by JK Ensley
“I was right. A bath does the trick, every time.”
Then she banged her toe. Hard.
“Ouch! What the…”
The ancient book was lying in the middle of the floor.
“How in the world did you… Ugh, will you not leave me in peace? Have you been sent here to torture me, to haunt me?”
For the first time, she noticed the faint, well-worn writing on the cover. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make out the faded words.
“I am exhausted,” she whispered. “And as usual, time eludes me. My days are spent before they’ve even had a chance to start.”
It was true. For as long as Jenevier could remember, her days had escaped her as a thief in the night—one day running into the next with no real stopping point. It was like she lived in a completely obscure world. When lucidity tried to snap her back into focus, the day would be gone and sleep would consume her.
Then, the dreams would come—vivid and unforgiving. Mostly, she would lose all memory of them upon waking. Only a faint picture sometimes yet remained of a forgotten place she may have once been. On and on it went with no real ending place… one day bleeding into the next for the whole of her life.
“Very well. I will succumb to your lore, you little demon.” Her words dripped with sarcasm as she climbed into bed and opened the faded cover. “Now, decipher your message for me. Spill forth your secrets and then leave me be.”
The ancient hand written pages looked as dark and crisp as the first day the ink was laid to the paper. There, within the opening pages of the book, was a folded piece of parchment.
It read…
My Dearest Jenevier,
The time has now come when the putrid shadow I foresaw in my vision is closing in on you, crushing you. I knew I would not be there to help when you needed me the most. Please forgive me, my child.
Within the pages of this book I have written all that I’ve learned of the dark arts; of curses, of spells, and of marks scarce known throughout the world. I have no idea what you are up against, child. Yet I hope what is written here will touch on a way for you to defeat the evil I know is trying frantically to consume you.
I have placed a spell upon this book, one of rarest magic. It will come to you in your most needed hour—traveling through both time and space to find you.
My dear sweet Jenevier, if you do not yet fear the evil or even know it is near, let the appearance of this book be a warning unto you. All is not well, my child.
Please, look to these pages, look to the friends and allies you may have gained. I only pray you are not alone and unknowing of the craft herein when this fatefully reaches your hands. If that be the case, if you are all alone… then I pray now and forever that all the divine powers within the seen and unseen worlds come to your aid, my dear sweet precious child.
Blessed be, little one,
Marlise
Jenevier’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the ancient paper still.
When the sorrowful tears rolled down her face and dripped upon the open pages of the spell bound book, a hideous shriek sprang forth, piercing her ears. Fear engulfed her.
She flung the foul gift into the corner of her room. It landed in the shadows… just as her bedroom door was violently kicked in.
Chapter 8
Wraiths
(RAY-ths)
Jezreel had gathered as many candles as she could find while Jenevier began to read aloud from Marlise’s writings.
There are many marks you may encounter during your time and travels spent working in the craft. Be wary. Never disregard a mark until you have studied and recorded it properly. Each shape and each color may carry with it deeper implications. I have tried with all diligence to record all I have seen or heard of. This I have done for you, my dear sweet Jenevier. For if you are to remain in Tamar Broden and carry on my trade, the village will look to you for guidance. Whether you are reading these words for good or ill, my child, I hope they are of some use to you. I have arranged all marks in order by color and again by design.
My heart is ever with you, Jenevier. If I am departed, take comfort in the fact I am not far from you. Go forth in peace, knowing that your destiny is indeed a rare one. May the forces of time and Mother Nature be on your side… always.
Marlise
Jenevier felt the cold tears streaming down her face. Yet she refused to succumb to them—gaining needed strength from her cherished aunt’s parting words. Only when her vision began to blur did she wipe her eyes.
“Very well, then,” she whispered, flipping through the many pages. “Let’s find H for heart.”
“Oh dear… I’m worried now,” Jezreel mumbled. “If we don’t find the answers in this book, there’s probably nothing else in this house about it.”
“Got it.” Jenevier jabbed her finger into the book. “Let’s see here…”
She mumbled aloud as she skimmed over the different kinds of hearts, shapes of hearts, colors and brightness of the hearts.
Her hope was fading fast as she flipped to the last page.
The Twisted Black Heart of Wrothdem and under it in smaller letters read, I pray by all that is good in this world, Jenevier, this is NOT the mark you seek.
When she read those words written by her beloved aunt, it was as if all the wind had been knocked out of her.
“No… I am doomed.”
“Never!” Alastyn tore the book from Jenevier’s clenched hands and began pacing, reading aloud.
The black twisted heart of Wrothdem is bestowed upon a maiden by the Prince of Wrothdem himself. No one I have met can describe for certain what this mark means, for no woman having received it has ever returned to this village or been heard from again. So, in this case, firsthand knowledge of its ramifications simply does not exist. One thing I have found to be true, the only way to actually escape the curse of the Twisted Black Heart of Wrothdem is to prevent it.
Alastyn looked up to see Jenevier’s reaction thus far, and continued reading.
This prevention can occur in only a few ways.
1) Never make direct eye contact with dark Prince Merodach.
2) Under no condition are you to ever willingly take the hand of the Prince, or allow him to take yours.
Lastly, 3) the best way to prevent this horrid curse from becoming your destiny, is to bestow upon the hand a rare and precious gift so that his mark will not take hold. This unique gift I speak of will be different for each maiden.
At the time of this writing, I cannot fully say what this gift would be for you, my child. Many people have anointed their hands with rare, exotic spices and herbs. Some women have even resorted to trusting in sacred family spells passed down thru their generations by an ancient Elven Princess who has long since passed.
We are not as fortunate in our family, Jenevier. Many of our ancestors chose to use our family’s gift to do ill unto others by practicing the darker arts. Thusly, we were not gifted with a protective family blessing I could pass on to you. Also, this ancestral fortification cannot be borrowed from another who is not of the same blood. The sanction is bound to protect their lineage, and their lineage alone.
Alastyn stopped pacing and sat down beside the still-frozen girl of his dreams.
“You okay?”
She only nodded, not actually making eye contact with him. “Please… go on,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat and continued.
To check this (or any other mark) for its permanence and lasting effect, wash your hands in an herbal potion called Wormwood, so named from the odor which arises from it. The concoction must be warm. And… it must be mixed only by the one who bears the cursed mark.
It is to be made of four equal ingredients. You MUST add them in this order…
1 part — Rosemary, fresh
1 part — Dragon’s Blood, powdered
1 part — Mountain Laurel, fresh
1 part — Lock of hair from the marked woman
Heat t
hem together, stirring continuously. When the potion is ready, wash your hands in it whilst repeating these words…
From the mark of the beast
Free my soul
Let the water of Wormwood
Make me whole
Vanquish this mark
From its master’s sight
Let it be seen only
With dawn’s first light
If you have been somehow protected, the mark will be gone forever. If not, then at least the mark will not be visible at night. From all I can glean, the marked maidens always vanish at night. This potion can, in the very least, postpone your capture by Prince Merodach’s minions. All accounts claim the maidens are stolen away by his loyal Shadow Wraiths.
This is all I can do for you, my child. Save for this, and use it only as your last resort…
If all else fails, find the man known only as Valadrog. He lives in the far Southern mountain range of Thralldom. Valadrog owes me a great favor for I once gave him a cure for his ailing daughter. Her life was spared, but only for a time. She disappeared in a foreign land. When whispers of the mark from the Prince of Wrothdem reached her father, he began his own research. Valadrog is an extremely powerful man. But at my last word from Thralldom, she had never been found.
If this is your only option, then go with all haste, my child. Tell him who you are and what has befallen you. Go alone. Valadrog may not help you, but he would never harm you. If he chooses to aid you in any way, do all he says, without question. If there is a man left in the whole of this realm who could possibly help you, it would be him.
God speed to you and may brightness lead your way. I love you as if you were my own daughter, Jenevier. Always have I loved you thus.
May the family powers keep you safe… now and always.
Marlise
Alastyn softly closed the book. “There are as many mysteries about this as there are clarities,” he murmured.
“She told us all she knew,” Jenevier said absently. “Our task will be to fit the pieces together.”
“And the first piece would be the potion. Shall we get started?” Jezreel jumped up. “It looks like this one is all on you, Milady.” She winked before disappearing into the kitchen.
Alastyn quickly stood, calling out to the departing girl. “For you to love Jenevier as a blood sister, you do not seem quite as upset as I should think.”
Jezreel spun around on the young man. Her eyes burned through him like hot coals.
“Then don’t think,” she snapped.
Jenevier placed her hand lightly upon Alastyn’s arm. “Come now. Jezreel and I have a special bond no one else can even conceive. She means no ill toward me. And I do not take it as such.”
Jezreel and Alastyn continued to glare at one another.
“Why are you even here, really? Is it your great love for the fair Jenevier?” Jezreel viciously taunted him. “Do you believe she returns this true love in such a short time?”
“Perhaps you should admit to Jenevier how you truly feel about the Prince,” Alastyn retorted, determined not to back down. “Admit it, Jezreel. You couldn’t take your eyes off him the whole evening. You are smitten with him, are you not? Perhaps you’re jealous of his choice. Perhaps you secretly wish it was you.”
Jezreel held up her hands and began to chant, “Alois, Anaya, Abaric—”
“Stop it now!” Jenevier jumped in between the arguing duo, turning on her friend. “That is enough, Jezreel. What do you think you’re doing? You know such as that is forbidden. By the gods, girl! Where is your mind?”
“On Merodach,” Alastyn said sardonically.
“Enough! Both of you,” Jenevier yelled.
“Apologies, Jenevier.” Alastyn lowered his head. “Forgive me, Jezreel. I spoke out of place.”
Jezreel stared coldly at him, then walked away.
Jenevier followed her into the kitchen. “It is from lack of sleep and emotional drain. That’s all. He didn’t mean it.”
She smiled softly as she began picking the wilted flowers out of Jezreel’s hair.
“Perhaps… but he wasn’t entirely wrong.” Jezreel sighed. “It’s true. I was smitten wholly by the Prince. I longed for his undivided attention all during the celebration. But I didn’t wish for this, Jenevier. I swear it. I am not jealous. And I want nothing more than to help you through this trial.”
Jenevier kissed her friend on the forehead and embraced her. “I know, Jezreel, I know. Well… we better get started now. The Shadow Wraiths may soon be upon our doorstep.”
“I love you, Jenevier,” she whispered.
“I love you, too, Jezreel. I always will.”
Jezreel began heating the water while Jenevier collected the needed ingredients.
“Very well, then. I’m on my own this time, ‘tis true. Hmm… now let me see.” Jenevier tapped her finger against her cheek. “I wonder why it is most potions call for powdered dragon’s blood or dried dragon’s blood or crushed dragon’s blood?” she mused. “I mean, pretty soon all the Dragons will be dead and gone from all this bleeding. And then what shall we do?”
A muffled laugh came from the far side of the kitchen. “You tease, do you not?” Alastyn said with a huge smile.
Jenevier’s attention was on the prophetic recipe. “Hmm? Tease about what?”
“About the dragon’s blood. You don’t truly believe it comes from real Dragons, do you?”
He stepped further into the kitchen, leaning back against the wall as he watched her work.
“Well, where else would it come from?” she asked, innocently.
He smiled. “It is a beautiful red flower with talon-like thorns. It grows only in the deepest parts of an Elven forest in the outer lands. The plant is called Dragon’s Blood.”
“How do you know this?” Jezreel snapped.
He didn’t even glance toward the other girl. “I have seen it.”
“You have been to the outer lands?” Jenevier looked up at him then, suddenly curious.
“Many times.” He smiled again. “I used to go with my father and mother. She loved to travel and explore new places. But that was a long time ago now.”
“Why are you here, really?” Jezreel spat. “Everything we find strange or unusual, you seem to know all about it. Why is that? Huh? Truth be told, I’ve never even seen you in Tamar Broden before today. How is it you just appeared out of nowhere? Tell me.” She narrowed her hard glare. “I think it very strange indeed that the first time we ever saw you… was just as the Prince approached us. Perhaps you know him.” She continued to goad the young man. “Are you a friend of his? An ally? Perhaps a minion? Isn’t it true that you’ve actually come here to steal Jenevier away yourself—deliver her to your dark master?”
“Hold your tongue, Witch. God forbid!” Alastyn yelled.
“Stop it, now!” Jenevier slammed the wooden spoon down against the stove. “First of all, Jezreel is not a witch.” She pointed back and forth between herself and her friend. “We are not witches.”
Alastyn blanched at her unusually sharp words. “Apologies, Jenevier. But… what am I to think? She was about to cast a spell upon me but a moment ago. And then your aunt’s writings all talk about your family powers…” He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Jenevier was losing patience and what precious little time she had left. Her frustration was growing, quickly pushing her to the breaking point.
“I don’t know why Jezreel said what she did a moment ago. Or how she even knew it, for that matter.” She turned and eyed her friend reproachfully. “But as far as our family’s powers go, they are in healing and medicines. Not witchcraft.”
“And just why is it you think we should answer you in our own home?” Jezreel hissed. “Perhaps it’s you who should answer a few of questions of mine, boy.”
“This is a discussion for another day. Please, the night is wearing on.” Jenevier sighed and glanced out the window. “If the Shadow Witches (or whatever they’re called) are c
oming for me, it won’t be much longer now.”
She wanted and needed her friends here, yes. But the distraction they were now becoming was maddening. She needed a clear head if she hoped to find a way out of this mess. Thankfully, silence now ruled the room as she rubbed her temples, trying to recall her lessons… and erase all the bickering.
“The water’s ready,” Jezreel whispered.
Jenevier began adding the ingredients one at a time, continually stirring. “First is the fresh rosemary. Next is the powdered dragon’s blood, from the beautiful thorny red flower of a foreign land.”
She sent a quick smile toward Alastyn who took it as the peace offering she had meant it to be. He visibly relaxed. Jenevier crinkled up her nose at him then and he blushed. She almost giggled.
“Next, I add the lovely fresh mountain laurel.” She turned toward Jezreel. “It’s a good thing Aunt Marlise was such a wonderful gardener. Would you mind taking over that part? It seems every plant I touch, dies.”
Jezreel sort of snorted. “So much for your family’s powers of healing.”
The girls looked at one another and burst into laughter again. Jenevier knew they were two halves of the same person, and that knowledge gave her great comfort.
She slowly picked up the knife Jezreel had placed by the steaming pot. Sighing, she tried to steady her nerves.
“Okay, okay. Now for the hard part—my beautiful hair.”
Jenevier winced as she held out a curl, frowning at the very thought.
“Cut it from underneath,” Jezreel said. “That way, maybe no one will notice.”
As the golden curl fell into the pot, Jenevier continued stirring. She started to hum softly, just before she closed her eyes.
Plunging her hands into the still swirling potion, she began to wash them as she chanted over and over.
“From the mark of the beast
Free my soul,
Let the water of Wormwood
Make me whole.
Vanquish this mark
From its master’s sight,
