I awake to the same song that saved us, a soft melody drifting through the air. I lie still for a moment savouring the serenity of the quiet song. My eyes wander through our candle lit haven. It’s a small old wooden cottage with vines bursting through the walls. Trinkets and talismans decorate the low rafters, some of fine metal and jewelry and some of bone and sinew. Across from me lies Ivar in a thatch cot identical to my own. I watch his chest intensely, wishing with all my being for it to rise. After what seems like an eternity the breath finally inflates his lungs, creating a loud boarish snore as it exits. I exhale in relief. He’s not dead. I close my eyes and give silent thanks to whatever God saved us.
The melodic notes of a woman’s voice return to my ears, and I lie there for another moment. Listening. Letting the peace the words bring calm my heart and mind. I take one last deep breath and sit up. My eyes follow the sound to a corner of the cottage. A young woman stands there, tending to the plants that line the windowsill. Her hair is dark and flows down like thin lines of silk to her mid back. Her skin is a warm olive hue that almost seems to glow in the flickering light. She’s so enveloped in her careful horticulture she hasn’t noticed my consciousness. As her song regretfully comes to an end I speak.
“You have a beautiful voice.” I say. She does not turn to meet my gaze and continues with her work.
“You’re awake, good.” She raises her hands around a freshly potted plant, a familiar green light enveloping the rapidly growing flower. I shift uncomfortably on the edge of my cot.
“A fitting name really, the fool’s expedition,” She examines the now fully blossomed black rose, studying it as if it were the first time she had seen it. After a moment she carefully picks one of the roses and places it into an empty glass jar. “Wasn’t that the name of your party?” She says looking over her shoulder to me. Her emerald eyes pierce through the dancing shadows. I drop my eyes quickly to the floor, ashamed.
“It was, yes… Is anyone else alive?”
“No.”
My heart sinks into my stomach at the reply. My rage and arrogance has cost others their lives. I look over to Ivar who has since rolled so that his back faces us. Still breathing heavily.
“Ivar shouldn’t be alive, I saw his wounds. Fatal to even the most resilient creatures. Why couldn’t you save the others?” I look from Ivar to meet her firm uncaring gaze. My eyes ablaze with ungrateful anger.
“The Matriarch did not request the others, they were none of my concern.” She says. Turning back to the roses on the window sill.
“A witch then. Not just a healer.”
“How very observant of you. The talismans in the ceiling weren’t a dead giveaway?”
“Don’t patronize me witch, your kind has caused humanity more suffering than even the Noxbleum. Why save us, why are we so important?”
She laughs at the statement. “Poor little soldier, thinking humanity hasn’t done enough damage all on its own. How naive.” I sit and watch her work, trying to contain the silent hatred building inside me. A sudden groan comes from the cot across from me. Ivar sits up and yawns loudly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Confusedly looking around the cottage, before he finds the witch at the window. His eyes dart back to me, a disgusted look on his face.
“Do we kill her?” He whispers.
“Oh come now, I save your lives and that’s how you want to repay me?” She says without taking her eyes off the new batch of roses. “As you wish, please, draw your weapons and separate my head from my body.” Ivar’s reaches for his battle axe, only to grasp air. He stands, readying himself to take on the witch with his bare hands.
“Little soldier. Restrain your dog, before I put it down.”
“Ivar, hold.” He looks at me concerned and confused. But seeing the intensity in my eyes, nods in agreement. Returning to his place on the edge of the cot.
“Good boy. Now, come with me. The Matriarch is eager to speak with you both.”
-
The witch leads Ivar and I through the coven’s village. Many more old cottages like the one our reluctant savior resides in. Line the thin winding road we follow. It is not as I thought a coven’s place of residents would be. It is not dissimilar to my own home, peddlers crowd markets to trade goods. Music and laughter cut through the air out of taverns where patrons share stories. It is not as dark here as the rest of Mournewood. Magically lit lanterns provide guidance to merchants and drunkards making their way through the small village. It is strange seeing community here. All my life witches have been so dehumanized I believed them to live as beasts in caves.
Eventually we come to a much larger building than those we passed during our short journey. More akin to an old mansion. A three story tall building with cracked windows and the same vines growing throughout. Bright light and the smell of a fresh cooked meal emanate from the windows making my eyes burn and my stomach growl. The witch turns her head slightly back towards us.
“Do not speak wicked words to The Matriarch. Or they will be your last.” She faces the door and straightens her posture before rasping her knuckles on the door. Slowly the door creeks open and we are greeted by empty space. We make our way through the open foyer and up one side of a dual staircase to reach the second floor. The place is far more grand than it looks from the outside. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Exquisite paintings of war, religion and romance hang on the walls. Masterfully carved busts and statues are thoughtfully placed throughout the winding hallways. If the Matriarch has so much wealth, why appear from the outside to have none?
As we near the entrance to the Matriarch’s chambers, the sound of a hushed conversation can be heard. Quiet whispers float inaudibly down the hallway. Which are cut short as our guide knocks on the door. One last command is whispered between the voices and footsteps start towards us. The door opens quickly and a short goblin dressed in expensive finary emerges. He looks up at us, eyeing Ivar and I cautiously then looking to the witch.
“Aurora.” He says, his voice oily and low.
“Trying to sell mother worthless junk again I see."
“Worthless junk?! I’ll have you know your mother requested to see my wares.”
“Oh please. The only thing she could ever want from you is your disgusting, beady eyes, scooped out and thrown into the cauldron. It’s all you goblins are good for anyways.”
“Watch your tongue, witch. If I had it my way I’d seal it in a jar.” The goblin glares down Aurora as he pushes past. Grumbling the rest of the way down the hall.
Aurora shakes her head and huffs in annoyance. Gathering herself she guides us through the door into the Matriarch’s chambers. It is just as grand as the rest of the mansion, a large bed with silken sheets, fine art depicting scenes from ancient times hang on the walls. Across from the bed is a large black vanity, at which sits The Matriarch.
“Aurora darling. What do you think of this new pendant?”
“It’s lovely mother.”
“Oh I’m so glad you think so! He always has the most beautiful pieces in his collection.” Aurora rolls her eyes at that. The Matriarch admires her new pendant in the vanity’s mirror for a moment before turning to address us. Like all witches here she looks young and beautiful, despite being well over a century old. Her dark hair is bound up in a tight bun and her dark eyes are a sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. Dark robes flow along her body, accentuating every curve. Embroidered black roses shimmer in the light as she moves.
“Now let’s have a look at you both, Aurora went through so much trouble to find you. I hope it was all worth it.”
She looks over us, examining every minute detail. Before she stands and addresses Aurora.
“You’ve done excellent my darling, thank you.” A faint smile crosses Aurora’s lips and a shimmer of childlike pride fills her eyes. She places her hand on her heart and bows her head in thanks.
“I hope you both slept well, you were in a near mortal condition when Aurora brought you here. I was unsure of your survival, but I should’ve known not to doubt her.” The Matriarch looks again to Aurora with a soft, proud smile and continues. “I am Nyx. The Matriarch of The Black Rose Coven. As such I am able to commune with the Black Rose itself, which is why you two now stand before me.” The Black Rose Coven… they are what I’ve been searching all these years for. And yet somehow in a cruel twist of fate, they found me. But why did they save us? What do they want?
Nyx smiles cleverly at me, seemingly knowing my thoughts. “You agree your lives are indebted to us, yes?”
“What kind of debt are we talking about?” I say.
“Any debt is worth your life, no?” I grit my teeth, I don’t like where this is going.
“I suppose”
“Indeed. Your task is as follows. You and your friend here will enter The Mournewood. Though this time with help.” She glances over to Aurora, silencing her protest with a raised hand. “The Noxbleum cult has begun to encroach further into the Mournewood. Several of their less intellectually inclined have already tested their luck against our defenses. I’ve sent several scouts to investigate, though none have returned.” She lets the words hang in the air for a moment. Allowing the heaviness of her words to sink in. “As such I am running low on both willing and unwilling volunteers. I’ve prayed many a night to The Black Rose to send us aide. And here you are.” She smiles wickedly at me. “With the many ventures you’ve conducted with your expedition you no doubt posses martial skills and intelligence that the lowest of our coven do not posses. Use them to investigate the cult’s presence and your debt will be paid.”
The thought of confronting the cult fills me with dread. Horrific tales of their destruction and vileness spread to every corner of Noxland. I do not like these terms… accept them and we risk death. Refuse and we will wish for it.
“I have studied The Black Rose and the Noxbleum for many years. Though, why would The Black Rose believe my knowledge and skill be more sufficient than that of yourself or your prodigies?” I ask.
“The Black Rose is a mysterious being, as such its motives are not revealed to me. As for my prodigies, they are needed elsewhere, they’re much too important to risk.” An eerie grin crosses her lips, and she offers her hand.
She’s hiding something, all witches are. Not lying, but not telling the whole truth. I don’t know what it is, but for now I will play her game. I clasp her hand firmly and the deal is struck.
