In the Tower of the Witching Tree

by Deck Matthews

  Contents

  In the Tower of the Witching Tree

  About the Author

  "In the Tower of the Witching Tree" is a work of self-published short fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to to actual persons, living or deceased, events or places is entirely coincidental.

  A Varkas Tale

  Copyright © 2018 Deck Matthews. All rights reserved.

  In the Tower of the Witching Tree

  Deck Matthews

  A Varkas Tale

  An open window was like an invitation. Shade slipped her fingers through the narrow crack, feeling for the latch that would allow the old, wooden frame to swing inward. Fortunately, there was no lock. Such a mechanism had surely seemed unnecessary, given that she'd found the window a full hundred feet above the ground, near the top of what appeared to be an old, abandoned tower. She’d scaled the weathered stonework with the vague notion that the tower might prove an ideal place to weather the night—and to hide from the guards that were no doubt still scouring the woods for the young rogue who’d managed to swindle a small pouch of emeralds from the old widow in Orin’s Point.

  Shade sighed. The game had gone perfectly until the cursed crone had returned to fetch her forgotten cane. The Jackal’s luck wasn’t with me. It hadn’t been with her for months. Still, she had the emeralds and her skin.

  Something to be thankful for.

  The window creaked inward with a mournful protest. Shade checked her grip before pulling herself up through the opening and into a dark corridor. It was strangely free of dust, grime or any other sign of habitation. The air was dry and tinged with the aromas of leaves, bark and sweet, sticky sap. It was her first indication that not all was as it seemed.

  Step by hushed step, Shade followed the dark corridor as it traced the perimeter of the tower. All too soon, she found herself standing before the same window. Somehow, it had closed. She frowned, turning away to search of a place to bed down for the night. Instead, she found herself looking at a door.

  That wasn’t there before. A shiver of apprehension tickled at her nape. She reached for the window again, wondering if she’d do better chancing an encounter with the guards of Orin’s Point. The frame wouldn’t budge.

  "Typical," she muttered. She looked back toward the door—and felt almost as though it was gazing back at her. Its wood was dark and rich, carved in intricate patterns that seemed almost Karinth in their geometry. The handle was large and ornate, glimmering faintly in the dim light of the treacherous window. There was something oddly inviting about the door. As her hand inched forward, it occurred to her that doors were meant to be opened, and that the opening would lead from one place to another. Given that she was overcome with the sudden and inexplicable need to be anywhere else, she allowed her fingers to close about the handle. The door, quite unlike the window, swung open without a sound. Curious, she crossed the threshold.

  And entered into a cavernous chamber.

  It seemed impossibly vast—far too large to rest atop the tower she’d climbed. The ceiling was vaulted, a full thirty feet if it was an inch. The floor was all polished marble, save for a single bed of earth, covered in a thick carpet of emerald-green grass and honey-coloured marigolds. At the very centre of that bed stood a tree. It was tall and broad, with thickly corded roots and branches that stretched upward in symmetrical patterns. Its entire surface was covered in a mercurial bark of silvery white, and the tear-shaped leaves were redder than the freshest blood. Dozens of firebugs flittered through the air, glimmering and shimmering as they danced.

  Shade took a step backward, reaching for the door again, only to find that it had vanished.

  —Welcome, child. The words seem to bubble up from the depths of her mind. The voice was calm and melodious in the way that Shade might have imagined her mother's voice—if she'd ever stopped to think of such a thing. She didn't. Her mother had died years ago, leaving Shade an orphan girl struggling to survive the hardships of the sprawling slums of the Birches.

  She glanced at the tree. The branches rustled expectantly. "Who are you?" she asked.

  —I am the Teirwetch. A creature of the Old Magic.

  Shade frowned. Something about the name seemed distantly familiar, like a fragment of a dream only half remembered. "I see. And what's a magic tree doing locked up in a tower?"

  —Waiting for you.

  "Seems a piss poor way to spend your time." Shade circled the patch of earth, hugging the curved edge of the chamber, watching the tree with every step. It never changed. From every angle, it remained in perfect symmetry.

  —I heard your need. You sought refuge. So I summoned you here, to find the peace your heart so longs for.

  "I stumbled across this place all on my own."

  —Is that what you think?

  It was—or it had been. Shade was no longer so certain. She had to admit that it was a fortunate coincidence that brought her to the tower at the exact moment when she needed to escape the guards. She hadn't survived the hardships of the Birches by ignoring the lessons they'd taught her. Chief among them was a simple truth: fortune is the currency of the fool. If this mysterious talking tree claimed to have summoned her, Shade found that she needed to entertain the possibility.

  But she’d be damned if she’d be grateful for it.

  “Why?” she asked.

  —There is more to your question.

  “Fine. Why did you summon me?”

  —To give you what you seek. Rest beneath my boughs, child. Allow me the privilege of bestowing my boon upon you.

  Shade stopped circling, crossed her arms and scowled. “At what cost?"

  —My blessings have no cost.

  "Bullocks. Something for nothing's always one thing. A lie. Speak straight. What do you want?"

  The Teirwetch’s leaves shook, leaving Shade with the vague impression of laughter.

  —Always so bitter? So jaded?

  “Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed.”

  —A dour way to live.

  “But a good way to keep on living.”

  —There must be a cost?

  Shade nodded. No kindness was ever free. She'd fought and struggled for everything she'd ever had. She'd stolen and lied and played dangerous games. Occasionally, she'd bloodied her stilettos. Yes, there was always a cost. Sometimes she'd paid it willingly; other times it had been painfully exacted. A magic tree at the top of a strange tower wasn’t enough to convince her otherwise.

  —So be it, Shaydra Li Runne.

  “How do you know my name?” Again, the leaves shook.

  —Do you think I'd summon you here without first knowing the truth of you? I see your heart, child. The death of your mother, so young. The string of guardians and the atrocities you suffered. The thieving. The lying. The man you thought you’d loved…

  "Enough!" Shade barked. Bitter memories stung at her eyes. She wiped them away, spitting her defiance on the floor. "You make your point, though I think you see not half so well as you claim. Name the cost.”

  —Very well. A game of chance.

  All at once, the firebugs swarmed, forming a single, shimmering globe. It spun and churned, a swirling fluid of flickering, golden light. It grew and grew, swelling like a bubble until it burst into three smaller globes, each identical in size to its sisters. They circled each other, maneuvering through the patterns of some strange dance that Shade could hardly follow. When they stopped, they’d arranged themselves in a perfect line between her and the tree.

  —Reach out, child.

  Shade hesitated but, realizing that she was already committed, turned up the palm of h
er left hand. The first globe approached. As it hovered in place, a small, silvery object fell into her hand. Four triangular facets formed a pyramid. Each face had a different character etched into its corners. They had the look of Karinth runes, but Shade couldn’t place them. The object itself, however, was all too familiar. Such runeteks were most often used in casting games—or by charlatans spinning fortunes for coin. The first globe retreated and the second approached, followed quickly by the third. Soon, Shade held three identical runeteks in her palm.

  “You want me to cast runes?” Shade asked, puzzled.

  —A true game of chance.

  “I don’t recognize these runes.”

  —Look again.

  She did, and found herself looking at Karinth runes—the sort used in their sacred melding magics. Yoram, the rune of power. Tokith, the rune of endurance. Che, the rune of grace. Maln, the rune of perception.

  “You altered them,” she accused.

  —Only so that they might be familiar.

  Shade laughed, bitter and humourless. "A useful trick. One that'd get my throat slit if I ever tried it." She supposed that wasn't much of a problem for magical trees. “How can I trust any game we play?"

  —Are you always so wary?

  "If you know as much about me as you say, you'll know I have reason enough."

  —So you do, child. So you do. Then I give you this assurance. I swear upon Orinbastius, the First Tree, that I shall in no way interfere with the runes.

  Shade had no idea what Orinbastius was, but there was a certain solemnness to the vow. It wasn’t enough to lead her anywhere close to trust—that was a path she’d trod only for one man—but it seemed a sacred sort of oath. She glanced at the segment of the wall where the door had been. Or where she thought it had been. It's not like I have a bloody choice.

  "The stakes?" she asked.

  —Should the Jackal smile, I shall present you with a series of boons to choose from.

  “And if he frowns?” With the way Shade’s luck was going, it seemed a likely thing. There was a prolonged silence in which the silver tree went so entirely still that the only discernible movement was the flittering of the firebugs through the branches.

  —Then I shall give you a bough of my own and you shall it bear to the ancient forests of the Eastweald, where once my roots communed with the earth.

  “That’s it?”

  —Such a boon would mean more than you can imagine—for a piece of me to return to the soils that sired me.

  “And you’ll let me walk away? Just like that?”

  —You’re no prisoner, child. I called you here to give you peace. It was you who demanded that there be a cost. The cost is the game, but if you’d rather accept…

  Shade cupped her hands around the runeteks. “We play," she snapped. Red leaves rustled gently in response.

  —Very well. The rules are simple.

  "I know how to throw runes." Best to get this business started, and finished too. There was still something about the tree that bothered her—something she couldn't quite place beneath her thumb. "Two-of-thirds?"

  —If you wish.

  "I damned well do." Shade lifted her hands and shook. The wooden pieces rattled, their smoothed edges tracing the creases of her palms. Two-of-thirds was a simple game. She needed only to throw and call out the name of a single rune pair. If the appeared among the three runeteks, she won. Otherwise, she lost. Shade cleared her mind. No planning. No guessing. The Jackal favours the bold. Trust your instincts. One. Two.

  She threw on three.

  “Blade of the Morning!” It was the first pairing that came to her mind. Tokith and Che. The runeteks clattered across the floor, bouncing erratically before rattling to a stop. Shade stepped forward to check their points. The firebugs swirled above her head, as though examining the runes themselves. She counted Tokith, Yoram and Maln.

  —One throw against, said the Teirwetch.

  As if I couldn’t tell. Shade scowled as she collected the runeteks. Hardly an encouraging start. The odds were stacked against her now, but not impossibly so. Winning two throws together was common enough. A number of potential scenarios danced through her mind. For a moment, she found herself weighing the odds, rubbing the wooden pieces between her palms as she considered possibilities and calculated probabilities. A clear mind, she reminded herself. One. Two. Three.

  “Towers of Midnight!” A pair of Tokith.

  Once again, the runeteks flew. Once again, they clattered along the marble floor, bouncing so near to the Teirwetch that they were nearly caught up in the fringe of its gold and emerald lawn. The firebugs swarmed as Shade stepped forward with brisk and bated strides. When she looked down, each point showed an identical rune. A straight throw, and all of Tokith.

  —The Jackal smiles.

  “And all’s even,” muttered Shade. Closing her eyes, she pinched at the bridge of her nose. Sharp nails dug into tender skin. One throw now. It was one simple throw that hardly seemed to matter. If the odds fell in her favour, she'd receive a boon from the Teirwetch. If they turned against her, she'd walk free with only a simple errand to perform. There was nothing to loose. She needed only to make the throw and the call.

  Then why do I feel like I’m clinging to life by the barest of threads?

  She opened her eyes. The shape of the Tierwetch loomed before her, lush and beautiful. And so bright, Shade thought, in a room devoid of windows. Where does the light come from? Not from the firebugs, she was certain. Even ten times their number could not cast such a brilliance. It was something else. Something…

  —The third throw, child.

  The voice remained soft and motherly, but there was an edge to it, an eagerness that whispered at the fringes of Shade’s mind as she bent to retrieve the runeteks for her final throw. Step by careful step, she backed away, opening up a space between her and the tree. She massaged the pieces, pressing them into her palms with the tips of her fingers. Each felt as heavy as a stone five times its size. Ten times, even. It was a weighty moment. A final, heavy throw. And no sense putting it off. Nothing to be gained by delaying, other than a deeper taste of senseless foreboding.

  Shade cupped her palms and shook them like a rattler during the festival of Newmoon. Clickity clack. Clickity clack. She raised her hands before her face like a Chaplain about his prayers. In a sense, she thought, perhaps the motion was a sort of prayer—a silent petition to the Nine.

  Her hands opened and she threw.

  Time slowed. Shade watched the runeteks turn, tracing invisible arcs that bound each to the other. In that moment, they were both three and one—three pyramids of carved and polished wood carried along the singular course of their flight. She all but choked on the sour taste of her own melodrama, nearly forgetting to call the throw.

  "Jackal's Heart!" Her voice rang off the vaulted ceilings as the runeteks sank toward the marble floor. They struck in sequence, one after the other. Clack. Clack. Clack. The throw was made.

  Curse my folly. Jackal’s Heart? It was a pair of Maln, also called the Traitor’s Blade for its fabled failure to turn up whenever it was called. In all her life, Shade had seen it called and thrown only once, and that by the man she’d claimed to love. He always did have the Jackal’s own luck—though even that left him in the end. And me with it.

  Firebugs swarmed impatiently over her head.

  Shade strode forward with all the dignity and poise she could manage—which was little enough thanks to her sudden and desperate need to piss. She kept her eyes fixed on the Teirwetch, watching its blood-red leaves until she stood directly over the runeteks. She glowered defiantly before turning her gaze toward the shape of her fate. Maln. Che.

  And Maln.

  “I’ll be damned,” she said.

  —A noble throw, child. The game is yours. The price is paid. You need only accept my boon.

  The floor shook and the Teirwetch trembled. Firebugs fell like showers of evanescent light. As each struck the floor, its ligh
t remained in place, growing brighter and brighter until four golden rings had formed in the marble. After a moment, they started to rise. Slowly, with the coarse scraping of grinding stone, four pillars rose before her, forming a slight crescent. Each remained crowned with a globe of light, swirling like all the stars of the night sky compressed into a single space.

  —Step forward, child.

  Hesitantly, Shade complied.

  —Approach and look upon my boons.

  She stepped toward the leftmost pillar. Its light receded, revealing a silver bangle, gleaming with rows of sparkling diamonds and rubies the colour of the Teirwetch’s own leaves. She knew that such a treasure would fetch a lord’s ransom from the right buyer, a fortune to outshine the value of the emeralds tucked inside the dark leather of her vest.

  —A bangle of prosperity. This boon will grant you all the wealth of your dreams. You’ll live like a queen—like an empress—for all the days of your life. No more stealing, child. No more cheating or lying or killing. Think on all that you could accomplish, daughter of the Birches.

  Shade scowled at the mention of the slum. The very name conjured all the clinging stenches of rank muck, sour grime and putrid waste. She could almost hear the persistent drone of ten thousand bodies all crammed together, bound up by the weight of their own lack. But she knew it wasn’t mere poverty that ruled the Birches. Too many of its people were damned by circumstance, misfortune or their own cursed choices. Yes, a fortune was a thing worth having, but the Birches were behind her. She’d managed to escape it all, and had no intention of returning.

  Shade moved on toward the second pillar. As before, the globe of light faded with her approach, revealing a golden circlet. It was elegantly wrought in the shape of many leaves, each inlaid with a gleaming emerald. The detail was so finely worked that the very edges seemed to rustle against the current of some gentle breeze.

  —A circlet of influence. This boon will grant you a gift of charisma. People will find themselves persuaded by your words. They’ll be inclined to trust you. To look to you for guidance and advice. Think on what such influence could do for you.