White Witch, Black Magic

Jake sighs. “It’s an old wound, Emma. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” I splutter, aghast. “Jake, how can you say that? Who’s been beating you? Who did this?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Was it you father?”

“No! My father was a good and kind man. He never hurt anyone. Ever.”

“Who then? You can tell me. You can trust me, Jake.”

“Can I?”

“You’ve been through a lot. That much is clear. I’d guess you’ve lost a lot, too. You’ve forgotten how to trust someone. But you need to learn to believe in people. Well, re-learn, I guess.”

Jake looks at me with those bright blue eyes. “It was a soldier.”

“What happened?”

“I was stealing, and he caught me, alright?”

“Why were you stealing?”

“Because I’m a thief.”

“You’re a good guy, Jake. What drove you to steal?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not until you tell me the whole story. I’m probably about as stubborn as you are.”

Jake takes a deep breath. “I guess it could all go back to the war. Five years ago, when I was eleven years old, Holz tried to take land from Collina. The border they picked was over my home. My father had to go and fight. He left with the army, and told me to take care of my sister and mom. It was a short war, only eight months, but he never came home. We learned that, after the war was over, he died as the soldiers were returning. One of the prisoners escaped. My father gave his life to get the prisoner back under control.”

Jake pauses. I’m tempted to ask for him to continue, but I stay quiet. Jake takes another deep breath before plunging on. “My mother, Molly Brunswick, was pregnant. She found out just after Dad left home.”

He stops again and stares morosely into the river.

“Then what happened?” I ask quietly.

Jake sighs. “She died. A month after my father was…gone…really gone…the baby came. A little boy. She didn’t make it. Christa and I did all we could, but he couldn’t survive without her. He was only a week old. We never even named him, not officially, but Mom wanted to call him James, after my father.

“I managed to find a job for a farmer. He was a horrible old man, and his place was so far from the cabin Christa and I lived in…but I had to support us somehow.

“Christa did what she could. She was only nine, but she managed to tend to all our animals, and keep us fed. In her spare time she did stitchery, which she tried to sell on Market Days.

“Life was hard, but we were scraping by. Then Christa got sick. Came home from the market one day with a cough…a week later, she was hacking up blood. A lot of people died in the village that year, but I would have traded any number of lives to keep my sister. She was so small and kind. Bright and colorful as a flower, and about the size of one, too. She was so full of life…so happy.

“I asked McClean for some time off, a few days, to take care of Christa. He told me I could go anytime I wanted to. But if I left, he said he’d kill me if I ever set foot on his property again.

“Christa said not to worry about it. She said she was fine. But she wasn’t. She lost the ability to do simple tasks…she was so weak…I begged McClean for a day at home…he chased me off with the knife he used to butcher the hogs…

“I did what I could for Christa, but we were slowly starving to death. I sold all the animals and used the money on all sorts of medicines. None of them worked. I kept her fed as best I could, but we both knew she couldn’t hang on.

“She stopped eating, saying she would die anyway, that I need the sustenance more than she did. I told her she needed to keep her strength up, that she’d be fine. I forced her to eat by threatening to starve myself. I’d only eat my portion of a meal after she’d had hers. I watched the meat fall off our bones as the money ran out. Then a traveling medicine man came to town, and I had hope. He claimed to have cured people up and down the Sylvian Forest…being twelve, I believed him.

“But I didn’t have any money. He didn’t want anything I offered and told me to get lost. So I broke into his wagon during the night and tried to steal some of the medicine…he caught me…they whipped me for it…I don’t know how I made it home, I suppose some of the townspeople dragged me back, but I remember collapsing on the kitchen table, face down.

“When I woke, days must have gone by. Christa’s bed was empty. She was sprawled on the ground; her blonde hair making a halo around her head…near her was a shattered bowl and spilled soup. While I slept, she’d stitched my back together again…kept me alive, even though it took her life. She wasn’t yet eleven…”

The world around me is blurring, and I realize I’m crying. Jake is too. His voice is choked, but somehow he manages to continue his tale.

“I was twelve, Emma. And I had no one. I couldn’t maintain the farm, even though at that point it was just an empty building. So I left. Followed the medicine man along the edges of the countries, stealing a little here and there. Not much; barely enough to live off of. He never caught me again.

“In Holz, he went before the king. Did some magic tricks…I watched from the shadows, waiting for the feast, hoping I could pilfer an actual meal for once. It was there that I met people in the circus.”

“Circus?” I ask. I’ve heard about such a thing, in my father’s books, but I’d never actually seen one. They are for the richest of the rich only.

“Yes. I joined them. I had several jobs. None of them were great…I cleaned up after the animals…I was the Knife Man’s target…I put my head in the lion’s mouth…But for the first time since my father had died, I had friends. There was one kid, about my age; his father was the lead acrobat. All the acrobats were related, see. Brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, sons and daughters…a huge family…they could all fit on one bicycle…

“I ate better than I had since my mother passed. Leo, the acrobat boy, and his sister, Lena, introduced me to their father. He taught me a few basic moves, and I would occasionally take the place of a younger acrobat, if they were injured or something.”

“Is that why you’re such a good climber?” I ask.

“Yes. I had lots of practice with Leo and Lena’s family.”

“So how come you aren’t with the circus anymore?”

“Well, after I’d been with them for a while, I started to feel at home. We traveled country to country. We performed in Regnum once, for Avaysia’s family.”

I remember the faint recognition that had briefly flashed across Avaysia’s face when she first saw Jake. She’d dismissed it quickly, but she had seen him before.

“I was so stupid, getting comfortable there,” Jake continues. “I should have known better. But I was young and foolish and still trusting.

“When I was 13, the circus was robbed. We were in-between kingdoms, traveling around the outskirts of the Sylvian Forest. The robbers stole a lot from the circus. And they stole me.”

“They stole—? How?”

“I remember swinging through the trees with the other acrobats. The knife thrower was chucking blades around, trying to deter the robbers. One went off course and would have killed me, but I stepped back and it missed. Of course, being in a tree, there wasn’t anywhere to step to. I fell—at least twelve feet—smacking into the ground…I woke up surrounded by the bandits. The circus folk were gone. The bandits said I could join them, if I wanted.”

“And you did? Why?”

“What else was I to do? Run off into the forest? For all I know, they would have killed me if I didn’t join.

“They taught me many things. It’s thanks to them that I was able to survive in these woods. They showed me how to hunt…how to handle a weapon…how to move so no one hears…how to pick a lock.

“I was the best thief. The smallest, fastest, quietest, quickest, the most nimble…but I was also the worst one. I couldn’t stand to steal. I was great at it, but hated to do it.

“When I was fourteen I pulled off the ultimate theft. I stole myself. I took some weapons with me. You and Wren confiscated them, remember? Right before I freed myself from that cage, picking sixteen locks in twice as many seconds; that’s the fastest I’ve ever done it.”

I nod.

Jake sighs. “I went to the nearest village and tried to scrap together my broken life. But I couldn’t get a job. I had to steal to survive. As much as I detested it, and myself, that’s how I survived.

“I got caught once, in years of thievery. They put me in the town jail, but escaping was easy. Every good thief can pick a lock. I was kicked from place to place, hated sometimes, but usually ignored.

“I went into the Sylvian Woods, not long before I met you. I thought to peaceably live out my days in solitude. My only friends were the very birds I hunted to survive. Them and the rest of my meals. Then you came through. I don’t know what made me do it, but I tried to steal from you. When you pulled out that stick, I thought I was toast for sure. I was certain you were a witch, and you were going to electrocute me or something.”

“I did scare you, didn’t I?” I say, smiling. “Then I chased you through the woods, and I ended up in that ogre’s nets. Why’d you come back to save us, anyways?”

“I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“You know, for a seasoned thief, your pretty soft.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

“I thought you were already dead when I arrived. You were all floating in a pot of boiling water. You were draped over a giant carrot stick, I think. I asked if you were okay, and you said, ‘Just dandy.’ Then you passed out.”

“And you convinced the ogre—”

“Oli.”

“You convinced Oli he had a tail, and saved our lives.”

“Best choice in my miserable little life.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen. You?”

“Fifteen and a half.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I look again at the scars covering Jake’s back. I know I have magic, but I don’t know the extent of it. Is it possible I could find a way to heal him?

“I want to try something,” I say. “Sit still. I don’t know if this will work.”

“What?”

“I’m going to try to heal your scars.”

“They are healed. That’s why they’re scars, not gaping wounds.”

His attempt at humor is weak.

“I’m going to try to make even the scars vanish.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Can’t hurt to give it a whirl.”

“Alright. Just don’t…explode me, or anything.”

I ignore the jibe and move behind Jake. Lifting my right hand, I place the tips of my middle and pointer fingers against his skin. I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, then release it.

Think good thoughts. Times spent at home. With my family.

“Emma?”

“Shh. I’m focusing.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Emma, tell me about your family.”

“My family?”

“Yes. What’s it like to have one?”

I tell Jake all my favorite memories, the same ones I’d been trying to capture to heal him with. As I talk, I trace his scars. There are so many of them. With every memory I recount, and every disfigurement I run my hand over, the more I feel Jake—and myself—relaxing.

Suddenly, his scars begin to disappear. My fingers cover an angry red line and leave soft pink skin in its place.

“Jake! It’s working!”

“It is?”

“Yes!”

I run my fingers over scar after scar, making them disappear. It makes me look at my magic in a new light. I realize how much I’m learning. I originally thought it could only be used as a weapon, but when I used it to find water within the earth, I knew it was also a tool. Now I’m using it to heal Jake. When will I find its limits? I wonder.

When I finish, Jake and I sit in silence for a few moments.

“Thank you,” he says, pulling his shirt back on.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” I reply.

“You taught me to trust again.”

We’re quiet for a while longer.

“I wonder if Wren and the girls are finished yet?” I say.

Jake stands and offers me his hand. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet.

“Let’s go see,” he says.

I turn to head back to the flower trail but jerk to a stop after only one step. Jake is still holding my hand and he’s not budging. I look over my shoulder and catch sight of his face. It looks…sad, but hopeful, too.

“Emma,” he says.

I swivel to face him again. “Yes?”

He pulls me forwards by our linked hands. The movement is so sudden that it knocks me off balance. I stumble as Jake releases my hand and pulls me into his arms. He crushes me to his chest and buries his face in my hair. I can hear his heart pounding, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. I relax against him and wrap my arms around his waist.

I’m not sure how long we stand there like that. It might only be for a few moments and it might be for days on end. Time has lost meaning. Jake’s arms are warm and strong and I feel so safe here, safer than I have since before the tournament. I breathe in the smell of him, all woods and dirt and something else. Something entirely his own.

No one has ever held me like this. Ever. I have never felt like this, not once in my life. If this is what all those other girls were on about, what I’ve been missing for all those years…no. It was worth waiting for this moment, here in the Land of the Unicorns, wrapped in Jake’s arms.

He pulls back first, his hands sliding from my back to my shoulders and then down my arms. His blue eyes lock onto my violet ones as he smiles at me. I grin back. He pulls me close again, kisses my forehead, then takes my hand. Together we turn our backs on the river.

We walk back to the yellow flowers, still hand-in-hand, and follow them to the oak tree where Nyra lives. She’s nestled high in the branches, half hidden in the dense foliage, playing her flute. I hear birds and squirrels chirping and chattering back at her.

“Nyra!” I call up.

The flute rings out a few notes, than Nyra calls down, “Yes?”

“What do we do now?”

“Tis time for sleeping. The sun has set.”

“We just woke up!”

She doesn’t respond. I hear the flute blow again and the rustling of leaves. There’s no breeze.

“Nyra?” Jake asks.

I see Nyra’s bare feet appear between the branches. More and more of her comes into view, as if she’s being lowered to the ground. When she clears the branches, I see that she is being carried.

There are straps running up and down her arms. A flock of birds hold the straps in their claws. Somehow they manage to flap their wings without colliding, and they bring Nyra to the ground. When she’s still several feet above our heads, they drop her.

Nyra flips once, twice, three times, and lands balanced on the balls of her feet and the fingers of her left hand. Her right arm reaches up behind her. The birds scatter in the air. One, the little yellow bird she was talking to when I woke up, flutters to her shoulder as she gracefully rolls her body back, aligning herself on top of her feet.

Nyra pulls her flute from the pouch on her hip. She blows a few notes, and it sounds like a thank you. The birds call back. I can almost understand them.

“That was, without a doubt, the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” someone says.

We all turn and see Wren and the girls coming towards us. Bella’s mouth is hanging open. Avaysia has a hand in her hair, pushing it out of her face.

“How did you do that?” Wren asks.

“I told you she talks to birds,” I reply.

Nyra smiles. “I am glad you are safely returned. Tis time for us to sleep. The sun has set, and soon the moon will rise high. Come.”

She grabs a vine and soars into the air. She’s so graceful about it. We all follow her up. The mushroom staircase has changed. The fungi are different colors than they were before.

We make our way to the room in the tree. I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep, seeing as I woke up only a few hours ago. But when I lie down, I feel my eyes sag closed. The others must be experiencing a similar effect. I listen to their breathing even out and know they’ve fallen asleep. Nyra starts to play on her flute again, a slow, sad song.

“Nyra?” I say, sitting up.

“Yes, Emma?”

“How did you come to be here?”

“That is a long tale.” She begins to play again.

“Nyra?”

The music cuts off in a sighs. “Yes?”

“How did you learn to play like that?”

“Lots of practice.”

“Can you teach me?”

“To play the flute?”

“To talk with animals. And babies.”

“Tis not a skill to be taught, for everyone is born knowing how. Tis a skill to be relearned.”

“Can you help me to relearn it, then?”

Nyra plays a few measures of her song. I’ve decided I’m not going to get an answer when she says, “No. You must rediscover it for yourself.”

“Nyra—”

“Sleep, Emma. We’ll talk more later.”

I want to protest. There’s so much I want to know about this strange girl. Before I can, the notes of a new song ring out. The music is soothing, guiding me into sleep. I hear the birds pick up the tune, and a young girl singing. Then I fall fast asleep.