by S A McClure
“I know you have read my spellbooks in secret, Iris,” Grandmother croaked as she plucked a large slug from a glass jar. It wriggled in her grasp and slime dripped from its body.
Iris snapped to attention. She thought she had been careful. Apparently, she hadn’t been careful enough.
“I’m sorry,” she began.
Grandmother chuckled softly as she dropped the slug into the concoction. “Don’t be. I left them accessible to you in the hopes you would take the risk.”
Iris raised her eyebrows. “Then why forbid—”
“—To test your mettle.”
Iris gulped. She touched her cheek where Grandmother had scarred her only the night before. It didn’t hurt anymore, not after Grandmother had healed her, but doubt lingered at the back of her mind. The first time she’d dared to be defiant, Grandmother hadn’t hesitated to reprimand her using force.
“I don’t understand,” Iris stammered.
“Do you know what a Dreamwalker is?” Grandmother asked.
Iris shook her head. In truth, she had never heard that title before, though she could imagine what Grandmother was about to say.
“It is a very rare gift. So rare, in fact, many believed it had disappeared along with the Creators during the Wars of Darkness all those long years ago. No one had heard of one being born for the past three hundred years.”
“But Emmaleigh and I don’t—”
“I had seen you in my dreams, Iris Valka. You came to me. You pled with me for salvation. You bartered for your chance to survive.”
“I don’t remember,” Iris whispered.
“How do you think I found you, child?”
Iris had never thought about it before. They were found within a day’s walk of Grandmother’s cottage in the mountains, but Grandmother had no reason to be wandering that far from her home.
“Why don’t I remember?” she asked. She stared past Grandmother Rel. She fixed her gaze on a small crystal bowl used to store fae dust. Even in the shadows, the bowl shimmered. “Shouldn’t I remember these dreams? Because I don’t.”
“You were young. I thought you would come to remember on your own with the training I provided you. As you grew older, I realized it was quite likely I’d been wrong. Now, it seems you are what I had always thought,” Grandmother said.
She plucked a flower from a pot on the table. She squeezed the moonflower until milk leaked from its core and into the potion she was creating. Silver and purple smoke billowed from the mixture, cloaking in the room in a putrid scent. Iris coughed as the smoke filled her lungs.
“I found you, I kept you, and I have raised you,” Grandmother said as she poured a small amount of the potion into a glass phial. It glowed as she swirled the liquid.
Iris had never seen a potion glow like that before. She had the unsettling feeling she didn’t want to know what Grandmother had just concocted.
“And now, it is time for you to repay your debt to me.”
“We owe you nothing,” Iris said without thinking. She clamped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t know what had come over her recently. Never before had she challenged Grandmother Rel.
“You owe me everything, child, and don’t you forget it. If I hadn’t sought you out, you would have died in that forest the way your parents had intended.”
“Our parents lost us in a storm,” Iris shouted. Tears sprang to life in her eyes as she continued, “We know they searched for us, but the winds and the snow were too much. Mother was with child and…”
The sound of Grandmother’s laughter cut Iris off.
“You honestly believe that nonsense?” Grandmother asked in a breathless whisper.
Iris met her gaze, “I have to.”
Grandmother shook her head slowly. “Oh, my poor, dear Iris, how little you know of this world.”
Iris could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she met Grandmother’s gaze. “I am not some naïve child anymore, Grandmother. I know our kingdom sacrifices those who cannot be of service to our kingdom in the magical arts. I know that Emmaleigh and I are curse-born because we do not possess any magical abilities. I know all of this, but I also know that our parents would never have abandoned us. They loved us.”
“They left you to die like fish tossed onto a riverbank.”
“I don’t believe you,” Iris said.
“I thought you would say that,” Grandmother responded as she poured what remained of the potion into a second phial. It, too, glowed as she swirled the liquid around the container.
“Why tell me this now?” Iris challenged. “Why reveal these secrets when I am already here and in your debt, as you put it? Why not continue to let me believe that you took us in because you wanted children but could never have them? Why let us believe that our parents had simply lost us for all these years? It doesn’t make sense, Grandmother. I can’t…”
“You are rambling again, Iris,” Grandmother said dismissively. She handed one of the phials to Iris. “I really do wish I could break you of that habit.”
“That’s not an answer to my questions,” Iris hissed.
“No, it’s not,” Grandmother said, her voice soft and cold. “Drink.”
“Not until you tell me what this is.”
Grandmother sighed, plumes of golden smoke curling from her parted lips as she glared at Iris. “It will help you remember.”
Iris nearly dropped the phial. She couldn’t summon the image her mother’s face anymore. She couldn’t hear the sound of her voice. In fact, the only thing she remembered about her mother was the scent of her perfume. It was like the first scent of fall when the leaves have changed to compete with the sunrise.
“I don’t want this,” she said. Her hands became clammy as she peered into the phial’s contents.
“Don’t you want to know the truth?”
Iris wasn’t sure she did.
“Drink,” Grandmother said. Her eyes gleamed molten gold.
Iris thought about Emmaleigh, her broken body and her story about the beast in the woods had been strange. Iris’s dream from the night before left her feeling haunted by unanswered questions and a pair of silver-blue eyes. They needed answers. She needed to know. Without pausing for another moment of consideration, Iris tipped back her head and drained the contents of the phial in a single gulp.
The liquid was surprisingly cold as it passed her lips. It tasted of sugared strawberries on a summer day and was quickly followed by a deep bitterness. She shivered as the icy breath of the liquid creeped through her body. As the sense of bitter cold spread through her, her body began to turn numb. She couldn’t feel her toes or fingers. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak.
Darkness crept in, filling her vision. She was no longer in the potion room with Grandmother, but rather in a house she didn’t recognize. A fire blazed in the hearth and an ornate rug covered the wooden floor. Golden thread had been woven into the design. Each time the fire crackled, the threads glimmered as if on fire.
Children laughed. Iris spun around, searching for them. All she saw was shadow and mist.
“What is this?” she shouted. She didn’t expect a response, which was good because none came.
A trophy of antlers hung on the wall. She didn’t recognize what kind of animal the rack was from, but she suspected it must have been something magical. The antlers were the wrong color for the deer that roamed the forest. They were as white as marble with faint gray and pink lines swirling in patterns through them.
A harp stood near a small staircase. It was gilded and tall. She strummed one of the chords as she waited for something—anything—to reveal where she was. More laughter poured in from outside. She followed the sound, letting it guide her outside, to where a small stream ran through the forest.
A child sat on the riverbank, her bare feet stretched deep into the water. Despite the chill in the air, the girl seemed not to notice. She was heavily freckled with raven hair. The girl read from a thick book. She ran a slender finger down each pa
ge, as if she were savoring every word.
A second girl splashed in the river, a small pole clutched in her fist. Her blonde hair burst from her cap in a mass of curls. She was tan, which surprised Iris, considering how pale most of native-born Dramadoonians were. She smiled at the raven-headed girl and held out a wriggling fish on the line. Water splashed on the first girl’s book. She slammed it shut and tossed it far away from the fish. Both girls laughed.
She cried out as the little girl in the stream shouted her name. Somewhere, Iris didn’t know where, a clock chimed and the image before her faded into smoke.
The smoke twisted all around her, filling her lungs, stinging her eyes. She coughed and a stream of sparkling mist leaked from her lips. She clamped a hand over mouth. It didn’t make sense. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be back in the cottage with Grandmother.
“Iris,” a voice whispered in the dark.
She peeked out from one eye. Moonlight filtered through ice covered trees, casting eerily blue and silver light all around her. She gasped in surprise when a cloaked figure turned to face her in the darkness. She knew her face.
“Mama.”
She didn’t know if she spoke the word out loud or only in her mind. In some ways it didn’t matter. She’d imagined seeing her mother again for so long. Longed to dream of it, but never did. Now it was finally happening, and she didn’t know what to say to her.
Her mother’s pale face stood out from the shadows. Her raven hair curled around her ears and jawline, just as it always had. Iris could smell the faint spice of cinnamon and bread, scents she always associated with her mother. Tears ran down her mother’s cheeks. Her lips moved, but there was no sound. As Iris watched, her mother fade into the shadows.
A tremor crept through her. Her stomach recoiled as a sinking sensation set in. Snow covered the ground and ice hung from tree branches. She knew this place. It was the place of her nightmares.
Emma materialized beside her. Her lips were blue from the cold and her blonde hair stuck to her cheeks where tearstains had turned to frost.
“You’re moving too fast!” Emma shrieked in her ear. She pumped her short legs faster and faster, but still their mother seemed to drift farther and farther away.
“Come back!” Emmaleigh shouted, her voice full of the eagerness only found in children.
Iris’s heart seemed to stop beating. Snow swirled around them and Iris’s breath popped out in plumes of mist. She shivered and tried to link arms with Emmaleigh. Her sister shrugged her off, snot dripping from her red nose.
“Come back,” Emmaleigh whispered as she fell to her knees with snow crunching loudly.
Iris wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders and whispered reminders of home into her ear.
They huddled like that, covered in a thin layer of snow and ice, for what felt like hours. Although she could not feel the cold, she remembered how the air had stung her face and made her eyes water. She remembered the stomach-clenching hunger. Mostly, she remembered the panic that set in as they settled against a tree and prepared themselves to wander into the Light.
“They’re not coming back,” Emmaleigh said, her voice hoarse.
“I don’t believe so,” Iris responded, even though every part of her rebelled against this particular revelation.
Emmaleigh leaned her head against Iris’s shoulder. Her tears soaked through Iris’s cloak and dampened her hair. Iris stroked her sister’s hair, willing the movement to bring comfort.
There was no excuse. There could never be an excuse for what their parents had chosen to do to them. She couldn’t think of that now. Not with her brave, strong sister kneeling in the snow beside her with tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t.
“Maybe they will,” Iris said suddenly. Her words sounded hollow, even to herself. She knew they would never come back. It was tradition.
Bitter bile coated her throat. Her mother had left her and Emma to die in the forest because they lacked magical abilities. How many other children had died because of an antiquated tradition? How many others would discover their abilities with time like she was?
“Maybe,” Emmaleigh said, leaning back. “Maybe it’s time we saved ourselves.”
Particles of snow swirled around them, whipping their exposed skin. Iris cried out in pain and Emmaleigh wrapped her body around her, shielding her from the gusts of cold air. She closed her eyes and bit back the scream that threatened to erupt from her. Emmaleigh’s warm breath blew on her neck but her voice was ripped away by the torrents of wind surrounding them.
And then it all went black.
Iris opened her eyes to the glaring candlelight. She was no longer cold. Sconces holding candles lined the room, casting brilliant light all around her. A course, thick blanket covered her body. She tried to move, but realized she couldn’t. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t. She tried turning her head, scanning the room, but her body didn’t respond.
Her eyelids fluttered and then closed, sending her back into darkness. Her mind shuddered at the sudden darkness. She breathed in as deeply as she could, commanding herself to remain calm. Her heart slowed and her thoughts became less jumbled the longer she focused on her breathing. She counted the breaths. Counted and listened to the world beyond her.
Voices. She could hear voices. They were like birds of prey, latching onto her mind with talons like pure steel. She could not pull away. She could not escape as the memory flooded her.
“I found them, nearly dead, in the forest.” Grandmother’s voice slid over like oil, leaving her feeling greasy.
“The rite?” The second voice was deeper. Male.
“I believe so. Their parents certainly weren’t coming back. They didn’t leave them with much to aide in their survival.”
“What do you sense in them? Anything that will be useful to our business arrangement?”
Grandmother laughed and if Iris could move, she would have shuddered at the cold, harsh sound. Instead, her breath caught in her throat. They had not been blessed. It was why they had been left to die by their parents.
“There was a thread. It led me to them in the darkness. I’m not sure who it belongs to or how it will manifest. I cannot see their powers in their aura.”
“Risky,” the male voice responded. “That’s not like you.”
Iris heard a faint click and then footfalls on stone. She knew Grandmother was approaching her. She could already smell the old witch’s pungent odor. Even then, Grandmother had spent most of her time working with her potions.
A cold finger traced Iris’s brow. She would have flinched away from the touch if she had been able to move. As it was, she could only imagine herself cringing. Grandmother’s hot breath puffed on her skin. It carried the scent of blood and bones.
“You’re going soft, Myrella,” a male voice said from behind them.
Jagged claws protruded from Grandmother’s fingers, still resting on Iris’s brow. She felt the nails grow and curl. They sliced her skin. She wanted to scream, but her lips did not respond to her mental command to open. Grandmother whipped her hand away from Iris’s brow, leaving her with a cold sense of dread as she anticipated what Grandmother would do next.
“I am not soft, Balkeen, and it would behoove you remember to whom you are speaking.”
There was a sound of gasping and then the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor.
“Tell me again that I am going soft,” Grandmother hissed.
A sob, followed by, “I misspoke, My Lady. Forgiveness. Please.”
“Beg.”
“Please,” the voice quivered. Iris couldn’t understand the rest of the man’s pleas. His words were muffled, almost as if he were being gagged.
“You always were a sniveling rat,” Grandmother spat.
The other person only whimpered.
“Tell the others that these girls have something special about them. Tell them the long wait is over. My divination powers have not failed me. I will sniff
out the extent of their abilities in the days to come.”
“Yes,” the man whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Get out,” Grandmother commanded.
Iris assumed the man did as he was told. She heard the scuffling of someone crawling on the floor.
She sensed Grandmother standing over her. The clawed hand rest upon her brow.
“Wake up,” Grandmother whispered in her ear.
Warmth spread through Iris’s body and she felt herself being lifted from the table she was laying on. Her body felt like it was on fire. She could feel the blisters, the melting skin. She could smell the overpowering odor of singed hair. At last, she could scream.
Chapter Five
Emmaleigh
Emmaleigh stared out the window of their cottage as she waited for Iris to finish helping Grandmother Rel with her potions.
She knew it was stupid. She should be out there, hunting again. Or, if she couldn’t force herself to go past the gate, she should at least be training. But, she couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that something was out there, waiting for her.
She trailed her fingers over her ankle. It didn’t hurt anymore, not since Grandmother Rel had healed her, and yet, she could still feel the memory of the break. She could still smell the carrion on the creature’s breath and hear it stalking her.
Two loud knocks thudded on the door. She jumped at the sound. They rarely had visitors and never anyone whom they weren’t expecting. Emmaleigh glanced at the hidden door, but there was no swell of light or grinding of stone. The secret passageway remained firmly shut.
She chewed on her nails as she contemplated whether to answer the door. Dust settled from the rafters as the visitor knocked again. Emmaleigh glanced at the hidden doorway one last time, hoping for a sign that the old hag was returning. Still, there was none.
Of course not. Emmaleigh rolled her eyes towards the front door and then pushed to her feet. She crept towards it.