by T K White
Grishelda sighed. That was another point her mother brought up often. She harped on it daily. Grishelda’s father didn’t have magic. Apparently, that was how you earned Eva’s respect, maybe even her love. If she was capable of such a thing. Grishelda was convinced her mother didn’t harbor any sort of feelings for her daughter, other than tolerance. No magic. No love.
“How do I know what to practice when I’ve never felt any magical ability?” Grishelda asked. Her mother winced, but she pressed on. “I don’t know what it feels like to have power like yours. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I’ve told you,” her mother said through gritted teeth, “it starts—”
“As a feeling in your veins,” Grishelda continued for her mother. “You feel a tingling sensation. Kind of like a tickle. But it gets stronger and stronger until you have to let it out of your body, lest it destroy you from within. I know, Mother. I haven’t felt any tingles!”
Eva groaned as she sank onto a wooden stool by the crackling fire. “What have I done to deserve this life? A magicless husband was enough of a punishment from my mother. Now, I must have a magicless daughter, as well.”
Grishelda’s grandmother, whom she had never met, despised magic. When the woman discovered it in her own daughter, she did everything she could to stop it. She beat Eva, she starved her, she even tried to drown her, in hopes she could “wash away the filthy magic.” Of course, it didn’t work. Her grandmother eventually gave up, but she married Eva off to a simple man with no magic, in hopes Eva would be discouraged from using it. Back in those times, magic wasn’t something to be proud of. It was something to be feared. And Grandmother feared it more than anyone. But her determination to douse the magic only made Eva’s determination to conquer it even stronger.
Nowadays, having magic wasn’t shameful, but it also wasn’t something you wanted to shout from the rooftops. It was just accepted with a wary reluctance.
Grishelda wished her mother could accept her the way she was, magic or no. The constant barrage of magical attacks and berating was too much for her. It was a big part of why she wanted to run away in the first place. Though she didn’t tell Bastian the entire story, she had hoped they could start fresh someplace where their love could be accepted for what it was and she could be accepted for who she was.
Eva hadn’t bothered mentioning the incident that had happened only two weeks prior. There was no need. She had instilled enough fear into Grishelda and Bastian, and what’s more, she knew it. Bastian had kept his distance from Grishelda since then, but she had slipped him a note asking him to meet her at their special place this morning. She would go in hopes he would forgive her. Her plan hadn’t worked, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t create a new one.
She just needed to distract her mother, and there was only one way to do that.
“You know what, Mother?” Grishelda said as brightly as she could manage. “You’re right. I just need a little more practice.”
Eva’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Grishelda cleared her throat. “I’m going to go out to the fields and try to get some wheat to grow. We’ve had a poor harvest in the village. We could use stronger wheat.” She flashed a smile, waiting for her mother’s response. Eva studied her daughter then gave a curt nod.
Not waiting for her to change her mind, Grishelda grabbed her cloak and strode out the door, having no intention of practicing any magic.
Feeling rather smug, Grishelda made her way to the familiar, snaking stream she and Bastian called their secret place. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she only hoped Bastian wouldn’t disappoint her. As she came around the bend, she heard Bastian before she saw him. Muffled yells mixed with gagging, the sounds drenched in fear. Grishelda’s heart skipped a beat and she dashed forward, terrified of what she might find.
She was right to fear. As she finally came upon their spot, she found Eva, forcing Bastian face down in the stream. Her mother was killing the boy she loved.
A guttural sound tore free from Grishelda’s mouth. It was deep, throaty, and full of complete and utter terror.
“No, Mother, stop, you’ll kill him!” She ran to her mother and tried pulling her away from Bastian. Her mother simply waved her hand and up sprouted a thorn bush, blocking Grishelda from the murder taking place.
“That’s the idea, dear,” her mother replied with a voice so calm, she could have been wringing out the laundry.
Untangling herself from the thorns of the spiny bush, Grishelda stumbled away and toward the crime scene. But the sounds had stopped. It was too late. Eva laid Bastian on the grassy bank and smiled up to Grishelda.
“You want to bring your love”—she sneered when she said the word “love”—”back to life? Summon your magic. We can control water and plants. It’s in our blood.”
Grishelda pushed her mother out of the way, hearing a faint splash as Eva hit the water. Shaking, she put her mouth to Bastian’s. Maybe she could breathe life back into him.
“You know that won’t work, Grisha.”
“Don’t call me that!” Grishelda snarled. Tears dripped from her eyes, splotching Bastian’s light blue tunic. Her favorite. It brought out the bronze color of his eyes. As the seconds ticked on, Bastian’s perfectly pale face turned an alarming shade of blue, nearly matching his clothing.
“Do you feel it, daughter? Do you feel that little itch in your skin?”
Grishelda let out another scream and pounded Bastian’s chest. But this time, when she screamed, she released something into the air. A flower grew by Bastian’s head.
“That’s it, Grishelda.” This time, there was a hint of pride in Eva’s voice. “You’re doing it.”
It wasn’t exactly as her mother had described. Grishelda supposed there was no way to put into words what she was feeling. It was like her blood crawled underneath her skin. It didn’t hurt, but she had a feeling if she didn’t let her powers loose, it soon would. Her entire body sizzled with energy. Grishelda closed her eyes and put her hands on Bastian’s chest. She focused on the energy, commanding it to go down through her hands, through her fingertips, and into his body. Calling to the water, she imagined it sliding its way up and out of his lungs. Grishelda poured the full force of her powers into him.
Sputtering and coughing, Bastian spit out water. Grishelda had brought him back to life. “Oh, Bastian, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Grishelda covered his face in kisses and repeated her apology over and over again.
But when Bastian opened his eyes, any semblance of love had fled. In his amber eyes burned with nothing but fear. He scrambled back. “Get away from me.”
“Bastian, please, I—”
“No, I don’t want to hear it! You’re a witch, like her. I want nothing to do with your magic.” Bastian grimaced as he pushed himself up, using a spindly tree as support. He hobbled away, and Grishelda let him. She couldn’t love someone who feared her. That would be an all-too-familiar relationship.
“He wasn’t worth it.”
“Mother, shut up.” Grishelda was in no mood to talk.
“Oh, you wouldn’t want him anyway. You need someone who will love you for who you are.” Eva’s voice softened, and for the first time Grishelda could remember, her mother embraced her. “I love you for who you are. No matter what. I know I’ve been harsh with you, but it’s all been for the best. You’re going to marry a man far better than Bastian. A man who will admire you and respect you.”
Momentarily dazed by her mother’s change in demeanor, Grishelda now awakened to a fury. She shoved her mother with force. “You know nothing about me. How could you possibly know what my future holds in store? Bastian was good and he was kind. And you took him from me.” Grishelda knew her next words were grim, but she meant every one of them. “I will never be like you, and I won’t stop until I can finally make you feel the pain that you’ve caused me.”
For once, Eva had no response for her daughter.
4
The leaves
changed to their familiar autumn colors, falling to the ground in droves. A distinct chill touched the air as the trees became barer and barer. Over a year had passed since Bastian had last spoken to Grishelda. A year of constant battering, berating, and abuse. Predictably, Eva’s words hadn’t rung true. She didn’t love her daughter for who she was; she would only ever love a daughter who was just like her.
Over the subdued protests of Grishelda’s father, Eva abandoned all other studies in favor of solely practicing magic. She was determined that Grishelda develop her abilities. But none of Eva’s plans mattered. Grishelda was a broken shell of her former self. The past year had drained her energy and will, leaving her a withered flower, dried up and empty of its beauty.
Her mother had screamed, raged, and even tried to scare Grishelda into producing magic, but nothing worked. Since the day Grishelda had saved Bastian, she hadn’t used a lick of magic. While Jeremiah sat on his wooden stool by the crackling hearth—helpless—his daughter was beaten over and over again for being “weak like her father.” With each crack of a whip, with each snap of a vine, her mother’s eyes flashed with disappointment and disgust.
“I regret ever agreeing to birth you,” Eva said one night. “Useless amount of pain I had to go through, and for what? For you to turn out the exact opposite of who I wanted you to be.”
A blistery cold wind seeped through the cracks of their home. With a heated stick in hand, Eva poked Grishelda like she was some sort of rabid creature. The tip of it seared Grishelda’s skin, a blister forming immediately. Another scar that would soon join her collection of bruises and unsightly marks.
“Come on then, fight back. Do something!” Eva commanded.
It was clear her mother thought hurting Grishelda would force her to fight back with magic. What Eva didn’t realize was just how stubborn Grishelda could be. As long as magic was what Eva wanted, Grishelda would never use it.
Jeremiah hobbled from his stool and took the stick from Eva. “Now, that’s quite enough of that.”
Rounding on her husband in contempt, Eva jabbed her finger into his chest. “You. This is all your fault. You wanted a daughter in your image? Well, you got her.” She spit on the floor and walked out of their home, mumbling curses under her breath.
Grishelda slumped against the wall. She didn’t even have it in her to care. Not about any of it. Her mother could rage all she wanted, but Grishelda would never be like her. In fact, she would do everything she could to ensure she grew up to be nothing like the evil hag.
Warmth enveloped her, and Grishelda turned into her father’s arms. It seemed he needed comfort more than she did.
“Maybe we could run away?” Grishelda suggested, voice muffled by her father’s shoulder.
“And go where, love? Your mother would hunt us down. As much as she pretends she might hate us, she needs us. Without us, she would have no one to step on to make herself feel superior.”
Looking into her father’s weary eyes, Grishelda realized just how afraid he was of Eva. As much as she didn’t want to be like her mother, Grishelda didn’t want to mirror her father either.
“Can you imagine the look on your mother’s face if we did run away?” he asked.
Grishelda snorted, which turned into a chuckle, which turned into full-on, raving mad laughing. Eventually, Jeremiah joined in and they both had tears forming in their eyes.
“Father, are we truly pathetic?”
In an instant, his eyes grew somber. “Never, Grisha. Your mother is the pathetic one. We are the strong ones. The ones who endure. The ones who will come out on top.”
Grishelda nodded, trying to make sense of his words. Before she could ask another question, he led her to her tiny cot and gestured to it. “Sleep now. I’ll make sure your mother doesn’t bother you.”
The apple orchard her mother had grown might be the one beautiful thing she had ever created. More often than not, Eva was fascinated with creating monstrosities. Flowers that ate animals. Vines that strangled. Poisonous plants. Thorny bushes. The apple orchard was the one place Grishelda could come to admire her mother’s talent. It was the only place where she considered using this cursed magic that had been passed to her.
Lying in the grass, Grishelda gazed at the clouds, trying to make shapes out of them. The clouds always told her stories, fascinating ones. Ones where dragons ate oranges that made them dissipate into thin air. Or a cranky old woman with a cane glided along until a sneaky cat met her and they became best friends. Right now, Grishelda was watching a tree-shaped cloud and another one shaped like a little goat. She conjured up a story of the goat eating the tree’s leaves until it became bare. The goat felt so terrible, it collected leaves from all over and then used a sticky molasses to attach the leaves to the tree. These clouds told better stories than Grishelda could find in any books.
Without warning, a sharp pain stitched Grishelda’s side as someone tripped over her.
“Oooof!”
A shadow blocked her view of the sky. Sight or no, she would recognize that voice anywhere.
“Bastian?”
Bastian scrambled to stand. “I-I didn’t see you there. Please don’t hurt me!”
“Hurt you? Bastian, I would never—” Grishelda reached out to touch him and he recoiled from her. She lowered her hand, defeated. “It’s okay. No one else loves me. There’s no reason you should either.”
A look of pity crossed Bastian’s face. He sighed and plopped down on the ground, keeping a respectable distance from the witch. “So, what stories did the clouds tell today?”
“There was a good one about a tree and a goat.”
Bastian eyed the puffy clouds. “I don’t see it. The goat. That one looks like a tree all right.” He pointed up to the sky. “But the other one is a little too round to be a goat. I think it’s more of a plump sheep.”
Grishelda laughed, delighted by his sudden kindness. Oh, how she had missed this. The words almost tumbled out, spilling the secrets of what had happened to her in the past year. Instead, she said nothing.
His hand wrapped around her own, causing her bottom lip to tremble. She pushed away the tears with difficulty.
“Don’t cry, Grisha. The truth is, I miss you. I miss you more than I missed breathing when your mother was drowning me. But . . . it will never work out between us. She won’t let it.”
He was right, of course. Eva wouldn’t let it happen. And if there was a next time, Bastian wouldn’t be so lucky.
“I know. You’re right. It doesn’t make it easy.”
“No. No, it doesn’t.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. Grishelda squeezed her eyes shut and tried to freeze time so she could capture the touch of his warm lips on her skin. She wanted to keep that feeling forever. It was her mother’s fault she couldn’t. Rage began to build in her chest, crawling beneath her skin. As much as she tried, Grishelda couldn’t hold it back. A snapping flower shot from the ground, its jaws jumping at Bastian.
He clambered away, his face turning ashen. “What is this? Why would you summon that thing?”
Grishelda winced, unsure herself. “I didn’t mean to. I was thinking about my mother, keeping us apart. I just got so angry.”
“For a moment . . .” Bastian’s voice broke. He took a minute and composed himself. His face turned to stone. “For just a moment, I let myself imagine we could be together. Then you create that thing? Magic shouldn’t be used to create evil. You’re dangerous.”
Now, her anger channeled toward the boy standing before her as he broke her heart all over again.
“Right, because I must be just like my mother? Is that it?” Grishelda couldn’t hide her hurt.
“Your mother killed a man! You’ve grown up around that poison; how could you not be like her, Grishelda?” He gestured to the snapping flower.
Touching the flower, Grishelda willed the ravenous jaws to disappear. There was so much she wanted to say. Things Bastian should know. But no words woul
d form. The hatred steaming from his bronze eyes kept her mouth shut. He wouldn’t understand. Not now, not after this disastrous chance encounter.
He turned abruptly. “I’ll be on my way now.”
Grishelda simply nodded and felt the familiar twisting of her heart as he walked away from her, for a second time. The rage continued to boil, burning away any joy their brief meeting had brought. How dare he say she would be like her mother. Grishelda and Eva could not be further apart; that’s why Eva hated her daughter so much. Grishelda shook her head. Bastian was wrong. About everything.
WHACK!
For the second time that day, Grishelda felt a sharp pain. This time, it slammed against her head, threatening to shatter her skull. Vision fading, she succumbed to the beckoning darkness.
5
The world was a blurry mess of hazy figures and crimson and black colors. Grishelda shook like she was riding a horse, bouncing against a hard surface. She blinked several times, trying to regain her bearings. She’d lost consciousness. Someone had hit her. Hard. The thought made her bolt upright. Her vision cleared and the two figures she was seeing merged into one.
“I must admit, this is very unusual. We rarely take people in such a violent manner.” The woman sitting across the carriage sipped a steaming drink and watched Grishelda with worry-clouded eyes. Her gray hair sat neatly on top of her head in a bun. She had a tiny frame and wore loose, baggy pants with a plaited red shirt tucked in. Tiny though this woman may be, Grishelda had a feeling she could be dangerous.
A sane person would have been petrified in this situation, but Grishelda was anything but normal. Someone had kidnapped her. Now, she would be taken far away from her mother. She might never have to see Eva’s face again. Laughter filled with jubilation bubbled from her throat.
The woman’s frown deepened as she tried to puzzle out this madwoman sitting before her.
“You have no idea the favor you’ve just done for me.” Grishelda wheezed.