Read by Greg Page
As a wizard I try not to involve myself in relationships. Magic is too unpredictable. One minute you’re enchanting a pumpkin and the next the nation is at war because the Prince slighted some neighbouring Princess to marry a chambermaid. Not my finest moment but highly educational. Unless you are my goddaughter don’t go expecting favours.
So where did I go wrong? It must have been her. Night had fallen when she knocked on my door demanding to speak to the wizard. It crossed my mind to turn the girl away and have her call on me at a more sociable hour. Why didn’t I? There was something in her voice, a quality of frail determination. Many people call upon a wizard. Some clients have foolish requests, others show genuine need. The rarest of all are those who bear the touch of fate. From the eager way my magic surged, this girl was something special.
“Enter!” I commanded. “Let me see your face.” She didn’t hesitate. Now that the girl was in the light I could see her clearly. Her face was wide with harsh features. There was nothing delicate in her appearance. The skin I could see was coarse and freckled from hours spent working in the sun. Her hair was the colour of straw. Peasant stock, as I’d expected. Only her eyes were remarkable. They stared at me with such intensity that I felt quite exposed, an uncomfortable sensation for any man, let alone a wizard.
“I need your help.” she told me, her harsh accent betraying her common roots. I nodded my head as wisely as I could manage. Magic burnt in my veins, yearning for an outlet.
“What do you require?”
“I need you to make me beautiful.” I cannot explain the disappointment I felt at such a mundane request. My anticipation had been needless. There would be nothing remarkable about this encounter.
“I can soften your features,” I told her dismissively, “smooth your skin and enhance your cheekbones.” Such requests were standard for those in my profession.
But the girl shook her head. Her eyes were hard. “That isn’t enough. I need more than prettiness. I must be the most beautiful in the land.”
She should have sounded shallow. Instead I felt a shiver of power as the magic inside me responded to her words: the most beautiful in the land. I pulled my thoughts together with some effort.
“It is one thing to enhance what nature gave you. What you are asking for cannot be accomplished with a simple spell.”
Instead of arguing she met my gaze head-on. “How can it be accomplished?”
To indulge this question would be madness. Yet I was compelled to speak, “With a curse.”
“Then give me that.”
My breath caught. The thought of wielding that much power was an irresistible lure. A decent man would explain the risks. A better man would refuse altogether. I stared at this hard-edged creature and summoned a gentle smile.
“Your wish is my command,” I told her.
I started with the hair. She watched with eager eyes as I gathered the first ingredient, the tail feather of a crow. “Hair as dark as the midnight.” Magic roared into being. It leapt from my fingers to slam into her. The girl’s lips parted, whether from shock or pain I don’t know. The curse blazed between us, captivating and terrible. When it was done I could barely stand. She looked similarly pale but, when I showed her to the mirror, her face lit up in delight. The girl in the reflection had lustrous curls. I toyed with the remains of the feather as she left, barely noticing the rot which spread across its once glossy surface. A flock of birds had died to fuel my conjuration. Nothing in my life had exhilarated me so.
The next day I took her to a field and handed her a knife. “Cut your hands and let the blood drip down.” I commanded. She hesitated. “Bleed or I can go no further.”
She sliced so deeply I worried she might hit an artery. The snow melted where the steaming droplets landed. “Lips as crimson as stolen blood.” This time I was ready for the onslaught. Power ripped through me, and I watched, entranced as my curse took a deeper hold. I don’t know if she felt, as I did, the scarlet plague that took flight into a nearby hamlet. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the perfection of my work.
“Why do you need so much beauty?” I asked her suddenly. She regarded me warily before her sensual lips curled into a bitter smile. “True love …” she murmured.
That night I couldn’t sleep. The exposure to the curse had taken its toll on us both. There was a strain beneath her blossoming loveliness and every time that terrible power flowed through me I was left a little weaker.
I knew the situation was bad when she turned to me with her customary bluntness and asked if I was well enough to work. “I don’t want to end up with the face of a frog because my wizard had the flu,” she informed me. I considered taking a break but only for an instant. My body felt hollow without the comforting rush of power.
“I don’t have the flu,” I told her. That was all I’d meant to say but my tongue was loosened by exhaustion. “Who is he?” I blurted. “The man for whom you are willing to go so far.”
Her expression was unreadable. “He is the King,” she said at last.
“I see. You must really love him.” I regretted the comment even as it left my mouth. Her expression tightened as she strode ahead of me down the path.
That night I dreamed of them together. The King had his arms around my creation. I woke in fury, and then wondered why I should care. No doubt the curse was playing with my emotions. It took me longer than ever to reach our meeting place. She was reclining in a patch of faded grass.
“We could stop this.” I told her, taking her hand in mine. Even this slight contact opened my senses to the corruption beneath her softness. “You are lovelier than ever. You could have your pick of wealthy husbands.”
She stared at me with elegant incomprehension.
“You don’t need him.” My words took on a pleading note and she laughed softly, in a voice like velvet. “I’m not doing this for him,” she told me coolly, “or for any man.”
Guilt burnt inside me. I had kept the truth from her. I would do so no longer.
“There is a cost.” I whispered. Her face was expressionless. “The curse feeds on life to sustain itself. The effects are subtle now. Soon they will be more pronounced. Living things will fade beneath your touch. People will sicken. Eventually all that is near you will perish.”
Her eyes were closed. I felt her tremble. “Why do you tell me this now?”
I was holding her close, the hair that I’d created brushing the surface of my hands. “It isn’t too late. I can undo the curse.”
Her lips were close to mine as she leaned closer to whisper, “Look at me.” I couldn’t turn my eyes away. “You would have me give this up? Do you think you’d have cared if I looked the way I used to? No. You barely saw me. It was the magic that you wanted.”
“That isn’t true!” I lied. Her smile was sad.
“It is too late,” she contradicted me gently, “and it has been for some time.”
“Your King will die.” Her eyed widened at my bluntness but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. “You will murder him with every loving touch. Can you live with that?” She gave no answer.
That afternoon, I stole the snow from a mountaintop. When I was done there was a barren peak where snow would never again settle, and the girl beside me had a complexion so flawless that my breath caught in my mouth. If events had been different, if I had been more honest and she less driven, I might have loved her. Instead the curse hung between us, a distance she had chosen to sustain.
It wasn’t fair to blame her for my errors. I knew that, but the rejection stung. Wizards aren’t immune to pettiness. I called on my powers to summon a rose. It was unnerving how such a simple spell now drained me. She watched in bemusement as I presented her the flower only for her smile to die as the blossom withered in her hand. “They will surely adore such a Queen,” I whispered maliciously in her ear. She left without a word. I didn’t call after her. We both knew that she’d be back.
The next days passed in a blur. I sleepwalked through my life, awakening only as I called upon the power.
“You are my greatest work.” I told her as the curse neared its completion. She smiled, her eyes the only feature that still held traces of the peasant girl. For some reason, that pained me.
“What colour shall you make them?” she asked, staring into the mirror as she turned her face to different angles. “I favour blue but you’ve done such lovely work I will leave the choice to you.”
I made them green like the grass in springtime. We regarded each other solemnly.
“Once I am Queen I will reward you.” she told me matter-of-factly. It was a mark of my success that neither of us doubted she would have that power. “The King will welcome you into his Court as a favoured advisor.”
For once my words failed me. “That isn’t necessary,” I managed. “You said it yourself; I only did this for the magic.”
Her old face might have shown a flinch. Now she was unreadable. The girl I’d known was barely recognisable behind those exquisite features.
“Nevertheless,” she continued in the silken voice I’d given her. “I would feel churlish not to thank you. In the meantime do take care of yourself. You’re starting to look old.”
“Does it bother you? The death your ambition will cause?”
She was half way from the room when my outburst halted her steps. “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but then I remember how it was before and I forget why I was ever troubled.”
In her absence my strength returned to me. I thought of her more often than I wanted, but turned my mind to other tasks. A year later I heard the news; the King was to be married. Part of me wanted to stay away. In the end I had to know. We had spun a net of death around him, she and I. It was only just to see the matter through.
I watched the coronation from a distance. The King was golden in his armour but his features were drawn. She glided at his side, more beautiful than words. All around them subjects raised their voices in delight. Their thoughts were clear: the wisest ruler in centuries deserved the happiness such a bride would bring. My eyes were on the King. Had he guessed yet what her love would cost him? Did he even know why the Cathedral was bare of flowers?
I stayed until the Queen was crowned but couldn’t bring myself to approach the couple. Instead I slipped out into the night.
“Goodbye Guinevere.” I whispered.
(c) Lisa Stout, 2015
Lisa Stout grew up in South East England and graduated from Durham University with a degree in law. Since then she’s split her time between working as a receptionist and writing paranormal stories. She has a self-published book available on Amazon (Shadowbound) and hopes to write many more!
Aged sixGreg Page was cast as Joseph in his infant school nativity. Somebody put a tea towel on his head and he became someone else. He hasn't been himself since. He can be contacted through roseberymanagement.com and has no idea what he's done with his keys.
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