Chapter 20 #3
Again, Moriah didn’t answer, but Thorn recalled how Rose had called the black cat the antimage, and how Moriah had made the dream vines disappear at the inn.
“I won’t make the mistake of dreaming real again,” she argued, much like having a conversation with a mute statue.
“I won’t sleep out there, so I won’t dream uncontrolled.
I’ll just go for … a while and come back.
I came back before, didn’t I? When you told me to. Like I promised.”
Moriah flicked the tip of an ear in clear disdain.
“I’m not being willfully stupid,” Thorn tossed over her shoulder as she drew her portal again. “I’m leaving to gather information, to learn about the world.” As the cat still had no reply, Thorn went back to creating her portal, setting the image and feel of Sebastien clearly in her mind.
“It wasn’t fair to her either,” Moriah commented in that same bland tone.
“To who—Rose?” Though she didn’t want to, Thorn paused, distracted, and the portal wobbled, then disintegrated of its own accord, falling like the persistent, greeting rain. Vanishing to nothing like all her efforts seemed to.
She turned back to the conversation with Moriah, as the cat seemed inclined to speak again. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know Rose.”
Moriah said nothing in reply.
“I don’t really see how anything has been unfair to Rose. She has everything she ever wanted.” Including Sebastien. “If I don’t go now and see if they’re truly in love, I’ll end up with the same thing I’ve always had: nothing and no one.”
Moriah twitched the tip of her tail. “Do you know the tale of the witch Gornicka?”
Feeling defeated, Thorn sighed. “No.”
“When she was a young woman,” Moriah said, “the witch Gornicka attended a ball hosted by the royal family of her kingdom. As the daughter of a semi-noble family herself, Gornicka received an invitation, though at that time in her life, no one knew her for a witch. In truth, she had yet to realize the fullness of her powers, those that would later make her known and sought after throughout the world.”
“Not that well known,” Thorn retorted crankily, “as I’ve never read about her.”
“Gornicka dressed herself in a new gown,” Moriah continued without any indication she’d heard Thorn, “and attended the glittering function alone, as her other family had been unable to attend and she had few friends, and the ones she did have were not the sort to be invited to a royal ball. She was excited to go on this special excursion, a true occasion, a departure from her studies and the often difficult exercises she’d devoted the majority of her years to.
In short, she looked forward to an evening of frivolity and, perhaps, some flirtation. ”
Thorn, finally wising up and deciding that she would only delay her eventual departure by interrupting further, didn’t ask if this Gornicka was supposed to be her or Rose.
Unfortunately, Moriah fell silent at that point.
“Well?” Thorn finally prompted. “Let me guess. I suppose Gornicka danced with the prince, he fell in love with her, and she tricked him into marrying her instead of whatever beautiful princess he’d been betrothed to.
Then she was found out and punished in some horrible way like having her eyes plucked out by ravens or her feet burned to the ankles with iron-hot shoes.
And I’m supposed to take caution from that and sit here all meek and obedient and not go to the metaphorical party.
” She finished, out of breath from her rant, taken aback by the strength of her tumultuous emotions, ones she couldn’t quite put a name to.
Moriah gave her one of those long, slow blinks.
Thorn sighed, remembered at the last moment not to rake back her hair, pinned up as it was. “Fine. What happened to Gornicka at the ball?”
“She had a wonderful time,” Moriah said, a hint of bland surprise in her voice, as if she’d thought that much was obvious.
“Danced all night, though never with a prince. That doesn’t really happen, except in stories.
She drank a bit too much sparkling wine and so had a headache in the morning, but she didn’t mind. ”
Thorn glared. Moriah sat, impervious.
“That is the tale of the witch Gornicka?” she asked, bewildered. “I don’t see how I’m to take any kind of meaning from that.”
If a cat could raise astonished eyebrows, Moriah did. “Oh, from the story of the ball? No. I just thought you might like to hear about it. Young people sometimes need a relatable moment. There isn’t always a message to every story,” she added chidingly.
Thorn felt thoroughly worn down—and she wondered if that had been Moriah’s intent to begin with. “Then what is the tale of Witch Gornicka?” she asked with resignation, hoping she sounded properly chastened and respectful.
Moriah waited a moment. “In the tale of the witch Gornicka, she casts a spell to make herself into two people, in order to confuse and foil her enemies. Only one of them lived.”
The hairs rose on the back of Thorn’s neck. Hero or villain? “Which am I—the original or the copy?”
Moriah stood, waved her long, black tail. “Even Gornicka didn’t know. They both believed themselves to be the creator.” The cat glanced back over her shoulder, emerald eyes unwinking. “Their story ended in tragedy. Yours doesn’t have to.”