The Thorn Witch

By Matthew S. Hart

They had barely begun a life together and already the king and queen had suffered greatly. The king had none but his wife to give him hope, to give him an heir, and after the loss of one infant prince and then another, they welcomed their third child, Gwynknell , with great apprehension. Just as her brothers, Gwynknell fell ill soon after her birth and it seemed there would be no end to the despair, until the faeries came in the night with their healing thorn, and with a single prick, saved the princess from certain death.
Then, whether by curse or deliberate intent, Gwynknell was stolen away in the night. With only the words of an accomplice to point the way, the ab urged the king to go in search of the princess. They rode deep into hostile lands only to return without her, barely escaping with their own lives and a single mystic stone which the ab had stolen from the temple. He claimed it held some power which might help in finding the princess, but as the years passed, it seemed nothing would bring her home. The princess was lost forever.
Life continued and the king was eventually blessed with two strong sons, or so he would have everyone believe. In the end, it was this one lie that humbled the king and brought him to his knees. He surrendered his throne, until another’s wanton lust for power and vengeance made a way for the king’s redemption and made an end into the beginning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew S. Hart
• Release date: Nov 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370828166

Matthew S. Hart

Matthew Hart was born in Silver Spring in 1967. His first novel, The Thorn Witch is the first story in a series called The Tales of Grieveknot, with the second story to debut some time in late 2019.

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THE THORN WITCH

The Tales of Grieveknot

Matthew S. Hart

Published by Matthew Hart at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Matthew S. Hart

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment alone, and may not be re-sold or shared without the purchase of an additional copy through Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author and for ensuring the possibility of future additions to The Tales of Grieveknot.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Elduir’s Ring

Chapter 2 - Gwynknell’s Rescue

Chapter 3 - The Spirits Subdued

Chapter 4 - Unleash the Winged Servant

Chapter 5 - Pretend That All Is Well

Chapter 6 - Masks and Mischief

Chapter 7 - Joust with a Witch

Chapter 8 - The Truth Revealed

Chapter 9 – A Storm of Deceit

Chapter 10 - The Promise of Peace

About the Author

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Chapter 1 - Elduir’s Ring

The old ways were gone, the Purge had made certain of it, and too many had died in those final few weeks. Gone were the witches, the priests of Awen and the soothsayers, all destroyed along with their shrines, sacred groves, and the rest who believed until nothing remained, save unspoken memories. Eklijia, the religion of the godly victors remained free to flourish, but as its influence crept into every corner of the kingdom, guild lords and lesser nobles worried their own power and wealth would be wicked away. Thankfully a new and more thoughtful king had taken the throne, and though his reign brought hope to many, it also raised ghosts of suspicion. Thus began the long and winding way of Eminthell’s reign.

Along the maze of trails through the forest south of holy Therihs walked a lone traveler. She wore a green woolen cape, the hood pulled over her head to stave off the icy chill which hung in the still morning air. Her breath mingled with the fog drifting above the autumn leaves blanketing the forest floor. She paused briefly, catching a glimpse of the deer as they leapt away. She smiled, gently lifting off her hood and brushing back her long, black hair just as the first rays of sunlight kissed her cheeks. She took a deep breath, savoring it. There was a time when she had been a creature of the forest, and so each visit she made gave her comfort.

On another trail not far from hers traveled her two companions. Both were familiar with the path they had chosen that morning, having walked it many times before. And while one of them went by foot, the other took to the air, flittering through the high boughs on wings of raven black. From time to time, the feathered one named Flit paused in the treetops, searching the forest floor with keen eyesight as he waited somewhat impatiently for his dawdling companion. Flapping his wings furiously, Flit squawked, Hurry, Twig, and we shall make our work short.

As Flit glided down to the next bough, the brutish oaf named Twig twirled his ponderous sword, his mind eslewhwere until he heard the bird’s throaty call yet again. In his well worn boots, Twig carelessly sloshed through puddles, brushing the heavy dew from clumps of emerald bracken hanging over the deeply cut trail. Hurry, Twig! he heard the bird call out. Twig sneered before swinging his blade and lopping the top off a hapless sapling.

Hurry! called the bird more excitedly. Here!

Twig picked up his pace. He followed Flit’s squawking, clamboring through a deep stand of bracken as he searched the trees overhead for the bird. Here! Hurry, Twig! Twig fumbled into a clearing just as a whirl of leaves and black feathers exploded up at his feet. A moment later, Flit stood not as a bird, but as a frail, little boy with dark, messy hair and unkempt clothes. He leapt down to his knees, punching at Twig’s boots and shouting, You dolt! Look what you’ve done! Twig noted the smashed toadstools while scraping them from the soles of his boots with his blade. You woody ox! cried Flit.

They both crawled on their hands and knees, plucking the remaining toadstools and putting them into a sack. When none were left, Twig looked into the sack and frowned.

It’s your fault! exclaimed Flit before shifting back into his avian form and flying off through the trees. Hurry, Twig!

The morning is yet new, grumbled Twig.

Mourning we’ll be if we’re out here all day!

Hurry, hurry, hurry, mocked Twig as he cut down another young tree. They both knew their day would be long. They had picked many toadstools in their frequent ventures into the forest, and each time the search had become more difficult, but their master had willed them to do it and they would not dare disappoint him.

Meanwhile, their friend was having much better luck in her search. She happened upon the unmistakable scent of toadstools wafting through the air. Brighid, you are with me, she exclaimed, turning onto a meandering footpath through a bog. She paused to sniff the air once again, and then she spied a ring of toadstools encircling the rotting remains of a long dead tree. She stepped into the ring and without hesitation began picking them, leaving every other as her master had instructed. She quickly filled her sack and then prepared to meet her two friends for the return home.

But by late day, Flit and Twig had barely half a sackful, so when they stumbled upon the next ring of mushrooms, they decided to pluck them all. Frustrated to see they still needed more, Flit said, We’ve never searched the swamp. Wait here and I’ll have a look.

Frustrated and bored, Twig plopped down on a log, becoming irritated by the increasingly deafening din of chirping frogs as dusk settled. After what seemed an eternity, the raven alit on the log next to him and hopped back and forth excitedly. We’re in luck, Twig. I found a ring!

Twig rose up and followed, trudging through the mud and muck and mercilessly slashing down every tree and shrub in his way. In mud and water up to his knees, Twig managed to cross a meander and finally was up on dry ground where he paused to catch his breath. Flit circled his head, squawking excitedly before transforming into the boy again. Twig joined him on his knees in the circle, grabbing up every one of the mushrooms. Soon their sack was full and they were on their way, singing happily.

Not far from where Twig and Flit had just finished their work lived an elderly hermit, but more than a solitary old man, he was the last of a handful of witches who had survived the Purge and gone into hiding. His name was Feedami, and he took his sustenance by fishing, foraging in the woods, and on very rare occasions, by bartering in the nearby villages. He made his home on a mostly dry islet in the middle of the reed-choked swamp, and whether by magic or luck, no one had ever stumbled upon his hideaway.

He lived in the hollowed out remains of a sacred tree known as Elduir, one of the healing trees of legend. It had survived in the swamp for nearly eleven-hundred years, dying sometime before the Purge. Feedami hoped he would live long enough to die just as peacefully as Elduir, escaping the enemy’s final and fiery judgment. In the pithy remains, Feedami made a floor of woven boughs high enough to escape the spring floods, and to keep out the rain, he wove a pointed roof of reeds as pointed as the hat he wore upon his balding head. Between the knothole windows, he made shelves for storing his many potions and cures, snake skins, dried herbs, and whatever else he thought might be of use one day. His only other possessions were a small knife, a tortoise shell bowl, an iron pot, and a wooden spoon he had carved himself.

During the day Feedami went scavenging, and when the shadows grew long, he sat down at his small fire to make his meal. This evening, his mouth watered as he prepared a fish stew, one of his favorites. His soup pot gently simmering, the hungry hermit sat down on his log seat and began to eat. He found the sound of chirping frogs to be soothing yet sad, for it signaled the coming silence of winter. He took up his first spoonful of stew and savored its delightful aroma before being interrupted by a rustling from somewhere up in the trees. Whatever it was he heard, he vowed it would not be welcome to share in his meal.

The rustling continued for some time, irritating Feedami’s every bite. Finally he had enough and put down his bowl before lifting his spear. With as much terror as he could muster, he leapt up and waved the spear, shouting, Rah! The rustling ceased. Satisfied the intruder had gone, he sat down only to hear it again. Scowling, he peered up into the leafless, autumn boughs where in the flickering light, it seemed every branch moved. Afiste, thirio! Com’i, ina’mirazo’u! he shouted in frustration, demanding the creature go and find its own dinner.

But then he heard a more familiar sound, a sort of giggling along with the faintest beating of wings. He shook his head, wondering what the faeries were up to, but as he was accustomed to their occasional playful chatter, he found them easy to ignore. This night, however, they seemed more mischievous than usual, zipping to and fro just over his head while swatting the fire’s sparks into Feedami’s face and beard. You wicked pixies! he shouted, adjusting his hat. Go away before I eat you too!

Still they continued to pester him, dropping acorns and pebbles into his simmering stew.

Away! Away! he shouted, waving his spear. Stop your giggling and go! Already you have ruined my peace.

When it seemed they had listened, Feedami sat down, nearly crushing a pair of the tiny creatures before they fluttered to the very end of the log and stared up at him with their large and soulful eyes. Feedami sighed and returned to his meal until he heard their chatter. Should you not be out pulling the wings off hapless moths or teasing hungry toads? Are there no noses and toes to be tickled in Davinhart or Dewbri this night?

Not much larger than dragonflies, faeries could be quite noisy when they were flustered. They spoke not with voices, but through the resonance of their wings, and as the two sitting on the log began to chatter again, Feedami had enough. He smacked his bowl down on the log near them. They zipped away and up into the boughs where suddenly a multitude of tiny voices began to drone like a swarm of angry bees. Quiet! shouted Feedami, Leave me in peace! He realized he had overturned his bowl. Angry, he smacked it down upon the log several times to hush the faeries. Instead, he broke his bowl. Curse you faeries! he shouted, throwing the pieces of his bowl into the fire.

Feedami tucked his beard to keep it from the flames, forced to eat his stew directly from the pot, and when the two faeries dared to return and hover just beyond reach, he became irate and threw his spoon. They darted away only to return again. Frustrated, Feedami gave up and went to bed. He climbed the short ladder, propped his spear against the wall, and just as he closed his eyes, he heard them lingering near the doorway, and in the windows, and then in the eaves.

What fool am I to think I’ll have any rest? he lamented.

He sat up and waited until one of the faeries spoke, Help us, witch.

Why?

Two of your kind stole the ring.

My kind? And so that makes me guilty? he asked wryly. Go away. Feedami pulled his cloak over his head and prepared to sleep, but one of the faeries struck his big toe with a sandspur whip. Fike!’ cursed Feedami, kicking and flailing and doing his best to swat the pests. Leave me alone!" To his amazement they left him in peace, and with a sigh of relief he soon fell asleep.

A few days later, one of the faeries returned, her wingbeats as soft and soothing as the strumming of harp strings. She came face to face with Feedami, dressed in the iridescent feathers of a hummingbird, her eyes a brilliant green as captivating as any witch’s spell.

Bristelle, said Feedami, recognizing the faeries’ queen, What brings you here? She drifted near. He could not help but smile as she gazed at him. If all faeries could be as beautiful!

Our ring was stolen to make a poison.

And why is this any of my concern?

You are a witch, Feedami. You will help us.

I have retired my wand, he said with a smirk.

Give us a remedy, she demanded before watching him cross his arms in defiance. You will do nothing?

Nothing, he answered plainly. Now leave me alone. I want no part in your vengeful plot.

Then you would let her die.

Dare I ask?

The child the queen carries in her womb.

Ha! Bitter root, bitter fruit. I told you, I want no part of this. Let them all die!

Only give us the remedy and we will bother you no more, witch.

I won’t risk my life for some godly prince yet born. Leave me alone.

Bristelle scowled before zipping away.

Feedami spent the next few months in peace, and would have forgotten of the faeries’ plight if not forced to eat directly from his iron pot. Each time he burned his fingers or singed his beard, he cursed the faeries, until one day he was surprised to find a new tortoise shell bowl and wooden spoon sitting on the log. A peace offering from the faeries? He filled it with stew, and as he prepared to take his first bite, he sensed Bristelle’s presence.

The child is born, she said.

He went to take another spoonful of stew when the faeries dropped a frog onto his bowl. Curse you faeries! This is war! He threw down his bowl and picked up his spear when suddenly they came down from the trees in a dizzying swarm and attacked, pulling his ears and beard, batting his nose and swatting his toes. He jabbed and swung his spear to no avail, forced to crouch beside the log and shout surrender.

Bristelle called off the attack and went to Feedami, saying, We must have the cure.

Your meddling will only see us all dead!

Ay! cried Feedami as the resentful faeries lobbed fiery embers and pebbles. Stop! he cried. You’ll have your cure.

He went to his hovel and fetched a single thorn. He handed it down to Bristelle and warned, It will leave a mark, and whether the child lives or dies, we will have made an enemy.

A four day ride south of the forest, the crown city of Arnica stood alone on the ragged and dry coastline of an inland sea. Once no more than a Valiant outpost, as trade grew in the region, so did the donjon’s neighboring village and harbor. But with the empire’s sudden and momentous fall, anarchy became the rule of the seas, and after countless pirate raids, the lord who ruled the donjon of Arnica began construction of the village’s first walls. The cliffs were quarried to the south, and after twenty years of hard work, the city was walled on three sides with a gate in the west and the other two walls extending down to the sea with the harbor inbetween.

Well across the plains was another port called Therihs, with a robust navy created to protect the merchants’ ships as they plied the busy Sea of Viticus. Among the realms of the west, Therihs was by far the strongest and most influential. It remained a surviving remnant of Valia intent on maintaining its power, but to do that, Therihs had to somehow prevail over the pirate lords of Martaguss and Valtavia. And so the guilds of Therihs sent an emissary to meet with the Lord Guerrimar of Arnica, proposing an overland trade route joining east and west, thereby avoiding the perilous passage through the pirate strongholds in the south. Exicted by the prospect of increasing his weath, Lord Guerrimar agreed, sending out cavalry patrols to protect the caravans that began utilizing the route.

The new arrangement worked well, so well that the greedy guild lords of Therihs planned to depose Lord Guerrimar and make Arnica their own. But they squabbled over which of them would lead the campaign and who would be charged with overseeing Arnica’s port. The city quickly devolved into chaos, its streets and alleyways scenes for countless public brawls and bloody beatings involving the various factions until the smiths’ guild outsmarted them all by inviting Arnica’s Lord Guerrimar to join them in taking Therihs. With the gates rigged to fail, Lord Guerrimar and his horsemen entered the city unopposed and established their own order in mere days. Though angry, the rest of the defeated guilds capitulated, agreeing to form a working council with each member swearing allegiance to Lord Guerrimar. It was enough to keep the peace and to keep trade flowing.

Stability soon brought wealth to all and extinguished any resentment toward Guerrimar’s power grab. And with his portion of the wealth, Guerrimar hired all the artists and builders he could find in Valia to construct his new palace. He built it high upon the shoulders of the massive donjon in Arnica. When completed, it stood like a temple in the heavens, airy and ornately decorated with slender columns of pink coral, deep and shady loggias, and a broad roof of glazed and glistening green tiles. Guerrimar’s palace shimmered like a beacon on the sea, and because he was no fool, he immediately began reinforcing the city’s defenses. Using the same pink coral, he raised the height of the city walls, harbor and gate towers, and with the leftover rubble, he expanded the harbor with a second seawall.

His city transformed, Guerrimar set about expanding his realm, sending out his armies of horsemen, called gaitsmen, to test the petty lords who ruled in the neighboring lands. One by one, they fell until Guerrimar’s rule extended to the seas in the north and to the mountains in the west. He proclaimed himself first king of Notharedis, a realm to be comprised of nine provinces, each administered by one of his loyal and deserving gaitsmen.

Even after his passing, Guerrimar’s heirs continued to rule through war and strife, but as the sixth king prepared for his youngest son’s marriage, tragedy struck the House of Arnica. A merchant ship drifted into the harbor that winter, bringing with it the coughing sickness, and as the strange illness spread through the population, more than half died including the king and his two eldest sons. Distraught, the queen rode off into the countryside and was never seen again, with rumors she had leapt from the cliffs and into the stormy sea.

Days later, the king died and his grieving son, Eminthell, postponed his wedding to Lady Knell d’Gallapon until the following autumn. It was during this time that rumors began to swirl of a plot to overthrow the young king, but nothing materialized until the day before the wedding when Knell expected her family’s arrival. Standing at the donjon gate, Knell watched as a train of somber horsemen crossed the square, and when she was told the news that her family had been viciously attacked on their trek across the plains and would not arrive for some time, she readied to go out and find them. But the new king objected, asking the horsemen for more details. Afraid of upsetting Lady Knell, one of the men met privately with the king.

Knell, began Eminthell to his betrothed afterward.

Hush. Do not tell me.

Where are you going? he asked.

To find my horse.

I promise we shall go together, but let us go as husband and wife.

He took her hand and reluctantly she followed Eminthell into the donjon and up to the palace where a hasty ceremony was ordered. Her cheeks streaming with tears, Knell married Eminthell in the corridor with the dour-faced statue of Eminthell’s grandfather, Andethell the Wise, as witness. As Eminthell glanced up to the sullen visage of blackest marble, he imagined his ancestor judging his marriage neither approvingly nor with objection.

You will give me time to prove my worth, he said to the statue before joking, Or I shall order the mason chisel a smile upon thy face.

His words brought a smile to his wife’s face, but it would be the last moment of joy for quite some time.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds and their entourage of gaitsmen traveled to Coperfrita, knowing full well they would be attending a funeral. They crossed the plains and traveled up the steep ridge without incident, but as they passed through the hemlock forest, they spied a number of men camped along the north road. Suspicious, Eminthell sent Knell and a few men on to the city while he and the rest went to investigate. To his astonishment, the king recognized one of the men as a cousin, a man he knew from childhood.

Botiguer? he asked.

The king! shouted Botiguer, rousing his men to fight. Zip! An arrow narrowly missed the king’s face as a brief, but bloody fight ensued. Despite their efforts, Botiguer and his men were no match against the gaitsmen, and soon they all lay dead with Botiguer mortally wounded. Eminthell knelt at his side and asked, Why, Cousin? Botiguer died before he could answer, leaving Eminthell to wonder.

Sire! exclaimed one of his men, noticing the slight wound on the king’s arm.

It is nothing.

The man cringed. I fear the arrows were poisoned.

By the time they found a doctor, the king had lost consciousness and two of his gaitsmen had died. Knell remained at her husband’s side for seven long and tortuous days until at last he awoke, and when he felt enough of his strength returned, they paid their respects at the Gallapon family tomb and returned to Arnica. During their journey back across the plains, the king was haunted with thoughts of his own family. Immediately upon arrival, he went alone in the winter fog to the courtyard where he knelt at the tombs of his fathers’, their stone likenesses standing shoulder to shoulder, all great and good. He imagined them alive and wondered the advice each would offer a young and inexperienced king. While he prayed, he noticed someone standing at the gate to his left.

Corbin. Stay with me awhile. The diminutive seer came to stand beside the king, uttering not a word. The king asked, Can you tell me, will I forever linger in the shadow of their greatness?

Corbin looked up to their weathered stone visages and said:

"In the tapestry of time

Tales of valor wend and wind

But threads of deep and brightest hue

Will dull and fade as memories do."

The ab overheard their conversation and shooed the little man away, saying, What would you know of greatness, or anything for that matter? Your ramblings are worthless drivel.

My father found worth in his words, stated Eminthell.

And yet it did nothing to save him.

Nor did my countless prayers to God.

The ab scowled at the seer, causing him to tremble in fear. Sire? asked Corbin.

The king nodded. You are excused. And after the seer had gone, the king turned to the ab and asked, What good tidings have you from Therihs?

The ab frowned. You could have at least waited for me to preside over your wedding, my lord.

No doubt His Grace is unhappy. That seems his normal state these days.

Knell interrupted from the gate. Husband?

Aye, Knell? he asked before noticing the child at her side. He had nearly forgotten about Beatriz, his wife’s niece and only remaining kin. Come and meet the ab, he said, but little Beatriz refused.

I do not bite, assured the ab. Come close, litte one. Still she refused, annoying the king and amusing the ab. As timid as a mouse.

The king shook his head. I hope she finds her courage in years to come, for she is to be the Frits’ duke.

She’s merely weary from the journey, said Knell. I’ll show her up to her new room.

I’ll go with you, said the king, leaving the ab standing alone in the dreary courtyard.

I thought they said she was unruly, whispered one of the servants as she stoked the fire. I haven’t heard her speak once.

What’s to say when your whole family is dead? asked the other servant dolefully. She walked over to the bed where Beatriz was sitting with her little wooden doll. Do you wish me to comb her hair, milady? Beatriz scowled at the servant and hugged her doll close. I was only asking. No need to pout. If you want your doll to look like a little sea hag, who am I to argue? She walked to the door and said, Come, Livi. We have other work.

Livi put down the poker and smiled at the little girl. So good to have you here, milady. In a whisper, she added, Do not be sad. You will have many friends here.

After the two maids left, Beatriz fetched the comb and began untangling her doll’s hair.

Nearly a year passed and Knell was ready to give birth. It had been an uneventful pregnancy up until the final few weeks. Now Knell was bedridden and quite weak, and no one knew why, not even the doctor. It seemed the best medicine was her niece, and so Beatriz was allowed to sit with Knell in bed during the day.

Still won’t speak? asked Knell. I hope when your new cousin arrives, you’ll have found your voice.

On the day Knell would give birth, the cries of her labor frightened Beatriz to leave the room. Her doll in her lap, the little girl hid behind the statue of Andethell at the end of the corridor, hands over hear ears wishing for her aunt’s screams to stop.

What are you doing there? asked Lord Alce when he found her. She quickly scurried to the corner. Don’t worry, he said. The queen will be fine. You will see.

Beatriz heard the agonizing screams once again. Alce rushed to her and lifted her into his arms. As he rocked her, he whispered the soothing words of a poem, one he knew she must have heard before. Indeed they were the same her mother had uttered each night as she lulled Beatriz to sleep. Suddenly the screaming ceased and joyful voices could be heard. And then the cries of a newborn.

You see! exclaimed Alce happily. Let’s go see the baby.

As they prepared to enter the queensted, a servant met them at the door, whispering to Alce. Rather than enter, Alce took Beatriz to her room. He sat down with her on the bed a moment, thankful she asked no questions, but the silence became almost deafening.

Wait here, my lady. I won’t be long, he said before going out the door.

Filled with curiosity, Beatriz went to the door and peered into the corridor. She could see the queensted door where Alce and several anxious servants were gathered and whispering to one another. Beatriz went unseen, standing near. The child is gravely ill, she heard one of them say.

D’ciel! exclaimed Livi when she saw the queen’s niece.

Alce said to Livi, Stay with her, but say nothing.

Together, Livi and Beatriz sat by the fire until like Alce, the silence became too much. Livi noticed Beatriz with her doll at her ear. What is she saying, milady? she asked playfully.

The faeries are coming.

Bells, you’ve found your voice! But what do you mean?

Beatriz shrugged.

Your doll is mistaken, for there are no faeries in Arnica.

Her name is Mum.

Livi smiled. Greetings, Mum. The maid watched as Beatriz put the doll to her ear again.

After a moment, Beatriz said, They are angry and they want to take the baby.

Livi’s mirth vanished. Never say such things, milady, lest they come true.

But that is what Mum says!

Then you must not listen to her.

Why?

Livi tried to take Mum from Beatriz’s hands, saying, I’ll put Mum to bed for now.

Beatriz fought with the maid. Mum is mine! Let go!

Very well. Livi released her grip, But Mum must promise to keep quiet. If not, she will make trouble for us all. Go ahead. Both of you promise.

Beatriz pretended to listen to her doll before nodding. We promise.

Good, said Livi with a sigh of relief.

Later that evening, the queen’s lady, Natille, excused Livi for the night. She sat in the chair beside the fire while Beatriz lay asleep in the nearby bed. As she sat, the thoughts of impending tragedy caused Lady Natille to sob. As she wiped the tears from her eyes, she was startled to see little Beatriz standing at her side.

Why are you crying? asked Beatriz. Did they take the princess?

Natille frowned. Go back to sleep.

Why are you crying?

I’m not crying, she stated, becoming annoyed when Beatriz continued staring. Back to bed!

I cannot sleep.

Then go to bed and keep quiet, she demanded, angrily stoking the fire.

As the embers spit and crackled and the wet log hissed, Beatriz pointed to the fire and said, You will make the pixie angry.

Natille scoffed. To bed, my lady! Hurry, lest you wake the goblins!

Beatriz began toward bed only to jump in fear as a knock came at the door. Natille laughed. You see! Here they come. Hurry into bed!

Beatriz leapt into bed and pulled the sheets to her chin, watching fearfully as Lady Natille opened the door. She saw her whispering to Lord Alce in the dark, and when Natille began to cry, she saw Alce hold her in his arms.

Was it the faeries? blurted Beatriz.

The little bird has found its voice, remarked Alce.

At the wrong time, said Natille.

What does she mean by faeries?

Just a child’s imagination speaking, said Natille before turning to face Beatriz. Remember your promise. Back to sleep, my lady.

The following day, Beatriz was called to visit with the queen. She entered the room and froze in shock when she saw her aunt lying in bed, looking gaunt and weary from too many tears.

Come and sit with me, said Knell, her voice weak and trembling.

Beatriz stood beside the bed. Her aunt reached out and pulled her close, hugging her weakly. Beatriz bowed her head, frightened, daring not to ask about the baby.

It makes me glad to hear your voice. You remind me so much of your mother. I miss her deeply. Knell pulled her niece close.

She is in the box, said Beatriz plainly.

Choking back tears, Knell answered, She is with God in the heavens, Beatriz. Never forget that.

Her little niece shook her head in disagreement. Genny says she is sleeping in the box, the one with the pretty flowers.

Knell smiled through her tears, hugging Beatriz once again. When you are older you will understand.

Did the faeries take your baby?

Knell closed her eyes and turned her head, no longer able to control her emotions. Natille groaned, quickly coming to take Beatriz away. So much for promises, she grumbled, leading Beatriz back to her room.

I only asked..., began Beatriz.

You’ve upset the queen.

Beatriz tugged on the nurse’s arm, saying, We could wake the baby.

The baby is gone, Beatriz. Remember that!

But!

When people go away, they never come back.

But!

And they sleep forever, so say no more.

Beatriz scowled and stomped her foot. You’re lying! And I will tell the faeries to return the baby!

Go and sit on your bed, my lady, and say not one more word.

Pouting, Beatiz did as told, quietly hugging Mum to her chest.

After many months, it became clear the queen was expecting another baby. Knowing how sad the loss of her first child had made her aunt, Beatriz vowed the faeries would not steal this one away. She made certain to tell all of the servants to be on the watch. With smiles, they agreed. And because he kept watch over the corridor both day and night, Beatriz made certain to speak to the kneeling Andethell. She climbed onto the stout pedestal and then onto his cold knee, hugging the statue until she could reach his ear. She whispered her instructions while the sentries looked on, bemused. And when she felt he understood, she climbed back down and nodded.

Standing near, the ab asked, Little one, what is this talk you are having with old Andethell?

Remembering her promise to Natille, Beatriz shrugged.

Prayers should go to God, not idols, he warned. Remember that.

But I don’t want Him to take Tantia, she said, meaning her aunt.

He took her by the hand and reluctantly she stood before him. Let me teach you a prayer. He repeated the simple prayer again and again until she could recite it with him. If you say your prayers enough, he instructed, God will hear and He will help. Now run along. And no more talking to Andethell.

She nodded and walked away, but not before pausing to confront the snickering guards. You will say the prayer as well, she demanded. So with grins, they did, and when she was satisfied, Beatriz went on a hunt through the palace and donjon, pestering the other guards and servants to do the same. But all the prayers were in vain, and it seemed nothing could boost the queen’s health. She gave birth unexpectedly, and too soon for the child to have a chance. The loss weighed heavily on everyone in the palace, most of all Beatriz who felt betrayed. She blamed the guards and servants for failing to say their prayers and she would speak to none of them. And when they would not allow her to enter the queested, Beatriz screamed, upsetting the queen even more. Finally, Lord Alce decided to intervene.

With the king’s blessing, Alce began to spend more of his free time with Beatriz, reading from his most cherished books of poetry. At first, she sat stone-faced, pretending not to listen, but the truth was that she enjoyed his company. He was a rather soft-spoken man and he reminded her of her father; what little she could remember. So one day when he offered to show her the city’s harbor, Beatriz burst with excitement, running to the door.

They walked hand in hand down the long and steep street toward the harbor, passing the simple whitewashed buildings separated by haphazard stairs and alleyways. Filled with glee, Beatriz swung Mum in her free hand, reciting lines of poetry along with Alce. When they were nearly half way down the street, Alce paused and pointed to an alleyway on the left.

Before we go down to see the ships, he said, Let’s go find a new book.

Together they went up the many winding steps in the alley, Alce playfully tugging Beatriz up the few remaining steps when she tired. On their right, where the alley leveled off, they found the nondescript shop, windows shuttered and looking closed. Alce rapped upon the door, and while they waited for an answer, Beatriz noticed the peculiar sign above the door, the representation of an unfurled scroll. And though she could not yet read, the recognized the depictions of winged faeries and asked, Alce, can we find a faerie book instead?

He shrugged. I’ll ask the keeper if she has one.

Beatriz’s eyes lit up. While Alce rapped on the door again, she climbed up on a stool and peered through the shutter slats. Suddenly she gasped, drawing Alce’s attention. He came alongside her and had a peek. What do you see? Is she coming?

I saw a witch!

Alce chuckled and lifted her into his arms. I doubt we’ll find any witches lurking in Arnica.

But I saw her!

Alce glanced through the slats one more time. I don’t see anyone. We’ll come another day.

She’s a witch. I know she will have one.

Alce chuckled again. When we meet her, please do not call her a witch. I don’t think she will like it. He paused before asking, Why is it you wish a faerie book, my lady?

So I can tell the faeries to stay away.

Alce grinned. It is that poem I read. That is what stirred your mind to this.

If I have the book....

They will serve thee.

They will do whatever I say. They will stay away.

Alce smiled. Come along.

Once they were down in the small but busy harbor, the sat on the rocky, natural ledge alongside the wharf and watched all of the strange and wonderful things being carried off the galleys. To Beatriz, everything seemed strange. There were foreign sailors and merchants and busy workers everywhere, coming and going with carts and burros loaded with even stranger things. The smells were wonderful, and in the next moment offensive. She pinched her nose and closed her eyes, dreaming of the witch and her faerie books.

You’ve had enough of this for one day, said Alce, taking her by the hand.

Can we go to the shop now, Alce? The witch might be there.

No witch, remember. And I think it is time we returned to the palace.

But!

We can visit another day.

Beatriz frowned, gazing longingly at the alleyway as they passed up the street.

But as the days and weeks passed, the shop remained closed. Alce assumed the keeper was away, possibly in one of Therihs’ many far-flung emporia searching for more books and oddities. Beatriz begged to visit the shop, but Alce assured her it was closed. Still she persisted, and so on one of their excursions to the wharf, he acquiesced.

Beatriz peered through the slats, and just as before, she saw nothing.

I know you wish a book, my lady....

The faerie book!

Aye, the faerie book, and so when the store is open again, I will find you that book. I promise.

Weeks turned to months, and the longer Beatriz waited, the more she pestered Alce.

When she returns, I promise to take you there, he said to Beatriz.

Beatriz crossed her arms and pouted.

A gaitsman never lies.

Then you promise to go every day and look?

If that is your wish, my lady.

It is.

Then I shall do it.

Beatriz waited as patiently as she could, but as her aunt’s belly grew, she worried that yet another child would be stolen. When she saw that Natille’s attention was elsewhere, Beatriz cuddled close to her aunt in bed and whispered, When Alce brings the book, I will send them away.

Who? asked the frail queen.

The faeries.

Knell caressed her stomach and said, Grat’u, Beatriz, thanking her.

Natille noticed the quiet conversation and asked, What worries are you pouring into the queen’s ear, my lady?

Nothing.

Knell smiled and said, She is worried the fays will come.

Natille shook her finger. You broke your promise.

Beatriz sucked in her lips and looked at the nurse sheepishly.

Come. Let the queen rest, said Natille, but Beatriz refused to leave her side.

Let her stay, said Knell. I enjoy her company.

Very well, my lady. She turned her attention to Beatriz and warned, If I see one tear fall from the queen’s eye, you will be forbidden to enter this room again. Do you understand?

Beatriz nodded.

Just as they had done two times previously, the strong men pried the great stone aside to reveal the tomb. The prince, wrapped in a shroud of blue, was delivered by his grieving father into the dank space within while the ab and his small company of priests remained out in the courtyard dutifully singing their melancholy prayer in the pouring rain. Eminthell gently placed his dead son into a niche alongside the remains of the other two. As was custom, he asked his ancestors to guide his son’s spirit before stepping out to stand in silence alongside the priests as the tomb was sealed. The king turned and began toward the gate, the rain masking the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Sire? begged Elligius. Will you not say the prayer with us?"

Not this time, Elligius, for it would not be in good faith.

Elligius rushed to join the king and together they went up to the palace and sat silently in the damp and shadowy loggia of the king’s apartment. Eminthell looked out to the balustrade where dozens of seabirds had perched to escape the rain. They all seemed so miserable huddled together with heads tucked, but not nearly as miserable as the king.

Do you believe I am cursed? he suddenly asked Elligius.

Why would you ever think that, my lord?

I hear whispers in my dreams which at first I believed were the voices of my ancestors offering words of comfort, but last night, the whispers turned to angry shouts.

Not to worry. They are only dreams.

Nah, Elligius. They are the bitter voices of Awen willing the living to make amends.

Then they are but ghosts banished by God and there is nothing you can do to allay their torment.

But I feel it in my heart that I must do something.

A trick of Awen, scoffed the ab. The mischief of witches who want for our ruin. If you must do something, let it be to God’s honor. Pay these villainous voices no heed.

In the pause, they both heard a voice, soft and distant.

It is Knell, whispered the king anxiously. Go. We will talk another time.

Elligius left the kingsted while Eminthell went alone to stand in the doorway of the connecting room. In the gloom, he saw that his wife was dreaming, and so he went to lie down at her side. His gentle touch woke her.

Husband, she said in a breathless and weak voice.

He brushed the hair from her eyes. You were dreaming.

Why has this happened, Eminthell? she sobbed. Why can I not bear you a prince?

Rest, Knell, and worry not.

But....

He put his finger to her lips to hush her and said, To have you as my wife is enough. He wiped away her tears and kissed her gently.

She touched her hand to his beard and whispered, Do not leave me.

What do you mean?

Promise me.

He nodded, praying she would do the same. He saw that she was indeed frail, and he could not bear the thought of losing her. He held her close and said, Sleep, Knell. I am here.

Knell’s health hardly improved over the next several weeks. She was like a ghost of herself, like a beautiful flower bitten by autumn’s frost. And indeed it was in the air. Eminthell worried of the coughing sickness’s return, knowing how easily his wife would succumb. In the evenings before bed, he prayed in the courtyard at his fathers’ feet. But no answers came, and the garbled and angry voices which invaded his dreams continued. Delirious from countless sleepless nights, he woke the ab one evening with a desperate knock at his door.

Lord Emithell, said Elligius. The hour is rather late.

The whispers, Elligius. I fear I shall lose my mind.

Elligius bade the king to sit by the fire. Tell me. What do these voices say?

That what I love most shall be stolen from me. I can’t lose her, Elligius. I won’t! There must be something I can do.

Where is the seer?

Gone to Davin.

Good.

My father trusted his guidance.

And where is he now?

Corbin is not to blame for his death, Elligius. Surely you know this. And he is not the cause of these voices in my head.

When he returns, will you allow me to speak with him?

If I do, you must swear to cause him no dismay.

Verily. I give you my word.

Good enough. But I don’t see how that will help.

Leave that worry to me.

Eminthell nodded. He joined the ab in a brief prayer before returning to bed only to find that Knell was not there. He glanced out to the balustrade and saw her in her gown of white, like a ghost in the moonlight. His relief was only momentarily, for he suddenly remembered how his own grieving mother had ended her life. Quickly he rushed out and took her into his arms, saying, You’re weak, Knell. You shouldn’t be out here alone.

I’m feeling much stronger. She breathed in the cool air and sighed, asking, Isn’t the night beautiful.

Aye.

Sit with me, Husband, and we will enjoy it together.

So together they watched the moon as it rose above a halcyon sea.

Was that Corbin? she asked.

Aye

Before he left, he came to me with words of good fortune.

And what were these words?

She kissed her husband upon the neck and whispered, Sleep with me this night.

You need your rest, Knell.

I need my husband. He began to speak, but she put her fingers to his lips and hushed him.

My heart is yours, Knell, but I fear of....

Of being alone, she finished. And I am lonely without you.

What did he say to you?

That I shall give you an heir, she said with a lilt in her voice, neglecting to tell her husband the rest of what she had been told. But Corbin’s words still echoed in her mind: The hereafter remains neither clear nor fair, yet to the king you shall bear an heir.

Good words, indeed, he said, sounding unconvinced.

And yet you seem worried.

With a sigh, he admitted sending Corbin to speak with the ab.

But why? she asked, knowing how much the ab despised the seer. Then she guessed, The voices you hear. I pray you’ve not sent him to his doom.

Elligius wished to ask a few questions; that is all. Don’t worry, Knell. Corbin yet has my favor.

And does he know that for certain? she asked, seeming miffed."

I’ll make certain of it tomorrow. He kissed her and held her hands. She felt warm and alive again, further easing the king’s worry. He looked up to the night sky, saying to his wife, If only I held such power, I would offer thee every light in the heavens, my darling Knell.

I wish only for thee.

Elligius sat alone staring into the fire, a devious grin upon his face. He had heard the seer’s returning and knew he would be along momentarily. He heard the knock. Enter. The door slowly creaked open and the diminutive man appeared, timid and stricken with fear. Elligius felt like a cat with a mouse. Come and sit with me.

Corbin obeyed, hopping up into a chair beside the ab. Because he was of such small stature, Corbin’s feet barely dangled over the edge and he quickly felt the fire’s heat on the soles of his shoes. Elligius noticed his discomfort but did nothing to ease it.

Hot, said Elligius, and as he put his hand near the flames, he added, But not so much as a bonfire, I would think.

Corbin’s whole body seemed to catch fire with the ab’s remark. He went stiff before his whole body began trembling.

You seem fearful.

Corbin grimaced, tugging at his collar. It is rather h-hot, Your Grace.

Elligius handed the little man a cup of wine. Perhaps this will help. As the seer’s nervously gulped it down, Elligius said, The king believes the queen may be suffering from some witch’s mischief.

The k-king does not think I am t-to blame, Your Grace?

Elligius shrugged and poured Corbin another cup of wine. That is not for me to say. I am merely doing his will by asking a few questions.

I would never h-hurt the king. Corbin gulped the wine. Beads of sweat formed upon his brow and it seemed he might faint at any moment. Elligius smiled slyly, placing