Hemlock And The Dread Sorceress (Book 3)

by B Throwsnaill

  “Looking good, Renevos. Are the women throwing themselves at you now that you have that nice beard?” said Hemlock.

  “Well, that’s a very crass comment to greet me with, young lady. But I won’t hold it against you. This time,” said Renevos.

  “How was the flight?”

  “A bit unnerving, I must confess. But, I am an old man—too old for this sort of running about, it would seem.”

  “Rubbish. You wish you were coming with us. Admit it!”

  “I should like another adventure, yes. But I am old and tired, too. Still, Gwineval has enlisted me to accompany his expeditionary force that he’s leading into the south. I suspect it will prove to be more than a diversion and fulfill my appetite for adventure.”

  Hemlock disliked being reminded of Gwineval and his disdain for her latest quest. She looked away from the wizard.

  “Hemlock, has Gwineval brought up the issues with Cassandra and her pleasure cult?” said Renevos.

  “No, not since last week. I was hoping things were quieting down,” said Hemlock.

  “Unfortunately, no. Unkempt youth are streaming through the City. Running amok, if you ask me. People are leaving their jobs and spending days—even weeks—on the lake. The wall of mist we put around the water preserves the illusion of modesty, at least, but everyone knows about the aberrant behavior that goes on there. Samberlin is beside himself. He is stirring up the Senate.”

  “Argh—another loose end. Look, since I’m going away, I need you to try to hold things together for me until I get back. I promise I will go see Cassandra, again, and make her calm things down.”

  “I’ll try, Hemlock. But I fear things have progressed beyond calming down. I don’t think Samberlin will rest until Cassandra and her lot are banished from the City.”

  “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Where will they go? We will condemn them to death by forcing them to leave. They need a sizable body of water to survive and Hemisphere Lake is the only place like that in the City, now. Will we force them to cross the veil?”

  “Perhaps. Couldn’t you use your second sight to find them a suitable crossing point to a pleasant destination?”

  “Maybe, but it could take years for such a world to be in alignment. I’d have to explore each place to make sure it isn’t hostile. I don’t know, Renevos. It sounds iffy.”

  “Pardon my candor, Hemlock, but this situation with the witches is…iffy. And it may take a turn for the worse unless you get back as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Hemlock, looking the old wizard in the eye. While wanting nothing more than to climb on Penelope’s back and sail into the heavens without another word, there was another matter to discuss.

  “Renevos, did you bring the bottle?” she asked.

  “Yes, I did,” said the old wizard, withdrawing a green glass bottle from his robe. It looked like a simple bottle with a cork in the top, but on closer inspection it was covered in shallow runes. A dull light flickered and tumbled within it.

  “This is what I wanted to show you, Tored,” said Hemlock.

  “What is it?” said Tored.

  “It is a magical vessel that will allow a person to be transported within it. It is my latest invention,” said Renevos.

  “This is your plan to recover Falignus?” said Tored, looking at Hemlock.

  “Yes. We will place him inside and carry him back to the City.”

  “How does it work?”

  Hemlock detected a trace of discomfort in Renevos as he replied, “The person to be transported needs to lie down, hold the bottle, and remove the cork. It is imperative not to move during the next step. Magical energy will emerge from the bottle and consume the person, transferring their essence inside the glass, and drawing the cork back into the top. The process is slightly…unpleasant. But it’s critical not to move or cry out. It could interrupt the spell, which would have dire consequences. Simply remove the cork to reverse the process.”

  “Consumed?” said Hemlock, uncertainly.

  “Well, it’s not quite as bad as it sounds. It seems to have gotten a bit worse since I added the essence of arachnid, but I needed the extra power. We were only able to do small animals prior to adding that ingredient,” said Renevos.

  “Have you tested it?” asked Mercuria.

  “Yes, of course. We’ve tested it with small animals that we drugged beforehand. And one successful test has been done on a person.”

  “And how many unsuccessful tests were there?” asked Mercuria.

  “Look, magic is part art and part science. There are no guarantees. I will take the bottle back with me, if you’d prefer.”

  Hemlock grabbed it from the wizard. “No. We’ll take it. Thanks, Renevos. I owe you one.”

  “More than one, by my count,” teased Renevos with a wink. “Travel safely, all of you. And come back to us quickly so we can prepare for the challenges ahead. Oh, and Merit sends his regards. He asked to accompany me, but the prospect of the return walk deterred him. His legs have been troubling him lately.”

  “Thanks, and good luck to you in the south. Keep Gwineval safe! And tell Merit I’ll see him soon.”

  Renevos bowed and Hemlock gave him a light hug. Tored and Mercuria bid Renevos farewell then approached Penelope.

  “Penelope, are you ready for the journey?” asked Hemlock.

  Yes. I have been healed and magically rested. I am ready.

  “How should we mount?”

  The heaviest must be in front. Those behind must raise their legs. My wings must be free.

  Penelope bowed her front torso, and Hemlock motioned for Tored to climb onto the great beast’s back. Hemlock climbed on second, feeling slightly awkward in such close physical proximity to Tored. The fact that she had to wrap her legs around him only made matters worse. Mercuria had to climb over Tored and Hemlock to take her seat at the back. She was lighter than Hemlock and, fortunately for her, equally flexible.

  Penelope stood up with a small roar of exertion. Hemlock had prepared a rope for the journey and she tied it around an iron loop in Tored’s belt, passed it through one on her own belt, and finally handed the rope back to Mercuria, who attached herself.

  “Are we ready?” said Hemlock.

  Tored and Mercuria both said yes so Hemlock spoke to the griffin in her mind. “We are ready, Penelope.”

  Hold on!

  The griffin launched into the air with a hard stroke of its wings and continued to beat them furiously as the group slowly gained altitude. Hemlock saw the receding figure of Renevos waving to the quartet as they soared over the City toward the deepening blue sky. She could tell the griffin was struggling to fly under the increased load of three riders. The reality of Penelope’s struggle made her regret asking the creature to make the extra effort.

  Soon, the deep blue gave way to streaks of black. Suddenly, they burst through the clouds and emerged into a dark void.

  Hemlock had experienced many visions of this strange null place between worlds, but seeing it firsthand took her breath away. It felt like the context of her life was suddenly pulled away, leaving her bare in a vast, dispassionate space. She became conscious of the warmth from the bodies around her, and the sensation comforted her. She hoped Mercuria wasn’t cold.

  Hemlock turned her head and saw the fiery ball she knew as the sun rising over the City. Turning farther, she could see the edge of light that the sun cast as it moved over the eastern mountains, liberating them from the shadows of the night. Looking back, a tendril of fire behind the sun caught her attention. It seemed to emerge from the far side of the City—just beyond the rising sun—and it flared out sinuously into the massive emptiness of the void, extending far into the distance until it intersected a distant, bright ball that Hemlock realized must be another world.

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she perceived similar tongues of fire leaving the distant world and forming the great net of worlds that she had seen in her visions and in the observatory under
the Wizard Tower. It made Hemlock feel strangely childlike. The fire seemed to burn with the purest form of love she had ever experienced. She could feel the intimate energy pulsing from the fire even at a great distance—perhaps even more acutely because the great void around her felt particularly devoid of love. She longed to get closer to that flame or to feel the comforting sensation of earth under her feet again. That force of love emanated from the ground, the mountains and every part of the City, but she had never been conscious of it. She had taken it for granted.

  Her thoughts returned to the inaudible beat of the griffin’s wings and the heartbeats of her companions, which she felt more than heard. It was nearly silent. The only things she could hear were her own heart beating and the dull roar of the blood coursing through her veins.

  “Is everyone alright?” she asked, her voice oddly muffled. She feared no one had heard her.

  But she felt Tored grunt affirmatively in front of her, and Mercuria said yes behind her.

  Time was difficult to quantify as they flew on in silence. They approached a line of fire, and Hemlock enjoyed the increasing sensation of warmth and comfort that the roiling flames provided. The griffin gained speed and they streaked along the fire. The small world in the distance, an orange ball ringed with white clouds, grew large before them. The griffin skirted the world and they felt a pull that forced them to hold on tightly. They hurtled away along another fiery tendril toward another distant world.

  Hemlock knew the small world in the distance was their destination. As they approached it, Tored managed to speak loudly enough for them to hear.

  “It took the monks of my people decades to achieve fleeting visions of this place. And here I sit, seeing it with my own eyes,” he said.

  As they approached their destination, known as "Urrund” when Hemlock and Mercuria lived there, they witnessed a mass of will-o-the-wisp-like balls of light near the stream of Maker’s Fire that illuminated the green world. The wisps seemed to surge out of the cloud layer and dart into the void along the stream of fire, back toward the City. But as the wisps left the vicinity of the world, their momentum faltered and most were drawn back toward the planet at great velocity, soon to be replaced by new arrivals. A few managed to break free of the pull and soon became indistinguishable from the light of the flame itself.

  “Does the fire consume them?” Mercuria asked.

  “I think not,” said Tored. “Our people believe it is possible to achieve a superior birth if one can overcome feelings of attachment to our former life. I can scarcely believe what I am saying, but I think we are witnessing that very process.”

  Nobody spoke another word. They gradually slipped through the border of the void into a verdant world with a white, cloudy sky. Hemlock visualized their destination, and the griffin altered her course. They flew over great forests, raging rivers and rolling hills, slowing as they proceeded.

  Suddenly, the terrain looked familiar to Hemlock as she spotted a small village nestled beside a river. Beyond it, a great town loomed in the distance. The town was called Ogrun, where a king ruled over the nearby land. She had known it as a child. A single, great peak rose behind Ogrun. Hemlock had an unusual feeling as she looked it over. It always scared her when she had been able to see it above the trees. Soon, Penelope was descending rapidly. They reached the tree line and landed hard in a woodland clearing. A small brook flowed through the clearing, and a lazy light played amidst the branches and dusty pollen that surrounded them.

  Hemlock felt a sense of recognition as she stepped off the griffin’s back with a groan and looked at her surroundings attentively. She immediately knew the clearing. It was only a few hundred yards away from her old home, which was secluded in the forests outside the nearby town.

  “Hemlock, we’re really here!” exclaimed Mercuria, also dismounting.

  Hemlock turned toward her sister, intending to express her own excitement, but the sight of Penelope stopped her from speaking. The griffin’s legs trembled as she walked toward a particularly thick section of underbrush. Penelope even seemed to struggle to keep her head high enough to allow her to see where she was going.

  “Penelope, are you alright?” Hemlock asked.

  I am very tired. I must sleep now. It feels like it will be safe here. Do not wake me for at least three days.

  Hemlock looked at her companions nervously. None of them knew what to do other than honor the griffin’s request.

  “Okay. You will be safe here. I’ll make sure my mother watches over you,” said Hemlock uncertainly. She hoped her mother would be around to fulfill that promise.

  The three of them watched as Penelope nestled into the cover of the nearby underbrush, doing a good job of concealing herself.

  “I hope she’ll be okay,” said Hemlock.

  “The passage was difficult for her,” said Tored, “but I think she knows her limitations. I suspect she will be fine.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Hemlock.

  “Should we look for Mother?” said Mercuria.

  Hemlock looked in the direction of their old home. The path that led to it looked freshly cleared.

  “Yes,” said Hemlock as she started down the path. A final look back toward Penelope reassured her that the griffin’s hiding place was effective.

  The smell of pine trees comforted her as she walked. It was a chilly fall afternoon, but they had worn heavier clothes in anticipation of the colder temperatures.

  “What will Mother say when she sees us? Will she be angry?” asked Mercuria.

  Hemlock had been wondering the same thing. “Probably angry and happy at the same time.”

  “Will you make her understand why we left? Horace was never a good father. She has to understand that,” said Mercuria.

  “I think I will remain in the clearing while you meet with your mother,” announced Tored abruptly.

  “Tored, no. You can come with us,” said Mercuria.

  “No, it will be best if I remain here. I am used to being in the wilderness, and this time with your mother will be personal. It is best that I stay back.”

  “I understand,” replied Hemlock. “We’ll come get you in an hour or so. The house isn’t far if you run into any trouble. But this was a quiet wood. We should all be fine.”

  Mercuria placed her hand in Hemlock’s as they walked toward the house.

  After a few minutes, the path widened, and they could see an old cottage nestled in another small clearing. It was covered in ivy and brambles, but this made the home look like an extension of the forest rather than a decaying ruin. A small stream ran along one side of the structure, and a large paddle wheel turned lazily in the current, creaking softly. The wheel itself was a patchwork of various pieces of wood and large branches.

  Hemlock was so transfixed by the vision of her childhood home that she ignored the dull sensation of magic on the path until it was nearly too late. Suddenly, there was a cracking sound and a whoosh of wind kicked up from nowhere, pulling leaves up into a swirling cone like a small tornado. The funnel rapidly approached, blocking the pathway. Hemlock and Mercuria turned and ran.

  “One of mother’s wards!” cried Mercuria, echoing what Hemlock already knew.

  “Split up in the woods!” shouted Hemlock, knowing that the funnel would weaken amongst the brush. She darted to her right, leaping over a fallen branch and avoiding a nest of brambles.

  Hemlock heard Mercuria thrashing through the woods on the other side of the path, but the din of the funnel drowned out the sounds of her sister. Hemlock was relieved that it had followed her instead of Mercuria.

  She expected the spell to dissipate as she left the vicinity of the house, but it continued to shadow her movements and didn’t appear to be weakening as she’d hoped. She decided to double back to the path in hopes of finding Mercuria and seeking her mother’s aid to undo the spell.

  As she reached the path, the funnel seemed to regain intensity and speed. Hemlock ran as quickly as she could without seeking out
the dark energy in her mind, and was barely able to outrun the spell.

  “Mercuria, run for the house!” she shouted ahead of her, hoping that her sister wouldn’t encounter additional wards.

  When she came within sight of the house, she was relieved to see her sister safely in the doorway, knocking furiously. Her magical attunement didn’t sense any more wards on the path, though there were wards all around the perimeter near the path—more than she ever remembered her mother using when she still lived at home.

  She saw a figure at the window as she neared Mercuria, and the whooshing sound behind her subsided.

  The door opened with a slow creak as she reached her sister’s side.

  The woman who greeted the girls looked overjoyed, bewildered and confused. Their mother was a little older than Hemlock remembered, and her normally disheveled appearance had worsened. She wore heavy earth-toned pants and a dull green cloak under a woven wool jacket. Dried leaves, twigs and thorns were nestled all through her garments and even in her unkempt hair.

  “Girls? Is this some trick?” said the woman with tears starting to stream down her cheeks.

  “No, Mother. We’re real. We’ve come back to see how you are getting along,” said Mercuria.

  “My baby!” cried her mother and embraced the younger girl.

  Hemlock’s heart swelled at the sight, but thoughts of her stepfather injected ambiguity into her pure feeling of joy.

  When her mother’s attention turned to her, Hemlock took a step forward to meet her embrace.

  “You’ve both grown so much!” said her mother between sobs.

  There were several more embraces before their mother regained her composure.

  “Girls, what happened to you? I’ve been worried sick for over a year! But look at you both! Has time left me behind, here?”