Enchantress Sacrifice
Denice Hughes Lewis
Copyright © 2016 Denice Hughes Lewis
All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-0-9984547-0-2
For Julia and Violet
Prologue
They call me Aru. Deep within this island, I absorb the petty struggle of native and invader. After millennia, my end is near. Bloated in misery, twisted by their hatred and prejudice, I will destroy everything and all will be consumed as easily as a drop of rain. Unless . . . unless the unborn child survives her birth and lives to inherit gifts that could destroy me. She cannot hide. I am the Beast and hear the heartbeat of her soul even now.
One: A Beginning
I slip into the arms of a wrinkled woman, newly born, uniquely aware. Shadows blur sight. I gasp for breath. Suffocate. Kick.
“This one, she is strong,” an old woman says, “though she comes early. You wise to seek my help.”
“Thank you, Laruna,” my mother says.
I struggle against the shadows.
The old woman gapes at me. “She has violet eyes. God Aru, I beg you, forgive me.” She shoves me into my mother’s arms and backs away in horror. “You created Enchantress.”
Rays of sunshine beam through the trees overhead. I suck in half-strangled gulps of light. Sunlight streaks into the strands of my hair. I cry. Breathe more light. I have no use for air.
The old woman shrieks. “Kepyr is forbidden to mate with Ice Lord. You and child die.” She spits at my mother and flees.
I lock onto my mother’s deep brown eyes. Her feelings ripple through me in warmth. I
later learn this is love. And that love can be soft and sweet, fierce and fiery, proud and possessive or as pure as an unblemished soul. Being minutes old does not limit the knowledge within me, it only restricts my use.
“You will save us all, Elandra,” my mother says. “Of that I am certain. Your father saw this in a vision.”
Native drums pound the air with fear. They will lodge forever in my heart. I feel and remember everything around me, my curse.
Mother drags herself up from the ground of my birthing place and sways in weakness. She wraps me in soft fur.
“We must reach your father in the Ice Mountains. Our plan did not include your early birth.”
She stumbles toward a dense forest. Her feet plod to the endless beat, beat, beat of the drums.
Towering slabs of ice loom in the distance. Something shadowed and sinister awakes within their depths. My soul shudders. I know this darkness waits for me.
Two: An Ending
My mother reaches the edge of the dense forest. The woods hang in silence. Lush undergrowth and thick trees hamper her progress. Branches tear her skin. Her racing heart beats close to my cheek. She stops to catch her breath and sinks to the moist ground.
A profusion of pink flowers hangs overhead. Colors tickle me and I giggle.
“Shh. My people will send their bravest warrior to hunt us. We must reach your father before we are discovered.”
She pulls herself up and pushes deeper into the forest. I inhale the sweetness of her skin.
Hidden life electrifies the trees around us. It hums through my senses. Unseen creatures rustle through bushes, shrieking, warning of danger.
My skin pricks and I tremble, knowing something else has entered the forest. Stealth, arrogance and hatred try to steal into me. Strong heartbeats bang next to my faster ones. I squirm against the uninvited feelings.
“Pray for the coming darkness to hide us, Elandra,” my mother says.
A muscled warrior crouches in silent shadow. Dark hair hangs over his fierce, painted
face.
I cry out to warn my mother. Too late.
An arrow swishes through the air and rips into her heart.
I scream, feeling as if the arrow tears into mine.
My mother falls to her knees and stares into my eyes with endless and unconditional love. “Forgive me, my child. I have failed us both.” She hunches over me in final protection.
Staring into her face, I long to help her. My tears blur her beauty. Emotions war inside me . . . my mother’s agonizing pain, anger at my inability to do anything, the warrior’s pleasure. Helpless, I feel her life seep away.
Triumph overwhelms my other senses as the warrior swaggers toward us. Pride in his ability to kill my defenseless mother pours into me. I recoil when he kicks her aside and roll away from the warmth and safety of her arms. He glares down with a satisfied smile.
I shriek. Wind whips through the trees, echoing my fear. Air shimmers and expands from my hair in a small bright circle.
The warrior steps back in surprise, then laughs. “You are too weak to fight me, Enchantress.” He unsheathes a knife carved with strange symbols and leans over me. “I sacrifice you to Aru. For my prosperity and health.”
A roar of rage shakes the ground around us. A tall monster streaks through the woods on two legs as large as tree trunks. The creature mows through plants, all speed, power and grace.
The warrior yells a battle cry and backs away.
I cry out, but not from fear. From relief.
The monster rushes past me, its body covered in white fur. Leathery feet with sharp talons dig into the ground next to my head. Ridges of bone protrude from its back.
The warrior hides behind a tree and fumbles for an arrow.
The monster’s arms rip away branches with clawed fingers. Scales of icy purple cover a leathery head. Steam curls over the long snout and pointed horn on the forehead. The creature is upon him.
I close my eyes, shuddering against the rage and terror of feelings.
The warrior’s spine snaps in a crunch of bone and searing torment.
My cry echoes his. I writhe in agony, gasping for breath. Light seeps into my hair and the pain lessens.
The monster hurls the warrior’s body into a tree. He dies and I feel nothing. Not even remorse. He murdered my only link to life.
The forest relaxes, serene once again.
The monster lurches forward. Blue eyes stare at me in awe. I am surprised to touch the intelligence of a female soul, not a monster. She raises her scaly head to the sky. Her screech shakes the very air. It is a cry so mournful that I feel her heart might break. Silver tears fall from her eyes and down her leathery cheeks. Emotions tumble so erratically through her and in such waves of despair that I whimper.
She kneels. Her eyes meet mine and shine in a kind of acceptance—of what I know not.
I have no fear of her when she lifts me like a precious gift. Sheltering me in her furry arms, my gentle savior carries me away into the darkening forest.
Three: Another Beginning
My monster tramps deeper into the trees. I fall asleep in her arms to the music of her humming and only awake when she stops.
The sun slants out of sight. I do not fear its disappearance for I know my hair stores enough light for breath.
Aching memories of my mother’s love crawl through my mind. Never truly knowing her is a loss I will always carry. Why did she and my father bring me into a world that could only mean my death? Who am I? What is an Enchantress?
We stop before a great slab hidden in tangled, emerald vines. My monster shoves its rough surface. The stone pivots, quiet as the night. She hunches low and hurries inside. The rock swings shut behind us.
Firelight shines on the walls. Our shadows waver as we travel down a long staircase that winds thr
ough a maze of metal: walls, floors and sculptured arches.
She turns into a large cavern, pauses and bows in respect.
A man sits at a wooden table scribbling in a huge book. His head is wrapped in twisted cloth. Black eyes glint over a straight nose in a pale face. He looks into her eyes.
A powerful feeling of love sweeps through the room and shimmers between man and monster.
“Bryntar, my dear, never hesitate to interrupt me,” he says. “What did you bring us now? Yet another wounded animal to heal?”
His voice is tender. Yet steel resolve and great guilt hide beneath the surface and shudder through me.
Her voice rasps, deep and low. “Much more, Taroc.”
The pain it takes for her to speak burns my throat.
Her tone makes Taroc rise and stride toward me.
I smile up at him and gurgle, feet kicking into the soft violet robe that covers his tall body. Shock fills his handsome face for a second, then is gone. He looks into Bryntar’s eyes. A great sadness spreads through the cavern.
In a quiet voice he says, “The prophecy is accurate, even so.”
Bryntar says nothing.
My heart tightens with her grief. I cry and pat her furry chest.
Taroc stares at me with curiosity. “I do believe she feels your pain. That will make it even more difficult for her. Was she abandoned?”
Scales ripple as Bryntar shakes her great head. “Kepyr mother, warrior, dead.”
“I see,” he says. “They will not cease their search without evidence.” Taroc returns to the table and picks up a sharp knife that flashes gold in the candlelight.
Smoke furls from Bryntar’s nostrils.
His voice becomes gentle. “This is necessary if she is to remain safe.”
A moan escapes from Bryntar. “Another way. Please.”
“There is none.” He walks calmly toward us and reaches up to caress her rough cheek with long graceful fingers. “Hold her tight.”
Bryntar clasps me to her chest. Her love engulfs my growing fear like a blazing pink flame. I coo and smile at her.
Taroc grasps a tuft of hair at the nape of my neck and quickly slices through it. He yelps when white-hot sparks leap from my hair and sizzle into his hand.
I scream. Thrash against the sting and fight for breath.
He quickly squeezes the wound closed. A cool tingle from his fingers ends my pain. I sob and suck my fist.
Bryntar shoves me at Taroc, her expression a conflicting mask of anger and acceptance.
I shake and gasp for more light. A melody rises deep inside my heart. Quiet at first. It grows in tenderness and beauty and sings of strength, of purpose, of service. And of forgiving.
The severed strands of hair glow in his hand. He passes them to Bryntar. “I know you hate the Kepyrs. It is necessary that they find her hair with the bodies. Please go with extreme care, my dear.”
Bryntar hisses and thumps out of the cavern without a backward glance.
Taroc places me on the table and covers the burn with his other hand. When he removes it, the burn is healed. He sighs. “Well, it is done. If you are to survive, that will be the least of your pain, little one.”
Four: The Growing
I grow quickly and walk early. Because of my smallness, it is easy to disappear when I explore my home. Bryntar always finds me, but she is too loving for reprimand. Taroc has no trouble with the task. His black eyes and furrowed brow sear my nerves with disapproval. I am doubly punished because his feelings combine with my guilt.
“It would be wise to learn obedience,” he says, “or take the consequences.”
Bryntar hisses. “Cannot punish baby.”
“The knowledge of eons, of those who have gone before, courses through her. Even if she cannot access all of it yet.”
He turns to me. “Will you behave, Tufts?”
Taroc knows I hate that name. My hair is the only thing that does not grow as fast as my mind or my body. It is barely longer than when I was born. Perhaps that is as it should be, since it can never be cut without draining light and causing my death.
Instead of throwing my usual tantrum, I lift my chin and stare into his eyes. “Call me Elandra.”
He chuckles and pats my head. “See my dear Bryntar? This child has more ability than any one of her kind ever born. The first to converse at such a young age.”
I glow in the praise and behave—until after my first season, when Taroc can no longer outrun me. The underground caverns become my playground.
I explore with abandon. Several caves spread in a half-circle around the main one. Every wall is hard, covered with a glittery metal surface that is cold or warm, depending on the need. I discover a room filled with books, a cave for food preparation, smaller caves for sleeping, another for waste. The locked door barring the entrance to Taroc’s private room is the only place I cannot go.
Turning another corner I stop, spellbound by the vast underground gardens that expand before me. Sun beams from high overhead. My head swirls as I inhale the brightness. Bryntar usually takes me to a room with a small hole of sunlight when it is necessary to fill my hair with light. This is so much better. I giggle and twirl, arms lifting to the light. Plants grow in masses of red, green, orange, purple. Some as tall as Bryntar. I touch an intricate leaf as soft as breath. It folds around my finger, tingling me with its love. Exotic fragrances tickle my nose. Water tumbles down walls in narrow ribbons and splashes into large ponds of floating plants. I plop down on the grass, inhaling the rich soil. I close my eyes to feel every living thing and soon fall asleep.
Taroc gently lifts me into his arms. For once, his eyes hold no anger. “I, too, love this garden. It represents the beauty of life which provides my only escape from responsibility.”
Too sleepy to think or wonder about his responsibility, I snuggle closer in his strong arms, content.
The next day, Bryntar becomes my first teacher. She instructs me about which plants, seeds and flowers are for eating or for medicines, and which are poisonous. I adore her and she feels the same. There could never be a more loving or protective mother than my Bryntar. My heart has belonged to her from the moment she saved my life. I watch in wonder as the five claws at the end of her fingers sew me garments made from leather and fur. She does not disclose where she finds the bright cloth she sometimes uses. She never answers my questions about her life before I was born. I finally stop asking.
Happiness and peace fill me during these times. The hurtful memories are buried deep inside and keep away the fears of what I am and why I was born.
When I am five seasons of age, I take an interest in Taroc and the scribbles he makes on parchment. “Why do you do that?”
“I am documenting the history of this island.”
“How? You never leave the caves.”
“I have knowledge from past experience and Bryntar keeps me informed.”
“When does she go outside?”
“How do you think the wounded animals arrive for my healing?”
I stamp my foot. “She never lets me near them.”
“They are wild and must return to their natural state without interference from you.”
“I need someone to play with.”
“Not with your atrocious behavior.”
I laugh when I remember throwing rotten fruit at him.
He frowns. “It is past time to rectify the situation. You will begin your education now.”
He leads me into the library. Books rise to the ceiling. Lost in the huge room, I sense emotions hidden in the pages of every volume. The age and density of the books and their knowledge weigh heavily.
Overwhelmed, I ask, “Did you write these?”
He chuckles. “No. I am merely the custodian of knowledge from past civilizations. I believe this island and its people are all that remain of the world.”
“Why do you live underground?”
He hides the twinge of fear so fast I wonder if I imagine it.
“I do not care to associate with the people of the island.”
“Why not?”
“Their forms of society do not allow for individual thought or true freedom.”
I gaze at the tiny lines that cross his forehead and etch his mouth. He has aged. More seasons than my five.
“You are old.”
He stares into my eyes and does not hide his resignation. “Too old. That is why you begin your studies today. You will acquire the knowledge that resides in these books.”
“All of them?” I gaze around the room. “Impossible.”
“Not for you, Enchantress.”
I cringe at the remembrance of that hated identity. It is easy to forget who I am in this safe, hidden place. Emotions from the past tumble through me in throbbing waves. In the protection of these metal walls and floors, I never feel the thing that waits for me under the mountains; the thing I keep secret from everyone, the thing that wants my soul. I tremble.
Taroc pats my head. “I am sorry for the burden you must carry.”
It is rare to feel any emotion from him and I savor the love, even though it is tinged with sadness.
He gazes at me, his face an enigma. “Never forget who you are. Your life and the life of this island depend upon your powers.”
A chill slides into me. “Powers? What do you mean?”
“You will know when the time is right.”
“Tell me now.”
“You have much to learn before you need concern yourself with your destiny.”
“What destiny?”
He shuts his feelings away where I cannot access them. I know he will tell me nothing until he is ready.
Taroc sits me in a chair and pulls four books from the shelves. “I want you to read these today.”
I shove the books off the table. They clunk on the metal floor in layers of dust. “I do not know how.”
His eyes blaze into mine. I cringe. “You do and you will. If you have questions pertaining to what is written within, I shall be glad to answer them.” He strides out of the library.
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