by A. K. Koonce
Inside the mouth of the cave is the bleak eclipse of the unknown. As we near, the spiders multiply, creating a sense of static as they crawl up and over, around and under every crevice or pointing rock.
“Inside, you will not be able to see anything. Keep your hands out in front of you as you walk. We will hit a . . . wall. Hold your breath and walk through it. I won't let you go.” He reassures me, giving my hand another squeeze.
Together, we creep under the height of the entrance. Long strings I quickly realize are low hanging spiders dangle overhead, like ornaments adorning the ceiling. They shift and shape into odd bubbles of living breathing shadows as the last of the moonlight disappears from view.
Only blackness remains now.
A soft rain I’m trying hard not to register as spiders drips from the cavern’s dome. They touch down against my skin and begin scaling my body. Tiny legs crawling up over the hairs standing up on my arms, burrowing under the fabric of my pants and shirt.
Each muscle becomes rigid as I fight the urge to swat them away. It starts as a tickle as their bodies clamber over my skin. The tickle quickly becomes an itch I can’t move enough to scratch. Spiders creep over every part of me and squirm under my clothing until all I can feel is the overwhelming static from their movement across every plane of my being.
If I didn’t like spiders before, I fucking hate them now.
Slight hairy legs high-step over my lips. I press them together tightly, refusing to allow one bug inside my mouth. It prods me, caressing along my nose as if it’s in love with the idea of suffocating me. All it would take is one big inhale, and the devil would be living in my sinus cavity.
With as much discipline as I’m capable of, I exhale roughly with the air readily available in my lungs. I feel the spider wave in the wind like a flag on its pole, holding on with its hind legs just to weather the storm and cozy against my cupid's bow.
A rough growl builds and rumbles through my chest as I continue forward in frustration. Damn this witch. Damn these tiny little spiders, Damn. Damn. Damn.
Miranda squeezes my hand and before his grip lessens my outstretched arm is swallowed in a wall of writhing, living arachnids and webs. I want to scream in disgust. My mouth is an almost nonexistent line, my breath stalled, as I refuse to let the creatures inside my body.
Faster, Miranda tugs me through the wall. Spiders swarm over my arms and chest, then up over my face in one drowning wave. The worst part is feeling so much movement that I’m not entirely certain if it’s thousands of bugs or one incredibly huge one wrapping itself like a mask over my features. I don’t fucking want to know. Each step forward, my hair clings to the webs behind me, lifting up off my neck and allowing more space for the spiders to find home.
Warmth hits my cheeks. Heated and muggy, a fresh wind of sea-salt breeze begins to wash away the feeling of insects on my skin. I blink my eyes open as the weight of their thin bodies disappear from my eyelashes.
In a black cloud, the spiders swarm back to the wall behind us and into the cave we just emerged from. They leave me and Miranda standing on slick stones under the light of whatever bugs glow dimly atop the ceiling. The air is heavy with mist. My clothes cling to my form, my hair frizzy and damp against my cheeks.
A large pool of black water remains still, the surface smooth and unbroken mere feet away. In the dark, it looks almost like another cave that burrows deeper into the ground. Though as I inch forward, I can see the small reflection of the lights above in its water.
“It’s a hot spring. I know the water looks like the darkest pits of hell, but if you’re thirsty, it’ll do you some good.” Miranda kicks his leg to toss off the last spider that clings to the material. I watch as it lands and darts back to its home.
“Where is the witch?” My words bounce from the walls to the ceiling and echo back in my ears.
Spreading like oil in a hot pan, Miranda doesn’t hide his sly smile or the way his body seems to relax with confidence as he calls out. “Aspasia. I’ve brought you a guest.” He whistles low, his hands finding the heel of his boots as he slips his feet out and removes his socks. Eagerly, he watches the water, cuffing his pant legs nearly up to his thighs. Miranda lowers himself to the edge of the rock, letting the black waters engulf his legs until they are unseen below the surface.
“You can’t just stick your legs in there! You don’t know what lives down there. Monsters live in the water, too, you know.” I drag myself, working to hide how much my leg is bothering me, and reach out slowly to touch the water.
It sings against my skin. Revival runs rampant through my veins as my magic laps against it. Nothing lives in this water. Nothing that doesn’t have the strong feeling of home. Schools of fish small and large. Humble snakes and the occasional frog grace these waters that lead far out past what we can see now.
“Oh, Aspasia darling.”
“That’s odd.” I mumble pulling my hand away and leaning back onto my heels.
“What is?”
“My magic doesn’t sense the witch within the water. Like she has never graced this place before.” If this is another trick of her magic, I’m about through. From walls to falls and abandonment and damn arachnids, the last thing I need now is an invisible witch.
“Oh, she’s been here. She lives here. Well, except for when she vacations in the Arctic.” Miranda points out toward the water. “Actually, here she comes now.”
Ripples part the water, the creature, the witch, mother as Aisha would have me believe, still invisible to us. My hand darts to the water; I close my eyes, urging my magic to find her. The water tells a story, but it doesn’t include her existence or warn of her evil doings.
Soft as silk, fingers wrap around my slender wrist. My eyes pop open.
“Would you think of me as one of the monsters that live in this lagoon?” Her voice is a thrill of a thousand harmonies, the noise enchanting and terrifying all at once. The witch cocks her head, watching me, examining me as I do her.
Vibrant silver strands are slicked back behind her head, the long ends of her hair floating around her like a backwards-bent umbrella in the water. Shiny teal scales cover her body. They reflect and ripple as she blinks. Her lips are pale lilac, as if she drowned in these waters.
Behind her, the tip of her tail flicks above the surface, reminding me how much she isn’t human. Her stare burns on my skin; those cunning crimson, violet-lined eyes cut like a sword.
“You look a beautiful evil,” I say, pulling my hand from her wet grasp.
She smiles at the odd compliment, revealing rows of pointed, shark-like teeth. Her scaly hand flutters to the shells that adorn her décolletage, the sincerity of her attention shifting to Miranda.
“You’ll have to excuse her.” Miranda dips his head. “She woke up on the wrong side of her plush princess bed, and she has had quite the trouble while making her way here. First time and all,” he amends.
“What a poor dear.” Aspasia lifts her chin, not bothering to hide the way she devours Miranda with her gaze. “You look well.”
“Well enough, considering the time and distance between our last visit and this.” Water splashes as the witch swims to Miranda. Her delicate touch traces the shape of his calves and skims up to his thighs where she leaves two handprints of dripping water darkening his pants.
“One day,” Her euphonious voice rings out, “I will give myself legs such as you have, and I will leave behind my magic.”
Unwavering, Miranda’s hand traces her jawline, his fingers stopping only to twirl an errant strand of her shiny hair between the tips of his fingers. “Only if you promise to run away with me once you do.”
His whisper nearly makes me want to upchuck the remnants of my dinner. I have not come to watch their ungoddesslike display of kinship or whatever intentions they have with one another. I’ve come for answers.
He watches the witch like she alone will be his undoing. A look I’ve seen only a handful of times from my own lover. Miranda’s br
ain is fogged with witch magic. He doesn't love her because she is on the path he is forging for himself, he loves her because she woos him with her power.
“Why does the water not announce your presence or tell tales of the life you live?” I skim the surface with my palm.
“Maybe you are not asking the right questions,” Aspasia purrs, her eyes wide and soft. “Does the water tell you of every person it drowns? Does the water tell you of its story or simply the stories of others? We are the same.” She pauses only to watch me. “The water and I.”
I pull my hand away. I’ve only ever heard it speak of others, of warnings to protect me. The water has never spoken as if it holds the power of life and death itself like Goddess Nature or Goddess Celeste. Omitting is only a fancy word for lying. All of my life, trusting the water, and now it feels as though it was all a cruel joke.
Aspasia drops her palms from Miranda’s thighs, edging closer to me. “I do not mean offense, my dear—”
“Do not call me by some pet name,” I hiss. “I will not be some pet to the witch who seduces men she doesn’t truly want.”
“Syren,” Miranda warns, though I feel the hurt in his tone.
The witch holds up one hand to Miranda, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t chastise her, my love. Were you not skeptical the day we first met?”
Miranda settles for rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw like he is determined to break his teeth. What a shame that would be. I’d like to see the witch still love him and his flappy gums.
“What is your name, Princess?”
Anger ticks through me. Does she mock me? Does she not think of me as the daughter Aisha told me I am? Or is this another trick?
“Syren. Syren Hakan.”
Aspasia loses her smile, though only momentarily, before it grows, and her razor teeth look hungry in her wild grin.
“That sounds like the name of a Queen to me.” She closes her eyes, holding her face like it’s the only way to contain her growing smirk. Her scales ripple from teal to white to teal again. She holds out her hand, her long crooked nails clear as water should be. “May I hold your hand, Syren Hakan? May I be humbled by the pity of the Queen of the Northern Kingdom.”
“Are you attempting to ridicule me?” My nails dig into my palms, biting in a pain more comfortable than this conversation I must weather.
“No.” She states plainly.
I offer my hand. It doesn’t shake as she holds it between us. Aspasia nods and carefully takes my hand, flipping it and tracing the lines on my palm. When she looks up, her eyes are glassy.
“What?” I ask. What could the witch possibly see in my future that could make someone as heartless as her feel emotion?
“Your hands are calloused with hard work that a princess should never have ever had to face. But yet, they are still the same. Though I’ll admit, you’ve grown since the last time I held them. You’re still so perfect. So beautiful.”
I try to breathe, but the effort to do so feels too hard. Inside me, turmoil spins, and it poisons me from my mind to my racing heart.
“You’ve met before?” Miranda asks, his scowl disappearing. His attention bouncing to me, then back to the witch. “Oh, my Goddess,” he whispers, the connection, the subtle similarities.
“You—” he starts.
“Do not enlighten me with your revelations, Miranda. These were rumors I already heard and needed to confirm on my own.” I stare down at my mother, unrelenting in my scowl.
“Is that why you wanted to meet her so bad?” Miranda asks.
I sigh, pulling away from Aspasia and patting my pants until I find the pocket. “No,” I shake my head. Gently, I pull the Bloodroot out, holding it gently in my palm. “You must right your wrong.”
Aspasia glances at Miranda before she tilts her head back and laughs. “That was not my doing. I have done no wrong.”
“You lied to my entire kingdom, Mother.”
“I gave you a seat on a throne.” She seethes, her smile quickly fading to a snarl. The space between us closing.
Now it is my turn to laugh. Because all she did was give me a father who hates me and left me to fend for myself in a cruel world where I had to fight to find something that made me happy.
“Tell me, how would she have poisoned the kingdom with this? What kind of magic did she use to reach so many people?”
“Are you so determined for answers? To right a wrong that neither of us have committed?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You are as I knew you would be. A brilliant, selfless Queen. It’s just as the Stars said you would be.”
“Do not evade my questions.”
Aspasia looks from me to the flower. “Sometimes, it isn’t the magic that deceives us.”
Witches. Fucking riddles and wordplay make for terrible foreplay. And I need some sort of lubrication for how hard I’m being fucked right now. How Miranda ever came to be this infatuated is beyond me.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s poison, not a curse, Syren. I’d say magic has little to do with the plague. I think she is smart. Though not smart enough, seeing as she chose to go up against you. The girl likely delivered it in the form of something we all need. Like the air we breathe. She’s hurt a good lot of people.” Aspasia reaches for my hand, her smile straining as I pull away. “I can tell she’s hurt you.”
“She hasn’t.” I look away, not even able to confide in Miranda.
“Hasn’t she?” The witch hums. “I’d say, despite all the terrible things she’s done, you thought you might befriend her yet. You haven’t got many friends, do you?”
Ringing sounds in my ears, my head building pressure. Magic swirls through my thoughts.
“Get out of my head.” I groan, rubbing my fingertips against my temples. “If it’s my trust that you seek, mother, you will find that prodding around in the privacy of my mind will not earn that for you.”
“Pardon me.” Her tail flicks over the surface of the water, creating a small wave that slaps against the rock’s edge. “I only wish to know you better.”
“That's the thing. You don’t know me at all. I’m no one to you.” With a grunt, I flick my hand toward the water, splashing it over her head in my own petty attempt at insult. Standing against the solid rock, my boots create mud within the shallow puddle at my feet. I turn toward Miranda. “I think we are about done here.”
My mother reaches back to Miranda, letting him interlace his fingers with hers, though she keeps her eyes pinned on me. “I can’t let you leave without offering you a gift. A gift for my most precious of all guests.”
With her free hand, she reaches behind her neck, unclasping one of the layered necklaces resting on her collarbone. She holds the jewelry up toward me. A string with a simple silver shell, a worthless item.
“I don’t want your gifts,” I mutter.
“This one you may. It’ll bring you to me whenever you’d like. No fussing with the forest, the wall, fears, or my precious spiders. No matter where I am, you can use this to get to me.”
“I don’t have that kind of magic. An item like this will do me no good.” I stare down at the present, opening my palm and accepting it to examine each ridge and curve of this unique shell.
Aspasia laughs a little, her smile lopsided as she glances between Miranda and I. “My girl, you are the daughter of a water witch. You have more magic than you realize. Come back to me, and perhaps we will practice. A lesson or two should do you some good.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shove the piece into my pocket, not wanting to dwell on the idea anymore. A small piece of me, the motherless child longing for her approval, wishes for the relationship. An open wound in my hollow heart feels freshly cut and raw inside my chest.
Twisting on my heels, I face the wall of spiders as they crawl up and over, down and under one another. “Must we go back out the way we came? Or shall I use this special little shell to take me away?” I shoot a look at my friend.
Miranda kisses the witch’s scaly hand as he stands. She reaches for his pant leg, unrolling the folds for him as she smiles with her wicked set of sharpened teeth. “Aspasia, would you do us the honors?”
“I will, always.” She lifts her hands, pointing her attention back towards me. “You’ll want to hold your breath for this, unless you want to get it knocked out of you.” She begins rotating each of her hands over the opposite wrist, wind picking up along my feet before surfing up my limbs and playing with my hair.
“Wait.” I hold up one hand.
The witch raises a near-invisible eyebrow, her hands and the winds stilling.
“My father always called you Daphne. Aisha called you Ellowin. Yet, Miranda calls you Aspasia. Which is it? Which is your real name?” I chew on the inside of my lip, waiting as she stares at me for a moment with no answer.
“Only the trustworthy truly get to learn my name. I’m a valuable witch who has been hunted many times before.”
“So, do you trust Miranda?”
Aspasia smiles and begins twirling her wrists once more. Wind stirs at our feet. Miranda looks at me with a wickedly sly grin of his own.
“Syren, you have more power than that of a regular water fae. And remember, you must ask the water the right questions.” The wind becomes a tornado, lifting my hair off my shoulders and above my head, the witch’s words swirling around me with droplets of water and a few lingering spiders. She and Miranda completely lost from my vision.
I inhale. My body feels weightless before my feet slam into the ground, and I feel a thousand pounds of gravity pushing me into grass and mud. I gasp, blinking up to the moonlit sky. A single arachnid crawls under my nose over the uneven terrain. Miranda shudders with a cough and stands, brushing snow and leaves from his pants.
“That never gets better,” he wheezes, taking my hand and helping me up.
