Winter, Faerstice

by Kevin Lawler

  So Elodie could understand why Didrika herself had little faith in their attempt. Didrika did her best to hide this, however: she always outwardly supported Agnes and attested full faith in her plans. When this latest plan failed Didrika would make a big show of how disappointed she was, and remind everyone to stay diligent, no matter how badly they were drained from the failed attempt.

  Didrika held her large book against her heart and lifted the other arm. Her bird stopped and opened its beak to the ceiling. Bright glyphs cut through the dim room, numbers mainly, mixed with ancient symbols and geometry. It was clear Didrika was the focal point. This was a new spell. A modern improvement on a classic with wicked new outcomes.

  Elodie joined in with the chorus of other witches. They followed Didrika’s lead. As their influence joined in the appearance of the spell changed. No longer just math, the numbers and figures were replaced by sketches and outlines of women. When the scene played out in the air above her so surprised was Elodie that she stopped and looked around. The rest of them were still going. Elodie shook it off and continued. She regained her focus and the spell increased their intensity. The noise of the chanting grew louder and louder, and the sketches larger and more vivid. At the pinnacle, the skeleton, already behind the prisoner, drove its beak into the prisoner’s back. The beak tip poked through under the front of the prisoner’s gown, half-obscured by the material. Bloodstains soaked the gown at the point around the beak. The prisoner dropped to her knees and lay on the floor. In the air of the room the images continued to play, stronger now, like faded video instead of sketches.

  It must have worked, Elodie thought. She looked at Didrika, who seemed as surprised as she was. Then she looked at Agnes. A change had come over her. Elodie could see a flash of anger Didrika’s expression, perhaps from having been proved wrong. But then the expression was replaced by total exhilaration. The room was a mess from the slain prisoner. It needed to be cleaned. The skeleton, too. It walked unsteadily around the room, blood covering its skull, as if intoxicated.

  “Someone handle this mess,” Agnes said, “And Didrika, the spell is over, get that abomination out of here.” Didrika nodded. The skeleton bird clacked its beak.

  Louisa watched Violet’s mouth open in a scream. Violet was still handcuffed and had been resting against a tree, her expression ever-changing, but now she was upright and screaming as if awakened by a cramp. Her screaming grew louder and she kicked the dirt under her with her legs.

  “Always without me!” Violet yelled, “They never wait!”

  Louisa was already close. The rest of the ring drew closer to watch Violet’s bellyaching.

  Violet screamed and screamed again. It didn’t seem like she was faking, but then you could never tell. Whatever it was had a hold on her kept going. Violet closed her eyes and screamed some more, long sustained screams. When it was over she was out of breath. And agitated. She looked around their camp.

  “Oh, you’re in for it now,” Violet said, “I think they had the dang bird out for that one. All the little witch girlies are lit up on the map now. And I just know she cooked in something extra, just for you, Cal. That means open season. Pew pew pew pew.” Violet stared them down and made gun noises. Louisa could see her making gun hand signs behind her back with her cuffed hands.

  “What are you talking about?” Cal asked.

  “Agnes,” Violet said, “She’s on to something strong. They can see all the little pre-witches now. No more blips when they come of age. No more hunt and peck. It’s slaughter, now.”

  Cal looked away disgusted. “Why is her gag out anyway?” she asked.

  “It sounded like she had sleep apnea. So I took it out. I’ve been close to watch the whole time,” Meadow said, “It’s not good for, you know.”

  “Put the gag back in,” said Cal.

  Meadow’s concern had convinced her, but now that Louisa thought about it, it probably wasn’t a good idea to leave Violet ungagged. Meadow rocked and forth nervously, trying to stand out of eyeshot of Violet. She didn’t like it when Violet looked at her. Topple let out an enraged sigh and went nearer to replace the gag.

  Cal called Louisa over to discuss.

  “What do you think she means?” Cal asked, looking over at Violet.

  “I’m not sure,” Louisa said, “She’s not known for telling the truth.”

  As they were discussing Violet started whispering something in cadence. Louisa looked over to see. It was too late. A flash of bright white light ripped through the camp. Louisa was blinded by the pulse. She groped around blindly in the white and the next thing she felt was the unmistakable feel of a headbutt. The hard surface of Violet’s head had conked her behind the eyebrow. Louisa wondered if her eye socket was broken. As her vision returned Louisa took in the scene. Cal, who was looking right into it, was still blinded. Meadow was standing there uselessly, seemingly unaffected the whole time. Violet was up off the ground and running, her arms cuffed behind her. She had cleared the camp was running down the hill on which the campsite was perched, extending the distance between them and herself as fast as possible.

  Louisa was ready to go but needed reinforcements. Meadow watched as the figure of Violet running shrank in the distance. Cal’s vision seemed to be returning. Meadow indicated lamely where Violet had gone. Topple had almost finished picking herself up.

  Louisa ran a finger over her bruised eyesocket. It felt tender to the touch. Miraculously, it did not seem to be bleeding. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she wasn’t crying. She was mad.

  “Topple, Louisa, grab what you need and go,” said Cal, “Take her out. She’s too dangerous to let go.”

  Louisa watched as the distance between her and Topple lengthened. Topple’s carrot-colored bob flipped up and down as she ran. She was probably twenty pounds lighter than Louisa. Skinny, really. At least in Louisa’s opinion. Topple had been some kind of gymnast with the circus...an acrobat, maybe, Louisa thought. It wasn’t a glamorous story, but it was charmed in its own way. Ipsy ate it up, for instance. Louisa was jealous by proxy. Topple had a natural authenticity. That natural comfortableness had always escaped Louisa’s grasp. She felt out of place in the world. The distance lengthened once more and Louisa poured on speed to keep up.

  Every so often Topple stopped to listen for noise in the woods, making sure they were going the right way. She put her hands on her thighs while she caught her breath and craned her head carefully to hear.

  “Why don’t you get those dogs of yours out?” Topple asked Louisa, breathing hard.

  “Not like that. They aren’t bloodhounds. Greyhounds hunt by sight. They’re not going to take down a person anyway. You want a Great Dane. Those were people hunters,” Louisa said, catching up and also breathing hard. All the heavy breathing made her nose ache.

  Topple frowned. She tilted her head in the direction they were running and then started again. She really hated Violet. Louisa wasn’t entirely sure they were going to find Violet in the woods. But she ran as hard as she could.

  Louisa had shown some promise at ballet. Then she grew taller and her figure filled out. She switched to swimming. In college she swam for the club team. She made a few friends and graduated without setting any records. Louisa ducked under a branch still gently swinging from Topple’s passing.

  Topple was first out of the trees and into a temporary break in the woods. Louisa, keeping pace, was nearly out of the trees herself when she saw Topple sprint and point at the distance. Louisa stared in that direction. She could see her: Violet, still with her hands behind her and fleeing at top speed into the edge of the next forest.

  It wasn’t long before Violet looked behind her and saw Topple and Louisa running after her in the distance. She stopped for a second to consider her pursuers. Then she turned and continued on.

  Topple and Louisa were closing. In the forest, the small image of Violet grew nearer and nearer. Louisa could even hear her occasionally, if her footsteps snapped a branch and Louisa was watching clo
sely.

  It was then that Violet slowed and turned. She was saying something, but Louisa could not make it out. Her voice was distant. Her arms were behind her, but this did not stop her from swinging her head left and right, tossing her wavy hair around. Louisa could see the white of her teeth.

  Up from the ground shot a hedge of green leaves. Topple was moving too fast to stop and ran through it anyway, parting the foliage as she passed. The top of the hedge was smoking, as if by a hidden fire. Smoke fell over the top of the hedge. Louisa, some ways behind, slowed and considered the disturbed area in the hedge where Topple had passed. She saw Topple on the other side moving at full speed, so she decided to burst through also and aimed for the space where Topple had gone. After dashing clean through the hedge Louisa felt the sting where branches had scratched her exposed skin.

  Violet had not lingered long, and already she was moving again, outrunning them both easily.

  Louisa had been worried that Violet’s hedge would have something dangerous about it: grasping tendrils, maybe, or a concrete center. Her first indication that it had been dangerous was that it was getting hard to breathe. Not hard to breathe because she was running, but hard to breathe because her throat was constricting. She ran like this for a little while, and then she slowed and stopped. It was really bad. She cried out to Topple in a little voice through her swollen throat, and doubled over.

  Topple, fortunately, had heard her, and hurried over. As Topple came up to meet her Louisa could see the rash forming on Topple’s face. Louisa wheezed and tried not the think about the pain near her temple. Her looks must not have been her best.

  “Here, sit,” Topple said.

  The noises Louisa made as she tried to breathe were strained. She was barely getting enough air.

  “Is it bad?” Topple asked. Without quite touching her she looked at the outside of Louisa’s throat. Then she looked around. “We may need to intubate. Though I don’t know what with.”

  Topple wrapped the sleeve of her jacket around her hand. “Open your mouth,” she said. With her covered hand she pushed Louisa’s tongue out of the way so she could peer down her throat. Louisa looked up at her with panicked eyes. She could barely taste the fabric of the jacket on her tongue.

  “It’s swollen but I don’t think it can close entirely,” Topple said. “We passed a river bend not too far back. We should get there first thing and wash off.”

  “Violet,” Louisa tried to say, but the word came out garbled.

  “She’s gone anyway,” said Topple.

  Winter was beginning to feel relaxed. It had been hours since she had last seen her captor, and the quiet forests on the trail back let her feel at peace. On a forest boulder, with some assistance from the pig, she had finished the remaining food in her pack. It was refreshing to be outside. Though she had gotten poor sleep dangling from the tree, her tiredness was like inspiration, and she drove through the woods with a zeal for travel.

  At the crest of one hill, tall and grass covered, she saw a speck move down one hill and disappear behind another. This caught Winter’s attention, but the feeling didn’t last. She looked down at the pig. The pig panted happily back up at her. Winter had hardly anything in her pack now and it made the going easy. It felt strange to be so far from home with none of her things.

  They crossed a few more hills when Winter saw the speck again, this time the size of a small dot. She blinked to test her vision, and when she opened her eyes the dot was gone again. She wondered if she was seeing floaters cross her field of vision. There were many strange things in these places, and Winter had a hard time separating the everyday quirks of experience from the strange realities of the place. The confusion had her constantly on edge. Any movement could be a fiend. Any rash might be a curse.

  The next time Winter saw the dot, it was just large enough that she could make it out as a small running figure. It was moving fast over the hills, running oddly, as if without arms. It bore a resemblance to someone else Winter had seen... Was it...herself? Huh?? Winter couldn’t be sure. It looked like Winter herself must have looked at a distance a day ago when she had run. Could it be...a mirror image projected by the forest? That was just as likely as anything else. Winter veered to the right, half-wondering if she was seeing things.

  Having veered out of the path of the distant figure, Winter felt the twinge of cowardice. If it were her, if it really were her mirror image, that must be for a reason. It must be destiny calling. To shy away from destiny now would be the death of her soul. She had to see her mirror, the shadow-Winter from the Otherverse. She would face her. Winter veered back toward the left into the path of the distant figure, and she braced herself for the battle that was about to take place. The figure was still far away, and it would take several more hills before the two were to meet. Winter put on speed.

  Winter was running over the top of a wide hill when she saw a head appear over the edge. She stopped to meet her opponent. The head became a face, and the face a body, as the figure ran up the side. Winter’s heart was pounding from running and from fear. Her opponent was visible now. It was not her mirror image at all. It was Violet. Violet’s arms were restrained behind her. She was running fast at them, having seen Winter and the pig. Winter was caught off guard. Should she hit Violet with a color swirl? That wasn’t going to do anything, Violet would have seen that before. The walking-backwards curse, that might work. Winter was running out of time. Was there time to cast it? She could try? She started to cast.

  “Nice shiner, twerp,” Violet said, shoulder-checking Winter hard. Winter grabbed the hurt shoulder. The spell didn’t go through. Violet ran on, still tied, without a second look at Winter or the pig.

  By the time Winter realized what happened, Violet was too far to do anything. Winter rubbed her shoulder. Shiner? Did she mean a black-eye? Or where she hit her in the shoulder? The pig oinked and looked back at the passing witch.

  Winter and the pig continued over the hills and into the forest. When they met with the river they followed it, and eventually the river led them to Topple and Louisa. Louisa rested while Topple washed herself at the river’s edge.

  “You’re loud in the woods,” Topple said to Winter.

  “Hey. Hi,” said Winter.

  “Did you see Violet?” asked Louisa.

  “I did actually,” said Winter.

  “And you didn’t stop her?” asked Topple, wringing the water out of her clothes. “Is she the one that gave you that black eye?”

  So it was a black eye. Winter’s hand shot up to feel it.

  “I guess that’s for the best. You couldn’t hang with her yet,” said Topple.

  Topple’s skin was covered in a red rash. It reminded Winter of the pictures she’d seen of plague victims and poison gas survivors. It was raised in a blister everywhere.

  “What happened to you?” Winter asked.

  “Who do you think?” said Topple. Louisa was seated nearby, also covered in rash. On her arm was a long water-filled blister. Louisa and Topple looked ghastly.

  “Violet,” Louisa said, “The plants, maybe? Enchanted? We’re not sure. Doesn’t seem too serious. But it is uncomfortable for now. Who’s this little guy?” Louisa indicated the pig, who had come over and was snuffling the ground around her. Neither got too close to the other.

  “Um, well, he’s either a stray pig or he’s my familiar. I’m not sure yet,” said Winter.

  Topple looked at Louisa.

  “Your familiar? Already? So much for the bird then,” said Topple.

  Upstream Topple’s river otter Fritzi played in the current. She floated on her back and splashed water in the direction of the girls with her forepaw. Then she rolled over and dived, and then reemerged, agile and lithe.

  Winter noticed the pig watched this with admiration.

  “Pig or not, I think this will work out,” said Topple.

  Chapter 12

  Ahead of Topple, Louisa, and Winter ran a pig who made it back to camp first. Cal watche
d it with amusement. Perhaps one of them had taken up farming, but the most likely explanation was that her plan had worked, and Winter was coming back with an amusing familiar.

  The pig ran into camp first and attempted to meet everybody—Cal, Ipsy, Meadow. He sniffed around at their feet looking up appreciatively, hoping to get them to notice him. Neither Ipsy nor Meadow seemed especially interested to meet him (they were waiting for the other three to catch up and tell them the obvious) but Cal rubbed him under his wet chin to welcome him.

  “Did you get her?” asked Ipsy.

  Topple shook her head. “No. She got away.” As Topple and Louisa got closer their skin affliction became more apparent. Some kind of urushiol-derived blistering, it seemed. That’s what happens when you run through the dark woods.

  “Ew,” said Meadow, “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t look at me like I’m weird, Ms. Lifetime Ban from Whole Foods. It was a plant Violet used,” said Topple. “We ran through it, not thinking, and then soon after this happened. Cal, can you look at it?” Topple held out her arm, which was covered in the blistering, swelling rash. Her face was afflicted as well.

  “Hmm,” said Cal. She leaned in close to look at Topple’s arm. “Looks like poison sumac maybe. Contact dermatitis. Or worse. If it was Violet it may be magically amped. I’ll get to work on a poultice. Careful if there’s any oil still, it can transfer.” Cal turned to Winter.