The Black Witch. Laurie Forest
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talk to me about wandfasting.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No. They’re coming for my baby. And I have to leave before they get here.” She looks away for a moment as if desperately trying to compose herself. She hides her hand back under her cloak and cradles the small bundle inside. I wonder why she won’t let me see him.
I reach out to touch her arm. “You’re imagining all this, Sage. There’s no way anyone would want to hurt your baby.”
She glares at me with angry frustration, then shakes her head as if resigned to madness. “Goodbye, Elloren,” she says as if she pities me. “Good luck.”
“Wait...” I implore as she begins to walk along the fence line in the direction of the great wilderness. I follow her brisk pace, the fence separating us, leaning over it to reach her as she veers away, her back receding into the distance—a dark, ghostly figure making her way through the last of the morning mist.
The trees swallow her up into their darkness just as the sun rises, transforming the eerie blue dreamworld of early morning into the clear, sunlit world of day.
My fingers fumble under my cloak for the wand, half expecting it to be gone, expecting to find that I was sleepwalking and imagined all of this. But then I feel it—smooth and straight and very much real.
* * *
I rush back to the house, the sunlight steadily gaining strength.
Shaken, I’m desperate to find Uncle Edwin. Surely he’ll know what to do.
As I round the trees, I’m surprised to see Aunt Vyvian standing in the doorway watching me, her expression unreadable.
A small wave of apprehension washes over me at the sight of her, and I immediately slow my pace, struggling to turn my expression blank, as if returning from an uneventful morning stroll. But my mind is a tumult.
Those marks on Sage’s hands—they were so horrible. Maybe Sage is right. Maybe the Council is planning to take her baby away...
Aunt Vyvian tilts her head and eyes me thoughtfully as I approach. “Are you done packing?” she asks. “We’re ready to go.”
I stand awkwardly in front of her, not able to move forward as she’s blocking the doorway. “Yes, I’m done.” I’m acutely aware of the wand, my hand involuntarily drawn to it.
My aunt’s eyes flicker in the direction of the Gaffneys’ farm. “Did you visit with Sage Gaffney?” Her face is open, welcoming me to confide in her.
Shock flashes through me. How does she know that Sage is here?
I glance back toward the wilds, my heart thumping against my chest.
Sage was right. Aunt Vyvian isn’t just here for me. Clearly she’s here for Sage, too. But surely she would never harm a baby?
Aunt Vyvian sighs. “It’s all right, Elloren. I know she’s here, and I realize it must be terribly upsetting to see her. She’s...very troubled. We’re trying to help her, but...” She shakes her head sadly. “How is she?” Her tone is one of maternal concern. Some of my tension lightens.
“She’s terribly frightened.” The words rush out. “The baby. She thinks someone wants to harm him. That someone from the Council is coming to take him away from her.”
My aunt doesn’t seem surprised by this. She fixes me with the type of look adults use when they are about to reveal to a child some unfortunate, troubling fact of life. “The Council is coming to take custody of her baby.”
I blink in shocked surprise.
Aunt Vyvian lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. “The child is deformed, Elloren. It needs a physician’s care, and much more.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I breathe, almost not wanting to know.
Aunt Vyvian searches my eyes, hesitant to tell me what I know will be something monstrous. “Elloren,” she explains gravely, “Sage has given birth to an Icaral.”
I recoil at the word. No! It can’t be. It’s too horrible to imagine. One of the Evil Winged Ones—like giving birth to a grotesque demon. No wonder Sage didn’t let me see her child.
The dull thud of horses’ hooves sounds in the distance, and I spot another Mage Council carriage rounding the hills and making its way down into the valley toward the Gaffneys’ estate. It’s followed by eight Gardnerian soldiers on horseback.
“Can the child be helped?” My voice comes out in a shocked whisper as I watch the carriage and the soldiers nearing the cottage.
“The Council will try, Elloren.” My aunt reassures me. “Its wings will be removed and a Mage Priest will do everything he can to try and save the child’s twisted soul.” She pauses and looks at me inquisitively. “What else did Sage say to you?”
It’s a simple enough question, but something pulls me up short, some amorphous fear. And Sage has enough problems already.
Clearly she’s stolen this wand. It can’t possibly be the wand of myth that she imagines it to be, but it’s obviously an expensive wand. Probably belonging to Tobias.
I’ll wait until all this dies down and find a way to return it to him. And I don’t mention that Sage has run off into the woods—I’m sure the Council will find her soon enough on their own anyway.
“She didn’t say much else,” I lie. “Only what I’ve told you.”
My aunt nods in approval and lets out a small sigh. “Well, then, enough of this. We’ve a big journey ahead of us.”
I attempt a small, resigned smile in return and bury Sage’s secret deep within, as well as my guilt in keeping it.
The Selkie
I stare out the window of my aunt’s grand carriage as the scenery gradually changes from wilderness interspersed with farmland to small towns with more horse traffic. We sit opposite each other on green silk-cushioned seats, windows to our sides. A red, tasseled cord hangs from the ceiling that can be pulled to get the driver’s attention.
I run my fingers nervously along the polished wood that lines my seat, its smooth touch soothing to me. An image of its source tree suffuses my mind, delicate, pointed leaves sparkling gold in the sunlight.
Star Maple.
I breathe in deep and let the tree anchor me.
All throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, my aunt quietly works on Mage Council paperwork on a small table that folds out from the wall.
Aunt Vyvian’s the only woman to ever sit on our ruling Mage Council. She’s one of twelve Mages there, not counting our High Mage. You have to be important to be on the Mage Council, and it’s usually made up of powerful priests or Guild leaders, like Warren Gaffney, who’s the head of the Agricultural Guild. But Aunt Vyvian has especially high status, being the daughter of the Black Witch.
Aunt Vyvian dips her pen in an inkwell with a sharp tap, her script graceful as a professional calligrapher’s.
Glancing up, she smiles at me, then finishes up the page she’s working on and places it into a large, important-looking, black leather folder, the Mage Council’s golden M affixed to its front. After clearing the table, she collapses it back against the wall, smooths her skirts and turns her attention to me.
“Well, Elloren,” she begins pleasantly, “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and an even longer time since we’ve had a chance to talk. I really do regret that your uncle left everything to the last minute like this. It must be very confusing for you, and I suspect you have some questions.”
I ponder this. Sage’s deformed hands are foremost on