The Witch's unwilling apprentice.

The witch’s apprentice

Nope. She couldn’t do it.

Merliah had ripped off the legs of a locust, scooped out the guts of a bunderlout. But she could not – would not gouge out the eyes of a frog.

Don’t ask her why that was where she drew the line, okay? It just was.

“ I mean, is the eye even that important? “ she thought aloud, to no one in particular.

And no one replied, “Don't you think that might make it a little difficult for you to haunt your hero's dreams if they can't actually see you. A disembodied voice will not give the dramatic flair we are looking for.”

The irony of that statement was not lost on her, though she knew better than to mention it.

“ I don't know, I’ve been told the sound of my voice is enough to induce a person to tears,” she retorted

A light-hearted joke that had apparently missed its mark, the spellbook slamming shut just a hair’s breadth from catching her fingertips. The movement was so violent that it knocked the glass jar off the table, which shattered upon the stone floor, releasing the poor frog, who began a frantic dash towards the open window.

Merliah made no move to go after it. There was no need. Once the wretched creature caught sight of the drop from the tower window, it would think twice before leaping. He, like most of the specimens in Old Naeri’s tower, was eerily anthropomorphic at times. Merliah thought the frog might have been a prince at some point - or was that the goose? She’d lost track.

The window clattered shut right before the frog could reach it, forcing it to pivot directions, instead heading towards the heavy oak bookshelves that hugged the walls.

Apparently, the spirit wasn't quite so trusting in the mental capabilities of a frog - enchanted or not.

At least, she thought it was a spirit. Forced to haunt the witch's tower for all eternity. It would explain why it was always in such a foul mood.

Of course, it could also be a figment of her imagination. An uncomfortable, but entirely plausible thought.

“ Enough fooling around,” chastised the spirit. “ Back to work. Unless you’d rather spend the next 50 years trapped within these cold stone walls.”

Merliah buried her head in her hands and groaned. “There has to be another way! I don’t like our chances of finding that frog, and there's no time to find another one before Naeri gets back.”

“But there is,” the spirit replied. The heavy Oak door creaked open, giving her a clear view of the windy staircase that led to the tower's entrance.

Merliah scowled, marching up to the door and slamming it shut. “ You know I can't do that.”

“ I know nothing of the sort, only that you are too afraid to try.”

She chose to ignore the thinly veiled barb, turning back towards the bookshelves. There had to be something here she could use. Some sort of workaround. She had all the magical knowledge she needed right in front of her; she just had to use it.

It had been two long years since the old hag had kidnapped Merliah from her village. Not that she cared much for the place that had never really felt like home to begin with, her father and stepmother had made sure of that. She’d only stayed for her mother, currently imprisoned in Mr petticoates home for afflicted individuals until Merliah earned enough to emancipate them both. A feat that had proven near impossible, and driven her halfway to despair. Until she had met Naeri. The old woman had offered her food, shelter, a sympathetic ear, and a chance to build a better life for herself. It wasnt till she’d shaken the old womans hand that she had realised her mistake. And just like that she had ended up stuck with 7-years of indentured servitude - Unpaid.

Merliah scanned the rows of books, hoping one of them might spark her memory. Give her something she could use. After all, the old hag had made her read every book in the collection, cover to cover. Some even twice.

And then it hit her.

“ We do not need my hero to see me, only to imagine me.” She ran to the huge chest in the corner of the room and began sifting through the vials until she found what she was looking for.

“ pundlewit venom! Just one drop is enough to loosen your grip on reality.” Merliah unscrewed the lid, and set it down on the table. “ I’ll have to be careful not to use too much.” She picked up her quill, dipping it delicately in the vial, before holding it over her concoction. She held her breath as the thick liquid slid painstakingly slow towards the tip, before landing with a splash.

Quick as a flash, she placed a lid over the glass bottle and gave the contents a whirl, watching in astonishment as it danced between colours. Blood red, then a brilliant blue, leafy green.

“ And now, a personal touch. We can't have them seeing just anyone.” She grinned to herself, skipping over to the small bag of belongings Naera had been generous enough to allow her. Among them was a hairbrush with an elegantly embellished silver handle. She plucked a single hair from the bristles and dropped it into the bottle.

Within seconds, the glass began to vibrate in her hands. Then it got hot. So hot, she had to let go, watching it tumble to the ground. Thankfully, the dear old spirit still had its wits about it, and the bottle simply hovered safely above the ground.

It took a while, but eventually the contents stilled, and she was able to pick it up again. Sadly, the potion had lost its colour, leaving a black, runny liquid in its place.

“ Well. It’s done,” she breathed, hardly believing it herself, “Three months of careful study, 52 failed attempts, but this time, I really think we’ve got it.”

“ One drop in the ear of a sleeping soul and they’ll be plagued with dreams of me, till they can stand it no longer. They will have no choice but to come and find me.”

“ A worthy cause indeed.” The spirit proclaimed, with an undue amount of sarcasm. “ Leave it with me, I shall find you a champion fit for such a lofty purpose.”

Merliah wasn’t quite sure she believed the spirit, but short of sending the potion by carrier pigeon - tried, tested and failed - she had to trust it knew what it was doing.

The bottle lifted from her palm, hovering in the air for a moment before gliding towards the window. The latch lifted, the window swung open, and with a faint shimmer of moonlight, the potion was gone.

Merliah stood alone in the silence, her heart pounding.

“Now,” she whispered to herself, “we wait.”

…

She did not hear the frog.

It had been watching her from beneath the bookshelves, its bulbous eyes unblinking, cataloguing every move.

Now it crept out from its position beneath the shelves, inching its way towards the exit. In all the excitement, Merliah had forgotten the broken latch, leaving the Oak door hanging slightly ajar Providing the perfect escape route for a stealthy frog to slip through.

The frog reached the threshold. Paused. Turned its head. And once he was sure of Merliah’s distraction, he hopped over the threshold.

It was the soft thump as he landed upon the stone that did it. She spun around in horror.

“No! Stop!”

She lunged across the room, her outstretched fingers grasping nothing but air. The frog was already on the second step, its body a dark smear against the grey stone. Merliah slammed to a halt at the doorway, her hands gripping the frame so tightly her knuckles blanched.

She had never been through this door. In two years, she had never once crossed this threshold. Naeri had told her, on that first terrible night, that the stairs were woven with spells-wardings that would unmake anyone who attempted to flee. How your organs would be liquified, or the skin peeled from your limbs. All manner of horrors.

Merliah had believed her. She had never questioned.Too afraid to try her luck.

“Please,” she whispered now, her voice cracking. “Please don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing. Come back! I promise I won’t gouge your eyes out.”

The frog stopped on the fifth step. It turned its head fixing her with those unblinking eyes. For a moment, she believed she may have gotten through to him. That the frog somehow understood that they were in this together. Both prisoners, in more ways than one.

Then it turned away. The frog hopped again. And again. Further and further from reach.

Merliah squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the agonising screams.

None came.

She opened her eyes. The frog was halfway down the staircase now.

A sharp pang erupted in her chest, and she squeezed her fist against it to relieve the pain. “Could I have done this all along?”

No. This couldn't be it. Could it? All those years wasted. On what? Nothing but a story.

Merliah didn't know if it was the shock. The anger. Or hope that was spurring her on in that moment. And honestly? She wasn't quite sure she cared. She’d been paralysed for so long, maybe it was time?

She took a step over the threshold.

Her foot touched the first stone step. She was so close, she could smell the familiar scent of moss and damp. She waited for the spells to find her, to curl around her neck like a noose.

Nothing.

She took another step. Merliah kept her hand pressed against the wall, using it to anchor herself, to remind herself that she was here, that she was moving, that this was real.

She was in the dark now. So far gone that not even the moonlight could touch her.

Her breath came too fast. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Stories. They’re just stories,” she chanted. Like a mantra. Or a prayer. She didnt know which.

She took another step. And another. Her hand was gripping the iron railing like a lifeline. She braved the final step.

Before her, a few feet away, stood the front door.

It was ordinary. That was what struck her first. Not a grand portal of oak and iron, not a gate guarded by sleeping beasts or sealed with witch-runes. Just a door. Wooden, weathered, the grain softened by years of rain. Nothing special or dangerous-looking about it.

The frog sat patiently at the door, cocking its head at her as if to say, “what took you so long?”

Merliah let out a laugh—a choked, hysterical sound that she muffled with both hands. Her shoulders shook. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and sudden, and she did not know if she was laughing or crying or some mad mixture of both.

Two years. Two years she had spent trapped in a room behind an unlocked door, like a fool. The stairs had been stairs. There had been no spells, no wardings, no ancient magic waiting to unmake her. There had only been Naeri’s voice, and her own willingness to believe it.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and took a step toward the door.

The frog hopped aside, as though making room for her.

She reached out and touched the wood. It was cool beneath her fingers, rough with age. She could feel the grain, the tiny imperfections. Her hand found the latch, and she curled her fingers around it.

“I can leave,” she thought. “I can just-”

“Merliah.”

She felt a gust of wind flow past her, and the air was practically pulsing around her. The spirit had returned. “The witch is on her way home early. She is at the edge of the wood. You have minutes. Perhaps less.”

Merliah’s hand tightened on the latch. She could open it. She could run. The forest was there, dark and vast, and she knew how to hide, how to survive. She had done it before, when her father had forgotten he had an extra mouth to feed- and was not happy to be reminded.

But she’d be caught. Naeri may have taught her much, but the old witch was far more powerful than she could ever hope to be.

The frog looked up at her, its throat pulsing once, twice.

No, merliah couldnt risk it. She let go of the latch.

“What are you doing?” the spirit hissed from above.

Merliah knelt down. The frog sat very still as she reached out, as she gently, carefully, scooped it into her palms. Its skin was cool and damp, its heart beating a rapid, frantic rhythm against her fingers, much like her own.

“Go,” she whispered to it. “Find your pond. Your castle. Your home. Just go.”

She set it down outside the door and watched it disappear into the night.

Then she ran. She bounded back up the stairs as fast as she could.

Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. The stairs seemed longer now than before, or perhaps she was just imagining it.

She flew back into the room, blew out the candles, and dove onto the dingy mattress she’d been provided to sleep on. Merliah shut her eyes and planned. It may not be tonight. Or tomorrow. But she would escape.

Of that she was certain.