Gatehouse

by Bree Aguiar

  The girls headed out of the Mess Hall together, whispering conspiratorially with thoughts about Cyran’s suspicions and Gwenyre’s new teacher. Ametrine dismissed the idea that Sylvan’s special interest was anything more than him being a sadist. “He’s probably just bored,” she theorized off-handedly. “But let’s talk about this witch. Do you think they’ll have warts? I’ve never met a witch, but I hear they all have warts. A side-effect of their brand of magic. Not that I think you’d get warts, Gwen. At least, I hope not.”

  Ametrine continued her babbling as they exited the Hall and walked straight into Norethebo, who was waiting impatiently for the girls.

  15 AN UNFAIR PREDICAMENT

  Gwenyre, who was looking straight at Ametrine as she continued her incessant babbling about magic and witches and warts and teachers, walked straight into the half-troll. Though the woman was stout, she was also very thick; it was like walking into a concrete pole. Gwenyre found herself falling down hard, her butt hitting the hard grass beneath her. “Ouch,” she said, trying to find her balance and failing. “What’re you doing here?”

  This was clearly not the right way to greet the Miz, who stared down with wide fuming eyes. “No apologies, girl?! Will you ever learn your place?” The half-troll reached her thick hand out, pulling the elf up with almost no effort at all. She was a lot stronger than most gave her credit for, and Gwenyre felt her feet lift off the ground as she was pulled up.

  Gwenyre apologized, curtsying quickly as an act of contrition. She could tell Norethebo was angry and annoyed; it showed clearly on her face. She could also see another emotion hiding behind it: pity. Gwenyre ignored it as she continued her apologies.

  “We’re on our way to the Stables now,” she explained, thinking perhaps they were late and that’s why Norethebo came to get them.

  The look of pity deepened on the woman’s face. “Don’t bother,” she said gently, losing the gruffness she’d adopted to scold the girl just moments before. “I’ve received your full-time assignment. You’ll be placed in House Service. Master Phillipe was already aware and wasn’t expecting your return.” Norethebo turned slightly away, grumbling to herself. “They told that horse of a man, but not me. Nobody ever tells me anything.” She turned back to the girls. “We’ll all be going to the house, so get moving!” She started briskly walking, as if expecting them to follow, but Gwenyre stayed rooted to the ground.

  She felt like collapsing. Thankfully, Ametrine could feel this and turned the girl’s shoulders to her own. Holding on, she gave a quick pep talk. “I know,” she said in an understanding way. “I know how much the Stables meant to you, and it doesn’t make sense. It’s not fair. If anyone deserved it, you did. But you have to shake it off. At least for now. Don’t let it get to you.” Gwenyre nodded, her eyes filling with tears that she tried to wipe away quickly. She knew she shouldn’t be upset; she was, after all, in a place of punishment. Why would she receive a work assignment that made her happy? This place had become her home, yes, but it was not meant to be a happy one. She swallowed her tears back as Ametrine and Wyndemere tried to lead her to the House before Norethebo could notice how far behind they’d gotten.

  The girls kept whispering that it was going to be okay. Wind suggested it was perhaps a mistake, or just a temporary thing. Ametrine agreed, though Gwenyre could tell neither of them actually believed it. It wasn’t fair, but nothing about this place was supposed to be. While it was terrible, Gwenyre tried to convince herself that this might be a good thing: it would help her remember where she was and encourage her long-forgotten goal of getting out. In the past few months, she’d learned to think that she belonged here, that she had found a home and a family. But that wasn’t the truth; the truth was that this place could never be her home, and this betrayal was her cold and dark reminder.

  Ametrine and Wyndemere saw the change in her face on their walk, leading to looks of confusion. Gwen didn’t have time to explain why she was suddenly okay, and she definitely didn’t want to say it aloud in front of Norethebo. She whispered that they would speak later, and the girls agreed as they made their way to the House.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening were miserable for Gwen. Though Norethebo usually worked there, as a permanent member of the House Gwenyre would now report to Miz Kalina. She’d met her before during her various days assigned there, and there was no love lost between the two. Kalina was a troll and was generally known for being quite the disciplinarian. While Norethebo could be gruff, she genuinely cared for the girls under her tough exterior; Kalina did not. All that mattered to her was the House – making sure everything was spic and span, and that the guests were happy. Distracted by her changing emotions of anger, sadness, relief, and determination, Gwenyre found herself on the receiving end of many insults by her new mistress. Aimee and Wind saw the whole thing and kept squeezing the little elf’s hand whenever they passed by, as if to let her know it would be okay. Dinner service could not come soon enough, and the girls left the House promptly at nine to make their way to the Mess Hall, exhausted and covered in sweat.

  On their walk to dinner, Gwenyre was virtually silent while stewing in her mixed emotions, but Ametrine was more than willing to lament on her situation. “It just isn’t fair,” she observed. “As happy as I am to spend service hours with you, you should have been assigned to the Stables. You’re more skilled with those horrid creatures than anyone else, and Master Phillipe loved you. Everyone gets the service they’re most suited to. And it’s not like the House needs extra workers. Half the time, Nora tells me to just disappear when there’s no work to be done.”

  Annoyed, Gwenyre turned to the girl trying to keep her cool. She knew she shouldn’t get mad at her attempts at empathy, but the elf couldn’t help her voice from taking on a bitter tone. “No offense Aimee, but I don’t want to hear about it. It’s done and over with. Just a reason for me to remember the truth of this place. I got too comfortable and forgot what it was. Now I know. It’s evil. And I’ll use that motivate myself to find a way out.”

  Ametrine stopped in her tracks, trying not to look offended. “I get it,” she began while Wyndemere gave her a look of distress; the nymph hoped it would get Ametrine to shut her mouth, but Aimee just shrugged it off. “I really do, but I don’t think you get it. This place isn’t evil, and it’s not supposed to be. It’s for rehabilitation, not punishment.” That earned a sharp look from Gwenyre, who opened her mouth to tell her friend off before being cut off by Ametrine continuing on. “You should be placed in a service that makes sense for you, and this doesn’t. Even Nora said it wasn’t right, and she’s pissed for you. She told me herself when we were making the beds upstairs. Master Phillipe requested you and was outright denied. It makes no sense, not even to her. Which shows something fishy is going on. You shouldn’t be punished. Not like this.”

  Gwenyre turned on her heels to face her friend, rage and tears filling her eyes. “Did you just say that ‘I shouldn’t be punished’? At this prison? That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, Ametrine. And you’ve said some pretty stupid things since I’ve known you.” Instead of getting angry, like Gwenyre expected, Ametrine lowered her eyes and began to silently cry at her friend’s hateful words. Wind ran over to comfort her, shooting a dirty look at Gwenyre.

  Realizing she went too far, Gwen apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean it like that, Aimee. It’s just that I only seem to be punished here, more so than anyone else. I don’t get it, and it hurts. But I shouldn’t have taken that hurt out on you.”

  After a few moments, Ametrine dried her tears and accepted her friend’s apology, though Gwen could tell that things might be different between them. There was a tension there that didn’t exist before; even Wyndemere was clearly angry with the elf for her cruel words. Gwen knew she’d have to think of a way to make it up to them, because she truly did care for the other girls. She cursed her red-hot temper, apologizing over and over again.

  Eventually Ametrine began to explain
her thoughts again, using careful words this time. Gwenyre felt horrible and wanted to promise her friends that she wouldn’t get mad again, but she knew she couldn’t do that. She knew she might not be able to keep that promise, though she would try her hardest for the girls who befriended and helped her in her time at this prison.

  “What I meant…” Ametrine started again, slowly trying to find the words. “What I meant is that I think Cyran was right.” That led to confused looks from the other two who had no idea what she was talking about. She explained in more detail. “Cyran said at lunch that he thought there was more to Sylvan’s interest in you than we thought. I brushed it off, thinking Sylvan was just a sadistic prick, but I have a feeling he had a hand in your assignment. But why would he care? Why would he deny a placement request from a highly respected Master? Except to hurt you, to control you in some way.”

  It made sense, though the reasoning behind it was obscure to all three of them. Sylvan had it out for Gwenyre since her arrival; that was clear from her first encounter with him. His “special interest” in the girl was also strange, though perhaps this was just another way for him to torture her. He went out of his way to do that, for no reason that she or the others could see. She’d done nothing personal against him, and her crime was not so heinous as to warrant all of this. Heck, it wasn’t even bad enough to justify her over-extended sentence at Gatehouse. Something was up, and she cursed herself for not thinking more about it before.

  Gwenyre expressed her verbal agreement with Aimee’s theory, and promised they would speak about it with Cyran if they could find him tonight. Thankfully, he was present, and they quickly sat down at a table with him once they grabbed their plates.

  Following their usual greetings, Ametrine quickly explained what happened to Gwenyre and shared her suspicions with the old elf, who sat silently listening. When she was done, he looked off, his face full of thoughtful concentration. The girls held their breath, waiting for him to say something. After what felt like hours he spoke up.

  “There is definitely something up with this whole thing. Just last week, I ran into Master Phillipe who told me that Gwen was doing amazing work in the Stables and that he’d requested her full time. Master requests never get denied. I’ve been looking into it, but I’ve found nothing so far. I need to do some further investigating, but I promise I’ll figure out a way to get that star-awful troll of your back, little one.”

  “No,” Ametrine announced to everyone’s confusion. “You won’t investigate. We will. I want to help, and I’m sure Wind does too.” This earned a nod from the nymph, though she looked much less enthused about the prospect than her friend. Gwenyre was touched by their caring, but didn’t want any of them to do something stupid that would end in disaster on her account. She told them that, earning her dirty looks from everyone at the table, even Wind.

  “Please!” Ametrine argued. “Something wrong is happening to our friend, and we’re going to fix it. Plus, I love a good mystery!”

  They all laughed at that, but Cyran turned serious quickly as he looked towards Aimee and Wind. “I just need you both to promise me that you’ll only do as I say. Gwenyre is right, this could be stupid and dangerous, and I don’t need you getting hurt.” They both agreed as he turned his attention to the little elf. “And you have to promise not to help. There are more eyes on you – cruel ones. If you get caught, the results could be disastrous. We’ll take care of it; you just protect yourself.”

  She agreed, though she was not happy when Cyran suggested the others meet to conspire together during her meeting with Sylvan that evening. “The less you know, the better,” he explained to her whining. She eventually acquiesced, though she was not happy about it. With that, their conversation turned elsewhere. It was clear Cyran didn’t want her to have any part in this investigation, so much so that he actually opened up to tell them details about his day, something he never did.

  Gwenyre appreciated their efforts and hoped they would figure out why Sylvan was doing this, and maybe even how they could get it to stop. But she couldn’t help but feel fear for her friends creeping in. She hoped they’d be smart and do nothing that would put them in danger; she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if any of them got hurt over this. She silently promised herself she’d forced them to stop this “investigation” if even a hint of danger could be seen, no matter what it meant for her. In her time here, Gwenyre had learned to love them; her friends were more important than anything else in her life, and she wouldn’t jeopardize their wellbeing for anything. Not even to be free from this place and Sylvan’s wrath.

  * * *

  After dinner ended, Gwenyre set out for her meeting. She noticed Sylvan’s door was open when she arrived, and she made her way directly into the warm room. The nights were starting to get chilly and she was grateful for the lit fire keeping the place toasty. Sylvan was writing something, the small quill looking miniscule in his large hands, and grunted at her to sit down. She waited in the chair across from him for his normal interrogation to begin.

  She watched him slowly put away his quill and papers, making no effort to hurry on the girl’s behalf. When he finally looked at her, it was with a leering smirk that set her pulse racing. “I hear you’ve received your permanent assignment. The House seems a little too cushy for you, but perhaps you’ll do well to keep yourself busy there. If not, I can always be sure to reassign you to the Caves. Dangerous, of course, but it’ll keep you on your toes. Just one word from Miz Kalina, and I will have it all arranged.” He was gloating at her misery, hoping for her to respond. She forced herself to stay silent and ignore his words, praying that Cyran and the others would find a way to help her.

  Taking her silence for insolence, he growled low. “Are you stupid, girl? Do you have nothing to say?”

  Gwenyre looked him dead in the eye, anger flashing in her pupils. But she stayed silent. Anything else would have landed her in hot water. She challenged him with her stare, hoping that was enough to get him to back off.

  It wasn’t. His voice rose as he berated her further. “Will you not thank me for your assignment? For keeping you close, under my watchful eye in the House? You should be grateful for my interest in you!”

  “Grateful?” she found herself scoffing silently against her better judgement. “Yes, I am so grateful.” Her words were dripping with sarcasm, but there was nothing more she could say. Nothing more she could do. She waited for him to begin his barrage of meaningless questions, intruding upon her life like he normally did.

  The questions did not come. Instead, he stood up tall. He loomed over her, but she forced herself not to shrink back. She suddenly realized she was done being afraid. She just wanted to be angry. To be furious. To let it out.

  He must have felt a similar sentiment as he pulled her up by the forearm with such brute force that she felt a pop in her shoulder. The pain was blinding, and she forgot about her fury or her fear. She cried out, begging him to put her down.

  He obliged, but only by throwing her across the room. She landed on her backside, her injured arm unfortunately absorbing some of the weight. She saw white spots forming around her as she willed herself to stay conscious. She wasn’t sure if she should try to get up, but he commanded her to anyway.

  “Get up and get out!” he screamed, his voice shaking the room around her. She slowly stood up, bracing her injured arm and hobbling out of the room before he changed his mind. On her way out, he said one more thing to her, this time in a lower voice. It was perhaps even more terrifying than his yell, filled with hatred and menace. “Do not return here. I think our little conversations are done. You’re too stupid to be useful. But know I will find you for further punishment.” With that threat, he pushed her the rest of the way out of the room, slamming the door in her face.

  She felt herself slide down the wall near the tower’s window, no longer able to hold back tears formed by her pain. She stayed there for a while, the fear of him coming out to find her there not even cro
ssing her mind. After a while, she remembered she had another place to be. She wasn’t sure if she could make it to the Clearing in one piece, but she was determined to meet this witch and learn all that she could. She had a feeling she would need it, especially now with the threat of Sylvan’s further punishment coming her way. She forced herself up, making her way out of the House and into the dark forest.

  16 HER FIRST LESSON

  Gwenyre did not stop at the Dwelling on her way into the forest. She had plenty of time before her meeting with this strange teacher, but she carried too much shame from what had just happened. She knew Aimee and Wind would hover over her, babbling their sympathies and planning some revenge against Sylvan that would get them all punished. Plus, she felt a determination that she’d never had before. Though she had wanted to control her supposed magic as soon as she learned about it, it was more to keep herself and others safe. To stop it from happening when she wasn’t aware. Now, however, she wanted to learn to use it. She wasn’t sure how, but she wanted to make Sylvan pay.

  The walk there was treacherous, her arm hurting with every step. She tried to concentrate on the pain, hoping she could somehow heal it like she had her cuts and bruises that first week here, but to no avail. Instead, she focused her energy on quick, careful steps – trying hard not to fall in the dark and hurt herself more. That was not an easy task, forcing herself to avoid tree roots and knots rising out of the ground beneath her feet with only the low moon to light her way.

  She walked through the dense forest for some time, bracing herself before the trees finally began to open up. She entered the little Clearing, empty of everything but the low buzz of the early autumn insects around her. Exhausted and hurting, she found herself sitting on the bare grass as she awaited the arrival of this mysterious witch.