“This is too much!” proclaimed Ignatius. “I’m going to check on my sister!”

  “You can’t go in!” said Vickiri, stepping between him and the hut. “Whatever is happening is already in motion!”

  “Get out of my way! I don’t care if the lightning witch herself is dancing a jig in her underwear and handing out free gold and honeycomb! This looks dangerous and I can’t idly by if my sister is in danger!”

  “Do not go!” Vickri shouted as he put his hands upon Ignatius chest and shoulder to stop him from advancing. “This was meant to happen! It was foretold!”

  “If you don’t take your hands off of me and get out of my way, I will show you something with my sword you were not expecting!” shouted Ignatius.

  “Please be reasonable, Ignatius!”

  “I won’t tell you again! Get out of my way!” And then, as if on cue to quell his fear, the wind stopped all at once and the hillside became as quiet as a tomb. Not even the insects dared to make a sound.

  “You see?” said Vickiri, removing his hands and stepping away. “Everything is just fine.” Before anyone could speak another word, a strange sound unlike anything any of the four had witnessed before rang out high above their heads. The black clouds reformed into the shape of a bottomless black well. And from the heart of that blackness came a divine shot like an arrow fired by gods too big to name. A lightning bolt the size of the entire hut threw itself upon the land in the footprint of the small home. One second it was a still shimmering white dot high in the sky, and a blink of an eye later it slammed the lightning witch’s hut with such force that every stick of wood and thatch holding the place together came apart at the seams. The blast blew the four from their feet and sent them sprawling as a shower of splinters rained down around them. The wide brimmed hats protected their heads and those wearing leather cloaks didn’t feel so much as a pinprick from the falling shards. Ignatius was first to his feet followed by Robert.

  “Siouxsie!” The two cried out as they raced to her aid. All but a little of the foundation was gone. The rest lay in broken pieces, singed wood and pieces of thatch still on fire here and there. There was so little left that Ignatius rushed to the one remaining pile of scrap and began sifting pieces as fast as he could. “Siouxsie! Siouxsie!” he frantically yelled, pitching handfuls of wood out of his way. Robert looked at the ground around them. Even the dirt floor of the small hut had been scorched black. The silver haired witch’s heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird as he reached the bottom of the pile. But there, underneath the last little bit, wrapped in the white knitted blanket that had been on the floor, Siouxsie emerged like a tiny bumblebee crawling out of a flower. Ignatius couldn’t move fast enough to gather her up in his arms with Robert on the other side to sandwich them all together. “Sister, dear sister.” Ignatius cried, tears on his cheeks as he held her and her twin close, kissing them atop their heads. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his hands canvassing her to look for wounds. “Let me look at you!” To his surprise there wasn’t as much as a scratch upon her anywhere!

  “I’m fine, brother.” She said, finally opening her eyes to look at him. But her eyes were no longer as they were before; the gentle mismatched colors of her eyes had changed to a lustrous silver that almost seemed to give off a light of their own.

  “Siouxsie, your eyes!” exclaimed Robert.

  “What about them?” she asked, groggy as if roused from a deep sleep.

  “Where is the Lightning Witch?” asked Vickiri as he approached from behind. “What’s happened to Sister?”

  “She left.” Offered Siouxsie as she got to her feet. Her clothes and robe were missing but she wrapped herself in the blanket from the toes to her shoulders. “She said to tell everyone goodbye and then we spoke a magic word I’d never heard before. Then the lightning came. Is anyone hurt?” she asked, looking around.

  “What was the word?” asked Vickiri. The question took Siouxsie by surprise. She couldn’t remember it. It had just been in her ears and on her tongue, but as brilliant as it was, the words became strangers to her. Trying to recall them was like trying to catch butterflies with bare hands.

  “I…I don’t remember. She said her time was up and that she had to leave.”

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  “Is that really what she said?” he asked, frantic to learn more. “And… oh my goodness, Siouxsie, your eyes! They’ve started to glow just like hers! This is amazing! Do you know what this means?”

  “No, I don’t.” said Siouxsie. “But I need new clothes. I can’t walk around wrapped in a blanket.”

  “My dear, we’ll make you the finest clothes in all the land! Aman!” exclaimed Vickiri, looking to his wife. “Run and tell everyone what’s come to pass! “Siouxsie, Ignatius, Robert, come let us have a grand feast! Spread the word far and wide! Let everyone know from hamlet to shore that the Lightning Witch is reborn!”

  “Pull harder there!” Bohga shouted down the hill to the prince. “If you don’t pull harder, you’ll never reach the top!” At the bottom of the slope, Prince Damron strained and struggled to pull the cyclops’ cart up the hill. He’d looped a bit of rope around the cart’s handles and put his arms though them to create a type of makeshift yoke. All morning long he’d tugged and strained only to make minimal effort. So steep was the hill up to the cave that every time the boy grew too exhausted to continue any further, the cart defied him and rolled back to the bottom. Prince Damron cursed the beast under his breath as the high morning sun beat down on him. The toil was fruitless and unnecessary. If Bohga wanted to, he could easily walk down the hill, grab the cart and push it back up with little effort. Prince Damron’s fingers and palms burned from blisters growing beneath the surface, gifts from the coarseness of the rope he’d lashed to himself.

  Sweat beaded down from his brow to burn his eyes, his calves trembled in protest of their burden. He shrugged to get the wheels to move and almost gained some momentum when the traction of the dirt gave way, causing him to slip and fall. Prince Damron fell face first into the dust, the cart dragging him across the ground to erase all his hard work. He kicked and fought and scratched to keep even a few feet of his progress only to be denied as the back of the cart smacked into the rock face at the bottom.

  “Hey! You! Be careful there with my cart!” yelled Bohga

  “Why?” The boy panted as he stood up and freed himself from the rope. “This is madness! Why do you have me laboring to raise this cart when you could easily do it yourself? This cart weighs nothing to you!”

  “Because pulling it will make you strong! Very strong am I! I could pull ten carts at a time, but you cannot pull even one! Do not give up!”

  “This is hopeless.” The prince wheezed before plopping down on his butt and hanging his head. At the top of the hill Hoxley gingerly emerged from the mouth of the cave. The high sun almost blinded her, and she held a hand up to shield her eyes.

  “How is he progressing?” she asked Bohga.

  “Very slowly, I’m afraid.” The cyclops stooped some to get a closer look at the faun. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head feels like an egg being squeezed.” She replied, leaning on the edge of the threshold to keep her footing. “I feel woozy all the time.”

  “Then you’ll need to partake in rest and greens and water and soup. These things will make you better in time.”

  “In time.” Hoxley sighed. “I believe that is our biggest obstacle. Bohga, you and I must speak about very important things.”

  “Oh? Must we?” he asked curiously.

  “We must. There are grave matters that must be discussed regarding what the future holds for each of us.”

  “That sounds like you have something very important to say. Come inside the cave, let us speak of the things that trouble your mind. The sun is far too hot to be outside.”

  “What about the prince?” she asked. “He told me this morning that you have taken his crown and forced him into your servitude in exchange for the care you’ve offered me.”

  “These are both true and untrue things.” Bohga said as he ducked to enter the cave. “As for you, I recognize your need for care. You cannot help your condition and if I do not intervene you may become even more afflicted by your head bone wound. As for the prince, I found this to be the best way to keep him occupied and out of the way. Toil will make him strong. If he is truly a prince like you say then he must be strong in body and mind to defend his kingdom, yes? I do not believe your stay will be too long, but he will benefit from physical exertion. The tasks will make him more focused in the head.”

  “And his crown?” she asked.