The Wetlands. #3
Mother had told me stories of Regina, King James’s sister—once beloved across Lyonesse.
She traveled the land, casting spells to aid her subjects, making spring harvests bountiful and shielding crops from winter’s blight.
But now, her name ignited fear. Magic was prohibited, and she had long been banished with it.
“How can you be so certain all magic is evil?” I asked, thinking of how Regina’s rumored kindness seemed the opposite. “We’ve never even seen it.”
Avice’s mouth twisted—her eyes darkened. “My sister would still be here if it weren’t for magic.” Her fists clenched. “That alone proves it’s wickedness.”
Before Avice was born, her elder sister vanished without a trace. Her father blamed sorcery, enforcing the strictest anti-magic laws in the realm, while the loss shattered her mother, leaving her catatonic. Raised in the shadow of a sister stolen by dark forces, Avice learned to despise magic.
“And—how else can you explain the invasion in Cambas?” she continued, her anguish softening slightly.
“What exactly is invading?” I asked, struggling to separate the truth from the old wives’ tales.
Avice hesitated. “My father tells me very little—he doesn’t want to worry me—but I overheard him talking to a knight. He said Regina plans to match every pint of magical blood spilled by taking the lives of everyone who stands between her and the throne.”
My stomach knotted at the notion of a witch, pillaging the land with sorcery—something I knew hardly anything about.
“How can we win a war when we don’t even understand our enemy?” I pressed, wondering whether mortal men, armed with so little knowledge, could ever hope to hold their ground against arcane power.
“We cannot,” Avice murmured. “If we knew more about magic, we’d know how to destroy it all.”
As she spoke, I wondered if we would ever see the Wetlands through the same eyes. She saw violence as the solution to fear, like her father. But I wanted something different. Something closer to harmony.
Once the sleet lightened, we hurried to the smithy before the clouds cried again. Finn would undoubtedly be waiting for my help, and Avice was eager to accompany me to my family’s workshop.
Little lilac forget-me-nots grew beside the doorstep, and I cherished them because they were survivors.
They’d weathered countless harsh winters, their delicate petals shaking more vigorously than a town crier’s handbell.
Many had been plucked from the soil, their sap stolen to stick feathers to arrows for warring archers.
I was thankful that this little bunch had managed to remain hidden.
As we stepped over the threshold and into the smithy, the comforting sound of clanging greeted us.
Finn was hunched over the anvil, with my younger brother Henry sitting at his feet, a stump doll in either hand—his fair brows pinched as he mumbled a make-believe conversation between the carved pieces of wood.
“Wretched piece of iron,” Finn muttered under his breath.
He slammed the chisel down and tucked his dark hair behind his ears.
“Do you want someone who’s actually good at forging to do it?” I teased.
Finn didn’t reply. Instead, he grumpily ducked out of his long leather apron and threw it at me.
I caught it and immediately put it on. “Yes, please, my astonishingly talented sister,” I said in a deep voice, mimicking Finn. “I know your mother taught you manners, but you seem to have misplaced them,” I continued, teasing him further.
“Finally, you’re back,” he said, heaving himself onto his feet. “I’ve been waiting for your return since you left this morning.” His tired groan told me he’d been struggling with this for hours.
Finn bolted upright at the sight of my companion. “Avice,” he said, stepping toward her.
Henry looked away from his toys. “Avice!” he squealed.
He leapt into her arms, shaking with excitement.
Finn laughed as Avice crouched down to embrace Henry, stroking his fair hair while he beamed at her with his bucktoothed smile.
“It’s nice to see you,” Finn said. Just the sight of Avice brightened his mood as swiftly as a branding iron plunged into a red-hot flame.
I gathered the tools for this task, selecting the sharpest file and the roughest grindstone. Avice sat Henry on her lap, and Finn knelt before them on the straw-covered floor. He rested one hand on Avice’s thigh and clutched Henry’s in the other. They looked like a family.
As I took a seat at the anvil, Avice entertained my brothers.
“Some believe wizards are the offspring of a human and a soulless entity,” she whispered, as though sharing a secret, sending the hairs at the nape of my neck standing.
“Others swear they roam the kingdom, ordained by a witch to spread the black magic that riddles the far shores. One thing’s certain about these depraved beasts—they infect Lyonesse with merciless calamities faster than a honey fungus. ”
Henry gasped as worry took root within me. Had Avice chosen that fable to sow a seed? Did she believe that by helping Dog I was allowing magic to seep back into the land—where it would sprout, bloom, and eventually overrun the realm?
“Are you trying to give him nightmares?” Finn asked.
I peered over my shoulder to see him beaming at her, and she returned a coquettish smile.
As I resumed my work, I pushed my worries into the dark crevices of my mind—where there was no light to grow. Mother’s constant reminders that magical association was deadly had planted an unease within me.
“Of course,” Avice replied, making Finn chuckle.
“You’re a talented storyteller,” he told her.
She giggled. “Your charming words might work on the girls who pick berries in the fields, but I’m used to powerful men trying to get in my father’s favor for a chance to court me.”
“One day, I’ll be a blacksmith for the King. Just you wait,” Finn said.
“I’ll be wed by then—”
“Forgive me. I forgot that the son of a blacksmith doesn’t rank high enough for the Lady of the Wetlands,” Finn replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
I glanced behind me to find Avice standing above Finn, with Henry by her side.
“You should practice my soon-to-be title—Princess of Lyonesse,” she playfully remarked, offering her hand. Without hesitation, Finn took it.
I turned back to the metal in my palms, feeling a twinge of jealousy at their fondness for one another.
“Would you like to come to the tavern with me and Niamh tonight?” she asked.
I didn’t have to stop gliding the blade against the grindstone to know Finn was gleefully nodding.
I tutted. “I don’t want him there. He’s insufferable after four tankards.”
“I’ll keep him occupied,” Avice said as I shook my head. “He won’t have a spare moment to annoy you.”
I kept shaking as I took my final grind against the stone.
“Done,” I announced, holding up the hand-forged blade.
The metal shone brighter than the moon. Finn’s boots snapped the straw as he walked over, his shadow blocking the firelight and dulling the blade’s brilliance. He squeezed my shoulders, admiring my craftsmanship.
Finn sighed. “It’s such a pity you were born a woman.”
I spun around to face him. “Why?”
“If you were a man, you could apprentice under the King’s blacksmith.”
“I thought that was your dream?” Avice asked.
Finn chuckled. “It’s Niamh’s dream, but my destiny.”
He thumped his fist into his chest like a heroic figure, making Henry laugh. I didn’t find it funny.
I kicked over the stool as I stood. Henry flinched as the wood clattered against the stone tiles. Being the daughter of a blacksmith meant I knew the trade as well as my brother, but I’d never received recognition for my dedication to ironwork.
“What will you do when I no longer reside here?” I asked Finn, holding the freshly sharpened blade toward him. “Tell me, what will you do when you cannot take my work and claim it as your own?”
Finn didn’t flinch. He knew I’d never hurt him. I was only angry at the truth.
Because I was a woman, I’d never be a blacksmith.
I turned the blade, so he was face-to-face with its point. “I should slit your throat and take the life that’s been given to you.”
“Go on,” Finn said tapping the lump in his neck, daring me to slice.
Henry pulled at my elbow. “Stop,” he whined, but I shook him off.
“I’d be better at it,” I said, passing Finn the blade. He snatched it, inspecting what I’d crafted. “If I were a man, I’d be in the Walled City with ten apprentices of my own, all weaving chain mail for the King’s knights.” I took Avice’s hand in mine. “And Avice would be my wife.”
Avice curtsied, then I pecked her knuckles as if I were a man. She giggled at my act of chivalry while Finn rolled his eyes.