• Prologue

    That day was a cool, clear day, though the sky was somewhat gray. They all waited, apprehensive, nervous, wondering, shut inside houses that provided only symbolic protection.

    After all, the Witch could kill through walls and doors, and did not need eyes to see her victims.

    They could hear her singing outside, a cheerful tune that became eerie as it escaped her lips. They stared out from cracked-open shutters, curiosity overwhelming their better judgment. She stood in the center of the street, a young girl cowering at the edge of her skirt. The Witch's golden hair caught the light and shown brightly; her fingers danced as if impatient with what seemed an eagerness to spill the blood of the child before her.

    "I'll kill her," the Witch said, smiling lightly, her thin lips white. "I will end this one's life, just like the others..." Her fingertips twitched.

    They were all too scared for themselves to even move, and in seconds there was a sound like a pop, and the girl collapsed, her skull shattered from the inside. Shattered pieces of bone and gray matter, transformed into bloody pulp, hit the ground with wet thuds.

    There were screams, quickly stifled, and the Witch seemed to be getting angrier and angrier...

    "I will kill all of you!" she shrieked, her pupils turned to pinpricks.

    She continued to face them, and they watched in horror as the houses-and the people inside them-exploded with a single movement of her hand. The next few seconds were a hail of light and sound, as screams were cut short and flesh melded with splintered wood. The Witch's eyes never left the particular house that stood just in front of her, even as the fire sent a wave of heat across her skin, and blood stained the edge of her long skirts where the girl's corpse still lay.

    Terror swept through them, and one began to pray, in a futile endeavor. The Witch seemed to hear it and began to scream again, though this time such fear gripped them that they could not make out the words.

    And then, he stood with her.

    They expected her to kill him, yet she did a surprising thing.

    The terror of Crystel fell to her knees, collapsing as if bowing before him, and the Wizard Lucus stared down at her, his face twisted. She did not rise, and they could not make out the words her whispered as he looked down on her. Wizard Lucus bent and gently hefted her up, her long hair falling in a wave over his shoulder. Like beautiful spun gold, it aught the light, and the people shuddered under waves of fear. Her face was pale, and she looked as if dead as Wizard Lucus carried her. They watched, trembling, waiting for her to awaken and blow him to pieces. Yet she stayed still as if dead, like a doll in his arms.

    After a few hours, he came back to the town and stared over the carnage, at the wailing children and blood-splattered ground. This had not been the first attack. There were other dead, already buried, and some still with their intestines strewn over rock and ground where she had caught them, outside the city.

    “Wizard!” someone gasped as she saw him, and suddenly he was surrounded, being hailed as a hero. They shook his hand, sobbing, cheering, and staring with glossy eyes at the one who had saved them.

    However, Wizard Lucus would not smile.

    “Where is June?” he asked.

    The little girl was brought before him, and she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing.

    “What did you do with her?” she moaned through her sniveling.

    She inadvertently spoke what all wished to know. For witches were immortal, were they not? Even wizards cannot kill them, the people thought as they held their breath, waiting for his answer.

    “I wiped her memory,” he said sadly. “So long as she forgets her name, she will forget all she knows, and she will not be able to leave the forest.”

    June wept harder against the front of his tunic...



    Her name was stricken from every record, and banned from being spoken. The people lived in fear of the Witch and, in turn, the forest. Wearily, they looked on, wondering if the flash of gold at the edge of their eyes was her, coming back, to destroy again. Even the most curious children could not muster the nerve to enter the forest beyond a few steps; they would run back, howling, some with tales of the Witch looming over them, ready to slice open their bellies, her golden hair cascading down her back like a waterfall...