Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

Flopping back in the straw Fortenbrass ran a hand through his hair. It was a simple act, yet he never stopped marveling at being able to do it. Holding his arm out straight, he twisted his hand back and forth and flexed the fingers. It felt so good to be human again, but it would take time to readjust. Letting his arm fall, it knocked some straw loose uncovering a thin patch of emerald green. Reaching over he drew out a length of hair ribbon. A lover’s smile curved his lips and he threaded the silky cloth through his fingers. Jessamine. Just the thought of her filled him with emotion and those thoughts in turn brought to mind his brother and a reminder that it was getting late and he should be getting back to the house to visit with Torin before dinner.

Rising and dusting himself off, he left the loft and headed across the yard toward the kitchen. Pausing outside the open door he gazed sadly at the forlorn figure seated by the hearth. It was painful to see his brother so thin and despondent. Ever since their return Torin rarely left the kitchen, seeming to find peace where once he’d found joy. He never spoke, his eyes remained blank and his face devoid of animation or awareness. Now and then a flash of emotion would flicker across his face and Fortenbrass’ hopes would rise but then the expression would turn into a grimace of pain and Torin’s eyes would widen in horror. Immediately the muscles in his face would slacken and his eyes go flat. At such times Fortenbrass knew he was reliving what he’d done in the glade and was fleeing the torment.

Forcing a cheerful expression Fortenbrass entered the kitchen and greeted Torin with a corky hello. Settling down beside him he began to relate, as he did every day, all the mundane goings-on about the estate, carefully steering clear of any mention of the upcoming wedding.

Jessamine

The reflection in the mirror should have pleased her, but it was Torin’s face she was really seeing and her heart contracted with pain. In her daydreams their mutual love for Fortenbrass would bond them and he would become her surrogate brother and friend. The foundation for such a relationship had been forged during the interim before he’d left for Nod. Her life prior to being set free had been spent alone [except of course for her mother’s misty presence] and to at last have the chance to be part of something as tangible as a family had been another dream come true. She’d been deeply saddened and hurt when they’d discovered he’d gone, his only goodbye a very short and cryptic note. Now, he had returned but in such a condition that he might be lost to them forever, regardless of what her mother said.

Crossly she tossed her brush upon the vanity. And her so-called powers, what good were they? She was supposedly endowed with powers so strong that her aunt had murdered her own twin and lost her life attempting to obtain them, and they were proving to be utterly useless.

It had been her fervent hope to give Fortenbrass, as a wedding gift, his brother back - whole and happy once more. But apparently her powers weren’t potent enough to accomplish anything as simple as easing Torin’s pain or bringing his Solace back. Her shoulders slumped and tears welled; she knew because she had tried.

When word of her reemergence and Odile’s death had reached her mother’s family they’d sent carriages laden with lavish gifts. Among them had been spell books, wondrous tomes, which the accompanying note informed had once belonged to her maternal great-grandmother, Livia. She’d poured over them and, during the day [for her mother would be less likely to find out about it then], had practiced those she thought might help but nothing had worked. Of course, in the stories she’d been raised on, things like this invariably happened, for it seemed that attaining Happy Ever After nearly always incurred a price.

All Odette had ever promised had come true so far and Jessamine was trying very hard to hold on to the belief that everything would turn out just so, but it was becoming more and more difficult with each day that passed. After all, it had been a month and still no sign of Solace, and Torin remained more of a departed spirit than her mother. She knew that certain faeries died if you didn’t believe in them and perhaps it was the same with spells. If you didn’t believe they’d been broken you enabled them to mend and enslave their victims all over again. So, she had to believe.

Also adding to her frustration was the feeling of being partly responsible. It had been her own mother who had sent Torin on his quest. A journey that she knew would result in misery and Solace’s death. And out of that tragedy Fortenbrass had been restored to human form and to her arms. Shame and guilt would dance at her wedding, for the price that had been paid for such happiness had been very high indeed.

Miserably she crossed to the bed, threw herself upon it and commenced to cry - for herself, Fortenbrass, Torin and Solace.

Torin

The clock on the mantel struck the hour. A pan in the drain shifted slightly as a mouse tiptoed across. The rodent froze waiting to see if the man in the chair would respond. The figure remained still and after a moment the rodent went about its scavenging. A roach was also on the prowl, its antennae stroking the air for danger but the precaution did little good as the mouse was upon it before the threat had registered in its primitive brain. The mouse’s sharp teeth crushed the insect’s head and it trotted triumphantly back to its hole with its prey, the roach’s body twitching in a last ditch effort to cling to life.

The man in the chair emitted a groan and his head rolled restlessly against the chair’s back.

The current tugged gently…insistently.
The waterlilies held fast…
refusing to give him up.
He did not struggle…
the stalks ensnaring
provided refuge…protection
from the nemesis
of remembrance.

The whooshing gurgle
of coursing water
drowned out the agonized shrieks
of merciless annihilation.

The liquid sluicing against his skin
washed away the stains
of transgression.

Without warning
the tendrils loosened…
dropped away.
He was floating…free
drifting to the surface
rising to confront his deed.

Violently
he fought extrication.
Seeking to dive…
thrust his way back down
into obliviousness.
But all opposition was in vain
and he was flung
upon the shore of consciousness.

Odette knelt…
pressed her hand
against the grief-sunken cheek.
His lids fluttered…rising.
Recognition dawned…
terminating into anger
that galvanized
him to his feet.

He advanced…
but she stood her ground.
Revenge tainted reason.
Hands raised to grasp her throat
but hesitated
as blood began to drip…run
from splayed fingertips.

A tortured scream
tore from his throat
as scenes of ritualized carnage
were relived
and he knew
he could do no more harm.

Falling on his knees
in supplication
he begged for confirmation…
Had the atrocities he’d committed
been for nothing?
Was she truly dead?

Sighing gently
she sat down beside him
and took up his hand.
He made as though to remove it
but left it where it lay…resigned.

She chided gently…
“You must have faith.
A curse is a slave
to the witch who invokes it.
Once placed
it is as much a prisoner
as the victim it is forced to ensnare.

When broken
it too is set free
and like an animal
liberated from a cage
makes a dash for freedom.

There are rules of magic
it must abide by…
enchantment commands
it cannot disobey…
But…it is given no timetable
to adhere to.

Some curses are compassionate
and upon release
also set their victim’s life to rights.
But others are selfish
and hasten to revel…
sparing no thought
except for themselves…
leaving their sufferers in limbo.

They must…have to return
and unfetter.
But by when?
At which moment?
That…no one can predict.
For in this thing only
are they allowed
to set their own pace…
be their own master.

Have patience…all will be well.
And above all
absolve yourself of blame.
You did only what was asked
and performed the required acts
only out of love.

The witch who affixed the curse
also defined its severing.
It would not be her desire
to make it lenient or kind.
Only someone who truly loved
would be able to make
the sacrifices required.

Now go…live.
You have much to be thankful for.
Your brother has been returned
and in time
so to will be your one true love.