Page 19 of Sophie's Ruin
“Will the forest go back to how it was now that the Dark Witches are gone?” I asked, hopeful.
Celeste’s words had made me realize that the woods and the creatures dwelling within were not malevolent in and of themselves. They were victims, just like everyone else who’d suffered at the hands of the Dark Witches.
“Perhaps, but it will take time. It takes a lot longer to restore something to its former glory than to ruin it in the first place.”
9
Xanthus—he was the one who’d ruined this place. He was the root cause of it all.
“Where did he come from? Xanthus?” I asked in a hushed tone.
It felt wrong to utter his name aloud as if doing so would conjure him. An image of a horned monster with scaly black skin, dark, bottomless eyes, and rows of sharp teeth filled my mind as I recalled the mural I’d seen on the ceiling at the Dark Witches’ temple. I wasn’t able to suppress a shudder this time as it rolled through me.
Celeste didn’t answer for a long time as she stood there, watching the fire. I wondered if she hesitated because it was painful to talk about the White Witches’ downfall.
The downfall of a few of them does not make them all evil,Henry’s words floated up in my mind. He’d said them to me back when I’d still been human, trying to convince me that not all vampires were monsters. It was hard to imagine any of the people here as Dark Witches. Yet, the past couldn’t be erased or ignored. White Whites were susceptible to Xanthus, and just because the Dark Witches had been destroyed did not mean thatthe Dark god was not still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to turn more White Witches into his followers.
“There are other realms alongside this one,” Celeste finally said, not looking at me. “Where a constant battle between good and evil rages. Sometimes, it spills into this world. Where there is light, there must also be darkness. Usually, they are in delicate balance, but Xanthus wanted to tilt the scale, so he found a White warlock to corrupt. The warlock’s mind was already warped by jealousy and envy. He was susceptible to Xanthus’s influence because he always felt at a disadvantage, since female witches are usually stronger magic wielders. Xanthus promised him more power, and the warlock began using his magic for evil, nefarious acts. Over time, his magic turned black, feeding on his dark, depraved soul. Eventually, the darkness consumed him, turning him into the first Dark Warlock.”
The story was a startling revelation. It was common knowledge that Xanthus had corrupted the White Witches, but I hadn’t known all the details, just like I hadn’t realized that it had been a warlock, not a witch that had surrendered to Xanthus first.
“I thought that black magic came from Xanthus…but it comes from us?” I asked, unable to hide the shock from my voice.
Celeste finally tore her gaze away from the bonfire and turned to look at me. Her cerulean eyes fastened on mine as if she wanted to make sure I was listening and paying attention.
“Magic in and of itself is neither good nor bad. It feeds off the host’s energy. Whether it’s light or dark is determined by the one who wields it.”
A feeling of foreboding invaded my chest as I remembered my dreams about the quiet place and my conversations with the darkness that dwelled there.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be learning my magic right now,a thought flashed through my mind, but I dismissed it. Learning my magic was the only way to get Henry back.
“I understand,” I told Celeste, feeling a surge of resolve.
“Good,” she said, but her eyes narrowed just a fraction, as if she didn’t quite believe me. Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before it returned to the crowd by the fire, gliding over the sea of faces as if she were looking for someone. She must have found whom she was looking for because she turned back to me and said, “I need to speak with a friend. You should walk around, soak up some of the magic in this place. I brought you here for a reason. I thought it would be good for you to meet your people and get closer to your roots.”
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I told her, and I meant it. “I needed to see this.”
My people had not all been eradicated, and there were a lot more of them than I’d realized. There were children here, and laughter. There was hope, and it filled my heart with joy, momentarily pushing the dreadful feelings aside. I knew they wouldn’t stay away for long. They would spread again soon, weighing my heart like a stone, but for now, I wanted to allow myself a moment of peace.
When Celeste left my side, quickly getting lost in the throng of people, I began a leisurely stroll around the bonfire, keeping my distance as I watched the celebration from a few feet away—an observer, not a participant. I couldn’t celebrate defeating the Dark Witches because it hadn’t been a true victory. One enemy had been destroyed, but the threat from the clans still remained.
The Tear pulsed in my pocket at the thought as if reminding me,I’m still here if you need me.
I don’t need you,I wanted to say.I need Henry.
Suddenly, the sounds of the celebration became too much, the conversations too loud, and the music too harsh. It feltwrong being so close to happiness and joy while Henry was far away and suffering. Scowling, I put a few more feet between myself and those gathered around the bonfire. The added distance helped, and my scowl smoothed out as I resumed my stroll, looking at the cabins as I walked past them. They were all constructed in a similar manner—a slightly raised front porch, a narrow door with a small window by it—but each one had something unique about it, as if the inhabitants had wanted to add their own special touch to the simple facade. Planters teeming with colorful flowers lined the front of one house, while a wreath made of twigs decorated the door of another.
A smile tugged at my lips as I walked, soaking up the magic of this place as Celeste had suggested. My steps slowed when I noticed a young woman sitting on the porch of the cabin coming up in my path. Hunched over slightly, she was perched on one of the wooden steps, an oil lamp sitting next to her. Her gaze was cast down, and I stopped in my tracks when I noticed a book in her lap.
Such a simple pleasure in such a complicated world. Reading had been something I’d shared with my mother. Then, Rory and I had bonded over our love for books. My mother and Rory were both dead, and it had felt wrong to enjoy reading with them gone, so I hadn’t picked up a book since Rory’s death.
The woman on the steps must have felt my gaze on her because she lifted her eyes from the pages and looked in my direction.
“Hello,” she said, one side of her mouth turning up.
She was around the same age as me, maybe a year younger. Her green eyes were sparkling and bright, and a thick braid of fiery red hair was slung over her shoulder.
“Hello,” I found myself saying in response.
