KALISTA
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My fingers absently thrum a rhythm against the leather armchair. The armchair that Arawn used to sit in.
"Oh, stop being a baby," I growl and sweep across the library to the window. The forest is black in the setting sun and the jagged tops of the trees remind me of a wolf's teeth. At least Arawn is far from here now. The enchantment that I laid on the forest pushed him outwards and did not allow him to draw nearer to me. He must be past the border by now, and when night falls, I will drop the spell—he is not foolish enough to risk travelling the forest at night.
Sighing, I turn my back to the window and pick my way through the crumbling palace to the remains of my room. They will be here soon, and I might as well dress for the occasion.
I choose a black gown with fitted lace sleeves and a full skirt that spills about me like a midnight waterfall. With two jewelled clips, I pull back the front pieces of my hair, but the rest I leave hanging down my back in a tangle of black curls. There are no mirrors so I cannot see my appearance, but I would wager that my attire paired with my hollow expression causes me to appear more like a beast than I ever have.
Tucking my shaking fingers between the folds of my dress, I slowly walk toward the staircase. Their presence has now become more than simply a feeling, for I can hear the pounding of hoof beats on the pebble drive.
If only I could go back. Back to the day when it was only one pair of hoof beats and only one heart that burned with hate. But a piece of me also wishes that it was all over. I am tired of fighting, tired of being Galinda's bird in a gilded cage.
The hoof beats come to a halt and I position myself at the top of the stairs. Remember to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. They are only humans. I have magic on my side.
A huge crash causes the great doors to shudder and swing open. I notice the leader first. He is a beast of a man with a fiery expression. But that is not what frightens me. In one hand he holds a sword and in the other, the mirror.
Arawn.
Where is Arawn?
I know that he would never give it to them so they must have taken it by force. And despite the fear, searing anger blazes within me. I will fight them, and I will find a way to return the mirror to Arawn.
"Come out, Beast. Show yourself."
At the leader's shout, I realize that I have been standing in the shadows. So stiffening my spine, I step forward. A few of the men step backward at my appearance, but the leader only grins.
"Attack," he yells, and with only a breath of hesitation, the men surge forward.
My magic is more than happy to respond to this, and a huge gust sweeps through the entry hall. Swords and shields are ripped from the soldiers' hands and clatter loudly against the pillars and marble floor. Strangely, the leader was only a little affected by the magic—not nearly as much as he should have been.
"Idiots!" Barks the leader who holds the mirror tightly in one hand and his sword in the other. "Put your armbands on."
Some of the men reach into their pockets and pull out strips of black cloth. I can smell her magic on them like a pungent odour. In response, I hurriedly pull more magic forward and another blast knocks a few soldiers off of their feet. Yet, there are others who are hardly affected by my magic. Galinda's spell prevents me from directly touching the men with my magic, so I must use another tactic to battle them. She must think me daft to believe that her petty protection spell will deter me.
How will I parry her spell? Roses. Or rather, thorns.
By now, the leader is at the base of the stairs and he eagerly places his foot on the first step.
No, not in my palace.
I stretch my hands out before me and reach deeper; I reach for the power that has slumbered for the better part of my life like a great dragon. But now the enemy has entered my lair and harmed my only treasure and the dragon lifts its head and spews its fiery magic through my limbs. Thorny vines shoot from my palms and toward the perpetrators. They scream in terror and pain as the bows twist about them and the thorns cut into their flesh. Three soldiers instantly drop their weapons and bolt for the door while the others hack madly at the branches.
In a faraway part of my mind, I enjoy this madness, this freedom. She desires destruction. Well, then she shall have it. I am of the House of Vayliese; I do not surrender so easily. We are known to be made of stone. There are those who called us the House of Statues because we were fierce and unmovable. I suppose it is something that runs in my blood, and faced with this peril, it manifests itself.
The soldiers are fully occupied by the malicious branches, but the leader holds the mirror out before him and slowly ascends the staircase. The mirror. I used to wonder if I should destroy it. Now, I wish I had.
The glass faces me, but it does not reflect my features. All that I see is churning darkness. It is not the darkness of night or even the darkness of a cellar which has no windows. This is the darkness of oblivion and chaos; it is a darkness that welcomes not the souls of men.
A branch darts out from the railing and encircles the leader's wrist. He shouts in horror and hacks at the thorns with his sword. The wood splinters, freeing his hand, but blood appears where the thorns broke his skin. Fury blazes in his eyes and a battle cry rips from his lips. For a moment, I am intimidated and falter. But in another breath, I sweep my hand downward and brambles encircle his feet causing him to lose his balance and tumble to the ground. Just as I draw back my hand to cast a sleeping spell over him, a flickering light catches my eye. Fire. I spin about and find that two soldiers are holding torches against the thorny bushes which have tangled themselves throughout the atrium.
"Fire that is hot and red. Dwindle and die. Make the ashes your bed." I whisper the words of the simple spell as a catalyst for my magic. It has never failed me and it does not fail me now. The torches sputter in a frantic attempt to live, then succumb to my magic. The excitement of the two soldiers quickly turns to fear and as I stare daggers at them, they slowly back toward the door.
Yes, that is correct. Leave. And never return. Go hide behind the skirts of your odious sorceress; perhaps, if you beg with everything you are worth, she will have mercy. Or perhaps not. I have never witnessed her mercy.
Without warning, something cold and sharp tears the fabric of my gown and slips into my side. I whip around to find the leader grinning viciously and holding a sword whose blade shines with red. Blood. It must be my blood, but I cannot feel the pain.
He lifts his arm to strike again and this time he means to kill. A thousand images flash before my eyes. Do I regret what I have done? Do I wish that I could have done more? It is not yet my time to whisper goodbye to this world and I refuse to be sent by one so lowly as this soldier.
"No," I whisper. As the breath leaves my lungs, it touches his arm and causes it to freeze.
His face twists in rage and he lifts his other hand—the one that holds the mirror. But before he can turn the mirror toward me, a thorny branch as thick as my torso shoots forward and wraps about his waist. The impact knocks the mirror from his grasp, and it shatters against the floor. He is hurtled below to the atrium, then another branch curls about a booted foot and drags him toward the exit. By now, his soldiers have all abandoned him, and his cries reflect off of the cracked and crumbling walls.
As his last fingertip disappears, my vision blurs, and pain, sharp and fierce, finally tears through my side. Without noticing, I had been holding my hands against my side and now I pull them away.
Blood.
So much blood. It soaks my gown, drips upon the floor, and makes my hands sticky.
I need to get away.
With one blood-covered hand, I pull myself up the staircase using the banister. Despite the pain and the trembling that has begun in my body, I use my magic to create a wall of brambles in the atrium. No one will dare challenge such thorny walls. Not even the wolves.
At the entrance to the west wing, I touch the top of the horse statue's head and in so doing, erect yet another wall of protection. Anyone who attempts to navigate these halls will not be able to find their way unless they discover how to deactivate the spell. There is only one person who might be able to accomplish this and he will not be entering the palace before dawn.
My head begins to swim from the pain, but force myself to continue stumbling forward.
It was not so long ago that I was stabbed for the first time. That man hated me as well; he wanted me dead. Perhaps this one will succeed. And then yes, I won the battle, but I lost the war.
I stagger into the library and fall onto the blankets before the hearth. Only cold ashes lie within, but somehow, I feel warm. Perhaps I am hallucinating. If I am, I do not mind; I will revel in these elusive feelings and ideas. They will fold me in their tender arms and kiss my lips and tell me that he loves me.
*****
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