Enchantress

by Christine Schumaker

  Her aunt sat next to her and held up her own flask of port, in a toast.

  Aunt Serafine smiled warmly, “It is good to see you. You were a stubborn girl who loved her horse and disobeyed her nanny, the last time I saw you.”

  Serese laughed, “I am afraid not much has changed since then. I have disobeyed father by not marrying Lord Forn. He tossed me into the dungeon, thinking to sway my decision.”

  Aunt Serafine smiled, “Was he successful then?”

  Serese said, “I will never know the outcome. Mother freed me after three days.”

  Aunt Serafine’s smile was wistful, “How is my dear sister, Annaliese? Has she bent to her husband’s rule?”

  Serese said, “No, she sways like a branch. She gets her way more often than not. Mother gave me this,” and Serese revealed her charm.

  “It is your turn to wear our family heirloom.” Aunt Serafine sighed as she stared into the stone.

  “You wore it too? It killed a tree troll. It restrained a flock of crows. Did the charm aid you?” Serese asked, as she braved another sip of the port. “Truly, this spell book is much needed.”

  “The opal charm would release a soothing heat whenever it favored my actions or someone I was near. It would sting me whenever it did not approve of my companion. Or my behavior.” Aunt Serafine eyed the opal warily as she added, “I am afraid I was stung a great deal.”

  “It has done that for me too. I am afraid of it a little. Why did mother and father tell me you were dead?” Serese asked.

  “They thought they were keeping you safe. I have waited a long time to see you. I have another special gift for you.”

  Aunt Serafine left and went into the empty room. Serese wondered what sort of a life her aunt had lived, so isolated for years. It was not fair that the women of her family had to sacrifice so much. For the hundredth time, she wondered why she could not have been born a male, thus escaping the magical bent of the Argot women.

  A cat with silky fur jumped onto Serese’s lap, nestling in the violet folds of her fine gown. The feline kneaded her thigh with its claws and purred. Serese stroked the cat while she stared into the flames of the fire.

  One of the logs burned with a brighter orange flame than the rest and it seemed as if crimson-haired faerie danced within its flickering tongues.

  The beautiful faerie writhed and turned like a whip in a gust of wind; her dark red gown hugged her, in two crossing fabric leaves and her jeweled overskirt shimmered with gold fastened rubies.

  Her two butterfly wings were midnight blue, pulsating with red veins and fluttering quickly as if she were agitated. Her fair skin and deep brown eyes gave her a girlish appearance but Serese felt the fairy was older than her appearance suggested.

  One pale arm beckoned for Serese to come closer. The brown tabby cat noticed the faerie. The cat howled loudly, pouncing to the hearth and arching her back.

  The cat hissed and growled at the faerie dancing on the burning log until she gradually faded, leaving only red and golden flames.

  Serese would have doubted her own eyes had the cat not confirmed that something had been there too.

  Aunt Serafine returned with a lacquered ebony box and noticed the puzzled expression on her niece’s face. “What troubles you?” she asked. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

  “Well I certainly saw something but it was no ghost. Your cat saw her too. I think I saw a faerie dancing in the flames of your fireplace.”

  Aunt Serafine sat quickly beside Serese, placing the lacquered box on her niece’s lap. “I am afraid it was Queen Amber, the fire faerie queen, she has visited me in the past, trying to trick me into giving her what lies in this box. Did she speak to you?”

  “No. Why did the opal not warn me?” Serese asked.

  “You were not in immediate danger. It is best not to converse with her for she has a silver tongue. Queen Amber can charm even the most uncooperative out of whatever she seeks. She has no power here but she seeks a weakness in my defenses. I fear she has turned spy for the dark lady.”

  “You refer to Serpentine then?” Serese asked, nervously.

  “Yes, the sorceress knows you are coming for her. She sends her allies.” Aunt Serafine answered.

  “My dear, I am afraid of my punishment when Serpentine learns I have given you this. The spell book is powerful enough but this contains mysteries even the elves cannot fully fathom. Its healing powers will cure Lord Forn. Of course, it has the opposite effect on those who are evil-hearted.”

  A sensation of tingling warmth entered Serese’s stomach as she accepted the box and laid it in her lap. The tabby cat hissed, backing away from the box while Serese carefully opened it, revealing a silver object nestled in straw. A strange buzzing sounded in her ears.

  Serese withdrew an ancient silver flask. It was truly stunning; its workmanship was flawless. Surely it had not been crafted by human hands. Her heart delighted in its beauty.

  A carving of vines embraced its sides and met in the middle where a single rose set in diamonds bloomed brilliantly. It had a narrow opening which was plugged with a cork. It was by far the most intricate and beautiful flask Serese had ever seen.

  “This sacred cup will aid you in your journey. It is the only way to eradicate the sorceress and to heal Lord Forn. There is one who has the recipe for the potion; I only hope she has not fallen and is able to help.”

  “How will I know her?” Serese anxiously asked.

  “My child, follow the opal’s leading. I cannot offer you any more guidance.”

  Aunt Serafine remembered something and added, “Wait, it is imperative that you do not have any joining with Lord Forn, not until he has drunk from the potion. That is the paradox of the ancients’ vision; your destinies are bound together. Whether your reign is honorable or wicked depends solely upon you.”

  Serese frowned, and said, “This entire predicament is greatly unfair, Aunt Serafine. How can I be expected to succeed against such odds? He is quite handsome, appealing even.”

  “My dear, listen to your heart. But, resist Lord Forn, or else you will be caught in the same web which has ensnared him. You must remain pure.”

  “Heaven help me. Lord Forn will not give me up. I should fear him, but the suffering in his eyes—when he asked me for help, it haunts me still. I sense there is good in him yet.”

  Aunt Serafine patted Serese’s knee, “Your feelings for him are a tender bud. Do not be alarmed. When he is free of Serpentine’s curse, he will pluck your flower.”

  “Truly aunt, you are too shocking. When he looks at me, I want to linger in his embrace. It is as if I am all watery inside and he is the only dry land to be found.”

  Serese took a gulp of the port. She distracted her thoughts by examining a hanging tapestry.

  It depicted an unusual rose bush, half the shrub was in bloom with purple roses and half was dead with thorny branches.

  Serese gasped as she recognized it as the same bush she had seen in her opal’s vision.

  Serese turned to her aunt, who guessed her thoughts before she could voice them, “It is where the curse began. Your mother must have her reasons for not telling you the entire story. My younger sisters drifted into vastly different destines that day. The dark-haired girl was your mother, the fair-haired girl was her twin, Serpentine.”

  Serese opened her mouth wide and shook her head slowly back and forth; it could not be. She set her port glass down with a loud thud which reverberated through her entire being. She focused her watering eyes on a twisting thread pattern in the gold embroidered carpet. Her heart twisted along with it as she fought to believe what she knew was true.

  The sorceress was her mother’s own twin sister; they had shared the same womb. Serese clutched her stomach. She would not be ill. She would not. Serpentine was her aunt.

  Hot tears streamed from her eyes as she buried her dark head in her arms and cried angrily. Her slender shoulders shook with her weeping as the cat approached her with a series o
f concerned meows.

  Aunt Serafine gently stroked her troubled niece’s back, murmuring quietly to her, “There, there. You are not destined to become like her; I have faith that yours shall be a different path.”

  Serese sat up then, hiccupped and asked, “But you cannot know for certain. It is in my blood.”

  “Yes, Serese, I am certain,” and pointing to the opal tucked in her niece’s gown, Aunt Serafine said, “This opal will succeed. You will find a way to kill her. No one else can.”

  The cat had pounced upon Serese’s lap again, pressing its solid warmth into her knees and purring rhythmically while kneading its paws. Serese lifted her head and dried her eyes upon her sleeve as she pet the feline.

  Sir Roan and Jonathan had entered the room, out of concern for the princess. Jonathan asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, your highness?” the shepherd’s earnest brown eyes were troubled. In an aside to the enchantress, he asked, “What ails her?”

  Sir Roan, who could read thoughts, told the shepherd, “Serese has learned she is the niece of Serpentine. We should let her grieve.”

  Chapter Eight

  “No, you both may stay,” Serese spoke, wiping her eyes, “My heart fears. I cannot think about it now.” Serese placed the flask and the small book into her gown’s pocket.

  Jonathan whistled and shook his head incredulously, “I thought you were touched in the head when you told me you were the girl from the prophecy. I only meant to chaperone you until King Argot’s soldiers found us. I wanted to apprentice myself to one of his knights. I may not get my chance now. Dead men cannot fight.”

  Aunt Serafine looked intently at Jonathan and said, “You are more capable than you think; it is no coincidence you met with Serese and Sir Roan.”

  Jonathan shrugged, “I want more out of life than herding sheep. If I die, at least I will have tried for more.”

  “There is your answer then.” And the enchantress stopped and glanced at the door in a panic.

  A moment later, Serese and Jonathan heard the horses and the men’s’ voices as they approached the front door.

  Aunt Serafine ushered everyone toward the crimson carpet in the center of the floor, and dragged the carpet aside. Underneath was a wooden trap door, which Aunt Serafine quickly opened.

  A rope ladder was attached. Serese and Jonathan climbed down into a room beneath the floor.

  Sir Roan jumped down into the room after them, since he could not navigate the rickety contraption. Aunt Serafine closed the trapdoor, replacing the carpet. Then she walked slowly to the front door, which shook from the men pounding upon it.

  A loud battering echoed in the cottage as a deep voice said, “Enchantress, you must admit us at once.”

  “My goodness,” Aunt Serafine said as she slowly opened the door, “What a ruckus you men are making. What brings you here?”

  Soldiers in boots trampled on the wooden floor, the sound reverberating into the earth cellar, where Serese listened.

  Six large men in black cloaks carried an assortment of longbows, crossbows, and broadswords.

  Aunt Serafine was almost flattered they felt she was such a threat. Perhaps she shouldn’t have cast some of the spells she had on the villagers. But causing whiskers to grow out of a woman’s nose was not a crime, was it?

  The men wore Lord Forn’s seal upon their armor so Serafine knew he sought her niece. Their chain mail rattled loudly enough to send her frightened feline underneath her bed, where she pressed herself against the wall, waiting for quiet to descend.

  “Do you men desire your fortunes told or are you in need of a love potion, perhaps? I have heard tell that a soldier’s life is a lonely one.”

  Their leader, a brown-bearded man with stern blue eyes said, “We have not come for such trivial concerns. We are seeking a young lady of royal birth who was abducted from Lord Forn’s castle two days ago. We believe she may be traveling with a shepherd and a distempered wolf. We followed their tracks to your cottage. We must conduct a search. We have already looked in the village on the way.”

  The princess and her companions heard this exchange from under the wooden trap door, below.

  Sir Roan stifled a chuckle; so, he was distempered now?

  “You ought not to have bit him, Sir Roan.” Serese whispered.

  The wolf padded, dignified, to Jonathan’s side. There, the majestic wolf sat and his golden eyes reproached Serese.

  They listened intently as Serafine’s silky voice asked, “I have not seen anyone. Of course, the weather has been so fierce; I have not even ventured to the woodpile to gather more wood.”

  The brown-bearded leader smiled and his eyes crinkled pleasantly as he removed his leather gloves, smoothing his moustache thoughtfully, “My men will retrieve more firewood for you, when we have finished our search.”

  “Please search to your satisfaction. May I offer you and your men some refreshment?”

  The men spoke among themselves, disagreeing, as some of them were of a mind to accept a glass of port just to be social and others were adamantly opposed to accepting anything from the conjurer woman. Their leader spoke on behalf of his men, “No thank you, milady. We may as well search this room first.”

  Serese held her breath and her pendant, as heavy steps trod directly over the trap door.

  She let out her breath when the boot steps continued around the main room and into the side rooms. One of the men exclaimed loudly but their leader commanded, “Leave that thing alone!”

  Finally, the men gathered before the door, their captain saying, “We bid you Good Evening, milady. We will camp here for the night. We will replenish your wood pile.”

  Serafine thanked them, closing and locking the wooden door behind them. She also latched the wooden shutters before the leaded windows. She lifted her graceful arms above her head, like an eagle spreading her wings for flight. Then she spun slowly in a circle, muttering under her breath. She sighed. That should complete her protective spell.

  Then she spoke, “I have figured out a way of escape. Come out, but keep quiet.”

  Serafine folded the woolen carpet aside, opening the trap door. Jonathan climbed out, brushing cobwebs out of his curls. Sir Roan was sprawled awkwardly on his shoulder. Serese climbed out after them.

  They moved to the fireplace and Serese, hoping her opal would enlighten her, kept checking its temperature. It remained cold.

  She took little comfort in the fact that her jewel did not feel she was in danger. She did not want to be returned to Lord Forn. Not yet.

  Then the princess grew warm as her imagination headed in a wayward direction. Aunt Serafine gave her a knowing glance. Serese blushed. It truly was a travesty that her thoughts were not private.

  Serese sat before the flickering orange and red flames, keeping watch for a dancing faerie, but she saw nothing unusual. She turned expectantly to her aunt, wondering what sort of a plan she had in mind.

  The beautiful enchantress beckoned for them to follow her into her study as she whispered, “You must never speak of what you will see, not to anyone, or the consequences will be terrible. I would not consider using his magic except we are in a trying situation.”

  Serese smelled it first, the familiar stable smell of her horse Sasha and then she saw a pallet before the fireplace, in the corner.

  Aunt Serafine removed a woolen blanket and everyone gasped as they saw the delicate white creature lying underneath. Its’ grey mane and tail were shimmering as if they were made of silver and its’ little hooves seemed made of pearl. Its front right foreleg was wrapped in a linen bandage. It was a unicorn! Its black eyes stared at Serese with all of the wisdom of the world.

  Aunt Serafine motioned for Jonathan to stay back, “Ulysses is not too fond of males. You must not take it as a slight.”

  The shepherd nodded as he remembered to close his mouth. He could not help staring.

  Serese was drawn to the magical creature, like a baby to his mother, and she knelt next to the wolf-size
d unicorn. Ulysses cocked his head as he poked his white horn through the woolen blanket, piercing the fabric.

  Aunt Serafine said, “I must make a potion with a drop of your blood. It will only burn for a moment when he pricks you. But you must remain silent or the spell will be worthless. No matter how dreadfully you want to cry out, you must not.”

  After hearing this, Serese tried to stand, but her aunt placed a hand on her back, preventing her from leaving. “Isn’t there another way?” Serese asked, warily eyeing Ulysses, who seemed to grin at her.

  “I am afraid not. You must be brave, my child. This is what you were chosen for.”

  Serese was now next to Ulysses’ horn. She held her hands stubbornly to her sides. “Could we not use your blood, Aunt?” she asked.

  “I am afraid mine will not suffice. I am no longer a maiden.”

  Serese sighed as her aunt lifted one of her niece’s fingers to the unicorn’s horn. Ulysses pricked it.

  A wave of heat engulfed Serese and she burned; it felt as though her hand was devoured by fire.

  Her finger bled and Aunt Serafine collected a few drops into a wooden bowl. Ulysses whinnied while Serese bit her tongue to stop from screaming. Oh, she wanted to, very badly, but instead she thought of the insults she wanted to say to her aunt. Of course, her aunt read her thoughts. Serese was pleased that her aunt’s eyes narrowed at some of them.

  Finally, the unicorn removed its torturous horn and Serese staggered back into Jonathan’s arms.

  Then Aunt Serafine said, “Jonathan, I will have need of you. But please escort Serese into my cellar first. We will need to keep her hidden, until my charade has been carried out.”

  The princess followed Jonathan to the trapdoor, cradling her finger against her chest. Then she glanced at Sir Roan, who nodded his head gravely and said, “I expect she knows her business. Fret not.”

  As she descended the ladder into the cellar, she could not stop fretting.

  She worried about the outcome of her aunt’s spell. She wished she had a younger sister who could have inherited this terrible jewel. She touched the stone again. Her opal lay cool against her neck. She would try to find some satisfaction in that, this time.