The Black Witch

by Jenny McKane

  The sand whirled and swirled around her, whistling into her ears. With difficulty, she managed to wind her veil around her face, protecting her mouth, nose, and ears.

  She crouched there for what seemed like hours, as the sand tore around her. Once, she tried to open her eyes and look. Why did it look like the sand was forming a face? Fear overtook her. She could clearly see eye sockets, the shape of a nose, the opening of a mouth. It was about to devour her. She shut her eyes again, trying to picture the Goddess in her mind. Please, save us, she implored. Goddess of light, help us…

  Would it ever end?

  Eventually, the fury died down. Avalon opened her eyes slowly and unwound the veil from around her face. Sand was everywhere…on every branch of every shrub. She could see it thick as icing, clumped, on the edge of the waterhole. She stood up slowly, shaking herself. Sand fell like raindrops around her.

  Where were the others?

  “Skyresh,” she called, stumbling forward. “Everard!”

  There was no answer.

  She ran around the waterhole, searching. They could not have run far when the storm hit, and yet it seemed like they had disappeared entirely.

  She remembered the face that had appeared before her. It had opened its mouth, as if it were about to swallow her whole. She shuddered. It was probably just another of the sleight of hand magic illusions that they had all seen in the desert. She told herself that it meant nothing, but she couldn’t shake the disquiet that invaded her.

  “Skyresh! Everard!” She was running desperately, as she called.

  Slowly, she sank to the ground. Calm down, she told herself. They are probably just recovering somewhere from the storm. She took three deep breaths and gazed around slowly.

  ***

  Everard opened his eyes. Darkness was all around him.

  He had stumbled into the sand dune when the storm had hit so suddenly that he wasn’t able to move another inch. He had grabbed his sleeping roll off his back and created a tent around himself. It was not perfect, but it was all that he could think of.

  Now, he felt a great weight was pressing on top of him. Desperately, he fought through the layers of sand that had formed around him. He couldn’t breathe. There seemed to be no end to it. Just when he thought that he would stop breathing entirely, his hands broke through. He quickly pushed his head through, gasping for air.

  All was still around him. He could see the aftereffects of the storm: branches from shrubs laden with sand, large clumps of it everywhere.

  He gazed around. How far had he run from the waterhole? He couldn’t even see it.

  Suddenly, he heard movement. A desperate knocking sound. He glanced around quickly. There was a hollowed-out log about fifty meters away. It was almost entirely covered in sand.

  He could see a shoe sticking out from one end of it. It was Skyresh’s.

  He was in the log. He had obviously crawled into it for shelter when the storm had hit. Now, he was locked inside of it and desperately trying to get out.

  Everard ran towards it. He bent down and started digging. He could hear the knocking increase.

  Then, suddenly, he stopped. He sat up, staring at the sand. What if he just left him there? No one would ever be the wiser. Avalon was somewhere else, probably around the waterhole. He could stumble back there and claim that he had no idea where Skyresh was.

  She would be upset, of course. She would insist on searching for him. She might even find him, but by then, it would probably be too late. Skyresh would have suffocated from the weight of sand pressed all around him, shrouding him like a grave.

  It was a perfect opportunity. Hadn’t he wanted it to be just him and Avalon? If Skyresh were gone, he could persuade her to give up this quest. It was a suicide mission anyway. He could talk her into coming around and get her to see sense. With Skyresh around, that was not possible, but here was his chance to be rid of him once and for all.

  He hesitated. He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He had killed before, but usually for a good reason…because he was going to be killed himself if he didn’t. It was in the line of duty, or if someone was threatening him or someone he loved. He had never walked away from someone like this, knowing that they would die if he did.

  Could he do it?

  Suddenly, the decision was taken away from him. Avalon was running towards him. She stumbled against him, panting.

  “Everard,” she cried. “I didn’t know where you were!” She hugged him, tightly, then glanced around. “Where is Skyresh?”

  The knocking started again urgently. Avalon glanced down and saw the shoe.

  “Oh, by the Goddess!” she exclaimed. “He is trapped underneath all of the sand.”

  “I know,” said Everard. “I was just about to start digging.”

  “Quickly!” She started digging desperately.

  Everard bent and started digging, too. Eventually, they got to the log and dragged Skyresh out by his feet. He emerged, coughing and spluttering.

  Avalon threw her arms around him. He had to turn his face away and draw painful breaths until his breathing regulated. He collapsed on the sand, unable to get up.

  “Skyresh,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “Are you alright?”

  He nodded quickly, but he couldn’t speak. His eyes were closed, tight. Eventually, he opened them. He looked disoriented; his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Avalon whimpered in fright. “Please, please, be alright.”

  His eyes started to focus slowly. He gazed up into her face, and he smiled. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I was just starting to lose consciousness. I would be dead by now—if you hadn’t got me out.”

  She smiled back. “It wasn’t just me, Skyresh. Both Everard and I dug you out, and Everard dragged you from the log.”

  Skyresh turned and fixed Everard with his laser blue stare. He didn’t blink.

  He knows, thought Everard. His heart started to beat faster, and he had difficulty swallowing.

  He knows that I was here and that I wasn’t going to save him.

  Chapter Seven

  The wind died down. Crouching behind a shrub, it watched the three people struggle up the hill of sand. Two men and a woman. They were tired; it had been tracking them for days, and it had watched them get slower. They had run out of water again. Weariness overtook them.

  The branch moved slightly so that the three of them were framed perfectly in its vision. The woman wore a veil wound around her face, but she unwound it now, breathing deeply. Both men were tall and strong, but they were getting weaker day by day. It had watched when the wolf had come to the woman and then had been driven away by the dark-haired man. It sensed the tension this had caused between them all.

  The two men didn’t trust one another. It watched the body language between the two. It had also seen when the dark-haired man had hesitated, when the man with the bright blue eyes had been trapped beneath the wall of sand. It knew that, had not the woman come at that moment, he would have left him there.

  It watched now, as they got to the top of the hill and stood gazing out at the endless sand around them. They didn’t speak to each other. They had hardly spoken since the sand storm. It sensed the conflict in the woman; she loved both in different ways. That love was a weakness and a burden. It would betray her.

  It crouched lower, assessing the situation. Soon, they would stop for the night and make camp. They were physically weak, and their spirits were low. It would consult with its Mistress. It had a feeling that the time was right to strike. They would not put up much of a struggle, and the wolf had gone, licking its wound far in the hills. It could not defend them.

  It growled softly in its throat. It felt its blood rise in anticipation. The stalking was fun, and it had enjoyed it, but it desired an end. It longed to feel its claws spring out and sink into flesh. To draw blood. It understood why its Mistress was waiting, but it was growing impatient.

  It retreated, letting the branch drop. It could sense that its M
istress was getting closer. The Mistress had been carried by the sand and was now tracking alongside it. It would receive its orders very soon. For now, it just had to wait, as always.

  ***

  Avalon glanced at Everard, as they set up the tent for the night. He hadn’t spoken hardly at all since the sand storm. He seemed so troubled.

  Skyresh was wandering a distance away, scouring for food for the night. They were all so weary and getting weaker day by day. They consulted the map daily, and it told them that they were heading in the right direction, but it didn’t feel that they were getting any further. The desert was relentless. Skyresh often said that he felt like they were walking in circles. He was disoriented, that much was obvious. He was used to a cold landscape – the glaciers, mountains, and fjords of the Far North of Agnoria. This hot, unending desert was alien to him.

  As it was to all of them, Avalon reminded herself. They were all used to a cold climate. She remembered how she would often dream of a place such as this, in the depths of winter, when the snow was so thick on the ground that you could barely walk through it. She would dream of eternal sun, but now that she had it, she longed for snow and ice.

  “How are you feeling?” She gazed at Everard awkwardly. “I am quite sick of the desert. I have been dreaming of snow.”

  Everard looked at her. “We will not see snow again,” he said shortly, pulling at a rope.

  Avalon sighed. “Everard, you don’t know that,” she said, bending to straighten the canvas on the tent. “None of us know what is around the corner. If we succeed at our mission, we will be one step closer to overthrowing the Jarle, once and for all. And then we can all return to the realm forever.”

  Everard’s dark eyes flashed. “Your mission, you mean,” he said. “I am just tagging along, trying to protect you.”

  Avalon walked up to him and rested a hand on his arm. He stilled, looking down at it.

  “I know this is hard for you,” she whispered. “And I appreciate everything that you have done and everything that you have given up. I don’t know what to say anymore. All that I can focus on is that life will be better, for everyone, if we stay strong and do this.”

  “It won’t be better for me,” he said, slowly. “I had the life that I wanted. I fought hard for that life, Avalon. If you only knew…”

  Avalon stared at him. “Then tell me,” she whispered fiercely. “Tell me about your life and what happened.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said shortly. “The past is the past, and it needs to stay buried.”

  Avalon sighed. “The past never stays buried if you let it rule your present,” she said. “How do you think it has been for me, discovering that I was taken from my real family when I was a baby?”

  His eyes flickered. “It would be hard,” he conceded. “But you had no choice in that, Avalon. You were blameless, just a baby. There was nothing you could do to change it. Whereas with me…”

  Avalon stared at him. She thought of Mother Oda, saying that he had another name.

  “Tell me.”

  He looked at her, hesitating. It would be so good to unburden himself. The only person he had spoken to about it was Ored, and that was because he had no choice. The man had recognized him. He knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be. He knew that he had been Stromel born, masquerading as a Jarle.

  And Ored knew now that Everard had killed to become one. He had stolen his life of privilege and become a Grey Guard because of it. How would Avalon react if he told her? She was the woman he loved. He wanted to spend his life with her. How could he keep this secret from her?

  And now, he had another secret. That he had been about to leave Skyresh beneath that pile of sand to die. She would never forgive him for it.

  He frowned, staring out over the sand. He could see Skyresh in the distance, crouching at a bush, picking berries. The man knew, he was sure of it. He knew that he had been thinking about leaving him there. He had stared at Everard for a long time after he was rescued, but he had not said a word about it. In fact, he had barely said two words to him since then.

  “Don’t concern yourself,” he said, turning back to Avalon. He secured the last bit of rope and stood up. “There. That should be strong enough. I might go and forage for some food, as well.”

  Avalon stared at him. He would not speak to her about what tormented him, but it was eating him up, she could tell. The secret was like a poison. If only he realized that it didn’t have to be that way.

  “As you wish,” she sighed. He gazed at her a moment longer then walked slowly away.

  ***

  The sun had set, and they were resting. Skyresh was on first watch of the night.

  Avalon’s stomach growled. They had eaten the berries they had managed to forage, but it wasn’t enough. The food that Mother Oda had given them was long gone. How were they going to make it across the desert on so little? Every day they struggled to walk the distance that they had planned for the day. Avalon was so thirsty, it seemed that she could think of little else, as well.

  She watched Everard. He was lying back in his sleeping roll, staring at the sky. Even though the sun had barely set, she felt her eyelids drooping. She could sleep right now. She had never felt weaker in her life, not even when she had been at the camp…

  Suddenly, they heard it. An ominous growl. Avalon’s eyes flew open.

  Everard sprang up, his eyes wide. He lunged for his sword.

  Avalon turned around quickly. A creature was crouching only a meter away from them. Her eyes widened in fear as she stared at it. It was covered in a shiny pelt of vertical brown and orange stripes. Avalon could see that its claws were bared, but her fear at seeing this was nothing compared to her terror as she gazed at its face.

  It roared, opening its mouth so wide she could see its huge teeth. A mane of orange fur surrounded its face. Saliva dripped from two long fangs.

  “Don’t move,” whispered Everard.

  Avalon didn’t think that she could have moved even if she wanted to. She was frozen by fear to the spot, as if the creature had mesmerized her. Then her instincts kicked in. Slowly, she reached for her dagger. If the creature pounced on her, she could at least stab it.

  It was on her before she even realized. The weight of it crushed her to the ground. Desperately, she grabbed her dagger, plunging it deeply into the side of the creature. It roared in pain. It fixed its mouth on her shoulder, biting deeply. Avalon screamed as white light flashed before her eyes…

  Then, suddenly, it was off her. It fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. Panting heavily, she could see both Everard and Skyresh standing over it. Everard’s sword was still in the creature’s neck. Skyresh raised his own high, and then he plunged it into the heart of the creature.

  It stilled, then went limp. Bright red blood flowed onto the ground.

  Skyresh rushed to her. “Avalon,” he whispered urgently. “Speak to me.”

  She was drifting in and out of consciousness. The pain in her shoulder was so intense; she could feel it throbbing unmercifully. She just wanted to close her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered. Just for a little while…

  She opened her eyes slowly. Where was she? She squinted, staring around. She was in a large, unfamiliar tent. Bright sunlight streamed through the opening, and then she remembered the creature pouncing on her. It had bitten her, badly. She slowly raised her hand, touching her shoulder. She winced, as pain tore through it. She sat up. Where was everybody?

  “You must rest.” The voice came from her left side.

  She turned around. A man stood there. He was old, with long grey hair, and a grey beard. He wore a white cheesecloth robe. He squatted down, staring into her face.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, backing away. “Where are my companions?”

  The old man smiled. “Your companions are safe. They are eating at the moment.” He paused. “You were hurt badly. I have tended your wound, and it seems to be healing well.”

&nbs
p; Avalon stared at him, and then she looked down at her shoulder. It was bandaged perfectly.

  “I ask again,” she said slowly. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Aysus,” the old man replied. His face was so covered in wrinkles, she could barely see his twinkling eyes amongst them. “Please, do not be afraid. My companions and I are travelling through the Outer Limits towards Agnoria. We came upon your camp after your attack.”

  “Why are you travelling through the Outlying Zone?” she frowned, staring at him.

  “We are a band of travelling performers,” he said slowly. “We were hired to perform for the Jarle at a feast in the Interior, but now we are returning home. I am a Storyteller.”

  Avalon kept staring at him. “A Storyteller? You perform Essential History?” In the realm of Agnoria, there were often performances of what the Jarle called Essential History by groups of actors.

  The old man nodded. “Yes. We are skilled in what they require.” He laughed, wryly. “It is only one of the plays that we perform. We have others, which are reserved for the Stromel – old stories and legends, but the Jarle do not authorize that, of course.”

  “So,” said Avalon slowly. “You work for the Jarle.”

  The old man stared at her but nodded. “The Jarle pay well,” he said. “It means that we can fund our own performances for the people. We keep the old stories alive for them. It seems a small price to pay so that we can have the freedom to do this.”

  Avalon kept staring at him. His face looked familiar somehow. Had she met him somewhere else? Just as she was about to ask him, the curtain to the tent parted, and Skyresh walked in. When he saw that she was awake, he rushed to her side.

  “Avalon.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You are awake. I thought that you were going to die.”

  She smiled slowly. “Skyresh. It is so good to see you.” Tears filled her eyes. “What happened? How are we here?”