“We had to go away, Mother, and then things got complicated. It took a while to find an opportunity for us to return,” said Hemlock.
“Where have you been?”
“In a distant city on a different world—that magic city where the toy makers come from.”
“So, it’s real, is it? I suspected as much given the unusual merchants that come along that river. Is that how you left? On one of their boats?”
“Yes,” said Hemlock.
“I started to think that had to be it. I even thought about trying to find you by seeking passage with them, but something held me back. And things got complicated here, as well.”
Hemlock’s thoughts darkened as she prepared to ask a question that she feared the answer to. “Where is Stepfather?”
Her mother’s eyes grew shadowed then she responded, “Gone. Left soon after you did. I guess my grief was too much for him.”
“That’s a good thing, I think,” said Hemlock. “He was a bad man, Mother.”
Hemlock was surprised to see anger flare in her mother’s eyes. “A bad man? Do you think it’s easy for someone like me to find love? Dropped here as I was with no background in this world. Pregnant and alone. With magic powers that others find strange and with no father for my child. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he made me happy. He was all I had after you left. Now I have nothing but the woods and the sky.”
“He started acting strange toward the end—making eyes at me and saying suggestive things. That’s why I left. I tried to tell you at the time, but you didn’t understand. I was going to go alone, but I feared that he’d do the same thing to Mercuria. When she showed up on the boat unexpectedly, I decided to take her too,” said Hemlock.
“You made a lot of decisions that day, didn’t you?” said her mother.
“And she hasn’t stopped since, believe me,” said Mercuria in a half-joking tone. “Let’s let bygones be bygones—if only for a little while. I’m so happy to see you again, Mother! But you look a mess! Have you been that distraught? Let me clean you up.”
Mother could not resist as Mercuria washed and dressed her. Hemlock wandered around the old home. Paintings she had done as a child still sat on the fireplace mantle as they always had, and portraits her mother must have painted after they left were now displayed beside them.
“I painted those so I wouldn’t forget your faces,” said her mother, unexpectedly at her side. Not many people could approach Hemlock without her being aware of it, but she wasn’t surprised because her mother had always moved with an unusual silence.
“You said things got complicated here, too. What did you mean by that?” asked Hemlock, noting her sister’s singing as she cleaned up in another room.
“Well, your stepfather leaving was one thing I referred to. Another is the Sorceress.”
“Who is the Sorceress?”
Her mother walked to a nearby chair and sat, beckoning Hemlock to join her on a couch.
“There is much I didn’t share with you when you were younger. I didn’t want things to be as hard for you as they were for me. I figured the less you knew the better—and I didn’t care one whit for the burden your father placed on me. I just wanted you to have a normal life. But there is no reason not to tell it all, now.”
Mercuria rejoined them as their mother spoke. “When I was still a girl, I lived on another world. It was different than this place—wilder, more dangerous, and more magical. But I was happy there. I knew how to survive, and I was strong, respected. Then, your father showed up—your father, Hemlock. Mercuria, your father was different—a man from this world who died during a raid. But that’s another tale. Your father, Hemlock, came to me one evening and wove a tale that entranced a young girl. He spoke of creating worlds, of destinies and treachery. He said he knew he would be betrayed, and he needed to seed the worlds with an heir—an heir that would be revealed at the proper time.”
“He asked me to lay with him and accept the burden of a great responsibility. I scarcely believed him, though he had the air of a great man. But he showed me a wondrous griffin that he traveled on, and that made me believe. I reluctantly agreed to his terms, sacrificing everything I knew. He said my actions would restore hope to innumerable souls. How could I say no?”
“So I lay with him, and I knew I conceived a child that night. And, as he said, the griffin returned in one month’s time to take me to the world where my child would grow to maturity. You are that special child, Hemlock.”
Hemlock thrilled at talk of her father and recalled the vision she had of the faceless man in the red robe walking in a town.
“Did he wear a red robe?” she asked.
“Yes, he did. The legends are true in that regard. He was a different man. Unassuming in a certain sense, but when you spoke to him, you realized that he was somehow different from normal people. When he talked, his ideas were as irresistible as the passing of the seasons. And he was compassionate. It grieved him to ask of me what he did. But I could tell he felt he had no choice. I’m not angry at him—much. Though I must confess to some resentment toward him for certain difficulties I’ve had in my life. But whenever I think about him, I just remember his sad eyes and it’s impossible to think badly of him.”
“Tell me about my father,” said Mercuria.
Hemlock’s mind wandered as her mother and Mercuria spoke. She kept thinking of her father and the purpose he had for fathering her.
I haven’t been crazy for all these years. There really is a reason I am how I am.
Hemlock’s attention returned to her mother. She realized that she had missed the tale of Mercuria’s father—a mistake she would have to account for later by speaking to her mother in private.
“Soon after I arrived, I encountered the Sorceress…” said Anastasia.
…
Anastasia had just gotten her young daughter to sleep when a sharp knock at the door resonated through her small, wooden cabin. She grabbed her staff and hurried to the door as she cursed at the cry of the roused infant.
More angry at the inopportune interruption than concerned for her safety, she threw open the crudely planked door. A small, bespectacled man with a curled mustache and darkened circles under his eyes stood in the doorway with a plaintive look on his face.
“Please,” he muttered.
Anastasia detected motion in the brush behind the diminutive man and saw a small winged form loitering in the shadows. The moonlight reflected off its gray scales.
“What has happened?” asked Anastasia, shaken by the normally effusive man’s dejected demeanor.
“It’s Glinwilda—and the Chalice,” blubbered the man, falling into Anastasia’s arms, “both are lost.”
“What? Come here. Duggan, pull yourself together!” she said, pushing the man onto a stool. Then she saw little Hemlock struggling to lower herself out of her crib.
“For goodness’ sake!” she cried, leaving the man for a moment to push the small child back into the safety of her tiny bed.
When she turned back to Duggan, he was wiping the tears from his face with a handkerchief then he replaced his spectacles. He looked nominally more composed.
“Now, tell me exactly what happened, starting from the beginning,” she said.
Duggan leaned forward and grabbed her hands. “It’s Glinwilda! She went after that dark woman who’s been loitering in the mountain. She’s gone missing! And Fergul the smith found the body of her wyvern outside that dark stronghold.”
Anastasia withdrew her hands from the clasp of the man, and considered his words. “What business is it of mine? Glinwilda was never a friend to me. Wasn’t it her that denied me shelter in Ogrun when I first arrived? Didn’t she tell me that without a wyvern, I wasn’t fit to live with you? Why should I even care?”
Duggan’s eyes widened and his lower lip quivered. “But we’ve helped you. I’ve helped you! We gave you food and helped you build this cabin.”
“It’s a hovel barely fit for an animal!”
>
“But, Anastasia, you have power—you’re a witch—like that dark woman. If Glinwilda is…gone…then we have no protection. And the dark woman has the Chalice!”
“How is that possible? It was in your highest tower constantly guarded by men and wyverns!”
“The men said they had strange visions and became disoriented. One fell from the tower to his death!”
“When?”
“Last night. The dark woman must have taken the Chalice with her magic!”
Anastasia had to concede that this seemed a likely scenario. Like Anastasia, the dark woman had been turned away by Glinwilda. But this woman reacted with hatred and threats, skulking about in the mountains that flanked Ogrun. Anastasia had gotten a read on the woman one night at the outskirts of town. When Anastasia saw her, the woman had been staring at the tallest tower at the center of the buildings, atop which a brilliant light shone out in defiance of the darkness.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Anastasia said to the woman.
The woman just looked at her slyly and nodded, not trying to conceal her malice. Yes, this dark woman did seem to be a problem, and Anastasia could tell she was a Sorceress.
“I told Glinwilda to heed the prophecy I found in that book you lent me. It said that when Ogrun was attacked by that horde of beasts, their greatest man drank from the Chalice and transformed into a giant that protected the town. I believe that was her destiny,” said Anastasia.
“You know she feared that path. The prophecy says that this hero lost his identity once he transformed and was never seen again after the beast-men were defeated,” said Duggan.
“Do you think this Sorceress understood the properties of the Chalice?”
“I do. She started asking about it when she first entered the town. Glinwilda banished her more roughly because of it.”
“She’s a real diplomat, that one,” sneered Anastasia.
Duggan took her hand again. “Was, not is, Anastasia. Glinwilda is dead. Her wyvern has been found dead, and her body is likely inside that stockade. None have dared to enter there to confirm our suspicions, but the light of the Chalice is visible there, even now. Look for yourself.”
Anastasia pulled her hands away angrily. “Hemlock sleeps here, and I’ll not wake her for the journey.”
“I will watch her.”
“Of course you will. Your great white warrior has fallen, and now you come slinking back to the crazy woman in the woods asking for help. If Glinwilda hadn’t been so proud and stupid, she could have asked for my help sooner. What do you expect me to do? I have a daughter to consider!”
Suddenly, a great sound like thunder echoed through the valley.
Duggan rose. It looked like the blood had run from his face, leaving it as white as the pale moon. “Anastasia. Go quickly! The Sorceress is attacking Ogrun! You speak of your child, but think of the hundreds that will perish if you don’t act.”
“You have hundreds of wyverns at your disposal. Defend yourselves!”
“We’re not warriors by temperament, you know that. Glinwilda was our protector, and now she’s dead. You’re our last hope!”
A distant explosion rang out, seeming to underscore Duggan’s point.
Anastasia cursed again as another ominous rumble came from the direction of Ogrun.
“Anastasia!” cried Duggan.
Anastasia shook her head derisively. She cared little for the people of Ogrun. But something about the way the Sorceress looked at her that night when they’d met had bothered Anastasia since. She’d challenged witches to duel on her home world with less provocation than that dark look. A part of her craved to indulge her pride and deliver a comeuppance to the woman. But she was a mother now, and the Red Mage had entrusted her with the fate of the child, who he said would hold the fate of all creation in her hands.
Anastasia cursed her decision to go along with the Red Mage before she could catch herself.
Duggan was standing in front of her again and caught her attention as more distant explosions rang out. “If Ogrun is destroyed, where will you go? You know she won’t let you stay here. Your daughter won’t be safe. You need us!”
Anastasia shook her head, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the sniveling coward was right. She had never been good with earth magic and couldn’t grow food magically. And she lacked the physical strength to be a good farmer. She did need them, as much as it made her sick to admit it to herself.
She grabbed Duggan by his collar and nearly lifted him off the floor.
“You watch her and protect her with your life. If anything happens to her, I’ll destroy Ogrun myself!”
“Fine. Hurry!”
Anastasia burst out the door of the cottage, but closed it carefully behind her. She glared at the small wyvern as she left. It glared at her, though it took a step back into the woods as she passed.
She began to run as another rumble came from the direction of Ogrun. She thought she heard the snap of splintering timbers with that one.
There were two more explosions as she ran. When she finally reached the edge of the wood, the scene before her took her breath away.
The majestic towers of Ogrun were burning—the light of the fire replacing the illumination normally provided by the now absent Chalice. People were running and screaming everywhere, and wyverns were flying erratically overhead.
Anastasia scanned the skyline of the burning town, trying to locate the source of the peril. She noticed a glowing light on the mountain in the distance and remembered what Duggan told her about the stolen Chalice.
A terrible reek enveloped her as something dark passed overhead. Anastasia looked up and saw great, dark wings flapping. A bat climbed higher into the sky and flew toward the center of the town. It was impossibly large, with a wingspan that Anastasia estimated to be three times as great as the large, white wyvern that had followed Glinwilda.
Amazing! The Sorceress has used the power of the Chalice to transform that bat instead of herself. I never considered the possibility! Anastasia thought.
A stream of fire extended from the top of the bat to one of the yet unburned towers, interrupting Anastasia’s appreciation of the creativity of the Sorceress’ use of the Chalice. The feeling was replaced by one of horror at the appearance of the corpulent bat and the recognition that the Sorceress was riding on the back of the beast. The renewed screams of the townspeople and the buckling of the impacted tower reminded Anastasia that she had to act quickly if she meant to save the town.
She raised her arms and held her staff aloft. In mere moments, a light breeze stirred up the night air that had been calm and still only moments before. In a few more moments, a whipping wind descended over the town, and dark rain clouds blew in over the horizon.
Anastasia saw the bat struggle to hold its course against the force of the wind. It didn’t take long for the Sorceress to recognize opposing magic. Anastasia could see her head moving rapidly to scan the area for her unexpected opponent. The wind was causing the fires on the towers to spread rapidly. Mercifully, the dark clouds brought sheets of rain with them, which began to fight against the tongues of fire that writhed over the faces of the towers.
But the Sorceress had seen her. The great bat took a sweeping turn then flew toward Anastasia. Anastasia conjured a shield as the first blast of fire hit her position. The force of the blast made her recoil. The heat of the conflagration that was repulsed mere feet from her fragile flesh caused her to break out in a profuse sweat.
She heard laughter from above as the bat soared behind her and banked for another pass.
My turn! Anastasia thought.
Anastasia thrust her staff toward the sky and a great, whipping funnel of air and vapor descended from the darkest cloud. The tornado was farther from the bat than Anastasia intended, so she swept her staff in front of her, and the frenzied air moved across the horizon, following her motion.
The bat managed to come out of its turn in time to avoid the oncoming funne
l of air. Anastasia slammed her staff to the earth and a bolt of lightning crackled out from the funnel and impacted the bat—or rather a blue shield that now protected the beast and its rider.
The bat faltered for a moment, and Anastasia hoped the funnel might overtake it, but it recovered and began to fly in earnest, putting some distance between it and the slower onrush of chaotic air.
The bat reached the outskirts of Ogrun, and Anastasia was forced to allow the tornado to dissipate before its great force, which felled many trees as it proceeded across the forest, damaged the town.
Anastasia was fatigued from her spell, but the Sorceress didn’t press her advantage. Instead the bat continued to fly across Ogrun, and the Sorceress blasted another tower as she passed. The bat veered toward the mountain stockade and passed out of sight.
Anastasia walked into the town with a grim determination. The duel had only partially satisfied her desire to humble this Sorceress. And now she knew the woman was a coward. Someone that fled from an unresolved duel deserved such a label.
As she passed through Ogrun, weeping people surrounded her, thanking her and begging her for deliverance. She ignored them. Her only intention was to defeat the Sorceress once and for all, and discover the fate of Glinwilda. But, as she walked, she saw wounded children, and they made her think of her small daughter. A glimmer of compassion for the people of Ogrun began to take hold of her, but she dismissed it as a distraction.
At least we should eat better once I finish this job! Anastasia thought.
She walked up the mountain path and the ruined stockade soon stood before her, with an ominous glow shining from within its shadowy interior. She paused before the great doors, which lay slightly ajar. The torn body of Glinwilda’s once proud, white wyvern lay tangled in an unnatural heap of limbs, scales, and tattered wings—its hue of purity now sullied by an oozing crimson.
“Come, Sorceress, we have not finished!” cried Anastasia. With a gesture of her staff, she directed the still swirling wind into a gust that threw open the doors of the stockade.
Hemlock And The Dread Sorceress (Book 3) Page 8