3 - Iona
S he waits until he is far enough away that she can no longer hear his cane scrapping against the ground. Only then does she shut the wagon door with finality. It lurches without warning; the momentum causing her to stumble and accidentally bump into Ariadne.
“I thought I told you to watch where you step,” Ariadne says, humor dancing behind her narrowed eyes.
Iona grins shyly and looks down at her feet to steady herself, still uneasy after the unexpected confrontation.
Ariadne snakes an arm around her waist and sneaks a kiss on her cheek before helping her find a seat at the other end of the wagon.
The potion vials rattle with the turning of the wagon’s wheels.
“Where are we going?” Ariadne asks. Are you alright?
Yes, Iona assures her. Are you?
Ariadne gives her a short nod as she sits beside her and takes her hand again.
“The Rio Paraná,” Jacira says.
Unfurling a map of Brazil they’d acquired at a store in town, Ariadne squints to find the river, pointing it out to Iona when she finds it.
“A week’s travel, I’d say,” Iona says.
“A week?” Jacira scowls. “What caliber of witch would I be if it took days to travel there? It will take an hour at most.”
Iona stares at her in confusion, then remembers how swift the journey to Lysander College had been on Samuel’s hot air balloon. The wagon must be enchanted in the same manner.
“Apologies, I…” Iona stutters.
“You’re still thinking like a human,” Ariadne says, not unkindly, but Iona admonishes herself all the same.
Jacira’s demeanor softens when Aster sets his head on her lap. With slight hesitance, she pets the wolf and when he proves docile, she scratches the top of his head.
“Now then, I shall divulge my story in exchange for yours,” Jacira says. “Tell me, how did an Evora come to claim the pendant of Morgan Le Fay?”
Iona tells the tale in great detail, starting with her mother and father’s scandalous elopement, describing her solitary childhood in Cornwall, her time at college, and her success in the trials.
She also gives a brief account of her cousin Elise, who had foolishly resorted to the use of dark magic in her attempt at stealing the pendant away, but the maleficium corrupted her beyond redemption.
It was during their duel with Elise when Ariadne claimed the staff of Merlin, which was once thought to be lost to time within Lysander Forest.
“I’ve had spats with maleficians in my time,” Jacira says. “It is good you defeated her while she was only a novice. Any longer and… Well, it is good that she is dead now.”
“She isn’t dead,” Iona clarifies, taken aback by how flippantly she spoke of it. “Elise’s leeching curse was deflected by Ariadne’s magic. By her own hand, her magic was stolen away.”
“She is still alive?” Jacira’s jaw drops, “Que coisa…”
Iona doesn’t know how to respond, and looks to Ariadne, whose expression has turned to stone.
Jacira’s keen eyes flit between them. “An odd pairing, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Oddly perfect,” Iona quickly says, before Ariadne might take offense.
She bristles anyway. “Is that why you took so long to introduce yourself?”
“Partially. When I recognized Morgan’s pendant…” Jacira shakes her head with incredulity. “I couldn’t quite believe it. I thought it prudent to keep my distance for a time until I knew it was safe. The last woman to wield it was no friend to me.”
“Katrin?” Iona’s heart sinks at the mention of Ariadne’s grandmother.
“Her empire stretched across the Atlantic,” Jacira says. “She made her fortune farther north, but every witch in Brazil knew her name, and that of her progeny. It seems you’ve taken a different path than she.”
“Very much so,” Iona nods. “As has Ariadne.”
Jacira regards her with enduring skepticism but doesn’t argue. “Anyhow, I am glad you did not acquiesce to my brother’s suppliance. He is not to be trusted.”
“Why?” Iona asks. “Within his aura, I saw a weeping woman. Do you know her?”
The wagon makes a sudden stop just as Jacira’s expression darkens. “Come, and I shall explain.”
They step out onto the bank of a new, vast river bordered by dense tropical forest. In the distance, a raging waterfall turns the water white as it rushes away from the jagged rocks and rapids, where farther out the surface of the flowing river is peppered with tiny droplets.
Iona conjures a white parasol and holds out her hand to feel the haze of mist against her palm. Within the warm air, she can also sense abundant magic lingering around them, invisible to the naked eye.
“What did your mother tell you of this place?” Jacira asks.
“Nothing at all,” Iona says. “She was… quite reticent about matters of her past in an effort to protect me from harsh truths.”
Jacira’s brow furrows as she says, “Then I shall start at the very beginning.”
She looks out at the water and takes a deep cleansing breath, a small smile reaching her lips as peace seems to fill her. Then she clears her throat.
“More than a century ago, the Evoras made the journey from Portugal to S?o Paulo in search of new strains of magic, since most of Europe had already been claimed by sempiterna families,” Jacira explains.
“Many did so in those days,” Ariadne interjects. “As new worlds were discovered, there were opportunities for conquest. Some families found greater success than others… There are formidable indigenous magic users who do not take kindly to interlopers.”
“Indeed. In Brazil alone there are countless tribes, many of whom have deep ties to the magic of their land. They do not welcome outsiders, and I can hardly blame them,” Jacira says.
“We may not meet them, then?” Iona asks.
“The Evoras are not particularly welcome. They know what our family attempted,” Jacira says.
“But Iona is not her family,” Ariadne argues.
“You of all people should know the irrelevance of such a sentiment.” Jacira raises an eyebrow.
Ariadne’s face colors with indignance, but Jacira returns her attention to Iona and continues on with her story.
“I trust your professors taught lessons on rituals, how they are practiced on sacred days?” Jacira asks, and when Iona nods, she says, “Another method of harvesting magic is through rituals performed in proximity to sacred sites, places in nature that are teeming with life and vitality, like this river. The magic lingers once it’s been evoked, leaving its remnants within the earth, the water, the air. ”
Iona admires the beauty of the river, the pristine water and thriving greenery. She’s reminded of Lysander Forest, the abundant magic thriving there, entirely self-sufficient and eternal. It would stand to reason that there would be other places exhibiting the same magic.
“The Evoras set their sights on this river.” Jacira’s gaze flickers to Ariadne. “To exploit the land and prevent those who were born to it from harvesting magic for themselves and their families.”
“To what end?” Iona asks.
“To become sempiterna,” Ariadne says, her voice clipped.
Jacira nods. “They hoped to take what they could manage to steal, then return to Portugal when one of them, or their children, gained a new witch’s mark. In this endeavor, witches often leave the land bereft of life, uncaring of the devastation they leave behind.”
“Like the wildwood in England,” Iona murmurs, remembering her mother’s tales of its ancient beauty before it was all destroyed by humans and witches alike, “And how did the Evoras fail to destroy this place?”
“Your great grandfather decided to romance a native woman in the hopes that the children they bore would possess the ability to more easily exploit the magic of this land to his own selfish ends. To him, it was merely a strategic alliance, all of his pretty words and romantic gestures a deceptive beguilement. He used her until it no longer suited him to placate her,” Jacira says, “When your great grandmother learned of his ulterior motives, she was heartbroken. She attempted an escape with her children, but he threatened to kill her, forcing her to flee into the forest and leave her children behind. Then he spoke ill of her so viciously to the children, that whenever she tried to call them back to her, they ignored her pleas.”
A gust of wind rustles the leaves and sends ripples across the surface of the river, and Iona can swear it carries the faintest echo of a desolate wail, but it’s so slight a sound that she can’t be sure she didn’t imagine it.
“That’s horrible,” Iona says softly.
“Whatever became of her?” Ariadne asks.
“She died in the wilderness, lost to her unendurable grief,” Jacira says.
Iona’s eyes prick with tears. She cannot imagine the torment of watching your own children live on without you. It is a sickening thought.
“What do you know of restless spirits?” Jacira asks.
Iona thinks for a moment but cannot recall a lesson on the subject from Pari or any of her other professors.
“Restless spirits?” Ariadne asks, then her eyes go wide with recognition. “Did her soul not pass on?”
Jacira shakes her head. “She haunts the river still. Any Evora who attempts to perform a ritual in the surrounding forest, or to swim within its waters, will find many a misfortune befalling them. Lightning storms, floods, swarms of flesh-eating insects, rabid animals, snakes, poison, anything she might use to deter those who attempt to harm the river.”
Iona stiffens, then scans the trees for any sign of a ghost watching them, or any of the terrifying deterrents Jacira had listed.
“I am the only one she seems to favor, and that is not from a lack of effort. In my presence, you are safe, but do not attempt to venture here alone,” Jacira warns.
“You speak with her?” Iona asks.
“Yes, on occasion when she is not… inconsolable,” Jacira says, her gaze distant.
“She is… was my mother. I was too late in realizing the wickedness of my father and by then, she was already dead. I hope to help her find peace someday, if that is possible, and safeguard the river in her stead until my dying day.”