IX.II; The Wicked Witch of Estain

  We had followed the younger Gram down the clearing to the base of the hut. From within, the faintest humming could be heard—such a sweet, yet eerie voice.

  Young Gram knocked on the door three times, then a delayed fourth. “Mum?”

  The humming stopped and the door creaked slightly open. “Come in…”

  Eldric pushed the door open, and inside the hut were glasses and herbs stacked upon tables, cluttering the house. By one of the tables, a lady with hair far, far redder than Jelen’s swirled a tube in her hand.

  Her hair was knotted and tangled, falling like vines from her head down past her shoulders, nestled atop her breasts. She wore a beautiful dress fashioned of thin silk. Grinning a wicked smile of slightly yellow teeth, she chuckled. “Come. I don’t bite—I swear…”

  The five of us entered, Eldric eyeing the lady down as he circled the inside of the hut. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the boy’s mother,” she said, whispers of naughtiness trailing along her voice. “I thought that was obvious?” With a quick movement, she swallowed the contents of the tube, swirled it in her mouth, made a disgusted face, and spat it back into a clay bowl. “Yuck…”

  “Then…” Eldric began, but his legs were beginning to buckle. Leaning on the side of a table, he sneered at her. “What have you done to me?”

  A loud thump resounded as I turned back to see Jelen fallen to his knees, chuckling. “To us… more like.” With that, he fell face first onto the floor.

  Aslyn crouched to his side and turned her head as Eldric pointed his hand at Gram’s mother. “You…”

  Another thump hit my ears as Telos, standing by the door, fell back into the black dirt outside.

  “I can’t abide men, really,” the witch said, walking over to Eldric and flicking his head. With it, Eldric slammed into the floor.

  “What have you done to them?” Aslyn screamed, pointing her wand at the witch.

  But she only shrugged, walking over to a wooden chair and taking a seat. “They’re just asleep, dear. No need to fret. They thought to invade my darling boy’s mind—so they can spend a minute or two in their own.”

  “My mind, Mother?” Gram questioned.

  “Not you fool,” she cackled, waving her hand. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “If you can’t abide men, how is he your darling boy?” I asked.

  She clicked her fingers at me, and suddenly my nose became much more apparent as my lips sealed shut. I screamed, but only horrid muffles sounded out.

  “It’s rude to ask a hag questions without drinking her tea, you know?” she bellowed, clicking again.

  My body flew forward, spinning in the air as I crashed into a chair beside her. Using her foot, she scooched another chair out from the table and held her hand over it, beckoning Aslyn to sit—which she followed.

  With withered, burned hands, she summoned a cup from nothing—filled to the brim with a dark green liquid—and handed it to Aslyn.

  Doing it again, she held it out for me and held a finger up, clicking. “Now you know.”

  Taking a deep breath out of my newly freed mouth, I held the cup. I thought to ask what it was, but held my tongue. No questions.

  “Do you need me for anything else, Mother?”

  Shaking her head, the witch moved her hand, but stopped. “Actually… go get me some tongues. Three. And an eye. And close the door on the way out.”

  Nodding, Gram ran outside the house, grabbed Telos by the shoulders, pulled him completely outside, and closed the door. The sounds of his giggling resounded out as he ran to the maze.

  “Such a sweet boy, don’t you find?” she asked Aslyn and I.

  “Yes,” Aslyn concurred.

  “He’s a brat now,” I told her. Shit. I let myself slip.

  “Ha!” she cackled, summoning another cup for herself and taking a sip. “Yes, he is—isn’t he? They all lose their sweetness… sooner or later… I can’t help but notice neither of you have taken a sip?”

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  Inspecting the tea, I moved it to my lips. Frankly, I don’t wish to lose my mouth again. I took a small gulp, and I heard Aslyn do the same.

  Surprisingly, it actually tasted quite nice. And now, I think, I can ask a question. “What is it?”

  “Why, it’s tea, dear,” she consoled me, holding her hand out to my cheek. “You look like that girl he’s taken a fancy to. A bit, at least. I must say, I always preferred black to blonde,” giggling, she waved her hand over her hair, “but naturally, red’s the best.”

  “Are you a fragment or the daemon?” Aslyn brutally asked her.

  The witch scoffed at the question. “I’m neither. I’m his mother… nothing more. A question for a sip, remember that. It’s etiquette, I believe…”

  Instantly, I took another sip of the ‘tea’. “What do you know of the daemon?”

  “Well,” she sighed, blowing air out of her mouth. “It’s not a demon—I would say more, but frankly, that was a bit too all-encompassing for my taste.”

  Aslyn followed suit, taking a sip. “Assuming, as we do, that you’re the Wicked Witch of Estain… as the commoners call you: why did they call you that?”

  I thought it odd that she wouldn’t follow up with the daemon question—but then I realised. The tea wasn’t a trick—or a spell, it was a timer. Divide and conquer. I’ll follow the now, and she’ll follow the why.

  “Because I am a witch,” she told Aslyn. “And I certainly didn’t try to hide it. Yes, I may have cast a spell or two on that wormish scion that thought he could hit my beautiful boy—but you can hardly fault the peasants for seeing a girl in the woods and screaming of witches and hexes at first sight, can you?”

  I took a sip of the tea. “What is it, if not a daemon?”

  Clicking her tongue in distaste after taking a sip, the witch raised her eyebrows. “Bit of a bore, waiting for your questions. So I’ll ask my own, tit for tat. Celeste, you first.”

  “That hardly seems fair, dodging my question like that.” And how does she know my name?

  “You’re in my house,” she glared, tilting her eyes, “fair is what I deem. Now, how does it feel—being in such a position of esteem as you are—that the only reason you’re a Chosen of the Tree is because that cretin Cel slaughtered the entirety of your school—little as it was? In simple terms, how does it feel that the only reason you’re special is because there’s no one else?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Ah!” she shushed me, pointing at my neck. I felt my throat—and the wooden vine coiled around it. “See that? That’ll cut your pretty head off if you lie… so, how does it feel?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aslyn feel her own throat—it too had a vine. Damn it. “It feels annoying—being in this position of circumstance—and not by my own merit.”

  “Not as in-depth as I would’ve liked,” she scrunched her face. “But I can hardly blame you, can I? Now…” Smirking, she turned towards Aslyn.

  “Ask your question, Witch,” Aslyn told her, unamused by the situation.

  “Cel… Cel… Cel… but that’s not the name you used to whisper into your pillow—was it? Wait! Don’t answer,” she sniggered, looking over to me before turning back. “My. Question. Is: how does it feel to know he loved Ostelia over you?”

  “I-I…” she stuttered, her lip quivering. “I… couldn’t blame him. She was … beautiful.”

  The witch rolled her eyes as she turned back to me. “Not an answer… not really. Oh well. To answer your question, Celeste: it’s not a demon. It’s Gram—in the same way Cel’s demon wasn’t a demon. They’re intertwined. They’re one. Why, you can lock it up—as your peers did to Cel, but soon enough, one always finds the other.”

  “So we should kill—”

  She smacked me across the face and sent my cup pummeling to the ground, smashing into a dozen shards. “I never said that, did I? No more questions for you. Aslyn, dear?”

  At the strike, I channelled power into the bracelet on my right hand, intent on throwing a thousand gemstone shards into her annoying, witch face, but as I moved my hand, I felt the vine tighten. Gods, she could kill us now—and we’d be able to do nothing to stop it.

  “How does it feel to know your son chopped your head off?” Aslyn sneered at her. You fool.

  “HA!” the witch threw her head back and moaned. “I’d do anything for you… I’ll kill the old fool for you… oh B—”

  Raising her hand, Aslyn rose the earth from under the house to try and kill the witch, but as she did the vine tightened and pulled her up through the roof, smashing it open. In an instant, she was gone.

  “What have you done with her?”

  “Didn’t I say no more questions,” she asked me, tilting her head. Grabbing my cheek and pinching it, she rose from the chair and stretched, walking over to Eldric and kicking his head.“I shall give you—and your friends here a bit of advice: if you kill Gram, a far worse fate awaits you than letting him live. You haven’t seen true horror, I assure you.”

  Standing up, I strolled to the broken cup, trailed my finger along the spilt tea and tasted it. “How do we find the daemon, then?”

  With both hands on her hips, the witch cackled in amusement. “Find the centre of the maze, my dear… but let me tell you, you won’t find it by slashing apart poor sods.”

  She held her hand up and clicked, and with it both Eldric and Jelen awoke.

  “What the hells!” Jelen roared, rising to his feet and going to draw his sword.

  I held my hand out. “Wait! We’re leaving!”

  “What!” Eldric sneered, glancing at the witch.

  “We got what we came for.”

  Looking around, Jelen lowered his eyebrows. “Where’s Aslyn? And Telos?”

  “They’re outside, fool,” the witch sighed, waving her hand. With it, a gust of wind threw us out of the house and slammed the door shut.

  Despite the witch’s words, Aslyn and Telos were nowhere to be found—and as we looked back to the house … it was gone.