A White So Red

by Krystle Jones

  She froze, gaping at him. “You knew all this time?”

  His silence was confirmation.

  “Is that why you followed me into the woods the night we battled Nefrim? And yesterday, when we fought the serpents?”

  “I thought I was seeing a ghost.” He laughed quietly, though it still sounded harsh coming from him. “Yeh look so much like yer mother.”

  She sat back down, entranced and shaking a little.

  “Forest dwellers used to be welcome in the castle. There was once a time when we stood alongside men and the kingdom was happy – until she came along.”

  “Octavia.”

  “Don’t speak that witch’s name!” he hissed. “To do so is an ill omen.”

  She bit down on her tongue, pausing. “That still doesn’t explain why you followed me into the woods.”

  He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t yeh get it, gurl? Yer it – the last hope this kingdom has. I wasn’t about to let yeh die fer some country boy!”

  That made her pause. Hesitantly, she rested her hand over his. It was trembling.

  To her surprise, he reached over with his free hand and clasped hers. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of working in the mines. “I…” He stopped, as if warring with himself on whether or not to speak.

  She searched the darkness, wishing she could see more than the outline of his features. “Wormwart?”

  “After what happened before, I couldn’t risk seeing someone else I cared about get killed while I stood by and didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  That nearly leveled her. For a few seconds she sat there, unblinking and speechless.

  “Tomorrow when yeh march to the castle, I will go with yeh.”

  Her breath caught. “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  She couldn’t help herself; the words tumbled off her tongue before she could stop them. “But I thought you hated me.”

  He looked away, a grumpy expression coming over his face. “Argh, I never ‘hated’ yeh, per se. ‘Disliked yeh strongly’ is more like it, and that was only when we first met. I thought yeh were just another witch come to make my life miserable.” He paused, catching her eyes again. “But I was wrong. Yeh care about people, even when they don’t deserve it. And the kingdom needs someone like yeh.”

  It made her feel strange. His affirmation that he would stand by her lifted her spirits, but at the same time, she had not forgotten the way he seemed to delight in her misery when she had been mauled by the bear.

  She thought over his last words. “And the kingdom needs someone like yeh.” It was just as well if his interest in her was based more off the kingdom’s well-being than him actually liking her. She needed allies.

  Awkwardly, she gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you. It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

  He shrugged her off, seeming uncomfortable after his declaration of affection, no matter how double-sided. “Well, it’s not just fer yeh. I don’t want to risk that foolhardy prince screwing things up.”

  She nodded, though only to satisfy his need to feel masculine again.

  “Dawn is not far,” he said, looking away. “Yeh should rest.”

  She rose, not telling him she thought that would be impossible. Her body and mind were way too restless; she couldn’t stop thinking about what was to come tomorrow.

  Will the Thesperians fight for me? Have I given them a reason to?

  Then there was the horn. What if it didn’t do anything? How could she hope to breach the castle’s defenses with only a handful of country folk with axes and pitchforks?

  “It’s called having faith,” she heard Malachite say in her head.

  She gripped the banister harder as she climbed the stairs, hoping faith would be enough to conquer the greatest evil the world had ever seen.

  ***

  Via smiled at her, a soft white glow illuminating her form against the black void around her.

  “Be strong. Use the Mirror.”

  There was the sensation of falling right before Natalia awoke with a start. She gasped, sitting up quickly and trying to catch her breath because her heart was beating so fast.

  Via had actually been there, close enough for Natalia to be able to reach out and touch her. And yet she couldn’t. Something, like incredibly strong red thread, had held her immobile.

  The door creaked open and Caspar, fully decked in gleaming black armor, strolled into the room.

  Her face flushed.

  He stopped, grinning. “Like what you see?”

  Flustered, she cleared her throat and hastily stood. “Is it dawn?”

  “Not yet, though it will be soon. We need to go, and you need to get changed.”

  “Changed?”

  “Of course. You weren’t expecting to fight the Queen’s armies in a blouse and some pretty breeches, now were you, Princess?”

  She blushed even harder.

  “Here. Wormwart sent these up.”

  He handed her a silver mound, which she discovered was a pair of sturdy black leggings that shimmered like spider silk in the light, a lightweight breastplate with flowering scrollwork – complete with matching gauntlets and shin guards – and a sleek black tunic.

  “Oh and this too.”

  He laid the elegant sword she had fought Via with on top of the mound. She blinked at it as the reality of the situation sank in.

  She was going to storm the castle. And kill the Queen. With a makeshift army of peasants, dwarves, and a handsome prince.

  She sighed. “Perhaps we should –”

  “No more doubts. The time for second-guessing yourself is over, my Lady. Now,” he said, smiling, “shall I help you get out of those clothes?”

  Her jaw dropped, and she forgot all about the Queen. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I thought that would get your attention.” He turned and strode from the room. “Don’t take long. We need to get going if we hope to meet up with Malachite before dawn.”

  He shut the door, leaving her feeling hot all over.

  Craving a distraction, she forced herself to dress quickly so she wouldn’t have enough time to ponder why she was dressing in armor.

  It was clear that pieces of the ensemble weren’t tailored to her exact measurements. Judging from the eclectic mess in the cellar, she figured the dwarves had procured a large amount of armor in their travels and had loaned her whatever they thought would fit her. Very little of it actually did, but it was better than no armor at all.

  After securing the sword to her silver belt, she went downstairs to find Caspar.

  The dwarves were gathered in the kitchen, along with Caspar, who leaned lazily against a wall as if they were merely going for a stroll and not about to do battle. “Where are the men?” she asked, looking around.

  Caspar quickly dropped his gaze, suddenly fascinated by something on the floor. “They, er, they left last night,” he mumbled.

  “They what?” She blinked several times, trying to understand. “Why would they abandon us on the eve of battle?”

  “Because they are afraid of yeh,” Wormwart said, coming up beside Caspar.

  Caspar shot him a glare. “Thank you for sugarcoating that cheerful revelation.”

  “She doesn’t need to be sheltered,” Wormwart spat, eyeing her shrewdly. “She needs to hear the truth, no matter how harsh it may seem.”

  Natalia let out her breath, feeling slighted though she knew she deserved it to some degree. If someone she was supposed to be protecting all of a sudden lashed out at her, she would be wary too.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Caspar said, smiling reassuringly. “We’ll have all the help we need soon enough.” His eyes dropped to the horn.

  “But what if they don’t want to fight for me?” she said, hating how scared she sounded. “I haven’t done anything to earn their swords, let alone their lives.”

  “Let the men decide that,” Caspar said, “and leave the rest up to fate.”

  �
��Look at yeh,” Wormwart interrupted. “Already worrying before yeh’ve even begun. Yeh can’t spend yer time worrying about what everyone else is going to do. Yeh need to think fer yerself and say to hell with the rest.”

  “For once, I agree with the dwarf,” Caspar said.

  Natalia didn’t know what to say. She knew how much she needed the Thesperian’s help, for without it, what hope did she have of defeating the Queen?

  Believe in yourself.

  Swallowing against the growing knot in her throat, she said, “You don’t have to come with me. Any of you.”

  “And miss seeing that bitch die?” Wormwart said. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The other dwarves shifted their weight and looked everywhere but at her. Her spirits sank.

  Caspar laid a hand on her arm. “Come on. The others will be waiting.”

  Throat tight, she nodded once and stepped outside, into the early stillness of predawn and away from the cottage she had strangely come to think of as home.

  ***

  Malachite was waiting for them at the cliff.

  The lines around his eyes and forehead had increased; she swore she had not seen them there four days ago.

  “Finally,” he said, sounding a little edgy. “We’ve been waiting.”

  “How many is ‘we?’” she asked, looking into the ravine.

  Her heart nearly dropped into her stomach.

  There had to be less than one hundred men down there, all looking like they would rather be somewhere else. They carried various weapons and wore armor that didn’t look like it would stand up against a broom let alone a sword.

  Even Wormwart’s face was grim, though he remained silent, as did the other dwarves.

  “That’s it?” she asked, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. “That’s all that volunteered?”

  “Look! There she is!”

  Every head swiveled toward her, and she felt her face heat. Various reactions colored their expressions; disbelief, shock, anger, pity. Some even knelt, which made her flush even harder.

  “Please –” she started.

  “Get up, you fools! She’s just a commoner, not your precious, resurrected princess!”

  Her eyes fell on a tall, muscular man with a jeer on his face. He was forcing his way through to the front of the crowd.

  “Not him again,” Malachite muttered. “I never thought we’d get him to shut up last night when we first revealed that you were alive.”

  “She is the princess!” Caspar yelled back, not hearing Malachite. “The Fey even acknowledged her heritage!” He turned, pointing at her belt. “Use the horn.”

  She looked at it but didn’t remove it. “He said I could only use it once.”

  “The morning we march on the castle is as good a time as any.”

  She decided to ignore his sarcasm and gently unfastened the horn from her belt, holding it up in both hands. The mouthpiece looked tiny, barely large enough to squeeze any air through, but she took a deep breath, put it up to her lips, and blew.

  And blew.

  Absolutely nothing happened.

  When she ran out of air, she gasped, sucked in another breath, and blew harder, squeezing all the air out of her lungs until she was blue in the face. At last, she lowered the horn, gulping down air. “I don’t – understand,” she said between pants. “Why didn’t – it work?”

  The forest was still, and then the leaves began moving about, whispering to one another though no breeze stirred.

  They all turned their eyes skyward, watching and listening.

  “Who’s to say it didn’t,” Malachite murmured.

  The voices of the men below died away, and she knew they noticed it too. The air filled with a strange humming sound; it rang off the ground, which began vibrating as if thousands of footsteps were thundering toward them.

  “What is that?” Caspar asked, squinting into the trees, but Malachite shushed him.

  Things moved in the shadows between the trees and in the open sky above. Her pulse hammered in her throat as her heart tried to climb out of her chest, and her hand subconsciously slipped down to the sword.

  Something tore through the brush behind them, ripping the trees apart with an eardrum-shattering screech, and she shrieked, whirling around.

  The giant was the biggest creature she had ever seen, with one bulbous human eye in the center of its round head. Clusters of large muscles rippled down its arms and legs as it stomped toward them, a bow clutched in one hand, which looked curiously dainty for such a masculine creature. More giants came through, followed by fierce-looking centaurs, rearing and stomping the ground with their sharp hooves; elegant winged horses with coats every color under the sun cascaded from the sky, floating down on the wind gracefully like leaves; faeries clad in green shimmering armor joined them, their emerald eyes instantly spotting Natalia. They bowed, as did the rest of the creatures, from ferocious manticores, to the more common animals like deer, bears, and mountain lions. Hawks and eagles called to one another as they lighted in the trees, the air heavy with their battle cries, and they all looked skyward as the wind picked up with the whoosh of several massive sets of wings.

  Natalia’s eyes widened as she caught a flash of red and gold scales as long, narrow reptilian giants soared overhead, bowing the trees in the wake of their paths. Their roars vibrated in Natalia’s bones, making the ground tremble.

  “It can’t be,” Malachite whispered, his eyes wide with awe. “Dragons have been extinct for at least ten years.”

  “Not according to that horn they haven’t,” Caspar said, eyeing the sky with wonder.

  The people were silent, staring at the fantastical creatures with something halfway between fear and awe.

  The man jabbed his finger at the creatures. “That proves nothing except that she is a sorceress.” His eyes caught Natalia’s for an instant, flashing bright yellow before returning to normal.

  She blinked, staring harder at him but finding nothing unusual except for the bone-chilling smirk on his face, like he was thinking of something very wicked to do to her.

  The crowd began arguing, and the man slowly smiled.

  “I believe.”

  The voice was old but strong enough to silence the crowd, who turned to stare at the old man, standing there so proudly with his chin held high. His arms and legs were almost skeletal, no more than tangled, gnarled skin clinging to what was left of him, but in that moment he looked unbreakable.

  He never gazed anywhere except at Natalia. “I will fight for you,” he told her, tipping the end of his spear in her direction. Others glanced nervously between him to the younger man, whose face was growing red.

  “You foolish beggar,” the man spat, stalking up to him. “Do you wish to remain imprisoned for the rest of your life? Who’s to say she won’t turn out exactly like the Black Witch?”

  Several of the men shot her nervous looks.

  “I’ve been imprisoned for the past ten years by poverty and fear,” the old man said. “Your words do not scare me. What frightens me more is the idea of doing nothing about our plight.”

  His words rang clear across the clearing, not because he was speaking very loudly but because everyone was listening intently. He held as much command over the people as a king.

  The other man’s jaw clenched, his face twisting with rage. “She is a demon.”

  “I’ll show yeh a demon,” Wormwart muttered.

  “You call her such foul names,” the old man said, “but really, who is the true demon here? Actions speak for themselves, young man. Didn’t you backhand a five-year-old boy last night for crying inconsolably because he watched his mother die in the raid?”

  A long line of searing stares were directed at the younger man, who flinched slightly. He wheeled about, turning his glare on the others like an edgy dog being cornered by a pack of wolves. “Why are you casting your scorn upon me?” he growled. “She is the enemy!”

  It happened slowly. One by one, men of all
shapes and sizes stood around the old man, their spines straighter and their expressions determined as they silently dared the protester to challenge them.

  Natalia couldn’t believe it. Her heart fluttered with hope as she watched her small army unite, not under her but under the banner of a man far wiser and braver than she was.

  For a few minutes, the man stood there, fuming silently. “Fine.” He turned, pitching his sword to the ground. She thought he said, “She’ll get hers soon enough,” but it was hard to tell over the noise of the waterfall.

  He stomped off. Natalia stared after the man, watching him disappear into the waterfall mist with a hollow, sinking feeling.

  “Comrades,” a deep voice said.

  They looked up as a centaur cantered toward them, the light rippling over his chestnut coat like water. He was the most bizarre, fantastic creature she had ever seen. She attributed this mostly to the fact he was so much like her own race, sharing a human man’s upper body, but alien in that the rest of him was very much a horse.

  “I am Ivan,” he said, bowing his head, “leader of the Western Herd. Lorean was one of my closest friends.”

  Natalia was the first to speak. None of the others seemed to have recovered yet from their shock. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ivan,” she said.

  “The Ethereal Horn has belonged to the Fey royal family since the creation of their race,” Ivan said. “For Lorean to give it to you means you must be of great value to him. To us,” he added with a sweep of his arm, including the forest denizens.

  “All the value in the world won’t matter if we don’t get moving,” Malachite said. “As for a plan, we were thinking we could use a diversion of sorts, to preoccupy the Queen’s army while a smaller team penetrates the fortress and goes for the Black Witch.”

  “Use the Mirror.”

  Via’s voice was soft, but her words rang loud in Natalia’s head. “The pond,” she said suddenly. “It’s a Magic Mirror. It has the ability to transport you to any destination you wish, so long as there is another portal on the other side.”

  “Or so the legends would have us believe,” Caspar replied slowly, as if speaking to an imaginative child.