Aunt Vyvian holds her scone in suspended animation. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
Enith is glowering at me, wide-eyed and appalled, like I’ve just thrown a jar of preserves at both of them.
“I’ve known him exactly one day.” Sweet Ancient One, what could Lukas be thinking?
“Elloren,” my aunt breathes, setting her scone down, “this type of proposal, from a family such as this, from a young man such as Lukas Grey, does not come along every day.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I can’t. I’ve only just met him. And...and I promised Uncle Edwin...”
“Promised him what?”
“That I’ll wait until I’m done with my education to fast to someone.”
My aunt’s mouth falls open. “But that’s at least two years from now!”
“I know.”
“Elloren,” she says, her voice low, “you’d be a fool to turn down this proposal.”
My resolve stiffens. “Perhaps if he likes me that much, he can court me first.”
Her eyes take on a hard glint. “Perhaps I should send word to the Greys that they should reconsider their initial plan.”
“What plan?”
“Why, to have Lukas fasted to Fallon Bane, my dear.”
I freeze, completely thrown. “But,” I counter, “Lukas told me he’s not going to fast to Fallon.”
My aunt makes a sound of derision. “Really, Elloren. Do you honestly think he’ll wait for you forever?” Her gaze turns calculating. “I’m sure Fallon Bane would be happy to take your place.”
An unbidden image of Lukas kissing smug, perfect Fallon forms in my mind, his back to me as he clings to her passionately, her eyes open, glaring at me with malicious triumph. She wouldn’t hesitate to accept a wandfasting proposal from Lukas Grey.
But to fast to him after knowing him for only one day—that would be madness.
And Rafe has concerns. Enough to warn me off Lukas.
“Do you want to be alone all your life, Elloren?” my aunt coos, leaning forward. “Don’t you want to be fasted someday? To have a family? Do you know how unlikely that will be if you go unfasted for much longer?” She sits back. “Of course there will be a few choices left after you finish University. The young men that no one else wants. But is that what you really want?”
Her words get under my skin, and I momentarily wonder if I’m making a huge mistake.
A chill starts from deep within me, and it has nothing to do with the damp outside. I suddenly very much want my uncle.
“I... I just can’t,” I say weakly.
She narrows her eyes at me. “What, pray tell, am I to tell Lukas’s parents?”
“Tell them,” I begin, my throat becoming constricted, “that I am very thankful for their proposal and I will consider it, but I need time to get to know Lukas a little better.”
“It seems like you were getting to know him pretty well last night, my dear,” she snipes as she takes a sip of her tea.
My face goes hot.
“Don’t you think my servants tell me everything?” She purses her lips at me. “If you’re going to indulge in that type of behavior, Elloren, you need to fast to the young man, and quickly.”
I’m completely mortified.
“If you assume I’m going to sit idly by and watch while you go off to University unfasted and potentially disgrace your entire extended family by falling in with the wrong man, like Sage Gaffney did, you certainly don’t know me very well.” She sets down her tea and leans forward. “You forget, Elloren, that not only will I refuse to pay your University tithe while you are unfasted, I know and am on very close terms with the University’s High Chancellor, in addition to most of the Gardnerian professors and the Lodging Mistress. If I need to, I can make things very unpleasant for you there.” She collects herself and lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m only doing this for your own good, Elloren. And for the good of our family. You do realize you can avoid all sorts of unpleasantness if you simply agree to fast to Lukas Grey.”
It hurts that she would threaten me—like a sharp slap. “I’m not saying I won’t consider it,” I counter, thrown. “I just can’t fast to him so quickly. I’d like to get to know him a little first.”
If Uncle Edwin was here, he’d take my side.
“Honestly, Elloren,” she says coldly, “you are making this very difficult for me.”
My anger flares. “Then maybe it’s lucky for you that you’re not my official guardian.”
Silence. The Urisk girl freezes, her eyes gone wide with shock.
Aunt Vyvian’s gaze narrows. “My brother doesn’t always have the firmest grasp on reality, my dear. I would never have allowed him to take you in if I had known...” She breaks off, her eyes angrily brimming with some unspoken thought.
“Known what?” I press, stung by her easy dismissal of my uncle.
She leans forward, teeth bared. “That you would grow up to turn down a fasting proposal that every girl in Gardneria would give her eyeteeth for!”
Her expression turns venomous and I shrink back, shocked by the frightening change in her demeanor.
My aunt quickly collects herself, regaining her careful sheen of control, like thick curtains being drawn around her true feelings.
“I shall simply have to find a way to help you change your mind,” she states, her voice once again tranquil. She lightly taps her teacup.
The Urisk girl springs forward to fill it, as if her life depends on it.
My aunt takes her time, mixing some cream into her tea. “I have found that everyone can be persuaded to do the right thing if the right kind of pressure is applied.”
I stare at her with a new wariness, watching as she lifts the porcelain cup with long, graceful fingers.
“Everyone has a breaking point, Elloren. Everyone.” She regards me levelly. “Don’t force me to find yours.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Icarals
The next morning our ride to church is uncomfortably silent, our carriage surrounded by Aunt Vyvian’s personal guard. Dark clouds loom above Valgard and threaten a storm. I peer up at them, my cheek pressed against the cool glass of the carriage’s window, wishing I was with my brothers and Gareth.
Aunt Vyvian is studying me icily, perhaps considering how best to bend my will. She’s been trying to convince me to wandfast for every one of the fifteen days we’ve been together, and that pressure, after yesterday’s wandfasting offer, has now turned markedly oppressive. She’s keeping me with her until the last possible moment, desperate to have me buckle and wandfast to Lukas Grey before going off to University.
We’re to arrive at Valgard’s Grand Cathedral hours before morning service so that Aunt Vyvian can discuss some government business with Priest Vogel. Then she’s insisting I attend service with her—where, I suspect, we’ll conveniently run into Lukas and his family. I flush uncomfortably at the thought of seeing him again.
Later, after the service, I’m to make the carriage journey to University alone. Rafe, Trystan and Gareth are long gone, having left together early this morning on horseback.
I long to be with them. I don’t want to be in these fancy, restrictive clothes that necessitate slower carriage travel anymore. And I long to break free of Aunt Vyvian’s unforgiving watch. I want to be on horseback with my brothers and Gareth, riding to Verpacia and the bustling University.
Soon, I remind myself. You’ll be out of here soon enough.
The dark forest of buildings ahead gives way to an expansive, circular plaza, a larger-than-life marble statue of my grandmother dominating its middle. I focus right in on it, wondering if I’ll be able to make out my own features in the marble face, but it’s too far away.
Approaching the plaza, we make a sharp turn to the ri
ght, and I almost gasp as Valgard’s Cathedral bursts into view, even grander than I remembered it.
* * *
Broad, sweeping columns rise skyward, eventually coalescing to form one, narrowing spire that supports a silver Erthia sphere at its zenith. The whole structure is wrought from Ironwood the color of wet earth. A mammoth central arch with two smaller, adjacent arches frames the entrance, the huge front doors richly carved with images from The Book of the Ancients.
The carriage halts just in front of the cathedral, and I almost trip down its steps as I disembark, my gaze riveted on the immense, vertigo-inducing structure. I crane my neck to take it all in, the silver sphere highlighted by the darkening sky.
My aunt ushers me into the cathedral and toward one of the countless, intricately carved pews.
“Sit here,” she directs sternly.
I obey as her heels click down an aisle that leads to the broad dais and altar. Two priests in dark, flowing robes circle the altar, lighting candles and waving incense, the white bird symbol of the Ancient One emblazoned on their chests. Above the altar hangs another Erthia sphere.
My aunt approaches the priests, then launches into hushed conversation with them. They take turns surreptitiously glaring in my direction as my stomach twists itself into uncomfortable knots. And then they’re gone, having exited together through a side door, leaving me all alone in the vast space.
I am bereft, my palms flat on the wood of my seat.
But soon the wood of the cathedral begins to lull me into a calmer state. Numerous columns, some straight, some diagonal and curving, rise toward an irregular ceiling covered with crisscrossing arches. It’s like being underneath the root system of an enormous, otherworldly tree.
I close my eyes, slide my palms against the wood and breathe in its amber scent.
Soothed, I open my eyes to find a copy of The Book of the Ancients sitting beside me.
I pick up the black, leather-bound tome and run my finger along its gilded title. I know this book well. Unbeknownst to my uncle, who seems to disapprove of religion in general, I keep my grandmother’s old copy under my pillow, the gilded holy book passed down to me by Aunt Vyvian when I was a small child. Sometimes, in the dark of night, when sadness comes, when the void left by my parents’ deaths seems too painful to bear, The Book’s many prayers for strength in times of hardship and sorrow are of great comfort to me.
Just as the first rumble of thunder sounds in the distance, I open to the first page and read.
The Creation
In the beginning, there was only the Ancient One. The universe was vast and empty. And out of the great, unfathomable nothingness, the Ancient One brought forth the planets and the stars, the sun and the moon and Erthia, the Great Sphere.
And on this Great Sphere, the Ancient One separated the land from the water and brought forth all manner of living things: the green plants, the birds of the air, the beasts of the field and forest and water.
And the Ancient One looked down upon it all and was pleased.
But the Ancient One was not finished. The breath of life was sent out over the Great Sphere, and from the seeds of the sacred Ironwood Tree sprang the First Children, who were to dwell on the Great Sphere; and the Angelic Ones, who were to dwell in the Heavens.
At first, all dwelled in harmony.
All of creation joined together to worship, glorify and obey the Ancient One.
But it came to pass that the Angelic Ones, winged as they were, began to feel that they did not need to obey. They began to feel that they were better than the Ancient One, and that they owned the Heavens.
And it came to pass that the Angelic Ones flew down to the First Children and pleaded with them to turn away from the Ancient One and to worship them instead. The First Children were angered by this betrayal and refused. The First Children told the Angelic Ones that they would worship and glorify none other than the Ancient One. The Angelic Ones, angered in turn by the refusal of the First Children, brought down a host of evil upon them: the shapeshifters who preyed upon them at night, the wyverns who attacked from above, the sorceresses who sought to mislead them and all manner of dark creatures and tricksters, thus scattering the First Children and sending them into disarray.
And it came to pass that the Ancient One looked down and saw the sufferings of the First Children, and that the Angelic Ones had become Evil Ones in their betrayal. In great fury and righteousness, the Ancient One smote the Angelic Ones and sent them hurtling down to the surface of the Great Sphere. And then the Ancient One spoke to the Angelic Ones, who were now Evil Ones, saying unto them:
“From now on, you shall no longer be counted among my children and will be known as Icarals, the most despised of all creatures. You will wander the surface of my Great Sphere without a home. My True Children, My First Children, will join together to smite you and to break your wings.”
And thus it came to pass that the True Children once again joined together from all corners of the Great Sphere to smite the Evil Ones and to worship, glorify and obey the Ancient One.
So ends the first book of Creation.
I glance up at the stained-glass windows that shine between the columns as I remember the stories in the sacred text associated with each image, the normally vivid colors of the scenes strangely darkened by the stormy skies.
The first window depicts the Ancient One symbolized by a graceful, white bird, sending down rays of light to Erthia below. I take in a deep breath as the familiar, protective image fills me with warmth.
The images continue, all around: the reluctant prophetess, Galliana, astride a giant fire raven, leading our people from slavery, White Wand in hand; the First Children receiving the deep blue Ironflowers as a symbol of the Ancient One’s promise to keep them free from oppression, the flowers offering magical protection from demon fire.
I briefly glance down at the familiar Ironflower trim worked into the hem of my sleeve, comforted by the flowers’ symbolic promise of safety.
Next comes images of terrible battles: First Children slaying winged Icaral demons as the demons shoot fire from their palms; First Children soldiers combating bloodthirsty shapeshifters—wolf-shifters, fox-shifters and even a wyvern-shifter with slits for eyes and a forked tongue hanging from its mouth.
Above all these images, the Ancient One’s light shines down.
As I ponder the religious teachings of my youth, movement near the stained-glass wyvern-shifter catches my eye.
Just above its reptilian head is a clear portion of glass, and I can make out two small eyes watching me through it. The eyes flick up and out of view, revealing a strong silver beak and then...nothing.
A Watcher.
Curious, I get up, walk toward the back of the church and exit through the mammoth front doors.
As the doors swing shut behind me, I’m instantly aware of a strange current in the air. I stare down over the empty plaza, searching everywhere for the bird.
There, in the plaza’s center, stands the huge stone statue of my grandmother. The plaza is eerily quiet, the normally raucous seagulls absent. The odd colors of the sky shift slightly, and I hear another small, far-off murmur of thunder. I look up to see dark clouds slowly lumbering toward the church.
Halfway down the cathedral stairs, I see it. The white bird. It flies across the wide plaza and lands just behind my grandmother’s statue.
I reach the statue of my grandmother and circle slowly around it, searching for the bird. Soon the huge marble monument completely blocks the cathedral from view. I pause in its shadow, riveted by it.
The soft rumbling of thunder jostles the silence like a faint drumroll.
My grandmother stands, larger than life, my identical features finely wrought by a master’s chisel, every fold of her billowing robes perfectly rendered, so lifelike it seems as if I could
reach up and move the fabric. Her left arm is raised in a graceful arc above her head, her wand arm pointing straight down at an Icaral that lies prostrate at her feet, his face a contorted mask of agony.
At this angle, it’s as if she’s pointing her wand not at the Icaral, but at me.
The clouds move above her head in the direction of the church, giving the illusion that she’s the one moving instead, inclining her head toward me reproachfully, sizing up this fraudulent copy of herself.
You could never be me.
The white bird pokes its head over my grandmother’s shoulder, startling me, its eyes filled with alarm. It moves its head from side to side in warning, as if a bird could make such a human gesture.
Suddenly, a strong, bony hand slams against my mouth. An arm flies around my waist and locks my elbows against my sides in a viselike grip. I fall backward onto a hard body, and a foul smell like rotted meat washes over me.
My fear is a delayed reaction, like the pain that hesitates briefly when you touch something so hot it will burn and scar. Catching up, my heart begins to beat wildly as a nasal, taunting male voice hisses into my ear.
“Don’t bother screaming, Black Witch. No one will hear you.”
I struggle wildly, straining against the binding arm, kicking at him, but he’s too strong. I can’t wrench myself free, and I can’t turn my head to see the face of my attacker.
The thunder becomes more insistent, the wind surging as the storm continues to move straight toward the cathedral.
I desperately scream against his hand and scan the plaza for help. But there’s no one.
A second figure springs from the shadows between two nearby buildings and scrambles toward me on long, sickly thin limbs. It’s bald and naked from the waist up, its flesh pale and emaciated, multiple gashes marking its chest and arms as if it’s been lashed repeatedly, its face contorted into an evil smile, red lips surrounding decayed and pointed teeth.
But its eyes...oh, its eyes—they’re a swirling, opalescent white, devoid of humanity, devoid of a soul...like the living dead. And there are grotesque stumps jutting out from its shoulder blades. The stumps move in and out rhythmically in a disgusting mimicry of flight, and a terrifying realization washes over me.
The Black Witch Page 11