The Impaled Bride

by Rhiannon Frater

  “There is more to this,” Radu mutters.

  “Yes. To bring forth the estate, we will drain the last of the magic stored in these relics from our world,” Balázs replies.

  Silence greets this proclamation.

  “Will the new estate be imbued with magic like these ruins?” I sense the answer will not be to my liking.

  “In the Witch World, all magic was drained from the estate so it would not be detected by our enemies,” Ágota explains. “We will lose the last of the Witch World magic.”

  “Other than what is in your veins,” Henrietta adds gloomily.

  Ágota bows her head solemnly. “Yes.”

  Radu sweeps his silver hair back from his high brow and lifts his eyes skyward. “Here I feel strong. Like my true self. Not weakened and disconnected from magic.”

  People bob their heads in agreement and utter similar sentiments.

  “What if we rebuild the ruins? Make our lives here?” Henrietta asks.

  Other witches chime in. The swelling raucous stirs up the cats, who yowl with disapproval.

  Staring through the archway into the icy night, I think of Albrecht and my dreams of being his wife that I will lose if I stay here. I understand why it would appeal to the witches to stay on top of this mountain, hidden from a world that has not been kind to them. But the world is not particularly kind to anyone. I have witnessed that truth with my own eyes.

  “If we stay here, we doom ourselves,” I say loudly.

  “How so?” Henrietta asks.

  “This place is not a safe haven. It is a tomb,” I answer. “It is a memory of what was and will never be again. Help my sister bring forth a true haven. A place in the mortal world where we can be safe and live true lives.”

  “We will lose this magic.” Radu draws his hand through the air, sparks trailing from his fingertips.

  “Maybe this old magic is what is holding you back from embracing the magic of this world,” I reply.

  “She has a valid point. As long as this well of magic exists, our natural instinct will be to draw from it even though the distance makes it difficult to manifest. Remove it and perhaps we will finally learn to fully draw from the well of this world,” Balázs says, giving me an approving smile.

  “If we rebuild the ruins and stay here, then we will be safe. My parents left and I lost them,” Henrietta says, her face flushing nearly as red as her hair. “We are safe here!”

  “Until the coven drains the magic,” Ágota declares in a grim voice. “It will happen eventually. Maybe it will take centuries, but one day it will be gone and force us to reenter the world. When we do, we will be paupers and weak.”

  “Will you do this against our wishes?” another witch asks.

  Balázs hesitates, then shakes his head. “No. I will not. But I will leave with my daughters. Their future lies elsewhere. Speak among yourselves and choose. If we are to cast the spell, it should be done at dawn, when the sun brings a new day and new beginnings.”

  Visibly agitated by the complaints issued by the rising voices, Ágota walks out of the circle. The coven breaks apart, clustering in groups to discuss the options presented to them. Balázs is immediately besieged and he waves me away when he sees my concerned look, so I hurry after my sister.

  Ágota slips through a narrow doorway into an overgrown garden frosted with snow and ice. I sense that the magic in the ruins is rousing to greet us as the air warms. My sister’s tall lean form strides to another broken building and steps through a shattered door into the dark interior. Water drips from the icy trees and the mist dissipates in the wake of her passage. Entering the building, I find her seated on a wood bench, staring at a fire she must have conjured in the fireplace.

  “I knew you would follow,” she says, her face pinched with apprehension.

  Taking a seat beside her, I nestle into her side and rest my head on her shoulder. “I will always follow you.”

  With a wry smile, she drapes her arm across my shoulders and bends her head to mine. “Which may not always be wise.”

  “I am smarter than the others. I see the truth of the matter.”

  “Maybe our mother was wise to keep us far from the other witches. They are such spoiled children with narrow minds,” Ágota grouses.

  “They hate how weak they became after the exodus.”

  “Yes, but they can still wield magic when united as a coven. They are not like humans, short-lived and powerless in the face of men with weapons and titles. They are not at the mercy of other supernatural creatures as long as they are united. Together, they can still do great magic.”

  “But apart they are burned at the stake or drowned,” I remind her.

  Ágota grunts. “Only if they are foolish and reveal themselves. Our mother was careful.”

  “Our mother died.” The resentment in my voice draws a sharp look from Ágota. I would do anything to have my mother alive and with us. I often close my eyes and daydream of her at my side. If only she had lived and been reunited with Balázs, we would be a happy family now that Soffia is gone. “Maybe she should have returned with us to Balázs’s castle for protection against the devil.”

  “Being with the coven would not have saved her. We both know that. Soffia would have waged war against her.”

  “Mother could have obliterated her with a snap of her fingers. Our mother was so much more powerful than I ever dreamed!” I crane my head to gaze through the shattered roof. “Why did she not come here to be safe?”

  Ágota bends over to pluck a chunk of masonry from the floor. At her touch, it glows with a pale pinkish light. “Perhaps because of this. Our mother successfully tamed the magic of this world. Being among the rubble of the Witch World, I can feel the lure of the old magic stored in the very walls of this place. It is potent and wild, longing to be used again. It almost feels alive.”

  “You are scared.” I can see it in the tightness about her mouth and the set of her jaw.

  “The magic I use is nothing like the magic trapped here. I can wield it, but it will be dangerous.” Ágota stares at the chunk of stone in her hand, then opens the bag slung over her shoulder to store it inside.

  “If it is so dangerous, why are you keeping a piece of it?”

  Ágota grins. “I like danger. Besides, it will not hurt to save a bit of the Witch World magic. I may need it one day.”

  “For what?”

  My sister shrugs one shoulder before slumping down on the bench again. “Something.”

  “What are you not telling me?” I frown at my sister.

  Exhaling, Ágota says nothing for several long and tense moments. At last, she says, “If the coven agrees to this spell but do not assist me, I could be weaker than a mortal afterward. Mother was very ill after she summoned the castle, though it may have worked to her advantage in the end. I suspect it was the magic of this world that restored her and that is why she could wield it so effectively.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. You need not worry. I will help you cast the spell. So will Father. Do you really need the rest of the coven? We three are so powerful.”

  “Yes, I do. The more siphons, the better, for I might drain too much magic from those assisting me, and even kill them.”

  I frown at this revelation. “That was not divulged during the earlier discussion.”

  “No, but they are not fools even if they act like they are sometimes. They will understand the risks.”

  “Maybe we should stay here.”

  The witches have gone through so much. I dread the thought of them losing more, perhaps even their lives. Henrietta’s argument haunts me. She lost so much in the aftermath of the exodus.

  “If they choose to stay here, I will not argue with them. It is their right. But your future is in the world out there. A noblewoman in a castle. Loved and adored. I have seen it.”

  “And your future?”

  Ágota’s scowl deepens. “I cannot see it.”

  “Can Father?”

  She s
hakes her head. “I asked. He cannot either. He says it may be because I am an Archwitch. There are too many possible outcomes to all I do to see a clear future.”

  “Do you see all the possible outcomes for me?”

  Ágota turns her head to regard me. The seriousness of her expression scares me a little. “I do.”

  “And?”

  “Most are lovely. Beautiful. Wonderful. All that you deserve.”

  “But?”

  “There are darker paths.”

  “Assuredly, you will guide me from them.”

  “I will try. But it is difficult to determine exactly why those paths take shape. What event sets them in motion?” She kisses my brow and wraps her arms about me. “Sweet little Erjy, rest assured that I shall always fight to keep you from harm.”

  “I am not so sweet,” I say with a teasing smile. “I am a battlewitch, remember?”

  “Let me live with the illusion that you are innocent and sweet,” she mumbles.

  I remain silent for her sake, closing my eyes and snuggling into her. I adore my older sister and all her complexities. In her embrace, I am loved and comforted.

  Chapter 18

  We are awakened by the familiars. They paw at our noses, rousing us from our deep slumber. The sky outside is lavender and gray, a new day preparing to be born. The black cat nips my fingers, and when I sit up, it rushes to the doorway. The other cats hurry after the black one, clearly expecting us to follow.

  “The choice has been made,” Ágota says. “Shall we see what has been decided?”

  I nod sleepily. “Let us hope they made the right decision.”

  Ágota takes my hand and guides me to the rotunda. The cats dart about us, meowing for us to hurry. When we arrive, the coven is waiting for us in a circle beneath the tall pillars.

  Balázs draws in a deep breath before saying, “They have agreed to cast the spell, Ágota.”

  Clasping her hands together, she nods. “Very well.”

  The tension in the room escalates at the pronouncement. Ágota enters the circle and moves to the center. With the sun on the horizon, there is no time to waste. I observe the many strained and frightened faces of the witches as I take my place among them. The cats, for the first time in my memory, join the circle, standing between the witches.

  The ritual begins.

  “Join together,” Ágota orders.

  Crossing my arms, I join hands with Balázs and Henrietta, who are standing beside me. I feel the cats on either side rest their paws on my ankles.

  “Close the circle.”

  The air ripples and a chill flows down my spine. Then the circle closes, protecting us from outside forces.

  “Summon the power.”

  I lift my arms above my head along with the other witches, my fingers spread wide. Beside me, the cats rise onto their haunches, raising their paws. I call out to the magic slumbering in the broken shell of the buildings from the Witch World. My surroundings dissolve into a miasma of dazzling lights that spin around us in a fierce whirlwind. The ground vibrates beneath my feet as the hum of the magic swells. A gale of warm air scented with the fragrance of flowers, spice, sea water, and thunderstorms lifts us upward. I am flooded with effervescent power, which sings in my soul and shatters all my fears. Instinctively, I recognize this magic is my birthright and that it will bend to my will. I have never felt magic like this and laugh with delight.

  As the magic flows through the coven, uniting us, Ágota’s voice commands, “Funnel it to me!”

  The temptation to defy the Archwitch ripples through me. Bound to the coven, I sense their reluctance to obey. To give up such potent power is loathsome to consider. Suspended in the air, surrounded by the visible manifestation of the magic of the long-lost Witch World, I am completely enraptured by the possibilities of what I can do with such power.

  Ágota does not wait for us to come to our senses. She pulls the magic through us and into her. My first instinct is to fight against such a violation, but relent when I see my sister rising above us, arms outstretched. Eyes closed, she welcomes the torrent of magic flooding into her. Golden orbs of light whirl about her as she unlocks and releases the spell my mother cast so long ago.

  Ágota brandishes magic like a rapier and slices through the fabric between the worlds, rending a fissure the size of a doorway in the air before her. Light pours through the tear, illuminating the ghastly terrain beyond. Beneath a purple sky stained black on the horizon, the ground is coarse red dirt barren of foliage or animals. This is the world my mother fled and tears well in my eyes. It is evident that the witches had no other choice than to flee. Their enemies drained the world of magic and left it a depleted husk.

  A grand estate sits among a ruined, desolate land, complete with a grand house, many outbuildings, lush vineyards, trees, and green fields. A dark aura encapsulates it and everything within the spell is frozen in time, unmoving so as not to be detected by the destroyers.

  Bobbing in the air before the misshapen portal, Ágota’s fingers twist at her sides as she murmurs beneath her breath. Tendrils of the magic she is controlling plunge into the other world and latch onto the shimmering darkness protecting the estate. Golden light flows over the dark circle, awakening the spell. The air trembles around us and the orbs of golden light spinning around my sister grow brighter. Any reluctance to obey Ágota has dissolved in the display of her prowess. Awe is stamped on the faces of the coven as they watch Ágota wrench the estate from the earth and pull it toward the portal. Roots dangle from beneath the wide expanse of ground like tendrils of a great beast.

  “How can she bring it through?” I cry out. “The doorway is not large enough!”

  “It merely needs to touch the portal,” Balázs answers. “And it will be merged with this world.”

  The dark clouds rolling across the purple sky flash with red fire and a terrifying howl erupts from the other world.

  “Hurry, Ágota, the destroyers are coming!” Balázs calls out. “They sense the magic!”

  Terror ripples through the coven, disrupting the magic flowing to Ágota. The beings that destroyed the Witch World have sensed the awakened magic and are descending on the portal. My mother described them as twisted, fearsome creatures with faces so horrific witches were known to die from fright.

  “Do not falter!” Balázs commands the coven. “Do not be afraid! We will close the portal if our enemies come near!”

  Now I wholly fathom why Ágota was afraid to cast the spell. It is far more perilous than I had ever dreamed. Regret for my earlier argument that she should call forth the estate assails me and forces me to consider that I was foolhardy. The horrific wails accompanying the fiery bursts illuminating the sky of the dead world turns my blood to ice. Tall pillars of flame appear on the horizon, spitting balls of fire across the barren earth.

  The estate continues toward the portal. Ágota’s scowl and quivering fingers reveal the great strain the spell is taking on her, yet she persists. Sweat drips from her chin and her eyes bloom with blood. My desire to protect her is nearly overwhelming, but I cannot break the circle.

  The unholy sounds issuing from the other world reverberate through my bones. The coven is bound together by the magic flowing through us into Ágota and it is impossible not to sense the fear pulsing through the witches. The orbs of fire assail the estate floating toward the portal, slamming into the protection spell and exploding into huge arcs of lava.

  The destroyers of the Witch World consumed all the magic by devouring the ley lines, sucking dry every living creature, and consuming all the imbued relics. They must be starved in the aftermath of the witches’ escape. The entire horizon is burning as the destroyers swarm toward the portal. Should they reach the estate, they will consume it. Should they reach the portal, they will attempt to come through and devour us.

  Terror spikes in my soul, but it does not weaken me. I am a battlewitch. I was created for conflict. Instead of wavering, my resolve gives me strength. It is my magic
that strengthens those in battle and grants them the ability to wield their weapons with supernatural prowess.

  It is time for me to act!

  In one great, mighty wave, I wrench the magic from the ruins around me and thrust it into Ágota. I am instantly blinded by the dazzling luminescent manifestation of power. A second later, I tumble from the air. The sound of the witches impacting with the ground is accompanied by the startled meows of the familiars. I blink furiously, desperate to see what has happened. My vision clears, gradually leaving strange afterimages in my sight. All around me are the fallen bodies of the coven. The witches moan while sluggishly stirring. The cats sit among us, grooming themselves, seemingly unbothered by this turn of events.

  “Where are we?” Henrietta calls out.

  Pushing myself upright, I sit on the flagstone courtyard where we have landed and survey my surroundings. Banners with the flaming tree flutter in the morning breeze over the battlements. The sky is grows steadily brighter, an assuring sign that we are not in the Witch World. We are safe for Ágota has brought the estate into reality.

  The black cat appears on my lap and rubs its nose against mine. I detect its approval from the loud purr and kneading paws.

  “We are home,” Balázs grunts, climbing to his feet.

  The black cat leaps off my lap and joins the other familiars that rush to rub against Balázs’s legs.

  “She did brought forth the estate,” someone whispers in awe.

  As the witches rouse themselves, I seek out Ágota among them. I observe her sprawled face-down in the center of the broken protection circle. Worry for her wellbeing chokes me as I crawl toward her. Did I fail her? Has she been drained of her power? Will it take her a decade to recover like our mother after she brought the castle through?