by S A McClure
“That’s enough.”
The sound of Grandmother’s voice made Iris jump.
“What was that?” Iris asked, her voice quivering. She peered down at her sister. Emma’s face was coated in sweat and her face was wan. Her hair clung to her damp face.
“That,” Grandmother responded as she shuffled over to one of the large bookshelves at the far end of the room, “was very informative.”
She scraped her nails across her wrinkled flesh and scanned the bookshelf. Iris watched the witch’s movements with rapt attention. She plucked a volume from the shelf and flipped through the pages rapidly. With a loud thud, she poked a bony finger at a spot on the page and released a woot of excitement.
“Come here, girl!”
Iris crept towards Grandmother Rel and peered over her shoulder. There, emblazoned on the page, was the same line etched into the Inkwell’s body.
“What does it mean?”
Grandmother clucked as she carried the book over to the table where the remnants of the potion Emma had consumed sat. She swept her arm over the table and the bits of ingredients vanished.
“Have the dreams started yet?” Grandmother asked. Her beady eyes gleamed and a line of sweat formed on her upper lip.
“Dreams?” she responded, hesitantly. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to reveal to Grandmother. The memory of the strange, yet beautiful, man in the forest pricked at the back of her mind.
Grandmother cocked an eyebrow at her and said flatly, “I can see it in your eyes that they have.”
Iris pursed her lips to keep herself from retorting with words drenched in sarcasm.
“Tell me what you saw,” Grandmother commanded. A vein on her forehead throbbed as she leaned towards Iris and hissed, “There’s no use in denying me an answer, girl. I will find out what you know.”
Iris flinched. She was not accustomed to Grandmother’s venom the way her sister was. She so infrequently received reprimands from Grandmother that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end of her wrath.
“It was nothing, really, Grandmother.”
As quickly as an owl plucking a small rodent from the forest floor, Grandmother gripped Iris’s chin between her finger and her thumb.
“You will tell me what I want to know, Iris,” she hissed.
Iris recoiled as spittle flecked her cheek and fought hard against the urge to wipe the droplets from her cheeks.
“Please, Grandmother,” she whimpered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.”
Iris’s eyes welled with tears.
Grandmother squeezed until Iris felt her veins pop and
bruises swell. Her lower lip trembling, she stared straight into Grandmother’s eyes.
“I don’t,” she said.
Grandmother searched her face. Her eyes bulged as she leaned in close enough that Iris could smell her rancid breath.
“You will tell me what I want to know.”
Iris blinked. Her pulse quickened as she continued to stare into Grandmother’s eyes. For too long had she allowed herself to be bullied by this woman.
“I always have dreams,” she said. She glanced towards Emma’s prone body still slumped on the floor. Her face was so pale she almost would have thought that her sister was dead, were it not for the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest.
“These are different,” Grandmother insisted. She dug her nail deep into Iris’s cheek. “I demand that you tell me what you saw.”
Iris didn’t know why she felt like she needed to keep the dream secret. There was nothing tying her to the mysterious man. She’d only met him the once. She wasn’t even sure he was a real person.
But, she felt the urge to protect him. Something about the way the golden flecks in Grandmother’s eyes pulsed and the fervor in which she spoke gave her pause. She didn’t trust Grandmother wanted to help her.
She didn’t trust Grandmother.
She blinked again, if only to break the eye contact between them. Breathing in deeply, she uttered the one word she knew would throw Grandmother into a tantrum.
“No.”
“No!” Grandmother shrieked. “You dare tell me no?”
In one swift motion, she released Iris’s cheek and slapped her.
Iris’s head whipped backwards. Her eyes fluttered. Her breathing hitched. She groaned as she straightened her back and looked to her sister once more. There was no sign of revival on her sister’s part.
“Let’s make a bargain,” she said, turning her attention back to Grandmother.
Grandmother’s lips curled into a smile.
“You’re finally developing a backbone, I see.”
She hated how Grandmother lorded her good grace over them. Iris shrugged. Her cheek still burned from Grandmother’s slap and warm blood trickled down her face from the spot where Grandmother had dug her nail into her skin.
It was as if, simply because Grandmother had taken them in, she was owed their loyalty and adoration. It went deeper than that, though. Sometimes Iris wondered if Grandmother believed she and her sister existed solely to serve her. Emma fought against Grandmother’s control more than she did. She didn’t know why the urge to protect the man hummed in her soul the way it did.
It just did.
“I believe it was time that you and I became more like partners,” Iris said. She was careful to keep her tone neutral. Her heart thudded in her chest and she was afraid her fear would register in her voice.
Grandmother scanned her from head to toe.
“You are no longer a child,” she whispered. It seemed like it was more to herself than to Iris.
“No,” Iris said, “I am not.”
Grandmother examined her grey, spotted hands.
“I am getting old,” she sighed.
Iris wasn’t sure if she should respond to Grandmother’s declaration or if she should simply move forward. Considering Grandmother had never seemed to care about her looks or age before, she ignored her comment.
“I’m already skilled with potions. Maybe, if you taught me more, I could be of even greater service to you.”
“You don’t have it in you.”
Iris stumbled over her words. She had suspected for some time now that Grandmother had only rescued them for some latent ability that hadn’t manifested yet. She was convinced either she or her sister—or perhaps both of them—were blessed by the Creators with the Light.
Why else would Grandmother, a powerful witch, have rescued them?
Why else would she believe Iris would have powerful, vibrant dreams that meant something more?
“You are lying.”
“Am I?” she responded.
“I know there’s something you’re not telling me. I know you wouldn’t have just rescued us out of the goodness of your heart. Tell me what you know.”
Grandmother rubbed her hands together. “I am not accustomed to you telling me no, girl.”
Her eyes were serpentine slits and blazed gold.
“We are no longer little girls, Grandmother. Either tell me why you think a dream I have would be important or we shall leave.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Iris regretted saying them.
It was the middle of winter. A monster had tried to kill her sister. They had no money and nowhere to go.
“You want to leave?” Grandmother hissed. “Then go!”
She clapped her hands together and the entire room swirled around them. Her muscles clenched. Light and color blurred. Her head exploded in pain. Her stomach roiled as she had the sensation of dropping from a high place.
And then it was over.
Chapter Nine
Iris
Everything was cold.
Opening her eyes, Iris was met with swirling snow and ice-laden trees. She shivered, her thin dress barely providing cover from the winter wind. She peered around the clearing, but neither Grandmother nor Emma were visible in the dark.
Pan
ic filled her.
What had she done?
She pinched her arm, willing this to be another dream.
The sharp prick of the pinch made her jolt.
She opened her eyes.
It was still cold.
“No,” she whispered.
She looked around her. It was nothing but trees and ice and snow. Sweat broke out on her forehead and back. Her breathing became faster. More labored.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
This was too much like when her their parents had abandoned them to the woods. Left in the cold to freeze.
And it was happening again.
She clenched her hands into tight fists until they hurt from the pressure. She went through her argument with Grandmother. She couldn’t believe she’d let the desire to protect someone she didn’t even know to bite back at Grandmother. The image of Emma, her body slumped and her eyes closed, filled Iris’s mind.
“Emma,” she whispered and then, more loudly, “Emma!”
There was no response.
She scrambled to her feet. Ice crunched beneath her. She cursed as she stepped on a hidden branch and the hard wood pressed against the slope of her foot. Her slippers were soaked through and the cold was already seeping into her very being.
How could I have been so stupid?
“Emma!” she called again. She wasn’t sure if she hoped Emma was out there with her or still in the warmth of Grandmother’s cabin.
She didn’t know the woods the way her sister did. She had never been the hunter. She had always chosen to stay behind with Grandmother, to help with the potions and the cleaning.
Her teeth chattered as an icy wind swept through the woods.
“You couldn’t have even given me a cloak or boots?” she yelled into the darkness. She doubted Grandmother had stuck around to see how she reacted to being abandoned in the woods. That wasn’t her style. It never had been.
“If you think I'm going to apologize when I get home, you’re wrong!” she shouted defiantly.
She pushed through a thicket of brambles. Their sharp thorns tore at her gown and hair. Tiny cuts blossomed on her ivory skin. The crimson blood was a stark contrast to her pale skin.
She seethed. She never should have let Grandmother bait her. Her temper had flared in a way she wasn’t accustomed to and she hadn’t been able to control it. Gritting her teeth, she pushed through another set of brambles.
The frozen edge beneath her broke. She rolled down the slope, roots and rocks and brambles smacking her as she went. She managed to catch a protruding root; her fingers dug into the frozen wood. They strained to keep her in place as she stood.
Her breathing was laborious. Her entire body felt tender. Pain radiated down her arm. She moaned as she gingerly prodded at her throbbing shoulder. Even applying that small amount of pressure sent a wave of nausea through her.
The sound of snapping branches above her jerked her back to attention. She knew the scent of her blood and the sound of her cascade down the slope would be enough to draw animals from their hiding places.
Emma’s description of a beast prowling the woods filled her with trepidation. She had never been a skilled fighter. That was more her sister’s forte.
A howl pierced the night air.
Iris looked up the slope. She searched the darkness for any sign of the beast.
She was met with the yellow and green glow of five pairs of eyes.
Wolves.
Of course, it had to be wolves.
Another howl erupted from one of them, followed by a chorus of yelps from the others. Iris clung to the root that had saved her from her descent down the valley slope.
Her arm screamed in pain. Sweat slickened her grip. Panting, she glanced downwards. The slope was so deep there was only darkness beneath her.
Biting her bottom lip, she considered her options. She couldn’t face the wolves. She had no weapons and no training. Her only chance at survival was either climbing a tree and waiting for Emma to rescue her or chancing a mad dash of escape.
She glanced at the wolves at the top of the embankment again. Two sets of eyes had disappeared. She searched the tree line for any sign of them.
Disheveled leaves and frozen dirt slid down the slope past her. Iris looked in the direction from whence they came in time to see the shape of a wolf emerge from the darkness.
Screaming, she released her hold on the root and stumbled backwards. She hit the ground and rolled down the steep slope. Wolves howled. Their cries erupted between her own yelps of pain and the sound of her body slamming into hard objects. Her heart skipped a beat each time their cries reached her.
This was her only chance at escaping the wolves. Even if she broke her entire body on the way down, it was better than being torn apart by the hungry beasts.
She just prayed they wouldn’t be able to follow her down.
She was beginning to believe she had plunged herself down a never-ending hill when she crashed head-first into a massive rock.
Chapter Ten
Emmaleigh
"Well, this is a fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten us into, Iris,” Emmaleigh mumbled as she sat up.
Her head exploded with pain. She wanted to claw at Grandmother Rel’s face until she was scarred and blind after the way she had treated them both. First with the poison she’d forced her to drink and then the way she’d banished them to the frozen outdoors.
She shoved her feelings aside as she peered around the woods around her.
“Iris?” she called out.
When her sister did not respond, a prickling panic inched into the back of her mind.
“Iris!”
Still, there was no response. She slammed her fists into the cold, solid ground around her. Of course, the old hag had separated them to enhance her punishment. She was by far the most evil, conniving witch Emma had ever met. Even if she had saved them from death all those years ago.
Although her entire body ached, Emma forced herself to concentrate and take stock of her surroundings. Thankfully, she was wearing her sturdy boots and a thick, woolen dress. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a cloak or her bow.
Moonlight filtered in through the densely packed trees. She peered upwards, but the branches, despite being bare from winter, were too thick to see the stars. If she could orient herself, she would be able to find their cottage. The only difficulty would be finding Iris before she got herself into too much trouble.
First, she needed to find a weapon. Searching the forest floor, she selected a long, thick branch from the ground. After she had removed the smaller twigs and the remaining shriveled leaves, it fit comfortably in her hand.
Next, she searched for a sharp rock. At first, she thought about tying a rock to the end of the branch, but, since it was winter, she knew she wouldn’t be able to find strong or flexible enough vines to keep the rock in place. Instead, she used the rock to chip away at one end of the branch until it formed a crude point.
“Good enough,” she sighed as she examined her handiwork. She decided the point would suffice since, without the proper tools, she would never be able to make it as sharp as the spears she kept at home. She certainly wouldn’t be able to make her preferred weapon of choice—a bow.
Her breath came out in puffs of mist and her hands ached from the cold. If there had been enough light, she would be able to see their red, swollen state. As it was, she tucked one of her hands beneath her opposite armpit and used the makeshift spear as a walking stick.
“I will find you, Iris,” she whispered resolutely as she pressed into the dense trees surrounding her.
She hadn’t gone far when she realized she was being followed. The soft padding of feet and the occasional snap of a twig breaking caused the hairs on her arms to stand on end. Her mind quickly scrolled through the names of all the predators she knew to live in the woods that would be awake during winter. The forests of Dramadoon were known for their numerous dangerous residents.
She cursed Gran
dmother Rel for banishing her and Iris to the woods. Even if her sister had responded to the witch’s baiting, it was no reason for Grandmother Rel to punish them in this way. They hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d just asked questions.
They had a right to know.
She prayed to the Creators that her sister was all right. Iris didn’t know the woods as well as she did and the thought of her being caught off-guard by any of the possible threats made a lump form in Emma’s throat.
She needed to protect her sister.
She had always needed to protect her sister.
Heavy breathing drew her attention.
Emmaleigh calculated how far away the potential threat was. She was surprised it had gotten close enough to be heard, but hadn’t launched an attack. It was strange. Never, in all her days of hunting, had she encountered a predator who allowed itself to be heard when not on the attack.
She clutched her makeshift spear so tightly she knew her knuckles would be white if she could see them. The dim light of the sister moons was not enough to see far into the trees, but she knew the wolf was there.
A shadow shifted to her left.
She twisted her body and swung the spear out at the same time. She felt the crunch of wood on flesh before hearing a whimper of pain.
She fell into a crouching position. Breathing heavily, she waited for the aggressor to retaliate.
It did not.
Strange.
She crept forward, keeping the spear at the ready. More whimpering and a small yelp echoed through the trees. Whatever had attempted to attack her, she had definitely injured it.
The coppery scent of blood wafted past her as an icy breeze swept through the trees. Bending down, she pressed her fingers into the snow. They came back coated in warmth.
A growl sounded from behind her.
She whirled. The scent of sweat and earth and sour meat met her before the wet, rough nose did. Her muscles strained as she stopped herself from whopping the wolf on the head. Its hazel eyes gleamed in the moonlight.