Page 65 of Sugar & Sorcery
“Long ago…” His voice rose, soft as a song of rain. “There was a golden apple tree, the most magical of all.”
I lifted my head. Its height seemed to pierce the heavens, its vast branches able to shelter an entire village beneath their embrace. Its trunk and roots were so thick one might have believed it had cradled the very first confectioners. The sweet nectar of its apples shimmered with flecks of gold.
“It was the heart of an entire kingdom,” the boy continued. “But something crept into the sap. Something wicked.”
A shiver crawled along my nape. The apples had turned a deep violet. Thorned brambles wound around the branches, slowly strangling the life out of the fruit.
“Above all, don’t let go of my hand.”
I nodded, though my throat burned. I lacked air. I was still under the water. And air, even inside a memory, never lasted long.
“How will we survive?” a woman wailed at the foot of the dying tree. “For generations our family never had trouble with this cursed tree, and now it withers! The winter harvest is in one week! Without it…”
Her frantic gaze turned to the farmer at her side, her trembling fingers nervously playing with the jeweled bracelets and rings that adorned her wrists.
“There is no cure for a curse,” her husband replied flatly. “We’ll simply have to explain to her that the tree rotted from within. Surely, she’ll understand.”
“Understand?” she shrieked, throwing her arms skyward in exasperation. “Fool! The Wish Witch paid us a fortune for our golden apples! If we break her contract, she’ll…” With a sharp gesture, she dragged her finger across her throat. “I won’t die for this! We need a plan!”
“Dinner’s ready,” piped a small voice behind us.
The orchard boy and I turned.
“It’s you…” I breathed, seeing the boy standing in rags on the threshold of the modest cottage.
Steam rose from the warm bread he had left to cool on the windowsill. Was he a confectioner too? The Spirit’s grip on my hand tightened. My body went numb. Not now.
“I had forgotten about the runt,” the mother grumbled. “It’s true he isn’t entirely useless. He can cook, clean, and mend clothes. He has my eyes, though he’s far too scrawny from climbing to the top of the tree like some wild animal. If he had been a girl, we might have gotten something from him, but as he is…”
“Come now, darling, don’t torment yourself like that.”
My heart hammered. They were vile.
“It must be sorcerers who cursed the tree with dark magic,” the boy muttered, frowning as he wiped his hands on his tattered clothes.
“Since when do you think?” his mother hissed.
The boy’s fists clenched. Tiny cuts marked his palms, scraped and bloodied. “The Wish Witch has enemies. Powerful sorcerers who want to take her place. A sorcerer without the magic of confectioners is weak.”
His father blinked. “And how do you know that?”
“I read it in a book.”
“You can read?” his mother sneered, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.
The boy nodded gravely. “When Father takes me to town to flirt with the young milkmaid, because she likes children, I slip into the bookshop and read about magic. One day, I’ll be a sorcerer too?—”
The slap landed before he could finish his sentence.
He crumpled into the grass from the blow, as if it were his fault that his father’s eyes wandered. I wanted to run to him, but the orchard boy’s Spirit held my hand. His whole body trembled, yet he shook his head.
The father swallowed hard without a word, touching his neatly trimmed beard as though it were his most prized possession.
“You have no magic! You’ll never be a sorcerer! You’re useless!” spat the mother before burying her face in her hands, tears shining in her eyes. “We are doomed. The witch will kill us all!”
“Then let’s flee,” her husband suggested weakly, patting her shoulder as if he hadn’t touched her in years.
“Flee? Into poverty? Survival is not living!”
