“I had some success today with an intermediate spell and I couldn’t wrap my mind around how well I did,” Fey announced as she strode into the brightly-lit kitchen, covering her eyes as yellow décor filled her vision. I’ll never get used to this new paint. For no particular reason, her Gran decided she wanted to paint the kitchen the same color as the sunflowers that filled the meadow behind the house during the summer. They both ended up hating the shade, but were too busy to do anything about it.
The smell of old herbs and spices assaulted Fey’s nose and she took a step back through the doorway for fresh air from the living room. “Gran, are you sure you need that much frog’s breath in whatever it is you’re making? I can hardly breathe in here,” she croaked, letting out a deep cough and using her hand to fan the air in front of her face. It did very little to help the horrible odor from traveling into her nose.
“The potion calls for it, so I use it,” Aris stated bluntly, all the while hiding a sly smile beneath her seriousness. She could be playfully naughty at times and that’s what made Fey love her gran the most, because she wasn’t afraid to be young at heart. Aris snatched up the dishtowel next to her on the counter and threw it over her tired and haggard shoulders.
“You can’t blame me for making sure, Gran,” Fey joked spiritedly. She opened a cabinet behind her grandmother and snatched up a small cup. After inspecting it for cracks, she filled it with water from the sink and guzzled it down in mere seconds.
“What potion are you working on,” the girl asked as she crinkled up her button nose, grabbing either side of it and pinching her thumb and index finger to seal out the gassy poison.
“A little something for my arthritis— It helps,” Aris replied, massaging her sore left wrist. She was already bottling up the brown brew from her cauldron and setting the finished vials aside for later use.
“Hurting again? I wish there was more that I could do for you. I just hope this makes your joints feel better.” She reached into the cabinet above the sink and pulled out another glass vial just as soon as she had noticed that her gran hadn’t set enough out. “Here, let me do this for you,” she offered. There was no need for the old woman to finish up with young, nimble fingers in the vicinity.
Fey didn’t take no for an answer, and moved over to the stove with the good intention of filling the rest of the vials for her tired grandmother. “No, that’s quite alright, dear. I can handle this. Why don’t you go pick some crystal plants for me? I need more for your potion,” gran asked with a bit of force to her words. The girl was smart enough to know that she wanted her out of her hair and the kitchen. Gran’s sternness was more than clear. Why? Fey wondered inwardly, trying to imagine the possible answer. As of late, her gran was behaving very suspiciously toward her granddaughter and the girl decided to only let her believe she hadn’t sensed the change in the old woman. Maybe she’s getting nervous about my birthday? It does, after all, mean that I would be old enough to take over as Matron. The witch could see how someone might get stressed over such a life-changing event. “All right, Gran. I’ll go get some for you as you requested,” the teen agreed without protest.
She spun around, leaving the kitchen with her grandmother still working on the vails. Stopping at the front door, and just before exiting, she seized the black cloak from the wall that her gran had made her with love. She draped it over her slim shoulders and clipped the clasp, closing the thick robe around her completely. Its enchanted warmth immediately enveloped her body from the neck down.
“That’s much better,” she simpered as she opened the door to an extremely windy and somber night. At least magic is on my side, Fey considered gratefully, taking a lethargic glance at the pond in front of the house. The water was still calm and the tiny bugs that fed on the crystal plants remained talkative. The lustrous-pink light the plants gave off glowed immeasurably, pointing Fey in the right direction
in which to find them.
CHAPTER 3
Trust
Aris held onto her wooden spoon, calmly dipping it into the dark-brown potion for pain relief and mixing the contents to help the ingredients settle. She’d been brewing it for several hours and couldn’t wait to use it to ease the throbbing pain she felt in her aching joints. A rigorous potion to produce, but the benefits far outweighed the time it took to make the remedy. She was more than willing to do it if it meant relief for more than a few hours a day, so that she could, at the very least, get a good night’s rest. She wiped her forehead of the sweat that had accumulated there, and breathed out expansively. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this… I might have to teach this recipe to Fey. I bet she wouldn’t mind making it for me, she decided as she snatched up a handmade paper fan from the nearby countertop. Cool air brought a bit of life back into the old woman as she fanned and satisfying her enough to finish the brew.
The older Aris got, the less pain she could manage from the advanced arthritis she’d developed over the last fifteen years. The Rilievo Morsus potion she was now making, was the only thing that could alleviate the intense feeling she got whenever it flared up. Lately, those times came more often than usual, and had her bedridden most of the day. She knew her time to rejoin the Vi Magicae Tree was fast approaching, she could feel it in her bones. “A Matron knows things,” she whispered.
Whenever Aris witnessed her granddaughter Fey light up a room, it always brought joy to her heart. The girl had a certain way about her that made her a delight to be around and the beauty she possessed reminded the old woman of her own daughter.
Fey’s mother, Saydee, was a former White Matron. In her day, she could make a man drop to his knees just by batting an eye. She was more than beautiful—she was a goddess. Sadly, Saydee had been missing for years, presumed dead without any real evidence. Not a single person knew where she went, nor was there a trace of her left behind. It was a complete mystery, and still befuddled the entire town. In fact, Fey would often hear her mother’s name dance on the tongues of the villagers, though she did not know the entirety of story.
Thus, the reasoning behind her coming to live with Aris many years ago. They’d been inseparable ever since, but as of late, a void had started between the pair. Not by Fey’s doing, but by Aris’. I’m protecting you, child. One day you will understand that sacrifice, Aris thought sternly, throwing the hand fan to the counter top with a smack. Her heated emotions rendered it useless.
You’re in grave danger … and I’m sorry for lying to you. You deserve the truth … but I fear it’s too much for your young mind. Aris indolently dropped her wrinkled hands to her sides. She almost couldn’t contain the reaction that threatened to seep out of her lips. She was tired of being mendacious toward the girl and couldn’t wait until the day she could tell her grandchild all that the world had in store for her.
None of this is her fault … I love her too much to deceive her anymore, she reasoned, fighting her inner-demons. “It’s for her own good, though,” she pleaded quietly, torn on the best option to believe.
Since she’d been out of work with the committee as White Matron, her life was falling apart piece by piece. Her mind wasn’t what it used to be, and would often manifest bouts of dementia that sent her into awkward episodes. There was little that she could do on her own, but magical potions kept most of it at bay. It’s just that things were getting worse no matter what she prepared to ease her transition to the afterlife. In fact, she could often be heard having conversations with only herself. The old woman knew it worried her granddaughter, but there was a perfectly good explanation for it all—White Matron Magic.
Aris groggily shook her head and snapped back to the task at hand. She waged an invisible war within her own mind daily, constantly trying to keep her reactions to everyday life normal. A tragic war that had no loss or gain, at least not now, anyway. She had a strong sense that Fey knew something had changed in her, and it was taking all that Aris had to keep her demeanor at bay. The former matron withheld a dark and menacing secret. One
that she didn’t have the courage to burden by telling a soul, not even her closest coven sisters. If Aris could take the secret to her grave, she certainly would. The way she felt about it, that idea might be a reality sooner than she thought. Her quality of life had diminished significantly over the last few months, and she felt her time was fast approaching. No question about it.
I’m hanging by a thin thread of wisdom. I’ll have to tell you soon enough, Fey. Until that time comes, I’ll keep you safe from the evil lurking just beneath the surface of your soul, she promised, never realizing that such an awful secret could be playing a huge part in her health issues. She was bound by an oath she had promised to carry out decades ago. Over the years, she became the only mother figure that Fey had. Now wasn’t the time to ruin her life by destroying it with one-looming fact. Her birthday was in less than a week and Aris was confident enough that she could keep the monster within the girl suppressed for a while longer.
She’d been talking herself out of telling Fey the truth of the matter for months now, and couldn’t stand lying to her any longer. For years at a time, she completely forgot about the dirty little secret as she enjoyed relieving the role of motherhood. There was no denying it now, her granddaughter needed the help. I’ll let her live a normal life for a little while longer. She’s the most beautiful and high-spirited person I’ve ever met in the world. I owe her that, the old woman regarded. She reached up and waved at her granddaughter who was making her way out the front door. A wide grin formed when she saw Fey turn and smile back waving at her kindly. Aris kept a watchful eye as Fey, in all her beauty, stepped outside once again to pick the stunning pink, crystal plants on their land. The very same ingredients that would aid in stifling the insolent monster dwelling in the depths of her soul.
Every month on the full moon, Aris spiked her medication. In all her eighteen years of life, Fey never turned down a dose, and never had to endure the evil that fought viciously to get out. Since she was a young girl, her grandmother explained that she had a health condition that required a monthly dose of some common ingredients found locally to their coven. When asked what the medical condition was, Aris told her granddaughter that it was asthma and that it showed a sign of weakness and to never tell anyone in the coven. If she did, Aris pressed the fact that she may not fall in line with her destiny.
As Fey grew older, she exhibited no signs of the respiratory ailment and grew suspicious. One day, she came to Aris and asked flat out, “Why don’t I have breathing problems; shouldn’t I have trouble breathing?” Aris remembered stammering at the question, worried that she had to begin a lie that would last the rest of her granddaughter’s life. “It’s because you stay on top of taking your remedy. You don’t want to EVER skip a dose,” she would tell the innocent girl in the hopes that she might never again ask about the condition. She trusts me, the aged woman came to understand.
The brew was a vital institution of Fey’s everyday life and could never be missed, no matter what. The girl was forced to drink it, or risk setting loose a force unlike anyone on Earth had ever seen. That is why the old, wise Ex-Matron knew she had to keep Fey in the dark until she was ready to know about her past. She promised she would tell her as soon as she had passed her exams. For then, she would wear the ring of White Matron. Waiting would show Fey that she had reached a high level of maturity, and that she would be ready to take on the responsibility that came along with knowing her true past. Will she hate me after? The old woman bothered with the idea so much that she figured she might die of a stress.
Aris’s indigo eyes distorted abruptly, flashing a bright green as she stopped to compose herself. The old woman never realized anything had changed, as though someone had infiltrated her brain, but left no trace behind. She quickly put a cork in the top of the last vial and set it to the side for later use. As she stirred the contents of the iron pot, the smell of frog’s breath overwhelmed her, and she was forced to hold her breath. If she failed to do so, her nerves would instantly deaden for a period of time and she would be thrown to the floor to almost certainly meet a deadly demise. A fall like that could do her in with the condition of her body as it was.
Such an ingredient was dangerous being used by any witch and making the potion required extra caution that she was barely able to practice. It was becoming clearer that she needed help caring for herself, but she was too stubborn to give in. Unable to fight the pain any longer, Aris was ready to take some of the potion to ease the pain she felt in her hands and knees. She wouldn’t be able to stand much longer if she didn’t, her knees were already buckling beneath her weight and her hands were trembling from the lack of circulation.
Extending a heavy arm, she reached for one of the vials filled with the dark liquid and meticulously pulled the cork out of the bottle, all the while never taking a single breath. The trick was to hold it away from your face and pinch your nose as tight as possible. That way, none of the fumes reached the lungs and one could remain safe when guzzling down the remedy. It was a dangerous recipe and usually Aris took special care to make sure Fey wasn’t around when she made it. With voracious tenacity, she drained the first sip of the fowl smelling potion without puking. Nonetheless, her stomach almost rejected each gulp of the concoction; until she suckled down the entire contents of the vial. A sudden outburst of burping produced a small cloud of snot green smoke as some of the potion settled in her stomach. The taste reminded her of the awful smell of dirty feet, or how she assumed it would taste for that matter.
Through gritted teeth, she fought back the urge to hurl into the sink beside her after finishing her medicine. The volatile solution burned her insides, forcing a pained expression to take residence on her face. Soon, however, the potion began to take effect and she lost the feeling of queasiness. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered with starry eyes, staring out at the beautifully inlaid wooden staircase that ran up the maroon walls. She marveled at the rich-purple carpeting that lined each step. The gorgeous amethyst hue brought back memories of fluttering butterflies in the enchanted woods that rested a few miles into the forest beyond her home. She fondly remembered how they would dance around her, flapping their beautifully colored wings close enough to her body, so that she might feel their light touch. Without realizing it, the old woman was lost in thought, remembering back to when she was a small girl.
Back to a time when she had learned of the banister’s elaborate art and that it featured the tale of the first White Witch Matron, Artemis Westfall—a woman of legendary sacrifice. The wood demonstrated her plight to rid the world of evil and detach Edelweiss Pines from non-magicals and their debauchery. Aris spotted the thick, grey drapes that covered the massive bay windows at the front of the house. Ambling over to them, she spied a small opening of the curtains that begged to be closed as twilight poured into the frame of the window. Staring out into the meadow beyond the pond and around the grey house, she could see her granddaughter gathering the crystal flowers for her. A thick haze covered her vision, and the old woman knew it was time to head off to bed, the pain reliever was working its magic and she couldn’t be more pleased. “That should keep her busy for a while,” she mumbled as she sauntered up the stairs, leaving the young girl to her gathering.
The house was dark and inviting, coaxing the witch to fall right into her bed and cover up under its warm blankets. “Maybe I’ll just sleep forever,” she supposed in a deep daze. The witch knew her limits, and this was beyond anything she’d experienced before. Lately, she had to up her dosage in order to keep up with the pain. This was the first time she’d ever taken a dose that made her uncontrollably tired. She shook her head vigorously, trying to clear her senses enough to make it up the staircase. “Just need to make it to the bed,” she uttered, slurring her words wearily. The potion was quite strong and already alleviating most of the pain. Languidly, her foot landed on the last step and she headed to her room, shutting the door a little louder than usual. Soon, sounds of snoring plagued the halls as Aris g
ently fell asleep, remembering not her pain, but days of old where dragons and demons lie in wait.
When a capable witch earned the right to be titled White Matron, the resulting magic that very witch inherited, would siphon a large portion of her own life force. This, would allow the witch to be the strongest mage of her time, ensuring said mage to be able to reach their highest potential regarding power—the only way, under scrutiny of Magical law, that a Matron could come to be. It just so happened that the Westfalls were the first and only bloodline to have accomplished such a feat. Fey already showed numerous signs of being on the cusp of her true powers, all that she needed now was an extra push. Something to set her over the edge to unlock her inner capabilities.
Long ago, during the fifteenth century in Edelweiss Pines, the first White Matron, Artemis Westfall, proved to be the most selfless witch in history. Artemis’ mysterious beauty bounced her to the top of the list as a household name. Her long flowing auburn locks and absorbing grey eyes were hard to miss. She quickly rose to power without objection from the noblest of families during her time. All this made White Witch Coventry possible and formed an impressive and long-lasting movement among the magical world. One that would keep the White Witches safe from the dreadful Trials sweeping the land. It seemed that the end of days had come for all children of the night, and soon their greatest fears were realized. Their little town would soon be visited by a clergyman of the church.
The Aching Darkness_A Dark Fantasy Anthology Page 15
