The Impaled Bride

by Rhiannon Frater

  I take hold of Ágota’s hand, infusing her with a bit of my magic. She gives me a grateful look before we race through the hallways past guards and servants frozen in place. The air shimmers with the power of the spell and I cast a worried look at my sister as she runs at my heels. She looks pale, for she’s exerted a large portion of her power, yet she gives me an encouraging smile.

  “How did you know you would need this spell?”

  “Father had me lay the sigils for the spell long, long ago. It was agreed I would activate it should this day come.”

  “So he knew,” I say, not certain if I am relieved by this revelation.

  “He is much cleverer than you think, Erzsébet. Now collect your things.”

  In my room, I pack a bag with two of my favorite dresses, the letters from Albrecht, and the book of spells I have been writing since my magic manifested. I hoist it over my shoulder and glance over my room one last time. I feel no sorrow at leaving this place as I did the cottage in the wood where I had lived so happily with my mother. I would rather lose my home than the man who treats me as his daughter.

  When I return to the hall, Ágota is waiting with our mother’s magus bag. She opens it for me so I may drop my bag inside and she slings it over her shoulder.

  “We need to learn how to make more of those,” I say.

  “Trust me, I am trying to discover the spell.”

  We sprint through the halls and down the narrow stairwells to the hallway where the others are already waiting. Balázs’s army of cats is gathered at their feet. The felines are usually scattered about the castle sunbathing, but they are all in attendance with their ears slightly slanted back from their faces. They only favor Balázs. For years I have tried to pet them to no avail. When he approaches, their ears straighten and they lean forward to watch him.

  “We will depart on the ley line bridge, then journey toward the Carpathian Mountains,” he says.

  “What is in the Carpathian Mountains?” Henrietta dares to ask.

  “My stash of resources,” he answers with a wry smile. “Do you think I would gather them all in one place?”

  Chuckles of relief follow this comment.

  “I have a place prepared for us. Do not fear.” Balázs sets his arm around Ágota and my shoulders. “Let us depart this place.”

  The portal to the ley line bridge bursts to life at his beckoning and our strange group of witches and cats stroll along the magical path. I gaze down at the castle and town that were our home these last years. Already the banner of King Charles flies above the gates. Scowling, I lift my eyes to regard the hundreds of tents that shelter our enemies filling the valley.

  Several cats brush past my ankles urging me forward. Our time here is ticking away for the spell is almost at an end. There is a mad scramble to reach the end of the bridge before the others can follow. Balázs has sworn to not hurt the coven, but none of us trust Fülöp after his rebellion. When we reach the mountainside, I feel the spell snap and time return to its normal course. Twisting about, I gaze down the long, iridescent bridge waiting to see if we will be pursued.

  “Are they coming?” someone asks worriedly.

  After the last cat skitters off the bridge to join us, Ágota takes a sharp step forward.

  “Let them try,” she snarls, thrusting out both hands.

  The ley line bridge explodes, balls of colorful magic flooding the air. Ágota spins about, pulling the magic to her. The orbs of shimmering magic rain down upon her, singing like chimes in wind.

  “Give it to me!” I shout at her.

  Ágota’s fingers flex and twitch and the rainbow miasma floods into her. Her hair stands on end as she laughs with joy. I step toward her and she rests her hand on my shoulder. I am instantly flooded with magic, but it turns red and black in my veins before flooding out into the valley below.

  My magic fills every soldier of King Charles’ army, overwhelming them with the need to kill. I permeate their hearts with rage and blind their eyes to the truth. I flood them with visions of their enemies descending on them and spur them to battle. In seconds, the soldiers of King Charles are hacking away at each other, steel clashing with steel, blood spilling onto the soil. They will slaughter each other and none shall remain alive.

  “Let Fülöp explain to King Charles what happened to his army,” I say, victory throbbing in my soul.

  “Our time here is done,” Balázs says with satisfaction. “Now we depart.”

  Spinning about, I join the others on our trek toward the mountains. The sounds of battle fill my ears and magic trembles in the air. I smirk at the thought of Fülöp trying to rule now. The ley line bridge was a source of much of the coven’s magic.

  “Do you think we are as wicked as Fülöp said?” Ágota asks me.

  “Oh, yes,” I reply.

  We both giggle as she takes my hand.

  Neither one of us looks back toward the castle. We lost our home before and we know we shall find another. This time we are not alone for Balázs and the loyalist of the coven are with us.

  Our future lies elsewhere.

  Chapter 17

  Time is slipping past me as rapidly as a mountain stream. My memories are a blur of sound, colors, and briefly glimpsed faces of those I love. I struggle to grasp onto the images rushing through my mind, but fail in my endeavor. I am a slave to this curse, my free will stolen by its power. I can only relive that which it desires for me to remember.

  I am trapped between existing in the present and the past and frustrated by my inability to awaken. Try as I may, I am unable to rouse myself and escape the spell. Worse yet, I cannot control which memories I revisit, which confirms that the curse is seeking out specific events.

  But for what purpose?

  I am assailed by questions.

  Does Lucifer still stand at my side? Did he truly exclaim that this curse is witch magic? If it is witch magic, who cast it? Is this a remnant of Ágota’s power? Or did another witch cast it in hopes of finding me? Has Balázs finally forgiven me?

  I am torn from my ruminations by a familiar tug drawing me through the miasma of memories to one point in my long life. The world solidifies around me into a dark, icy evening. I shiver beneath my thick fur cloak and my boots sink deep into drifts of snow as I trudge upward through the tree line toward the craggy summits of the Carpathian Mountains. The icy wind stings my cheeks and flutters my hair while snow flecks my clothing.

  Balázs and Ágota stroll before me, surrounded by the cats. The familiars leave small paw prints in the snow that I find charming. In the light cast by sizzling torches held by the faithful witches of the coven, we trudge along the narrow path that winds through the trees.

  We have been traveling for weeks, avoiding enemy patrols, the fey, and other supernatural creatures. We are refugees now that our home has been stolen by Fülöp and his followers. Word of his treachery has traveled swiftly through both realms. Balázs no longer wears his older facade and the other witches have dropped their glamour spells, too. This allows us to pass through mortal towns unrecognized, but the supernatural beings have ways of determining our true natures. We have been hunted by vampires, the fey, and werewolves. They thought us weak because Balázs was deposed, but we won each battle. The cats were especially ferocious against the werewolves, growing to enormous size to battle them. I was shocked by this revelation. Their supernatural abilities far exceeded anything I ever anticipated. It was a reminder that I still understand so little of the world of the witches.

  Snow twirls about on the wind, howling through the trees. We are closer to the summit and soon will leave the forest behind us. I had assumed we would set camp for the night, but Balázs has continued our trek toward the high peaks. As we ascend, I have come to understand why. This is a place of deep magic. It thrums in my bones and tingles through my veins. Our remote surroundings appear mundane, but I wonder if there is a glamour hiding the truth. I trudge after my sister, the cats scampering excitedly around us, weaving in and o
ut of the witches’ legs.

  My breath mists and clings to my skin. I have never been so cold in my life. We wade through a thick, icy fog that creeps along through the trees and only the tips of the cat tails are visible above the haze. My teeth chatter and I wish Ágota would cast a spell to warm the air. My sister walks beside her father, her head cocked in his direction. It is evident that they are in deep conversation, so I will not interrupt. The closer our journey takes us to Balázs’s secret stash, the more the two have whispered together. The coven does not seem concerned by their behavior, but jealousy settles into my heart. I am not an Archwitch, so my magic is not needed unless we are under attack, but I yearn to be included in whatever plan they are concocting. Since we left our home, Balázs has invited Ágota into all his decisions. A new hierarchy is forming, one I resent not having a greater voice in.

  Ágota whips about to face me, her eyes blazing in the light of the fire. “We are close now. Extinguish the torches.”

  The witches obey without hesitation. My eyes gradually adapt to the gloom until I comprehend why Ágota ordered the fires smothered. A subtle glow beneath the snow forms a path that leads out of the forest and up to the summit.

  With a twitch of her fingers, Ágota brightens the witch path and smiles. “Better. Follow us.”

  As we approach, the sound of stone grinding against stone reverberates around us as steps slide outward from the steep face of the mountain to form a staircase. Balázs climbs the new steps with Ágota in his wake. I am awed by her appearance as her long black skirts and cloak flutter around her like dark wings. The magic in this place imbues her with an unearthly appearance as her skin glows and her eyes gleam bright green. She beckons me with fingers that appear even longer than usual and I hurry to obey. I am relieved to find the steps free of ice and snow. My feet are nearly frozen, but thaw as I climb. The air grows warmer and is scented with the fragrance of roses.

  “It feels of home,” someone whispers behind me.

  “I had forgotten,” Henrietta replies. “It has been so long and I was just a child.”

  Magic vibrates through the air, swelling as we ascend. The witches behind me are utterly silent and the cats do not meow as they leap from step to step. Our path to the summit appears perilous. The gap between the stone steps reveals the valley below, and I calm my fears by reminding myself that Ágota can fly. I reach a landing that curves around the face of the summit and rush along the glowing path. A few of the cats pause to make certain the rest of the coven is following. They are much more alert here than they ever were at the castle where they mostly slept in spots of sunlight in the great hall.

  Another stairway made of rock leads upward through a thick haze of clouds. I set my hand on the stone face and climb. I can barely see the dark shapes of my sister and Balázs through the icy mist and the glow of the path is my only guide. Despite my resolution not to be cowed by the great height, I slow my pace. One of the black cats takes the step ahead of me, then waits for me to arrive. Seeing my hesitation, it swishes its tail and lets out a small meow, encouraging me forward. Its green eyes glint at me in the dark and I am grateful for its kindness.

  I climb upward into the clouds, the pale blue witch magic illuminating the stairs while the cats’ green eyes burn like small fires as it guides me. At last, I reach an archway carved into the mountain and step onto what appears to be a cobblestone road that winds through ruins embedded along the peak. The air is much warmer here. Trees, grass and flowering bushes are nestled into the ruins and line the pathway. I follow the black cat past broken walls, collapsing arches, and shattered masonry. A stream burbles beneath an intact footbridge and winds through the ruins to a small pond.

  Henrietta joins me on the rickety old bridge. A sorrowful sigh escapes her lips.

  “What is all this?” I whisper.

  “This is where we arrived from our world. These are bits and pieces we brought with us,” she answers.

  “The magic in the air...”

  “It is from our world. Embedded in the surroundings. Before we ventured out into the world, we stayed here. I sometimes wished we had never left. Then my parents would not have been killed.”

  “Come now!” Ágota calls out, her voice echoing around me.

  At the very top of the mountain stands the remains of a rotunda where Ágota lingers beneath the arched entrance. The black cat brushes against my ankles, its tail wrapping around my leg briefly, urging me onward. I follow the familiar with Henrietta close at my heels. The cats skitter past Ágota and disappear into the grand structure. It is mostly intact with only a few holes in the high-domed ceiling.

  Inside, the air is warmer still. The magical illumination that has guided us here brightens considerably and takes on the yellowish tinge of the torchlight. Thirteen pillars form a circle in the center of the rotunda, rising high over my head. The tops of the marble columns are carved to form thick branches that hold up the ceiling. The walls are covered in murals that have faded over time, yet hold some vibrancy of color. While I stare at one image of the witches dancing in a glade, it begins to move, the witches spinning about while slowly floating upward.

  Henrietta takes my arm, urging me toward the center of the rotunda where Balázs stands with Ágota. I tear my eyes away from the enrapturing painting and follow. The coven encircles the father and daughter in the shadows of the tall pillars. On the wall behind Balázs is his banner of the burning tree. Beneath my feet, the marble portrays a night sky, but two moons, not one, glow in the firmament.

  “Since we arrived in this world, we have struggled to find our way,” Balázs begins. “We dwelled here for a time, tapping into what was left of the magic of our homeland. When it began to wane, we had to leave this sacred place to preserve what remained of the magic, and learn how to wield the magic of this world.”

  I sense Balázs is carefully constructing an argument to defend a revelation. The dip of his head, his gaze riveted to the floor, and his rounded shoulders speak of grief and guilt. I shift my gaze to my sister to see her watching me. I give her a questioning look and she responds with a gentle smile.

  “What I have to confess is that the magic never truly waned here. It is embedded into the very fabric of these pieces of our world that were transported with us in the final exodus. Viorica and I made the decision to weave a spell that would block the coven from using the magic.”

  The witches regard Balázs with surprise, a few visibly shaken by this revelation.

  “Why?” Henrietta gasps. “Why would you do such a terrible thing?”

  “The primary reason was to force us from this safe haven. Otherwise, we would have hidden here and never ventured into the world.”

  “Where we met death at the hands of the mortals,” a male witch retorts.

  “Viorica, Soffia, and I all agreed that we had to create real lives and not just hide away in our ruins. We did not realize how difficult it would be to access the magic of this world or how vulnerable we would be. Furthermore, we did not anticipate children would be a rare gift among our people.” Balázs finally lifts his head to gaze at his coven. “We locked away the magic as a safeguard for our future. Should we have failed in assimilating among the mortals, we planned to return to harness the power so we could begin again.”

  “Are we to live here now?” I ask with some distaste. Though I wish to live on a grand estate, this one appears beyond repair. “It is a ruin.”

  “No, no, dearest Erjy. We came here because Viorica created a spell that only an Archwitch can use and left it here where it would be safe.” Balázs settles his gaze on Ágota. “Only Ágota can use the spell and that is why we have traveled here.”

  “What sort of spell?” one of the male witches named Radu asks.

  “One of the most powerful ever concocted. It was only used once before when the castle we were so rudely ousted from was created by Viorica.”

  “That does not seem right,” one of the female witches says. “I remember the castle was gra
nted to you by a voivode for your loyalty long ago.”

  The murmurs of agreement bring a sorrowful smile to Balázs’s face.

  “You do not remember for erasure of your memory was a part of the spell. Viorica spelled the castle out of the very air, but everyone—including the coven—believed it had stood there for centuries. She wove the castle and its history into every aspect of this world so none would question its appearance.”

  I am astonished by this announcement. I had seen my mother create our cottages out of earth and tree roots, but never imagined the full breadth of her power.

  Balázs wisely allows the witches a moment to accept this truth. They whisper among themselves, stunned at the revelation.

  “I am confused, for the witches were separated after we left. We did not live in the castle. My parents died. I was orphaned,” Henrietta says. “Why did you not create a safe haven immediately after departing here?”

  “What you say is true.” Balázs nods, a sorrowful look upon his face. “At first, we thought it best if we spread out among the mortals so we could live normal lives. Unfortunately, some of our kind did not adapt well and were exposed. The mortals eventually learned how we could be killed. After a time, word reached Soffia and me that the witches were in danger. We called upon Viorica and she agreed to summon forth the castle. We came here and Viorica cast the spell. The castle was to be a safe haven for our people. And it was for a time.”

  “And now you wish to summon forth another safe haven for us?” Henrietta asks. “Is that why we are here?”

  “Yes, and the new one will reside alongside the Danube near Buda. It will be a great estate with one grand house, many cottages, and a vineyard.”

  “A vineyard? Why make a vineyard? Why not replicate the castle and town again?” I ask.

  Ágota answers this time. “I will not be creating the new haven out of thin air. Both the castle and estate originate in the Witch World. Spells were cast before the last exodus to preserve and hide them from our enemies, the destroyers. The Archwitches died before they could draw them through the Veil. My mother was able to pull the castle through with the help of Balázs and Soffia, but it left her bedridden for nearly a decade. If I am to bring forth the estate, I will need your assistance or I will endure a similar convalescence. I can do this without you, but I will fare better if you help me.”