The Sorcerer & The Witch
Once, in a village deep in the heart of the forest, a witch was born.
On that day, the people of the village rejoiced, for it had been many years since a baby had survived childbirth. They came from hill and glen to see you, to thank the forest and the fen for lifting their curse.
Every man from woodcutter to farmer promised to keep you safe. Every woman from fishwife to seamstress swore to do the same. They called you foxfire, after those glowing forest waifs that light the wanderer's path. You were their greatest hope, their greatest pride.
[If only their love was enough to stop the sorcerer from doing what he did to you.]
When you were a child scarcely taller than a man's knee, a merchant came to your village. Driven more by desperation than greed, he'd reached the end of his route without selling any of his wares and could not bear to return home a failure. So he said his charms and his prayers and set out for your village.
He was greeted warmly, for it had been many years since a merchant had come. He sold all he had to trade, even the tin and lead trinkets that city folk would never glance at. You came up to him when he was drinking and he stared at you with horror, for all the townsfolk on his path warned him that your village was cursed with no children.
But his horror soon turned to delight. You were a bright child and polite and asked him many questions of his travels. The villagers looked at you proudly, to see you impress a man as widely travelled as he.
When he left and stopped at the next town over, he told them of the single child in the childless village. Word soon reached the king and he stroked his beard and summoned his youngest sorcerer.
"It is strange indeed for only one child to have survived thus far. Go and see why that is."
The youngest sorcerer sighed but obeyed. He arrived in your village on the back of a steaming warhorse, his cloak billowing a black cloud behind him. The villagers cringed away in fear, but you walked up to him and bowed and welcomed him.
The sorcerer had a fine eye for magic and he could see a little of it in you. He should have taken you back to the king and had you trained in the craft, but you stood no higher than his thigh and were the only gift these villagers had. He gave you a flower of heart-wood, told you to be kind to others and left.
You grew from a child to young girl. Everywhere you went flowers bloomed.
That spring, a musician came to your village. Driven more by desperation than greed, he'd reached the end of his route without earning either fortune or fame and could not bear to return home a failure. So he said his charms and his prayers and set out for your village.
He was greeted warmly, for it had been many years since a musician had come. He was paid well for all his songs, even the old love ballads city folk would never listen to. You came up to him when he was drinking, scarcely as tall as his chin. He stared at you with horror, for all the townsfolk on his path had warned him that your village was cursed to have no youth.
But his horror soon turned to delight. You were precocious and sweet and asked him many questions about his instruments. The villagers looked at you proudly, to see you impress a man as charming as he.
When he left and stopped at the next town over, he sung about the one girl in the youthless village. Word soon reached the king. He stroked his greying beard and summoned his second youngest sorcerer.
"It is strange indeed for only a single youth to live among so many elders. Go and see why that is."
The second youngest sorcerer sighed but obeyed. He arrived in your village in a brilliant carriage with royal flags snapping in the wind. His guards were dour faced soldiers and the villagers cringed away in fear.
As before, you walked up to him and bowed and welcomed him.
The second youngest sorcerer spent a long time thinking, for your magic had grown and he too had a duty to take you away. But you were not yet a woman and he did not want to steal you from your village before your time. He gave you a flower of fire-heart, told you to be a be obedient to your parents and left.
When next the king heard of you, many years had passed.
People spoke of you near and far - said that animals and trees bowed their heads when you walked past, that flowers grew in your footsteps, that you could heal any sickness of soul or body.
The king stroked his beard - all of it now as white as snow - and summoned the oldest and most powerful of his sorcerers.
"It is strange indeed for a village girl to have such powers. Go and see why that is."
The strongest sorcerer was a man well versed in even the darkest, most arcane magic and had lived through three lifetimes already. He had the face and the strength of a young man, but eyes like chips of stone.
He didn't sigh as the other two did before him. He only smiled in that distant, icy way of his and said he would be glad to obey.
He arrived in your village in the dead of night without horse or guards, a wolf skin cloak wrapped around him. The villagers paid him no mind - you alone noticed him and bid him welcome.
The sorcerer caught his breath. For you were indeed beautiful, and the trees and the animals did indeed bow their heads to. But more than that, your magic had grown from a trickle to a torrent. As old and immortal as he was, he had met few who possessed as much raw power as you did.
The sorcerer grew wary, for even he could not match your strength. If ever you turned your anger on the kingdom, you could turn cities to ash and armies to stone with a wave of your hand. You offered him some water to drink and as he watched you, he contrived an awful plan.
The sorcerer was a handsome man and could be as chivalrous as any knight if he chose. He gently took your hand in his and begged you to meet him in the forest.
You were sheltered, naive and no man had ever looked at you as he did. You blushed and simpered but made no promises.
The next day, he brought you a heart-wood flower and kissed your hand when he handed it to you.
"Heart-wood for your kiss, my lady."
You were just a village girl and no man had ever called you lady as he did, no one except the sorcerers had ever given you so fine a gift. Still, you did not go to meet him.
The next day, he brought you a flower of fire-heart and kissed your cheek when he handed it to you.
"Fire-heart for the fire of your love, my darling."
Your heart leapt at his touch, at the warmth of his body beside you. In a tumble of thoughts and confusion, you wondered what it would feel like if he kissed other parts of you. Despite the love you were beginning to feel for him, you still did not go to meet him.
On the third day, he brought you a flower of mountain-heart made entirely of diamond and kissed your lips.
"Mountain-heart in exchange for yours, my love."
You were his then, heart and soul, and he knew it. Perhaps it is a testament to his cruelty that he could make you fall for him so easily and feel nothing in return.
That night you set forth to meet him.
The brambles caught at your cloak as you walked, the deer rushed headlong along your path to confuse your way, the foxfire flickered. The whole forest tried to warn you. You were blind and deaf to it all, your mind filled only with thoughts of your handsome suitor.
He met you in a clearing under the moonlight and when you opened your arms to embrace him, he snapped his fingers and bound you to the earth with magic.
You struggled in vain, too frightened and betrayed to think straight.
"You are too wild and dangerous to let live," the sorcerer said, his magic twisting tighter around your arms.
You thrashed and whimpered, moonlight on your skin. The sorcerer was immortal and thought himself beyond mortal cares, but he was still a man.
He watched your dress slipping off your shoulder as you struggled and something began to stir in him. The hunger all men feel when a woman is helpless before them.
He touched his hand to your thigh and shivered at the warmth. "You are such a rare creature," he mused. "Beautiful and dangerous all at once."
He looked at you as no man had ever looked at you before. Eyes full of a desire you couldn't name.
Sweet, naive girl. How were you to know not to trust men sweet smiles but wolf eyes? How were you to know how hot desire burns? It scorches away morals and scruples, burns away guilt.
The sorcerer had his way with you. He stilled your tongue with magic, so you couldn't scream when he pulled your skirts higher up your thighs. He bound your arms behind your back so you couldn't scratch at him when he forced his way between your legs.
You didn't know anything about magic. Didn't even realise you had any. How could you fight against a man with centuries of learning? Countless spells?
When he was done and had laced up his trousers, he looked at you through eyes wicked with guile. Greed whispered in his ear - greed for your power, greed for your flesh.
"I won't kill you, girl. It would be an awful waste of magic." He stroked your cheek and you jerked away from him, unable to stand any more of his touch.
His magic grew tighter around you and he looked at you with an expression as remote and cold as the moon.
"I will instead bind you to me. Make you my servant and my slave for all eternity, able to speak and do only as I command."
You thrashed in your bindings and the earth trembled with your panicking magic. But for all the strength in you, you could not match the skill of the sorcerer.
His enchantment dug through your skin and into your rib cage. You screamed, cursed him and his gods. You would have turned the whole kingdom to ash with your fear if his magic wasn't holding you.
He took your face in his hands and you turned your head to bite into his palm. You bit hard enough to draw blood but he was too deep in his conjuring to either notice or care.
That's what you remember most about that night - the metal smell of his magic and the metal taste of his blood.
His magic was in your heart, in the very core of you. You could feel it like a hand touching the most sacred thing you owned. He was taking what no one else in the world could even touch.
The king's sorcerer wrapped your heart in magic and carefully - for he was afraid of you, despite his strength and his years - linked it to his own. You sagged against your bindings, your strength leaking out of you. He pulled your face up to meet his eyes and all he saw looking back at him was a dull compliance.
"You will listen and obey."
"I will listen and obey," you echoed. Inside your mind, you raged against the chains he'd drawn. But the sorcerer knew his work and when he withdrew his magic vines, you followed him demurely.
In the morning, he announced to the villagers that he was taking you as an apprentice and they all rejoiced to see you climb so high in the world. You hugged them and kissed them goodbye. The sorcerer was adept at his puppeteering and not a one noticed the screaming soul inside you.
The sorcerer held you in thrall. For a decade and then two, you followed at his heels and lent him your magic. He felled armies with a wave of his hand, parted the sea with a breath. Made the humble king of your kingdom into an emperor.
He had you whenever and wherever he pleased - bent over his desk or sprawled in the silk of his bed. Begging him to be gentle and begging him to be rough. He made your body respond to him, made you pull him closer and whisper that you loved him.
Trapped inside a body that you couldn't control, you grew hateful. The sweet village girl was gone, burnt away by the heat of his lips and skin on yours. Fom your awful prison inside yourself, you promised vengeance.
You watched and you waited and you plotted. When the third decade of your imprisonment came, the king passed and the crown prince was named his successor. He was strong and brave, but had little trust in magic and no trust at all in the sorcerer.
The moment he was crowned, he summoned the sorcerer.
"As a show of trust between us, I would have you keep your witch consort here at court," he ordered.
The sorcerer wanted to quarrel with the prince but his years had taught him it was too troublesome to make enemies of the powerful. He agreed to leave you at court while he went about the kingdom on his work. Afterall, what's a single season to an immortal?
For three decades he held the spell on you. Your obedience and the love he made you show had lulled him into a false sense of security. He had forgotten the hate on your face when first he chained you.
He bowed his head in obedience to the new king and gave you your chance to escape.
The king trusted you as little as he trusted the sorcerer and commanded you to stay near his side. From dawn til dusk you followed him. You were beautiful, as unchanged as the day the sorcerer captured you. And despite the prince's wariness and despite his best efforts, he began to fall for you.
On a night when the stars were shining cold and cruel, when the moon was newly hatched and invisible to the eye, you let your hair fall loose around your shoulders and dropped your layers of skirts and petticoats. Until you wore nothing but a white shift that showed the silhouette of your body when you stood in front of the fireplace.
The king found you waiting for him in his room, the firelight reflected off your hair. To his credit, he tried to turn you away. Tried to be noble and honour your virtue.
But he was still a man.
You'd learnt a long and hard lesson about the restraint of men. You laid your hand on his chest and felt the beat of his heart. There were precious few things the sorcerer allowed you to say, but you managed to find some words not restricted by his curse.
"My lord, I'm cold. Will you not warm me?"
The king's eyes grew dark with desire and his noble ideas of virtue crumbled under your touch. You pulled his face toward you and bit at his neck until he did the same to you.
You spent the night with king, teasing him until his restraint broke and he left bruises on your thighs.
The sorcerer came back on the full moon.
He slipped your dress from your shoulders and saw the bite marks littered across your chest. His grip grew tighter and the shadows of the room lengthened.
"Who?" he growled in a voice terrible with anger, "Who has touched you? Who dared to take what's mine and mine alone?"
"The king," you answered, for you couldn't lie to him.
"For how long?" he asked, as hearth fire began to flicker an awful green. "How many weeks has he had you in his bed?"
"Since the new moon," you answered, for his magic forced you to speak.
The sorcerer stood for a moment as still as the dead. Then his rage exploded in a ball of green fire.
It ripped through the walls of the castle, burnt through mortar and brick, through armour and bone. Distantly, people began to scream. In a blink of magic, he moved you both to the throne room, where the king was holding counsel.
The sorcerer clenched his fist and fire ripped through the throne room. It melted the great metal throne and turned the king to smouldering ash in a second.
In his rage, the sorcerer's magic was wild and unstable. With a bite of your wrist and a tremendous pull of magic, you were able to loosen your heart from his curse.
If he were not blinded by jealousy and bloodlust, he would have noticed it immediately.
His magic roared until the great palace was was in ruins, marble melted and running like metal.
Perhaps, were you were still innocent to the cruelty of men, you might have felt guilty. Might have felt horror at the charred husks of the king and his men.
But your years of captivity hardened you and all you cared about was escape.
When it was done, the sorcerer took your face in his palms and kissed you, without a single care for the palace that smoldered around him.
"You are mine," the sorcerer purred, "No matter how much the prince wished it otherwise."
You kept your face as carefully blank as if you were still under his spell and stabbed him in the heart.
It gave you just enough time to wrap your magic around him and bind him to the earth. He roared, pulling and twisting to no use.
You felt his magic weakening and for the first time in three decades, you were able to speak with your own tongue.
"What am I to do with you, sorcerer? For three decades you've held me. For three decades I've been your slave. "
You flicked your wrist and the fire around you flickered to nothing. It was only him and you and the moon, as it had been so long ago.
"For each year that passed, I thought of a different revenge. Cut you into little pieces while you're still alive and feed you to the ravens. Drain all your magic and leave you a wandering madman, entirely reliant on the mercy of others. Burn you at the stake."
Even in chains of magic, the sorcerer was formidable. A tiger waiting for a single misstep to pounce. Even as your prisoner, he looked unafraid.
It made an icy cruelty well up in you.
"No, sorcerer," you said in a voice like tombs opening, "All that is far too good for you."
You reached forward and plucked at the magic that held you to his will. In the beginning, all you wanted was to cut that connection, have total freedom. But you'd had three decades to learn cruelty and now a better idea came to you.
Your magic hooked into his heart, into the very core of his being. You could feel it like a hand touching the most sacred thing he owned. You reversed the spell and took from him what no one else in the world could even touch.
When it was done, you held his face in your hands.
"You will listen and obey."
He was the strongest sorcerer in the kingdom, perhaps in the world. He was the man who tormented you and used you.
"I will listen and obey," the sorcerer echoed.
He was the monster of all your nightmares. And now he was your slave.
On your travels, you heard of a village where babies never survived birth.
When you reached it, you were greeted warmly, for it had been many years since a traveller had come.
A child came up to you when you were drinking, a spright of a girl scarcely taller than your thigh. You looked at her with delight, for all the townsfolk on your path warned you that this village was cursed with no children.
"What are you?" she asked.
"A foxfire witch," you replied.
She mulled this over without fear.
"What do witches do?"
You smiled and conjured a heart-wood flower out of the air. She gasped and took it delicately, startled by it's beauty. More fine than anything in the village.
"I warn little girls about the dangers of the world."
You didn't say the rest out loud, but your thoughts floated on the wind and perhaps she understood the wisps of them.
I warn little girls about the cruelty and the lust of men. So that they are never caught as unguarded as I was.
Behind you, the sorcerer waited patiently with the horses. If his soul was screaming inside him, no one heard it.
