Page 30 of The Wand of Lore

After four sleeps, her foot stopped smelling like excrement, or else she stopped caring, and she worked up the courage to explore her abode once more, although this time she was more cautious as she moved about the cell. Now she was not searching for an escape, but merely passing time. It was ten paces long by eight paces wide, with a hole for a latrine at two paces by six; the side of the cell that she assumed was the “front” had a flap where her food was delivered. She thought again about escape, imagining she could leave if she could discover the secret of the flap, but in truth, there was no secret. Food came periodically through the flap, and she decided it was time to talk with whoever delivered it. They came with a torch and the light always blinded her, so she came to dislike it more than the darkness. She supposed it was a guard that delivered her food, and the guard never spoke to her or answered her desperate pleas for information. She soon gave up, and by her measure, the food deliveries grew increasingly infrequent.

The collar had been cold against her neck before her first sleep, but soon it chafed her skin raw until her entire neck was blistered and hot and the heavy collar was painful. The heat spread across her body, and she was a skilled enough healer to know she would not survive this heat. She slipped easily intosleep, and when she awoke again her neck had been healed and the heat was gone. Though the collar still chafed her skin, she had not been permitted to die. Even that freedom was lost to her.

Gwenneth soon abandoned that plan and instead focused on accessing her magic. After all, the magic was a relationship between her and the goddesses, and it was still there, inside of her and all around her. She begged the goddesses out loud, since she assumed the collar interfered with their direct communication, but the goddesses were silent and she was alone. Worse, the pool of power that lived in her chest was gone. She had taken it so for granted that she didn’t even recognize where in her body it lived, but now with its absence, she could identify precisely which parts of her body were lacking. The biggest hole was in her chest, where her power had sat comfortably waiting to be summoned. She longed to feel strong again when she stood up straight and squared her shoulders, but without her magic, she was lost in space, and she hunched herself around her emptiness. There was no telling where she was in the world. Just emptiness all around her and emptiness inside. There was also the absence of power in her hands. It was usually just a matter of will for her to pool her magic in her palms whenever she needed it so it was at the ready when she did her rounds of sick villagers or helped lonely plants thrive.

Once she accepted that her magic could not be accessed, the flap could not be penetrated, and the guard could not be coerced into conversation, she completely abandoned any thought of escape. Why bother? She was no match for the king’s army, and anyway, she had no real idea what they wanted from her. Her magic was not violent; she healed people, delivered babies, and helped plants flourish. If the king intended to use her to help the kingdom, well, they could have just asked. Maybe they would even help her sister in exchange for her cooperation.

This is what she told herself to keep at bay the dark thoughts hovering in the back of her mind. She could not bear the weight of the fear that threatened to overtake her, so she lay still on her side and stared into the darkness and waited. Morning came and she didn’t move. Perhaps she had slept—it was hard to say in the darkness, when nightmares and life blended into one indistinguishable existence with no end. She didn’t move, and there had been no sounds for so long that she wondered whether perhaps they had forgotten about her. She supposed it had been a year. Her sister would not have survived so long. Vaylor, too, would be dead from his curse if he hadn’t found relief, and from that, at least, she could take a little comfort. She would have cursed him herself if that was the type of magic she performed. Then again, perhaps it had only been a week. She stopped trying to count the number of sleeps that came and went, but occasionally, footsteps would clatter toward her, breaking her lifetime of silence, and someone would open the flap and thrust a moldy piece of bread toward her. In the darkness, she was always tired and rarely hungry, and over time she understood that she was shrinking in size.

One day, she had just been served a ration of moldy bread when she heard a second set of steps approaching, softer than the normal clanging boots of the guard. She had never had two visitors in such quick succession. This time, the approaching visitor had a much dimmer torch than the guards, though even from a distance, the light hurt Gwenneth’s eyes. She sat up, and her breath caught at the thought of any break at all in the monotony of captivity. She hoped for news or even just to see another human, as she could never see the person who brought her food through the blinding light, and they never spoke.

Gwenneth shielded her eyes as the light approached. She heard the sound of metal softly clinking, then the door squeaked as it opened. She dropped her head to avoid the light of the torchand could just make out a pair of soft blue slippers on small, wrinkled feet. The torch bearer said nothing, locked the door again, and waited as Gwenneth’s eyes adjusted to the light.

At last, Gwenneth raised her squinting gaze and was surprised to see it was a frail wisp of an old woman who had entered her cage. Her face was lined with deep grooves, her white hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun, and a long, elegant dress hung off her shoulders and scraped the floor. She, too, wore a metal collar, identical to Gwenneth’s, that contrasted with her soft, aging skin, and her slight body buckled under its weight.

Gwenneth got to her feet, relieved to see what had to be another witch.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, but her words felt like sawdust in her mouth and were unintelligible.

“Help, please,” she tried again, and though it was still painful to talk after all this time, the witch at least seemed to understand her.

The old woman spoke in a voice cracked with age. “I have been sent to be your mother, but not your friend. The faster you understand that there will never be any help coming for you, the easier it will be for you. You have been taken to join the king’s witches. Your sister is safe; we have healed her as a reward for what we know will be your compliance. But we know where she is and can get her anytime. The king believes that a promise of her safety will buy your compliance.”

She now stood on the other side of the cage, directly in front of Gwenneth. Her ancient eyes were round with sorrow, but her words were matter-of-fact. Gwenneth’s heart raced at the news of her sister. If Nayla was alive, then Gwenneth had succeeded in her mission. Sort of.

“I will uncage you now, and you will come with me. You are young and stronger than me, and you could kill me if youwanted with your bare hands. Do so if you desire; I would not begrudge you as you would be freeing me from captivity and doing me a favor. But your sister will die a painful death if a single hair on my head is disturbed, and you will not escape; you’ll never be afforded another kindness in your long and miserable life.”

“Nayla? How can I be sure that she is safe? What proof do you have that she has survived the illness?”

The old woman shrugged. “No proof. You don’t have the right to demand such things. You don’t have any rights anymore. But come, best not dwell on that. Let me take you out of this miserable place and get you to a proper room.”

Gwenneth stared at her and tried to determine whether she was speaking truthfully. She couldn’t read the opaqueness in the woman’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. She would never risk Nayla’s safety, even not knowing the truth. Besides, she was a captive, which meant that with or without Nayla, she would be forced to follow directives. She nodded at the old woman, who pursed her lips in an echo of a smile. The woman pulled a key from her pocket, unlocked the cage, and guided Gwenneth by the elbow out the door.

Gwenneth took her first step and immediately collapsed onto the earth.

“Take your time, child. The body is not meant to be cramped in the darkness for so long.”

Gwenneth moved to stand again, clutching the bars for support. “How long have you been here, forced to serve the king against your will?”

“I’ve lost track, child. I’ve been here longer than I can remember. My mother sold me to the king for a loaf of bread as soon as I showed a sign of magic ability. I was seven or eight years old. My mother may have been hungry enough to sell, but she was also horrified to have a witch in her family. A bad omen,she said. The moment I first drew power and helped a flower bloom early, she had me locked up in my own home. Life here is a small improvement. She was right, of course; the ability to touch magic is a bad omen for a girl.”

Gwenneth shuddered. She had heard of families that evicted their own powerful daughters but was lucky to have been taught and cared for by her own witch mother. Until her mother had been burned at the stake.

Together, the two slowly made their way through the hall, illuminated by the old woman’s torch. Gwenneth had to walk with her eyes mostly closed because the light was so bright. She was grateful for the time to reteach her legs how to bear her weight, and the old woman was patient with her.

“What should I call you?” Gwenneth asked.

“Mother. That is what I shall be to you for the rest of my life. Perhaps one day you can aspire to be a Mother too. It is a great honor. Like a good mother, I demand obedience from my daughters. You will serve me, wash my feet, clean my room, run errands for me, and in exchange, I will teach you our ways and help you adjust to your new life. Do you understand?”

Gwenneth was silent at this. She was not born to serve, this she knew in her heart. She was born to walk free on the earth, feel the sun kiss her face, enjoy the fragrance of freshly opened flowers, channel the great powers of the goddesses to help life thrive. In her heart, she was not a captive.

“This is the only time I’ll ask you nicely. I asked you if you understand.”

Gwenneth started at how quickly the woman’s tone had become curt, cold, threatening.

“Yes. I got it.”

Faster than Gwenneth would have thought possible, the old woman turned and landed a hard smack on her face.Gwenneth toppled to the ground, shocked at the force from such a petite old woman.

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