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Balance and Bated Breath

Chapter 1: The Witch of Deadlock Valley

By Sydney Noel JonesPublished 2 years ago 6 min read
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There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

That’s not to say that magic hasn’t always run rampant here, though. For centuries, the Deadlock Valley was home to a solitary resident.

Like most witches of this land, she kept to herself, communing with nature during the day and trying spells under the light of the triple moons. As each season turned over, she would tend to the animals of the valley, throwing seed for the birds and shearing the mountain sheep. She harvested the lavender and rosemary and kept her garden tidy.

For some 600 years, she was a cornerstone of the valley. However, just as a river erodes at a canyon, so too does humanity at the balance of nature.

One sunny spring morning, a sprite flitted through the valley, simply a pitstop on her journey to the sacred forest just over the eastern mountain range. As she looked ahead, she saw the familiar edifice of the witch’s cottage, ivy overtaking the stones. This was no different than the year before, when the sprite had rested on the mossy roof before continuing her pilgrimage.

What was different was how quiet, how empty, the valley was. No chirping of finches, no bullfrog bellows, not even the sound of the witch’s singing. Still, the sprite continued on until she landed on the windowsill, taking hold of one of the ivy vines. She peered inside, bright eyes searching for the witch.

“Gaia!” The sprite knocked on the window, a small tap. Furrowing her brow, she started to push on the glass. It didn’t budge. Usually, Gaia left it unlatched, especially around this time of year.

The sprite turned, leaping from the sill and catching herself with glittery wings. The southern sun, Luca, shone down bright. His northern brother, Tilla, was already passing over the western horizon. The witch should be here. It was supper time. Time for homemade biscuits and jam, lavender tea and lemon bread.

Crossing her arms, the sprite pouted. This wasn’t like Gaia. Even if she was in the valley somewhere collecting mulberries and daisies, she would have left a note on the door.

A note on the door! The sprite realized her oversight and flitted to the front door of the cottage. Magically preserved and enchanted to change colors with the sky above, it was naked. There was no note.

The sprite landed on the welcome stone and looked under the door. Nope, nothing there either. She searched the threshold before growing impatient and pushing at the door with all of her might. To her surprise, it creaked open.

“Oh?” She shimmied through the crack and entered the cottage.

Dried bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling. Candles floated in the air, unlit. The cauldron in the fireplace was cold. The greatest, and perhaps most chilling, sight was the mice milling about.

The sprite shot up into the air, far out of reach of the rodents. Gaia was kind to them, but her familiar, Felix, was not. The tuxedo kitten was nowhere to be found. And by the state of the cottage, he hadn’t been there in quite some time.

The sprite’s ear twitched. She leaned into the faint sound, trying to distinguish it. Marching. Lots of footsteps. All together. The sound grew louder, though it would still be faint to human ears.

The sprite buzzed over to the door once more, leaving the house and flying due west toward the sound of humanity. She kept to the tree canopy, well out of sight should she find the makers of the footsteps.

In the dimming light, she could see the beginnings of a bonfire. The men around it were arguing fervently about something.

“She can’t be allowed ta live!”

“Nay, she can’t. The gods demand it.”

“I understan’ that, but she’s done nothing wrong!”

At that, the rest of the six or so men began shouting at the one. Before long, the one held up his hands in surrender. One of the others, a tall, skinny man wearing a dark cloak, raised a hand for the others to quiet down.

“Then it is decided. The witch must burn. And when she does, we will take the valley for ourselves, for the City of Men.” All the men, save the one, cheered loudly.

The sprite felt herself tremble in fear. Like a leaf in a rainstorm, she clung to the tree branch she landed on. Tears blurred her vision. Then, she heard the voice.

It was different from the men. It was soft and kind, like a mother’s – like Gaia’s.

“Dear Ira, do not weep for me. This is not the end. For I will defend this valley and all who reside here until the Underworld calls me home.”

The whisper seemed to come from the trees. Ira clung to the branch, digging her fingers into the bark. She didn’t understand. Gaia had always been kind, far too kind. The witch would not, could not, ever hurt anyone or anything. Yet, as Ira thought this, the ground shook.

“By the gods!” The one man shouted before turning away from Ira’s tree and looking at something she couldn’t see. Excitement prickled at Ira’s heart as she unwrapped herself from the tree branch and stood.

Taking off, she whizzed between branches, staying far enough from the circle of men in the trees that they could not see her. Then, she stopped. Hovering in place, Ira looked at the sight before her.

In the shadows of the trees, the witch stood proud, though she was bound to a stake. Next to her, in a small makeshift cage, was Felix.

Ira’s breath caught.

Still looking straight ahead at the men, the witch smiled. The ground continued to shake. Tree branches around them fell, cracking loudly and frightening the tiny sprite.

“Stop this charade,” the tall man shouted at Gaia. “Accept the fate before you, witch. The age of elves had ended. The age of witches is following. You will be the first of many. You should be honored.”

“Oh Gellis, I believe you. I believe that you think this is the case. But as long as there is magic in the realm, there will be witches. And where there are witches, there is rebellion.”

The tall man, Gellis, turned on a heel before snatching a torch from one of the other men’s hands.

“Enjoy your rebellion, witch.” Gellis threw the lit torch onto the pyre. As it lit, Gaia only smiled. The ground ceased its shaking.

“So it shall be. But remember, Gellis, you chose this. You lit the pyre.”

Gaia’s eyes flitted up to where Ira hovered in shock. As the flames licked up her skirts, she did not scream. She gave no indication of feeling pain. Instead, she exhaled.

The embers that escaped her lips sent Gellis stumbling backwards. Next to Gaia, Felix was purring loudly, yellow eyes getting brighter with each moment. As his eyes lit, Felix’s body grew. His fur receded until scales replaced them, covering his body. The wooden cage creaked as Felix grew. Seconds later, the cage snapped, and Felix emerged.

Midnight scales covered his sleek reptilian body. He hissed at the men who remained before turning a cocked head to Gaia.

“Leave me, darling Felix,” she said. “Go home. Go home and tell them I will follow soon.” Felix launched himself into the air, up through the canopy and into the darkening sky. The smoke from the growing flames followed him.

Gellis had regained his composure after seeing Felix flee. He stood as close as he dared to the pyre, spitting each word as he spoke.

“Go now, witch, and let us be free of you.”

“What makes you think I won’t return?” Gaia said, grinning, before the flames overtook her form.

Ira choked on her breath and darted in the direction of the cottage. In her hurry, one of her wings clipped a twig, throwing her off balance and down onto the forest floor.

When Ira awoke the next morning, it was to the flapping of monstrous reptilian wings.

Fantasy
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