The Witch and The Thief

3

When Maera awoke alone in the vault's cellar a little later, she was stripped down to her threadbare chemise, and hung suspended mid-air and spread-eagle within the iron-barred prison. Gooseflesh erupted on her skin, her teeth chattered, and each anxious breath left her mouth in a puff of crystallized air.

She shivered, and before she could even think of testing the boundaries of her magical bindings, Drummond stepped from the shadows into the cell.

He held the Feather of Truth and clucked his tongue. "Don't think of trying to escape, lass. Your piddling nature magic is no match against mine." He eyed her up and down as though assessing her value, his lips twisted in repugnance when they met her gaze, "You'll not leave till I release you."

"I didn't do anything wrong." Maera watched him, her stomach knotting in fear and her skin crawling as he walked closer and ran a gnarled finger from her left ankle up under the chemise to mid-thigh.

He studied her face, and his brows arched in disbelief. "D'you honestly believe I'd take your word after such blatant duplicity?" His eyebrows slammed down in anger as he raised his voice and pointed to the shattered remains of the Dragon Tooth sitting on display in her cell, "What did you do with the real stone?"

Maera frowned, seriously wondering if the old man had finally lost his mind, "The real stone?" She shook her head, "You saw it, Drummond. Aggie threw it-"

"NAY," He shouted.

His voice reverberated off the walls in an increasingly distorted and sinister echo until Maera wanted to scream for it to stop.

Standing before her, he thumped his crooked staff against the floor and flung his left arm out and down, stretching her arms and legs until she grimaced. "T'was made of plaster and poorly enchanted. Now, where's the real stone, and you best be honest with me."

"I don't know, Drummond, I swear to you." She frantically shook her head, choking back a cry of pain when he increased the unseen pressure stretching her limbs further apart. "The stone broke when I tried to stop the intruder."

Drummond's lips curled in a cruel smile, "But you scared him off afore he succeeded in taking anything... remember, lass?"

She whimpered and nodded, crying out when Drummond ran the Feather of Truth across her stomach. The fragile material comprising her chemise was no match for its razor sharpness and fell away with the first scratch to reveal a thin diagonal bloody line on her belly. "Aye, 'tis the truth, I swear to you."

Drummond heaved a sigh, "Och, lass... 'tis frightful naive, you are." He ran the feather across her bared skin in the opposite direction to crisscross his previous mark, pushing the razor-sharp edge deeper into her flesh until she screamed and tearfully pleaded for him to stop. "D'you know what you're going to do to make amends for your mistake?"

Maera choked back a sob and shook her head.

"You're going to get it back for me, lass."

Tears flowed down her cheeks, mimicking the rivers of blood running down her legs to drip from her toes and pool on the floor. "You want me to retrieve the stone? B-but how do you expect me-"

"You're a striga," Drummond interrupted, practically spitting the term out as though it tasted foul. "Think of something."

Her vision wavered, and she fought the urge to weep in relief at suddenly remembering the thief's black glove she'd found and tucked away. Surely it meant she'd succeed.

Shaky confidence threaded her voice when she said, "I'll find the thief and retrieve the stone; you have my word."

"Aye, you will... " Drummond stared at her with loathing in his eyes, "because if you fail, and the stone falls into the wrong hands, I'll not think twice of shackling you to Hamish McBride."