Curse of the Night Witch

by Alex Aster

  Etler held his hand up. “There’s something else you should know.”

  The Goblin Thief

  When Estrelle was still living, a goblin happened upon her home. Gray by nature, he wished to have color for himself. While she slept, he dug a sharp nail into her emblem until it drew blood.

  Before she could hunt the thief down, he had escaped into the shadows.

  Estrelle’s emblem contained such concentrated power that the drop of blood gave the goblin a unique gift—the ability to steal color from any source. The green of a tree. The blue of the sea. Yet nothing could change his gray form. He scoured the island, adding every hue imaginable to his collection—a paint box he protected with his life. Still, he was never satisfied. The goblin turned bitter and began stealing color in anger. Just as Estrelle had painted Emblem Island to her liking, he wished to take that color away. He made entire forests shadeless, entire people gray. His stolen ability was passed down to his descendants, who continue to take the color they crave.

  19

  The Rules of the Game

  One by one, Melda’s veins had started to sour. Tor watched as the dark streaks snaked up her arm like poisoned ink. So far, his had taken the longest to spread, but he knew that in just a few hours, he, too, would be covered in the winding rot of the curse.

  But that was the least of his worries. Because in a few hours, he might finally be standing in front of the Night Witch.

  Before his stomach could twist with nerves, Tor straightened and took a deep breath. He was prepared.

  Finally, he had a plan.

  Etler Key knew more than just the Night Witch’s location. He knew a secret that could prove to be her weakness.

  They traveled east until they came upon a field of black grass. It was limp, plastered against the ground as if it had been stepped on by giants.

  Etler’s tea had reinvigorated Engle, he walked easier now. He stopped. Squinted. “There’s nothing for miles,” he said. “Just…this.”

  Melda checked the map and shrugged. “This is the way. According to Etler Key, at least.”

  Tor didn’t mind. He preferred nothing to something, because in the Shadows, that something could get them killed. The dirt had officially turned pitch-black, so they turned north, just like Etler Key had instructed.

  The air grew as cold as Frostflake, the wind stinging their cheeks in a flurry of icy blasts, and Tor was infinitely grateful for their new clothes. Soon, the chill became almost unbearable and the vaguely blue sky—the only hint of color around—paled into gray.

  Walk east until the dirt turns black. Then, travel north until the sky turns gray. Finally, cross the lake. That is where you’ll find her.

  Tor looked for a lake, the one they had been promised, but saw nothing.

  Engle shrugged. “Still nothing else for as far as I can see.” He took a deep breath in, closed his eyes. They stayed closed a long moment…and then he doubled over, crying out in pain and gripping his arm. Not the one that held the curse—the other.

  Melda ran to him, her hands hovering over his hunched form uselessly, looking around for something, anything that could help. Tor stood very still, mouth ajar, watching as the skin on Engle’s arm ripped open like the slow tearing of a seam. In a few horrifying moments, blood spilled over the cape Melda had worked so hard to make, and a clear message appeared, carved deep into his skin: Don’t stop.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then, Melda hooked her arms in each of her friend’s and started to run.

  “What are you doing?” Engle whispered, his face pale. He had lost a lot of blood.

  “It’s a rule, I think,” she said. “We can’t stop moving. No matter what.”

  “What?”

  “Remember what the telecorp told us. He said we would be tested.”

  Tor swallowed. Melda was right, she must be. She knew what rules looked like better than anyone. And if she was correct…

  This was their first test.

  Melda was not the best runner. After just a few moments, Tor noticed that her breathing had predictably turned into wheezing.

  She slowed, slipping her arms free.

  “Boys?” she said smiling. She wasn’t looking at Tor or Engle.

  He squinted ahead, but saw no one. Who was she talking about? All at once, a figure appeared, just a few yards away. But it was not a boy.

  It was Rosa.

  She threw her head back and laughed, two black braids falling behind her. “I knew you’d come back,” she said. “I told Mom she was being silly worrying.”

  Tor said nothing as he neared her. She was there, in the middle of the Shadows, looking exactly as she had the morning they left. Tor wanted nothing more than to hug her, to check her lifeline and make sure it never changed. To hear the melody of her pitch-perfect voice. But when it came time to greet her, Tor ran right past. And Rosa disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

  Melda looked like she was about to stop. “What are you doing out here?” she was saying to someone who wasn’t there.

  Tor hooked her by the arm, so they were locked like they had been before. “No, you don’t,” he said. He turned to grab Engle, too, but his friend didn’t look fazed. He looked weak.

  “I saw my parents,” he said quietly. “And no way I’m stopping for them.”

  All at once, the gray clouds above them dropped so swiftly Tor ducked as if the sky was falling down; they stopped a couple of yards off the ground, creating a thick fog. Clouds proved to be cold, frost spun into cotton.

  For a few moments, Tor walked on, trying desperately to see through the frigid haze, knowing it was pointless; even Engle was walking blind. Finally he closed his eyes, because somehow the darkness seemed more comforting than the shapeless mist.

  A wave of dizziness crashed over him, though all he had done was take a few steps forward—and he wasn’t holding on to his friends’ arms any longer. The ground beneath his feet felt tilted, and his stomach rose up in response. He wondered if he should slow down, just a little. Maybe stop and get his bearings. He could be running right toward the edge of a cliff for all he knew…

  No. The words carved into Engle’s arm blazed behind his closed eyelids in memory. Don’t stop. He hummed a song to reassure himself that not all of his senses were muted. For some reason, he had picked Azulmar Academy’s school anthem. A song he had hated for as long as he could remember.

  Someone joined in. Somewhere in the endless mist was Melda’s voice. Then Engle’s. They hummed together, every note permanently burned into their minds since they were six years old.

  And Tor didn’t feel so lost anymore. He opened his eyes.

  Just as their song finished, the clouds dropped again. This time to their ankles. They could suddenly see their surroundings. Tor blinked wildly, and quickly found his friends—Melda to his left and Engle to his right.

  Without warning, Engle did the unthinkable. He stopped.

  Before Tor could yell, his friend slowly held up his arm.

  “It’s gone,” Engle said. “The rule.” So they stopped, too.

  No one said anything as several seconds ticked by…until, at the same time, they threw their arms around each other.

  Engle was shaking from the cold. The color was nearly drained from his face. “My wish,” he whispered.

  “What?” Tor asked, one of Melda’s ribbons almost in his eye.

  “My Eve wish. I wanted you both to know it…you know. Just in case.”

  Tor wanted to tell Engle to keep his wish to himself, that they would be fine. But he couldn’t promise that. So instead he said, “What was it?”

  “I wished for adventure,” Engle said. “So it’s not just your fault, Tor. I wished for something like this to happen…and I guess it came true.”

  Melda nestled her head in between Tor and Engle’s shoulders. “
Whatever happens,” she whispered, “it was an adventure.”

  “To adventure,” Tor whispered.

  Melda and Engle repeated, “To adventure.”

  And then it was Melda’s turn to scream out. She clutched her arm, and loudly ground her back teeth together. A message was being written on top of her hand, below the knuckles.

  Three words: Don’t Look Back.

  * * *

  Tor kept his eyes trained on the fog that rolled in the distance. He told himself that everything was okay, that this was easy even though he heard Melda scream and Engle muttering to himself. He wondered what they were seeing that he could not. He saw nothing, just mist. All he had to do was follow the rules of the game and not turn around.

  Tor.

  The voice was a whisper in his ear, as if someone was standing right next to him.

  Chills spread down his arm, but he gave no answer.

  Tor, the voice repeated. You’re going to wish you were dead.

  His chest froze. “Why?”

  You’re going to be gifted the greatest gift of all.

  His eyebrows came together. He was going to wish he was dead, but was also going to be gifted the greatest gift of all? Which was it?

  I’ll give you a choice. Turn around, and I’ll make all of your dreams come true. I’ll give you the emblem that would complete you. The one that would delight you.

  He bit the inside of his mouth. “In exchange for what?”

  Your friend.

  Tor immediately shook his head no.

  Don’t you want to know which one?

  He shook his head again.

  It’s the girl. She’s the reason you never liked leadership, right? Because from the first day of class, you knew she would always be better? Because Mrs. Alma always called her the best?

  Tor swallowed.

  It’s okay, Tor. Let’s get rid of her. We’ll do it together. You’ll never have to worry about being inferior anymore. You will be the best. Everyone will see that…

  Tor winced. The smooth, alluring voice knew what lived in the darkest part of his heart. It knew things he had been too ashamed to admit.

  The voice was right.

  You always hated her help, didn’t you? Hated that you even needed help, given who your mother is. It’s okay, Tor. Just turn around.

  He shook his head.

  Just. Turn. AROUND.

  “No!” He yelled the word without a question, without a second’s hesitation.

  And the voice disappeared.

  Tor looked at Melda. The rule on her arm had vanished.

  20

  The Lake of the Lost

  Tor prepared himself for the sharp pain, knowing he was next. He stared down at his arm, waiting. Holding his breath.

  Nothing happened.

  So they kept walking.

  He took a sip of their remaining water to try to settle the butterflies in his stomach. But these were some kind of mutant butterflies, huge and wild, and they danced around in his belly like dread. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if his body knew before his mind that something bad was about to happen. Though they were so close to the Night Witch, a part of him still wanted to turn back. He was ashamed, but the thought remained, a little fire burning in his mind.

  He knew he was supposed to believe in himself. To have hope. But Tor wasn’t naïve. Though he never planned on killing the witch and just wanted to speak to her, the Night Witch likely wouldn’t listen. She would attack. And he was a twelve-year-old who had never fought anyone in his life—let alone a Night Witch who had inspired countless legends. She had powers, emblems that could do all sorts of tricks and magic.

  Now he had none.

  Somehow, thinking those thoughts, negative as they were, comforted Tor. Because if he died, he would die doing something brave. He was going to face the witch, knowing almost for certain that he would lose.

  That seemed to Tor like the most noble thing he had ever done.

  And also, the most foolish.

  “I see something,” Engle croaked. “Water.”

  Tor nodded, remembering Etler Key’s directions. Crossing a lake was the very last step. And not just any lake. The lake from “The Army of Bones.”

  They were so very close.

  The fog shifted, drifting around their ankles as they came upon a dock made of creaky wood and covered in barnacles. Tor worried his foot might go right through the planks.

  Beyond the sad excuse of a harbor sat a body of water the color of mist. It looked rotten, discolored, a foul scent rising from its surface. A single boat, barely big enough for the three of them, bobbed in the water, tied to the dock by a piece of rope coated in diamond-sharp shells.

  “May I interest you in a ride?” The voice was like nails scratched across glass.

  A goblin’s voice.

  Tor stiffened. He had never met one in person, but goblins had a reputation of being greedy, vicious creatures. The being climbed its way onto the dock from the hammock it had been laying on. His skin was the same pale gray as the water, his ears pointed, back hunched over. When he bowed, Tor saw that the nails he extended were coated in dirt, and his garment was falling apart.

  “Is that the way to the witch?” Melda pointed across the water. If Tor squinted enough, he could see a cliff, far in the distance. And a castle farther than that.

  The creature smiled, his mouth almost reaching his ears. “Yes. She lives just across the Lake of the Lost.”

  “Then you can interest us in a ride.”

  Engle took a feeble step toward the boat, and the goblin hissed. “Not so fast. Every ride has its price.”

  Tor’s jaw set. “We don’t have any money,” he said, and it was true. They had made it this far. A goblin was not about to stand between him and the Night Witch.

  The creature laughed, the sound so high-pitched that Tor winced. “I don’t want dobbles,” he said in disgust, as if speaking of trash.

  “Then what do you want?” Melda asked.

  He grinned. “Your eyes.”

  * * *

  Melda took a big step back. “What?”

  “Just the color.”

  “Why on earth would you want that?”

  The goblin sighed and sprawled out his hands, motioning toward his surroundings. “Look around. It’s all gray here,” he said. “Color is what we crave…”

  Tor knew the story. Goblins were the only creatures that could extract color from a being.

  “We have other colors that we would happily give you,” Tor said, taking a step between Melda and the goblin.

  The creature raised a sharp finger. “No, no, no. No negotiations. Once a goblin has spoken its wishes, they cannot be changed.”

  Melda winced, then took her necklace into her hands. She presented the pendant to the goblin, her arm trembling, like the act pained her. “Here,” she said, voice cracking. “You can have this. It’s the same color.”

  Tor wanted to tell Melda not to hand it to him. That it was far too valuable to give away. He knew how much it meant to her.

  But they needed to get across the lake.

  The goblin hissed. “What did I just say! Once a goblin has spoken its wishes, they cannot be changed. It is the color of your eyes or nothing!”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  Melda bunched her fists and shocked Tor with her next few words. “Very well.” She put the pendant back on.

  The goblin motioned for Melda to bend down to his height. She then closed her eyes as he placed two long fingers against her lids. She flinched, and Tor flinched along with her.

  When Melda opened her eyes again, the beautiful blue color was gone, replaced by a cloudy gray. The change was shocking. He watched as she looked at her reflection in the water, one of her hands i
mmediately finding her mouth.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “When this is over, you’ll drip the blue color from the necklace into your eyes. It’ll be like it never happened.”

  She nodded sharply, mouth closed very tightly, looking as if she wanted to cry…or maybe scream.

  Tor turned to the goblin. The blue of Melda’s iris was now smeared across his clothing. The creature spun around, admiring himself in the water. Then, he handed Tor two paddles.

  “Good luck,” the creature called out, as they pushed the boat away from the dock. It was as Tor was paddling that his palm suddenly split open. He gasped in pain, blood puddling at his feet. The third rule was printed there, red as copper: Don’t die.

  * * *

  The boat sloshed from side to side, though the water was quite still. Tor peered over the side, but saw nothing amiss. He turned to ask Engle to look deep into its depths, but saw his friend hunched over, head against his knees.

  Tor sat with his back to the cliff, not allowing himself to get a good look at it, or the castle that was getting closer and closer. He gritted his teeth, his arms growing weaker with each push of the paddles against the thick, murky water. His palm was throbbing, but he refused to let them go; doing something was at least a little bit of a distraction from the fear that curled in his stomach like a snake.

  Melda pointed a few feet away. “That’s a bone, isn’t it?”

  Long, white, and floating, it was unmistakably a bone.

  Engle slowly raised his head and made a gulping noise. “Look,” he said, and Melda and Tor craned their heads to get a good view of the water. Bubbles started to pop at the surface, like the lake was boiling.

  A flurry of bones followed—dozens, then hundreds, rising in a flash, just as dead fish did in poisoned water. Skulls knocked against the side of the boat.

  “It’s all right,” Melda said, clearly trying to keep calm. “Those are just bones… Bones can’t hurt us...”

  But Engle did not look worried about the bones. He stared into the lake, eyes wide, and Tor wondered what he could see that they could not. Melda turned to face the direction he was looking, and that was when a head broke the surface—all bone save for the single clump of hair on its scalp. Long, flowing fabric moved behind it in mesmerizing waves as the creature neared the boat.