been gutted by a wild boar and the next day it had come to pass. She had dreamt her favorite lady-in-waiting was deflowered by an unscrupulous Aberworthy knight and it had come to pass. The unlucky girl was with child and forcibly married to the man, even when he was beneath her station.

  Claudine had never mentioned the dreams for fear of how her parents would respond.

  The Duchess had seen Aunt Serafine banished to the wilds of the Calrake Mountains because she had the sight.

  Last night, she had dreamt her Aunt Serpentine had murdered her. Claudine had resigned herself to it. Never could she have prevented one of her visions from coming to pass or even warn those involved.

  Claudine wanted to see her parents one more time to ensure their safety. She still remembered some of her mystical arts studies; perhaps she might throw a wrench into her aunt’s plans yet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Serese was relieved to finally be within sight of the rocky beach when she felt their cog shudder underneath, as if something large had bumped it.

  Sir Roan tried to steady himself, as he fell against the side of their craft.

  Then the wolf leaned over the side and was sick into the lake. He then proceeded to lick his front paw, hoping to distract himself from his roiling innards.

  A black shadow appeared next to the cog. The lake water was clear near the shore, which enabled viewing, “What is that?” Jonathan asked.

  Sir Roan said, “I know not.”

  Jonathan withdrew his bow, and notched an arrow in it. He held it ready against his shoulder as he watched the water.

  Serese withdrew her dagger and eyed the lake from the other side. A dark shape slammed into the cog and the princess clung to the be
nch.

  She kept one eye on her opal in case it decided to send forth a pink disintegrating mist or something equally useful. Serese tried not to feel irritated with her talisman. It could read her thoughts. But she received a small shock from the provoked stone, just the same.

  Truly, she longed to yank it off her throat and toss it overboard. But she knew better than to obey her every impulse.

  Once again, something large shook the cog violently as they grabbed hold of the sides.

  Sir Roan splayed on the floor with his paws outstretched like a rag doll.

  A splash from the water alerted them. They saw a black snake swimming next to the cog. It raised its head out of the lake and its red eyes glared at Serese. Its open mouth dripped sizzling venom into the lake.

  It was as long as their craft and as thick as a man. Its red eyes glared at them with hostility. It had a forked black tongue with barbs.

  Jonathan’s mouth dropped open. Serese scooted behind the shepherd, eying the large serpent with horror.

  Serese saw the snake turn its head, fixing its eyes on her throat, before lunging for her. Sir Roan threw himself in front of the princess, barking madly at the serpent.

  Serese dove underneath Jonathan’s bench, wedging herself beneath it.

  Her wolf guardian followed close behind, huddling next to Serese. The princess held his side for reassurance. She peeked over his flank to watch the serpent bite the bench where a moment earlier she had been sitting.

  The serpent released its mouth, moving away from the seat, before sinking into the lake again.

  Serese stared at the water as she brushed wolf fur out of her eyes, “It seems to me that my dagger is woefully inadequate for this foe.”

  Jonathan set down his bow and grabbed his knife out of his boot, holding it tightly in his hand while motioning for the princess to stay hidden.

  “Stay there, it will come back. I will kill it,” Jonathan said.