by K.N. Lee
Jack cared for her. She didn’t doubt that. But why wouldn’t he help her try and defeat this witch? She imagined Jack winning the tournament. Jack, kneeling before the king to be awarded the title of Fabled Hunter. She’d be standing behind him, in his shadow … jealous.
Isabelle felt jealous. No. Indignation, she told herself. She left her former life, left her family, for this. Not that you wanted to stay. She put the thought away. She was going to become a Hunter. It didn’t matter what Jack thought. She needed to do this for herself.
She snatched up her supplies. If Jack didn’t want to come, that was his business. He couldn’t make her stay though. What if there isn’t another chance to prove myself?
She hesitated at the inn door for a moment before shaking her head irritably and leaving.
Ash met her at the edge of Bethyl. The wolf fell into pace, walking beside her. “Thanks for being my friend, Ash.” Isabelle patted her head. The wolf licked her hand.
She traveled in the direction the innkeeper had told her the witch’s castle resided, the wind at her back. It felt odd not having Jack with her, as if a part of her was missing. She shrugged, uncomfortable with the thought.
After an hour or two of travel the woods grew thicker, trees pressing in around her. The trail disappeared altogether and Isabelle had to push through thickets, ferns, and briars. She was close—she could sense the magic, a dull throbbing in her head. The witch had to be confident in her abilities to not bother with concealing her enchantment. Ash had an easier time, weaving through the foliage with a swish of her tail.
Eventually the trees began to thin. Isabelle’s footsteps were nearly silent; the ground covered in damp grass and moss. She walked past a large stone. She paused, considering it. Not just a rock. It was a statue. A man, crouched, his arms held up protectively in front of his face. Half his body was covered in moss.
Isabelle recalled the words of the innkeeper and shivered. She hoped this wasn’t one of the unfortunates who’d traveled too close to the witch’s realm.
She cast her gaze around, but didn’t see anything else—there. Another statue. Male.
She unslung her bow, fitting an arrow to the string. She only had to see the witch once, get a clear shot, and it’d all be over. People would be safe, and she’d qualify to become a Hunter.
She narrowed her eyes and crept forward, bow held at the ready. She didn’t need Jack. She’d do this all on her own.
Isabelle held her breath in anticipation. She could do this. Witches weren’t considered human anyway.
A bird trill in the silent forest made her jump and she almost released her arrow. She looked around frantically, heart hammering. Just a bird.
“Another beautiful maiden. Excellent. I’ll put you in my collection.”
Isabelle spun around, coming face to face with an old woman. She was clothed in a pale white shroud. She laughed as she raised her gnarled hands toward Isabelle.
Isabelle’s face contorted in a snarl of fear as she raised her bow and shot. She would not miss at such a short distance.
The arrow flew true, but shattered in the air right before the woman’s face. The witch laughed again. “Feisty, eh? Your song will be beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve added anyone.” Her fingers extended and she mouthed a spell. Isabelle screamed as pain shot through her body. She was burning; it felt like her blood was on fire. She dropped to the ground, still screaming. Ash howled, slamming against the invisible barrier around the witch, trying to break through.
Isabelle’s world went dark.
I’m sorry, Jack.
20
Sunlight streamed through the castle windows, signaling the start of a new day.
The little bird opened its eyes, ruffled its feathers, and began to sing. Sun! Light. It’s a new day. Everyone, sing, sing! It couldn’t remember anything different. It had always lived in its little cage, hadn’t it?
One by one the other birds, each in their individual cages, began to sing, adding to the little bird’s song. There were dozens of birds, nearly a hundred, but the little brown bird didn’t care about that. She stood in her cage and sung. Light. It is light. A new day, sing!
The far door in the large room opened, and the birds’ singing picked up, faster and faster. It was time to eat. A frail old woman shuffled over, a basket filled with birdseed on her arm. She was dressed in white, her large robe hanging off her spare frame. She looked almost birdlike herself, now that the little brown bird looked at her. It shuddered. The woman was frightening, though it couldn’t say why.
The woman paused at the bird’s cage, carefully opening its door. Freedom. The little bird knew this time of day was its only opportunity to escape, but that would mean flying past the woman’s hand, and it knew it couldn’t do that. Witch.
The witch cackled, her black eyes gleaming. “What a pretty little brown bird you are. Your feathers match your human eyes.”
The bird cowered on its perch, as far away from the witch as possible.
“You’ll learn,” the witch said soothingly. “I’ve done you a favor, taking you from that harsh and unforgiving world. You’ll forget it with time.” She paused. “Your sweetheart came after you, but I settled matters with him. You won’t be bothered anymore.”
The bird couldn’t remember how to sing until the witch had closed the little wire door, leaving the bird imprisoned once more. It began to sing again. Of light, food, water, and freedom.
Freedom. What was that? The little bird paused. It couldn’t remember. It blinked, eyeing the birdseed sitting in a little tray. It fluttered down to it, pecking at the seed furiously.
“What?” The witch cried out, spinning around to stare at the door through which she’d entered. “Who penetrates the magic? Who is strong enough to break my enchantments? Who dares?” Her face twisted in fury, and the bird hid its face under a wing.
The door and its wall exploded inward, brick and mortar flying. A brick hit the bird’s cage, sending it spinning off its table and crashing to the floor. The bird fluttered about in its fallen cage, heart beating wildly.
A huge beast stood in the rubble where the door had once stood. It was silver with a long, sinewy neck, great leathery wings folded close against its body. The creature turned its head this way and that, searching for something. The witch squealed and dove under a small table.
With three immense strides the giant beast had closed the distance. Opening its massive maw, fire billowed out, engulfing the table and everything surrounding it.
The little bird threw itself against its cage, again and again. All singing had ceased and the birds in the massive room were screeching in fright.
Death. Fire. Death. Help! The bird’s cage door opened, and it squawked and screamed. It was going to die. It was going to die.
Hands touched her. Warm, gentle hands. Safe hands.
The bird held perfectly still, unsure how to process the new development. One hand cupped around her tiny frame, the other stroked her back tenderly.
“Isabelle.” The name caressed the bird’s spirit. It trembled. “Isabelle. Wake up.”
The bird screamed, flapping its wings. Wings that grew into limbs. Feathers shrank and disappeared.
With a gasp, Isabelle opened her eyes. She was whole again. Human. She laughed, wiggling her fingers. They weren’t feathers any more. Her red cloak twisted around her.
She started to move her legs and realized she was being held. Strong arms held her close against a well-muscled chest.
She looked up into blue eyes. A young man with silver hair. The sunlight through the windows caused it to gleam, giving him an ethereal quality. His smile put an ache in her heart. She carefully pushed a tendril of hair out of his face. “You came.”
He laughed, setting her down gently in the wreckage. “I thought I’d show you my thanks for freeing me earlier from the shadowhold, remember? Good thing you decided to help me.”
Isabelle stood on unsteady legs as she turned in a slow cir
cle, surveying the damage. There was fire in one corner and birdcages everywhere. Some were empty, but several still contained captives. Birds chirping in alarm.
“Poor things.” The stranger flung out one arm, and the birdcages sprang open. In a rush of wind and song, birds swarmed into the air, winging toward the ruined hole where a door once stood. Isabelle frowned, putting a hand to her head. What door? She scrunched up her face. “Why am I here? What happened?” She couldn’t remember … anything.
“I see you're forgetting the enchantment already.” The man nodded. “Good. It was a powerful spell, but you weren’t cursed long enough for the magic to take hold.” He motioned to the rubble. “Come. It’s time to go.”
“Go where?” Isabelle took the hand he offered, gingerly stepping over chunks of brick. “Who are you?”
“My name is Silvan.”
“Silvan who?”
He shook his head. “Just Silvan.”
Isabelle nodded. It suited him. She eyed him curiously as they walked, Silvan courteously helping her over some of the larger pieces of ruin. He had a strong jaw and a straight nose. He was handsome.
Isabelle felt a shiver of guilt at the thought and frowned. Why would she feel guilty?
Jack.
She clutched Silvan’s arm. “Jack. Where is he? Jack? Jack!”
Her memories came flooding back. Her and Jack arguing. Her desire to become a Hunter. Fighting the witch. Being transformed…
She shuddered, forcing the last thoughts away. “How long have I been a … a bird?” She could hardly bring herself to say it.
Silvan shook his head. “I don’t know. I only just got here.”
“Bethyl,” Isabelle said. “Jack was at Bethyl.”
They left the ruined castle behind and entered the woods. Isabelle looked sadly at the statues they passed. “Can you change them?” she asked.
“No.” Silvan’s eyes scanned the trees, looking for danger. “They’ve been that way for too long. There’s nothing left.”
A flash of gray leaped from the undergrowth and Ash was bounding around Isabelle, tail wagging, a low happy whine in her throat.
“Ash.” Isabelle knelt down, wrapping her arms around the wolf’s shaggy neck. The wolf wiggled with happiness, jumping about in her joy.
“You stayed.” Isabelle scratched Ash behind the ears. “Thank you.”
The wolf grinned, clearly understanding her words.
Silvan watched Ash, a puzzled expression on his face as he studied the animal. “What is it?” Isabelle asked, standing. “You’re looking like you’ve never seen a wolf before.”
Silvan shook himself as if snapping out of a daydream. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Ash trotted alongside Isabelle as if they’d never parted, ears turning this way and that as she listened for anything unusual as they walked. She didn’t glance twice at Silvan, which meant she didn’t perceive him as a threat, a thought Isabelle found comforting. He had been a prisoner in a shadowhold, after all.
They arrived in Bethyl a couple of hours later. It didn’t look any different than when Isabelle and Jack had arrived, but Isabelle broke into a run when she saw the inn they’d stayed at. Jack had to be there. She hadn't been cursed for long, had she?
She stumbled over the threshold in her haste and would have fallen if strong hands hadn’t caught and steadied her. Silvan was right behind her.
A maid was washing down tables and chairs. The innkeeper stood behind the bar, polishing glasses. He looked up with a welcoming smile. “Hello. Are you in need of a room?”
“Is Jack still here?” Isabelle asked breathlessly. When the innkeeper looked confused, she elaborated. “Tall, thin, red hair?”
The innkeeper brightened. “Ah, yes. The harper.” He shook his head. “He’s been gone for over a week, miss.”
Isabelle stared at the innkeeper, shock and disappointment ripping through her. He’d left her. He’d really left her. “No,” she whispered. She paused, a memory sparking. Your sweetheart came after you …. She shivered, and the memory disappeared. Had Jack continued to Illyminatym?
The innkeeper was peering at her, no recognition in his expression. “Is something wrong?”
Silvan stepped up so he stood by Isabelle. “I believe your problem with the witch is over. Bethyl is along a quicker route to Illyminatym than what most travelers are using. It should only be a matter of months, perhaps even weeks, before business picks up dramatically.”
“You don’t say?” The innkeeper looked at Silvan with interest. “How can you know that?”
“The castle is in ruin and the witch gone. We saw it with our own eyes.”
Isabelle looked up at Silvan, puzzled. Her memories of being a bird were hazy. What did happen? She remembered … nothing.
“Delightful!” A large grin spread over the innkeeper’s face. “Excellent. Superb. I’ll have to be sure to tell the whole town.” He turned to the maid who was washing tables. “Ket, manage the inn while I’m gone. It should only be an hour or so.” He started to leave but stopped short, turning back to Isabelle. “I’m sorry, I forgot myself in the excitement. Are you in need of a room?”
Isabelle hesitated, and before she could respond, Silvan spoke. “No. We’re just passing through.”
“Ah. Good day then.” The innkeeper scuttled off, and Isabelle and Silvan left the inn. The day was warming up, the sky a bright blue. Silvan motioned to the road. “Let’s go. You have quite the walk ahead of you, and you must hurry if you plan to make it to the tournament in time.”
Ash came trotting from the woods to meet them. Isabelle patted her before asking Silvan the questions that were burning on the tip of her tongue. “How do you know I’m trying to become a Fabled Hunter? And how did you know I was captive? What happened to the witch? And—”
She paused mid-sentence when Silvan held up a pale hand for silence. His eyes shone with amusement. “So many questions. Anyone with eyes can tell you’re aspiring to become a Fabled Hunter. A young woman wouldn’t go head-to-head with a witch unless she had a very good reason, and with the tournament looming, that is the reasonable conclusion to come to. Next, I didn’t know you were captive. I came to destroy the witch, but saw through the enchantment she placed on you. To answer your last question, I have abilities that the Fabled Hunters do not. Don’t assume they are the only ones to possess magic.”
Isabelle couldn’t remember him defeating the witch. “The Hunters were able to capture you,” she pointed out and Silvan frowned, clearly irritated by her comment.
“I was distracted and weakened when one of their party worked their magic,” he said. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have happened.”
Isabelle narrowed her eyes, a thought coming to her. “I never told you my name.”
Silvan grinned. “Call it magic.”
Isabelle didn’t buy it but no amount of prodding could get any more answers so she dropped it. They walked in silence, listening to the sounds of nature. The birds chirping made Isabelle think of her curse and she shuddered. Which reminded her—
“Thank you for helping me,” she said. “You know, for breaking the curse.”
Silvan shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”
“Are you going to Illyminatym?” Isabelle said. “To become a Hunter?” she asked when Silvan nodded.
“No,” he said. “There’s something I hope to find there.”
“What’s that?” she queried and Silvan laughed at her.
“Are you always this curious?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” Isabelle said. “When I happen to travel with mysterious strangers with secrets.”
Silvan’s smile melted away. “Trust me, it’s better for you if things stay that way, Isabelle. You don’t want to know my secrets.”
“Why not?” Isabelle asked and Silvan rolled his eyes.
Isabelle laughed, the anxiety from her curse melting away. She hoped Silvan decided to stay with her for a while.
21
Isabell
e fitted the arrow to her bow, pulling back as she sighted the makeshift target Silvan had set up. She released it, and the bowstring snapped forward with a twang, the arrow shooting forward. It slammed into the target … a good couple of inches from where she’d aimed.
Disappointment flooded Isabelle and she lowered her bow, hoping Silvan wouldn’t see the shame that burned her cheeks. Even with all her practice, Isabelle wasn’t perfect. Not that anyone would know. It was still a decent shot for anyone who didn’t know any better.
But she knew.
“That was good,” Silvan called out, brushing his silver hair out of his eyes. “But you aimed a little too far left.”
Isabelle stared at him. “How did you know?”
He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “I know how to shoot.” He picked a long blade of grass, sticking it in the split wood of the target, which was only a large branch. “Shoot that.”
Isabelle laughed wryly. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking.” Silvan stood next to her. Isabelle aimed another arrow and he reached out, lightly taking her by the arm, his other hand touching her waist. “A little too far right.” His breath tickled her ear. “Aim … there.” Isabelle released the arrow, and it flew from the bow, neatly cutting the grass blade in half.
Isabelle knew her gaze was filled with disbelief and Silvan laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. I have eyes too, you know.”
Isabelle looked at the cut blade critically. “I only managed it with your help.”
His hand fell away from her waist and she felt a twinge of disappointment. “Don’t be a fool,” he said curtly. “You need practice, but that is all. You have a strong arm and keen eye.”
“I wish I could have gone to the academy for archery,” Isabelle lamented. “With a master’s teaching I truly could become one of the best.” Then her mother would see.
Silvan glanced at her. His blue eyes caught the sunlight and seemed to glow. Isabelle had never seen such eyes. “Did you really want to go to school, or was it the solution you saw to getting out in the world?” When she didn’t respond he continued. “School isn’t the only way to learn, Isabelle. If you’ve learned anything being on your own, you should know that. Experience is the best teacher.” His lips curved in an amused smile. “Unless experience is a witch.”