Sorrow's Gift

Chapter Eight: The Witch

So these are the guardians.

The young witch looked at the four kids in the room. They were just children, really. Hard to believe they had each lived more than a dozen lifetimes. It was obvious none of them remembered anything from their past, which was good. The Dark One would be pleased to know that they were unaware of the true origin of this so-called virus. As long as these children were still trying to figure out what was going on in their world, the Dark One was safe.

Her mistress's powers were growing. With each death and rebirth, the Dark One's power blossomed. With each day that went by, and each life that was taken by the virus, her mistress grew stronger. Strong enough to reanimate the dead in droves, making each one a slave and minion to her will.

Someday soon, she would be strong enough to break through the ice. Then, once they had drained every drop of life and power from this pathetic world, the two of them would return to their home world and finish what the Dark One had started centuries ago.

Complete and total domination of both sides of their world. Ice and fire.

The witch listened to the young humans talk of their newfound power.

She smiled. They knew nothing of power.

She cradled her burned hand in her lap. The Dark One had given her only a glimpse of the power she had locked inside. How was it possible these guardians had ever been strong enough to defeat her?

No, that was wrong. They hadn't been able to defeat her. They'd merely locked the Dark One in a cage of ice and buried her here in this wasteland of a world. They'd simply delayed the inevitable, giving the Dark One centuries to formulate a plan that would unleash her wrath on this poor place. What her mistress had accomplished with the power to grow a single rose was staggering and brilliant. A single flower had brought this world to its knees before her, and all this while she was still entombed in ice.

What would she accomplish once she was free?

A shudder of anticipation ran down the witch's spine.

It was her job to help free the Dark One, and if she proved valuable, it would be her at the Dark One's side when she became ruler in their homeland. What would the elders have to say when they saw their little servant girl at the right hand of the most powerful witch who'd ever lived?

The witch straightened and hid her smile. All her life she'd been treated as nothing. Never even worthy of a name.

She would show them all.

And these guardians were the only ones who could stand in her way.

All she had to do was mislead them. Trick them. Keep them from discovering the truth. All she had to do was give her mistress more time.

Getting into their group had been easy enough. She'd only had to search Crash's mind to find out what he knew about the fifth. Crash was the dreamer—the one who would always be the first to see his fellow guardians and seek them out as he slept. She knew he would be dreaming of the fifth, but for some reason, the fifth had kept his face hidden from Crash. He'd only seen glimpses of the one who was supposed to make their group complete. Because of this, he'd had no idea what the fifth looked like. It could just as easily be her as anyone else.

Making him believe it was her was simple, but keeping them from the truth would be much more difficult. Now that four of them were together, their powers would begin to increase. Their dreams would become more frequent and more detailed.

That was how the reincarnation spell worked—the guardians chose to stay here in this world to protect their people from the Dark One. With each human life, they gravitated toward one another, staying close so that if the magical seal on this world were ever broken, they would be able to find each other and work together to make sure the Dark One stayed frozen and powerless.

But their memories wouldn't fully return until all five of them were together.

As long as she could keep them from the fifth, she would be okay. They might see images from their past or get glimpses of their true purpose, but by the time they figured it out, it would be too late for them.

She smiled again and sank deeper into the couch, watching them as they talked about the little girl in New York.

The one with the sword—Parrish—seemed intent on getting to a place called New York City to save her little sister. A very sweet notion, really. The witch had never had anyone who loved her as much as this girl seemed to love her sister. No one since Marilon.

She closed her eyes and pictured the small child's face. Marilon had not been her real sister. The witch had no real sisters. She had no family at all except for the elders of the Council, and none of them would claim her even if they could. But Marilon had been her little angel, so pure and beautiful and small.

Warm tears welled up behind her closed lids and she shrugged them off, taking a deep breath. It would do her no good to think of the little one from so long ago. Marilon was long gone and there was no reason to think of her. Not now. Not ever.

After Marilon's death, the witch had vowed to never love anyone again. She would never let anyone into her heart. She'd learned the hard way that loving someone was nothing but a sign of weakness.

But as she listened to them talk about New York City and the sister lost inside, the witch knew that where there was weakness, there was opportunity.

If the Dark One's minions could get to this little one before Parrish, the sister might be of some use to them.

She needed to talk to the Dark One and give her the good news.