by S A McClure
She groaned as she tried lifting herself into a chair. Her muscles were stiff, her ankle ached, and her mind was foggy. She thought about crawling to the hearth to start a fire, but decided it was too far away.
She looked out the window closest to her. Frost coated the glass pane. As children, she and Iris used to draw pictures in the frost covering the window panes of their parents’ home. They’d laugh as they told each other stories about the scenes they drew.
That was before they’d become lost in the woods with no way of finding their way home again. They’d been so cold. Iris’s lips had turned blue and her tears froze to her skin before they had a chance to slide down her cheeks.
Emmaleigh remembered the sound of her sister’s sobs as they huddled beneath a giant oak tree as the winter winds blasted against them. They’d clung to each other, their body heat almost making the frozen air bearable. They’d whispered their parent’s names and prayed to the Light for salvation.
Salvation came in the form of a withered old woman who offered them shelter from the storm.
Creaking floorboards drew Emmaleigh’s attention and she turned to face the hidden doorway just as it shimmered gold and recessed into the wall. Grandmother Rel clamored out of the darkness, her curved form dark in the shadows of the room.
“Where’s Iris?” Emmaleigh asked, fear piquing her senses.
The hag cackled.
“Your sister needed to learn a modicum of respect,” Grandmother Rel said as she passed where Emmaleigh sat to tend to the fire. “She will be released when she’s learned her lesson.”
“What did you do to her?” Emmaleigh cried.
She’d never seen the witch punish Iris like this before. It had always been her. It should’ve been her now.
“She’s fine,” Grandmother Rel said, her voice like a sliver of ice cracking against a hard surface.
In the darkness, the golden outline of Grandmother Rel’s eyes glowed brightly. Grandmother blinked at her and Emmaleigh shivered again, though not from the cold. In the moment before a fire burst into life within the hearth, Emmaleigh thought she saw swirls of smoke curl around Grandmother Rel’s back, forming spikes and wings. The image dissipated as light flooded the room.
Emmaleigh blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the light. She looked at Grandmother Rel. If it was possible, her skin seemed even more sallow than it had before. There were times, especially when Grandmother Rel was amused by something she did, when Emmaleigh caught glimpses of the beauty beneath the layers of wrinkles and age spots. This was not one of those moments.
“Here,” Grandmother Rel said as she picked up a glass flask from the table and tossed it towards Emmaleigh.
The bottle nearly slipped through her fingers as she lunged forward to catch it. It contained a vibrant purple liquid that was so thick it barely moved as she swirled the bottle
“What is it?” she asked.
“Honestly, Emmaleigh, I always knew you were the dim one of the two of you, but I would have thought you’d be clever enough to know what that potion is.”
Emmaleigh cringed at her tone but said nothing as she uncorked the bottle. She drank deeply. The potion tasted the way she imagined sweaty feet would: moldy with a hint of sweetness that didn’t sit well on her tongue.
She gagged as the thick liquid slid down her gullet. She swore she could smell its taste. Pinching her nose shut and closing her eyes, Emmaleigh forced herself to take a hard swallow. When she had drained the last dregs of the potion, she dropped the glass bottle on the wooden floor. It shattered into hundreds of shards upon impact.
“Stupid girl,” Grandmother Rel hissed as she waved her hand. The shards lifted from the floor and twirled before Emmaleigh’s face.
Emmaleigh knit her brows as she watched the shards dance before her. She kept one eye on Grandmother Rel. She had learned long ago the witch liked to toy with her victims before lunging for the attack.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Grandmother Rel flick her fingers upwards and the shards of glass shot through the air faster than Emmaleigh could track. They clattered against the wall before falling into a bowl sitting on the floor. Emmaleigh sighed in relief at the sound of the last tinkle of glass upon glass.
Her body felt numb. Sweat beaded on her brow and slid down her forehead, dripping into her eyes. She tried to lift her hand to wipe away the sweat, but couldn’t feel her arms. To no avail, she tried lifting a finger and wiggling a toe. She drew a breath and tried to speak, but found even her lips were stilled.
The potion had done this.
She flicked her eyes toward Grandmother Rel. The old hag had the audacity to smile at her as she waggled a finger in her direction.
“How little you have learned during your time here, Emmaleigh. I’m so very disappointed in you.”
Emma cursed, if only in her thoughts, as Grandmother Rel twirled her finger and Emmaleigh’s body rose into the air and began to spin. Her stomach clenched as the objects about the room blurred and melded together. She didn’t know what would happen if she were to vomit. She could already feel the bile rising up the back of her throat. It clogged her airway and she began choking.
Grandmother Rel snapped her fingers. Emmaleigh promptly plummeted through the air before landing, face-first, on the floor. She groaned in pain as the wooden beams quaked under the impact, but she was otherwise unscathed by the sudden plunge. She looked up at Grandmother Rel through her eyelashes.
“How do you feel?” Grandmother Rel asked, a sly smile toying on her lips.
Emmaleigh flexed her foot, expecting excruciating pain. She didn’t. She pressed her fingers gingerly against the once-shattered bones of her ankle, and realized they were shattered no more. Her head still ached and her body felt strangely cold, despite the heat emanating from the hearth, but she turned to Grandmother Rel with a small smile on her face.
“I thought for certain you were going to let me die here,” Emmaleigh murmured as Grandmother Rel wafted over to her and placed a cool hand on her brow. She made a clucking sound as Emma wrenched her hand away.
“You’re running a fever,” she said as she swiped her hand over the hearth again. Glimmering red and orange light began to dance within the small yellow flame already burning there. The heat in the room increased to a nearly unbearable level. Plumes of smoke rose from the fire and writhed as they were sucked up in the chimney by the chilled air beyond.
Grandmother Rel again pressed her hand against Emmaleigh’s brow. Her eyes glowed molten gold as she whispered words Emmaleigh couldn’t hear.
Her head felt weightless, as if everything inside it had been sucked away from her. She lifted from the ground, her body suspended in midair.
Warmth crept over her, like a blanket being slowly pulled over her body. Her muscles relaxed and her breathing slowed.
“Grandmother Rel,” she whispered. She couldn’t feel any part of her body. She couldn’t even open her eyes to see if she were still there and not just some consciousness wandering the room.
Grandmother Rel did not respond.
Suddenly, her body plummeted, and she landed squarely on her back with a loud crunch.
She sat up, rubbing the sore spots on her spine where she’d struck the ground. Her head didn’t ache anymore. Neither did her leg.
“What was that?” she asked as she drew herself as far away from Grandmother Rel as possible, given the small space of the room.
“That, Emmaleigh, is what a negative reaction to magic looks like.”
“Is that even possible?” Emmaleigh asked, cradling herself with her own arms.
“Yes, though it is rare.”
Emmaleigh considered. “Have you ever seen something like this before?”
“Not in a millennium.” She paused, her eyes lingering on Emmaleigh, before she continued, “The last person to have this type of reaction turned into the most powerful witch known to the Mitierian realm.”
“Really?” Emmaleigh wasn’t convinced. Never before
had she exhibited any signs of being a powerful witch. It had been for that very reason her parents had abandoned her and Iris in the woods to die.
“No, you ninny,” Grandmother spat, “but it is rare.” She rubbed her index and thumb along her jaw line. Her jowls bounced with the movement and Emmaleigh had to look away, repulsed.
Iris wandered through the hidden doorway. Her skirts flounced and swirled around her feet as she strode into the room. Her damp hair clung to the top of her dress, leaving wet splotches everywhere it touched. Although her cheek was no longer bleeding, Emmaleigh could see three faint lines running the length of her cheek.
Iris squared her bare shoulders when she saw Emmaleigh still lying on the ground. “I thought you said you were going to heal her!”
“I did,” Grandmother Rel replied.
Emmaleigh rose from the floor, her ankle now fully capable of supporting her weight. She gave Iris a half grin as she twirled in place.
“Good as new,” she said when she was facing her sister again.
Iris rushed towards her, her arms flung out to her sides. The force of Iris slamming into her nearly knocked Emmaleigh to the ground again. She wrapped her arms around her sister, embracing her the way she had all those years ago when they’d been lost in the forest.
She stared over her sister’s shoulder, her eyes locked on Grandmother Rel. The old witch shrugged, her shoulders shivering like branches in a gale, before descending to their home under the mountain, the door silently sliding closed behind her.
When the last wisps of Grandmother Rel’s skirt had disappeared beyond the door, Emmaleigh held Iris at arm’s length. Though the scars on her sister’s cheek were faint, she could tell they would be permanent.
Iris traced her fingers over the lines. When Emmaleigh shuddered, she said, “It is nothing.”
Emmaleigh clasped Iris’s hand in her own. “I’ve never seen you stand up to her like that before. Sure, I’ve done it hundreds of time…but you?” She shook her head. “You’ve always been so timid around her.”
“You were hurt,” Iris said, her voice barely audible over the still-crackling fire.
Emmaleigh hugged her sister again, vowing to herself she would never forget how her timid little sister had faced Grandmother Rel’s rage just to heal her.
“Now,” Iris said, pulling away from Emmaleigh just enough to look her in the eye, “are you going to tell me what happened out there?”
Emmaleigh laughed nervously. She wasn’t certain what she had seen or if she could trust her own memories. She had heard Iris scream. She had felt the beast’s breath on her skin. She had smelled it.
She opened her mouth to explain, but then snapped it shut.
“You promised,” Iris whined as she removed herself from Emmaleigh’s grasp. She wandered over to the hearth and hung a kettle over the fire.
Emmaleigh watched as her sister busied herself with collecting a tin of tea, sugar, cups, and a pot from one of the storage cabinets near the back of the room.
She chattered as she worked.
Emmaleigh closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the scent the of carrion and death.
“Emmaleigh?”
She blinked rapidly, looking over at her sister.
“Huh?” she murmured.
Iris pressed a cup brimming with tea into her hand before settling into a padded chair next to her. She curled her feet beneath her, slender, pale legs visible where her skirt hitched up.
“Now,” she said, the steam from her cup curling around her face, “tell me what you saw.”
Emmaleigh sipped at her tea. It carried hints of honey and raspberry. She sighed as she cradled the cup in her hands.
“I need to know,” Iris said, a warning tone in her voice.
Emmaleigh huffed out a breath. “I don’t know where to begin,” she said. “Honestly, Iris, I’m not sure if any of it was real. Maybe…” She paused, sucking in a breath. “Maybe it was one of the fae playing a trick on me.”
Iris peered at her over the brim of her cup. Her pale green eyes narrowed and Emmaleigh found herself wondering what it was her sister saw in her expression.
“Tell me what you saw anyway,” Iris insisted.
Emmaleigh took a long gulp of her tea and then told Iris everything she could remember about the beast in the woods. By the time she had finished, the fire was barely smoldering in the hearth. Emmaleigh’s tea had gone cold and, from the looks of Iris’s nearly untouched cup, so had hers.
“Well?” Emmaleigh asked.
“We should tell Grandmother,” Iris said, her voice small but firm.
“After what she did to you?” She shook her head.
“She might know something about what happened.” She thrummed her fingers on her cup, biting her lower lip. She glanced towards the hidden door, which was still closed.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Emmaleigh said, leaning forward. She knew her sister. She had only seen her act this furtively when there was a secret she was afraid of revealing.
“I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then, after today…” Iris trailed off. She stared into her tea, avoiding Emmaleigh’s gaze.
Emmaleigh searched her sister’s face again. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”
“It’s just that, well, I read some of Grandmother’s letters from the palace.”
Emmaleigh gave her a shocked look.
“I know, I wasn’t supposed to,” Iris said, “but I did. And, oh Emmaleigh, I’m so afraid the reports are true.”
Emmaleigh stared blankly at her sister. She hated when Iris did this. The repetitive meandering was possibly the most annoying thing her sister did.
“Go on,” she commanded when Iris continued to stare into her tea.
“There have been reports around all of Dramadoon. Creatures that have long been thought gone, returning. And then there was that betrothal between the King of Lunameed—whatever his name is—and his daughter. Strange disappearances. Madness. It didn’t make any sense. I thought…I thought they were all fabrications sent to convince Grandmother to return to the palace. She refused, of course, but who could blame her? After what the prince did to her, it’s a wonder she accepts correspondence from him at all. But it all feels as if they’re connected somehow. And then there are the dreams I’ve been having. Such terrible, awful ones, Emmaleigh. The world is shattering, isn’t it?”
Iris’s voice trembled as she trailed off. She tucked a strand of her dark auburn hair behind her ear and finally looked up at Emmaleigh.
Silver lined her sister’s eyes.
She reached over and clutched Iris’s hand in her own and said, “We’ll be alright.”
They sat in silence until the smoldering fire in the hearth faded into darkness. As Emma’s eyes fluttered shut, a lone wolf’s cry pierced through the woods, sending a shiver down her spine. The scent of carrion turned her dreams to nightmares.
Chapter Three
Iris
Mist swirled around Iris’s body as she stumbled through the forest. Chilled air left gooseflesh crawling across her skin. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
The moss-covered ground was soft beneath her feet. The faint song of a moonhowler echoed in the distance. Star lilies glimmered along the worn path through the trees. She smiled as their faint fragrance tickled her nose. Bending down, she trailed her fingers over the soft petals of one of the flowers; they had always been her favorite.
“Is this real?” a male asked from behind her.
She spun around, her heart hammering in her chest. Starbugs sprang to life as a figure crept from the shadows. Their sparkling bulbs highlighted his features.
Iris’s breath caught in her chest and she froze.
He was the loveliest man she had ever seen. He was taller than she was, though not by much. His arms were tanned and muscled. Though the air was chill, he wore no coat. The dark ink of tattoos stretched across his bare skin. She blushed, her eyes lingering on the deep V of hi
s lower abdominal muscles.
“Who are you?” he asked. His voice was smooth and carried a lilt to it that resembled the dialect of the southern border of Dramadoon.
He strode towards her. His silvery-blue eyes shone as they caught the light of the sister moons.
She opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeak.
He stopped advancing on her.
She released a sigh of relief and stumbled back a bit. Scanning her surroundings, she searched for something she could use as a weapon. She didn’t know who this man was or why he was talking to her, but she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to attack her. She grabbed a stray piece of wood, hoping its pointy end would be enough to incapacitate him.
“You’re really here, aren’t you?” he asked, cocking his head as he surveyed her. He reached out a hand and grazed her cheek. His skin was warm against hers.
Shaking her head, she brandished the stick at him.
“Who are you?” she hissed. He smelled of dark amber, honey, and sweat. He made her think of long nights spent resting in dew. Her hands were clammy and her breathing shallow as she pointed the sharp end of the stick at him.
She didn’t have much experience with men. Grandmother never let them interact with the male customers. If anything, she’d been taught that men were dangerous and would attempt anything to steal her maidenhead.
Despite her fears, there was something about the man standing before her that was intoxicating in a way she couldn’t describe.
“I’m not—" He paused. His jaw was slack and his eyes stared off into the distance. The tempest of silver she’d witnessed when he’d first entered the clearing was now dormant.
She didn’t know why, but she felt the urge to cup his cheek in her hand. Biting her lower lip, she reached towards him until her fingers grazed his face.
He shuddered at her touch, his pupils dilating.
“It was you,” he whispered, his eyes still lost to the world beyond them.
“Me?” Iris asked. “What about me?”