The Forsaken Prophecy

Chapter Eleven

The first thing Rowen noted about the cottage was the silence. The forest was alive with sound, but as soon as she stepped onto the perfect green grass of the cottage's front lawn, an eerie silence descended over everything.

It felt good to be on her own two feet again, Rowen thought as she stretched her legs and hugged Pipsqueak to her chest.

The cottage looked like it had been made in a hurry by someone who had no intention to live there long. The white bricks were uneven and bumpy, and the roof was missing many shingles.

However, the cottage was big enough to accommodate Rowen, Jason, and Ayren, and apparently the best witch in all ofTamría lived here. That was what mattered.

Rowen had thought that anything from this point on would pale in comparison to everything that she had seen so far.

Put simply, she was wrong.

The door swung open to reveal a tiny, dirty room. With trepidation, Rowen stepped forward.

When then revealed itself took Rowen's breath away.

The cottage was no more. Instead, a grand mansion spread out before her.

The floor was checkered white and gold. A golden staircase swooped up on either side of her to a glass balcony ringing the circular room. The room soared upward into a domed ceiling made of stained glass, all the colors of the rainbow. A magnificent glass chandelier hung down from the center of this masterpiece, emitting a golden glow that only added to the majesty of the room. Although, if one had later asked Rowen where the source of the light in the chandelier was, she wouldn't have been able to tell them.

Huge white double doors set in the wall across from them flew open, crashing into doorstops and making everyone jump.

"Well, hello," said an old woman cheerily, using her middle finger to push her huge glasses farther up on her large, lumpy nose. "And who might you be?"

She was an odd sight. Dressed in a wrinkled, musty-looking cloak, she had many talismans and strange necklaces swinging around her neck. Her grey hair was tangled and matted. She looked worn out, like a well-used rug.

"The One, the Blessed, and Ayren," responded Rowen, pointing in turn to herself, Jason, and Ayren.

"You make me sound so unimpressive," Ayren muttered. Rowen only had time to shoot him a smile before the old woman began speaking again.

"Good, good! I've been expecting you! Well, not you. Or you." She pointed to Ayren with a wrinkled, bony forefinger, then Pipsqueak, and grinned. Her teeth were yellowed, but otherwise straight and all there. "Close the door. I don't like those peeping guards."

Ayren ducked outside to speak with the guards and was quickly back, shutting the entrance doors as he reentered the disguised mansion.

"Now," the woman said, her voice changing from the scratchy, slow tone of an old woman to that of a young child, "this might be a little strange."

Before their very eyes, the woman was surrounded in a fog of hazy gold. When she emerged, she looked to be about nine years old, wearing a pretty dress with a white bodice and gold skirt and poofed out from her thin form.

"You're..." began Rowen.

"Nine?" finished Jason incredulously. 

"And a half!" the woman-turned-girl corrected as if it made all the difference, smiling a dimpled grin.

"I'm supposed to learn magic from a little girl?" cried Rowen, shocked. She turned to Ayren. "Did you know about this?"

He looked appropriately shocked. "No."