Spellbreaker

by S A McClure

  Emma tucked the slipper into her belt and charged down the rest of the ravine.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Iris

  “Liam,” Iris whispered.

  He had seemed so real. All of it. His touch. His warmth. His compassion. To Iris, he didn’t just seem real. He was real.

  She didn’t know how long she laid in the snow and ice, her head oozing blood before the soft padding of feet pulled her from the last remnants of the dream.

  Her eyes flew open.

  Brilliant stars danced before her. They didn’t seem real. They were too close, too colorful. She thought she threw up her hand, trying to catch them, but when she turned her head, she found both of her arms were resting in the snow.

  A rancid, earthy smell filled her senses. It was familiar. She bit her bottom lip as she tried to place the scent. Somewhere, somehow, she knew what it was.

  But, at the same time, she didn’t know.

  Sharp pain flew up her leg as hot liquid poured over her foot.

  She screamed.

  She tried sitting up, but her head felt heavy, as if it had been stuffed full of rocks. She shifted uncomfortably as another stab of pain exploded on her leg.

  She screamed again. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes as she fought against her body to sit up. She needed to see what was hurting her.

  She kicked up with her leg. The agony that followed was so excruciating that she crumpled back into the snow and ice without a sound. She lay there, panting, as more spikes of pain followed.

  She closed her eyes, trying to bring back his face. To feel the warmth of his hand pressed against her cheek.

  Grandmother didn’t need to know about this dream. It belonged to her. He belonged to her. No matter what Grandmother threw at her, Iris was determined to keep him all to herself.

  “Get off of her!”

  The shout tore Iris from her thoughts. She would recognize that voice anywhere.

  “Emma,” she croaked. Her dry lips cracked slightly. She licked them and said again, “Emma!”

  “Oh, thank the Creators!” her sister said from somewhere nearby.

  There was a loud yelp followed by the sounds of a struggle. And then silence.

  Iris lay still, her heart racing as she waited for a sign—any sign—that her sister was ok.

  No sign came.

  She squirmed, trying to get her body to cooperate. It absolutely refused. She bucked her legs and pain coursed up her body. She shuddered, struggling to stay awake.

  “Emma?” she called.

  It was a long moment before she received a reply.

  “I’m coming.”

  Iris released a long sigh of relief. Her skin still tingled and her mind still raced with thoughts of the dream, of Grandmother, of the terror of being pursued by the wolves. But, her sister was there. She had always been there.

  “By the Light,” Emma muttered as she bent over Iris.

  Her sister’s face was hazy. Each line was blurred.

  Emma ran a warm hand over her brow. Iris closed her eyes, soaking in the heat.

  Emma kept muttering to herself as she examined more of Iris’s body. Iris couldn’t feel anything beyond the cold. She was so cold. She knew she must be shivering, but her mind felt completing disconnected from her body—now that the spikes of pain on her legs had disappeared.

  “Iris?”

  Her sister was talking, but it was so difficult to concentrate on the words. Too difficult.

  She closed her eyes again.

  A sharp slap cracked through the air.

  “Do not do this,” Emma demanded.

  Iris opened her eyes to find Emma’s hand was raised to strike again. She had just enough time to close her eyes before her sister slapped her again.

  “You have to stay awake, ok?”

  Iris had never heard her sister sound so panicked before. She was impulsive and wild and fierce. But, she was never panicked.

  She reached up a shaking hand towards her sister’s face. Her arm obeyed her command this time. She cupped her sister’s cheek. Tears wet her fingers. They ran hot down Emma’s face.

  She tried smiling. Her sister never cried. She couldn’t abide it. There was no space for her sister’s sadness. Her fear. Her panic.

  “Don’t cry, Emmaleigh. I know I’m prettier than you, but that’s no reason to—” Her words cut off as she ran out of air. Her throat was sore and forming words strained her already cracked lips. She coughed.

  “Hush now,” Emma said. “Don’t try to talk.”

  She cradled Iris’s hand. Iris didn’t understand. She knew she was hurt. Knew that she was bleeding and that the wolves had most likely made a snack of her body. She wasn’t dumb. She knew those spikes of pain would have been from the wolves biting down on her. She knew she had lost too much blood.

  It was so obvious.

  An image of Liam blossomed in her mind. She needed to find him. Needed to discover where he was—who he was. It was the only thing that kept her going.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emmaleigh

  “You’re not dying on me, do you hear? You’re not allowed to die,” Emmaleigh said as she lugged her sister’s limp body down the valley of the ravine.

  She wasn’t exactly sure where they were or if they were even still in Dramadoon. They were in a part of the woods that she had never been to before. The thought of wondering through the forest, in the cold of night, as her sister bled out without any inclination of where to go terrified her.

  “Does this make you happy?” she called into the night sky. “Are you satisfied now?”

  She spat on the ground. She had no doubt the old hag was watching them. That she had sent the wolves to attack Iris as punishment for her insubordination. It was just the type of thing the witch would do.

  Emma’s patience with the tests and constant fear of punishment was quickly waning. It was one thing for Grandmother Rel to punish her. She was strong and brave and resourceful. She had always been obstinate. It was different with Iris.

  Iris had always been loyal to Grandmother. She’d always been quiet. She’d always been kind.

  “If she dies in these Creator forsaken woods, so help me, I will find you,” she hissed.

  She checked the strips of cloth she’d bound around Iris’s legs before attempting to carry her through the forest. They were soaked entirely through.

  She’d almost vomited at the sight of bite marks and missing chunks of flesh on her sister’s legs. Those beasts had been feasting on Iris when she’d still been alive. They deserved what happened to them. She hoped the ravens she’d seen fluttering in the trees picked their bones clean.

  A pang of guilt flashed through her. She hadn’t even waited to see if Mr. Wolf had survived. When she’d seen the state of Iris, she’d just bandaged the wounds as best she could and began pulling her through the snow. In this condition, there was no chance her sister would survive if they were forced to stay in the elements for much longer.

  Iris moaned as Emma tugged her over a group of rocks. The cut on her head had been the worst. Even worse than the bite marks. She’d padded it in as much cloth as she could but she knew it wasn’t enough.

  She wasn’t even sure the witch’s magic would be enough to save her sister now.

  “That’s it then?” she cried. “You’re just going to let her die?”

  The old hag’s lack of response was beginning to make Emma doubt herself. She’d been so sure Grandmother Rel would respond. If she knew one thing about the old witch, it was that she liked being catered to. She liked it when people groveled to her.

  “You know, I always knew you only took us in so that one day, you could kill us. You’re like that. Cruel. Unusual. Ugly.”

  Grandmother Rel had never particularly cared much about her looks. Wrinkles. Age spots. Bald. She was terrifying to most people. Even some of the members of her coven.

  But Iris had never shuddered from her touch.

  Emma was certain
her sister was the only living person in the whole of Mitier who hadn’t.

  “Your heart matches your exterior now. And Iris knows it. She’ll hate you after this. That is, if she survives.”

  There was a crack of lightning and a swirl of snow. Dark, sparkling mist formed before her followed by the putrid scent of ammonia.

  Emma smiled broadly. She knew exactly what that scent meant.

  Grandmother Rel had arrived.

  Grandmother Rel took one look at Iris’s pale face, scowled, and then used her magic to transport all three of them to a cave Emma had never seen before.

  It was full of assorted chests, overflowing with gold and jewels, furs, and stuffed animal heads. Several fires blazed in the center of the cave, providing a smoky path to its interior. The witch didn’t say anything as she flicked her wrist and made Iris’s body lift in the air.

  Emma trailed behind her sister’s floating body. She cradled her hand in her own, rubbing circles across her sister’s cold, dry skin.

  “Please survive,” she whispered as she tucked a bit of her sister’s raven hair behind her ear. “Please.”

  They rounded a bend in the cave and came to a fork.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  Grandmother Rel sniffed at the air. Her grey, wrinkled skin folded over itself as she lifted her nose. Her golden eyes scrunched, forming even more wrinkles on her face.

  “Grandmother Rel?”

  Grandmother Rel sighed heavily before cracking one eye open. It gleamed at Emma in the relative darkness of the cave.

  “Spit it out, girl.”

  Emma clenched her fist. She hated the witch’s ability to make her feel inferior. She bit back the sharp retort that bubbled on her tongue and instead sighed before saying in the sweetest tone she could muster, “Where are we?”

  Emma could tell, by the way the wrinkles stretched and reformed, that Grandmother Rel had raised one eyebrow at her, but her face was so furrowed that it was difficult to tell.

  “I decided we should pay a little visit to Balkeen.”

  “The dwarf?” Emmaleigh asked in shock.

  Grandmother Rel never visited her associate. She always called him to visit her. Not the other way around.

  “Yes,” she said with a sniff. “It was so nice of him to send that, uh, wolf to your aid. I wanted to thank him.”

  There was definitely something Grandmother Rel wasn’t telling her. But as far as Emma was concerned, it didn’t matter.

  Not as long as the aid her sister needed was given.

  There was still so much blood. It was difficult to look at the wounds on Iris’s legs and not gag at the mass of mangled flesh. Bits of white bone peeked from beneath hanging strips of skin. She wasn’t convinced the wolves had done all of the wounds she’d found on her sister’s body. No, she knew she had to thank the perilous tumble Iris had taken down the ravine’s side for some of the damage.

  It sickened her to know she had been relatively safe in the woods while Iris had been plummeting to what would have been her death if it hadn't been for that faltering blue light.

  She still didn’t know what had caused it. She’d thought about asking Grandmother Rel about it, but had decided against bringing it up. It could have been a fluke. It could have been a trick the old hag had played on her. It could have been anything.

  Anything except her having magic. Their parents had abandoned them to die in the woods for not exhibiting magic. If they developed it now, after years of torture, humiliation, and scorn by a dried up, old witch, she didn’t know if she could bear it. They had lost so much—too much—for the development of powers now to mean anything other than anger.

  Emma followed the immobile body of her sister down the corridor Grandmother Rel chose. More stuffed heads of dead animals lined the walls. Their eyes were so lifelike she had to do several double-takes of them before determining they actually were dead. Each one had an expression of great shock or despair permanently etched across their faces.

  Grandmother Rel didn’t stop moving until they passed through a narrow hole at the end of the hall and into a wide, open cavern. More chests overflowing with sparkling oddments covered the floor. Gold coins were stacked in uneven rows. The room was so full of gold and jewels that Emma was afraid that if she took a step in any direction she’d find herself stepping on the haul.

  She followed the witch down a winding, narrow path through the labyrinth of finery.

  “Myrella.”

  Emma stopped dead in her tracks at the squeaky voice emanating from the opposite end of the room. It was surprisingly high pitched and feminine. She had been anticipating a strong, male voice. She’d only met Balkeen a few times before and she had never really spent any time with him, but she had never really heard him talk before.

  Grandmother Rel shot her a bit of side eye before hobbling forward.

  “Balkeen, my dear friend, it’s been too long.”

  “Has it?” Balkeen replied. Emma couldn’t tell if it was genuine confusion or just a way to stall while the cowardly little fellow made up his mind about what to do next.

  “Yes,” Grandmother Rel said. “And now I’m here to remedy that.”

  The dwarf squeaked loudly as the witch strode forward.

  Emma’s eyes widened as she saw Grandmother Rel shed away the wrinkles and the grey, wispy hair. Her skin became aglow. Her dark, full hair fell down her back in a cascade of curls. Her hips straightened, as did her back. Her waist became slender and her breasts firmer. Still, her eyes blazed gold.

  Emma took her sister’s hand in her own, willing her to wake up—to see. She didn't respond. She just lay there, icy and pale and rigid.

  “You will tell me what you know, Balkeen,” Grandmother Rel hissed at Balkeen.

  . It was a voice Emma knew all too well, having been the sole recipient for several years. The old—well, young now—witch gripped Balkeen’s jaw in her grasp. If looks could kill, Emma had no doubt his heart would’ve stopped at the venom that lay in the witch’s eyes.

  He squirmed in her grasp. For a moment, Emma thought he had escaped her. Her heart thudded in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she were rooting for the dwarf to escape or if she wanted to see just how cruel her guardian could be.

  Grandmother Rel ran a long, pointed nail down Balkeen’s cheek. He shuddered at the touch as blood began to bubble from the wound.

  “I don’t know what you want to know,” Balkeen replied, his voice almost too soft for Emma to hear.

  Grandmother Rel stretched out her hand, her nails elongating into thin, sharp daggers. She raked them across his cheek, leaving three lines of red, angry gashes. His torn flesh hung from his face like a ribbon fluttering in the wind.

  “Do not pander to me, imp. You know exactly what I want to know.”

  He clutched his hands to face. His whimpers turned Emma’s veins to ice. Her palms were sweaty as she pulled Iris’s floating body closer to her, away from the fury so clearly etched on their guardian’s face.

  “I...but... I—” Balkeen stammered.

  Grandmother Rel’s lips curled into a vicious smile.

  “I, but, I?” she mimicked. Her voice was cool and somehow sweet. Emma thought she liked the witch’s angry voice more.

  “Please,” Balkeen began. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I don’t want to have to harm you, dear, sweet little Balkeen. We’ve had such a wonderful partnership these past two hundred years, haven’t we? I would just hate to see that all end because you decided to betray me.”

  Even from the distance between them, Emma saw the blood flow down Balkeen’s short legs. His breeches were soaked and his cheeks flushed a brilliant ruby color. His mouth opened and closed several times.

  Grandmother Rel just laughed.

  “I’ll tell you everything. I swear it. Please, Myrella. Please,” he said.

  “I do love a good begging session,” she cooed. She twisted her arm and Balkeen lifted from the ground and spun in a circle before
her. “Though, I have been needing to replenish my supply of dwarves’ blood.” She tapped a finger on her cheek and smiled broadly, “Yours would do quite nicely.”

  She raised her hand to deliver the death blow.

  “I’ve heard the rumors! I know who is trying to get rid of you!” he screamed.

  Grandmother Rel dropped her arm to her side, her smile widening. She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, smiling at him. If Emma hadn’t grown up with the witch, she would have been supremely creeped out. Who was she kidding, the expression in Grandmother Rel’s eyes was enough to creep anyone out.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Grandmother Rel said.

  Emma clenched her teeth as Grandmother Rel flipped Balkeen onto his back and laid him upon the cold, stone floor. She knew what the witch was going to do next.

  To her surprise, Grandmother conjured a long rope and wound it around Balkeen’s wrists and ankles. She pulled the ropes so tight it looked like his hands and feet would simply pop off his body. He jerked as she gave one final tug on the ropes and stood back.

  “So, we’re not going to kill him?” Emma asked, hopeful.

  Grandmother Rel raised an eyebrow at her, her golden eyes glowing.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t think we shall. At least, not yet.”

  Grandmother Rel bent down until her face hovered above Balkeen’s. Emma had never seen her look so fierce—or so evil. She found herself holding her breath as Grandmother Rel whispered something in Blakeen’s ear. If it was possible, he paled even further.

  Grandmother Rel snapped her fingers and Balkeen disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

  Emma gasped.

  “Where did you send him?” she asked.

  “To one of the cells in his dungeon. Don’t worry, I was sure to choose an empty one.”

  “An empty one?” Emma repeated. She didn’t know why that would matter.

  “Of course. I couldn’t have him getting eaten by a one of his collections, now could I? After all, I need to figure just exactly what he knows about the Inkwell’s attack. I would bet my left foot that he knows more than rumors about who is trying off me.”