Tilly the Wicked Witch's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Tilly held the single vial to the firelight. One dose of glowing potion. One vial could not command a whole forest. She needed buckets of it, barrels. But every time she multiplied the brew, the fumes spread, and more creatures woke up hungry. She had seen the spider grow in her hand. She could not risk another batch blind. She needed someone who understood wild growth and how to leash it. She knew where to look. Deep in the cursed forest stood a broken mound of stone and moss, its earthen roof cracked open like a split loaf. Roots clawed out of it in every direction. People called it a fairy barrow. Tilly called it a prison. Inside it, she had bound a forest spirit years ago, and the spirit had never forgiven her. Tilly climbed down into the dark hollow. Ivy hung from the ceiling. In the center stood Sylvara Greenweave, her captive. Antlers branched from Sylvara's head, sprouting green leaves. Her hair fell like trailing vines, and iron roots held her ankles to the floor. She lifted her yellow eyes and smiled without warmth. "The wicked witch returns," Sylvara said. "You smell of burnt magic. Your brew is too strong for you." "My brew is perfect," Tilly snapped. "But it grows what it touches. I want more of it without waking the whole wood. You know living things. Tell me how." Sylvara laughed, soft and bitter. "You cannot multiply such a potion. You can only divide it." She stretched one green finger toward the vial. "Pour one drop into clean spring water. The water drinks the magic and holds it quiet. No fumes. No hunger. One drop fills a barrel." Tilly narrowed her eyes. "And why would you help me rule the forest that is your home?" "Because you will do it wrong," Sylvara said. "You always do. Free me, and I will show you the spring myself." Tilly did not trust her. But she wanted that spring. She knelt and touched the iron roots at Sylvara's feet. With a word, she loosened them. The roots withered and let go. Sylvara stepped free and breathed deep. Her leaves shivered. "The spring lies past the dead oaks," she said. "Follow." They climbed out of the barrow together. Sylvara knelt by a thread of clear water seeping between stones. Tilly uncorked the vial and let one glowing drop fall. The water flared, then calmed. No smell. No growth. Just faint light spreading through the pool. "It works," Tilly whispered. She could fill a hundred barrels now. Then Sylvara straightened. Her vines snapped tight around a low branch and pulled her upward. "You freed me, witch," she called down. "Now I will warn the forest you are coming." She vanished into the trees. Tilly stood alone by the glowing spring, holding the power she wanted, and a new enemy loose in the dark.