The Witch's Box: Part 1 - Capture

By Kim J Cowie

Imperial Princess Maihara finds life becoming overly interesting as rebels and their barbarian allies attack the Western capital, and she is first accused of witchcraft by her people, then held hostage by a handsome rebel general. Magic exists in this world, and seems connected with the relics of an ancient and atvanced culture. The magic can only be exploited by those people who have a certain genetic heritage, and have the required knowledge. Maihara's attempts to use her magic has both useful and dangerous results. Her ultimate ambition is to become Empress, but many obstacles stand in her way. Part 1 of 2

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim J Cowie
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005093808

Kim J Cowie

Kim Cowie has worked as a technician and as a technical author, and has sold articles to non-fiction magazines, as well as two short stories. Kim has always enjoyed reading and writing SF and fantasy stories. Currently he is working on a series of fantasy novels.Kim was included in the June 2017 list of "14 Exciting New Authors to Try Over the Summer" on the SFFChronicles forum.

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The Witch's Box part 1

by Kim J Cowie

Copyright 2019 Kim J Cowie

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, real events, locations, or organisations is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Kim J Cowie 2019

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

DEDICATION

To my late parents, with love

OTHER BOOKS BY KIM J COWIE

The Plain Girl's Earrings

Deadly Journey

The Witch’s Box (part 2)

The Golim War

Dark Tides

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With special thanks to Gil Harriss and Chris Kershaw, whose comments and suggestions helped to greatly improve this novel.

Thanks also to beta readers Ashby Bailey, Sue B, TAG, John G, Chris S and L M deWit for their encouraging and often enthusiastic comments.

And to the many CC forum critiquers who suffered through earlier versions of this story.

Witch’s Box series maps at kimjcowie.com

The Witch’s Box part 1

CHAPTER ONE

A younger Princess Maihara receives a fateful present.

With excited hands, Maihara tore the layers of coloured paper wrapping that hid her birthday present. The paper was printed with bright patterns enticing to a child’s eyes. The other presents sent to her room had been labelled as gifts from her father, younger brother and sister. This one bore no label to indicate the sender, yet it had found its way to her room, a fussy place of drapes, bulky padded furniture and worn red carpets, high up in the juvenile wing of the Imperial Palace at Calah.

From the inner layer of wrapping she extracted a small black box fashioned from cunningly jointed ironwood, an exotic and dense material. It had no visible lid or catch or hinge, but when she pressed at where a catch might lie it sprang open at her touch.

Inside was a slip of paper sealed with a blob of red wax, and below that several rolled and flattened scrolls. Below the scrolls a bright mirror lay in a nesting of red velveteen.

She made a face and pushed the box aside. The box was weird, and she’d hoped for some jewelled ornament she could wear now that she was fourteen.

She broke the seal on the note and peered at the crabbed black handwriting.

‘You are a descendant of the Vimrashan witch-queens. Guard this box with care, and learn your words of power.’

What? Maihara stared at the note, and at the items she had taken out of the box. Besides the mirror lay a shiny black stone and seven scrolls marked with difficult old lettering, two of them inscribed in a language she couldn’t read. One of the vellum scrolls had come undone. She unrolled it and read words written in faded old-fashioned script, words that said something about the spirit of a magician.

Was this a joke? But the objects looked old and worn, not a suitable present for a princess.

People whispered that her mother had been of Vimrashan blood, and even a witch. Remarks she overheard made it clear that being a witch was disreputable, shameful, even feared. She had loved her mother. Tears dampened her eyes. This was not funny at all.

A footfall sounded in the corridor. The maids would be coming soon to fit her into her new party dress. Guard this box with care, the note said. With a shiver of fear she jerked open a dressing-table drawer and hid the dark box and scrolls under coloured silk scarves.

The door of her room flung open and her sister Sihrima bustled in. Two years younger than herself, Sihrima was skinny with freckled cheeks and with dark hair like Maihara’s but less curly. Most people thought Sihrima had a prettier face.

What’s that? Sihrima asked. Another present?

Some weird thing, Maihara said, caught off guard. She folded the sheet of note-paper to discourage Sihrima from reading it.

Sihrima snatched it and frowned as she tried to read the faded script. Vimrashan witch-queens? Maihara’s a witch!

No I’m not. Maihara made a lunge and retrieved the note. It’s somebody’s idea of a mean joke. Now clear off.

Sihrima smirked and stuck out her tongue. Witch.

Maihara grabbed her sister, hugged her for a moment and bundled her out of the door. Out! I have to change.

In the darkest curtained recess of her bedroom lurked a metal-bound chest where she stored her most personal things, asides from her shelf of precious books. She crammed the scrolls back into the ironwood box and shut it, the lid seam once more invisible. Pulling out some items to make room, she thrust the box into the bottom of the chest, under discarded toys and dressing-up clothes.

The torn wrapping paper and outer box lay beside a small, battered doll she could not bring herself to throw out. It was carved from wood, painted in natural colours, with glued-on hair and tiny garments. She was a little old to play with dolls, now strange and embarrassing things were happening to her body. It was changing and filling out from that of a child to that of a young woman. She missed her mother, who would come to her bedside during her childhood illnesses and reassure her that she would recover.

The maids arrived and dressed her in a new red dress, a creation of layers, ruffs and flounces in lace and velvet, embroidered and sewn with pearls, that hid her puppy-fat. She descended to the floor below where her teenage ladies-in-waiting ooed and aahed over the dress. The ladies took over from her maids and escorted the birthday princess along corridors with moulded ceilings, hung paintings and woven carpets into the next wing, where they descended a grand double-bow staircase, crossed a marble floor and finally entered the Great Hall, lit by daylight from above. The hall had originally been a courtyard, but Maihara’s great-grandfather had covered it with a part-glazed roof. By night it was lit by a score of chandeliers. A noise of hundreds of voices greeted her as she entered a space decorated with ribbons, the walls a riot of gilded carving. Long tables were set with white cloths, patterned crockery and silvered cutlery, and servants bustled to and fro with platters of cake and confectionery, and bottles of wine.

As she made her entrance, announced at the double doors by a herald, guests and family applauded. Nobles in elaborate, brightly coloured robes and gowns, sparkling with jewels, lined the two long sides of the room. Her father, the Emperor Cordan, fourth of the Zircon dynasty, sat on the raised dais at the far end. He was almost bald, with a brown forked beard and long moustache, now sprinkled with grey. He wore layers of robes of sober colours, all embroidered with significant designs and trimmed at the edges with silver braid. On his head he wore a simple circlet of gold with a few jewels in it, as if to show that he did not need the kind of overstated crown that mere kings wore.

The noble guests stepped aside, smiling and applauding as she made her way through the hall past the tables laden with party delicacies. At the top was a polished table with gilded legs. Maihara was to stand by it and receive gifts from nobles seeking favour with the Imperial Family. Young princesses didn’t get to sit in the Imperial presence.

Soon, she stood by the table, graciously receiving wrapped gifts as guests brought them up. The first sycophant in line was announced as the Count of Debrish, and handed over a package wrapped in red glittery paper. Maihara thanked him courteously and handed over the present to a servant who opened it and displayed the contents to the crowd. It was a blue dress covered in spangly ornament, and she suspected it would not fit her. She complimented the giver, before liveried servants folded the dress and took it away. The next gift was a fine doll in court costume, followed by a live and brilliantly plumaged bird in a silvered cage, a brooch that glittered enough to make her eyes hurt, and a small keyboard instrument with an inlaid case. She would rather have been given some rare books.

Her father leaned forward in his throne-like seat and spoke to her in a voice tinged with formality rather than warmth. Are you pleased with your gifts, daughter? His tone toward her had been a bit cooler of late.

Maihara looked up, catching a glimpse of a triumphalist allegorical ceiling painting over the Emperor’s throne. Yes, Your Grace, very pleased. She made a curtsy.

Sihrima, now in a more formal dress, chose this moment to run up to the throne. The Emperor gave an indulgent smile. Encouraged, Sihrima announced, Father, Maihara got a weird present delivered to her room. A witchy present. The note says she’s a Vimrashan.

Maihara was all too aware that her sister’s clear voice was carrying to the nearer part of the glittering crowd. She already knew what the court thought of Vimrashans. It struck a raw nerve.

I am not! she shouted back.

The sound of chatter in the hall hushed as her voice echoed from the roof. Her father’s head jerked around and he glared at her. The guests made nervous titters. Everyone in the hall must have heard her shouting in a most un-demure and unladylike manner. A heat of embarrassment warmed her body.

Who has been filling your head with this vile nonsense? Cordan demanded in a harsh voice that frightened her. She had never before heard him speak to members of his family in this tone. She recoiled, unsure which princess was being addressed.

We don’t have any such foul creatures in our house, her father said, in a low voice. Go to your room at once.

But - Sihrima bowed her head. The servants hustled her out of a side door.

Maihara took a breath, and called for the next present, anxious to restart the proceedings before her father banished her as well. Cordan glared, but did not intervene as another noble advanced with a fixed smile, holding out a fancily wrapped package. Instead, her father beckoned to one of his courtiers, and when the man approached the throne, gave him brief instructions Maihara could not hear.

Her heart beat fast with the shock. Everything had been fine till Sihrima mentioned the Vimrashan witch-queens, when her father had turned in an instant from indulgent father to angry Emperor.

With the present-giving completed, Maihara circulated with her ladies-in-waiting among the guests, accepting birthday wishes and compliments on her red dress. The guests were helping themselves to finger-foods from the tables and accepting glasses of pale wine from servants. Maihara caught several nobles staring at her in an odd way.

Young Lady Amarin, one of Maihara’s teenage ladies-in-waiting and companions, leant over and whispered in Maihara’s ear. What was your sister talking about?

She was just being annoying, as usual, Maihara whispered back.

What a pest she is, Your Grace.

With a heavy heart, Maihara returned to her room, where the maids took off the party dress, changing it for a plainer everyday outfit. She wiped away a tear. As soon as she finished changing, a firm knock came at the door of her dressing room.

One of the maids answered, admitting a thin-faced man clad in a hooded jacket stitched with the number 5, and dark trousers.

The newcomer faced her. Your Grace, the Emperor has charged the Imperial Fifth Bureau to investigate. You have received a note?

Yes, Maihara managed.

May I see it, please?

In her haste, she had forgotten to put the note back in the box. She picked it up and saw only a blank sheet of thick, pink-tinted paper with a crease across it. She turned it over. Still blank. This was very odd. The writing had disappeared. That made it more likely the self-sealing box was magic, and so were its odd contents.

Wordlessly, she handed the unsealed note to the agent.

This is blank.

It is now. It faded.

The agent seemed to accept this. Anything else come with it?

With it? Guard this box with care, the note had said. If that box had any connection to her mother, witchy or otherwise, she had no intention of giving it up. But they’d assume the note came in some package. Her eyes shifted to the left, where the wrapping and doll lay.

With a swift movement, the agent picked up the doll and turned it over in his hands. Did this come with it?

Yes, she said in a low voice. The lie came easily.

Wrapped in what?

That wrapping.

The agent gathered up the wrapping in which the box had come. Cheap, he said as if to himself. We’ll deal with this.

He turned back to her. Did you see who delivered this?

No, I didn’t.

When did you discover it?

She had to think. It would be safer to approximate the truth. Around the eleventh hour of the morning.

And at what earlier time was it definitely not here?

She glanced at his ill-favoured face. When I got up, I suppose.

So how did it arrive unseen by you?

I went to bathe and be dressed.

And it was here on your return?

I assume so.

What do you mean, Your Grace? Either it was or it wasn’t.

Several presents had arrived while I was out of the room.

The agent persisted with more questions to Maihara and the maids before he gave up and left.

What a nasty man, the youngest maid said after the door closed.

Hush, the second maid said. He’s only doing his job.

Soon, Maihara found herself escorted along corridors, past guest chambers, past function rooms adjoining the Great Hall, and through a metal-bound door into the so-called Fort, a castle-like tower attached to one end of the palace. Nowadays the Fort was used as a guardhouse. She was escorted into a distinctly utilitarian room, with a stone floor, walls of green-painted brick, and lit by a slit window with a metal bar across it. A set of partitioned shelves filled with papers occupied one wall.

Two men in tight-fitting, dark Fifth Bureau uniforms sat at a scuffed wooden table. They had cropped hair and hard-looking faces. They questioned her further about her magical Vimrashan present. Their manner, respectful but serious, confirmed her impression that Vimrashans and magic were discouraged as dangerous and anti-Imperial.

To Maihara’s relief, nobody mentioned a box, as if her sister had not read that far or had only seen the rough outer pinewood box. It seemed they had not found out how the mystery package got among the other presents.

You may be wondering why we’re investigating this, Your Grace? said one. A law was enacted after the fall of the last of the Vimrashan witch-queens, barring any female of the Imperial line from practising the dark arts.

A chill shivered down her spine.

She deduced that they had already questioned Sihrima. Your sister confirmed that the vellum had writing on it, one of the agents said. But it’s blank now. That suggests magic.

Or light-sensitive ink, said the other agent.

And there’s that nasty-looking doll, said the first agent. You have no idea who could have sent this?

Maihara shook her head. This might have something to do with her dead mother, who had died in childbirth when Maihara was seven, but she dared not ask.

Please tell his Grace or ourselves if you receive anything else, said the first agent. We’ll dispose of these evil things.

A small fire burned in a grate at one side of the room. The agent turned and thrust the wrappings, the vellum and the doll into the flames. The doll’s dress and painted face smoked and darkened before flaring into flame.

Maihara allowed herself a moment of sadness. Animosity against the agents stirred in her. She had liked that doll, however grown-up she felt herself to be. It had come to her while her mother was alive.

Maihara later had the satisfaction of learning that Sihrima had received a scolding for unseemly behaviour at a grand function.

Next day, Maihara was summoned to her father’s private study, a room furnished with masculine restraint, lined with bookshelves and decorated with several ornate brass-faced clocks. Odd mechanisms littered a side table. Her father regarded her with a cold eye and rebuked her for unladylike shouting. You’re starting to look and sound like your mother.

Why was it bad to be like her mother? Surprise and indignation stirred in her, but she lowered her head. This was the Emperor Cordan speaking.

I’m sorry, Father, I’ll try to do better in future.

An Imperial Princess should always behave with dignity.

Yes, Father. Anything to appease him and get me out of here.

Back in her room, Maihara reflected that her father must have been angry with her mother, over the rumours of her being a witch. If she looked like her mother, maybe that was why her father treated her with little warmth. But Maihara had no reason to think that she herself was a witch. It was so unfair. It made her all the more determined to keep the box hidden and investigate its magical contents further when it was safe.

CHAPTER TWO

Three years later:

Imperial Princess Maihara was not pleased with her tutor. Why do we have to study this dusty dead language? She thrust a thick book across the scarred desk-top with an irritated gesture, knocking a pen to the floor. There’s a war going on out there.

Maihara’s chaperone, a young woman dressed in sober dark colours, looked up from her stitching.

Outside the schoolroom window, beyond the descending rows of tiled roof-tops, beyond the city wall, troops were digging in on fields of green crops. The flat Calah plain stretched to a hazy horizon. Beyond that horizon were more plains, and beyond them lay hills, small cities, rivers and the forested north. She had never been there, and now that war had swept over them they were unreachable. Instead she was confined to this dull palace.

Maihara eyed Tutor Demophon across the schoolroom table. An ill-favoured young man with freckles and sandy hair, wrapped in a scholar’s thin grey cloak. From what her servants said, Demophon was the third son of a minor noble who must have had connections to get his son appointed as her tutor.

The Army will take care of the war, Your Grace. But my instructions are to teach you languages, literature, poetry and courtly protocol. You may find them useful someday.

Lit by one ornate window, the room was plainly finished, with scarred furniture and scribbled-on walls, a contrast to the dazzling splendour of the public parts of the Palace. A bookcase filled with used books stood against one wall, and on the other side shelves bearing seed trays, plant pots, rock samples, brass mechanisms. The walls bore pinned on drawings and diagrams, and an oil portrait of the Emperor. From a hooked stand hung a complete replica of a human skeleton, carved from wood and painted a scabby white.

Learning how to wage war might be more useful, since it’s going on directly outside. She jabbed a finger toward the window.

Your Grace, it’s not a suitable subject for young ladies.

Let me be the judge of that. The humid summer heat increased her irritation. She swept across the room with a flounce of skirts, and slid up the opening section of the window.

A murmur of sound wafted in from the city below, along with a sound of distant banging. The schoolroom was high up and afforded a safe view over the unsettling activity beyond the defences.

Who’s that down there, beyond the city wall? Lines of men were digging a ditch and bank parallel with the city defences, dark figures swarmed like ants, and a mass of tents blocked the northern road. Among them, wooden towers and timber frames were being erected. The brothers of her lady companions opined that these were siege engines. She turned away from the swarm of warriors on the plain and gestured at her tutor. That’s the rebel army, isn’t it? The enemy? Why are they there? Nobody will tell me anything.

Demophon formed a nervous smile. May I speak frankly, Your Grace?

Maihara gave a nod.

It’s true that the rebels have advanced to within sight of the walls, but to express anxiety is to show a regrettable lack of confidence in your father and the Imperial armies. Nor need you trouble yourself with the rebel demands.

Maihara faced her tutor across the room. What demands? It was common knowledge that the rebels had allied with the Dhikr invaders who ravaged the Imperial lands from the north. Everyone else said they’re just bad people who want to overthrow my father.

Oh, they are. Their general Tarchon is demanding that slavery be abolished, and that people not be sold into bondage for failure to pay debts. They want the rich to pay taxes.

And that’s bad? Maihara asked.

Very bad. It would disrupt the way things are done in the Empire. Demophon’s tone bore a whisper of sarcasm.

The door opened. An imposing man in dark garments entered and stood frowning at them. His jacket was braided with lace, his waistcoat jewelled.

Lord Farnak. Maihara did not curtsy to the hard-faced and greying Lord Chancellor, but waited while he lowered his head in greeting. As Imperial Princess, the eldest of the Emperor’s three children, she outranked him.

Demophon’s face paled. He cut off what he had begun to say in mid-syllable and bowed low.

Why aren’t you teaching the Princess her lessons, Tutor? That’s what you’re paid to do, you idler.

Demophon flinched. He bowed again. The Princess was asking about the war, Milord.

I can see it from here, Maihara said. She pointed out of the window at the tents and lines of armed troops. Isn’t it time you did something to drive them away, Lord Farnak?

Lord Farnak sighed. He directed a severe look at the tutor and pointed toward the door.

When the door closed behind Demophon, Lord Farnak turned to Maihara, ignoring the dark-haired chaperone who sat in a corner, head bent over her sampler work. Please don’t worry, Your Grace. The Emperor and his generals will soon defeat these Monist scum.

So why not send out soldiers to destroy them? Maihara asked.

Well, it’s more complicated than that, Farnak said, with a forced smile. But don’t worry your pretty head about it.

Maihara bristled. Aren’t you trying to gloss over inconvenient facts, Farnak? She aimed a finger at the mass of besiegers visible beyond the walls, who were bringing forward lengths of timber. They’re outside the gates, rather than being a hundred leagues away. That makes me worry.

I understand, Your Grace. But you are in no immediate danger.

Maihara was not convinced. Suppose my father and my brother are killed in an enemy attack. Who will be in charge of the Empire then?

Her little brother Prince Persis had a ceremonial position as a Marshal of the armed forces. The previous month,