The Final Days of Springborough

She walked the forest that connected Springborough to the Village of Fortis. The forest that held the Queen’s cottage; that ended right before Quakenfalls. At times, you can glimpse the waters of Cornwall amongst the trunk of trees. At others, it seemed the forest was so dense it went on forever. Sunlight always seemed to shine through, always seemed to find her, and guide her on her way.

The ground had begun to dry up. Where once it was a sloshy mud that seemed perilous to walk through, now it was slowly caking, forming permanent prints that more walking over would erode. Or maybe they would stay there until the next rain fall when the earth would be reshaped. The air still hung heavy as the sun’s heat tried its best to evaporate all of the moisture through the dense foliage, but only so much could happen at once, and any water that had turned to vapor from the ground felt murky in her lungs.

The woman had welcomed the storm. She knew what it carried. The spirits of long ago that did not get their proper vengeance were coming back to the Kingdom of Springborough one last time on the winds and chaos of the violent tempest. There was only one way to create such a storm and that was to remove the ring from a royal hand, and there was only one way to end the storm, which was to find another with royal blood to put on the ring. She had never believed it would have been done so fast.

But what was done was done. The spirits were here.

She walked through the Forest until she stepped foot into the portion of the wooded area that never seemed to grow leaves. Legend had it was that the trees were all burnt due to a fire caused by lightening. But, she knew better.

The Warlock liked the look of dead trees better than live ones. He felt living trees hid behind their leaves, that their true character was in their woody branches and strong trunks. And so the Warlock let the trees grow, and when he felt they were just right, he used his magic to petrify them, causing them to lose their leaves, and become large gnarled statues that encompassed his area. Living trees grew out of the dead ones, probably guessing at what their own fate was going to be.

He had quite the collection of tree statues, she must say, as she ran her fingers over one, feeling the bark that felt like stone. It was in one of the biggest trunks that she discovered the door down to his dwelling.

She stepped down the dirt stairs, knowing she was expected. Nothing seemed to happen in the land without the warlock’s knowledge. He would have seen her since she left Springborough, although that was all the way back to yesterday. He would have prepared her favorite drink, a combination of boiled roots and lemon, and dug a hole in the earth so she could rest her weary feet in the cool ground water. The warlock, for all of his evil deeds, was really quite kind to her, and that was what made her drawn to him.

He sat at his desk when she saw him, haunched over written correspondence that he was laboring on. He had written dozens of letters, his small makeshift, wooden desk was piled high with parchment, and she knew that was going to be her first task; to deliver them all, or see them delivered, in lands close and far. This all had been his plan from the very beginning…

The Village of Fortis was preparing to do battle against the Kingdom of Springborough, the dark spirits trapped in the storm were now released to walk the Earth, and every parent in the land was powerless to protect their children. The only thing he had failed to do was get the ring.

But, he had a plan.

He never looked up. He barely even breathed. The warlock regarded her simply with-

“Are you ready, Leila?”

And with one of her final breaths, Leila the Witch whispered-

“Yes.”