The Black Witch

by Laurie Forest

I run to it, a cry tearing from my throat. I stomp at the flames and burn my fingers as I grab at the last remaining scrap, feeling faint when the piece falls apart in my hand.

  She’s destroyed it.

  I fall to my knees in front of the smoking ashes of my only remaining link to my mother and sob.

  * * *

  “I want her gone.”

  Lukas turns from where he stands watching a long row of military apprentices shoot arrows through the cool, damp air toward circular targets. Twilight is descending, torches being lit around the range. Lukas does a double take when he sees my expression.

  “Who?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

  “Ariel.”

  He searches my face for a long moment, then takes my arm and leads me away from the archery range. “What happened?” he asks.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, my voice unforgiving. “I just want her gone. I don’t care what you have to do.”

  I expect him to tell me to fight my own battles. At that moment I’m ready to hate him forever if he does. But instead, his expression turns calculating.

  “The only way to get her out is to get her to attack you,” he cautions.

  “I don’t care.”

  He draws a deep breath and motions toward a nearby bench. “Well, then,” he says, a dark smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Sit down. Tell me everything you know about Ariel Haven.”

  I’m bolstered after a long talk with Lukas, sure he’ll find a way to help me get Ariel kicked out of University and sent far away from me. But almost as soon as I’m alone again, I think of my destroyed quilt and quickly descend back into misery.

  I go to my kitchen labor in a fog of despair, distracted and unable to focus even on the simple task Fernyllia Hawthorne gives me of stirring a pot of gravy, unable to hold back the tears as I stand beside the large cast-iron stove.

  Iris and Bleddyn find it hard to hide their pleasure at seeing me so beaten down, the two of them shooting each other smiles full of dark satisfaction.

  “Oh, the Roach is sad,” Bleddyn mockingly remarks to Iris in a low voice, the two of them increasingly bold, as if testing the waters.

  “Awww.” Iris glances sidelong at Bleddyn, her face screwed up in a mimicry of sympathy, as she plucks hot biscuits off large trays and arranges them in a series of wide baskets.

  Bleddyn brings her cleaver down harder than necessary onto the cooked chicken carcass she’s dismembering. I jump at the sound, and the huge Urisk girl smirks, her eyes narrowed caustically at me.

  Iris spits out a laugh.

  Yvan comes into the kitchen carrying a load of wood. He pauses in annoyed surprise when he catches sight of me, green eyes piercing. “Why are you crying?” he asks harshly.

  “My quilt,” I choke out as I watch my tears plop down into the gravy. “It’s been destroyed.” I have no idea why I’ve bothered to confess this to him—it’s not as if he truly cares about why I’m upset.

  His face screws up with disgust. “You’re crying over a blanket?”

  “Yes!” I sob, hating him, hating Iris and Bleddyn, hating all of them.

  “It must be nice to be Gardnerian,” Yvan sneers as he smacks down the stove’s iron lever and throws in some logs. “It must be nice to live such a charmed life that the loss of a quilt constitutes a major tragedy.”

  “That’s us,” I counter, my voice stuffy. “We Gardnerians live such charmed lives.”

  His lips curl up into an obnoxious sneer. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

  “Leave me alone, Kelt!” I snarl.

  Iris’s eyes flit toward Yvan with a knowing look that he briefly returns.

  “Gladly,” Yvan replies, glaring at me. He loads more wood into the cookstove and slams the iron door shut.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kindred

  That evening I trudge back to the North Tower, lugging books and notes. A rancid, churning hatred fuels my every step. I picture hurling Ariel across the room, ripping at those foul wings of hers.

  My hands balled into tight fists, I storm up the tower’s spiraling staircase, enter the hall and freeze.

  Ariel is lying passed out on the floor, her wings limp behind her. Wynter is cradling her, frantically murmuring in Elvish. She looks up at me, wide-eyed and horrified.

  Ariel’s chicken is dead.

  Lukas found it somehow.

  It hangs from the door, two stakes driven through its breast, its head dangling. Its severed wings are staked on either side of the animal’s body. Blood streaks down the door and pools on the floor below.

  “Oh, no,” I breathe. “Oh, Ancient One.”

  “She passed out,” Wynter tells me, her heavily accented voice strange to my ears. “It was too much to bear. The winged...it was a kindred.”

  I’m reeling in confusion. “A kindred?”

  “The wingeds. We can speak to them. With our minds.” Silent tears begin to streak down Wynter’s pale face. “Ariel loved this one,” she says, crying now. “Elloren Gardner...why did you do this?”

  My throat goes dry. “I...I never meant for this to happen.”

  “This could break her. Make her turn.”

  My head is spinning. “Make her turn?”

  Ariel suddenly convulses in Wynter’s arms, her body writhing, her face contorted with misery. Then Ariel’s eyes fly open, and she swivels to face me. She recoils at the sight of me at first, but quickly recovers, her eyes taking on a frightening glow. She slowly pushes herself away from Wynter, her gaze fixed tight on mine as Wynter frantically murmurs to her in Elvish.

  Wings slowly unfurling, Ariel rises.

  My heart pounds as I back away.

  “I. Will. Kill. You!” She pushes Wynter aside and leaps at me.

  My world descends into chaos as Ariel slams me to the ground. Her fists, her nails, her kicking feet are everywhere all at once, punching me, scratching me, beating me as I frantically try to fight her off. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as fear courses through my system. Wynter frantically yells something at Ariel as she tries, unsuccessfully, to pry Ariel off me. But Ariel is strong and scrappy. My flailing, grasping arms are only able to slightly lessen her blows, not stop even one of them.

  And then, as she kneels on top of me, my hands tight around her wrists, Ariel abruptly weakens. Her lips curl back into a terrifying hiss as her green eyes mist over like frost forming on water, until they’re nothing but opaque windows into nothing. Her eyes flash back to green, then white, back and forth as I watch, horrified.

  And then Wynter’s arms are around Ariel, struggling to haul her backward, dragging her across the cold stone floor, away from me. Ariel’s body stiffens and her eyes roll back into her head. She seems to be unconscious again, lost in some private hell. As Wynter pulls her past the door, Ariel’s eyes snap open.

  “Get her down!” she screams as her butchered kindred comes into view. She wrenches herself away from Wynter and hurls herself at the door. She slides to her knees, her hands clawing at the trails of blood streaking the wood.

  “My sweet one!” she shrieks. “What have they done to you?”

  Wynter moves toward me, her eyes wide. “You should leave, Elloren Gardner.”

  I teeter from side to side as I rise, dizzy from so many blows to the head. Wynter reaches out to steady me.

  The minute her hand makes contact with my arm, Wynter’s mouth flies open, her eyes roll back in her head and she falls backward onto the floor, grasping at her hand as if it’s been burned.

  “What’s the matter?” I cry.

  “When I touch people...” Her thin voice trails off, her eyes fixed on me with an expression of sheer terror.

  I gasp. “You’re an Empath, aren’t you?” I remember the Icaral in Valgard, t
he one who could read people’s minds just by touching them.

  So that’s why Wynter’s brother was so angered when Rafe touched her.

  She nods slowly, her expression one of awful shock.

  Why is she so scared of me? What did she see?

  Wynter’s horrified daze is broken by the sound of Ariel screaming. “You need to leave,” she pleads as she forces herself up.

  I find my bearings and flee.

  I stumble blindly down the staircase, my heart beating wildly. I steady myself against the wall, legs quivering, my vision blurry. I slide down the cold stone to the floor, dazed. I can feel my eye beginning to swell where Ariel repeatedly punched me. I reach up to touch the wound. When I lower my hand, there’s blood all over it.

  This is my chance. The one I asked Lukas for.

  If I go to the High Chancellor’s office now, Ariel will be removed from the University, sent back to the Valgard asylum and stripped of her wings. People will thank me for getting rid of her, and the North Tower will become a much more pleasant place to live.

  I’m distracted from this train of thought by the soft rustling of wings and give a start when I look up.

  A Watcher.

  On the sill of the arching window.

  It’s like falling into a crystal clear pool, staring into the serene, sad eyes of the Watcher. Memories come rushing in, visions of things I’ve tried to ignore.

  Ariel singing to her kindred at night, petting it lovingly. Ariel being laughed at and ridiculed wherever she goes. People everywhere turning their heads away, refusing to look at her.

  In a month’s time, unlike me and even unlike Wynter, Ariel has never received a letter or a visit from a family member, never heard a kind word from anyone save Wynter and Professor Kristian.

  She’s an Evil One, a voice inside me insists shrilly. There is nothing good in her.

  But the way she cared for her bird, the bird that’s now dead and staked to the door. She was so tender with it; so loving.

  The question forces itself to the surface, even as I struggle to keep it down.

  Is she really completely evil?

  I realize I don’t know the answer, and staring into the sad, soulful eyes of the Watcher, it suddenly seems vitally important to find that answer before sealing Ariel’s fate.

  * * *

  “How could you torture her pet like that?”

  I find Lukas in the dining hall supping with some other Gardnerian soldiers. I try to ignore the gasps and shocked murmuring of the soldiers and other scholars as they take in my battered appearance. The murmuring grows as kitchen laborers begin to notice me, as professors look up from their long table by the windows to see what all the commotion is about.

  A slow grin forms on Lukas’s face as he gets up and looks me up and down. “Worked, didn’t it?”

  “It was cruel!”

  I can see by his expression that he’s thrown by my reaction. He takes my arm and roughly pulls me off to the side.

  “You asked for my help,” he reminds me.

  I jerk my arm away from him. “It was too much!”

  He leans in close. “You told me you wanted her out,” he says. “Now look at you. Here’s your chance. Go to the professor of your choice. Tell them who attacked you. Get her out. No one here will miss her.”

  I don’t even need to seek out a professor. To my dismay, a number of them have already risen from where they’re sitting and are making their way toward us, Vice Chancellor Quillen among them.

  “Holy Ancient One!” Priest Simitri exclaims, his black robes flapping behind him. “Elloren...who did this to you?”

  I glance around wildly. Yvan, Fernyllia, Iris, Bleddyn and several other kitchen laborers have streamed out of the kitchen to gawk at the beat-up Gardnerian.

  “Who attacked you, Mage Gardner?” Vice Chancellor Quillen asks.

  I look into her unflinching green eyes and bite at the inside of my cheek to steady myself, feeling as if the room is closing in on me. Everyone grows silent as they wait for my answer. I have to say something. Anything, before Lukas does.

  “I tripped.”

  Priest Simitri’s face screws up in confusion. “You...tripped?”

  I nod. “Down the North Tower’s staircase. I’m terribly clumsy. I even tripped here my first day.” I motion toward the kitchen staff and narrow my eyes in their direction. “Ask them.”

  Yvan’s eyes fly open with surprise. Iris and Bleddyn both gape at me in confusion.

  “You need a healer.” Priest Simitri steps forward to gently take my arm. “I’ll bring you there.”

  As the priest leads me away, I turn to face Lukas.

  Something irretrievable has broken between us. It was too much, what he did. I don’t think I can ever forgive him.

  As if reading my thoughts, Lukas shoots me a look of disgust and strides off.

  * * *

  Late that evening I’m out by the chicken shed, fumbling in the darkness to find the latch on one of the cages, a burlap sack in hand. Even after a healer’s care, my left eye is still slightly swollen, and it throbs along with my head.

  “What are you doing?”

  Yvan’s stern voice makes me jump. I can just make out the silhouette of his tall, lanky form, a large scrap bucket in each of his hands.

  “I’m stealing a chicken,” I snap, my heart thumping against my chest. “For Ariel.”

  “The Icaral,” he says flatly, disbelieving.

  “She can speak to them with her mind.”

  His black shape stands there for a long minute, and I can begin to make out those intense green eyes of his.

  “Are you going to turn me in for theft, or are you going to leave me alone?” I demand in challenge. “Because I’d really like you to choose one or the other.”

  His brow goes tight as if deeply troubled, and he opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again in a tight, uncertain line.

  My bravado collapses in on itself.

  “I made a mistake,” I tell him, my voice breaking. My anger is gone, only raw shame remaining, leaving me suddenly unguarded. “I was wrong. I never meant...”

  I stop, afraid I’ll burst into tears. My face tensed tight, I look away.

  When I turn back to him, his eyes have gone wide, unguarded as well, and I feel a warm rush of shock, so strong is this brief sense of inexplicable kinship.

  Yvan tenses and shakes his head as if to ward me off. But he stares at me for a moment longer, conflict raging in his eyes, before abruptly turning and stalking away.

  When I return to the North Tower, Wynter is sitting on Ariel’s bed, murmuring to her and gently stroking her head. Ariel lies there limply, her back to me.

  The dead kindred is gone, but the blood stains on the door remain as dark reminders of what happened.

  I release the chicken from the burlap sack. The animal immediately makes its way over to Wynter and Ariel and flies up to roost against Ariel’s side.

  Wynter views the bird with surprise. She looks up at me, her face softening.

  I sit down on my bed, chastened by guilt. “I never meant for this to happen.”

  “I know,” Wynter says, her expression pained. She sighs and looks down at Ariel. “It is my curse to know.” She turns to face me once more. “This is not all on your shoulders, Elloren Gardner. This is but one terrible cruelty in an endless string of terrible cruelties stretched out over all her years.” She goes back to stroking Ariel’s hair. “Her mother had her committed to the Valgard asylum when she was but a young child. She was so horrified that she had given birth to one of the Deargdul...an ‘Icaral,’ as you call us. The asylum kept Ariel in a cage. She was two years old.”

  I swallow hard, my throat going dry. The desire to avert my eyes is
gone. I need to see this for what it is.

  “It there anything I can do?” I ask hoarsely.

  Wynter looks back down at Ariel and mournfully shakes her head from side to side.

  And so I do the only thing I can do.

  I sit in silence as Wynter sings to Ariel in High Elvish, standing vigil with her, the room softly lit by a single, guttering lamp, a Watcher briefly appearing on the rafter above.

  We remain by Ariel’s side all through the night, waiting for her to come back to herself. Wynter sings, and I silently pray. And we wait.

  Until a few hours before dawn, when Ariel’s green eyes finally flicker open, dazed, but whole once more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Poetry

  I’m more aware of the changing season this year than in years past. My breath now puffs out in small clouds as I scurry over the fields from the North Tower to the University grounds, knuckles smarting from the icy air.

  Perhaps it’s the furious pace of production in our apothecary lab—autumn is prime time for apothecaries. The Black Cough, lung fever, chilblains, suffocative catarrh, the Red Grippe—they all creep in with the cold, reveling in the stale air of crowded, stuffy rooms with windows shut tight.

  In Metallurgie, the Snake Elf forces me to work at a breakneck speed, allowing me scant time and inconvenient hours to prepare metal powders for chelation agents in medicines, grading my papers (barely passing) with a stern hand. The dislike for all of the Gardnerians in his class is subtle, but quite evident in his star eyes—and his dislike for me is the most intense of all. Only Curran’s small kindnesses—sliding notes toward me, quietly sharing lab results—make the class semibearable. Especially with Fallon’s continuous, low-grade bullying.

  Mathematics and Chemistrie are also demanding, although Professor Volya is uniformly fair. Only Professor Simitri remains magnanimous and forgiving in his approach, my classmates in his lectures reserved, but blessedly cordial.

  And regular letters continue to come from Aunt Vyvian, describing how easy, luxurious and happy my life at University could be if I would just agree to wandfast to Lukas. My cloak pulled tight in my constantly chilled lodging, I take each letter and throw it into our messy fireplace, taking advantage of the fire’s brief flare to warm my hands.