Page 6 of The Wand of Lore
Vaylor shivered at her touch.Higher, he pleaded mentally, but he dared not say a word out loud.
“I didn’t mean to almost kill you,” she said. “It doesn’t matter, though; you’ve been cursed. You won’t live.”
“You did what?” he menaced. “I knew it. I knew you were trying to kill me. Reverse it, witch!”
“Can’t,” she said softly, with the sleepy look of someone just waking from a midday nap, hair mussed, eyelids droopy, a lazy half smile. “I didn’t cast it, and I’m not strong enough to get rid of it. Not these days, when there are so many ill who count on my magic just to live.”
“What do you mean you didn’t cast it? Was it your sister? She’ll regret the day . . .” Vaylor’s threat trailed off as he contemplated the pros and cons of throw rugs.
“You stay away from my family,” she said, leaning forward so that her face was inches from his.
Her lips were full and supple. Her breasts were so near him he could just feel them against his chest.
As if she was only then aware of their intimacy, she suddenly pulled back and rose to her feet.
“It’s time you went. I didn’t cast the curse, but someone did, and unless you get it reversed, you’ll die soon. You’ve got some powerful enemies; best you focus more on them and less on me,” said Gwenneth.
“I couldn’t agree more. I only stuck around so you wouldn’t have my life debt in the palm of your hand. We’re even now. I’m leaving. I don’t know what you did to me, but I won’t be fooled by you.”
One thing was certain, this woman was dangerous. What kind of spell-caster was she to simultaneously cast a protection spell on her cottage, blast him with goddess fire, cast a lust spell on him so that he was practically salivating over her body, and leave him cursed all in one interaction? This place was dangerous, and it was past time to go. He got up, grabbed his shirt, and stormed out of the cottage.
Once he was well en route back to the inn where he was staying, he stopped behind a tree and pulled off his left boot. Histoes on just this foot had turned black days ago, the skin dark like unburnt coal, and gnarled and bumpy. He had supposed it to be an illness that would pass, but he shuddered as he examined his foot. The blackness had expanded to his ankle, leaving the foot dead. Try as he might to blame Gwenneth and Nayla, the foot had been dying for weeks now, long before he had arrived at Loews Hollow. He peered over his shoulder, searching the shadows for someone who wanted him dead.
Chapter Seven: Gwenneth
“Gwenneth! You can’t just keep casting like that! What would I do if anything happened to you? And you saved that cruel man. You should have just let him die; then we would have had one less problem,” Nayla said.
“You don’t mean that,” Gwenneth said as she sat on a sheepskin on the floor of their cottage. Their mother had received it as a gift given in gratitude by Mr. Owens when she had saved his child from smallpox. He had cleaned and cured the skin himself many long years ago, in the time when their mother was celebrated for her healing gifts. When Gwenneth was young, her mother had been a local legend, and villagers had been eager to offer them food and other items. Their home had been adorned with gifts given as payment: beads, hand-embroidered dresses, jams made from locally grown berries, honey from Mr. Hatchett’s bees, and glassware swirling with color. How dismayed their mother would be now to see her daughters shunned and living in fear in their own home. Times had indeed changed.
Gwenneth eyed her sister, and her heart ached for the girl. Nayla, her darling sister who loved to spend time with neighbors and was quick to make friends, but equally quickto condemn people like Marvin. Nayla, her sweet sister who accompanied her on every errand and spent hours practicing spells so she could one day assist Gwenneth. Nayla, whose body harbored an illness that would kill her one day soon. Gwenneth gasped aloud at this thought and turned away.
“What is it, sister? You look so unwell. Let me get you more tea.”
“No, please. There is something I have to tell you. The illness . . . I didn’t get it all. I couldn’t. It was so deep and entwined.” Gwenneth blurted out the truth before she lost her nerve.
“What do you mean you couldn’t? It’s not too late?” Nayla looked every bit the fourteen-year-old she was, petite, with big, earnest eyes, looking at her sister with the certainty of a child that she would be cared for.
“Of course it’s not too late,” Gwenneth insisted. She hadn’t meant to lie, but the truth stuck at the bottom of her gut like a brick in water. “I can save you. I will need all my magic, though, so we must start acting more cautiously. These are dark times, but I’ll protect you. No more spending magic on oafs like Marvin.” If Gwenneth had to spend every hour of every day funneling her magic to keep Nayla alive, then that was exactly what she would do. The Devil’s Plague would not take the last of her family.
“When are you going to let me help you more? I’m not a child anymore, and you don’t have to protect me. I can cast spells, and some of them are pretty good. If I’d had just a bit more time with the girl today, I would have saved her.”
Gwenneth shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. If you cast too much, the goddesses will punish you. The line between life and death is a slender one, and witches have died for casting too aggressively. For now, you keep casting simple spells and let your endurance build.”
“You underestimate me. When you were my age, you were casting bigger, more powerful spells. You were attending births with Mom, and charming sprouts to become fruit-bearing plants overnight. I could do that, I know I could.”
“You and I are different people, and times are different now too. For goddesses’ sake, one of our own neighbors reported to the king that we were here and possibly guilty of starting the plague. It’s not safe to be a witch. Spells backfire, as you know, but alsopeoplebackfire. You’re not ready.”
“You can’t protect me forever. And you might be surprised to find that I could actually help protect you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I’ll consider it. But in the meantime, I’ll have to start limiting my casting to only truly essential spells. Like keeping you safe.”
Nayla’s frown turned abruptly into a playful smile, an expression much more familiar on her face. “You know what that means, sister. We can’t risk strangers in our house, no matter how handsome they are.” At this, she looked pointedly at Gwenneth.
“What are you implying, Nayla? If you have something to say, then say it!”
“Truly, you would make me say it aloud? Fine, but remember you made me do it. You couldn’t keep your eyes off Marvin, could you? Could you have removed his shirt any faster?” She threw a balled-up cloth at her sister as she laughed.
Gwenneth scowled. “That jerk? I’ll admit he had a very nice chest, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t live much longer with the curse simmering inside him. Curious he should have such powerful enemies. That curse was cast by a very strong witch, or more likely, several strong witches working together. It only shows how young and inexperienced you are to confuse cautionand intrigue with romantic interest.” She shrugged, trying very hard to look nonchalant.
