Mistress of All Evil

by Serena Valentino

  “An old friend who ripped your soul from your body, turning it into a husk. Yours and countless other souls,” Nanny reminded her, reading her thoughts.

  Circe just smiled weakly, knowing Nanny was right. But she saw that Ursula, the one who had betrayed her, as someone quite different from the one she had known as a girl. Ursula had been a wild and charismatic character. She had been Circe’s sisters’ dearest friend and like an aunt to Circe—a great witch who had brought Circe bobbles and had told her stories of the sea. This creature, the thing she’d become, wasn’t the Ursula Circe loved. Ursula had become someone else, someone consumed by grief, anger, and the desire for power. A woman who had been driven to the depths of despair by a brother who loathed her. Circe remembered going to Ursula that day; she remembered thinking someone else—no, something else—was looking at her from behind Ursula’s eyes. It was chilling to remember.

  Circe had felt like running from her that day, but she had told herself it was all her imagination. She’d reminded herself that she’d always trusted Ursula. She had never imagined Ursula would harm her. But if Circe was really honest with herself, there was no way she could have denied that the creature inhabiting her old friend that day had meant to hurt her. Circe just hadn’t wanted to see it then. She had denied her fear, pushed it aside, and willed herself to see the woman she loved. And that was how she had allowed herself to be captured by the dreaded sea witch. How Ursula had been able to use her as a pawn to manipulate her sisters.

  The woman she loved had betrayed her.

  No, Ursula betrayed herself. And now she was dead, rendered to nothing more than smoke, sludge, and ash. She was beyond Circe’s help now. Still, Circe tortured herself with questions. Why hadn’t Ursula come to her in honesty? Why hadn’t she told Circe the whole story—the story she had told Circe’s sisters? Circe would have helped Ursula destroy Triton without the need to involve his youngest daughter. None of it made any sense. Ursula must have known that Circe had the power to destroy Triton, but she also knew Circe would never endanger the life of Ariel.

  Damn Triton for the damage he did to his sister! Damn him to Hades for his complicity! Damn him for making Ursula hide who she truly was. Damn him for turning her into a loathsome creature by his own design!

  It was taking everything she had not to cast curses at King Triton. She wanted to tell him that when she’d touched Ursula’s necklace, she’d seen everything Ursula had ever experienced—the causes of all her rage, sorrow, and pain. Circe had heard every foul word and witnessed every hateful deed Ursula had endured from Triton. It had ripped at Circe’s heart, as it surely must have done to Ursula’s. Maybe one day Circe would throw Triton’s words back at him. But she wouldn’t do it now. Not while her hate for him was still strong in her heart. The pain was too fresh.

  And then something quite sad occurred to Circe: family was capable of causing more harm than anyone. Family was true heartbreak. They could rip out your heart like no one else. They could destroy your spirit and leave you alone in the tangled depths of despair. Family could ruin you, more than a lover might, and surely more than even the dearest of friends could. Family could hold its power over you.

  Circe knew all too well what it was like to have her heart broken by family. She had her own troublesome sisters—the odd sisters. They could scream a house down with their rage and tantrums. But her sisters loved her ferociously—far too well. She never worried on that account. She knew she had their love and always would no matter what befell them. Now her sisters were trapped in a sleeping death, all because she’d left them and had allowed herself to be tricked by the sea witch. All because she had been angry with them for loving her too much. They loved her so much that they would’ve destroyed anyone or done anything to protect her. And how had she repaid them?

  She’d condemned them for haunting the Beast. She’d screamed at them for putting Tulip’s life in danger. They’d been responsible for many deaths and many transgressions. Circe was sure she didn’t even know about all of them. But none of those things seemed to matter now. Not while her sisters lay broken, as if dead, under the glass dome of the Morningstar solarium. Their eyes were wide open. As hard as Circe had tried, she could not close them. Did her sisters know what had happened to them? Did they remember battling Ursula’s spell to save their little sister? Did they remember fighting their own spell, so embedded with hatred that it took all their strength to break? They looked haunted to Circe as they stared into nothingness. No magic would give her sisters the appearance of peacefulness. It seemed even in their sleep they were being punished, paying for every act of wickedness they had ever committed and for their part in Ursula’s demise. Circe wondered if her sisters could see what remained of Ursula staining the glass dome and billowing overhead, thick, black, and putrid. Did they feel Ursula’s hate emanating from every surface of the kingdom? Was Circe prolonging her sisters’ torture by not cleansing Morningstar? It was time to move on—to rid the castle of Ursula’s remains. But how? Where would Circe’s magic send them? What was the protocol when a witch of Ursula’s caliber died? What were the words? Circe’s head spun with the questions.

  How do you honor a witch who betrayed you?

  “We put her to rest,” Nanny said gently, wrapping her arm around Circe’s shoulders. “And we cleanse the land. Come, my sweet one, I will help you.”

  The Lighthouse of the Gods shone magnificently in the brilliant sunlight as the witches stood silently in honor of the sea witch. Pink, purple, and golden blossoms showered down on the crowd assembled to mourn the passing of a great and terrible queen. Nanny had put Ursula’s remains in a ship constructed of delicate golden straw, adorned with beautiful seashells and glittering white sand. The ship sparkled in the sunlight and was reflected beautifully by the rippling water. The waves glittered with the golden straw that was mingling with the blossoms in the water. Circe nudged the ship gently, sending Ursula farther into the waves. “Good-bye, great one,” she said softly.

  Ursula looked peaceful, and Circe was thankful to Nanny for bringing Ursula’s remains together so they could honor her. It was a proper tribute that befitted the queen of the sea. Circe knew if Triton had given Ursula her rightful place by his side as ruler, she would still be alive. And that was what hurt Circe’s heart most.

  Circe held Nanny’s hand tightly as they said good-bye. It tugged at Circe’s heart to let her friend go, but she was thankful she had Nanny, Princess Tulip, and Prince Popinjay by her side. They all looked pensive as they took in the magnitude of the great loss. And it was unnoticed by anyone else, but Circe saw Popinjay had taken Tulip’s little hand in his. He squeezed it gently, as if to remind Tulip that he was there for her if she needed him. Circe smiled, because she knew the beautiful princess could meet any challenge that came her way without Popinjay’s help. Nevertheless, Circe was happy he was there for Tulip.

  Triton was not in attendance. He had been warned that he was not welcome, so Circe was surprised to see that merfolk from Triton’s kingdom had come to pay their respects. She had to wonder if Triton had declared his complicity to his people and if that was why some of them seemed to be truly mourning Ursula’s passing. Did some of them have pity for Ursula—or at least understand her motives after they’d heard her story? Perhaps they were simply there to see with their own eyes that the sea witch was no longer a threat. Circe didn’t know.

  One of the mermaids from Triton’s court swam up to Circe and Nanny. She was pretty, with a small pointed crown made of delicate coral. Her voice had a familiar soft ring to it.

  “Hello, my name is Attina,” the young mermaid said. “I’m Triton’s eldest daughter. He sent me here to see that his sister was given a proper funeral.” She looked at the witches, who were staring blankly back at her. Out of nervousness, she kept talking. “I hope you don’t mind my sisters and I being here.”

  Nanny looked at the group of mermaids. All of them were looking in their direction, worried expressions on their faces. “If
you are here to honor her, dear, then you are more than welcome.”

  Circe looked at Attina suspiciously. “I’m surprised you’re here after everything Ursula did to your little sister.”

  Attina smiled, but her eyes were sad. “And I’m surprised you honor her so graciously after she nearly destroyed you.” Circe could sense the young woman was conflicted. The mermaid was torn between her loyalty to her little sister Ariel and her obligation to the woman she hadn’t known was her aunt. “I’m here for my father. And for Ursula, for the woman she could have been had my father not ruined all that was good within her,” Attina added.

  Her answer was good enough for Circe. “You are welcome here, then, Attina. Tell your father we gave Ursula a funeral fit for a queen. That’s who she was and who she shall always be—queen of the sea.”

  The mermaid swam back to her sisters. Together, they watched a procession of ships escort Ursula’s exquisitely constructed ship of golden straw farther out to sea. Fireworks shot from the ships, casting golden lights into the sky. Beneath them, Ursula’s ship was taken by the tides, the fine straw dispersing, and releasing her remains to the sea, where she would rest forever in tranquility. Circe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her old friend was finally at peace.

  For a moment, Circe felt at ease. She was experiencing one of those perfect moments in time when everything was beautiful, even the heartbreak. And she wished that she could live in that moment just a little bit longer. But the present was quickly becoming the past as she heard Nanny gasp next to her. In the distance, the witches saw a large mass. It looked like a living forest entangled by thorny vines, climbing and twisting its way toward the rocky cliffs beyond Morningstar Castle. And with it came a terrible looming darkness that harbored something sinister. Soaring above the darkness, through the turbulent clouds streaked with swirls of green light, were Maleficent’s crows—the very portents of evil.

  Circe could feel the fearsome forest’s energy with her magic; she knew the forest was not coming to destroy them. It was trying to protect Morningstar from the Dark Fairy.

  In the land of dreams, things worked differently than they did practically anywhere else. Almost anything was possible in the dreamscape. The land was frozen in a perpetual twilight. The never-setting sun cast an ethereal glow and created a special brand of magic known to some as the golden hour. All inhabitants of the land of dreams occupied their own spaces, like many little hamlets in a kingdom of an unfathomable size. Each chamber was composed almost entirely of mirrors. And if the dreamers could master the magic of the mirrors, they would get a glimpse of the outside world. However, the dreamscape’s magic remained elusive to most of the realm’s visitors and befuddled some of its more long-term occupants, making it a terribly lonely place.

  Magic was not something unfamiliar to Aurora. Although her fairy caretakers had hidden their powers from her for the past sixteen years, she had always sensed something magical about them. Aurora never talked about it with her fairy aunts, but she knew when magic was near. She didn’t know why, but it hadn’t frightened her. She could also sense magic moving in other kingdoms, even in those farthest from hers. So it wasn’t difficult for her to puzzle out how to use the magic in the land of dreams. Aurora reasoned the magic one could wield in that world wasn’t particularly powerful. If it were, she would have found a way to wake herself. It seemed Maleficent’s sleeping curse was too powerful for the dreamscape’s magic to overcome—besides, the magic in that place wasn’t direct or even particularly practical. It was rather basic and mundane, yet somehow simultaneously unpredictable and chaotic. Nevertheless, the princess had harnessed it to see into the outside world.

  Aurora’s corner of the dreamscape was an octagon chamber built entirely of towering rectangular mirrors. She could see reflected in the glass a myriad of past and present events throughout the many kingdoms. Initially, she had wondered if the room and images were merely a dream, but she had decided that they were real. That simple decision gave her the power to control the images that appeared in the mirror. Aurora had quickly realized all she had to do was think about someone she wanted to see and their image would appear in one of the mirrored glass panels. She could see where that person was and what they were doing, which made her feel less lonely in the strange realm. That brought her comfort, even if she knew she might never again walk in the waking world.

  It was strange having so much knowledge at once and having so little power to direct her own fate. But she listened, she watched, and she learned. Aurora discovered that her betrothed was actually the young man she had fallen in love with in the forest. She learned that Maleficent had arranged to keep him captive in her dungeon. She knew her fairy aunts had changed her name to Rose to protect her, and she knew why. She knew everything. She even thought she knew why Maleficent was doing all this, but that part was too terrifying to think about. So she focused on other people. Aurora looked in on her fairy aunts, who seemed to be planning a visit to witches Aurora didn’t know. Sometimes Aurora looked in on her mother and father while they slept. She tried to see what they dreamed, but she couldn’t. The princess supposed their dreams were their own. She even tried to find them in her dream world, but it seemed that traveling between the chambers was impossible. So Aurora tried to be content with acquainting herself with her own story. She watched events from her past scroll by in the many mirrors of her chamber. Flashing images cascaded across her vision and she saw herself as a baby on the day of her christening. There, in the dreamscape, Aurora first laid eyes on Maleficent, the tall stoic Dark Fairy. She was probably the most beautiful creature Aurora had ever seen, standing there among all her parents’ guests. Aurora had witnessed how she’d become trapped in this realm, trapped in a sleeping death. Why she’d spent so many years with her fairy caretakers, believing that she was someone else: a girl called Rose who never thought she was a princess. She honestly didn’t know what was worse: living her life in the dream world, or living in a world where everyone lied to her.

  A voice echoed through her chamber: “Oh, we know. We know which is worse.”

  Aurora spun in circles, searching all the mirrors. She couldn’t see who was talking to her.

  “Over here, Princess. Or should we call you Rose?”

  Aurora whirled around again. Peeking out on the right side of one of the mirrors was a strange-looking woman. She was wearing a bright red voluminous dress cinched very tightly at the waist. Her tiny pointed boots stuck out from under the hem of her skirt. Aurora wasn’t sure why, but there was something sinister about those boots. They looked like two slinking creatures slithering out from under a curtain of blood. Aurora reminded herself that this was the dream world and she shouldn’t let her imagination run wild. But nothing about the woman seemed right. Her features were all out of proportion: her deathly pale skin, large bulbous eyes, pitch-black hair, and tiny red lips. Nothing quite fit. Just then, two more women who looked exactly the same entered the mirrors on either side of the first, creating a trio.

  “Yes, we are three!” they sang together as one.

  “This has to be a dream,” Aurora said to herself. “These women can’t be real.”

  “Oh, we’re real, Princess,” the first woman said.

  “Welcome to the land of dreams, little one,” the second one chimed in.

  “Yes, we have been searching for you,” the third one added.

  “Maleficent will be happy we found you,” all three said in unison. At that, the sister witches began to cackle, their laughter sending chills through Aurora’s heart.

  As Nanny and Circe watched Maleficent draw nearer to Morningstar Kingdom, Nanny’s thoughts drifted to places long forgotten. The distant places she’d previously preferred to keep locked away in the deep recesses of her mind. But something inexplicable was happening. The closer the Dark Fairy got to Morningstar Castle, the more Nanny began to remember. It was a painful process, because the memories weren’t just her own; they were Maleficent’s, as well. And
in that moment, Nanny resented having the ability to read minds and to feel her loved ones’ emotions. She almost wished for the days when she thought she was just Tulip’s nanny, unaware of her powers or her past, or the great love she had for Maleficent. But rather than fighting the memories, she succumbed to them. She let them wash over her like a torrent of half-remembered dreams. And she opened her mind to Circe, sharing her thoughts.

  Maleficent had been born in the Fairylands, in the hollow of a tree filled with screeching crows. She was little and defenseless, and she seemed to be made up entirely of sharp edges. Her features were pointy and her skin had a milky-green pallor. Terrible nubby horns were starting to emerge from her bony little head. Nothing about her was right. Nothing at all.

  All the fairies feared her, because they found her appearance disturbing. They’d left her there in that tree, alone, for no one knew who had abandoned her there. If her parents hadn’t wanted her, then surely the fairies didn’t, either. For all they knew, she was actually an ogre. Or something too vile for even the likes of ogres. Besides, she didn’t have wings or pleasant features. And there was a distinct air of evil about her, so clearly she couldn’t be a fairy. No, she wasn’t a fairy at all. At least, that was what the fairies told themselves, to console themselves when they stayed up late at night, wondering if they’d done the right thing by leaving the defenseless little creature in the hollow of an old tree.

  Whatever her origins, she belonged to the crows. The crows will care for her, the fairies told themselves. She must have been born of their magic.