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“Not that Mother has told us about,” Primrose said, making Gothel scoff.
“Even if a villager were brave enough to enter our woods, they couldn’t get in if they tried. The thicket is enchanted. No one living can enter these woods if they’re not a witch of our blood. You know how it works, Prim! I’ve told you this story countless times!” Gothel thought about those words and continued, “But I suppose we really don’t know how it works, do we?”
“Why are you so weird all the time, Gothel? What are you talking about?” asked Primrose.
“I’m talking about Mother! She tells us nothing! The only reason I know any of this is because I’ve been reading her books!”
“That’s because Mother knows best.”
Their mother’s voice was like a knife in Gothel’s stomach. She felt queasy and slightly faint at the sound of it, her knees buckling under her. Primrose caught Gothel by the arm, steadying her.
“Mother! Leave Gothel alone!” shouted Primrose, putting herself between her mother and her sister.
Manea laughed at her daughters. “This isn’t my doing, Primrose. Gothel has worked herself up into a tizzy as usual. Hurting her would be like hurting myself, and I would never dream of hurting myself.”
Manea stood perfectly still, staring at her daughters. Her long straight black hair hung around her, creating shadows in the hollows of her disturbingly thin face, making her visage look like a skull brought to life. Her eyes were extremely large and bulged from their deeply set sockets with rage, sending fear into her daughters’ hearts.
“Please do calm down, Daughters. I’m not here to punish Gothel. You don’t think I hear your every thought and know your every movement? I’ve known for years Gothel has been reading my books. And what do I care? That’s w
hat they’re there for, to read!” She laughed again. “Clever Gothel. Secretive, blackhearted Gothel. All this time slipping books into your pockets and spiriting them away to the forest to read in secret!” Her voice held a mixture of scorn and amusement.
Manea pushed her hair out of her wrathful face with her long spindly fingers, making her look even more severe. The sister witches knew she was about to do her magic, because on the rare occasions she did her magic in front of them, she made this gesture when she was about to perform a spell.
“You want to see my magic, Gothel? You want to see what my mother taught me? You want to learn my magic? Behold!”
Manea raised her hands skyward, illuminating the dark forest with silver lightning blasts that sparked from her fingertips and crashed into the tree branches, catching them ablaze. Primrose screamed, pulling her sisters closer to her. “Mother, no!”
“I call upon the old gods and the new, bring life into these woods and give us our due!” Manea bellowed as she sent more lightning into the sky, causing a thunderous storm to erupt overhead.
“Mother, stop! What are you doing? We know you’re powerful. I’m sorry I said those things about you. I’m sorry!” Gothel pleaded with her mother, but Manea just laughed as she created a tempest of swirling golden light that mingled with the storm and showered down around them.
“I call upon the old gods and the new, bring life into these woods and give us our due!”
As the golden light fell with the rain and penetrated the soil, it woke the souls that inhabited the city of the dead, inviting them to come out of their crypts and rise from under the earth. Most of them were skeletal creatures, exhausted and angry about being awoken from their slumber, while others were still in possession of their rotting muscles and putrid skin. Gothel observed the looks of disgust on her sisters’ faces when they saw the creatures with dangling or missing limbs silently making their way to Manea. She felt powerful seeing these creatures, realizing that one day they would belong to her and be subject to her whims.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, my dears,” said Manea to her creatures. “But I need you. One of our nearby villages are hoarding their dead. Go forth and bring them all to me.”
Hazel and Primrose gasped in fear, but Gothel stood in awe of her mother’s majesty. She had never seen her mother command her creatures, and it sent chills throughout her body. She couldn’t fathom any of the nearby villages having the audacity to hoard their dead. For centuries, the dead had been sent to the witches. Sure, there had been times when a local villager had caused an insurrection and tried to defy the witches, but it had always been met with such violence that Gothel was sure it would never be attempted in her lifetime. Gothel could see one tall grotesque creature considering her mother’s words with intense concentration.
“Leave no one alive but their children and one adult woman. Bind her to the old promise. She must tell the story of this night to future generations and warn them never to hoard their dead again!”
“Yes, my queen,” said the exceedingly tall creature with leathery skin stretched over his skeletal face.
“Knock on every crypt as you go and wake all of my children. Even the young. Take them with you and show them the way. Show them how to make the living suffer for hoarding their dead.”
“As you wish, my queen,” said the creature. The other creatures just stood at attention, waiting for their orders, waiting for the queen of the dead to do her magic, waiting to bring the living into their ranks. The only creature who spoke was the grotesquerie who had once been a very tall man, who wore a black top hat, a long black coat, and trousers that were now tattered and crumbling like dust. The creature looked down at his own hands, examining them, his face strained as if he was surprised there was so little left of him since the last time he had been awakened from his slumber.
“You look beautiful, my love,” said Manea. “Handsome as ever. I still see the man you once were. Do you see him in my mind? Hold that image as you lead this army in my name. Know that I love you and will be waiting for you to return.” As she was about to dismiss her most favored minion, she remembered one last detail. “Oh, and, my love, bring the newly dead to me so we can record their names.”
“Yes, my queen. And should the woman refuse the terms?”
“Then kill her and the children, my love. And bring them all to me.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Primrose’s and Hazel’s screams rang in Gothel’s ears. She couldn’t tell one voice from the other as they pleaded with their mother to stop.
Manea didn’t seem to hear her daughters, and if she did, she didn’t care. Her gaze was fixed on the thicket as she reached forward, grasping at the air with her clawlike hand and then tightening her grip as if choking an invisible victim. Then, quickly, with a flick of her wrist, she released a scarlet ball, which shot through the air and turned into a spiraling vortex, creating a pathway for her loathsome minions to cross the boundary into the land of the living. The sisters had never seen her use her magic in this way, and it made them tremble in fear.
