Of Thorns and Hexes

By C.J. Canady

A dark fantasy with a tragic ending and a hint of horror, "Of Thorns and Hexes" redefines gothic fantasy and offers a fresh take on the fantasy novels of old.

In the town of Yardenfeld, Elyse Allium lives a miserable life. Residing with her wicked mother, she slaves away at the local tavern in the hope that she can save enough gold to make it on her own and leave the town behind forever. However, when her mother announces that she will be marrying a horrible man, and is pregnant with his child, Elyse realizes she doesn't have enough time to prepare. During her last shift at the tavern before she plans to run away, she is approached by a strange woman, a witch name Vahilda.

Vahilda tells Elyse that she too is a witch and gives her an opportunity to leave Yardenfeld. But when Elyse declines her offer, Vahilda gives Elyse a warning that she will die the following day. The next morning, Elyse is preparing to run away when she is attacked by her soon-to-be stepfather. In a panic, she kills him, using powers she had never been aware of. But it's too late, and Elyse is set to be executed that night. Before she can be killed, Elyse takes Vahilda's offer, signing a blood oath. From there, she is brought to Parnissi, where she will be trained by Vahilda for the Flower Trials. But Vahilda is not truly a friend and has an evil plan that will bring about the end of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.J. Canady
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393799535

Book preview

Dedication

To all the Dreamers:

Leave that which no longer serves you. Run! Run! Run!

Run, run, run as fast as you can towards your dream.

Chapter 1

I WAS BORN IN A BED of thorns, which is why I have such a prickly disposition. That’s what my mum tells me every time I give her a piece of my mind. She says I’m just like her parents, who reminded her daily of her failures as a woman and mother. I’m her greatest failure, though. She doesn’t tell me outright, yet I see it in her emerald eyes every time she looks at me. The sum of all things wonderful she could’ve done with her life stopped when she had me. I didn’t ask to be here, to be the cause of ruin for all her hopes and dreams.

But... I’m here. Nothing more I can do besides exist. Right...?

I’m planning on running away soon, to escape my mum’s awful reign over my life, to feel the wind against my face as I run and run and run. However, I think my mum is thinking about the same thing. Not so much as running away, but leaving me behind when she remarries. That’s if Igbob ever pops the question. If all else fails, she has over five pounds of gold hidden in an old tin can high atop a shelf in our shared bedroom. I have my own secret stash stuffed behind a loose brick on the side of our cottage. It’s not nearly as much as what she has, but it’ll keep me afloat for a month and a half.

All I know is, I want to be the first to get the hell out of Yardenfeld before she dares to take a step across the border.

Mum had dreams of being a dancer. She moved from her small town where nothing ever happened and came to the city where all things are possible. Instead of living her dream, mum forgot the essentials of moving to a big city like Yardenfeld—gold. In her haste to escape her overbearing parents, she ran away from home with only a few golds to buy her a loaf of bread and some tea. Desperation flooded through her when she tried to find work, but no one would hire a woman with no education or experience. So, she did the one thing she never thought she’d do: have relations with men from various social classes. Her favorite were the wealthy men. Her least favorite were the poor men whose wives never properly satisfied them.

To this day, my mum believes I am the product of one of the poor men she gave herself to. Says that my skin wouldn’t be so dark and muddy, and my teeth wouldn’t be crooked if I were of a wealthy man’s seed. She says that no man would find me attractive because of my naturally full lips, broad nose, and dull brown eyes.

Though her words are harsh, and I’ve cried hundreds of times because she can be so cruel, she’s never told me a lie. Never sugar coated anything to warp the truth about how the world really sees me. I’m hideous. Men don’t look twice in my direction like they do when they see my mum.

Mum is a vision. Despite the hardships she’s faced all her life, she always keeps a smile on her face. Well, in public, that is. At home, she never smiles at me, not once. Not ever.

All the men at the tavern fawn over her because she has a light about her that is ever-so beguiling. Ever-so magnetic. Even now, as she tends to the tables of numerous horny men who stare ravenously at her cleavage, she is the star of Taffy’s Tavern. The woman all the men who slave away at their day jobs come to see.

You fellas are in for a treat, my mum says, twirling a strand of her bone-straight, brown hair around her pink manicured finger. She wears a one-of-a-kind ruby red bliaut, of which she crafted herself. The neckline plunges so severely; I am worried her chest will spill out at any given moment. Her face is well done, black eyeshadow making her green eyes pop like jewels, cheeks stained red like her lips that she uses to plant a kiss on the cheeks of multiple patrons. They go nuts for that.

As you all know, she continues, prances around the Tavern, I am a model, actress, and songstress. She pauses for applause, bats her eyelashes. And today, unfortunately, is my last day of work here at Taffy’s.

I nearly trip over my feet as I balance a tray of empty glass tankards in my hands. Did she say this is her last day? A little warning would be nice, yet that would’ve been far too grand of a gesture to tell her only child that she’s leaving me behind.

Not unless I leave first.

But where would I go? I hadn’t decided on any of that yet. I haven’t mapped out what I’m going to do besides run and run and run. I’ve been biding my time here at work, saving what I can away from my mother’s view. I didn’t think everything would happen so suddenly. Did Igbob propose? Did he finally give in to my mum’s plea to be a wife?

Inspecting my mum’s left hand as she tries to silence the jeering crowd of men, who are upset that she is departing Taffy’s, I don’t find a hint of a ring on her finger. Not even a glimmer of a diamond. She’d be the one showing off her ring to all the so-called jealous women because Igbob is a very wealthy man.

I don’t think he’s as wealthy as he says he is. For one, my mum has never visited or stayed the night at Igbob’s supposed mansion. Igbob is always at our cottage, eating our food and lounging on the sofa with a bottle of rum in his hands. If mum ever needs alone time with him, she sends me out of the house for hours, sometimes days. When that happens, I pick up extra shifts at Taffy’s to add to my growing collection of gold.

Like today, I’m supposed to be off and enjoying a lovely book by the hearth, but Igbob is home and sloshed out of his mind.

Don’t you worry, mum continues. She stands in the center of the Tavern and climbs atop the bar with the help of a drunken patron. My replacement is just as fabulous and beautiful as I am. Swishing her finger in my direction, she points at me. Elyse.

Y-Yes? I’m frozen in place like a statue. Everyone turns to stare at me; some make grossed-out faces. Others squint at me and scratch their head, judging my gravity-defying crown of curly hair, my threadbare dress covered in grease stains, and my scuffed boots. I’m just as shocked and confused as everyone else until mum flicks her eyes to one side, telling me to move. Skedaddle.

A gust of winter’s breeze sweeps through the tavern door behind me as Belinda strides inside. Belinda is breathtaking. Her tight, honey-brown curls frame her diamond-shaped face and accentuate her full, black-stained lips. She wears a leather corset that hugs her curves so tight, her ribs jut out, black stocking that glitter like stars in the tavern candlelight, and high heels I’d break my ankles in.

Her silver eyes scan the crowd of lusty onlookers as she smiles. Hello, boys, her alluring voice drives the men into a frenzy of hoots and hollers. I’m Belinda, and I could use a wet one. She winks and touches a hand to her cheek sensually.

Mum beckons Belinda to the bar top. Let’s give them a show!

Belinda happily obliges, hoists herself onto the bar top with the effortlessness of a twenty-something-year-old, and strikes a modelesque pose.

My mum and Belinda begin to dance while the drunkards sing an old tune called Mountain Gal. I’ve heard it far too many times that I’m inclined to sing along because the song is just that darn catchy. If I had a gold piece for each time Mountain Gal was sung, I’d be a rich woman.

Goin’ up the Mountain to see my Mountain gal. Goin’ up the Mountain to steal a little a kiss. Goin’ up the Mountain to have an ale and piss...

Humming the tune to myself while pushing through the crowd of rowdy men who insist on standing, I plant the tray of grungy tankards near the dish station at the back of the Tavern. A battered bucket of lukewarm, sudsy water at the edge of the long wooden table is dirtied with remnants of uneaten food scraps and stained a touch yellow from a sloppy drunk idiot who urinated in it.

The braided handles on the sides of the bucket dig into my palms as I lift it off the table. Slowly, I inch for the backdoor, careful not to spill the water of gunk, and kick the ragged door open that leads to the back alley of Taffy’s.

Winter’s wrath is ice cold against my skin, barreling through the backdoor like a bat out of the underworld, desperate for the warm reprieve Taffy provides. Shuddering, I ready to tip the bucket when something fuzzy snakes around my exposed legs. Yelping, I lose my grip on the bucket. It falls to the cobblestone ground and, with a crack, splits in half like an egg, spilling water down the alleyway and into the drain.

Stupid cat! I hiss, whirl around to glare at the feline that’s chosen Taffy’s as a spot to peruse for the last week and a half.

The black cat’s yellow, serpent-like eyes blink at me, tail swishing as it pads to me. Rubbing its cold nose against me, the cat mewls at me as if to say sorry. Or what I hope is a sorry because that destroyed bucket will come out of my paycheck.

Avery’s going to kill me.

What the heavens was that?

Just as I feared, Avery, the owner and operator of Taffy’s Tavern, peeks at me from over the bar while simultaneously pouring drinks back-to-back. Her cherub-like face, weary with age and stress, glowers at me. She whistles for Edward, the bartender who just went on break, to help take over. Edward, leaning against a wall near the stove to warm himself, chews on a slice of bread and sighs. He rolls his eyes and plods over to the bar; glaring eyes fixed on me for causing trouble.

I mouth sorry to him and hang my head. He’s never liked me; he said I was always clumsy and slow at my job. But that’s the least of my worries right now. Avery storms over to me, arms tightly folded along her bosoms. Her pear-shaped body jostles the crowd of men aside, her hips knocking some patrons on their haunches.

What have you done now, Elyse? She asks over the din, jaw taut. She gathers her loose salt and pepper hair that hangs at her shoulders and ties it into a ponytail. Her attention is drawn to the cat, the creature’s head nestled on the toe of my boot. Your little friend is not welcome here.

He’s not mine, I say, wiggling my foot, bobbing the cat’s head up and down. The cat stirs, yawns, exposes its fang, and missing front teeth. Shoo, you. I swoosh my hand at the pest. It regards me with slit eyes, then rushes into the tavern at light speed.

If he breaks anything, Avery says through grit teeth, It’s coming out of your pay.

I need every last gold piece I can horde if I plan to run for the hills, escape to freedom. Though I’ve never been to prison, I have always felt like a prisoner of Yardenfeld. Thank the Goddess. Since I was hired as a server girl here at Taffy’s, my ultimate goal has always been to escape this life. I’ve been working here for the last five years, busting my tail with no end in sight. No light at the end of the tunnel. To find that light, I’ve got to run. Flee. Escape while I can. Mum will not leave me high and dry in that ratty cottage we call home.

I’ve got to leave soon.

Tomorrow?

Tonight?

Now?

The backdoor is still ajar, allowing the blistering winds to freely roam the tavern like that darn cat who’s lost amongst the throng of inebriated men.

I hope you didn’t throw out that perfectly good water. Avery shoves me away with her left hip and snatches up the bucket in one go.

Water sloshes inside of the bucket, crystal clear water without a hint of contamination. That’s strange. Just a moment ago,