The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1)

by J. J. Morrison

  Eve arrived soon after, quiet as a mouse. He wouldn’t have noticed her, had the door not creaked when she closed it. She went to the bed and stroked Iris’s hair gently with the back of her finger. They sat in silence, the flames crackling and dancing in the hearth. Then, there was another creak. He looked up. The room was bright, sunlight flooding in through the window. Afternoon already. The time had slipped by. He blinked, dazzled by the light. Thomas had come into the chamber and was standing by the bed.

  ‘Look,’ Eve said, holding up a blue stone. Thomas walked around to the other side of the bed where she was sitting and looked at it, turning it over in his hands.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked. Eve tilted her head towards Iris. ‘Well, put it back,’ he said.

  Matthew watched them, smiling faintly. They came every day to see her. They were good children with kind hearts, both of them.

  Lucian had not come.

  *

  When Iris awoke, she sat up and looked around the bedchamber. The room was empty. Her cloak was gone. And her boots. She was wearing a white gown with long sleeves.

  She remembered the terrible feeling, the heaviness, after she had transported herself to her bedchamber from the Grassland. She remembered her father sitting on the bed, and Eve stroking her hair. But was all foggy, the edges of those memories blurred.

  She felt better now. Her head ached a little, but she could stand it. Nothing would ever be as awful as what she first endured.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. No one answered her call. She fell back onto the pillow and closed her eyes.

  Suddenly, there was a sharp click as the door opened. An aged maid came in, walked to the bed and pulled back the covers. She moved Iris’s legs to the side, inspected the sheets and then put everything back with a grunt. Iris stared at her in surprise as the maid left the chamber. Why would she do that? What was she looking for? And how did she hope to find it under the covers? She let her eyes fall shut again, feeling suddenly overcome with drowsiness. Then, she sat bolt upright.

  Her blood had not come.

  Her hands started to shake. Her blood had not come. The maid was searching for blood. The maid always searched for blood, when it was time. And she always found blood. But, today, the blood had not come. It was time and the blood had not come.

  When Eve came to visit later that morning, Iris beckoned her over.

  ‘Eve, I need you to do something for me,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  Eve’s face lit up. ‘You’re feeling better!’ she said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m better,’ Iris said impatiently. ‘Eve, I need you to get me something. Can you do that? I need you to go down to the library and bring me The Book of Old Magic. It’s a big green book. It’s very important. But you mustn’t get caught – I want to impress father with a new trick, and we don’t want to spoil the surprise, do we?’

  ‘Can I learn one, too?’ asked Eve.

  ‘Yes, you can. But only if no one sees you.’

  When Eve returned with the book, Iris sent her away for another one. And, while she was off searching for it, Iris flicked through the pages and found the spell that would save her.

  The next morning, when the maid came to lift the covers and inspect the sheets, she found a dried patch of blood on the linen and on Iris’s nightgown. With a satisfied grunt, she held her hands over the stains and they disappeared. Iris felt instantly lighter. It had worked. She had deceived them. And won herself time.

  As the weeks turned to months and her blood still did not come, Iris lost all hope that it would. As much as she tried, she could not ignore the truth any longer. She was with child. She lay awake every night, thinking about what to do. The Vandemeres would be returning soon for the wedding, which meant that, any day now, the dressmakers would come to measure her for her dress. They would find out, if she let them see her body. They would tell her father, her mother…

  If she could just sneak back to the Dark Forest to ask for Agatha’s help. Agatha would know how to remove the baby; she knew about herbs. But Iris did not have the luxury of freedom anymore. Her mother had guards watching her. Three of them. They followed her every move, from the moment she left her bedchamber each day. In the corridors, in the courtyard, at the spice stalls, at the gown shops, at the book shop, at the bread stand, there they were, ten paces behind. She couldn’t give them a reason to believe she was behaving suspiciously, so she never wandered to the end of Stone Lane, never walked anywhere too quickly. But time was running out. A small bump was beginning to show. Whenever she looked at it, she felt physically sick. She needed Agatha.

  One grey morning, as Iris was walking around the courtyard, she heard something that made her stomach lurch - a volley of hooves, beating against the cobbles along Merlin’s Way. The guards in the towers began to shout, and the guards at the gates moved aside. Time was up.

  The Vandemeres burst into the courtyard, flanked by a dozen outriders in silver-plated armour, who cantered around in circles, carrying the Vandemere standard of two open hands encasing an orb of light. One of them almost knocked Iris down as she retreated towards the castle. This couldn’t be right, she thought with rising panic. They were early, far too early. They weren’t expected for at least another week.

  Two wooden carriages rattled through the gates then, pulled by giant cart horses that screeched as they were forced to a halt, white foam frothing at their mouths. Another stream of horses followed the carriages through the gates, filling the courtyard until there was almost no room left to move.

  Inside, the castle was in total disarray. Frenzied servants were darting in every direction, scurrying up the stairs to prepare rooms, calling for Lord Mortenstone to be informed. Trays laden with cold meats, breads and fruits were carried up from the kitchens into the dining hall. Iris could hear the scrape of tables being hastily dragged together to create ample seating for the party. Wine and ale were rushed out to the courtyard, spilling over the sides of the pitchers as flustered servants ran with them across the entrance hall.

  Iris made for the staircase. She took the steps two at a time. Boomfh, boomfh, boomfh came the clunking footsteps of the guards close behind her. She climbed faster, light as a nymph, feeling triumphant as they fell further behind.

  She was breathless when she reached the second floor. She walked a little way along a corridor before pausing to lean against the wall, her chest rising and falling heavily. Suddenly, she felt a twinge. She froze. Another twinge. She brought a hand up to her stomach, her heart thumping wildly, the sound filling her ears. The child was moving. Her head began to spin. The guards clanked along the corridor towards her, but she didn’t move on. She stood there, feeling her baby shift about inside her, and realised she couldn’t end its life. It was strong. It kicked against her hand, hard. She smiled, her eyes swimming with tears, a dreadful ache in her heart. No one could know. And, when it arrived, she couldn’t be its mother. But that didn’t matter. As long as it lived.

  She heard raised voices then, coming from her father’s antechamber. Wiping her tears, she walked along the corridor and stopped outside the door to listen. The guards followed noisily.

  ‘Shhh,’ she hissed, turning sharply. They stopped mid-stride and fell silent.

  ‘…She’s up to something. I know it,’ she heard her mother say. ‘If you don’t keep an eye on her, she’ll cause chaos like she did the last time. Do not pretend, Matthew. You are no fool. She was in the Dark Forest. And if we don’t follow her, she’ll go there again!’

  ‘What would you have me do? Follow her for the rest of her life? Call off the guards!’ her father shouted.

  Iris looked over her shoulder. The guards exchanged a look of uncertainty.

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ Matthew said in a voice of controlled calm. ‘She won’t go back there if I ask her not to.’

  Josephine laughed coldly. ‘You will pay the highest price if she does.’

  When Iris walked back down the stairs, the guards didn�
�t follow. She left the castle and slunk through the courtyard, drawing her hood. No one noticed her in the chaos. The carriages were being unloaded. Stable boys were struggling with three or four horses each, leading them away to the stables with difficulty as the skittish creatures snapped and butted one another. Iris glimpsed Gregory Vandemere, helping an old man down from one of the carriages. She hadn’t seen him since she had fallen ill, and was, for the first time, glad that she had been.

  This was her one opportunity, when all eyes were turned inwards, focused on the masses that had descended upon the castle courtyard. She walked through the gates into the square, which was packed with people straining to see into the courtyard. The guards, busy holding them back, didn’t say a word as she brushed past them.

  She hastened along Stone Lane, hesitating when she heard a shout. She looked up. In the distance, a Mortenstone guard was charging in from the Grassland on horseback.

  ‘Move!’ he shouted. Two women jumped out of his way as he advanced towards the castle.

  Iris dashed into the nearest shop and slammed the door shut just as the horse cantered past. She sighed with relief. The low thrum of voices inside the shop died instantly. Iris turned and stared into the room. It was dim, the air hot and cloying. This was the precious stone shop. Dozens of curious eyes were watching her. She bent her head and spun around quickly to hide her face. But, as she did, there was a crackling sound. She looked down and gasped. Her cloak had swept through one of the dribbling candles on the small table by the door and a flame now licked at the wool. She gaped at it, horror-stricken, and then, quite suddenly, it extinguished itself. A woman standing by a table loaded with purple gems reached out and grasped her shoulder, pulling her away from the candle.

  ‘Careful there. Hang your cloak up at the door. We don’t want no more accidents,’ she said. Iris turned away from the woman, muttered an apology, and left quickly.

  Drops of rain had begun to spatter the cobblestones in the lane. Shop owners hurriedly pulled the wares they had outside on display back indoors. Iris bowed her head against the wind and walked. Now the raindrops were fat and heavy; they fell hard onto her hood and shoulders, as if someone was pelting stones at her from an upstairs window. She walked quickly and with purpose, glancing up at the Grassland ahead, as the first wave of thunder growled above her. At the end of the lane, she picked up her skirts and ran.

  The heavens opened. Thick sheets of rain fell so furiously, she could hardly see anything in front of her. Her cloak grew heavy with water and the ties pulled at her neck. She slid over on the grass and felt a sharp pain in her wrist but pushed herself to her feet and staggered on. Running, running, running until she reached the forest.

  As soon as she stepped beyond the border, she threw her hood back and unfastened the ties, letting the cloak fall to the ground. She doubled over, slapping one hand against a tree, and tried to catch her breath. When she looked up again, she felt an ominous chill in the air as it whistled through the trees. Her skin prickled. She picked up the cloak and fastened it again, the immense weight of it providing some form of warmth and protection. A twig snapped somewhere close by. She looked around wildly. There was no one there. Her heart began to thump faster. She found herself wanting to turn around and go back. But she couldn’t go home, not until she’d done what she came to do. She couldn’t be this child’s mother. But someone else could… Swallowing her fear, she lifted her skirts above her ankles again and ran.

  No light filtered through the leaves to illuminate her path and she tripped and stumbled her way along. When she looked back, the Grassland was hidden completely from sight.

  Suddenly, a man jumped out from behind a tree and she ran straight into his arms. He grasped her tightly and turned her around, pressing himself against her back. He smelled rancid. She froze in terror.

  ‘I like that dress,’ came a voice from the shadows. And then a second man emerged, walking towards her with a toothless grin. ‘Looks expensive, don’t it, James?’

  The man holding on to her put his face to her neck and breathed in. ‘Mmm… I can smell the wealth.’ His bristly beard scratched her skin and she shuddered.

  ‘I reckon she’s got a few hidden jewels under that cloak,’ said the second man, smiling lewdly as he approached. Iris stopped breathing. He came up close in front of her, so close she could smell his stale breath, feel the rotten warmth of it. As he put a hand up to stroke her face, she heard a sudden burst of footsteps and a rush of movement blurred across her vision, followed by a strangled scream. The man fell to the ground in front of her with a knife buried in the side of his head.

  The other man released her immediately. Alexander turned, eyes fixed on him. The man held up his hands and took a step back.

  ‘I-I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no ‘arm. I’ll go, I’m sorry! I’m—’

  Alexander lunged forward, thrusting the knife between his eyes before he had a chance to scream. The man collapsed onto his back, twitching, and then fell still.

  Iris’s knees gave way. Alexander crouched down and put a hand on her shoulder but quickly withdrew it when she flinched.

  ‘It’s alright. You’re safe,’ he said. ‘Don’t look at them. Come on, let’s go.’ He helped her to her feet and steadied her when she swayed.

  They walked in silence. Iris tried to compose herself. Her hands were shaking. Every shadow, every falling leaf, every whisper made her jump. She knew what those men would have done to her if Alexander hadn’t come.

  When, finally, she calmed herself enough to remember the reason she had come to the forest, she reached out a hand and stopped him.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ she said.

  Alexander looked at her expectantly. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m…’ Her heart began to race. She couldn’t say the words.

  ‘What?’ he said again.

  ‘I’m…with child.’

  The silence was excruciating. For a time, he didn’t react at all, didn’t appear to have heard her. He stood there, quite still, staring blankly. His lips parted but he said nothing. Iris watched him, a lump forming in her throat.

  ‘I…What?’ he said, frowning in confusion.

  ‘I’m with child,’ she said again.

  Alexander looked at her stomach, which was poking through her drenched cloak, and his frown melted away.

  ‘Say something,’ she said.

  He went on staring at her rounded belly. Then, he shook his head, smirked, and walked on.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she cried, staggering after him. ‘You can’t run away. Stop! STOP!’

  He stopped abruptly and turned back to face her. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked angry.

  ‘Don’t you know what this means?’ he shouted, a vein swelling in his neck. ‘Mordarks and Mortenstones can’t breed. That thing will be cursed!’ He jabbed a finger into her stomach. She backed off and put a protective hand over it.

  ‘It’s not a thing, it’s a child!’

  ‘And what will you do with it? Raise it in your castle? Perhaps I should come and live there, too, and we can be a family,’ he said mockingly.

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘What then? Do you want me to take it? My father would love that. A Mortenstone grandchild to feed to his Worgrims!’

  ‘No,’ she said, holding her stomach tightly. ‘I thought that…Maybe Agatha could look after it.’

  Alexander’s eyes widened. He looked at her as if she had gone mad.

  ‘It’s the only way to keep it safe!’ she said, stepping towards him. ‘She’ll do it for you, I know she will. She loves you.’

  Alexander squeezed the bridge of his nose. Iris came closer and grasped his forearm.

  ‘Will you come with me? I need her to take it from me. Today. Now. I can’t go back until she’s taken it. They’ll find out. She has to take it now, or the dressmakers will come and—’

  Alexander backed away in horror.

  ‘Iris, you have lost all sense!’


  ‘Don’t you see? This is our only chance!’ she said. ‘I won’t have another opportunity to come here. It has to be now. The child is strong enough!’

  Alexander laughed incredulously. ‘What child? It’s a monster! Why would Agatha take in a monster?’

  His words stung. Iris drew a sharp breath.

  ‘It’s not a monster,’ she said, wishing he had felt it moving, knowing he would feel differently if he had. He would know, then, that it wasn’t cursed, wasn’t monstrous in any way. She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. ‘It’s our child,’ she whispered.

  His expression softened. He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he placed his hands on hers and gently brought them down from his face. When he opened his eyes again, they were cold.

  ‘Kill it,’ he said.

  10. REVEROFS

  ‘You disobeyed me, Iris!’ said Matthew, pacing back and forth in the Great Hall. He could feel his blood boiling but tried to keep calm. Iris was slumped in a chair, staring at nothing. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. He would have words with the guards who dragged her along Stone Lane like a common thief, though he didn’t believe that was the reason for her tears. ‘Why? Why did you go there again? Answer me!’ he said. Iris shrugged indifferently. He slammed his fist on the table, incensed. ‘Do not treat me with such disrespect!’

  Iris didn’t seem to hear a word he said. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t move at all.

  ‘Put her in the dungeon,’ Josephine said over his shoulder.

  ‘Quiet!’ he barked.

  ‘It’s what she deserves,’ she said, striding past him towards Iris. ‘Get up,’ she said, standing over her. Iris didn’t stir from her trance. ‘Get. Up.’ She plucked at Iris’s cloak and then began to pull it. Iris resisted, planting her feet on the ground, leaning back in her seat. Josephine grabbed the cloak with both hands and gave a hard tug, dragging her off the chair. The cloak’s neck ties unravelled and it dropped to the ground.