If she could just learn to use the unlimited power that was passed on to her from her mother, she’d be in good shape. Completing this conjuring spell was a huge step toward that goal. It was difficult for Fey to be upset when she had finally surpassed one of the last main hurdles before her coronation next week. She clenched at her anxious chest as her heart nearly leapt out of her ribcage. Raking her tongue across the roof of her mouth, she became aware of how parched she was from repeatedly chanting for hours on end. She’d forgotten to take care of her most basic need, water. Raising her head toward the menacing sky, the girl tilted back her neck, spreading her lips to get another taste of the fresh rain. There’s nothing better than the crispness of Mother Nature’s natural tears, she commented with her arms extended wide. With one last gulp, the cold liquid quenched her thirst and she was rather satisfied.
The wet-faced girl peered out, scanning the scene of the amassing storm, setting her keen emerald eyes to either side of the woods. It’s really coming down now, she contemplated as she plopped her soaked hair behind her back with a light smack against her exposed skin. Wiping her face, she mumbled a handful of words and an enormous translucent bubble appeared around her body, immediately cut off the saturating rainfall. Shuddering, she let out a breath of foggy air as a touch of warmth thawed her build. It was her own magic warming her body from the inside out, much like a burning furnace fueled the heat of a home. She allowed a smile to stretch across her face as she was pleased with herself for all her hard work. The incantation her Grandmother Aris taught her had worked! She’d successfully formed a protection bubble, and was quite dry after only a few moments inside its transparent walls.
Her rich auburn curls loosely bounced behind her back as she extended her hands above her head outside of the protection spell’s range. Standing on the tips of her toes, she raised her dark brows as she felt the unpleasant chill the rain left behind in her palms. “I’m starting to get the hang of this,” the girl thought happily. She could go on as she was for hours and still maintain the helpful shield. “Category two spells always drain my energy way too fast. I’ve usually got nothing left in the tank,” she announced to the empty forest, proud of her newly acquired skill.
She was still left with the ability to continue performing magic, but was in dire need of a brief respite before heading back to her Grandmother’s house; it was a bit of a trek. She dropped down onto a thick, moss-covered tree trunk beside her wooden perch and made a soft thud as her bottom hit the bark of the tree. After a while of taking in the remarkable beauty of the forest in, she sighed, remembering, I’m late anyway.
You might say the rest of her life was at stake with the trials fast approaching, even the village was humming about the young witch’s takeover. Now, more than ever, she must master intermediate spells before appearing in front of the committee. Every member on that board has it out for me, she thought brashly. Great! Now, I can add talking to myself to the list of reasons why I desperately need rest. She joked, secretly worrying about her nerves. Fey shook her body from end to end in a futile attempt to lose the fatigue that had nestled into her throbbing muscles. The heaviness of her curious eyes bore down just as night encroached upon the day, and she fluidly shifted her gaze to the dense lining of trees situated around the meadow. The storm grew heavier by the minute as thick drops of rain crashed into the woods, sending wave after wave of water rushing to the forest floor. The squall brazenly showed its hostile face in the forest’s untamed woodland, threatening to flood her out if she didn’t leave of her own accord. Still, Fey could not deny that this beautiful place was her home away from home.
Her mind was at peace, even with the downpour overhead and the witch could easily practice magic as much as she wanted without any restrictions in her little haven. For she was afraid of her own power and what she was capable of, and being even remotely close to the townsfolk while practicing casting skills wasn’t an option. She’d never known it’s limit and was willing to bet it would be some time before she could. She wasn’t exactly sure what drew her so deep into the dark woods, but she knew it had something to do with the way that the fall colors brought the forest to life. Patches of golden brown and deep-rich reds lined the shrubs and trees, giving off a sumptuous impression of the forestry. Ardent-colored leaves latched loosely to the branches of a magnificent group of Birchwood trees and the sound of chatty birds chirped methodically lighting up the forest; forming a slow crescendo of raw music.
Exotic, pink, ice plants scattered all along the water-logged bedding of the towering trees, accenting the russet color of the thick foliage. The girl had found a marvelous setting in which deep pockets of pine trees and slumping willows wrapped around the vicinity of her wooden altar. She sat in the center of it all, as the main focal point, much like the setting of a committee around a guest speaker. Soft spots of green clover flooded the marshy ground as countless flourishes of color danced around the forest, beckoning Fey to stay a bit longer. Even the bitter air had a crispness to its chilly bite, but she would keep warm enough with her drying robes and bubbled world.
Reasoning with herself, she concluded that she couldn’t have it both ways and decided to just be happy that she was warm for the time being. She was, after all, born during the Winter Solstice—eighteen years ago, next week. So, her powers were enhancing with each passing day and if she acted swiftly, gathering as much power as she could from the full moon, she’d reach maximum peaking levels with just enough time to spare. Of course, this was all a theory she’d concocted, judging by the accent of her powers over the last couple of months. “Ugh,” Fey moaned defeated. “I should have brought my broom,” she scowled into the air with a tight fist, watching as tiny sprite faeries zoomed past to the rugged path ahead. It just so happened she would be heading the same way, too.
The minuscule creatures flew in unison in brightly lit swirls, giving Fey a faery-sized light show. The minute beings left behind wisps of glittering magical dust as they ascended into the sky, laughing gaily in teensy high-pitched voices as they made a bit of headway on the trail ahead of the witch. She enjoyed their company, even if they could be mischievous and malign. Blissfully, the girl smirked at the sprites for their jovial and coltish manner. They were beautiful earthly creatures who lived in the meadows near her Grandmother’s house. When she was a young girl, she’d chase them around and watch them commit vindictive jokes on one another using their faery magic. Playful as they were in nature, they always took the chance to act malevolent toward other faeries and small rodents of the forest. She met one faery that followed her around night and day, the direct result of feeding the poor creature when a hawk injured it. The witch had found the tiny creature outside her window one rainy night and couldn’t help herself; Fey was fond of animals and always took the chance to take care of the helpless. Becoming quite close to the Fae, one day she decided to bestow upon the being a name, Aralyn.
Once Aralyn was strong enough to make the trek home to be with the other faeries, she returned her to the faery circle deep within the dark woods. Before long, Aralyn gathered her friends to show them who had helped her in her time of great need. That was when the witch found out that Aralyn was a Queen amongst her people. She felt honored to have aided the sprite, and was excited to let their friendship grow. To this very day, because of her relationship with the Queen, the other faeries still exhibited everlasting respect. No longer did they pull at Fey’s hair, or throw stones at her passing down the trail of the practicing grounds. Now, they were fast friends and did her bidding eagerly. Not that they could do much, but Fey really liked having them around. She didn’t have many friends with which to share her desires. Even though she couldn’t hold a conversation with the tiny creatures, she knew that they would always be there to lend an ear.
CHAPTER 2
Grandmother Aris
Nearly restored after taking a break to regain her strength, she geared up for the three-mile journey back to Grandmother Aris’s house. She raised a
single finger and pointed it at the path before her. A small spark of cobalt magic sprang out from the end, spreading into a cloud of sparkling dust.
“Mihi viam monstra,” she mumbled under her breath, the words stretched out in a short ribbon of consistency. The silvery glint of light trailing from her fingertips transformed into a bubbly green shade and shot from her finger. It whizzed down the well-used path to the east of where the girl stood. In its wake, the spark left behind a fluorescent trace, directing her down the appropriate path to her grandmother’s house.
There were so many openings and tunnels throughout the dark woods that it could be considered dangerous to go alone without any magic. The tiny sprites excitedly zipped by, following the directing spell the girl had conjured. Pressing forward, she fell in line behind the faeries and struggled to keep up with them as her feet grew heavier the more she traveled. After an hour of steadily hiking through undergrowth, Fey slowly exited the dark forest, stepping into a familiar florid meadow. The sound of mockingbirds and woodpeckers filled her ears with a pleasant judder. She immediately beamed at the sounds, for she treasured the melody of lively birds serenading her arrival.
Pink-and-white Crape Myrtles lined a quaint cobblestone path that led to a passive pond at the back of the clearing. She could hear the watermill as it rhythmically churned, circulating the mill pond’s sparkling clear water. At night, the liquid illuminated to an intoxicating cerulean blue, revealing the elegant Carp and other fish residing beneath the surface. Beyond the pond stood an endearing two story, wooden A-framed house. Two hefty painted-glass windows, depicting the Star Goddess, Dryghten, faced the path where Fey could see as she entered the meadow. Ritualistic tribute wind-chimes clung from the roof of the old house, inviting visitors to listen to their edifying chimes. Symbols of well-wishes were inscribed along the window’s wooden encasing in gold, and a single violet-colored door sat between the two glass panes. The brass door knocker depicted a lustrous crescent moon that glinted when it caught the moonlight just right. Billowing black smoke rose from the house’s brick chimney, and she could smell a nauseating odor coming from within—not an altogether uncommon thing to stumble upon.
Her Grandmother, a master of potions, consistently created new brews for their growing coven. Upstairs, a round, frosted window sat in the middle of the attic, allowing the night’s twilight to pierce its glass facade. It cast off the window, catching the moonlight to illuminate the path in which Fey traveled. At its center, sat the polished symbol of The Triple Goddess. This sign represented the waxing, waning and full moon phases. Subjectively, the same symbol the Westfall family used to showcase their mastery of every level of magic. The surname was one of the oldest in the land and boasted a long line of supreme witches who were not to be trifled with. In Edelweiss Pines, the quality of life was relatively simple, or as simple as things could be regarding Witches and magic. Most of the townsfolk hardly created any sort of problems and nothing unexpected ever happened; magic was normal everyday life.
Fey’s long list of ancestors spanned further back than the middle-ages and for centuries the Westfall’s owned fifty acres surrounding her Grandmother’s home in the woods. Over the years, establishments of other magical families popped up that had been saved along with her own family, adding to the edge of town. Having gone through many hard times since dating back to their origin, Witches learned that sticking together remained the best way to survive in a world filled with such evils. They were finally able to have the privacy needed to thrive openly, without non-magicals witnessing their efforts to practice.
Fey drug her burdensome feet down the combination of green, purple, and grey rocks of the cobblestone path. Her previously high-spirited curls blew precariously about around her neck and back, favoring fire in the dark of night. At no surprise to the witch, the boisterous wind gathered speed, knocking over several yard garnishments she suddenly remembered her Grandmother arranging many years passed. “I’ll get those later. Wouldn’t do much good to do anything with them now.” The tired girl sighed.
Procrastination wasn’t her usual attitude toward life, and she was normally never this lazy, but things had changed drastically in her life as she pushed herself to only focus on studying and casting. She opened a small, purple hand crocheted satchel that hung from her shoulder. It was wrapped over her neck and dangling loosely for easy access to some of the tools she’d borrowed from her grandmother’s shadow box. Inside, the girl pawed around for the house key she was certain she had replaced earlier that day. Fey loved collecting keys because of what their symbolistic uses represented.
The feeling of one in her hand easily tore her attention from anything else when she got lost in their golden luster. The key had been in the family for years and was an old heirloom of the Westfall’s. Her Grandmother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, telling her that it was something she would need to guard with her heart. The girl remembered the sense of entitlement that had swept through her that day as she had seen it for the first time. It was rather attractive, honing a Triple Goddess symbol on the grip, with a twisted shaft that ended with an upside-down marquee sapphire. As expected, there was only minimal damage to the surface of the key—mere imprints of expanded use along the edges, but showed no signs of weakness within its metal form.
“I better give this to you, seeing as you’re a woman now. You’ll take on the responsibility of being this house’s keeper,” gran Aris had told Fey proudly, cupping her promising grandchild’s hands to stuff the key inside.
The poor girl often allowed her mind to wander into her memories of the past, since she too collected remembrances just as her grandmother did. After a prolonged search, she felt the sleek form of the idyllic key betwixt her fingers and leisurely pulled it out, allowing the stories of her past to fade. Admiring its eternal glory, she gently placed it in the amethyst door handle, and with a soft click, she pushed the purple door ajar as she hastily raced inside to feel the toasty air hit her face. She was more than happy to close the door to seal off the frosty clutches of the outside world. Moments after seeking refuge in the old house, Fey heard the sound of her own teeth chattering, haplessly clattering off the high-ceilinged walls. How she wished she knew a spell to control them!
Just as she thought she might settle down, a giant ball of black fur brushed up against her leg when she began taking off her shoes. It was Hex, her familiar. “Looks like someone missed me!” Fey cooed as she leaned down to caress the feline. The cat arched his back gleefully, rubbing his body against her fingers, trying to get the most out of her attention. He soon gave up the idea when she returned to her undressing, and headed back to his side of the couch in the dimly lit living room—just the right place where he liked to nap.
The most Hex ever did, was greet Fey and her Grandmother at the front door, or beg for food as if he were deprived of even the most essentials of living. The rest of his life was reserved to the couch in the living room. For vacation, he would travel outside and catch a mouse or two to eat, but even then, Hex catching his own meal wasn’t very often. He lived on easy street where cats were concerned and made it a point to be as lazy as a cat’s life would allow. Through teary eyes, Fey spied the wooden-framed mirror next to the kitchen. Wanting relief and clear vision, she wiped her eyes with the edge of her long-sleeved dress and walked up to it.
The first thing she noticed, was that the rampant wind had greedily chapped her cheeks, rendering them a strawberry red like the kiss of the scorching sun. Her lips were cracked in the corners and even her pitiful hair needed a vast amount of work. Sighing, she twisted her chestnut tresses into a large bun to clear her shoulders and give her peace of mind. After tightening the bun several times, she placed a quill she’d found on her Grandmother’s writing desk straight through the middle to tighten the hold. After one last glimpse of her appearance, she adjusted the sides of her bangs that hung down over her verdant eyes and turned to face the awful stench coming from the kitchen.
“
Fey, that you?” Grandmother Aris called from the origin of the punishing smell. Smoke wafted just outside the entryway as a mixture of cream colored light rays peeked through the smolder. “Yes, It’s me! I’m back,” she answered with an expression that said I’m exhausted, so please don’t test me. The girl felt the need to speak up as her Gran’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be. She fought with herself every day to offer a remedy for her increasingly clogged ears, but knew better than to bring it up. That’d be insanely rude, she frowned. “Maybe we have a spell for that?” She contemplated, happily chuckling to herself.
The girl held a strong respect for her gran, but as the years rolled on, it was difficult conversing with her about anything remotely ambitious. “What’re you laughing about, dear,” the old witch probed sweetly as she wiped her hands on the side of the blue apron that wrapped around her hips. A gentle knot held the beige garment over her front, covering her long mauve dress robes.
Aris gingerly ran her crippled fingers through her salt and-peppered hair, angling her head, catching the glistening moonlight on her grey strands next to the window. It was easy to see her silver ringlets, which accentuated a glossy gleam and gave off no inkling as to the elderly woman’s age. At times, Fey would ask for permission to brush her fingers through her grandmother’s curls, yearning to feel the silky texture they possessed.
Returning the ladle back to the iron cauldron that sat atop her counter, Aris flicked her fragile wrist and began whipping the ingredients together.
After some time, the old woman tensely stared up into her granddaughter’s wondering eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing!” Fey answered briskly, returning to her previous question before she got lost in her mentor’s beauty again. She flashed her gran a toothy, white grin and continued with her good news, hoping beyond measure, that her grandmother didn’t hear her comments about wishing she had a de-clogging spell. If she did, it was because she heard what she wanted to. Selective hearing ran rampant in the old house. Knowing my luck … she probably heard every word, she mused.
The Aching Darkness_A Dark Fantasy Anthology Page 14
