Based on the conversations I’d had so far, I didn’t want to contemplate what old meant. If magic was real, it would surely be used to preserve life. Maybe there was a plant growing in Sage’s cottage garden that, when brewed at a full moon, produced the elixir of life. I blew a derisive huff out of my nose. What a lot of nonsense. This was shaping up to be a terrible concussion.
“How long do witches live?” I asked, giving in to my curiosity. If my damaged brain had concocted all of this, I was tempted to see how far it went before it unravelled completely. It was quite impressive, in a terrifying sort of way.
“It varies according to our power, but we all live a lot longer than humans. I’m the youngest witch here, I’m only two hundred and sixty-eight.”
God. Only two hundred and sixty-eight. She didn’t look a day over eighteen. I gave my thigh a sharp pinch with two lightly bandaged fingers. It stung, so I supposed I wasn’t dreaming. Isobel would kill to trade places with me, and I would certainly have no complaints. Still, I’d be home soon. All I had to do was convince this infamous High Priestess to escort me back to the caves. I’d simply present the facts and explain, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to get home immediately. Easy.
My new certainty stuttered as we came to a halt before a firmly closed door. A pair of silent, grim-faced women, no, witches, flanked it, but one nodded, eyeing me eagerly, and the door swung open of its own accord.
“Good luck,” Pansy whispered.
“What? You’re not coming with me?” I didn’t know why it mattered. I’d barely exchanged a word with the woman, but the thought of facing the infamous Granny alone turned my legs to jelly.
“I’m not important enough to listen to this conversation,” Pansy hissed, “but don’t worry! Just remember, you’re the human! You hold all the power.”
Was that cryptic nonsense supposed to calm me? I tried to swallow, but my throat was swollen and numb. My heart thudded against my ribs, but then I remembered that none of this actually concerned me. I was drifting through a dream, that was all. Sooner or later, I’d either wake up or die, and none of this would be a problem anymore. Soothed slightly, I squared my shoulders and donned my workplace persona, all calm authority and unhurried serenity, and strolled in as though it was my very own room in the surgery I would soon be working at.
My outward show of confidence and ease was exactly that. Outward. A group of witches waited at the far end of a large hall, all standing with stiff backs and raised noses as they judged my approach. Was it magic that made me feel like the smallest person in the room despite being the tallest by a foot, or was it only because I was at a distinct disadvantage, surrounded by extremely strange strangers, and far from my natural element?
My legs wobbled like jelly as they carried me across the vast, empty space. My numb feet passed over something dark. I dropped my eyes to the floor, where a large shape was depicted on the tiles. I stilled, my lips parting as I stared at my saviour.
A map.
So, it couldn’t fit in my pocket, but if I memorised it now, it would at least give me some vague sense of my surroundings, which was better than nothing. This was exactly what I needed. A way to point myself in the direction of home.
Enormous slabs of gleaming green crystal, maybe emerald, had been shaped and smoothed into tiles, showing a sprawling island. The map was edged in glittering gold grout which gave way to the dull, sand-coloured slabs making up the rest of the floor. I took a cautious step further. Yet more gold depicted mountains and rivers, and even what looked like border lines, weaving over the polished green surface.
I scanned the shape of the landmass. It wasn’t England, that much was certain. It wasn’t anywhere I’d ever noticed on an atlas, but I was no longer surprised by the unfamiliarity. I scanned the map for the rivers and mountains that had been the backdrop to my arrival, but there were too many to narrow down my location. And besides, as far as I could tell, I was miles away from where I’d started, thanks to Sage and her spooky crystal.
A small cough drew my attention back to the gaggle of witches, all watching me expectantly. Sage and Hyacinth were among them, as well as the one with chestnut eyes whose name I hadn’t learnt. She’d said my name was ‘quite pretty’. In the centre of the cluster, an enormous, throne-like armchair loomed, and perched atop its dated, floral upholstery was a little old lady.
Granny.
The High Priestess was as wrinkled as a Shar Pei, with white-streaked iron-grey hair arranged in a smart updo. One gnarled hand clutched the ornate handle of a walking stick, which she braced herself against, leaning forward to peer at me with watery, pale eyes. Her gaze travelled down to my bare feet, and back up again, her already lined face wrinkling further with disapproval. She blinked several times as she beheld my hair, then shifted with the awkwardness of great age, waving a frail hand at the group of witches clustered at her side.
“Sage, dear,” she said in a reedy but elegant voice, “come here.”
The blonde witch hastened to the old woman’s side at once. Granny peered up at her.
“Whatever is the matter with her hair?”
As easily as that, my nerves gave way to bristling indignation. My hair was always a topic of conversation with new people, and though I didn’t usually mind, the older generation laboured under the illusion that their opinions were facts to be freely shared. If I had a pound for every time a pensioner had explained how impractical my colours were, I’d have enough to… well, maybe not retire, but treat myself to a fancy meal at least.
Sage opened her mouth, but I answered for her. “It needs a wash and a brush, but I assume you’re referring to the colour. My name is Aliza, by the way. Not that you asked.”
Granny jolted, her mouth falling open in apparent shock that I’d dared to address her directly.
“We have never encountered a human with hair like yours before,” Sage interjected, but there was no hint of an apology in her voice, just cold, blunt facts. “The colour is… disconcerting.”
“It’s dye,” I sighed, my fighting spirit sapping away on that long breath. My shoulders sagged. What I’d give to be back in that enormous bed. No, back in my bed, at home, with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, mounds of whipped cream, and a heap of vegan marshmallows. “My natural colour is dark blonde.”
“And do all humans indulge in this newfangled dye?” Granny asked, speaking to me directly for the first time.
“A lot, yeah. Most have natural looking colours, but some of us prefer this.” I gestured wearily to my hair. Maybe my argument would have been easier to accept if my hair had been anything close to its usual magnificence. As it was, they were probably wondering why anyone would choose to look like a dog had mauled a stuffed unicorn and left it on top of their head.
“Mother above,” Granny muttered, in a tone much like I’d say good God. “Whatever will Prince Anwir make of her?”
Prince? Nobody had mentioned meeting any princes. This conversation wasn’t going at all the way I wanted. Was I going home, or not? I glanced over my shoulder at the beautiful map. My fingers twitched toward my pocket and the useless phone within. Even if I hadn’t needed to remember every river and valley, I would have liked to take a picture. It was a pretty thing, and if the tiles were really emerald, worth more than everything I owned.
Sage took a few brisk steps closer to me, her footsteps drawing my attention back. “Aliza, you mentioned returning to the human world.”
I was pretty sure I’d done more than mention it, but whatever. Finally, we could get on with the matter at hand. “I did.”
“Unfortunately, that will not be possible.”
“What?” Had I misheard? Was I being kidnapped? Were they going to chop me up and bake me into a pie? I stumbled back a step, putting distance between me and the little witch. She made no move to stop me. Could I make it to the door, and if I did, could I find my way out of the castle before the witches caught up to me? They only had little legs, but I was injured and, to be brutally honest, horribly unfit. “I have to.”
“The gateways linking Neath to the human world have been sealed on our side for centuries. Nobody can leave, not even you. That is, unless the curse is broken.”
“What curse?” Not this nonsense again? Curses weren’t real, but then again, neither were witches or fairies, and definitely not swirling portals of gaping darkness. I probed the tender lump at the back of my head, half-hoping the pain would wake me from my fever dream. The prod was sharp enough to make me wince, but the witches didn’t fade into nothing as I’d hoped.
“To understand it, you must understand our world.” Hyacinth approached slowly, her body language unthreatening, as though I was a cornered dog, primed to snap. She laid a light hand on my arm, steering me around to the tiled map. I shrugged out of her grasp, but followed on numb feet, my mind whirring. “The island you see depicted here is known as Neath. It is split into courts, all ruled over by one monarch. We are here, in Nairsgarth Castle–” she toed the south-eastern coastline “–which is located in the court of Ymyl Cefnfor. The fae king or queen, ruler of all Neath, resides in Tir o Haf.” She gestured to the western coast. “Several centuries ago, the true king died, a bloody coup followed, disrupting the succession. The throne should have passed to his eldest son.”
“Should have?” I asked. None of this mattered to me. It had all happened hundreds of years before I was born, and besides, I wasn’t even a part of this world, never mind this ancient drama. Even so, I hung on every word, storing away every scrap of information like a hamster stuffing its pouches. Somewhere amongst this rubbish there had to be a clue. A seemingly innocuous detail that would get me home, with or without the witches' help. “Are the princes dead, then?”
“No, child. The throne is imbued with primordial magic, ensuring it cannot be seized with violence.”
“There are no rules in place to prevent trickery, though,” Sage groused, as though whatever irked her was all Hyacinth’s doing.
