So the Legends Say

There's a witch in the woods.

Or so the legends say.

There's also a wishing well, and river nymphs, and if you tie a ribbon around the limb of a hazel tree, any wish of yours is granted. But the well is guarded by goblins, and the river also contains a troll, and the fae who grants your wish will also steal whatever you love most.

It's best not to believe in legends.

But on a fall day of an unknown year, in a place that doesn't exist, the legends run wild.

…

“Theoretically, if I were to raise the dead, how would I go about it?”

It was unsettling, talking to Na Tri. Often, one of them would start a sentence and another would finish it. Or they would all speak at once.

Na Tri were three witches who had perfected looking both almost identical and entirely separate. Maighdeann was a girl younger than Evette, with frizzy brown hair that neatly tucked into two braids, bright blue eyes, and glowing golden skin. Mathair was ageless, with bone-white skin, piercing grey eyes, and black hair struck through with shining silver strands. And Badhv had deep brown skin, grey hair piled high on her head, and black eyes. But all of them stood stock straight, with steel in their shoulders and unfocused eyes.

It was Maighdeann who responded first.

“We do not dabble in theory.”

“Ask a question, or do not.” Badhv cocked her head. “We care not for the morals of the question.”

“Fine.” Evette glanced at all of them, a decidedly uneasy feeling blooming in her chest. “How do I raise the dead?”

“You do not.”

Evette waited for the ‘but’. Na Tri remained silent.

“It’s impossible?”

“It is impossible for you.”

She stared at Mathair. “I don’t understand.”

“You do not have the power or the knowledge.”

"How do I gain the power and the knowledge?"

Na Tri looked at each other. It was Mathair who stepped forward and took my face in her hands.

"Child, I would not. Whoever is dead is dead, and manipulating the world out of emotion is unwise."

"I thought you didn't care for the morals of the question."

Maighdeann looked like she was barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

"We do not care for morals. It is our job to watch over the woods, and upsetting the balance of life is unwise when you are so untrained."

Evette restrained the urge to stomp her foot. To prevent her temper from reaching its boiling point, she looked around the small hut. It looked smaller than her own one-room cabin from the outside, but the second she stepped inside it had several rooms fading off into darkness, all of them looking earthy and dank. The room they were in had low ceilings veined with roots, spiders in the corners, and roughly carved dark wood furniture covered in glowing bottles and red chests. The only source of light was the small window in the ceiling that seemed to double as a chimney, judging from the smouldering coals beneath it.

Evette turned back to Na Tri, trying to think. She needed him back. She didn’t have a choice.

“Who can raise the dead?”

Na Tri exchanged looks. A conversation seemed to pass; the sharing of equal wisdom, rather than instruction. Evette felt suddenly very young, despite Maighdeann’s apparent youth. She was a supplicant, begging for information before them.

“We can, child.” Badhv looked sad when she spoke.

“And. Who. Else?”

“Anyone who has passed the Deas.”

Evette slumped slightly. Of course. Of course she would have to go to the Bana. She seriously considered just going to the Bana and begging them, but then she would have to tell her mother and aunts and cousins and-

No. That wouldn’t do. Mother had already told her not to do this. She shifted her weight and sighed. It really couldn’t be that hard. She could breathe life into plants, inanimate objects. How could a dead person be much harder?

“Fine.” Evette shrugged, trying to be casual. “No necromancy for me.” She turned, skirt catching on the rough ground. She hesitated at the door and canted her body half back to Na Tri. She dipped her head. “Thank you for your help. This has been very educational.”

Na Tri looked at each other again, expressions unreadable.

“You will stay away?”

Evette smiled brightly as she opened the door, sunlight streaming in. “You bet.”

…

The best thing about the Leaverlan Rannscai - which was the biggest library on witchcraft in their entire county, much less the woods - was the dark magic section. Technically, it only had three books, and they were all theoretical. There was nothing wrong with dark magic, of course, but you had to be advanced to do it and most witches built their own practises anyway, so most dark witches kept their own books. So those three books didn’t contain much in the way of made spells.

The first was only on curses and hexes, and even after an hour of pouring over any mention of death curses, Evette had only managed to find a single sentence on how death magic affects a witch’s energy. The second had a whole chapter on energy conservation, which didn’t mention death magic at all but she set aside anyway. The third contained only a throwaway section on matter transmutation, which she briefly looked through and then discarded.

As she left, mulling over her notes from the book on energy conservation, she accidentally stumbled into a bookshelf. As she stepped back, annoyed, to glare at the shelf, the name of the section caught her eye. Ancestor work. A little further back than she was intending, but…

Evette spent ten minutes delightedly flipping through A Guide to Ancestors, Respecting The Dead, and Spirit Work: An Introduction. All of them contained information on protective sigils, ways to call the dead, candles to light, clothing to wear, chants to sing, hours and days and weather to do the spells in.

The Leaverlann Ranscai had a strict ten-book-limit on withdrawals. After an agonising few moments picking out the ten she wanted, Evette slammed down the full stack onto the front desk table. The witch seated behind it was old and greying, with deep tan skin and doe-like eyes.

“That’s quite a lot of ancestral work,” she commented lightly as she flipped open the first book to write Evette’s name in neat letters.

“We can’t find where my great-grandfather hid the good muffin recipe.”

The librarian snorted. Evette leaned against the desk and took in the comforting atmosphere of the library. It was all dark panelling and soft wooden shelves, well-worn leather and soft lamplight. It seemed endless sometimes. Evette hadn’t seen all the sections, though she had heard there was a whole section that moved around on its own.

“All set!”

She turned back to find the librarian smiling at her. Evette gathered up all her books and shoved open the heavy carved door with her foot. The woods were a strange place, a mixture of careful architecture and natural wattle and daub huts. While the library consisted of high arches and thick walls, it was notable because it, like all the buildings in the woods, it was made with only wood.

Wood was something living made dead, and the architects of the woods were specially trained to make it living again. All the greatest buildings were woven of living trees and vines, part of the world in a hard, unforgettable way. It was breath-taking to step into a building and know that she was surrounded by life.

But this wasn’t the time for life.

…

It was the full moon and Samhain, of course. There was blood on the moon, which Evette considered auspicious, and a circle around it, which she ignored. She was in a small clearing in the woods, far enough away from any houses - especially any belonging to members of the Bana - to be discreet. She had spent a solid three days leading up this planning the ritual and moving things to the clearing. Her mother had ambushed her on her second day of planning, and Evette had been trapped into spending the day with the Bana, cooking and chatting. Annoyed, she had spent the whole following day hauling out barrels full of dead leaves and decomposing logs to the clearing and spreading them. None of the books had said anything about it, but her specialty was sympathetic magic and it seemed wise to surround herself with death.

The air was filled with decay. It coiled through her lungs, down her legs. It overwhelmed her the second she stepped in. Slowly, she went around in a circle and lit every candle, then set down every stone she had. Amber, for ancestral work, obsidian for death, amethyst for focus and grounding, onyx and jet for protection, moonstone for magical enhancement, topaz and quartz for rebirth.

Evette stood back and set her shoulders, examining her work. Everything looked picture perfect. Now the only thing was…

She looked over her shoulder at the large wooden box just on the edge of the clearing. Not for the first time, she questioned whether this was really a good idea. It wasn’t, objectively, but she needed him back. They were all at risk if he stayed dead.

The box was heavy. She had used a simple levitation spell to get it this far, but she had used no magic today in order to preserve her energy. It took a full ten minutes of tugging to get the coffin into the circle. Once it was in she fixed the salt circle around the candles and made sure everything else was in place. One of the gems was out of line, so she fixed it. Everything was important. Each leaf, rock, candle, and log were vital to the ritual.

The moon was high in the sky. It was time. Slowly, calmly, Evette took her place in the middle of the circle. She had already loosened the lid, so all she had to do was push it off. The body had barely begun to decompose. She had stored it carefully, away from maggots and damp. As reverently as she could, she blew on the wick of her final candle. Set in the coffin, it illuminated his face, highlighting the grey colour and distended features.

“Mosgail, tannasg, mosgail.” The chant cam easily to her lips after a full day of practise. “Mosgail, tannasg, mosgail. Mosgail, tannasg, mosgail.” Awaken, spirit, awaken. Three times, then seven, then twelve. The magic numbers. She chanted softly, then with as much energy as she could. Around her, a breeze began. At the start of the sixteenth chant, the coffin rattled.

Evette flinched. The wind whipped harder. Should she-

No. Evette spread her hands and let the magic stretch through her body. The last twelve chants lasted a minute, an hour, a lifetime. Her eyes fell shut. The trees creaked and groaned around her. This felt right.

Without pause, she started the second chant, the one that would raise the spirit, not just waken them.

“Briosg! Ath yuisk! Briosg! Ath yuisk!” Over and over again, faster and louder until she heard a menacing rattle. She opened her eyes and almost screamed.

He was sitting upright in the box, eyes open and wild. Evette chanted as she took several steps forward. This was it. The final piece. She reached out and put one hand on his shoulder. She let every ounce of power she had in her pour from her hand into the corpse.

“Tha beo!”

The world went still. The wind stopped, the trees quieted, her energy left her. Hesitantly, Evette took a few steps back.

“Are you alive?”

Nothing happened. She tilted her head, trying to see his face.

“I am alive.”

She almost collapsed. The voice was hoarse and dry from disuse. She moved, not closer, but around the circle until she was in front of him. It was horrific. His skin hung off his bones, his eyes were sunken deep in his sockets, his lips were swollen and bruised. Evette slowly raised a hand to her mouth.

“I am alive,” he repeated. “And it is your fault, isn’t it?” He stood, stumbling and shaking. The dark hair, the pale skin, the brick-like stature. The armour. The star on his chest signifying truth.

“I did it to restore justice,” she said. “To keep the balance She tries to maintain.”

“Unnatural filth.”

Evette flinched, but he was already moving towards her, quick and deadly on his feet. She tripped away from him, slamming into the cold ground.

“Stop,” she gasped. “I gave you life. Shouldn’t you be grateful?”

“You have made me an abomination.”

He means to kill me, Evette thought distantly. No. That was not going to happen. She was a witch, and he was not.

“I banish you,” she hissed. “From touching me, I banish you. From harming me, I banish you. I banish your lips from speaking my name. Leave me now, you suffer my wrath.”

“That only works on people.” He cackled, the sound dry and raspy. “I am no longer a person.”

Well. That sucked. Banishing spells did nothing. But other spells…

“Lai foll,” she murmured. “Lai foll, lai foll, lai foll.”

His feet left the ground. His mouth fell open in shock as he rose in the air. Evette sighed, putting a hand to her chest.

“Thank the M-”

He slammed into her. All the breath left her lungs in a shocking ‘whoosh’ of air. His hand - cold, clammy, un-skinlike - wrapped around her throat. She choked, trying to shove him off. He was floating still, so she couldn’t get to his feet. All she could do was shove at his arms desperately.

“You are an inhuman perversion of all that is holy.”

Evette gurgled. She needed to speak, to say anything. To cast any spell that came to mind. She would kill him again if necessary, so long as he stopped trying to kill her-

“Get off her!”

His hands disappeared from her throat. She gasped and collapsed, heaving huge breaths of air in through her ravaged throat. She was hearing the sounds of a fight, feeling the imprint of a punch left in the air. What was happening?

With all the energy she could muster, she looked up. The knight she had resurrected was still floating, but he was grappling with…another knight? Tall, in full armour, wearing the same sigil as the undead one. He had a helmet, gauntlets, and a gorget. She couldn’t see an inch of his skin or his face.

“Stop!” The undead knight reached for the other’s helmet, trying to undo the straps with his bloated hands. The knight reached for his sword. Everything was moving too fast, too violent. Why would the new knight save her? Fight with one of his own? The new knight struck the undead one with a shout of rage. With effort, she raised to her feet and forced her aching throat to work.

“Na carraich!” Evette yelled, hands thrown wide. Both knights froze. A tableau of a fistfight spread out before her, clear rage on the undead knight’s face. Slowly, she walked over to both of them. `She untangled the undead knight’s fist from the other’s helmet straps, whispered ‘neo-yanav la foill’. He collapsed on the ground, still frozen.

“Rac shac.” She was going dizzy from all this magic. And probably the lack of air. It was worth it, though, as the undead knight’s body went limp. “Neo-yanav na carraich.”

In hindsight, she should’ve paid more attention. It was possible the strangling had left her woozy. No matter the cause, the new knight’s fist connected with her shoulder. Evette screamed, the metal gauntlet making a sickening noise against her bare skin.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Just take your cursed brother and leave me be!

“Witch,” he hissed.

“Yes,” she agreed, and her whole body erupted in flames.

She watched him stumble backwards in shock. Flames were the easiest to summon. Wind had too many variables, water required two much focus, and dirt had always been hard for her. But fire, she could summon in her sleep.

“He’s one of your lot. You should be thanking me. I raised him so he could go back home.”

To his credit, the knight’s initial alarm didn’t seem to alter his focus.

“And who killed him in the first place?”

Evette cocked her head. “Me.”

“Well, we’re not taking him back. He is an abomination now.”

“That’s not my business. I want him out of the woods.”

The knight hesitated, then planted his feet a little more solidly.

“I am here to find Na Tri. And to hunt down my brother, who went missing three days ago.”

She glared at him. The chances of a knight of the Temple of Truth coming to Na Tri for help were nonexistent.

“Why? And he was only dead for two of those days.”

“That is none of your business!”

Evette grinned. Nerve: struck. She supposed this could be fun. Tease him a bit, wipe his memories, send him and the dead one on their way.

“Let me guess. Knight for hire? Witch hunter?” She snapped, leaning forward. The fire around her shifted. “Witch hunting knight for hire?”

His armour creaked as he stiffened. “And you are an aberration.”

Annoyed, she snapped,

"At least I don't just kill anyone and anything for a few coins!"

"At least I don't try to revive the dead."

“It was a tiny revival!” She threw my hands up in the air and turned away. “He was barely dead.”

“He was dead for two days!”

She spun on my heel and stalked towards him, glaring straight into his eyes.

“You do not get to tell me my craft,” She snapped. “I don’t tell you how to murder innocent dragons, now do I?”

“Don’t worry, if I want to bring monsters back into the world to do more harm, thus completely ruining the balance The Candid One works so hard to maintain, you’d be the very first person I asked.”

She took another step towards him. He stepped back and drew his sword, the sound of the iron blade unsheathing echoing through the trees. He wanted to be the shining knight, fine. She would be the evil witch.

Lord and Lady of the Wood…

She knew it worked, because his eyes widened. The ground below her erupted, a hurricane of dirt surrounding her. She let the fire go with a smirk, instead giving herself her own armour of rocks and crushed moss.

“Put that silly little knife away, Sir Knight.” She laughed. “Where is The Candid One now?”

Instead of fleeing, or taking the more stupid option and charging at me, he tilted his head.

“Do you have a home, witch?”

“Excuse me?”

His chin tilted up, almost defiant. “I would say you should go home now, but I’m not sure you have one. Are witches even born? Or do you just suddenly sprout, full of hatred and dark magic.”

Moss fell from her shoulder. Furious, she crossed her arms.

“Don’t project your trauma on to me, knight. I am happy where I am.” She smiled sweetly, letting him have a full view of her fangs. “And it’s time for you to go now. Home, dungeon, grave, I don’t care. Leave.”

“I’m here for Na Tri.”

Evette almost snorted at the mental image of him taking on Na Tri with his little sword and misplaced faith. But maybe…

“You want to go to Na Tri? Fine. I’ll take you to Na Tri.”

He gave her a look that very clearly says he didn’t trust her, but she just started walking.

“But just so you know, the woods are sentient and will try to kill anyone they don’t know.”

If he followed, great. If he didn’t, double great. She heard him sigh and sheathe his sword behind her.

“No tricks.”

She didn’t bother answering.