by L. J. Longo
He felt her reality shaking. Felt something strange and magical happening inside him. He freed his arm from the webbing and crawled forward, toward the moonlight, toward his friend. He howled again.
“Fuck!” Sock called. “Nav! Half-Ear!”
Sock’s slap stung, but Porter crawled towards the pain. Not moonlight at all. Outside was dawn grey. Why couldn’t it have been noon? Why didn’t he sleep next to the fire?
“Persistent little puppy, aren’t you?” the witch said.
For a moment, Sock’s face shadowy through sleep and magic appeared over him.
Then the witch stuffed a web in Porter’s mouth. Sticky, vile, suffocating. She cackled and gave up on pulling him. That’s when Porter knew he was lost.
“Trust Emaula.” Porter hung on long enough to look into his friend’s cloudy eyes.
“Port! What’s happening? Porter!”
The spider crushed the door with her net. He plummeted into darkness.
Chapter Three
Somewhere a wolf howled. Panicked and shrill. Emaula had only just lain down, too filled with thoughts of her mother spying and lurking to rest. Outside her door, something huge ran by so quickly she only heard the thud of two huge feet before it had spanned the hallway and bounded down the stairs.
Then Jasprite cried, “Nav! What’s going on? Is that Sock?”
Emaula rushed out of bed and threw her shawl over her head to protect anyone from her hair and shoulders, then went to the door.
Jasprite opened it and looked in on her. “Are you safe, Emmie?”
“Of course.” Emaula reached for her robes for modesty. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe Porter is having—”
Half-Ear appeared in the doorway. He snarled with a madness about his eyes that made even Jasprite draw back.
“A nightmare…” Emaula finished. “I’m sure that’s what Nav will tell us.”
“What did you do to him?” Half-Ear demanded.
“Porter?” Emaula blanched. That wave of magic. Mother had attacked Porter. She rushed to the door. “Where is—”
Half-Ear grabbed her arm when she tried to pass him and tossed her back into the room. Emaula felt the spark of magic, but Half-Ear never even flinched.
He roared. “What did you do to him?”
“Half-Ear.” Jasprite stepped between the wolf and the witch. “Now, be reasonable.”
Emaula had always thought of Jasprite as made of steel, as unmovable as stone. But Half-Ear didn’t even hesitate. He tore her out of the way, throwing her out of the room where she tumbled and fell in a clumsy sprawl. Jasprite remained on the ground, sitting there too shocked to speak.
The wolf came for Emaula. “Undo it. Now!”
“I…” Emaula looked over at Jasprite. Her friend tottered to her feet and rushed out the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Navarro!” Jasprite shouted. “Something’s bespelled Half-Ear.”
Half-Ear snarled at the doorway. No. Nothing had bespelled Half-Ear. Something had bespelled Porter. Half-Ear was furious.
“Half-Ear.” Emaula raised her hands placatingly. “Let me go see him. I promise—”
“Undo your spell. Now!” The wolf grabbed her. By her neck. His bare hand on her bare throat.
No man had ever dared touched her so deliberately in her life.
Now this one was strangling her.
Her magic attacked him. More than the little bites Porter endured. More than the jolt that had struck Navarro. A green fire twisted through Half-Ear’s arm emanating from her body. But the wolf kept his grip, half-crazed with fear and pain. She couldn’t breathe. He pushed her against the wall and raised her off the floor. She gagged.
“He trusted you. He fucking loved you.”
Emaula tried to gather her thoughts for a spell to fight back, for words to reassure him, for an answer to his hate. Instead, she could only think of Porter. What had Mother done to Porter?
Something swung at Half-Ear. Wood splintered, and paper crackled as a lantern crashed into her attacker’s head. The wolf, instinctively lashing everything that hurt, dropped Emaula and turned his fists on whoever hit him.
Curled inside her own orange healing mist, Emaula gasped for breath. She saw Sock’s silvery mane moments before her alchemist’s desk overturned under his weight. Half-Ear had thrown him across the room. The little wolf landed badly and everything on the desk—the cauldron, flasks, and vials—shattered around him.
“Oh shit.” The result of his violence drew Half-Ear back to his senses. “Sock, are you—”
“I told you it wasn’t her!” Sock pushed at the desk that had landed on his leg, but he wasn’t strong enough to move it. Through the veil of magic around her, Emaula saw Sock’s curse attacking this newfound weakness, the barbs crawling into his calf. “For fuck’s sake, Half-Ear. Didn’t I say there was another witch? Didn’t I just say?”
Half-Ear righted the desk and cleared away the shattered glass moving with all the awkwardness of a man who feared he’d break the delicate thing he wanted to fix. “I’m sorry, Sock. I—”
“And you.” Sock ignored Half-Ear, recovering his rage to shout at her. “For months, I’ve thought you were weaving these little dark webs around here. You didn’t think to tell us about her?”
“Tell you?” Emaula drew herself up, struggling to find some strength in her trembling knees, in her shaking palms. “Porter knew the first time I met him. Bird in a cage, he called me. He told you from the start. Nav was there when I ran from her. What more did I need to tell you?”
“That she was here!” Sock answered. “That she’d take him!”
Emaula’s understanding of the world narrowed sharply into that one phrase. Mother had taken Porter. “What happened?”
“He was having a dream. I woke him up. He said to trust you and then…” Sock started strong, but his scowl could not hide the crack of grief in his voice. “Then he was gone. Just gone.”
“Gone?” Emaula had never heard of such magic. “Like … a transportation spell? He disappeared?”
Neither of the wolves could answer her.
And in the silence, she heard Navarro coming down the hall. His footsteps slow now. Something thumped high against the wall. There was a happy, soft bark.
Emaula tilted her head with confusion. The man carried a wolf into the room. Emaula recognized him at once as Porter, too big and dark to be anyone else. The thumping sound was his wagging tail hitting the wall. Only, he wriggled in a blanket, almost completely covered. He should have been shaped like a man.
Navarro turned his sorrowful eyes to Emaula and set the wolf on the ground. Immediately, the animal circled the room, a huge black shadow, friendly as a puppy. He knocked into Half-Ear, licked Sock’s face and nuzzled his leg.
“I don’t understand.” Emaula’s magic sprang to her eyes. She saw Half-Ear’s noose and Sock’s writhing barbed wire. But Porter…
The wolf turned to her when she spoke and then happily bounded over to her. He pushed his big head into her hand and looked up at her with a happy tongue lolling. She stroked his head. Her magic did not attack.
Because there was no man to attack.
Her mother had taken his soul away.
Emaula stared into the wolf’s eyes. The same color and shape as her lover, but empty now of thought. Just a general instinct of affection. How could her mother do this?
“Can you bring him back, Emaula?” Nav asked.
They sat in a silence only interrupted by the wolf’s plaintive whining. He could not decide who needed his comfort more and kept running between Emaula and Sock.
It was a trap, a pure and perfect trap. Her mother wanted her to take the ordeal, wanted her to fail it the third time so she could finally finish eating Emaula’s soul. Why would she think Mother would let her go? How could she be so stupid?
And now, because of Emaula’s foolishness, Porter was the prize at the end of the maze.
“Emaula?” Navarro rep
eated more sternly. “Can you help—”
“I can,” Emaula said. “Bring me Yenna and a red cloak.”
Chapter Four
The spider’s lair was boring and shoddily crafted, like burnt cookies. Nothing but the stone wall and a few narrow windows, looking out at a foggy city. Porter looked out at the city with great interest. He’d never seen a northern town before. Was this one real? Or just her imitation of one?
Emaula’s mother watched him nearby. She couldn’t keep him if she left after all. So, she tried to intimidate him with cheap tricks.
Her voice came from everywhere. “You should be afraid, wolf.”
He ran his hand along stone with hardly any texture. She wasn’t used to being inside her own mind. Didn’t know how to build. “Yeah?”
That response confused her. Then she laughed. “You idiot, you don’t even know what I’ve done.”
“I do. Though…” He knocked on the stone, and because he knew it was fake, it made a hollow wooden sound. “This is a very plain soul-cage.”
“It will serve to hold you.”
“Well, yeah.” Porter had never considered trying to escape. “But it’s very plain.”
The witch scoffed. She also took great pride in her construction. “Can you do better?”
“Easily.”
“I doubt that.”
“Try me.” Porter crossed his arms and waited for her to give him the opportunity.
He sensed the spider debating, and then out of her own boredom, she gave way.
Porter built his own prison, thinking all the while of Emaula. He envisioned the endless desert, and his prison became a tiny, tiny oasis. Before the world even formed, he dove into the lake swim in the calm waters, cementing his version of the reality by immersing in it.
“You have quite an imagination.” The spider tried to bring back the stone and fog sky.
“I do.” Porter focused on the particular coolness of an oasis, the stillness in the depths. He knew his reality won out when he seized his jug of wine, and he surfaced with a smile. He swam toward the shore.
The witch showed herself in the vague shape of some carrion bird at the oasis’s edge. “You should be worried.”
Porter leaned back on the sand to bathe in the bright daylight. “And yet…”
“You think Emaula will challenge me to save you?”
Of course, she would. “My pack will rescue me.”
“They don’t even know what happened to you.” The witch hissed. “They will accuse her. Most likely, they’ll kill her. Serve the treacherous child right.”
An icy doubt crept into his mind, but Porter silenced it. Sock would see reason. Half-Ear would be controlled. Then they would save him. Either way, Porter had made his choice. “Well, then I guess it’s you and me in the desert, drinking wine for eternity. Want some?”
The bird shrieked, and a whirlwind of sand billowed toward him. Then she flapped her wings, stirring up a sandstorm. Then she flew away.
Porter drank his wine patiently. The sand swirled harmlessly around his head.
The witch did not get far. She went out into the desert, and then the air was too still. His world was too heavy for her. His gravity did not allow her to escape.
Emaula’s mother tumbled from the sky and landed on the ground in her human form. She sat in the sand, confused as hell. She wore a tight, low-cut Northern dress that somehow drew attention to every wrinkle on her face. She was not unattractive; it was just she was trying too hard to look young. “What … what did you do?”
Porter smiled at her, a predatory grin he’d learned from Half-Ear. She may have had his soul in a cage. But she had trapped herself inside his mind.
The witch greeted his enigmatic smile by throwing a tantrum. She hurled bolts of lightning, fire, wind at him. Doused him in curses, hexes, and ordinary foul words. He took her abuse passively, observing it all in silence. In his own world, her magic was powerless.
And she could not escape his world.
Eventually, the witch exhausted her rage and sat and simply glared at him. “What the hell do you want, wolf? Your body will die, and then I will be free.”
“Naw.” Porter drank his wine. “My body will be a wolf. Wolves live a long time.”
“I will make you wish for death,” the woman promised.
Porter acted unimpressed. He had no doubt she’d take control of the world given enough time. He turned away from her and created a little firepit so he could roast the meat and vegetables that appeared in the ice chest next to him.
“You are a clever man,” the witch cooed, switching tactics. “I shall grant you three wishes after I free you.”
He silently prepared kebabs.
The witch growled. Then too frustrated to attempt to communicate with him anymore, she stalked off into the desert. She reappeared some time later having circled the world and returned to the other side of the lake. She looked exhausted.
“Woman, come sit and have some wine and meat with me,” Porter called. “Then we’ll talk about how you’re going to guide your daughter through this ordeal of hers.”
Chapter Five
The smoke curled from Yenna’s pipe, smelling like lemon and frankincense. It crept into the folds of the crone’s ancient skin, while it burned at Emaula’s eyes. Yet the younger woman stared her down. “You will invite me on the path, Yenna.”
“Not the way it’s done.” The old witch finally looked away with a miffed snort. She picked up a teacup and looked around the empty dining hall. Yenna had sent everyone else away, but Emaula didn’t doubt that Sock at least was just beyond the door eavesdropping. Yenna reached down and stroked the big wolf sleeping at her feet. “Pity about Porter. He was a good man. Very pleasant.”
Emaula ground her feet to keep her temper. These other witches never appreciated Porter. Never saw him as anything more than something pleasant and reliable. Yenna did not understand how important he was. “Ms. Yenna, I realize that in the South, the ordeal is done—”
“It’s not different.” Yenna hit the table with her pipe. “It’s done the same way everywhere. The crone must make the invitation, the destination, and set the price. The mother must make the path—”
“The maiden must face temptation and overcome,” Emaula said. “I am aware.”
“You should not be. These Northern witches ruin everything.” Yenna shook her head. “You should not know you are being tested. Shouldn’t even know the prize. It’s corrupted. How can it be done?”
“You will invite me, Yenna.”
The old woman refused. “I won’t. You’re too old.”
“Yenna.”
“I can’t in good conscience start you on an ordeal this weighted against you.”
“You can and you will,” Emaula demanded.
The old witch scoffed and took another pull on her pipe. “You’re too naïve to understand. Your mother is setting a trap. She means you harm.”
“She means to eat my soul,” Emaula said. “She’s fed on me since I came of age. A little more each day. The only thing stopping her from devouring it all at once is … this third ordeal.”
“All the more reason for you to wait and pass a proper ordeal.” Yenna patted her leg. “Listen, I’ll call one of my daughters to me. She will take you under her wing. There will be a proper ordeal when the time is right, even though you’re too old. Then you shall defeat your mother and have your revenge for poor Porter.”
“You’re not listening, crone.” Emaula balled her hands into fists. “I said you will invite me on the path, Yenna, and you will do it today.”
Yenna scowled at the challenge. “You don’t have the power here, little girl.”
“I don’t have the power.” Emaula hated to use this, her last and best tactic. “But I have your word.”
The crone narrowed her eyes and set her pipe down.
“You are bound by blood oath to protect the people of this village. If you fail to do everything in your power to help him—
”
Yenna’s cloudy eyes swelled, shocked to be accused. “Now, you listen here—”
“Then, you’ve betrayed your oath,” Emaula spoke over her. Something else no one had done to Yenna in a very long time.
The old witch glowered at Emaula and smoke very coldly. “You haven’t always had this will.”
“I never had so much to lose.”
Yenna stroked her chin then picked up the cup of tea and sighed. “Well, you’re no daughter of mine. What do I care about you? We’ll begin at noon. You have until sunset to bring me a wolf’s soul. I do not know which path you shall take, but…”
The old woman did care very deeply, and it showed in her tone. “May it be straight and easy to follow.”
Emaula ground her teeth.
No chance in hell it would be easy.
Chapter Six
Emaula recognized her mother’s tower at once. The fog and soot of the city—so different from the warm shadows of the jungle where she’d closed her eyes—could not obscure the cold, brutal stone. She knew every draft and every crevasse because she’d spent hours of her life tracing her hands on every rough inch for a crack, for a window, for a door.
And if it weren’t for Jasprite’s string, Emaula would never have found her way to freedom. It had been the most frightening thing she’d ever done.
And now she was inside the tower again. Alone. No friend. No path. No thread.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
Emaula melted with hope but turned carefully towards his voice in case she was mistaken. Most likely, it was a trap.
Porter leaned back in a chair beside Yenna’s red door, relaxed. Like he could fall asleep. With the same open warmth and curiosity in his smile as when they’d first met. Mother could never have duplicated that. “It’s warmer in the sun. Too much shade here.”
“Porter! You’re here.”
Foolishly, she ran toward him. She’d not take a full step before the red door wavered like a mirage and disappeared. She reached for her lover, unsurprised when Porter slipped through her arms. She still couldn’t touch him.