“After all that I’ve taught you?” Moriarty chirped. “You’d be wearing burgundy and calling it red. I would roll in my grave.” He winked. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll win.”
Ashcroft could tell that Charlotte had her doubts, although her doubting couldn’t have possibly been from his own mannerisms.
He helped her to a seat outside in the Crescent—which was a one-sided stadium set over a platform below that was backed only by steep cliffs on one side; the whole stone-field was shaped like a crescent moon. She looked around and swallowed. “My love, do not fret,” he begged. “It simply won’t do to have you worried. I promised to protect and take care of you, now let me do so.”
She nodded. “Sorry, Ashcroft. I do think you’re more powerful than Lachlan. Just don’t get cheated on by a cheater, eh?” she asked him.
“I have eyes on the back of my head,” he promised, and leaned down to kiss her, not caring for once who saw how much he loved her. He kissed her long and deep.
“Are we going to get this duel on in the next century?” Lachlan fumed. “I’m getting wet, here.”
Ashcroft narrowed his eyebrows, having a feeling that Lachlan was the one controlling the weather in the first place—he was more used to the rain than Ashcroft was, and Ashcroft hadn’t ever warred against him without getting poured on. Ashcroft turned back to Charlotte and pinched her chin. “You don’t have to wish me luck,” he told her. “Just tell me you love me half as much as I love you.”
She grinned. “I love you, Ashcroft.”
Moriarty was busy kissing Alice when he headed to the Crescent, and had to catch up with him. “Let’s get this done in a hurry, Master. I want to go home and marry that girl, and then hump her brains out. You know I haven’t had sex for nearly two days? By my word, I’m getting the shakes!”
Ashcroft laughed. Yes; Moriarty was always in a good mood about battle. The man’s confidence was infectious—the only time his spirits seemed to drop was when he got a blood stain on his shirt. He smirked and then peered at Lachlan, who took off his coat despite the December cold. “Moriarty wants this to go quickly,” he informed him, unsheathing his sword. “So let me bid you farewell while you still have ears on your head.”
“You should look your last while you still have eyes,” growled Lachlan.
Gwrtheryn recited the rules to the duel: that the firsts would get three tries to destroy each other—one spell apiece. And then the seconds would get three tries, until one of the firsts are dead. After that, they all saluted each other with swords. “I don’t know why I have to fight the ugly one,” Moriarty grumbled. “The contrast to myself will make me feel sorry for the poor bastard.”
And then it began. And it began violently! No one could have imagined Lachlan and Ashcroft were brothers before, but now it seemed obvious. The way they fought was nearly mirror image of the other. But the way they shot fire and electricity, bright lights full of power towards each other was enough to keep their audience. But each was equally good at stepping out of the way of danger, or blocking it. And when they were done with three spells, both of their seconds came in. Moriarty was in good form—Ashcroft could swear he spent more time leaping and cutting than he did with his feet resting on the ground, and as soon as he was blocked three times, Ashcroft stepped back in.
Back and forth they went until the duel moved like a fast dance. And then Lachlan began to get desperate, feeling like he might misstep at any moment. He wasn’t used to hand-to-hand combat like Ashcroft was. The spells grew larger until thunderbolts snaked out of the sky, trying to strike him a total of six times, and then Lachlan wouldn’t step out of the way—instead he shot a burning shot onto Ashcroft face.
Ashcroft’s body went down. The pain was immense—he felt blinded. Moriarty came to at once and was shot down by another one of Lachlan’s spell, as dishonorable as it was. Moriarty survived it, but hit the ground, injured at the knee.
Hell had broken loose. Lachlan had cheated. And, as he walked forward and his demon second-hand walked up to Moriarty to kill him, out of nowhere, Ashcroft could see a head roll towards him out of his watering eyes.
He wiped one of his good eyes and saw Alice standing with a sword in hand in front of Moriarty. “Firsts only,” she decreed firmly, looking nearly like a ghost. “Obviously the rules are too complicated for you.”
“First and a half,” Lachlan assured singsongishly, approaching his brother. “Goodbye, Brother.”
Just because he was half-blinded didn’t mean he was ready to give up the fight. Very much the contrary—Ashcroft scurried to his feet, his sword brandished, and read light coming so quickly and fiercely from his fingernails that Lachlan couldn’t get out of the way. He flew back towards the edge, looking stunned and bleeding profusely.
Ashcroft had won, but he didn’t feel accomplished. Panting, he walked over to Lachlan. “It’s over, Brother,” he said. “Concede.”
Lachlan spat out a mouthful of blood. “This isn’t over.”
“Lachlan, you’re dying…” Ashcroft never was able to believe this man’s stubbornness. It even surmounted his own.
“And yet I’m about to make my most poignant strike,” he assured.
Ashcroft’s eyebrows narrowed with confusion. And then he saw Lachlan raise his hand in away from Ashcroft, and then Ashcroft saw that he was raising his hand to Charlotte.
Charlotte’s eyes widened and did little more than gasp as her body shot out of her seat, unnaturally sliding across the ground at the speed of a bullet, into Lachlan’s arms…
When Charlotte his Lachlan, there was a blinding flash of light, and it seemed like they had been struck by Lachlan’s own lightening. Ashcroft could swear that the last expression ever seen on his brother’s face was one of pure mirth. Then, with a crack of thunder, they were gone.
They were gone. He reached forward to grab them back, but they moved too fast, and he looked down just to see their bodies hit the shallow water below.
“Charlotte!” Moriarty was at Ashcroft’s side in an instant, and looked down. But they couldn’t see Charlotte at all. But as they watched, they could see Lachlan’s body float away.
Ashcroft didn’t breathe at all. He just watched with rocking horror. Charlotte was right—things did not go well at all like he had hoped. She had a horrible feeling, and he had ignored it.
A gasp of sob escaped his lips, although he hadn’t sobbed since he was a child. But it couldn’t be helped…
Charlotte was gone.
* * *
“Damn Hoel, living out in the middle of nowhere…” Peirce was far too young for this sort of thing. He knew he should have listened to his brothers about swimming too close to the surface in a rough sea, and now he knew why… because he got beamed with a girl’s body.
The worst part about it was that the girl was alive. Somehow, the waves had kept her afloat on her back as she swept away from the cliffs. Normally Peirce wouldn’t have minded being hit by a pretty girl—eh, pretty for a two-legged, at least—but the nearest beach was twenty miles away. It was nothing but cliffs in every direction. And not only that, but the girl’s body was completely broken from the fall.
No, no. The only thing to do was to bring her to Hoel. Although the prospect was utterly terrifying—Hoel was sort of frightening. His brothers would argue about the most frightening thing about Hoel; maybe it was the size of him. Maybe it was the reddish color of his skin, or perhaps the scowl he wore… Peirce would always chime in that it was definitely, without a doubt, Hoel’s sharp thorns.
But he could fix anything, and aside from that, was very wise, be he not particularly generous with his advice. In fact, Peirce was sure that he would only grumble when he saw the selkie male bring in the legged girl.
Although, he had a feeling she was a witch, sentenced to death by falling off a cliff. It’s not the first time he’d heard of such a thing around the parts. The head of the Wizard’s Circle lived somewhere on the Hatchet Cliffs, and it wouldn’t have been
the first body that got pulled out to sea from that… In fact, she might have been the first to actually survive it, despite how frail she looked… And how she NEARLY didn’t survive.
And he could hear her rasping now which he didn’t think was a good sign. Not when he had swam fifty damn miles to deliver her to Hoel, and he was quickly closing in on the bay. It hadn’t taken him too long—maybe three hours to cover the distance, but his muscles ached, and he was already dreaming of a belly full of fish.
Mmm, fish…
What was he doing, again? Right. Right, saving the girl. His mother always did warn that he had a small attention span. And it was really silly to lose sight of his goal, now. If he squinted, he’d be able to see Hoel’s Bay even now.
Hoel, despite the fact that he was half-deity of sorts, certainly lived in meager settings—he really only had a place little larger than a cottage. But it was connected to one of the only lighthouses around, and was easy to see through the murky, rainy cold.
He opened his mouth as he pulled the girl towards the rocky shoreline, but stopped himself short when he heard quite a commotion coming from the white house.
“Hoel, please, no… I said I was sorry!” he heard a woman’s voice say. Ah—Hoel’s wife! Peirce had only seen her very seldomly, despite the fact that he and his brothers visited Hoel’s Bay often, mostly that’s because the river flowing by the bay carried the richest-flavored salmon around, and the rocks were absolutely perfect for sunning. When he came, his family would normally stay for weeks on in the Spring.
But he stayed low in the water to watch Hoel’s wife scurry out of the house. Hoel was right behind her, and reached out just in time to grab her elbow and drag her back to him. “Don’t ye dare run from me!” he growled at her. Hoel’s wife turned and looked at him with desperate, wide eyes, even as he was dragging her to the bench nearby, under the tree in the front, along the path to the cottage.
“Hoel! Not out here! It’s cold, and someone might see!” she cried in a shrill voice.
“Then why’d ye make me chase you from the house, woman?” Hoel gruffly replied as he sat down. In his next movement, he jerked the woman over his lap. “But never fear—you’re backside will be well-heated by the time I’m through with ye!”
Peirce grinned, unable to hide his fascination over seeing the legged-folk discipline each other. It was quite a spectacle. Especially because of all the clothing they wore—Hoel had to pull up the skirts of his wife a layer at a time, and it was like he was plucking the leafs off a flower. Another thing that was certainly amusing was how his wife struggled and kicked and made whimpering sounds, even though Peirce was quite certain she wasn’t in any pain yet.
“I’ve never known such a lazy wife in all my days! You haven’t done even half of your chores, Anwen! And if you think that bitter tongue you talk tae me with is goin’ tae make up for it, then you’ve completely lost your wits!” he grumbled at her, and then, once the white skin of her bottom was in view, he brought his large hand down sharply upon it.
“Ooh!” she squeaked promptly, her eyes looking like saucers. Before he could bring down his hand again, her struggles doubled. “Hoel! Hoel! Please!”
He pinned her legs down and captured her arms easily. Hoel towered over his wife by quite a far stretch when they were standing, and the contrast of their sizes didn’t change much when he was seated. “Cry if you want. You’re goin’ tae be gettin’ quite the heatin’!”
Peirce grinned slyly, feeling like he somehow got a ticket to a private show. He had a good vantage point, and he had very good eyes, good enough to see Hoel’s wife’s bottom pinken from the water… And then, as the SMACK, SMACK, SMACK of Hoel’s hand provided further assault, it turned into a cherry-like red. The woman was full of apologies, full of excuses, but Hoel didn’t seem to hear any of it. He continued to work with a firm look of resolve on his face, his mouth lined deeply into a frown.
“Are ye comin’ tae yer senses?” Hoel asked pedantically.
“Yes! Yes, Sir! I won’t talk to you like that again! I promise! I’m so sorry I didn’t do as I was told, I swear it! I am very sorry!” she blubbered sorrowfully.
Hoel sighed and yanked her off of his lap. She tried to grip her heated bottom with her hands, but he spun her body around by her arm and have her a very firm spank that caused her to obediently scurry into the house, saying, “Ye ken better than tae rub yer bottom, Wife. You ken what to do now! Get intae the house, an’ I want ye in the corner, skirt up, bottom out, or I will give ye another go!”
She gave a cry in response, but quickly fluttered her face inside to obey, wiping the tears from her face on her arm.
Peirce looked backwards when he heard his own little rescue shutter. He frowned and then loudly cleared his throat. “Uh… Hoel? Hoel! Please help!” he asked pleadingly.
Hoel’s yellow eyes quickly focused on him and, sighing visibly, he stomped over to the water. “An’ what are ye doin’ out here this time ‘a year? Spyin’?” he asked him as he approached.
Peirce shook his head, feeling a little nervous although he had never seen Hoel treat a selkie poorly. He was a gruff man, but not a violent one. “No, not at all! I didn’t want to interrupt a family issue, but I found this girl about sixteen leagues Eastward! Round by the Hatchet Cliffs! I was out crab hunting, and I come by the surface and hit my head on her, who was floating by the surface.”
“Is she dead?” Hoel asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.
“I wouldn’t have swam the length if she was,” Peirce assured with a laugh. “But she’s quite broken up. Never spoke a word the whole time, but I made sure she got plenty of air. She draws breath somewhat…”
Hoel came into the water towards where he was, saturating his pantlegs up to his knee. He took the girl, who hung limp, into his arms and set her up on a flat rock before coming up next to her and looking at her head, which looked quite crushed to one side. “She doesn’t have too much longer. How long ago did ye come upon her?”
“Maybe three hours. It was quite a swim,” admitted Peirce, but he straightened his shoulders proudly. “It wouldn’t have been if she wasn’t getting hauled down by all those clothes. And the sea was wild up East today. But not helping seemed too wrong. If it was me, I’d want help, you know?”
“Aye,” he agreed. “You’re a good lad.” He opened her eyes and looked into her mouth and hummed. “Ye say you found her up by the Hatchet Cliffs?”
Peirce nodded. “Around about there, yeah. But she was quite out to sea. She floated quite well at the surface, sort of like the water didn’t want to take her down.”
“Well, she’s been struck by more than one spell today, so I’m guessin’ she was put to death. Imagine puttin’ tae death a wee thing like this.” He shook his head. “Wizards have hearts of stone, the lot of them. Curse their souls!”
“She might be a witch, though, right? If she was there… Her ears don’t look like fae or elf kin.”
“Maybe. We’ll have tae see. Although,” Hoel pet his clawed thumb across the girl’s forehead. When he did, words and symbols were visible as if drawn underneath the skin, and then faded. “This lass’s mind’s been tampered with—seems quite empty. Doesn’t seem tae ken her own name.” He grumbled but then grinned. “That might work fer our favour enough. If she did anythin’ to deserve her fate, she wouldn’t ken what that’d be… But if her slate’s fresh like this, I don’t want a wizard to recognize her an’ bring her back after all my trouble—and they would. Stubborn, hateful race.”
“So what are you going to do?” Peirce asked, worrying his brow with confusion as he pulled himself up on the rock by his elbows.
“Change her appearance and then fix her right up, good as new,” Hoel replied, and then glanced up towards his house. “I ken my wife could use a proper servant girl to help her around the place. How she despises getting’ her hands dirty, and how her bottom’s been payin’ for it. I s’pose this girl will have tae do—she’s free, anyway.”
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“You… You can do that?” Peirce asked, amazed. “Ch-Change the way she looks?”
“Yes, but if I were ye, I’d keep my yap shut about me doin’ it. She don’ need to ken, nor do any of your flippery friends, nor nobody else. An’ if word gets out about her, I’ll come blamin’ ye!” he threatened firmly. “And I don’ need no line of selkies tryin’ tae swim up and makin’ me use up all me magic on a change of hair colorin’, either! Ye jus’ keep tae yerself.”
Peirce nodded and watched intently.
At first, Hoel enchanted the water below, making it shimmer with what looked like liquid gold and dipped her in it. He was uttering some words that Hoel didn’t know, but he did recognize that he was rhyming his words together. It seems like a poem, or incantation, and when he Hoel pulled her out of the water, the broken body looked different, indeed.
Instead of a clay-like hair color, streaked with red and brown, her hair was now completely black, thick and curly. Her skin was pale, her nose more button-like, but her eyes were similar; round, though appearing large compared to the rest of her face. Her lips and cheeks were the color of a pink rose, and her cheeks were covered with very light freckles that sprinkled even along her nose. Her mouth was shaped differently, her lips were fuller, more demure.
Peirce could see similarities to the girl that had been dipped in the water, but very barely, and hardly at all. But still, she was broken. Her head was still bleeding, her arms and legs still hung at odd angles…
But Hoel didn’t need to be told to fix her; as soon as her looks changed, he set to work on her healing.
For someone who hated sorcerer kin so much, he certainly knew how to use serious of magic with a shocking ease. He had heard of some selkies, attacked by a large shark or sea monster, coming to Hoel to be rescued, even as they had already nearly bled to death, and Hoel had brought them back from the brink. But Peirce had never seen this with his own eyes.
It was unnatural. The way Hoel worked her body, it seemed like someone working with dry, cracked clay. Some parts of her molded, and some snapped together.
Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson Page 27