A Test From Ancient Times

It was raining when the army rolled through Amilah’s village. Thunder rolled and boomed, shaking the ground beneath her feet. But despite the thunder, Amilah could hear the clip-clop of the army’s horses from miles away. When they came, they were arranged in neat lines, even the foot soldiers.

Kilten approached them first. As the village’s leader, he was normally so level-headed, standing tall and proud, shoulders back and head held high. But now, as the army stomped toward the village’s gates, Kilten looked so…small. The horse of the army’s commander loomed over him, breathing its hot breath in the man’s face. The commander, enjoying the domineering view over Kilten, donned a condescending smirk as he removed his helmet.

“Welcome to our village,” Kilten said, his voice shaky.

“We are here for the Witch,” the commander’s voice was a roar. Amilah flinched at the sound and the mention of her, but kept still behind the window of her home. “Release her to us, and we will not harm you.”

Amilah stared as Kilten tried to negotiate. When his voice was nothing more than a mumble, Amilah focused her gaze on him, and recited a spell in her head. In an instant, his voice was loud enough inside her home to make the vials on the counter shake.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no one by that description here,” Kilten said. She could hear every word, every breath, every muscle moving, as if he were standing right in front of her instead of several feet away. “We cannot help you.”

“Do not lie to me,” the commander said. “We know the Witch lives here. Our sources bring us to this very spot.”

Kilten was adamant. “I do not know what you are talking about. There is no such thing as witchcraft. Have you been reading the Texts of Ancient Times? The people from those stories died out hundreds of years ago.”

The commander scoffed. Amilah tried her best to gauge a look at his face and read his expression. His voice was sharp and domineering.

“Get out of my way,” he said, snapping the reins of his horse. The animal began to trot down the cobblestone road, its hooves echoing in Amilah’s house. “I know the Witch is here. I am retrieving her on behalf of the Queen.”

The commander did not respond. Amilah searched her house for any weapons, scrambling through the assortment of vials and powders meant for her potions. There had to be something in here she could defend herself with. It would not take long before the army found her; there were not many houses in the village. They would be at her door soon.

“Where is she?” the Lord Commander said after a beat. Amilah could not tell how far away he was, but she knew he was getting close.

“With all due respect, was it necessary to send the entire army for one woman?” Kilten’s breath was ragged from running.

Amilah heard his horse’s footsteps trotting closer to her door. He was here. He would knock down the door and put her in ropes or chains. Maybe he would kill her. There was no good option.

She thought about meeting the God of Death. When the Lord Commander kicks down her door, she will be ready to defend herself. She looked around one last time, at the empty cauldron in the center of the room, the rows of potion ingredients lining the wall, the open books and scrolls lying askew all over the tables and desks, and the fire burning in the hearth. The embers gave her an idea. If she could harness its power, she could control the flames and use them to protect herself. She flexed her fingers in preparation, causing the fire to expand slightly.

Knock, knock, knock. Amilah prepared herself.

“This is the Lord Commander of the Queensguard. By order of the Queen, you will open the door.”

Amilah hesitated. She could hear Kilten holding his breath, practically feel the sweat running down his back. But she would not be afraid. She will face her death with honor.

“Allow us to enter, or we will break down the door!”

With a flick of her wrist, the door magically swung open, and the Lord Commander stood on the other side, frozen in shock. A smirk spread across Amilah’s face.

“There is no need for hostility, Lord Commander,” she said. She did not bow her head, contrary to what was customary when greeting a member of the royal guard. The Lord Commander did not comment. “How can I help you?”

Amilah could tell he was surprised by the results of his mission and the inside of the Witch’s home. His eyes scanned the vials and potions on the racks, the book of spells in a language he could not read, and the woman in front of him. He clearly expected someone more…ferocious. Instead, he was met with the gaze of a small, old woman with graying hair and lines on her face. Even stranger, she smiled at him. This was not what he was prepared for. Even if she retaliated, he could not hurt an old woman, no matter what the Queen wanted.

The man blinked, bringing himself back into reality. “I am here to retrieve you, by order of Her Majesty the Queen.”

“You’re going to take me prisoner?” she asked plainly.

The Lord Commander shook his head. “Not exactly,” he turned his head to Kilten. “If I may have a moment alone.”

“Absolutely not!”

“It’s alright, Kilten,” Amilah reassured him. “Please, wait outside.”

Kilten grumbled and obliged. Amilah closed the door with her magic, allowing her and the Lord Commander some privacy. The man kept his hand on the hilt of his sword in preparation.

“There is no need for that,” Amilah said. “How may I help you, Lord Commander?”

The man hesitated for a moment before speaking up. “Her Majesty has requested you for an urgent matter in the palace.” He did not elaborate, hoping the Witch would refuse and strike him. He was never good at negotiating, but fighting, he excelled at that.

But the Witch did not refuse. She did not say anything, just waited for the Lord Commander to elaborate. Her silence clearly made him uncomfortable, but she wanted him to stew in it. If it really meant this much to the Queen, he would get over his fear and ask her what he needed.

“An…unknown illness has struck the capital,” the Lord Commander began. “We have tried to get our healers and maesters to identify it, even cure it, but they do not know how. Just a few days ago, the illness took the Prince’s life.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Indeed.”

“But that does not explain why you are here.”

The man swallowed. “One of our maesters believes that this disease is caused by an ancient magic, one that no man has been trained in for thousands of years. The magic–well, the curse, he called it–is nothing as we have seen before. But you have. Your people have.”

Amilah laughed. She could not believe what she was hearing.

“For thousands of years,” Amilah began, “the royal family has done everything they could to push away the Witches of the West. They conquered our lands. They spat at us in the streets, hung us from trees, and set fire to our villages.”

“Well, that was–”

“And now you want my help because the Queen has lost her son.”

“That was years ago.”

“How dare you?” The fire in the hearth expanded, sending the Lord Commander jumping and instinctively reaching for his sword.

The Lord Commander tightened his grip on his sword.

“I am afraid you don’t understand,” the man said, slowly unsheathing the blade. He stared into Amilah’s eyes without blinking, but she could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat growing faster with each passing second. “The Queen has ordered you to come to the capital city.”

Amilah did not move or react. Instead, she calmed herself down, simultaneously putting out the fire in the hearth, and looked the Lord Commander in the eye.

“I will go with you,” she replied. “Please allow me time to collect my things.”

The Lord Commander lowered his sword in surprise. He did not expect her to agree without a fight. He tried to study her face, but there was no expression. Just sagging skin and wrinkles and blank, untelling eyes.

When Amilah finished collecting her books and ingredients, she met with the Lord Commander and his army outside. They provided her with a horse, forcing one of the men to be a foot soldier for the time being. She slowly climbed on, with help from the soldiers, and secured her enchanted bag onto her shoulders.

“Amilah, you can’t go,” whispered Kilten as he approached her horse. She waved him off.

“I will be fine. Concern yourself with the rest of the village. I will see you when I return.”

Kilten did not respond, but she knew what he was thinking. And if you don’t? She did not have an answer for that. Hopefully, she would not need one.

The Lord Commander readied his arm. “Forward, march!”

The soldiers obliged, marching in perfect unison up the cobblestone path toward the capital city. Amilah knew the trip would take days, but she was willing to wait. The reward of killing the Queen would be all the more worth it.

—

When their destination came into view, Amilah couldn’t help but gawk at the grandiosity. The marble pillars of the palace were expertly cut, reaching up to large, arching domes that caught the sunlight. The windows were made of stained glass, forming elegant drawings and mosaics that Amilah could see even from the outskirts of the capital. Below the palace lay thousands of houses with brightly colored roofs. Surrounding the city was a stone wall, manned by archers along the top and foot soldiers along the bottom.

Anger panged in Amilah’s heart as she gazed at the capital. This was once the home of her ancestral people, where Witches and laymen could live in harmony. But hundreds of years later, all but one of the Witches were gone, and they were barred from entering the capital. Except for now.

The Lord Commander spoke to the foot soldiers at the gate in a language Amilah did not understand. They nodded their heads, lowered the gate, and allowed them to pass through. Once inside, Amilah looked around the city. What seemed like thousands of people were gathered in town, selling meat and vegetables from behind stands or purchasing some for themselves. A few craftsmen sold works of art, while ironsmiths sold cast-iron pots and pans just a few feet away. She had never seen this many people before; she assumed that while walking through, they would instantly tell she was a Witch and shoot her dirty looks. But as she passed through the town, nobody, except for a few children stunned by the sight of the army, even thought to look up.

A voice in the back of her mind told her this was a trap. They do not want you here, she thought. They are setting you up, watching, hoping you will fail.

They reached the palace in a few minutes. At the sight of the Lord Commander, they opened the palace gates. He hopped off his horse, gesturing for Amilah to do the same. She obliged and followed him into the palace. The army disbanded, separating into its proper positions throughout the city.

While walking down the hallway, the Lord Commander gave her a nudge.

“If you may, please take off your hood,” he said quietly. “It is forbidden to wear head coverings inside the palace.”

Amilah shot him a deathly glare. “I do not care about your traditions, boy,” she said scornfully. “Your people do not respect mine.”

The Lord Commander did not respond. The old Witch was more stubborn than he thought. He was curious to see how this would fare with the Queen, who was much less forgiving of people disobeying her orders and customs.

Eventually, they reached a heavy-looking wooden door at the end of a long hallway. The Lord Commander opened the door for Amilah, gesturing for her to step inside. Amilah gazed at the rows and rows of scientific tools, glass vials, and posters of the human body hung on the walls. An operating table rested in the middle. The windows were shut, with the curtains pulled down to keep any light from coming in.

Amilah thought that strange; wouldn’t the sun be a helpful guide in experiments such as this?

“The Queen will be here shortly,” the Lord Commander said. Amilah raised an eyebrow.

“The Queen?”

“It’s best I let Her Majesty explain.”

As if on cue, in walked a woman in an elegant, chiffon gown. A crown rested on her head, the jewels sparkling despite the darkness in the room. Amilah did not react to her presence, allowing the woman to bask in the gravitas of her entrance.

“Leave us,” she said to her Queensguard, who bowed in response and quickly exited the laboratory. She turned and looked to Amilah with an icy gaze. “You did not bow when I entered the room.”

“The Witches of the West know no Queen,” Amilah replied. “For we are all equal to the Gods of Life and Death.”

“And how did that go for them? They are all dead and burnt.”

“All except one.” The Queen swallowed and furrowed her brow.

“Believe me, if I could have it any other way–”

Amilah held up her hand, and the Queen’s voice disappeared. The royal held her hands to her lips, staring angrily at the Witch in front of her.

“Tell me, Your Majesty, what can I help you with? Oh, wait!” Amilah laughed, and the Queen rolled her eyes.

After a few silent moments, the Queen’s expression changed from anger to something that looked unnatural to her: helplessness. It was quite a sight to see. Her eyes had darkened, her smirk turned into a deep frown, and her eyebrows were not furrowed in anger, but sadness. If she looked closely, Amilah could see tears forming in her eyes. Undoing the buttons of her sleeves, her hands trembled. Was the Queen nervous?

Slowly, she pulled back the sleeve of her gown. Without the light, Amilah had to squint to see, but on the Queen’s skin was undoubtedly the ancient sickness. Where her arm should have been the color of sand, it was instead grey and cracked. Amilah could see dried blood crusting on the Queen’s arm where her skin started to split.

Amilah closed her hands into a fist, lifting the silencing spell on the Queen. She had had enough torture for one afternoon.

“Can you fix it?” The Queen’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Please. The sickness has already taken my son. Soon it will take the capital, then the rest of the kingdom.” Her voice was unstable, as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment.

Amilah approached the Queen, her gaze fixated on the curse running up her arm. This was something she had read about but never seen. An outbreak like this had not happened in hundreds of years, long before her time. But there were stories of how the Witches of the West were able to find a cure, contain the disease, and eventually let it die. How it reappeared, she did not know.

“This strain is stronger than the previous outbreak,” Amilah said. “The methods to remove it will be more extreme.”

“Extreme how? You mean painful?”

“Aye,” the Witch nodded. “Get your maesters here. They must learn how to–”

“No!” the Queen’s voice echoed in the room. “They cannot know. If they found out their Queen has fallen ill, chaos would run rampant in this city. You have no idea how fast news spreads here.”

“Tell them you will cut their tongues out if they reveal your secret,” Amilah said plainly. “It doesn’t seem unbelievable, coming from you.”

The Queen’s eyes were furrowed in anger once again. “Alright.”

When the maesters arrived, they had no idea how to react to the Witch standing in front of them. They had never taken orders from a woman, much less a Witch of the West. This day would be one of many firsts.

Amilah commanded the Queen to lie on the table in the center, and to her surprise, the Queen obliged. The royal lay on her back with her infected arm exposed. Amilah reassured her it would be alright, that there was nothing to fear, and that a silencing charm had been cast on the room so no one could hear her screams of pain.

At her command, the maesters handed Amilah the ingredients she needed. Some came from her bag, some came from their own inventory. She placed a few drops of each ingredient on her fingers slowly enough for the maesters to take notes. They watched observantly, carefully making sure of everything they wrote down.

Amilah ignited her powers, and her hand began to glow. The maesters all stood nervously as she placed her hand over the Queen’s infected arm. For a moment, Amilah stared at the Queen with contempt in her heart. For all the things she and her ancestors had done, she did not seem ready to meet the Gods of Life and Death. As she held her hand on the Queen’s infection, she closed her eyes and decided to let her powers decide.

The Queen’s fate was in the hands of the Gods now.