Emyr and the Red Witch
Camille A. Grant
A small, wooden boat drifts on a calm, glassy sea. It’s swathed in beams of sunlight, even though there’s no sun. The sky above is suspended in perpetual midnight, stars and galaxies wheeling past, twirling in their ceaseless dance. The boat’s sole occupant lies along its deck, her auburn hair ringed around her face like a starburst-shaped crown.
Eyes closed, the Red Witch breathes deeply, listening to the rhythms of the universe. They’re easier to hear here, in the space between worlds.
She frowns.
Although the water under her boat doesn’t stir, she feels it—the roiling discord, the cosmic balance broken. What were only small tremors a few days ago have become full-blown earthquakes. Too many of them.
It’s time. She can put it off no longer. Too many fates hang in the balance.
Sighing, Red sits up. Her boat rocks gently, sending small ripples arcing out across the sea. She looks down at her left hand, at the triangular scar connecting her life and heart lines. Tracing the scar once, she blows on it gently—this magic called easily, without the need for words. Her scar glows faintly, the blue-grey color of an ocean at peace.
She senses him—the one she needs—feels his heartbeat more strongly than her own. His hold over her is powerful, even after all this time.
Placing her scarred hand in the water she speaks in the ancient tongue, old as time itself. The ripples arcing out from her boat expand, forming concentric circles as the surrounding sea writhes and warps. A portal opens.
Red drops through.
Waves pummel against her boat. Lashing over the side, they drench her in salty brine, burning her eyes. Red’s heart races as thunder booms overhead. She jumps, nearly falling overboard. Lighting lights the grey, churning sky.
She’s arrived in the middle of a tempest. That’s the trouble with world-walking, you can never be sure you’ll be welcomed by the world you’re walking into.
But Red isn’t worried; she’s an experienced seafarer descended from seafaring folk. The ocean isn’t her adversary, it’s an old friend—no matter the world.
* * *
By the time dawn creeps in, the storm is long-passed.
As the first rays of sunlight steal across the horizon—crimson-tinged, a sure sign of more storms to come—tempest-tossed and travel-weary, Red stares at her destination. Even though it’s been almost five years since she last saw it, the seaside town is as familiar as though she’d never left. The houses are just as cheerful—painted vibrant hues, window boxes overflowing with flowers—the castle ruins just as formidable—centuries-old stoneworks still stubbornly refusing to succumb to the weathering of time—the surrounding hillsides just as verdant.
Wandering the cobblestone streets, Red feels a pang of something unfamiliar. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was something like homesickness.
She clenches her hands, nails biting into her scar. She feels his heartbeat next to hers, knows he’s nearby, but she’s having a hard time finding him. She’s too exhausted. In this world that’s lost its magic, her own magic is dulled, more difficult to come by.
It takes her nearly two hours but, eventually, she finds him—out in the open, plain as day, having lunch with some friends at a pub. And, even though she’s come specifically to find him, she’s still not entirely prepared for the moment she first catches sight of him. As handsome and full of life as ever, his eyes bright as he gesticulates enthusiastically, regaling his friends with some story or other.
Emyr.
Red’s breath catches in her throat; her legs tremble, going weak.
She almost loses her nerve. But not quite.
Knowing she can’t approach him with so many others around, however, she slips quietly into the pub, tucking herself into a back corner.
The next thing she knows, her cheek is resting on something hard and a gentle hand is shaking her. She jolts upright, startling the waiter who’s bent over her.
“You alright, love?” the waiter asks, her expression sympathetic. “Looks like you’ve been to hell and back.”
Not completely accurate, but not entirely wrong either.
As the waiter moves away again, Red’s eyes dart to the front of the pub. Emyr’s table is empty, Emyr and his friends long gone.
Mentally kicking herself, Red sighs heavily. Then, she notices a paper napkin near her left elbow. A hand-written message is scrawled on it, the long, looping handwriting familiar.
I know why you’re here. Prom—castle point. 8pm.
Deeply unsettled, Red’s heart races. She made sure Emyr didn’t see her when she slipped into the pub. So how had he known she was here? Their connection shouldn’t still be strong enough for him to sense her too, not after so many years.
Nails pressing into her palm, scar throbbing with the dual rhythm of her heartbeat and his, she considers tracking him down, demanding answers. But, then, she thinks better of it. There was a time when they trusted each other completely; she should wait it out, meet him on his terms. She owes him that much.
* * *
Later, as the sun sinks behind the ocean, painting sky and water with twin patterns of kaleidoscopic light, Red paces restlessly along the seafront promenade. She senses him before she sees him, her soul instinctively reacting to his. Turning, she sees him, rounding the bend, a beautiful woman on his arm.
Red feels a sharp pang. The woman on Emyr’s arm laughs happily, burrowing closer into his side. Another pang. At the same moment, Emyr’s eyes lock on hers.
Red trembles, fighting the instinct to flee. Still some distance away, Emyr guides his companion to the rail overlooking the water. He says something to her and she nods. Then, he leaves her behind, walking towards Red instead.
Still fighting her instincts, Red stands motionless, waiting for him. When he’s barely an arm’s length away, he stops, his blue-grey eyes fixed on her azure ones. Red knows she’s in danger here, but she remains stoically still, refusing to give anything away.
“Do you know how long I wished for this—for you to come back?” Emyr asks, his eyes boring into her soul.
Red’s heart flutters. But she refuses to be moved, refuses to give herself away.
“But now that you’re here, I wish you weren’t.”
Red starts in spite of herself, Emyr’s words cutting deeply.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Emyr pulls out a long golden chain with a teardrop-shaped amulet at the end, the sapphire jewel twinkling in spite of the fading light. “This is why you’re here, isn’t it?” he asks with barely repressed anger.
Slowly, Red nods.
Rolling his eyes, Emyr holds the amulet out towards her. Red reaches for it and their fingers brush against each other. At the contact, the pendant glows briefly blindingly bright as the scar on Red’s palm throbs. But, then, Emyr draws his hand back, keeping the amulet clutched within his grasp.
Every muscle in Red’s body goes taut.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I took it?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Red shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter now. As long as you give it back.” She doesn’t want there to be, but there’s a barely-veiled threat in her tone. He’s one of the few who knows what the amulet is—knows how precious, how irreplaceably invaluable it is to her.
“Is this really the only reason you came back?”
Red sees it written so plainly across his face—the hurt, the betrayal.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what? I want you to say it.”
Red takes a deep breath, struggling to stay in control. “I shouldn’t have left like I did… without telling you,” she admits. “You deserved better.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
Red flinches, pain tightening her chest. “I didn’t have a choice—”
“Bollocks. There’s always a choice, Ava.”
Red starts at his use of her real name—so rarely used, she’s almost forgotten it herself.
“I sent you a letter explaining—”
“Not until months later—”
“I was dying, Emyr. This world has lost its magic and being here was destroying mine, killing me—”
“So why didn’t you just tell me?!”
“What difference would it have made?!”
“If you’d given me the choice, I could’ve gone with you.”
Red freezes, blood running cold. “I couldn’t have asked that. You belong here. It would’ve been too hard for you—”
“No. You were too much a coward to ask, because you were afraid I wouldn’t choose you.” Emyr’s words slice through her, more painful than any blade. “You were wrong.”
Turning away from her, Emyr leans against the railing. Opening his left hand, he stares down at his palm, at the long, triangular scar connecting his life and heart lines—the twin to hers.
“I loved you. And you left me. Like I was nothing.”
Red loses herself in a sudden flash of memory:
She’s by Emyr’s side in this very spot, years ago, struggling to walk straight as tempestuous winds buffet them to and fro. They watch the ocean encroaching, waves building high enough to breach the seawall. Exchanging glances, they try to outrun them, but too late. Water crashes over their heads, drenching them to the bone. Spluttering and laughing, Emyr takes her hands. Their eyes meet; she loses herself in his. Emyr leans closer. Their lips meet, unlocking a magic of an entirely unknown kind. One she cannot control. One that terrifies her as much as it thrills her.
Shaking her head, Red forces herself back to the present.
Reaching out, she places her scarred palm over Emyr’s. He starts at the contact, but doesn’t break it.
“Torri’r cwlwm,” Red whispers. There’s a flash of heat, a tingling of familiarity followed by a wrenching ache. Then, nothing.
She releases Emyr’s hand. His scar is gone.
“The bond is broken. You’re my familiar no longer. Your life is yours.”
“You think that’s all it takes, to break our bond?” Emyr asks.
Red shrugs, not knowing what else to do.
Shaking his head, Emyr drops the amulet into her hand. He looks at her, his blue-grey eyes searching hers—like he’s trying to reach her, to tell her something, but she can’t figure out what it is. Bitter disappointment blooms across his face. He turns and walks away, back to his beautiful companion. When he reaches the woman, their words are carried back to Red, improbably born upon the wind.
“Who was that woman?” Emyr’s companion asks.
“No one. Just someone I knew once.”
A single tear drips down Red’s cheek. She clutches the railing, needing the support it provides.
She should be happy. Her quest is fulfilled; she has what she came for—holds in her hands the power to face the warring Titans, to restore balance to the cosmic spheres—and yet she feels she’s lost more than she’s gained.
Looking out over the ocean that once brought them together and will now take her away from him, never to return, more tears fall, their sticky, salty heat mingling with the cool ocean spray coming up as the tide comes in.
Red turns for one last look at Emyr. He’s moving steadily away from her, his arm wrapped around the other woman’s waist, his collar turned up against the sea spray, his once dark hair now flecked with silver and grey.
“I love you,” Red whispers, her words vanishing on the wind. She always has; she always will.
She turns away, leaving him behind for the second time—the hardest thing she’s ever done—harder than defeating the Black Mage of Aihtidar, than learning to navigate the paths between worlds.
She doesn’t see Emyr stop and turn back, his blue-grey eyes searching for her.
But she feels something—something she can’t name—welling up in her chest, outside of her control.
She turns back. Their eyes meet. Hardly daring to breathe, Red smiles.
She won’t make the same mistake twice.
Camille A. Grant
Camille A. Grant is an aspiring novelist and long-time lover of all things fantasy fiction. Originally from Texas, she briefly pursued a career as an actor in New York before moving abroad to follow her passion for writing instead. She holds a joint MA in Literature and Creative Studies and a PhD in Creative Writing from Aberystwyth University in mid-Wales. Part of her heart still remains in that beautiful coastal town with castle ruins overlooking the sea and magic hanging in the air. But, currently, she resides in Los Angeles with her elderly gentleman of a cat named Noah.