The Black Witch

by Laurie Forest

I lean back against the tree trunk behind me, my hands finding the cool bark. I close my eyes, breathe in deep and let the wood of the tree relax me.

  Mmm. Rock Maple.

  The wilds rattle me, but lone stands of trees, cut off from the forest, soothe me, rounding out my sharp edges like calming waters.

  When I open my eyes, Lukas is watching me closely, his head cocked with curiosity, his hand also on the tree, his fingers languidly rubbing at the bark.

  “Can you feel it?” he asks. “The roots?”

  I swallow. These odd leanings of mine—I’m not supposed to speak of them. But clearly, Lukas feels them, too. “They run deep,” I hesitantly answer.

  He smiles at me. “Mmm.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, rubbing at the bark, the tree strong at my back. “You’ve...you’ve been a good friend to me.”

  He looks me over boldly, then smirks. “Yes, well. I have ulterior motives.”

  I roll my eyes at this and sigh. He lets out a short laugh, and I can’t help but smile.

  But a lingering unease tugs at me.

  “Lukas?” I hesitantly ask.

  Lukas leans into the tree’s strong trunk, his sword’s hilt reflecting some nearby lamplight.

  “Hmm?” He looks down at me, his face unreadable, a faint shimmer to his skin in this dark.

  “Was it...was it necessary to threaten the child?”

  He narrows his eyes. “I just did them a favor, Elloren.” He gives a quick look around to check if we’re mostly alone, then, seeing that we are, he turns back to me, his voice going low. “The child’s here illegally. They need to do a better job of hiding her.”

  “Oh,” I say, chastened. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  But what about when he threatened Iris’s family and Bleddyn’s sick mother? He certainly wasn’t doing anyone any favors there.

  “Elloren, you have to choose what side you’re on,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s always been that way. It will always be that way. Dominate, or be dominated. Those are your choices. You saw what happened to you when everyone thought you wouldn’t fight back, that you couldn’t fight back. How much compassion did they show you?”

  He’s right. Of course he’s right. But I just can’t shake the image of little Fern crying.

  “She was just so scared of being sent back to the Fae Islands.”

  They’ve been part of Gardneria since the Realm Wars. We let the Urisk settle there and provide them with homes and work to do. So why was little Fern so scared?

  Shame tugs at me over the part I played in her terror. Yvan’s sharp, accusatory glare flashes to mind.

  Unsettled, I wrap my arms around myself for warmth, the chill of encroaching autumn creeping into the air.

  Lukas eyes me thoughtfully. “The Fae Islands are a work colony, Elloren. And the Urisk are expected to work. Quite hard. But you need to keep things in perspective. The Urisk women are better off now than they were when their own men were in charge, or when the Sidhe Fae ruled them, for that matter.”

  “Still, it seems as if they must be treated...harshly.”

  Lukas looks slightly irritated by my observation. “And how did the Urisk or the Fae or the Kelts treat us when they were the major power in the region?”

  I already know the answer to that. Worse. They treated us much worse.

  The Fae subdued the Urisk, and later, the Kelts subdued the Fae in what seemed like an endless cycle of warfare and violence. And throughout it all, my people were oppressed and abused by all three.

  Until recent history.

  “Maybe you or I wouldn’t want to work in the Fae Islands’ labor camps,” Lukas goes on, “but believe me, it’s a step up for them.”

  “I guess I don’t know enough to make sense of it all,” I admit.

  I have so much to learn about these different cultures. About how the world works.

  “You’ll learn,” he assures me. “In time.” He glances around at the gathering darkness. “It’s getting late.” He turns back to me. “And you need to confront some Icarals.”

  My stomach clenches at the thought of yet more confrontation. “Lukas?” I ask tentatively, looking up at him.

  He raises a brow questioningly.

  “Are you still relieved that you don’t need to wandfast to me?”

  An easy grin spreads over his handsome face. He gives me a once-over. “No, I am not relieved,” he says smoothly. “Now that you’re no longer covered in dirt, I think it’s quite a pity we’re not wandfasted.”

  I swallow, my face warming at his close proximity. My eyes dart down his chest to the sleek wand fastened at his waist. I remember Fallon’s ball of ice. “Show me something,” I say, gesturing toward his wand. “Show me some of your magic.”

  His smile is slow as his eyes flick over me. He pulls the wand into his hand in one smooth motion. Holding it loosely, he steps back and points it at me, murmurs words in the Ancient Tongue, then takes a deep breath and straightens up, as if pulling power up from his feet.

  Translucent black lines curl out from the wand tip, fluidly making their way toward me.

  I gasp as they flow and curl around my body. At first I feel a gentle pressure from them, tickling at my skin, teasing.

  And then they tighten.

  It’s impossible to resist as the swirling lines pull at my waist, my arms, my legs. I find it both exciting and disconcerting to be so much in his power. My feet skid over the grassy ground as he pulls me closer, until I’m right before him. Once there, he flicks his wrist, and the black lines dissolve as he languidly wraps his arms around me.

  “That’s amazing,” I breathe, in awe of him.

  Lukas smiles and brings his lips to mine.

  * * *

  It’s late when Lukas finally walks me the rest of the way to the North Tower.

  I watch him as he leaves, striding down the sloping field toward the University city’s twinkling lights, his cloak flapping behind him like dark wings.

  I reach up to absentmindedly touch my mouth, my lips still warm and swollen from his fevered kisses. But my feelings of bliss begin to evaporate like smoke as I watch him disappear from view.

  Darkly resolved, I take a deep breath, turn and make my way into the tower.

  * * *

  When I enter my room, it’s dark and they’re there, waiting for me. I can see Ariel’s outline, crouched below the window as she was the night before. Wynter huddles on her bed, appearing as if she wants to be anywhere but where she is, silver eyes peeking out over her wings, wide with fear.

  I hesitate, Wynter’s terror giving me momentary pause.

  Stop it, I tell myself. These aren’t Urisk children. These are Icaral demons.

  I ignore Ariel and walk over to the lamp on one of the desks, lighting it quickly with Bornial flint, the Elvish stones sparking to a small flame when tapped together.

  An eerie, reddish glow soon covers the room, making Ariel look even more demonic. She creeps toward me slowly, perhaps expecting the same reaction she got out of me last night. I turn to face her, my hand flat on the desk, eyeing her calmly, trying to control the anger welling up within me and the trembling of my hands.

  “It would be a shame if the Gardnerian girl caught fire while she was sleeping,” Ariel whispers as she straightens up, unfurling her tattered black wings. She takes another threatening step toward me. “Burning is so painful. I wonder how long she would scream. How long it would take a Gardnerian to die...”

  Something snaps within me as Ariel unexpectedly lunges forward. I push her away from me so hard, she falls onto the floor.

  It’s a shock to see her there. I’ve never pushed anyone over in my entire life, and my own violence frightens me for a moment.

  Ariel hisses up at me, her ey
es in tight, evil slits.

  “Leave me alone!” I warn, bumping against a bedpost as I back away. “If you so much as come near me, I will go straight to the Mage Council. They will throw you back in the sanitorium, where you belong, and cut off those foul wings of yours. You’ll spend the rest of your life rotting in an empty cell, going even crazier than you already are!”

  “Then do it, Gardnerian!” she snarls with as much venom as she can muster. “It would be well worth hearing you scream!”

  “I’ll also go to the Elves!” I cry, pointing at Wynter. “I’ll tell them that Wynter Eirllyn attacked me, as well!”

  “Wynter won’t be the one to attack you!” Ariel screams as Wynter lets out a small cry and cowers on her bed. “I will!”

  “They won’t know that!” I threaten. “Just like that Kelt professor believed you, they’ll believe every word I say.”

  As my words register, her attempt to look frightening collapses in on itself, morphing into one of sheer horror, her wings falling to hang limply behind her.

  She’s afraid of me. Just as Lukas said she’d be.

  “I need a bed,” I demand, nervously seizing on my advantage, pointing to the bed behind me. Ariel scuttles over to it and hurriedly retrieves her things, taking out her aggression on her belongings, throwing them viciously on the bed next to Wynter’s, muttering to herself darkly the whole time.

  She turns to glower at me. “You can keep me from hurting you, Gardnerian,” she vows, “but you can’t keep me from hating you!”

  “The feeling’s mutual!” I snipe back.

  I strip the bed of Ariel’s sheets, disgusted by the idea of sleeping on anything that’s touched an Icaral’s skin, and toss them forcefully in her direction. Then I retrieve my things from the downstairs closet and set them by my new bed. I fish out my pen set and some rolled-up parchment, then plop down at my desk and set my writing implements out before me.

  I don’t feel powerful, even though Lukas says I am. I feel small and scared and intimidated. And I can feel the Icaral demons watching me.

  My eyes stinging hot with tears, I begin to write.

  Dear Aunt Vyvian,

  Please let me move to different lodging. I know you’re trying to do what you feel is best for me, and I’m thankful for your good intentions, but the Icarals are frightening and dangerous—more than I think you could have ever imagined.

  I agree to be courted by Lukas Grey with the intention of fasting to him. I never closed the door to that possibility. I know that is not exactly what you want, but please, Aunt Vyvian, please don’t leave me here with these horrible creatures. I beg of you.

  Your Faithful Niece,

  Elloren

  I dry the ink, fold the parchment and seal it with wax, then snuff out the lamp.

  * * *

  That night, after I cry myself to sleep, I dream that I’m far away from the North Tower. In my dream, I’m strong and fierce and feared by everyone around me.

  My name is Mage Carnissa Gardner.

  I’m locking a large metal cage in the bottom of a dark dungeon, a ring of black keys heavy in my hand. The only light comes from some dim Elfin lumenstone hanging on the walls at intervals, casting a swampy, greenish glow over the scene.

  In the cage are Icarals: Ariel, Wynter and the Icarals from Valgard. Iris from the kitchen is there, too, and Bleddyn Arterra.

  I hear a sharp snap as the internal metal hooks engage each other. I’m just about to turn away, relieved they’re all safely locked up in prison, when I hear a child cry. I squint at the far corner of the cage. Little Fern and the Valgard Selkie are cowering on the floor. The Selkie looks up at me, her ocean eyes full of sadness.

  I motion for her to approach and put the key back in the lock. “You two can come out,” I tell them, fiddling with the key, having a hard time with it.

  The Selkie doesn’t move. She remains there on the ground, her arms around the sobbing child. “It’s too late,” she says mournfully, “you’ve already locked it.”

  I break out in a cold sweat, the other creatures in the cage having disappeared, only the Selkie and Urisk child remaining. “It can’t be too late,” I insist, straining with the key.

  But the lock won’t give.

  It’s a mistake. It’s all a mistake. I hear a noise behind me and turn.

  A Watcher, perched on an outcropping of stone, white wings glowing in the green light. Its avian eyes full of sorrow.

  I turn back to the Selkie and the child. “It’s not too late,” I insist. “I’m going to get you out.”

  For the rest of the night I struggle with the lock, but try as I may, it refuses to give.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Gardnerian

  I’m awakened the next morning by a knock at the door.

  I jolt awake, fear washing over me. Heart thudding, I look around, wildly disoriented. I recoil at the sight of Ariel splayed out on her bed and Wynter curled up in a tight ball, completely buried under her stained bed covering.

  “Elloren?”

  When I hear Rafe’s voice through the door, it’s as if the entire world has suddenly righted itself. I spring out of bed, burst out into the hallway and throw my arms around my brother.

  Rafe chuckles as he staggers backward. He quickly finds his footing and hugs me tightly. “You sure know how to shake things up, don’t you, Ren?” he observes, grinning widely.

  I laugh and cry at the same time, overjoyed to be with family again. Suddenly, nothing seems as bad.

  His grin fades as he takes in my bruised face. He reaches up to lightly touch my cheek. “Have you seen a healer for this?”

  I shake my head against his hand. “I’m okay. It’s better than it was.” I search past him, down the narrow hall. “Where’s Trystan? And Gareth?”

  “Downstairs,” he says. “Aislinn and Echo are with them.”

  “They’ve put me in with Icarals,” I tell him in a low, cautioning voice. I gesture toward the door behind me.

  He nods grimly. “Aislinn and Echo told us everything.”

  I wipe at my tears and smile shakily. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Go get dressed,” Rafe urges with an affectionate squeeze to my arm. “You look drawn. We should get some food into you.”

  * * *

  The bleak, gray room is startling in the daylight. It’s filthy and smells foul, like the Icarals in Valgard—sour and rotting. And the Icaral demons are awake.

  Ariel is now crouching in a corner, still as a gargoyle, watching me carefully through slitted eyes. Wynter’s perched on the sill of the large, circular window, her thin, black wings tight around her, only the top of her head poking through like some oversize turtle.

  They look rattled and beaten down.

  They’ve been living barely a step above animals. The fireplace is a mess, with ashes spilling out onto the floor. Torn black clothing, books and other ratty belongings are strewn about the room. White bird droppings litter the floor, prompting me to glance upward, squinting at the ceiling and the supporting rafters for signs of avian life, but I can’t make anything out.

  The bed I’ve claimed is pressed against the left wall, near the entrance to a small washroom and privy. Ariel’s and Wynter’s beds lay haphazardly against the opposite wall, bracketing the fireplace. The furniture is a motley mix of old, beat-up pieces. There’s no rug on the floor, and no tapestries on the walls to stave off autumn’s encroaching cold. Throughout the night, I had to wrap myself in both my woolen winter cloak and my mother’s quilt to stay even marginally warm.

  It’s almost like living in a cave in the woods.

  I’m guessing that this old archery post was a convenient place to house the Icarals away from the other scholars, especially the Gardnerians, who view meeting the gaze o
f a winged one to be spiritually polluting.

  Apparently, my aunt doesn’t care how spiritually polluted I become, as long as I buckle and wandfast to Lukas Grey.

  I search through my travel trunk and pull out some of the fine Gardnerian attire my aunt purchased for me—a shiny onyx silk tunic and long skirt. The resentment I feel toward my aunt does not overshadow the fact that, in one day, I’ve been forced to learn where my loyalties must lie. I need to be strong and look strong. I’ve seen firsthand what the Urisk, the Icarals and the Kelts are really like. They consider me an enemy, and I need allies against them—Gardnerian allies. And I need to look powerfully Gardnerian.

  Lukas’s words hang in my mind. Dominate, or be dominated.

  I wash up quickly, dress in the small washroom, comb my hair and make up my face. I glance at my reflection in the scratched mirror before me. Although my face is bruised and dark half-moons anchor my eyes, I’m regal in the elegant clothing.

  Just like my grandmother.

  I pause in the bedroom, gathering up my books and papers and stuffing them into my book bag. I eye the two Icarals warily as I do so, feeling the weight of Ariel’s hostile stare pressing against me. Her gaze shifts to my violin case, and I narrow my eyes at her in suspicion.

  I made that violin with my own two hands—there’s no way I’m leaving it here with Ariel. I grab the handle of the case, deciding to store it somewhere else for now, and make a hasty exit from the repulsive living quarters and my even more repulsive roommates.

  * * *

  Waiting for me and Rafe outside the door are Trystan, Gareth, Echo and Aislinn. I’ve gone from being completely on my own to having a supportive crowd around me.

  It’s a vast improvement.

  Cool dew coats the fields, reflecting the morning sun like millions of tiny mirrors, giving the long grass a silvery sheen. The silver in Gareth’s hair glints along with the dew as he leans into Trystan for support, his right leg splinted and bandaged.

  I rush to Trystan, who’s decked out in his gray military tunic, five silver stripes on his sleeve. Trystan gives me a one-armed hug. “Are you okay, Ren?” he asks, quietly searching my eyes.