A gentle breeze shuffled through the trees as the sun rapidly approached the golden hour. The journey had been long and tiresome, but thankfully, uneventful. Save, at least, for a small mishap with an unassuming little pebble that somehow landed Angelique with a terribly painful sprained ankle. Alistair had done his best to heal it, but the most he'd been able to manage was to lessen the pain—he'd thus made a mental note to practice that spell more later.
Angelique rocked back and forth, her wavy, red hair bobbing, as the mule traversed the uneven ground. Alistair tightly clung to the reins, guiding the large animal over the rocks. A short distance away, emerged the faint babbling of a modest brook, and just beyond, a path widened, leading deeper into the forest.
Upon reaching the water's edge, Alistair stopped the mule, and grabbed their nearly empty canteens from their saddle bag. Removing the caps, he knelt down, allowing the crystal clear water to flow into them. Once filled, he pushed himself up from the ground, brushed the dirt from his knees, and handed the canteens to his sister.
"Purify the water, please." He directed her, and she did as she was told.
With a moment's concentration, and a wave of her hand, the water slowly rose out of the containers, suspended freely in front of her. She closed her eyes, and drew her hand to her lips. Softly, she hummed, the vibrations trembling against her delicately closed hand. Then, she raised her pinky and ring finger, forming a widening tunnel through her curled fingers and palm, pulled a deep breath, and blew. Hot air swirled around the suspended blob of water, and within seconds, the water began to boil.
When the last of the air had left her lungs, she drew a replenishing inhale, and willed the pure water back into their respective containers. Alistair handed her the caps, which she replaced, before shoving the freshly filled canteens back into their pouch.
Merely fourteen and she had already mastered such complex heat magic. Alistair found himself endlessly impressed with her on a near constant basis—which Angelique took great pride in, and would occasionally nag him about whenever he fell short in his own spellwork. He never minded it, though. He wanted her to maintain as much confidence as her heart could bear, because he knew that time would humble her, just as it inevitably humbled all healers.
Cool water splashed as they trudged through the creek, soaking Alistair up to his knees. The mule huffed as a few pebbles gave way, before finding his hooves on solid ground once again. Angelique tightly clung to the equine's short mane to hold herself steady.
Clambering onto the bank, Alistair regained his balance, and tugged at the reins to guide the mule from the water. The water soaking through his pants and boots grew increasingly more uncomfortable with each step, but he did his best to ignore it. When Angelique noticed his discomfort, she waved her hand and, as though pulling a thread from a quilt, forced the water from his clothes and boots. The water swirled around him briefly before she released her hold on it, splashing it onto the ground.
"Thank you." Alistair nodded towards his sister.
"Would it kill you to take care of yourself for a change?" Angelique groaned, rolling her eyes.
Alistair shrugged, and continued tugging the mule along.
The sun had all but vanished by the time they reached the clearing at the end of the path. Massive oak trees reached towards the blackening sky. Glowing mushrooms lined the path, growing over the bark of fallen timber. It was peaceful, and beautiful, and grand.
"Al." A timid voice rang through the quiet.
Alistair whipped back towards his sister, who found her wide eyes fixed on the trees, her body rigid. Following her eye-line, he caught the shimmering silver glimmer of a sharpened arrow-head, aimed directly at them. The more he scanned the trees, the more arrows appeared.
Instinctively, Alistair raised his hands, hoping they'd understand. A small group of elves, all wearing similarly modest attire, cautiously approached the young witches, weapons still drawn. Alistair could sense his sister's unease, though she maintained her composure.
The elves spoke to them in a language they'd never heard before. A language that flowed smoother than sand through an hourglass, with a melody no bird could ever dream of imitating. It was beauty captured in words. The expressions on their faces, however, proved that those words were not an extension of welcomed invitation.
"They wish to know why we're here." Angelique whispered.
"How do you know that?" Alistair whispered back through the side of his mouth.
"I don't." She explained. "It's their energy. They're on guard, but haven't moved to kill us yet. So, I think that's what they're asking us about."
"And how am I supposed to answer?" He shot back with a forceful whisper, attempting not to alarm the armed elves before them.
"How should I know?! I don't speak elvish!"
Alistair rolled his eyes, refocusing on the elves, and a silver-tipped spear that was approaching a little too close for his personal comfort.
"We're healers." Alistair spoke after a moment. "We've come to learn."
The elves anxiously glanced at each other.
Of course. Alistair thought to himself, sarcastically. "I'm very open to suggestions, Angel." He whispered.
Angelique sighed, and slowly slid off of the mule's back, gingerly landing on the ground, ensuring not to place weight on her injured foot. She lifted her empty hands, then gestured to the saddlebag, before slowly slipping her hand into one of the pockets. Gently, she removed a small leather pouch, and dumped a small pile of seeds into her other hand. Cupping her hands together, she pulled them to her lips, and slowly blew into them. Then, she removed her hands from her lips, and slowly unclasped them. As her hand rose upwards, the seeds began to sprout. Roots draped over her fingers as small green stalks emerged from the seed shells. Within a few moments, small purple flowers began to bloom, the fresh lavender scent filling the air.
Taking a careful step forward, Angelique joined her brother, extending her arm to present the freshly grown flowers. She swallowed hard, giving her brother an apprehensive glance.
After a few moments, the spear aimed at them cautiously lowered, and the elf accepted the plants, handing them to another elf at their side. Given an approving nod, the witches both released the tense breaths they were unaware they'd been holding, and their bodies began to relax.
The elf that had accepted the flowers, raised their arm, and with two fingers, beckoned an elf behind them to approach. Reaching into their robes, they produced four iron binding cuffs. They resembled rounded shackles without chains, but with a much more refined execution, almost as though they could be genuine jewelry.
Swinging them open on their hinges, the elf slapped them onto each of the witches' wrists, magically welding them shut. Immediately, Angelique and Alistair sensed the overwhelming fatigue expanding throughout their bodies as the cuffs suppressed their magical abilities. Angelique gave her older brother a worried glance, which he tried to reassure, to little avail.
The elves directed them to follow, and with three elves following closely behind, they did as they were told.
"Well, they didn't kill us." Alistair whispered lightly.
"Yet." Angelique added.
As they entered the village, they found themselves surrounded by lush greenery and fragrant flowers. Cottages had been built into the trees, connected by a network of woven wooden bridges and stairways. They almost seemed as though they were simply a part of the trees themselves, and always had been.
Elves peered out of their windows and doorways, down at their unexpected visitors as they passed, many holding leery expressions. With each hardened stare, it was beginning to feel more and more like the final waltz to a burning stake.
"Where do you think they're taking us?" Angelique asked in a hushed whisper.
Alistair clenched his jaw and lightly shook his head. His heart pounded furiously, and he was doing everything in his power to keep his little sister from noticing—unfortunately, she was a bit too observant to miss it.
The village slowly disappeared to their rear, and once again, they were marching through uninhabited woodland. The shuffling of their feet against the dirt and fallen leaves seemed to dissipate into the vast, darkened wood in a way that made them feel incredibly small and alone. Trees rose above them with a grandeur that was nearly impossible to comprehend. In that moment, Alistair had never felt closer to an insect, navigating a world much too large for it.
Giving her a quick glance, Alistair noticed Angelique beginning to hobble with more frequency, drawing more tense breaths through her clenched teeth. Stopping, he grabbed her arm, and tugged her close. The young witch wrapped an arm around her back and crouched, positioning his other arm at the back of her knees.
"Jump." He directed, and she did as she was told.
Catching her, he lifted her body up to carry her, her slender arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
"I was fine." She spoke quietly.
"Is that why you jumped?" Alistair smirked, which made his sister frown. "Now isn't the time to be stubborn."
She sighed, and nodded, before allowing herself to be carried in silence.
As the trees began to open, there came a faint trickling sound, like running water over a ledge. The sunlight had nearly disappeared, leaving only natural bioluminescence and lanterns to guide the way through the dampening glow of approaching evening.
Before them, amidst the mushrooms and fireflies, rested a beautiful spring, with an aura so intense it nearly seemed to be glowing itself. Its very essence encapsulated the soul in a way that could only be described as divine.
But there was more to it than that. A depth of darkness and fear, tugging at their sleeves, with a power neither witch had ever had the pleasure—or displeasure—of being in the presence of. Whatever held domain over this spring was ancient, and powerful, and most certainly not of this realm.
The elf in the lead turned to face her companions. Her pale skin shimmered a warm gold from the lantern light at her side. Eloquently, she spoke, beckoning the young witches forward.
Giving each other an uneasy glance, the siblings cautiously approached the elf, mere feet from the edge of the sparkling spring. The energy radiating from the water sent ripples of anxiety throughout their bodies, and their hearts pounded.
With a graceful wave of the hand, the elf directed them to enter the pool. Slowly, the witches took an apprehensive step forward, the cool water dancing around their ankles. The forest seemed to fall into silence, as if even the crickets dared not speak.
But something about this was itching in Alistair's brain. Somehow, it felt dreadfully familiar, and the longer they waited, the more he thought about it. Just when he thought he'd exhausted every ounce of his recollection, it came to him. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation rained down on him, and shivers ran up his spine.
This was it, the end of it all. They were going to die.
Carmilla laid rigidly on the plush bed, her head stiffly pressed into the soft down pillow. Her heart pounded in her chest with a ferocity she was having difficulty controlling.
"Try to relax." Alistair spoke calmly, as he walked over to her side.
"Has that ever worked?" Carmilla sarcastically asked.
"No." Alastair replied. "Why do you think I burn incense?" He smirked.
Carmilla huffed through her nose and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, allowing the warm lavender scent to fill her lungs, and gradually, the pounding of her heart lessened.
"You know, it is a bit early to do this kind of energy reading." Alistair pulled a quartz pendulum from a brown leather pouch, and clasped both hands tightly around it, allowing its thin, silver chain to delicately drape over his fingers. "It is quite possible there will be no confirmation."
"I am aware." Carmilla flatly agreed.
Alistair shrugged, and pulled his clasped hands to his mouth, where he quietly whispered to the crystal pendulum. Carmilla couldn't quite make out the words, but recognized the cadence of an old spell from the world before.
"Elvish?" She asked with uncertainty.
"It is." Alistair pulled the pendulum away, letting it slip from his hands, catching the silver chain between his fingers. "You speak it?"
"Not much of it, no. No one does anymore." She sighed heavily. "During the first war, most of our old documents were destroyed. Elvenwood only has a small number of them left in our archives. Sadly, most of the elders that could still read them died long ago."
"It's a shame, really. It truly was a beautiful language." Alistair dangled the pendulum over Carmilla's lower belly.
"How did you come to know it?"
"My sister and I did a lot of traveling when we were younger. Any healer worth their weight does, at least." Alistair replied, focusing on the pendulum. "There's a small village of elves to the north. They live amongst the trees." He smiled softly. "It was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen."
"The Elvijah." Carmilla returned.
"You know them?"
"Mm-" Carmilla nodded. "When the war divided the continent, some of the elves migrated north and settled there. 'Elvijah' was the old elvish word for our race." She sighed. "I wasn't sure there were any of them left."
"The village was thriving last I saw it." Alistair assured, watching as the pendulum started to sway.
"I'm glad." Carmilla smiled. "But, I'm surprised they trusted you. Elves tend to be wary of others, especially witches."
"I never said they trusted us." Alistair laughed. "They nearly killed us twice."
Carmilla snickered to herself, some of the tension leaving her body as the conversation progressed.
"Luckily, Angelique always had a bit more of a gift for flower language than I. She'd always carry flower seeds with her, wherever she went—still does. So, she gave them Lavender."
"And they accepted them?" Carmilla raised a brow, an impressed grin slowly spreading across her face.
"They did." Alistair nodded, closely watching the slight movements of the pendulum. "However, we were forced to wear binding cuffs while in the village."
"Ah, that doesn't surprise me." Carmilla returned her gaze to the wooden beamed ceiling above her. "How long were you there?"
"Nearly two months."
"With binding cuffs?!" She shot back, incredulously.
Alistair nodded.
"It was a bit like having an itch you can't scratch, to be honest. Absolute torture." He chuckled.
"No elf has ever survived that long without going insane. The Elvijah created them thousands of years ago as punishment for those that strayed from the righteous path. I don't believe Elvenwood has even so much as thought of using them in over two centuries." Carmilla sighed, fingers lightly picking at the blanket beneath her. "Not that we've had much reason to use them, but, it was still a bit... barbaric."
"It is," Alistair agreed solemnly, "but elves are a bit different from witches. Most of our magic is simply harnessed and manipulated from the energy around us. Very little of it actually resides within us. Elves on the other hand, are the incarnation of genuine magic. It's as much a part of you as air is to our lungs. Without it-"
"We have no self." Carmilla finished, her voice low.
"Precisely." Alistair nodded. "So for us, the cuffs were more or less simply an aggravation. Eventually, I'm sure it would've worn us away, but we had no intention of staying that long." The pendulum started to rotate in a tight circle. "The healing springs, however, that was the most terrified I'd ever been in my entire life." Alistair shook his head with a small smile.
"You've... been to a healing spring?" Carmilla's face fell into delicate curiosity.
Alistair nodded, maintaining focus on the pendulum.
"It was breath-taking," he reminisced, "in more ways than one." He finished with a smirk.
"There's a healing spring in Elvenwood, but I could never bring myself to go."
"Why's that?" Alistair asked, the pendulum's movements widening slightly.
"I was always terrified the fae would deem me unworthy of bathing in it." She half laughed.
"Someone with your strength, and heart, could never be deemed unworthy by the fae." Alistair spoke kindly, pulling the pendulum away from Carmilla's belly.
"How can you be so sure?" She asked, sitting up in bed.
"Because neither me, nor my sister, died in the waters of the healing spring," he set the pendulum down, carefully, before continuing, "and I know for a fact that you couldn't possibly be less worthy than us."
Carmilla smiled softly, and nodded. The thought had never occurred to her that Alistair could've been deemed unworthy. Healers were usually such wholesome folk, but the average witch, on the other hand, wasn't necessarily in the same vein.
"The energy signature was weak, as expected, but certainly undeniable." Alistair changed the subject, packing the pendulum back into its leather pouch, and turning back to face the young elf. "Congratulations are in order, I imagine."
"Thank you." Carmilla replied quietly as she pushed herself up from the bed, new nerves beginning to race through her heart.
"I can do another energy reading for you in a few weeks." Alistair offered, walking the queen to the door.
Carmilla nodded, giving the witch a small smile, before exiting the room.
As the door shut behind her, she felt almost as though her legs would give out, and she leaned back against it to steady herself.
"Carmilla?" Vin quickly approached her from where he'd been anxiously waiting, and gently took her hand in his.
As his eyes scanned over her, she slowly lifted her doe-eyed gaze, and her chin began to quiver slightly.
"What did he say?" Vin whispered, brushing a ringlet from her soft face.
Carmilla couldn't bring herself to speak, instead, she just nodded, drawing a shaky breath. In that moment, a deep well of jumbled emotions consumed her, swallowing her whole, and she didn't have the faintest idea how to climb out of the pit.
Pulling her into a tight embrace, Vin gently stroked the back of her head as she buried her face in his shoulder.
"I don't understand..." She whispered, more to herself than to Vin. "It happened, just as it should have, so... why am I not relieved?"
Vin sighed. Truthfully, he hadn't been soothed by the news either. By all accounts, he should've been elated. This child was the promise for which the safety and prosperity of his people rested, and its conception was the only thing that guaranteed to hold this already shaky alliance together. But, as he held the young queen in his arms, he too found himself drowning. No longer could he look at this as just a promise, or a concept. It was real, and it was there, nestled between him and a woman he did not love.
"Because," Vin spoke after a moment, "it shouldn't have happened this way."