The Black Witch (Anasta Chronicles Book 2)

by Jenny McKane

  Could she do it? Mother Oda had told her that she could. Mother Oda had believed in her. The old woman would not have entrusted her with this mission if she hadn’t thought that Avalon was capable of it. It was Mother Oda who had told her that she was a warrior queen.

  And besides that, she owed it to her companions, who had accompanied her into the desert. If they were dead, she needed to do it in their memory. And if they were still alive, she knew that they would want her to forget them, at least until she had done what they had all set out to achieve.

  She took a deep breath. She could do it. She would break into The Tower and confront the Black Witch. She had the amulet, and she remembered the spell that Mother Oda had taught her now. And when she had defeated the dark power, the animals would be free.

  And she would be free to find her friends.

  She shivered, remembering the dark figure that had appeared before her in the sand. It had been the Storyteller, she knew that now. How had she managed to flee him? Was he toying with her again? Was he even now watching her, ready to pounce?

  She knew that he enjoyed it. The whole elaborate game that he had played with them. Poisoning their minds against each other. Leading them into traps and making them forget each other. He could have killed them outright at any juncture, but instead, he had chosen to toy with them. Almost like the cat that she had seen at Mother Oda’s, playing with a mouse.

  Was this another one of his ploys? Making her think that she had escaped?

  She sighed. It would do no good to overthink it. She had a mission to accomplish, regardless of whether the Storyteller was watching her or not. If she were about to die, then so be it.

  ***

  Avalon skirted the base of The Tower at a distance.

  She had been watching it for hours now. She knew where the guards were stationed and how often they were relieved. She had seen the entry points and noted the set of keys the guards used to gain entry.

  There weren’t that many guards, considering how important this place was to the Jarle. She had been anticipating more, but then she realized that it was just a token guard. If the one that they called The Black Witch lived and worked within it, then that was guard enough. Her magic was obviously sufficient to deter and defeat anyone, or anything, that sought entry.

  But not now. Not this time.

  She watched as a servant walked out of a side door, carrying a bucket of water. It was an old woman, almost bent double with age. She wore a long dress with a coarse apron over it, and a veil wrapped around her head. The woman walked to a trough, emptying her bucket, then slowly walked back inside, closing the door behind her tightly.

  Avalon considered. That could be the way for her to gain entry. It was obviously the servants’ entrance, and The Tower wasn’t guarded well on that side. If the door led to a kitchen, she might be able to make her way up the stairs into the main section of the building.

  Yes. That would be her point of entry, but she would wait until she had the cover of darkness to make her move.

  She took a deep breath. Again, her heart ached for her lost companions. For Skyresh and Everard and Hansa, the sweet wolf. Could she do this, without them?

  ***

  Avalon crept quietly towards the door. There was a guard patrolling the area, but he had walked to the other side.

  However, she had to wait for him. Undoubtedly, the door would be locked. All the guards carried keys, and she had to secure a set. Not just for this door, but any others that she might encounter within.

  She crouched behind the water trough, waiting. He should be coming back this way at any moment.

  There he was—now. Swaggering slightly. He wasn’t on high alert. Again, the thought came to her that The Tower was not well guarded. Had anyone ever tried to breach its boundaries?

  Perhaps that was going to be her advantage. The fact that they obviously thought that no one was foolhardy enough to do this. She could take them by surprise.

  The guard was so close. She could hear him breathing when he stopped, looking around. She noted that he had a sword, which was sheathed.

  His back was turned. This was her moment. She sprang up, sword drawn, and grabbed him. The man made a soft hiss of surprise as she placed the tip of her sword against his throat.

  “Don’t make a sound,” she whispered into his ear. “Take out your keys and start walking toward the door.”

  He slowly took the keys out of his pocket, but he didn’t move. Avalon pushed him roughly. He started walking towards the door.

  Suddenly, he grabbed her arm from behind and reefed her away. In one movement, he drew his sword.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said in a low voice. “Just give me the keys, and I will let you live.”

  The man crouched, circling her, his sword raised. Then he lunged.

  There was a clink as the swords met. They parried for a moment, then Avalon got the upper hand. She plunged her sword into the man’s stomach, withdrawing it swiftly.

  He staggered towards her, clutching his wound. Then, he fell, face forwards, onto the ground.

  Avalon crouched over him, her heart thudding. Where were the keys? Had he still been holding them?

  Yes. They were in his hand. Even in death, the man refused to let them go. She had to painstakingly unclasp his fingers to retrieve them. Then, she dragged him to a spot just behind the water trough and ran towards the door.

  She didn’t have much time now. The guard would be missed or discovered, but there had been no other way.

  The door creaked when she opened it. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

  She had been expecting to walk into a kitchen, or a servants’ room. Instead, she entered a wide-open space. Walking further in, she looked up and gasped.

  The Tower went so high, she could not discern the top. The room that she had entered was like a central space, with narrow staircases twisting upwards in a circle around it. She could see that there were many rooms leading off, against the walls.

  Which way to go? She crept forward, hesitating. It was so silent, she could hear her own breathing in the stillness. There was simply no one around. Flames flickered from torches attached to the walls.

  She turned to her right, and then to her left. It made no difference. She chose the left.

  She crept up the narrow, circular staircase. Her heart was beating so loudly, it was like a drum echoing through her whole body. She tried to quell the foreboding that had suddenly sprung up like a weed in her heart. It wasn’t just that there was no one around. The whole building held a heavy atmosphere of doom.

  Dust lay over everything, and she had to suppress a sudden impulse to sneeze.

  She had reached a room. Taking a deep breath, she tried the door handle. It was unlocked and yielded easily under her touch. She opened it and stepped inside.

  It was a small, dark room. A long bench was in its center with dried herbs hanging down over it. There were shelves on either side, containing glass bottles filled with liquid.

  And in the corner, there was a rocking chair. The old servant that she had seen today, emptying the bucket, was sitting in it. She was humming softly to herself as she knitted.

  Then, the woman sensed Avalon. She turned and gasped. Her hands stilled on her knitting.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “How did you get in here?”

  Avalon had drawn her sword and pointed it at the old woman.

  “I need you to get up slowly,” she said. “Put down your knitting.”

  The old woman did as she was told, rising to her feet. Her breath had quickened.

  “Please,” she whispered, as she lay her knitting down. “Don’t hurt me. I am only the servant.”

  Avalon gazed at her. “I will not hurt you if you tell me what I want,” she said, her sword raised. “But I do not give second chances.”

  The old woman nodded. “What do you want?”

  “I want information to start with,” she said quickl
y. “Where is the one they call the Black Witch? Does she reside in a particular room?”

  The old woman’s eyes widened. “Please, you do not want to do this,” she said. “My mistress will not show mercy to an intruder. You can still change the course of your destiny. Turn around, now, and flee. Run as far away from here as you can.”

  “That is not going to happen,” said Avalon. “And we are wasting time.”

  The old woman sighed. “She should be in her temple at this time of night,” she said. “I would have to lead you there. There are too many rooms leading off the staircase to explain it to you. The Tower is like a maze. Even working here so long, I sometimes get confused.”

  Avalon nodded. “Lead the way then,” she said.

  The old woman walked towards the door. Avalon followed her.

  “This way,” the old woman whispered, turning to climb the staircase. She turned back to Avalon, her eyes full of fear. “Please, if you find her, do not tell her I led you. I am about to retire and return to my home in Agnoria. I have not seen my family in years.”

  Avalon nodded, her eyes softening. “You have my word.”

  The old woman nodded, then started to climb. Her breathing was labored.

  All was still as they climbed upwards, passing closed doors. Avalon’s heart started to thump again. Was it normal that there was no one around? Not even one guard? It was making her mission easier, but she couldn’t help feeling that it was wrong. That it was too easy.

  She touched her pocket, making sure that the amulet was still in there. Yes. It was secure.

  They kept climbing, the staircase getting narrower. It had already been three flights by the time the old woman stopped outside a door. She turned to Avalon.

  “The temple is in there,” she said. “But it is at the center of many rooms that are not lit at night. My mistress demands isolation when she is summoning. I will take you to the door of it, then turn around and leave you.”

  Avalon nodded. The old woman opened the door, and they entered.

  She had not been lying. The space was so dark, she could barely see. The woman turned and walked to the right and down a narrow corridor. It was like a maze within the maze. How would she be able to find her way back out?

  Eventually, they came to a central space. Avalon had been expecting a temple like the one at Mother Oda’s, but no statues or cushions adorned this room. There was no sweet smell of incense, or candles flickering in the darkness. There was nothing to indicate that the room was a sacred space of any kind.

  It was devoid of furnishings, and there was no one within it. The room was completely empty.

  The old woman turned to Avalon. “Here we are,” she said. “I have brought you here. Now, I must go.”

  Avalon raised her sword to the woman. “You said that you would lead me to the Black Witch,” she whispered. “This room is empty.”

  The old woman raised an eyebrow. “Is it? You need to walk into it.”

  Avalon lowered her sword, hesitating. She walked into the space. A sliver of moonlight entered from a small window, guiding her way.

  She turned to look back at the old woman.

  “Go on,” said the woman gently.

  Avalon took another step.

  The old woman started laughing. Avalon stared at her in confusion.

  “You look perplexed, Avalon,” said the woman still laughing. “What confuses you? The fact that this is not a temple, or that there is no Black Witch sitting in the space?”

  Avalon raised her sword at the woman, her heart thumping.

  The old woman stopped laughing. “Oh, but I am just a poor old woman,” she said. “Please, do not hurt me.”

  Avalon hesitated.

  The woman laughed again. “You are easily duped,” she said. “Even now, standing in front of you, you cannot see. All I need to do is whisper words of vulnerability and your soft heart melts. I expected more. Aren’t you supposed to be a great warrior queen, descended from a long line of great women?”

  Avalon swallowed. “You are the witch.”

  The old woman smiled. “Indeed, I am,” she said.

  Avalon lunged suddenly with her sword. The old woman stepped aside, nimbly. Avalon turned and lunged again, but the woman kept stepping out of the way as if she were merely standing aside to let someone pass.

  “Enough,” said the old woman in a bored voice.

  Suddenly, the sword flew out of Avalon’s hand, landing with a clank on the opposite side of the room. Avalon turned to run towards it, but her feet seemed to be glued to the floor. She flailed her arms desperately.

  The old woman walked slowly towards her, circling.

  “You knew I was coming,” said Avalon, staring at her.

  “Yes,” said the old woman. “I have been watching your journey ever since you have started. It has amused me to watch you and your companions. Such passion! And I really wanted to get you into this space, Avalon. I know that you are the last of the warrior queens.”

  Avalon took a deep breath. “I am a queen,” she said quietly. “And I will defeat you.”

  The old woman laughed softly. “I admire your spirit,” she said. “All of the women in your family had spirit, but alas they were defeated. I was one of the sorcerers that wove the spells to do it.”

  Avalon watched the woman carefully. Could she reach into her pocket and retrieve the amulet without her noticing? No. Now was not the moment. She was too close, circling her, and if she reached for the amulet now and the witch noticed, she would take it.

  And then Avalon would have nothing. She must bide her time and wait.

  “Where are my companions?” she asked, staring at the woman.

  “In safe places,” she replied. “Contained. My creatures guard them well. Better than the ones that were entrusted with you, although your wolf did help you.”

  Hansa. At the thought of her beloved wolf, Avalon felt an anger so great she could barely contain it.

  “She is dead,” said the old woman. “She died defending you.”

  The old woman started laughing, and in front of Avalon’s astonished eyes, her features started to change slowly, as if they were melting and blurring.

  And suddenly, Aysus was standing in front of her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You,” spat Avalon. “I should have known.”

  The figure that was now Aysus laughed. “Yes, you really should have,” he said. “Although, to be fair, you did realize that there was something amiss with the Storyteller from the beginning. Unlike your companions.”

  Avalon glared at him. “And is this your real form? Or is it just another trick?”

  Aysus smiled. “I take many forms, as it suits me,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “The old man, who is sometimes the Storyteller. The old woman, who is the servant. Mere disguises designed to establish trust.”

  “I should have killed the old woman,” said Avalon slowly, “like I killed the guard. But you knew that I would not do that—unless extremely provoked.”

  “Of course,” said Aysus. “You are a warrior, Avalon, but you still believe that your enemy only takes one shape. Just like Skyresh. He was blinded by the Storyteller. You are all unused to the ways of magic and the forms that it can take.”

  Avalon took a deep breath. “What are you going to do to me?”

  Aysus smiled. “I don’t know, yet,” he replied. “I sense great power within you, which could be used to my advantage. You started out on the side of the Jarle, Avalon. You were one of the regime’s most loyal and strong warriors. You must see now that your rebellion can never hope to win. Perhaps you should come back to the winning side?”

  Avalon glared. “Never,” she spat. “I will never come back to your side. I see what you are. I see what you all are. I will never oppress my people for my own gain.”

  Aysus laughed softly. “Very noble,” he said. “Unlike your companion, Everard. He is not really a rebel, but you know that, don’t you?”

  Avalon gr
itted her teeth. “I know that he has been loyal to me,” she said. “He will not change sides again, even if he doesn’t fully embrace the rebellion. It is only because he was born a Jarle and is still indoctrinated with all the lies.”

  Aysus laughed, again. “Wrong,” he said. “Everard was not born a Jarle. He is a Stromel, born to poor farmers. He always wanted to improve his life; he never sought to overthrow. He had an opportunity to become a Jarle, and he took it.”

  “You are lying,” said Avalon.

  “Actually, I am not,” said Aysus. “Not this time. Everard took his chance and never looked back. He didn’t care about the suffering of his people – he sought only to make his own life better. He would still be persecuting the Stromel, now, if not for you. Turning a blind eye, as they say.”

  Avalon stared at the floor, silent. She had always known that Everard had secrets. Mother Oda had sensed it in him, as well. She had said that he was born with a different name.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Avalon, looking up at Aysus. “He will change if he survives. I was raised a Jarle, and I have changed. I know what you are doing. You are trying to break our ties of loyalty to each other. It is what you have been doing ever since we met you.”

  Aysus smiled. “It is a simple trick,” he said. “But you would be surprised how effective it is. Both Everard and Skyresh were strongly susceptible to it. Still, I speak the truth about Everard. He is not on your side.”

  Avalon shook her head. “You will not break me. They tried to break me in the Re-Education Center, and they failed.” She took a deep breath. “You will fail.”

  Aysus studied her. “We shall see,” he replied. “It is early days yet. And in Agnoria, they do not use sophisticated magic. It is more about breaking people with psychology and torture. There are not enough practitioners of the magic there. They are all drones – well indoctrinated, but with little true power.”

  Avalon turned her head away. When she looked back, Aysus was gone. Instead, a beautiful woman stood in front of her. She was so beautiful that Avalon could not help gasping. She wore a long, flowing gown of the deepest indigo. Her raven black hair fell in waves to her knees, and her skin was so pale it was almost luminescent. She wore a headpiece of black thorns which fell low on her forehead, with an amethyst stone at the center.