That Frigid Fargin Witch (The Legend of Vanx Malic)

by M. R. Mathias

  “See, my little warlock,” Aserica said, with rejuvenated confidence in her tone. “Try again. This time imagine you didn’t kill me and I made the exchange with Pwca for the changeling girl.”

  Vanx did so, and saw that ultimately, the results were the same, save that he saw himself wielding great witchborn power against the Trigon forces, but only to keep Saint Elm’s Deep safe from them.

  With an eyebrow raised in prospective intrigue, Vanx turned to her. “In this future you teach me your powers, not kill me.”

  “Some of my powers, Vanxy.” A hopeful light flickered in her eyes. “It would take a few hundred years to teach you all of it.”

  “And what of the fae?”

  “Look,” she prompted.

  In that future the Heart Tree didn’t die, but took on a dark, gnarled form. Its leaves turned such a deep red that they almost appeared to be black. The fairy folk were there, but there was little joy in them. Their lives were being lived out in service to the Heart Tree’s needs, which looked to be many. The once protective and glorious vigor it exuded was gone and only the raw, tainted power it fed to the Hoar Witch remained.

  “Why would one such as you concern yourself with the well-being of a mere human barbarian and the changeling? They will pass before your eyes and you will live on as if they never existed.” As she spoke she moved back to the pool, but before she gave the image showing on its surface her attention, she invited Vanx to continue his questioning of futures, for she knew there were none that would satisfy all of his hopes.

  Either he or one of the girls would die if they didn’t give the Tokaton to Pwca, and even if they did, the Trigon would return to reclaim its foothold on the continent just to sustain its ever-growing consumption.

  Vanx decided to imagine a future where he killed the Hoar Witch but didn’t give Pwca the Tokaton in exchange for Gallarael.

  First he was hopeful because the Trigon didn’t come racing across the sea to spill blood by the bucket. But then Parydonian ships sailed, led by the king’s own vessel. They took the war to the Trigon and thousands upon thousands of lives were lost on the continent of Harthgar, where the Trigon’s hold was strongest.

  Vanx tried again and again. In the depths of all of these visions, a ghoulish, empty-eyed form seemed to loom over it all. The dark one. Vanx sensed that this malignant entity was pleased, for in every future he could conceive, war and suffering prevailed.

  There was a possibility out there that wouldn’t suit evil–there had to be–but Vanx couldn’t figure out what it was. He noticed that the Hoar Witch was busy now, studying what she saw in her reflecting pool. And now she clenched the crystal at her neck and appeared to be barking commands under her breath. He knew that if he was going to kill her, the time to do it was right now.

  Follow your heart, Vanx. That’s all you can ever do. Vanx heard the goddess’s voice echoing in his mind. A reassuring surge up his spine affirmed the thought, and though it pained him deeply to do what his heart told him to do, that is what he did.

  The sound of Vanx’s sword ringing as it clattered to the floor drew the Hoar Witch’s attention from her pool.

  “Will you teach me all of it?”

  He fell to his knees and pleaded.

  “I want to have the power to bind and create beasts and control them. I want to live for thousands of years, Grandmother. I want – I want to serve–”

  Aserica Rime stepped closer, her eyes wide and hopeful. She began to cackle softly with delight.

  “I want to serve you, Grandmother.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I want to serve you.”

  “You do?” she looked at him and he felt her probing him. He nodded and she smiled.

  “I want to serve you to that giant fargin thing down in your dungeon and watch you squirm.”

  The Hoar Witch’s mirth choked off as his words sank in. Her eyes locked on his hand. Vanx saw Poops and Thorn creeping out from the shadows. The dropping of his sword had been the signal. He was reaching for the weapon now and she began mouthing the words to a spell as she followed his hand with her eyes. He latched onto the hilt and tried to bring the blade up and around, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Luckily Thorn and Poops were ready.

  The elf leapt to the top of the pool’s retaining wall and Poops cut around it. Thorn leapt again and came flying through the air, only to land on the Hoar Witch’s back. He wrapped his free hand in her hair and slid the Glaive of Gladiolus swiftly across the back of her neck.

  Poops latched his teeth into her buttocks at the same time and yanked her sharply backward. This caused the blast of frosty blue ice that shot out of her fingers toward Vanx to go high and shatter the mirror he had just been standing before. She landed hard on her arse with her legs extended. Poops had barely managed to get himself clear of the impact and was now tugging at one of her hands so she couldn’t use it to gesture a spell.

  Vanx rolled away as soon as he saw that Thorn had done what he needed to do, then brought his sword down across the Hoar Witch’s ankles. Steel sliced through flesh and bone and gave him a jarring jolt when it hit the stone floor.

  Thorn grasped the leather cord holding Aserica Rime’s crystal. She was clutching it with her free hand and speaking as quickly as she could. The tug of war ended when the pool in the middle of the room geysered upward and soaked them all in the foul-smelling liquid.

  A giant serpent came up out of the hole and immediately snapped out at Thorn.

  Vanx was shocked. The creature was missing an eye, and Vanx discerned that it was the same beast that threw Gallarael off of the ledge. His plan had been to get the crystal and take control of the Hoar Witch’s beasts, but now the shard was sliding across the floor.

  Thorn called out in pain. Poops ran, leapt up on the pool’s retaining wall and launched himself at the snake. His attack was perfectly executed save for he couldn’t get anything in his teeth and simply fell away.

  Vanx rolled and came up into a crouch. He had to duck and roll again to avoid the twisting, writhing snake as it came around. It was shaking the elf in its jaws like a terrier might shake a rat. Then he saw that the Hoar Witch was reaching for the crystal and charged that way. He didn’t think twice when he brought his sword down across her wrist. Again his blade cleaved clean through.

  He had to duck the snake again, but this time he stabbed it three quick times and then grabbed the crystal from the floor. He hoped he wasn’t too late as he squeezed the shard and urged it to flee.

  For a few long moments the serpent went still, then it reluctantly, obeyed, dropping Thorn to the floor and sliding back down into the pool.

  Vanx took a breath then, and sent out a command to his familiar.

  Poops trotted over, picked up the Hoar Witch’s still clasping and unclasping hand, and carried it to the reflecting pool. He put his forepaws up on the low stone wall, and dropped the hand into it. Vanx hurried over to look at the image. He was so delighted at what he saw that he began to laugh.

  “Why didn’t you run her through like we planned?” Thorn asked from where he’d landed. He handed his sword to Vanx hilt first. Vanx took it and jabbed the elf in the leg, and tried not to let the powerful jolt unsettle him. Poops returned and dropped one of Aserica Rime’s severed feet into the liquid, too. Vanx gave Thorn his sword back and watched as it fell tumbling into the Shadowmane to land amongst the Hoar Witch’s wolf pack and the giant writhing snake that had just come down over them.

  “Give her the Glaive,” Vanx said over Aserica Rime’s howling pain. “Stick her good and let’s see what happens.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yup,” Vanx said with confidence, but picked up her other booted foot and dropped it into the pool just to be sure. He then wrapped his fist tightly around the crystal and ordered the beasts to vacate the Heart Tree immediately.

  There was a deep, static pop when Thorn jabbed the Glaive into the Hoar Witch’s skin, and immediately the sound of her anguish subsided. Vanx was slight
ly surprised that she didn’t explode into horiffic pieces at the healing, for he guessed that she’d been using the same binding magic she used on her beasts to keep herself alive all these centuries. It wasn’t the case, but he was pleased with the results. He watched her reach a stubbled forearm to her throat to grab at her crystal with a hand she didn’t yet realize was no longer there. She mouthed the words to a spell as she used her good hand to push herself up onto her feet, but being that the feet were no longer there, she collapsed back to the floor. Panic quickly wiped away the anger that had been blooming in her expression.

  A glance in the pool showed Vanx that only Vrooch hadn’t heeded his command. The trollamonks, the shrieking bloodbeaks, and all the other flying and slithering creatures of Aserica’s horde had all disappeared.

  Vanx understood that the hulking pack leader was confused by the new voice that was commanding him. Vanx didn’t care. He squeezed the crystal tight in his hand and blasted out the order again, putting all the aggressive force he could muster into the compelling thought.

  This time Vrooch yelped and bolted off like a startled cur.

  When Vanx was certain that Chelda and the Heart Tree were safe, he dangled the crystal from its cord for Aserica Rime to see.

  “You doom the lands to war to save a human wench?” she asked incredulously, her voice turning meek. “You’d kill your kin?”

  “I would say that ruthlessness runs in the family, Grandmother. But I don’t think that it’s true.” Vanx bent down and gave Poops a loving scratch behind the ears and continued. “I don’t think I’ll kill you, but I’ve got a feeling you’ll wish I had.”

  Just then a bone-chilling moo of pain came echoing up from the stairway.

  Vanx laughed, the sound of his forced mirth eerily resembling the Hoar Witch’s cackle. “Your minotaur already wishes he was dead.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  The choices that we make,

  are on what our fate depends.

  But of all the things that we decide,

  we can’t chose who is are friend.

  – A Zythian song

  Vanx didn’t enter into a bargain with Pwca hastily. He weighed his options carefully and even prayed to his goddess for guidance.

  Follow your heart, was the only reply he ever received, and each time he heard it, it was more in his voice than in hers.

  He tried using the other mirror to see forward, but only managed to learn why he had traveled all this way in the first place from the past. Images of his mother and father as friends and lovers at sea and at port brought painful tears of peace and understanding to his soul. He now understood that gleam of pride that flared in his mother’s eyes when she spoke of his father, and why she so fiercely defended her love for what the elders thought was a mere human man. One but had to see the way he looked at her, and she at him, to know that their love was far deeper than the seas upon which they adventured.

  Vanx also saw several instances where his mother’s Zythian looks and magic had served to reinforce her reputation as the ship witch. Would-be pirate boarders found their own ships aflame when they came too close, and the wind seemed to always be most favorable for the ship, especially when she stood on its bowsprit and sang.

  Vanx saw the tearful parting of the two on a Flotsam quay, and felt strange knowing he was inside that mounded belly as his mother strode down the dock away from that last deadly voyage.

  He watched the images until the end. He saw the storm, the lightning and the sheets of torrential rain. He watched the huge, cresting swells as they tossed and turned the Foamfollower.

  Stinging tears had blurred his vision, so he didn’t notice the streaking sea ray that had crashed into the ship on the far side of the image, but he watched on with rapt attention as his father sent his crew away on the longboats and stood firm when the front of his ship raised high and slid down into the swallowing sea. At the last moment, Captain Marin Saint Elm mouthed a prayer and his voice carried to Vanx as clearly as if he were whispering in his son’s ear.

  “Forgive me, Nepton,” his father said as he sank into the sea. “I’ve served you for as long as I can remember and I intended no blasphemy to you when I forged a bond that was even deeper than you could fathom. I do not blame you for your jealousy and I come willingly to your embrace in hopes that you will lend your ever-flowing grace to my unborn child so that his mother may know the joy of him.”

  More was said but the words were filled with salty liquid and choked away. Vanx’s heart swelled with sadness and pride, even though sobs were coming from his own deep places.

  He finally glimpsed the father he had never met, and in a way that validated all that his mother had ever told him of the man. Vanx also saw the way she always defended her choice of mates to her people. Her life had been no easy one, but she stayed true to her heart and the man she loved. The fact that his father’s dying thoughts had been of him gave Vanx a renewed confidence, and the hopelessness of the situations with Gallarael and Pwca took on a new perspective.

  Two days had passed since Vanx scattered the Hoar Witch’s horde and fed the old crone to Sissy. Out of mercy he killed Clytun’s body, but he decided he would use the prospect of a painless death to get information out of the Hoar Witch for a very long time.

  Thorn and Poops had gone through the forest back to the Shadowmane. Vanx was locating and evaluating the quality of magical artifacts, devices and potions that Aserica Rime had collected. Some were dangerous to keep around and would have to be destroyed, but some would be more useful, so he still needed her knowledge.

  The cold, cruel way in which he taunted and teased Aserica Rime and the demeanor that he took on to protect his own heart in those days, was something he was glad no one else shared. A few times he frightened himself, but he had no choice. He had every intention of getting Gallarael away from Pwca, and hopefully without giving away the powerful jewel whose magic had driven the Trigon away so long ago.

  When Thorn returned with a hobbled but jovial Darl and some of the fairy folk, Poops stayed behind to give Chelda comfort. She still couldn’t leave the bounds of the Underland and was recovering from several wounds. Darl told Vanx how Gallarael had vowed to find and help him, even if it cost her life, and Vanx decided maybe it was up to the gods to prevent events such as evil wars and devil-wrought mischief. It was in his power to save his friend. What happened after that wasn’t really in his control, no matter what he did.

  Follow your heart, the mantra of his goddess kept repeating itself. His heart told him to give the slimy little devil the Tokaton and be done with him, but knowing that wars would rage and thousands of lives might be lost by doing so, he hemmed and hawed and balked. He didn’t want such destruction to weigh on his conscience. He also knew that if Gallarael could make the choice herself, she would save the lives of all the innocent fae.

  This reasoning brought on another line of distasteful thought because the little rat master would certainly use Gallarael to influence King Oakarm if Vanx didn’t get her free. Then thousands of different lives would be lost.

  Making a decision on the matter became maddening. It was ultimately a choice of loyalty, and in the end the mantra won out, for Vanx’s heart told him to get Gallarael away from the turdish devil and hold her close, no matter what future the act might cause.

  She was a loyal and trusted friend and he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let her come to harm or be used by the dark one’s minions. So it was that he used the pool, and the foul-tasting powder, to summon Pwca for the exchange.

  While they waited for the devil’s rat horde to shoulder Gallarael’s body back across the Lurr, Thorn detailed the condition of Chelda and the Heart Tree.

  Chelda had been burned by the acidic juice of some fruit. She would have some scars, but otherwise she was only bruised, and trapped in the Underland. That was bad.

  The tree’s golden nectar was still dripping from jagged stumps where limb and branch had
been ruthlessly torn away. The Troika Sven, the oracle, and the rest of the fae were doing all they could to clear away the corpses of the witchborn beasts, lest their blood seep too deeply into the soil and infect the tree. Others were using magical and herbal means to try to help it begin healing, but it didn’t look hopeful.

  “Chelda will die if the tree dies, Vanx,” said Thorn with tears welling in his amber eyes.

  “Even if another king or queen is born, it will be years maybe before such a being can release her from the Underland.”

  The way Thorn dropped his head showed plainly the shame he felt.

  “She didn’t deserve this.” When his eyes met Vanx’s, he spoke his feelings honestly and plainly. “I don’t think the tree will survive the season. Remember that as you haggle with Pwca, for maybe he can help.”

  “The oracle said that there was another way,” Vanx reminded the distraught elven general.

  “I know. It might work, and I will gladly make the sacrifice required, but only if there is no other way.”

  Those words seemed to pain the elf the most and they weren’t spoken with any sort of resolve.

  “I’m sorry, Vanx, but my first duty is to save the Heart Tree, to never give up. If the tree dies, we will, too.” Only then did Vanx realize that in a very subtle way the elf was using Chelda’s life and freedom to get Vanx to broaden his bargain with Pwca. It was clear that Thorn had no taste for the course, but he was taking it, as a general must.

  The flare of frustrated anger that fired through Vanx’s neck and cheeks caused Thorn’s eyes to find his boots. Vanx began to feel that icy resolve he’d garnered while torturing the Hoar Witch. He tried to quell it before he took things too far.