Once Upon a Woven Wish (Enchanted Realms)

Chapter 1

Stonemere Village, Kingdom of Ebonvale, Gefglimmer Realm

The Well of Wishes had long since run dry. Its stones crumbled beneath moss and ivy, and its magic, if it ever had any, faded with the last of the old kings. Yet, when Serena knelt beside it, her hands shaking and her breath curling in the cold twilight, she offered her wish anyway.

A foolish hope, perhaps. But foolish hopes were all she had left.

The taxman would arrive at dawn. The greedy king had already taken so much. How much more would he take? Her family and the village were starving. Her father was sick, possibly dying. They had nothing left to give. No heirlooms. No livestock. No harvest. Just hunger, and hope fraying at the edges.

The mountain village on the edge of the kingdom was on the brink of ruin. It wasn’t just her and her family. It was all of them.

The old tales spoke of a magical wishing well with the ability to grant one’s heart’s desire. Anything the wisher wanted. So, Serena sought the well, searching through dense forest until she found it hidden beneath overgrown ivy and weeds, concealed to all but the most keen.

Or the most desperate.

It had taken her all afternoon to clear the overgrowth.

Her gown was soiled and sweat-stained, her hands raw.

Every muscle ached from the effort. Hunger pangs plagued her.

She had a desperate thirst. But peering down into the well, she saw nothing.

No glisten of dark water. Only stones and sprouts of weeds pushing through the mortar.

Now, with the cold wind biting through her and the frigid ground seeping into her knees, she took a deep breath, ready to make her wish.

“I wish…” Her breath plumed in the air around her.

She paused, her mind frozen. What was her wish? Money for the taxman? Food for the table? To cure her sick father?

There were so many needs and only one wish. At least, according to the legend.

She closed her eyes against the night, shivering in the cold breeze, and placed her hands on the edge of the crumbling stone well.

“I’d give anything to save them,” she whispered.

A desperate plea in desperate times. The wind stilled. Silence descended. And for a long, quiet moment, there was nothing. No response.

It was worth a try, even though she failed. She rose on shaking legs, her hands ice cold.

“I tried,” she said and turned away. It was a long trek back to the village, and night was upon her.

“What will you pay?”

The man’s voice curled like thread spun from the night. Cold. Mysterious.

She turned back to see him standing there, cloaked in shadows. He wore black. His face was hidden in the night.

A shiver danced up her spine. She took a step back, clutching her elbows, her worn boots crunching on the bracken.

“Who are you?”

“You called me, did you not?”

“I called no one. I-I made a wish.”

“All wishes are calls. The Well remembers them all.” He smiled. Not a warm smile. Not a smile that reached his eyes.

She looked past him toward the empty stone overgrown with brush.

“The well is dry,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean it’s dead.”

He moved closer, stepping into the fading light of day streaming through the treetops.

His alabaster skin, glistening with an otherworldly glow, looked as though it had been carved from marble.

Perfect. Flawless. With high cheekbones, a wide forehead, and curved pink lips.

Beneath the hood of his cloak, his startling green-blue eyes peered back at her with curiosity.

He was dressed all in black with a black cloak wrapping around him, the tail fluttering in the faint breeze.

He had simply appeared before her. She sensed something ancient about him, though she could not say what it was.

“I can grant you whatever you wish,” he said softly. “Pay your debts. Feed your village. Cure your father. Whatever you need.”

Her heart drummed hard, hope rising within her. It was as though he looked into her soul and saw her most desperate needs. All her wishes could come true. He held them in his hands, and all she had to do was say the word.

But—

“At what cost?” she asked, wary.

He raised one gloved hand and tapped her chest above her heart with the tip of his finger. “A part of you. The Well decides.”

A shudder went through her as she peered at the stranger. He wanted a piece of her. What did that mean? She shook her head.

“I have nothing to give.”

A smile split his face. “Even the poorest soul carries something worth taking.”

Her gut clenched. Her breath caught. “Like what?”

“You have a name. A voice. A story. Memories. Dreams. Hopes. Secrets.” He tilted his head. “Anything can be spun from a single memory.”

She clutched her elbows tighter. “You…want my memories?”

He shook his head. “I don’t. The magic does. The Well does. I only collect.” His words were thin, tired. Fatigue lined his features.

“And if I say no?”

“Your father dies. The taxman takes all you have. And you will not survive the winter.”

Harsh, she thought. The wind moaned between them, an ominous portent. Serena dropped her hands and gazed down at them. Pale. Chapped. Worn. She worked them hard to keep her family from starving. Anguish pounded through her. And here was this man ready and willing to grant her every wish.

For a price.

She drew in a long breath, expelled it in a shuddering plume. If she gave a piece of herself away, would it be worth it? Would they survive?

“I’ll do it.” Her words were quiet.

A soft smile touched his lips. “Then make your wish, Serena Windriver.”

Her blood ran cold. She had not given him her name. Yet he knew. Or perhaps the magic in the well knew. She cut a glance at the old well sitting dark and silent as if waiting and watching.

Serena made her wish before dawn under a moonless sky with a cold winter wind ruffling her untidy hair.

She told herself it need not be extravagant.

“I wish for enough money to pay the taxes and keep our home.”

She expected something fantastical to happen. But nothing did. No lightning. No ominous howl of the wind.

The man stepped back to the edge of the well.

He removed his gloves, revealing skin inked with glowing symbols shimmering faintly like ancient runes that no longer had names.

They spiraled from his fingers, curled around his wrist, and disappeared in the sleeve of his black tunic.

He reached his gloveless hand to the well, holding it over the opening and whispering strange words in a language she didn’t know.

Golden light danced upward from the well, swirling around his hands. His fingers bent, closing as though gripping the light itself. Then, the air twisted and split, tearing open for a heartbeat before closing again.

But Serena saw it.

The world split like a woven cloth unraveling, long enough for this man to draw something out.

A sprinkle of shadow and starlight between his fingers.

He cupped the light in his hand, cradling it as though it were something fragile.

He brought his other hand up, both hands moving with impossible grace, weaving a strand of light. The air glimmered.

Then, shimmering like spider silk, threads looped through his fingers. Shaping. Morphing. Creating.

Gold.

Strands. Then curls. Then, circles turned into coins. Clinking softly onto the rim of the stone well.

Shining. Bright. Real.

He continued to work, creating more weavings of light that turned into more round gold coins. When he finished, a bulging satchel rested at her feet.

“Enough, you said. Enough and no more.” His voice was laced with exhaustion as he sagged against the old well. Tired lines creased his face as though weaving the wish took a toll.

Perhaps it had.

Serena’s eyes burned with the hot sting of tears. “You…did it.”

He said nothing, his face remaining impassive.

She started to thank him, but then a wave of dizziness accosted her. She swayed on her feet, a flutter rising in her chest. She touched her head as she reached out to steady herself on the stone of the well.

He moved back, putting distance between the two of them.

A strangeness overcame her.

“What—” But the word stuck in her throat. She blinked, her vision fuzzy.

There was a thought at the edge of her mind that was now gone. She placed a hand to her temple and rubbed.

“The price has been paid,” he said, his voice solemn.

“What did you take?”

“A memory,” he said.

Panic seized her. “What memory?”

“If you knew, it would not be gone.” His mouth drew down in a frown as though sorry for the taking. “You will remember the wish. Always. But the cost…it leaves space.”

She pressed cold, shaking fingertips to her lips. What had she done?

“I want it back.” Her voice warbled with her fear, her regret.

“No refunds.”

A choked sob escaped her. She turned to hide her shame, putting her face in her hands as the hot tears pricked her eyes.

“Now, go,” he said.

When she turned back, he was gone. Only the satchel of gold remained.

But beneath her skin, shimmering under the surface, was a tremor of something forgotten. Something changed. She would never be the same.