KALISTA
We glance at each other once and I see my fear reflected in his eyes; then we spur our horses onward. My magic twists within me and I demand the trees to open for us. The forest is reluctant—it enjoys our panic. Yet, it concedes and between the spindly figures of the trees, I catch sight of the lamps which hang upon the stable doors.
"There," I shout and point to the beacon.
Arawn sees it as well and we push the horses faster. They gallop frantically toward it, also sensing the danger which snaps at our heels. When we are nearly halfway to the stables, I glance back. Emerging from the trees we left behind only moments ago, are the prowling forms of the wolves.
Frantically, I call my magic, hoping that perhaps I can slow them down. But the sparking magic trips over my anxiously beating heart and wildly flails about. The jolt nearly unseats me and only by clutching a handful of Abraxas's mane do I stay upon his back. My blunder, though, causes him to slow and grants our pursuers a chance to gain ground.
But I will not be overtaken simply because I am too distressed to properly wield my own magic.
Pulling Abraxas to a halt, I spin him toward the wolves. They are closer than I thought, and this nearly causes me to falter again. But I grit my teeth and with a wave of my hand, a swirling blizzard descends upon the creatures. Snow magic is not my forte—it belonged to my great-aunt Veralisa. However, it does what I need it to. While the wolves flounder in the drifts and are blinded by the ice, I spin Abraxas toward the stables. To my annoyance, Arawn had also stopped and is waiting for me a few meters away. He should have continued on.
With the wolves momentarily distracted, we race toward safety. Hector and Abraxas are swift, but once the wolves have untangled themselves from the blizzard, they once again give chase. I bend over Abraxas's neck and whisper for him to go faster.
A few paces from the open stable doors, we slow a fraction and at the threshold, Arawn leaps from Hector's back. He stumbles once, then hurries to the doors. I also dismount and help him heave them closed. Just as the beam falls across the doors, a heavy body slams into them. The doors tremble like autumn leaves but hold fast.
"They won't try to break through, will they?" Arawn asks.
"No." I inhale deeply, then add, "They will leave us alone now."
We stand there for a moment, staring at the doors. They were so close. One misstep and we would have made a hearty dinner for our cruel keepers.
Arawn reaches for Hector's bridle. "We should put these boys away."
I nod numbly and follow him. Johnathan and Matthew are nowhere to be found, so we untack and groom the horses by ourselves. We also feed them their hay and give them extra portions of grain.
"Now what?" Arawn asks, sliding Hector's stall door closed.
I fold my arms over my torso. "I think I can magic some food out of the palace pantry and then I suppose we will have to wait till morning."
We drag a big chest out of the tack room and cover it with a blanket—this will be our table. Next, we find two short stools and a few candle stubs. I light the candles with sparks of magic, then I lay my hands, palms down, upon the table.
Imagine it in your mind. Then draw it toward yourself. My father's voice echoes in my mind. Calling things to himself was one of his favourite tricks and my brothers took after him. They never mastered the art of teleporting living creatures and that was a good thing or else we would have suffered from more than spider webs falling upon our heads, toy soldiers appearing next to us, and soap contaminating our porridge.
A sharp inhalation draws me back to the present and I open my eyes. Before us is a simple fare of scones and tea.
"It's not much, but I suppose it will do," I say, lifting the teapot and pouring two cups of tea for us.
Arawn curiously watches me. "Is that difficult to do?"
I stare at him in bewilderment. "Pour tea?"
"No." He laughs. "Magic this food here."
"No, not too difficult. Just a little tricky—it takes a bit of concentration." I shrug and bite into a scone.
"It can be rather convenient sometimes."
I frown. "I suppose it is. I don't really think about it that way. It is perfectly normal to me."
"It isn't where I come from. Magic is just a myth."
"Yes," I murmur, thoughtfully. It is a myth because she wants it to be that way. If people believed in it, they would take measures to protect themselves from her.
We eat in silence for a short while, then Arawn asks, "Has the forest always been like this?"
"No, it was an entirely different place before the curse." I pause to take a sip of tea and collect my thoughts, then I say softly, "It was the most beautiful place in the world. It was so full of life. If you drank from the streams of the southern quarter, you would not feel sick, but you would feel alive. If you were tired it would enliven you so you could continue. If you fell asleep on the moss, you would have the most wonderful dreams and would wake to find yourself absolutely refreshed. If you followed the golden leaves, they would lead to the most glorious treasures: an oak tree heavy with acorns, a field of goldenrod, an apple tree bearing the sweetest fruit you have ever tasted. And the northern quarter...if you gazed into Mirror Lake, it would tell you all the best stories. It would show you the bravest of the magicians and their deeds of valour and kindness. It was not a dark place like it is now." My last words fade into silence and when I look at Arawn, I see in his eyes a longing to experience this place that I have described. If only he could see it, he would realize how beautiful and precious magic can be.
We finish our food quietly, both imagining the past glory of the enchanted forest, but also listening to the creatures prowling about outside. They growl and pace along the walls of the stable, but they do not attempt to break in. They do succeed in making me nervous, though. In the palace, they seem far away, but here, only one wall separates us.
Once we are finished eating, we each gather an armful of blankets and ascend to the loft where we create makeshift beds in the piles of hay. It reminds me of long ago when I would play games in the loft with my brothers and sisters. We would burrow in the mounds and pretend we were little mice.
Wrapping my cloak around me, I lie down. Arawn does the same and into the darkness, he whispers, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I reply, suddenly touched by claws of fear. I am exposed here. In the palace, I sleep behind a locked door, but here, only a few mounds of hay separate us.
For a long time, I listen to Arawn's steady breathing and the sounds of the wolves. Gradually, though, the trials of the day drag me away into slumber.
The rustling of hay wakes me, and my eyes fly open. Morning sun spills into the loft and creates swirling dust patterns in the air.
Lifting myself up by one elbow, I look for Arawn. He is standing by the window, gazing toward the forest.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he says, half-turning.
I push myself to my feet and move to the window. "That's alright. Are they gone?"
"They are just leaving now."
I move to stand next to him and look out the window. Shadowy silhouettes slink between the trees, then disappear.
"I suppose that is our cue." Arawn turns to look at me and I suddenly realize how near he is to me.
Gently, as if not to frighten me, he reaches out and brushes a piece of hay from my hair.
"I thought you were a beast. But really, you are just as human as I am," he murmurs, pulling another piece of hay from my raven locks.
I hold his golden-brown gaze, searching for a breath of deception. There is none, though. Rather, there are hints of vulnerability. And that frightens me. It was easy when he hated me because I knew to be cautious around him and not to show weakness. But this? I am hardly sure how to respond. A desire to echo his openness tears at me, yet wariness also tugs insistently. How is one supposed to behave in the presence of a friend? My siblings were in a way my friends, but it was different than what I imagine true friendship to be like. We were sometimes terribly nasty to each other, but our blood was the same and there was this fierce loyalty that bound us together whether we had bickered or laughed together. No, these exposed feelings are entirely foreign to me.
I am not sure what to say, or even if I should say something at all, so I slowly turn away and step toward the narrow staircase which leads to the main level.
Arawn and I do not venture into the forest that day or the next. Finally, on the third day, we ride into the western quarter. In this part of the forest, an oak tree with golden leaves stands as the landmark and so, we frequently encounter a trail of gold leaves that sparkle enticingly. The first time, Arawn suggests that we follow the pathway to see where it leads, but I quickly admonish him and tell him that the leaves will turn to dust in his hands. After this, he faithfully averts his eyes from the alluring treasure and the remainder of our exploration is blessedly uneventful.
Two days after our first ride into the western quarter, we wake to find rain falling from the sky. And so, we decide to spend the morning "researching." At least that is what Arawn calls it. He is convinced that in the hundreds of books upon the library shelves, there must be one that holds some sort of answer to breaking the curse. Together we peruse books on spells and curses, but most of them tell how one might cast them and not how to break them.
We have nearly exhausted our stack of books when Arawn leaves me to flip through pages of spells while he searches for more resources.
"What about history?" He calls from his perch on the balcony. "Maybe something like this has happened before."
I don't look up from the explanation on how to equalize a curse. "I doubt it."
"But maybe."
"This might be something." I rise from my seat and ascend the spiral staircase to the balcony where Arawn is running his finger over dusty spines. "This talks about neutralizing a curse. If magic is used not against it, but in tandem with the curse, it may be possible to cancel out the negative effects, weaken them, or even break the connection that the sorcerer or sorceress has with the curse. Although, this could be absolutely false. There have been many sorcerers who thought they were powerful and wise when in reality, they were simply amateurs."
"But maybe it's something. We could..." His sentence is interrupted by a gasp, then he exclaims, "The complete volumes of Cornelius Xander Antollius the great scientist and philosopher. We have only been able to locate seven fragmented copies." He pulls one from the shelf, blows the dust off, and reverently opens it. "Beautiful. My father would abdicate the throne for these."
*****
Throne?!? Ok, let's be honest. Who saw that coming? ;)