The Exile Read online

The Exile

  by

  Michael D. Britton

  * * * *

  Copyright 2012 by Michael D. Britton / Intelligent Life Books

  Nearly four days had passed since Ivan was taken.

  “Hold on, my child - I’m coming for you,” Lillian whispered as she stared at the enchanted Forest of Bann from her seat on the low stone wall.

  She brushed away a tear and looked back at the lush green field toward the ancient cottage that stood against the edge of the dark forest. A heavy gray cloud moved across the sky and divided her from the sun – the leading edge of a storm that threatened to turn this warm spring day into a reminder that the rain must always come, as night follows day.

  As death follows life.

  She shuddered and stood, and began to walk briskly toward the empty cottage, trailing the cloud shadow. Before she even reached the stoop, giant raindrops were pinging off the roof, splattering on the ground and beginning to soak her long burgundy dress. She looked again to the forest and exhaled, knowing she was safe within the magical barrier that shrouded her home.

  She stepped inside, bolted the door behind her, and caught a view of herself in the cracked circular mirror in the entry. Her ember-red hair was disheveled, damp strands sticking to her pale skin. Goose bumps had formed on her neck and bosom. Her cloudy gray eyes stared back at her critically before she finally looked away and moved into the kitchen.

  Unnerved by the silence, Lillian flipped on the radio. A distant newscaster rattled on breathlessly about the latest battle in the latest war.

  If only those people knew about the real war – the one they couldn’t see with their limited eyes.

  In the same way that people didn’t believe in germs before microscopes were invented, most of the world today thought the magical realm was just the stuff of fairy tales.

  They were wrong.

  The Enchanted World posed a far greater threat than mere germs, too. Strange beings of immense power lurked right under the noses of the Common World. Many times, inexplicable tragedies had simple explanations indeed – only you had to be “crazy” to believe the explanation.

  One such tragedy occurred just a few nights ago when eight year old Ivan disappeared.

  The boy was the result of Lillian’s three-month marriage to Phillip, Earl of Bann – a half-warlock who maintained a sizable estate in a huge clearing deep within the Forest of Bann.

  When the newlywed Earl died under suspicious circumstances, his regent chief, Vitchoti, expelled Lillian. He did not outright accuse her of foul play, but the undertone was clear.

  Lillian had lived in exile in this cottage ever since, raising Ivan on her own. She had quietly feared the arrival of his eighth birthday, as that was typically a trigger for any dormant magical abilities. He had not manifested any signs of being the son of a half-warlock, but Lillian nonetheless remained wary. Their proximity to the Forest of Bann, a protecting factor for the past several years, now became a concern as young Ivan matured and began to sense the existence that transcended the Common World.

  And now, Lillian’s worst fears had been realized.

  Despite the anguish and panic, she had known better than to rush into the dark woods seeking him that night. It was a full moon, and she would not have likely made it out alive, being only one-sixteenth sorceress. At least the entities who’d taken Ivan were capable of traveling the forest by night under a full moon; he would be relatively safe with them until it was once again clear for her to enter and track him down.

  She hadn’t seen those who’d taken Ivan – only heard his cries for help. She had run outside the house and seen him being carried deep into the woods – floating and bobbing and reaching toward her as he went. She’d run to the tree line as fast as she could, but upon reaching it, he was gone – even his pleading screams silenced by the dense overgrowth.

  She’d not dared to cross the invisible line into the forest, knowing that doing so would open her home to invasion. It would break the protective spell that stood as an inviolable contract between her little world and the realm of the beasts.

  Ivan must’ve crossed that line. But his abduction was the price exacted, and the spell had been immediately restored. Violating again would forever weaken the treaty and Lillian’s home would never again be safe.

  She’d spent the last four days waiting on the moon and developing a plan. Now, the moon phase had altered sufficiently; none of the lunatic creatures would vex her.

  And now she had a strategy – a rescue plan – of sorts.

  It was late on the night of the abduction that she’d recalled her grandmother’s stories of what the people who used to inhabit these lands called the chronaqua – the timewater – a magic tonic that dripped from the stalactites of the Forbidden Cave. If she could just get her hands on some, she could save Ivan without the negative consequences of entering the forest.

  She could undo it all. And have him back.

  The legends passed down indicated that the Forbidden Cave of the timewater was guarded by a giant, carnivorous tree called a Corprid Willow – a cruel black-barked beast that lived off the remains of its victims, who became fertilizer for the tree’s far-spread roots. Any movement in the vicinity of the monster triggered a hail of spiky seedlings containing a deadly poison that dropped trespassers in their tracks. Following the attack, a shower of maroon leaves would cover the body and quickly mulch the unlucky traveler into the ground, leaving no trace.

  Only one cunning adventurer had ever managed to get past the Corprid Willow and live to tell about it. A distant cousin of Lillian’s deceased husband named Emery the Bold claimed to have done it nearly a hundred years ago, collecting some of the legendary timewater and writing a small volume on how to use the amazing liquid.

  And Lillian had one of the few copies of that book in her home library.

  Apparently, a half teaspoon dissolved in ice-cold water would allow the drinker to speed up time for the rest of the universe, himself remaining static – the effect being to transport oneself to the future without aging.

  A similar amount of timewater mixed into boiling hot water and consumed as hot as possible had a time-slowing effect – bringing the world to a stop. As long as the effects lasted – usually about an hour, depending on the subject’s body weight – the user could move about freely without detection, appearing to any observer as a mere blur, if anything.

  Finally, Emery had proposed a last use for timewater.

  If frozen, and swallowed whole with a pinch of bitter root, he believed one could travel backward through time.

  Of course, that was the last thing Emery wrote in the book, and he was never seen or heard from again - leaving open speculation about whether his theory was correct or not.

  Lillian was ready to test it – it was her only hope.

  If she could retrieve the timewater from the forbidden cave, freeze it, and swallow it with some bitter root – perhaps she could prevent Ivan’s kidnapping and set everything aright.

  The glimmer of hope that shined weakly in her heart when she came up with the scheme three days ago was all that had kept her from going mad as she waited for the moon phase to enable her to enter the forest without immediately being eaten.

  The time would arrive tonight.

  Although the Forest of Bann was generally safer by day, she wanted to move stealthily, in case the hostiles were still around. She knew insufficient magic to defend herself against the powerful beings that inhabited the woods, and didn’t want to attract attention to herself as she tried to raid the Forbidden Cave and steal its mysterious elixir.

  With no allies, it was up to her alone to venture into the forest and rescue her captured son by altering history.

  She sighed.
Perhaps this idea was even too “crazy” for the Enchanted World.

  But she had to try.

  She turned off the radio and stared through the window at the rain, which was now tapering off. The sun was beginning to break back through in the western sky, like a ray of hope.

  She changed out of her dress into black coveralls. Armed with just a tattered spell book, a half-hexed walking staff and her wits, she waited for night to fall, her mind transfixed by the vision of her son’s face.

  “Ivan,” she whispered again as the sun dipped below the horizon. “Here I come, son.”