The Impaled Bride

by Rhiannon Frater

  The protective circle collapses in a bright flash of light. The destroyer howls, shirking away as though in pain. Its rapid, erratic retreat jangles my sister in its grasp. My beloved older sister looks small and pale in its inky tentacle. The loathsome monster towers over me, a creature of darkness and evil. I sense its desire to consume the world it has invaded and all within it. I will not allow Ágota to die.

  Again, I am struck at the familiarity of the situation. Why do I feel as though I have faced this foe before?

  And then I remember.

  Long ago, during our journey to Hungary to be reunited with Ágota’s father, we had been felled in a forest when the ley line upon which we were traveling abruptly disappeared. Ágota had been immediately subjugated by an ominous presence that dwelled in the woods, leaving me to defend us. Yet, it did not attack me. Instead, it had lingered in the darkness of the forest, watching as I struggled to waken my sister. It had fallen to me to rescue Ágota from the unknown presence that I was certain wished to do us harm. I recall vividly how dead and silent the world had seemed as I had stashed my sister in our mother's magical bag and carried her through the forest. I was watched, perhaps hunted, but not attacked. Though I had sensed its desire to harm us, the presence in the woods had never acted against me.

  I understand now that the destroyer had been caught between the two worlds. Like a butterfly caught in a net, it’d strained to free itself but failed. The woods had felt so devoid of life because the destroyer had been desperately and gradually consuming the ley line, barely surviving. Of course, no animals would dare enter such a blighted area of the woods. How it must have wanted to consume Ágota and me, but just as the destroyer had not dared attack me that day long ago, it refrains once again.

  “You fear me!” I step toward the gruesome being and it retreats before me. “Though you can devour all the other witches, you cannot touch me. I am different, but why?”

  I cannot take too long pondering the answer to my question. The destroyer is killing the coven and my family, and I alone can stop it. The question is: why does it fear me? My sister and I are different from all the other witches in the coven. We were born in this world, daughters of an Archwitch from the Witch World, and wielders of magicks of both worlds. So why am I immune while my sister is not?

  In the darkness I hear Balázs’s deep voice, feeble and trembling, calling out for Ágota.

  The difference between us is revealed at that moment. I am half mortal, the daughter of a voivode from Transylvania, while Ágota is the daughter of Balázs, the Grandwitch. I may have inherited my magic from my mother, but I have the soul of a warrior like my father. My mortal heritage must have changed the very nature of my magic. The destroyer consumed the magic of the Witch World, but it cannot touch mine, for it is foreign and, I suspect, poisonous to its nature.

  Emboldened, I defiantly step toward the destroyer to confront it. Though it is difficult to ignore the sagging body of my sister in its grasp, I cannot allow distractions. To falter now could mean her death.

  My boldness is rewarded with the creature shirks from me. I am absolutely certain that it fears my power. I sense death approaching, as does the destroyer. It lifts its head and snarls, perhaps in an effort to intimidate me. I take another step forward and again it withdraws.

  Though I am emboldened by its wariness, I am uncertain how to defeat the monster that killed my mother's world. All the spells, curses, hexes, and battle sigils created to defeat the destroyers failed in the Witch World. Therefore, Balázs never taught me how to cast them. Perhaps it is fortuitous that my own curiosity compelled me to study all the grimoires he had attempted to hide from me. I am confronted by the question as to whether or not they will work in this world. The only way I shall have my answer is to try to cast one of the old forbidden spells.

  Lifting my hands, I summon my magic, my fingers beginning the intricate dance of the deadliest curse. The destroyer immediately reacts, surging toward me with a great petrifying roar. Its many smoky tentacles release their grip on the coven and flow toward me in one great wave. Again, I sense death, but not my own, or those of the coven.

  Panic fills me and I fear for my sister until I realize that the pall of death I am sensing comes from the destroyer. Its tendrils are almost upon me when I raise both my hands and utter the words of the ancient witch language, releasing the potent curse. Before the destroyer can seize me, the tips of the creature’s many murderous filaments began to freeze and dissipate into an icy mist.

  Again the destroyer thunders, hastily withdrawing from its attack. Its many limbs thrash about as the curse continues to consume them. The destroyer hurls my sister at me in an attempt to cease my assault upon it, but my desire to kill it outweighs my concern for my sister. I step aside, allowing Ágota to hurtle to the ground while I continue my onslaught. Its power retreats around me, pulling in upon itself, becoming a dark vortex. I feel the heat of hatred emanating from its red eyes as it scurries backward, withdrawing its stifling presence from my surroundings.

  I advance on it with my fingers still tracing the spell over and over again while uttering the words that will send it to its grave. The power the destroyer wielded in the Witch World is weaker here. My magic tells me that the creature is corrupted by the very essence of this world. Just like the coven, it struggles to tap into the ley lines and magical wells. It was able to feed on the coven because they are from the same world where it originated. I am convinced that this is the same creature that I encountered in the woods so long ago. It was trapped between worlds and unable to fully manifest. Even then it had been afraid of me, sensing that I was a danger to it. Ágota’s portal must have freed it from its prison.

  “You failed to kill my sister before because I stood between you and your prey. I now stand in defense of the coven, my family, and this world. I am your destroyer.”

  I pour all my power into the curse, willing every speck of my magic into the sigils my fingers trace in the air. I will kill this destroyer and save my loved ones. I was unable to save my mother so long ago, but I will not fail my sister or her father.

  Rage fuels me as much as hatred. Those emotions have always been an intricate part of the power I wield as Battlewitch. Thoughts of these creatures destroying the Witch World, driving my mother through the portal into this one, and placing her at the mercy of people who would only use her for her power and beauty, only add to the great well of anger that always resides in my soul.

  My power is liquid fire in my veins, and despite the agony it inflicts upon me, I cannot stop my bombardment. As the curse builds in ferocity, I stagger forward, resolved to force my opponent to the ground. Though the curse does not manifest visually, I can see the results of its swelling power as the tendrils of the destroyer are frozen, blackened, and sift to the ground like gray ash. The destroyer retreats from me, growing smaller in stature with every step. I sense death rapidly coming for my enemy and I cannot help but laugh with delight despite the immense discomfort the curse causes me. I can endure pain if it means the destruction of the destroyer.

  My enemy begins to lose its gruesome visage, growing smaller, frailer, and increasingly human in appearance as its many tentacles disintegrate. The curse consumes all the darkness enshrouding the creature as it strips away all its power. Soon all that remains is a pale, dark-haired woman clad in a coarse black shift. I am shocked by this manifestation and hesitate. She stands before me, quaking, obviously ill, and fighting to remain on her feet. There is a reflection of my own anger and defiance in her gaze. I am struck by the similarities between us. We could be sisters.

  “You are just a girl,” I say in surprise.

  “So are you,” she replies, spitting out the words with contempt.

  Hands poised to continue my magical offensive, I regard the girl with unease. It is not only her appearance that has astonished me, but what I sense within her. “I was told the destroyers were sorcerers corrupted by the black magic they wielded. But you are not a sorcere
r, are you?”

  “What I am is starving. I need to feed, and this place only poisons me. Only these witches nourish me and even they are fouled.”

  The violent trembling of her body reveals her inner torment. Again, we are so much alike, for the pain that fills me is unlike any I have ever felt before. It is though I am being consumed by a fire burning at the core of my being.

  “You followed us from the Witch World.”

  Eyes narrowed with contempt, she nods. “And I was caught between for so long until I was freed tonight. Foolish witches. You always lose because you are too naïve to recognize our power.”

  “You killed our world and you would kill this one.”

  “And you would not? You and I are the same. Bringers of death and war. Destruction is in our souls.”

  “You are a Battlewitch,” I gasp, understanding at last why Balázs never taught me the spells to kill the destroyers. Now I understand why the coven has always been so fearful of me. It was not sorcerers from a distant land who consumed the Witch World. It was corrupted Battlewitches. Their need for war and destruction must have corrupted them.

  The girl laughs, a bleak, empty sound. It is without mirth and hope. “You understand. I can see it in your eyes. Those old curses never worked against us because they had to be cast by us. What Battlewitch would bring about their own death to defeat their brethren? If you kill me, you will die, too.”

  I was wrong. Death is not only coming for the destroyer, but also for me. The curse is death for all Battlewitches. The fire inside my soul is killing me. The curse is destroying me, too.

  In the short time since I hesitated in my attack, I witness her growing stronger every second. Wisps of darkness began to unfurl from her shoulders to reform her tentacles. I do not fully comprehend her magic and her power, but I do understand her purpose. She intends to kill all of us even if we are poison to her. The need to feed is unquenchable. I can see it in her eyes.

  “You understand, do not you? If you finish casting the curse and kill me, you die. We are the same. Join with me and this world will be ashes at our feet. Then we can find another.”

  But my enemy is wrong. We are not the same.

  I raise my hands, trace the sigil in the air, and continue my attack.

  Shock fills her eyes as she realizes my intention. “You will die, too!”

  “I would rather perish than see my sister die in my place.”

  The destroyer falls back, losing her balance, and collapses to the ground at my feet.

  The purple circles under her eyes deepen as her cheeks start to hollow. Fingers clawing at the ground, she tries to rise to her feet, but is too weak.

  Falling onto her side, she weakly lifts her head to gaze at me. “Please, do not kill me!”

  As always when in battle, the aspect of me that craves to kill and destroy speaks louder than mercy. I will all my power into the curse, every last bit of it. I was not being duplicitous. I am willing to sacrifice all to save my sister, even my own life.

  The girl who had helped destroy the Witch World writhes on the cold dirt, her limbs becoming emaciated as she wastes away. The life is drained from her, a fair recompense for her participation in the destruction of the Witch World. As she releases one last breath, the fire within me consumes my body. I gaze down at my hands to see flames crackling through fissures in my skin and know that this is the end of who I am, too. As I fall, I catch a glimpse of my sister rising to her knees and crying out in terror when she sees me. I only feel joy because I have saved her.

  Then I, Erzsébet the Battlewitch, am no more.

  I sprawl upon the ground and darkness takes me….

  …before being roused by my sister calling my name.

  When I open my eyes, Ágota is leaning over me. Her long fingers dig into my shoulder as she shakes me. “How could you, Erzsébet?”

  “I had to save you, Ágota. I could not let you die.”

  “You forfeited your magic for me! Erzsébet, you are mortal now!”

  “I would do anything to save you, Ágota. I cannot let you die. Not when I can save you. I saw what I could become when I gazed upon the destroyer. I now know why you were so afraid of me being the Battlewitch. I wish you had told me the truth.”

  Sobbing, my sister wipes away her tears. “Balázs and I thought it best that you did not know. We wanted to protect you.”

  Around us, the coven is slowly recovering from the destroyer’s attack. They avoid gazing in our direction. Even Henrietta is unable to look upon me. Is it because of what I have done? Or because of what they have done to me?

  “So the creation of the portal between here and Gratz was not about me returning for the preservation of the coven, but so that you would be able to observe me and protect me from myself.”

  With a somber expression, Ágota helps me sit upright. “I never believed that you would become a destroyer, but if there was the slightest possibility I had to ensure that I could save you.”

  “You should have trusted me, Ágota.”

  She averts her gaze, which says volumes to me. “I wanted to, but killing came too easily to you, Erzsébet.”

  “You underestimated me far too many times, my sister. I alone could save you and the coven, and I did. The destroyer and I were eerie reflections of each other—not just in appearance, but in our abilities. In her I saw what I could become, and I made a choice. She attempted to deceive me when she said I would die if I finished the curse. She sensed I was half mortal and knew I could sacrifice the witch half of myself and still live. The curse would take my magic, but not my life. Unfortunately for her, I realized that truth myself.”

  Chastened, Ágota whispers, “You are very wise, Erzsébet.”

  Though the pain of the curse has passed, my body still aches. The enormity of my loss weighs me on my soul, and I fight against the unexpected tears. How can I possibly reconcile what has happened with the knowledge that those dearest to me deceived me?

  “I sacrificed my magic for you, Ágota, because I love you. But do not expect me to forgive you. I am leaving for Gratz and not returning. You conspired with your father and the coven to hide the truth from me. I am no longer witch and I no longer belong with the coven.”

  My pride in tatters, my heart is broken and filled with an aching void where my magic once dwelled, I pull free from my sister, stand, and stride from the courtyard and into the night. Ágota and the others do not follow me. It is a wise move on their behalf.

  It is not until I sit beneath a pear tree at the edge of the vineyard that I see that Valentini has joined me. The black cat settles at my side and rests a paw against my knee. This simple, caring touch fills me with gratitude. In his solemn gaze, I observe that he understands the enormity of my loss. He is a powerful familiar, but I cannot resist and lift him into my arms so I may stroke his silky fur and kiss his little head. It is a sign of his compassion that he allows this indignity.

  “My time here is done, Valentini,” I say with great sadness.

  He meows and kneads his paws against my shoulder.

  We sit together until the sun rises over the green hills that surround the place I called home for a short, but very lovely time. It is beautiful and peaceful, and I am glad Ágota has such a lovely place to spend her life.

  I will now demand that Balázs take me to Gratz so that I may marry Albrecht and embrace my destiny. Ágota feared that the path I had chosen would bring my death and it has. I am no longer Erzsébet the Battlewitch, Ward of Balázs. The loss of those titles wound me, but I cling to my true, secret name given to me by my mother.

  I am Narcisa, daughter of the Archwitch Viorica.

  I will fulfill my destiny and become Erzsébet, Countess Dolingen of Gratz.

  Whether darkness or light falls on this path, I have chosen…

  …and doomed myself.

  Freed from the spell, laughter spills from my lips to echo in the putrid darkness of the mausoleum.

  In Gratz, I will find love and sorro
w before the fates conspire to kill me once again.

  To be continued in The Betrayal of the Impaled Bride

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  About the Author

  Rhiannon Frater is the award-winning author of the As the World Dies zombie trilogy (Tor) as well as independent works such as The Last Bastion of the Living (declared the #1 Zombie Release of 2012 by Explorations Fantasy Blog and the #1 Zombie Novel of the Decade by B&N Book Blog). She was born and raised in Texas where she currently resides with her husband and furry children (a.k.a pets). She loves scary movies, sci-fi and horror shows, playing video games, cooking, dyeing her hair weird colors, and shopping for Betsey Johnson purses and shoes. You can visit her online at www.rhiannonfrater.com.