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The island was located to the west. Where the Atlantic sea brushed the rock-clad shores of Ireland, it did the same to the island of Arun, surrounding its cliffs with ocean townsfolk rumoured to hail from hell itself. It was a half-day sail from Claddagh, the largest fishing port in Galway bay. The island, although small, was ruled by the Gallagher clan. Most of its inhabitants lived along the western side, where watchtowers patrolled the seas from invaders and seamen ventured daily into the sea for fish, to feed the people and trade with the mainland. To the east sat a dense forest, hardly breached by man and only for the spoils of deer and rabbits that came too close to the forest edge. It had a béim súla, an evil eye, the townsfolk would say to visitors. When the wind blew no leaves would rattle, any fires to try and rid its presence vanished under sudden rain, the meat from the hunted animals decayed quickly and tasted sour. They were content on the island, but the forest caused such distress that traders hardly ventured from the port and invaders looking to reach Ireland avoided entering from the bay. They were safe, but a curse lurked amongst them, they were sure.
The castle was positioned along the forest edge. The clan leader was Francis, whose greed escalated when his wife died at the beginning of Spring. The day of her funeral daisies bloomed in the wide-open fields of their estate. They had two daughters together, Fiona and Deborah, and two sons, Philip and Ian. In the following Spring, he decided to find suitors and wives for them all. The stronger relations with the suitors’ clan and the dowries of the wives would benefit him greatly, he believed.
He knew of Fiona’s desire to remain unwedded, of Deborah's love for handsome princes and fairy tales, of Philip’s wanting of a charming and loving wife, and, of course, Ian. He knew of his youngest son’s proclivities, of the guards that disappeared from night shifts into his chambers, of the farm boys and servants. He was thankful his son never fancied the idea of more than one night with them, and that he understood nothing more could ever occur. He knew all of these things as he wrote parchments to neighbouring clans under the glow of candlelight, inviting them to Arun with the attempt of marriage unions. He knew, and he found that he cared very little. What are children for if not to marry?
The daisies that bloomed in that Spring faded quickly. Children ran through the fields, plucked them from the stems and crafted crowns that fell apart by the hours’ end as they danced in the morning dew.
*
“The boats arrive in three days time, my sons,” Francis lounged in his throne and looked at the men that stood before him. Philip, the oldest, with sandy brown hair and fierce eyes, stared at him unflinchingly. Ian, younger with fiery red hair that his wife used to proclaim was a gift from the gods, did not meet his gaze. His head was dropped and eyes glazed, staring solemnly at the stone ground of the throne room.
Philip spoke. “How many maidens are expected?” Ian swallowed.
Francis grinned lecherously at his eldest. “Many, my son, that by the night they arrive I am certain you will have found one to bed and marry.” A servant came to the leader's side and handed him a cup of mead, he took a large sip and continued. “The full moon is in three weeks time, we will hold the handfasting ceremonies and send the unlucky clans home,” he fixed his gaze upon Ian, who looked up at his father, “I expect you both to find a maiden, preferably with a large dowry or clan. I won't accept the union if it is otherwise.”
The brothers nodded in reply and slowly made their way out of the throne room.
“What will you do?” Philip whispered under his breath.
Ian was silent for their walk through the castle walls. When they reached the entrances to their separate chambers he said solemnly, and quietly so no guards would hear, “I'm not sure.”
Philip nodded and patted his brother on the shoulder. “Three days,” he repeated. A promise, a warning. Ian didn't know but attempted a small, hopeful smile before he disappeared inside the solitude of his chambers.
What he wanted to do was grab the vase of water left by his bedside and smash it into the wall. He wanted to jam the fire poker into his ornately carved clothing chest. He wanted to scream, for people to know. Know that he didn't want this, a wife, marriage. He wanted a man's hands wrapped in his. He wanted stubble running against his skin and the smell of a man he loved in his sheets. Instead, he collapsed in his bed and let the crushing weight of three days overcome him and force him into a restless sleep.
*
The four siblings sat around their mother's grave. Deborah picked at the grass around her skirts and Fiona laid back and basked in the little sun that shone through the thick grey clouds above. Ian and Philip laid on their sides.
“Well,” Philip broke the calming silence, “I'm excited to meet them, the maidens. Maybe it’s not a bad thing. Marriage. It was bound to happen eventually.”
He was met with blank stares from his siblings.
Fiona spoke with her eyes closed and curled brown hair splayed out in a halo around her. “You're the heir, Lip. All he is doing is distracting you with marriage and children so you don't overthrow him, so you give him another ten years as leader before he becomes too old and the people call for change.” She sighed, “the rest of us are simply extras, Ian will get a dowry from his wife and Debs and I will bring in unity with other clans.”
She paused. “You are right, it was bound to happen. Mum stopped it for as long as she could. But we all knew it was coming.”
“Well, I want a husband!” Deborah declared. “A handsome one, with a large castle and land. I would have so many servants, I hardly cope with the only one that I get here,” she sighed dejectedly.
Fiona sat up and stroked through Deborah's hair and said in a distant tone, “We know Debs, you'll get a nice one, a handsome one for sure.” Ian and Philip knew she was lying, but stayed silent. They listened as ravens cawed within the forest and bees hummed around the wildflowers on which they sat.
It was Ian who finally spoke. “I don't want this.”
Fiona sighed and turned to her youngest brother. “We know. But - there is nothing to be done. You can't escape it, Ian. If you wanted to join the fleets or soldiers on the mainland he would still make you do it before you leave. If you run away, you won't survive, you don't know how to live without. None of us do.” She sat up and pulled Ian in for a hug, he let himself fall into the warm embrace. An overwhelming sense of destiny fell upon him. Was this the life he had to accept? Married to a woman he didn’t love and never could?
“You could go to the witch!” Deborah declared. Ian turned to her in confusion.
Philip snorted. “That's just superstition. The witch isn't real. The townsfolk tell their children it is to keep them away from the forest.”
“You're wrong!” Deborah frowned. “Elise told me she saw a trader the other day who went to the witch for medicine for his sick children on the mainland. He said he could only remember walking into the forest and following the wisps, then walking right back out again with less coin and a bag of medicine. The witch is real,” Deborah protested.
“Sure, Debs,” Philip laughed. “Just like the wisps are real, and giant deer that roam deep in the forest.”
Ian was silent for a moment. What if? “So the trader followed the wisps? They just - appeared for him?”
Philip looked at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously considering this? It's only a tale, it's not real!”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I have no other option. If it's real I have a chance, I can change,” his expression grew sad, “I can't live like this and marry a woman. I need a solution.”
His siblings looked at him with various expressions of sadness and pity. He flushed and began to twirl a decayed daisy in his hand.
The wind picked up around them. The siblings stumbled onto their feet and prepared to leave. Fiona dropped a bunch of wildflowers, tied at the stem with hay, on their mother's grave.
Deborah and Philip raced each other across the field, leaving Fiona and Ian above their mothers stone.
“They say things. About the forest. That it's evil and will curse you, if you venture too far,” she turned towards her brother and smiled softly before grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight. “Be careful.”
*
The forest was not welcoming to him.
Standing at the edge, where the fields of his family's estate met overgrown shrubs and trees that soared above, Ian shivered. It was silent, the crows were absent and the humming bees buzzed as he took his first step within its bounds. There was no trail, no man-made track for him to follow so he began where shrubs and undergrowth did not prevent him from moving forward, where his only barriers were the trees around him.
It was still morning. He had fled from the castle after breakfast, where Francis had reminded them that, tomorrow the ships of neighbouring clans would arrive. Ian had filled his satchel with coin and food, not knowing how long it would take to find the witch. If I ever would.
Rays of sun breached through the trees above, illuminating small patches of the forest around him. He had been walking for a while, perhaps hours, and in the distance, he heard the sound of flapping wings and a bird's call. Occasionally, bouts of wind would soar around him, the trees would almost seem to groan as their branches rustled. Then everything would stop, and Ian would be left in silence.
He sat down against a tree and sighed, the fallen leaves beneath him crunched and the tree bark against his back was cold, absent. “What am I doing?” he spoke into the emptiness around him. With a shaky hand, he pulled an apple from his satchel and took a bite.
Lip was right. It's just superstition. There is no damn witch. I’m an idiot for thinking so.
He had, for the most part, walked in a straight line. He couldn't follow the sun as the trees prevented it. He was fearful that the further he ventured, the higher the chance he would get lost, he could already see the forest growing denser. The trees were closer, and shrubs obscured feasible places Ian could wade through. The sun dimmed and the forest hummed around him.
What am I doing?
Anger flared within him. He flung his apple core into the air and watched as it landed and rolled across the forest floor.
He wouldn't have seen it if he didn’t take one last look at the darkened forest that he had not yet ventured after looking down and picking up his satchel.
The blue hue of the wisp illuminated the darkness. It moved gently above his apple core, seeming to inspect it with peaked curiosity. Ian’s heart hammered. He blinked a few times to make sure he was not conjuring what he wished to see and let out a shuddering breath when the wisp remained, its attention now on him.
“Can you,” he licked his lips nervously. “Can you take me to the witch?”
The wisp seemed to hum in agreement and moved further, deeper, into the forest without him.
“Wait!” Ian called out. He adjusted his satchel and hurried after the wisp. Running over shrubs and tree branches, sliding against large rocks and over small creek beds, he followed the blue light of the wisp. Ian couldn't tell how long it had been. Hours? Minutes? Time seemed to fade around him. Through the trees, he could see evidence of life. Deer herded in distant fields, foxes ran and rabbits burrowed. Birds chirped above him. It was beautiful, he hoped he would remember it.
...He said he could only remember walking into the forest and following the wisps, then walking right back out again with less coin and a bag of medicine…
The wisp disappeared into the air right in front of him as the endless trees gave way to reveal a small cottage made of stone. He tightened his grip on the strap of his satchel and frowned, unable to offer thanks to his guide.
Along its windowsills hung herbs and birds feathers that were strung together. To the left sat a vegetable garden and a chicken coop. A paddock to its right contained a goat and a sheep, that bleated in alarm upon seeing Ian at the edge of the open field. Smoke rose from the chimney. Ian felt a sense of home. He had never felt such a thing before. Not in the open fields of his family's estate, not sitting near his mother’s grave or the hallways of his cold and barren chambers. He immediately had the desire to never leave. To stay. He shook his head at the ridiculous thought. It’s just a damn cottage, probably owned by an old hag with one eye and a crow.
He moved towards the cottage. The sheep’s bleating increased, and the chickens began to scurry within their coops, though the goat remained uninterested. Before he could make it to the sturdy, wooden door of the cottage where various symbols were carved, it was thrown open.
“Shut it!” a voice snarled. The sounds of the farm animals immediately quietened as he stared wide-eyed at the man in front of him.
The witch was not an old haggard woman. Or an aged warlock. Or something else entirely. But a man, a young man.
Dark, almost black hair. Blue eyes, deeper than the ocean that surrounded the island. He was shorter than Ian. His face was soft. Angelic, but rough, Ian thought in a daze.
“Fuck you want?”
He was brought out of his ogling at the man's question. He flushed and stammered out his words.
“You're the witch?” He watched the man’s eyebrows raise.
“So what if I am,” he raised an eyebrow. “What bullshit request do you have for me today?” The man, the witch, pushed passed him and made his way to the side of the cottage. “Better start talking, Firecrotch, got shit to do. Animals to feed. Curses to place.” He wasn't looking at Ian as he stopped in front of one of the cottage windows and began to pick from the various potted herbs planted along it. Ian didn't recognise any of them. He swallowed.
“I need a potion.”
“A potion for what?” The man moved to the next windowsill and filled his palm with an assortment of herbs.
“Attraction,” Ian blurted out. “I need to be attracted to girls. I am to be married soon, and I can’t-I won’t-”
The man turned to him and actually looked at him for the first time since their meeting. His gaze softened before growing hard once more. “I get it, Firecrotch. Trust me, I do.”
He looked sad for a moment and tightened his fist around the herbs in his palm. “You know, Ian, some things can’t be changed with magic. Magic is powerful, but so is the heart.”
Ian blinked, ignoring the man’s warning. “How do you know my name?”
The man smiled, a beautiful smile, his blue eyes gleamed. “The forest tells me things. Told me you were coming. Told me what you wanted.”
Ian could only nod in shock. He didn’t know how to feel about the forest knowing things. Especially about him. “So you'll help me?”
Not giving him a response, the man walked back towards the entrance to the cottage. Ian followed. He pressed his palm against the wooden door and the engravings glowed a bright blue, much like the wisp who led him here.
The man then opened the door to what Ian could only describe as a witch’s hut. Various cauldrons sat along the walls. A fireplace roared. Mason jars filled with unknown things lined shelves and a large bench cluttered with herbs and knives and bottles of coloured liquid, sat in the middle of the room.
“Where do you sleep?” Ian inquired.
“You don’t conjure where you sleep. The first rule of being a witch,” was all the man said. He moved towards the fireplace where a cauldron was brewing under the open flames. The herbs in his hand were dropped into the bubbling liquid and a spurt of bright orange smoke flowed from the cauldron and seeped onto the stone floor beneath them.
“What are you doing?” Ian asked hesitantly.
“Making your potion. What does it look like?” The man grunted as he lifted the heavy cauldron from the fire and placed it on the adjacent stone bench to cool.
“Sorry,” Ian mumbled. He tugged on the strap of his satchel. “What do I owe you for it? I have gold or coin from the village.”
The man hummed. “The apple core will do.”
Ian stood confused. “The what?”
“Check your satchel, idiot.”
He did, and sitting at the top was his apple core, as fresh as when he had thrown it to the forest floor, hours, or perhaps minutes, ago. “What - how?” He pulled the core from his bag.
“Always wanted an apple tree,” the man hummed with a smile before he plucked the core from Ian’s grasp. Ian tried to ignore the way his face flushed when their fingers brushed, the way his heartbeat escalated and his words got caught in the back of his throat. He tried. But failed. He had never been so attracted to someone before. He had brought men from the castle to his bed, but they were only to fulfil a shared need, no feelings or longing were ever involved.
The core was placed among the clutter of the table and forgotten by the man as he turned back to the cauldron. He pulled an empty glass vial from the shelf above him and used a ladle to fill the contents of the cauldron to the top.
“That's it?” Ian asked hesitantly. “That will make me like women?”
“You'll be attracted, perhaps,” the man said cryptically. His expression was distant, almost nonchalant, but Ian witnessed something flash across his gaze, sadness? “Drink it all before you go to sleep tonight. But remember Ian, the heart is strong, some things cannot be changed by simple magic. The will of fate, sometimes, does not allow it.”
“I understand,” Ian said. He didn't though, but he couldn't afford for this potion to not work. It needed to.
The witch handed Ian the vial. It was warm in his hands.
“You never told me your name,” he looked up at the witch and got momentarily lost in the severe blue of his eyes. I have never seen eyes like that before.
The man's eyebrows rose and for the first time, it was he who let out a nervous laugh. “It's Mickey.”
“Mickey isn't really a witchy name.” Ian laughed.
Mickey smiled, and holy fuck it was beautiful. “Careful, I can curse you.”
“You don't really curse people, do you?”
Mickey smiled softly. “Wouldn't you like to know.”
Ian knew he wasn't going to get a real answer, and shrugged instead put the vial inside his pocket.
Surprisingly, Mickey spoke up. “I haven’t had to do it for years, but when man fucks with the forest I fuck with man, to put it nicely.” Ian could only nod. He remembered times where Francis had tried to burn the forest and no fish were caught for a month. When too many deer were killed during a hunt and flies swarmed the festivities that night. He remembered when some trees along the eastern edge were cut down, the harvest failed under heavy rain. He remembered it all and yet, couldn't fault Mickey for seeing retribution. An eye for an eye.
Mickey led him outside.
“I'm not going to remember any of this, am I?”
Blue eyes gazed at him for a moment, something flashed through them. Sadness? Hope?
“The forest decides,” was all Mickey said. He was sent a small smile before Mickey closed his cottage door behind him, leaving Ian to the judgemental looks of the farm animals. He walked back, somehow remembering the beaten path. When he came to the place he dropped his apple core, he noticed the shadows of the trees stretched across the forest floor. How much time had passed?
Exiting the forest at sundown with the vial weighing heavily in his pocket, he realised, suddenly, that he remembered everything. He remembered the witch, the cottage, and the animals. The whisper of Mickey in his head. The blue eyes and the smile that made his heart yearn. The forest decides, Mickey had said.
Ian tried not to think too hard about that.
*
“Will he remember?” Mickey asked the forest as he watched Ian disappear into the trees from one of the windows of the cottage. He admired the way the sun flashed along his ginger hair, seeming to glow in the afternoon light. He shook those thoughts away. The fate of a witch was solitude, he couldn't get attached. Very few were lucky enough to find another to spend their lives with. He wouldn't be one of them, he had accepted that long ago.
Perhaps.
“Don't be an asshole,” he said aloud. He picked up the apple core from the table and made his way outside once again.
You like him.
“I saw the guy for what, five minutes? Fuck no.” Mickey crouched down a number of paces from the sheep and goat’s enclosure and began to dig into the soil with his hands. He enjoyed the way his energy began to feel refreshed once again. He can never hide in his cottage for long before he felt the familiar desire to be around earth once again. The sheep bleated to his left and he glared at her.
“Fuck off, go eat some grass or something,” the sheep seemed to fix him with a look of fine, be like that, before it turned away from him.
You’re lying.
“Ok, fine,” he snapped. He placed the core into the hole he dug and began to cover it in the overturned soil. “Maybe he's hot. But he ain’t coming back. Didn't you hear? He’s getting married and I gave him a potion to be attracted to someone that isn’t me.”
You know as well as I, what you gave that boy hardly ever works.
“First time for everything,” Mickey muttered and stepped back from the buried apple. He whispered an incantation and spat on the ground before he cleaned his soil-covered hands along the sides of his pants.
He could be the one. You haven't been with someone in a long time.
“Why the fuck are you so interested in my love life? Get your own,” Mickey hissed and headed for the chickens.
A forest cannot have such a thing.
Mickey snorted.
“Butt out of mine. I’ll wait for the next trader to come through and woo the fuck outta them. Sorted,” he entered the chicken coop with a straw basket and began to fill it with the eggs laid that day.
You know I don't like those traders.
Mickey ignored the forest.
Think about it.
…
Mickey?
…
Don’t ignore me.
…
I only want you to be happy.
It hadn’t occurred to Mickey that he wasn't, happy that is. Surrounded by his animals, his herbs and potions and his cottage, he felt for the first time in a long time, the feeling he had suppressed and ignored. Discontent.
*
That night Ian sat at the edge of his bed with the vial in his hands. He wanted this. He wanted to be like Lip, who fancied most women who crossed his path. Who could dance and sleep with them all without feeling a hollowness within his soul. He wanted to forget his desires, he wanted to be just like everyone else.
He twisted the top of the vial open, and cautiously brought it to his lips. He tried to make his last thoughts happy. He thought of Mickey, the cottage with the herbs that hung from the windows, the sheep that bleated, chickens that squawked and the forest that knew all, and he fell into a restless sleep.
His dreams that night were of apple trees and blue.
*
Mickey dreamt that night of fire. Of red strands set alight under a soft glow. He dreamt of Ian, his hands grasping him, his body close to his. He dreamt of pleasure and warmth and happiness. He shot up out of bed covered in a hot sweat. “Fuck.”
Told you. The forest snickered.
*
The potion was working, he thought.
The clans had arrived that morning and Francis had thrown a banquet that night in their honour. They were all clustered inside the great hall, drinking and dancing the night away. Ladies’ skirts brushed against the stone floor as they twirled in their partners embrace. Clan leaders sat at Francis' table, discussing politics and trade. Occasionally, one would look towards the festivities with a gleam of jealousy in their eyes, wanting to join the festivities, but they would quickly morph back into the conversation at the king’s table. Music echoed loudly off the walls. Barrels of ale were brought from the cellar and various fruits and meats were being passed around by servants.
“Prince Ian,” ladies would curtsey before him and say. He smiled at them nervously and offered some dances. He looked closely at their soft features and could not deny some were beautiful. But that was all he could appreciate about them. His heart didn't flutter in his chest when he thought about them. He wasn't interested when they told him about their interests, his mind constantly drifted back to the image of Mickey's hands clutching dried herbs with a smile on his face. Stop. He told himself. You can't think that way.
The night went on.
Philip was standing next to him, he had not yet found a woman to occupy his time. Ian suspected he would after another drink. They watched as Deborah danced with many suitors, young and old, and Fiona darted her way past the men that offered her their hands at every opportunity.
He had told Philip of the potion, of finding the witch. Lip had, of course, demanded to know more, but Ian had felt this surge of protectiveness within him, and lied. He said that just like the tradesman he remembered nothing of the witch or its whereabouts. Lip appeared disappointed but quickly forgot.
“Is it working?” he asked of the potion Ian had taken the night before.
Ian hesitated. “I'm not sure… I’m noticing women more. There are some, I suppose, who I find attractive.” Lies, his mind supplied.
“Point them out,” Philip demanded while taking a sip of his ale.
A woman with a flat chest and waist that didn't narrow within her dress danced past them. She was dancing with a soldier from a neighbouring clan, who Ian tried to ignore but found his heartbeat a little faster upon looking at the man's rough and stubbled face.
“Her.”
Philip scoffed. “I'm not sure your potion works, you’re pointing out the most unfeminine women. You want breasts, hips, ass. Choose another.”
Ian swallowed and watched as a woman not far from them picked out food from a platter. She had what Philip was talking about. Her breasts were large enough, her hips narrowed in the dress she wore, but her arms were slightly muscled. She didn't appear dainty, or delicate like many of the women around her, but an impressive presence that Ian could, maybe, see himself with.
He pointed her out to Philip.
“I give up,” Philip groaned. “Your potion is useless. You may be actually looking at women for once, but you're focusing on manly qualities. I'd go back to that witch if I were you.” Ian didn't mention that the idea of going back to Mickey made his heart skip a beat.
Philip moved from his side and directed his attention towards a woman who was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. Ian noticed her too, and tried not to startle with how similar she appeared. Her black hair was pinned back and fell down the back of her shoulders. Her cheekbones were prominent but seemed to soften areas of her face. The intense blue of her eyes Ian could notice from across the hall, and it reminded him of Mickey. His heart panged against his chest.
Her gaze met Philips as he neared her. Her posture straightened but she seemed to remain defensive. His brother came to stand in front of her, and Ian could see that they exchanged words. Philip held out his hand, in what Ian assumed was an offer to dance, the woman only smirked and turned away from his brother. She went on to grab the hand of a nearby clan member and began to dance with them. Philip watched her, and Ian could see his interest pike.
The night faded on. More drinks were consumed. The dances quickened and laughs grew louder. Everybody in the room was buzzing in intoxication. Ian remained a watcher to the festivities, occasionally accepting an offer to dance with a lady but stumbled on his feet and words every time. The potion isn't working, perhaps it never did.
He went to get himself another drink and passed by a small group of ladies who were sneering at Philip and the woman from earlier who he had finally managed to convince into a dance.
“She should feel ashamed, showing her face here.”
“I heard she came without her clan, joined the Dougal clan for passage here.”
“Nobody would want to wed with that family.”
“Philip seems to like her.”
“Nothing but a fancy, she will be forgotten by the night's end.”
Ian nervously listened in to the women's taunts. He refilled his cup and glanced towards his brother. He and the woman looked happy. They danced through song after song together without intent to find another partner. Ian watched in amusement as the gossiping women’s faces flushed with jealousy. He smirked into his cup as he took yet another sip.
Fiona appeared next to him.
“I see you have avoided all the men tonight,” Ian pondered.
His sister hummed. “I see you have avoided all the women. It was quite a feat. Debs is making up for my absence, Philip for yours.”
They both watched as Deborah switched partners every song, hardly stopping to take a break between the endless taking of hands and sips of ale. “I pray she finds someone decent,” Fiona said under her breath.
“As do I,” Ian affirmed. They both stood with their drinks, and ate as a plate of meats came their way.
“I see Lip is dancing with Mandy,” Fiona said after a while.
Mandy. Everybody seemed to know about her but him. Ian frowned.
“I heard the woman gossiping about her earlier, who is she?”
Fiona sighed. “It was a long time ago. But all the clans knew. The Milkovich clan haven't been able to shake what happened.”
“What happened?” Ian encouraged. He couldn't shake his thoughts about Mandy. Perhaps she would be forgotten by Philip at the end of the night, but her past was too inciting for him. Something within him urged him to find the answers.
“...It was over twenty years ago now. It would have been when Mandy was an infant. Her clan was holding a banquet much like this to marry off her uncle, who was our age at the time.” She looked around them quickly to ensure no one was listening. “He was like you Ian, and that night, he was found in bed with one of the clan leader's sons. He somehow managed to escape from the castle, and neighbouring clans were sent after him on a hunt. He was never found. The man he was with was burned at the stake the morning after. That man was the only heir to the Douglas clan, and they took their vengeance. They ceased trade, increased taxes. The Milkoviches haven't been able to regain the power they once had. They reside not far from the island actually. At the northern edge of the bay.”
Ian took time to process what she said. “But what of her uncle? What happened to him?”
Fiona looked at Ian with a childish smirk. “Well, that's where the rumours come in.”
“Rumours?”
“Some say he ventured far across the sea, to lands unknown. Others say he died in the bay, and some say that he came here,” Ian’s ears buzzed and his heart thumped. The music and festivities around them grew silent.
“What do you mean here?” Ian hissed.
“Some,” Fiona continued, “Remember a man washing up on our shores. He stayed in the town for a day, bought supplies and a horse and went into the forest. He never came back out. There aren't many who remember him though, some think it was a tale to ward off children from the forest. That's probably all it is,” Fiona looked at him quizzically, “I'm surprised you don't know any of this. It's too bad, Francis won’t allow a union between Lip and Mandy, the Milkoviches are not nearly as wealthy as they used to be, and we both know that's all Francis cares about.”
Ian nodded in agreement, but his mind was elsewhere. A man washed ashore twenty years ago. Mandy's uncle disappeared that same time. Mickey couldn't be older than twenty, it's not possible. Mandy’s gaze met him over the top of Philip’s shoulder. Her blue eyes bore into his. It's not possible.
*
The forest was colder in the morning.
This time he left well before breakfast, just before the sun rose over the ocean. In his satchel he packed a variety of fruits and meats, he didn't know what Mickey liked. He tried to follow the same path as last time, but it was difficult and he felt he was just walking aimlessly forward.
Eventually, after the sun had risen enough to cast shadows across the forest floor and fade the morning dew, the wisp appeared.
It led him to Mickey's cottage once more. There was no smoke billowing from the chimney this time, and Mickey was outside picking apples from a tree. What startled Ian was not the fact that there was no tree before, but the giant deer that towered over the small man. Mickey reached out his hand and offered the deer an apple, which it immediately accepted. Mickey's head came to the middle of it's chest with the deer's head above him. Ian hadn't seen one so big before, he imagined the price it would get for its meat and coat in the town if it was ever hunted. He shivered at the idea of Francis knowing the prizes within these uncharted woods.
Mickey turned to face him. They stood across the clearing from one another, but Ian thought he could see a small smile form across the witches face.
*
His spell had worked. The tree had grown and fruited its first apples in a span of two days. He never forgot to appreciate the ease of magic, in the human world it would take nearly a decade for an apple core to grow into a full tree. The deer next to him chuffed with glee as Mickey handed him another apple.
“You can't eat them all,” he told the deer. It huffed and took another from his basket.
Look who's here.
Mickey stopped what he was doing. “Honestly, fuck off,” he hissed under his breath. He felt his basket jostle as the deer nudged its head within and stole another apple, but he couldn't find it in him to chastise the animal. In the distant trees, he could almost hear the forest laughing.
He turned around and saw him. His heart skipped a beat. He smiled. I am so fucked.
*
Ian walked across the clearing.
“You came back,” Mickey sounded surprised.
“I thought you said the forest told you that sort of thing,” Ian stood in front of him.
Mickey smiled. “Not always.”
The witch picked a few more apples from the tree and moved towards the cottage. “You comin’?” he asked. Ian followed.
They both stopped before the door to the cottage. Mickey put his hand against the door and it glowed blue just as it did the last time. He pulled the door open and revealed a home. There was a small stove and a fireplace. Shelves were stocked with food and jars. There was a bed, big enough for two people, his mind supplied. There was a small table in front of the window where a vase full of wildflowers basked in the morning sun.
“Ah, shit,” Mickey hissed out. “Was supposed to take us to the apothecary. Stupid house flips it on me sometimes to be funny. This will do though,” Mickey went to sit down at the small table by the window and picked up a carving knife. He began to cut into the apples he had picked. Looking up, he raised his eyebrows at Ian.
“Sorry I don't have a chair for you. Don't get many visitors,” Ian didn't miss the way his face lost its soft expression after that.
“The potion didn't work,” Ian wasn't mad about it. He wasn't sure he ever was, instead, he just felt the inevitability of fate creeping upon him. He will have to marry a woman that he would never love as they deserved. Maybe spending his last month of freedom with Mickey, and living the rest of his days with the idea of the man would be enough.
“I did tell you,” Mickey ate a slice of the apple. “The will of the heart cannot be swayed. Some things can't change. Nothing I can do for you now. No refunds,” he gestured to the apple tree outside. “Not that I expect you want to lug that home with you anyway.”
Ian looked out the window of the cottage. “It's been two days,” he puzzled, “It can't have grown that much, or at all, in two days.”
Mickey finished the first apple and began cutting up the second. “Magic”, he shrugged. “Can't be fucked to wait for it to grow.”
Ian hesitantly put his satchel on the table and began to empty its contents. He put the different fruits and meats in front of Mickey and stepped back a little with a flushed face.
“You bribing me or somethin?” Mickey laughed. “Already told you there is nothing I can do Firecrotch, desire is a tricky thing to crack.”
“No,” Ian replied carefully. Here it goes. “How long have you been here? In the forest?”
“So that's what you want. Answers to your questions,” Mickey eyed the food in front of him and reached out to grab a few grapes.
“Ok,” he grinned while he chewed, and Ian should not have found it attractive in the slightest. “I’d say about twenty years.”
Ian blanched. “But-how? How are you still so young?” Mickey shrugged.
“The forest wills it, I guess. I haven't aged a day since getting here. There was a witch here before me, and a witch before them, and so on. I took over when the last witch passed to the forest. My duty is to protect this place.”
The redhead standing before him was silent. I have to know.
“Mandy is at the castle.”
Mickey dropped the food in his hands. A grape rolled across the cottage floor.
“What did you say?” It was almost hissed out, Mickey stood up from the chair and fixed Ian with a look of contempt.
Ian took a sudden step back. Fuck. He can curse me cant he? He is a witch after all.
“I know who you are Mickey, you’re a Milkovich. You got caught with a man and ran away twenty years ago, and ended up here.” Fuck I hope I’m right.
The expression on Mickey's face was hard to place. He appeared to be both saddened and frustrated by memories of the past. Ian almost wanted to take back his declaration.
“How did you find out?” Mickey finally said. Ian let out a breath of relief.
“Mandy. She's at the castle for the handfasting. They still talk about you and my sister Fiona told me the story,” he paused. “What happened to you, Mickey? Why are you here? You were just like us, not a witch.”
Mickey sighed and sat back down, rubbing his hand along his face with a groan. “Why does it even matter to you? What I am, my story,” he paused. “It's in the past.”
Ian frowned. “I care.” Why though? He thought to himself. Why do I care about the story of a witch who gave me a flimsy potion? Deep down, he knew the answer to these questions, but did not care to admit them to himself.
Mickey's gaze softened. He slowly inspected the assortment of food on the table and selected a fig. Maybe bribery does work on a witch.
“When I ran, I'm not sure how. But there was this calling inside me. It told me to find a boat, any boat, and sail to Arun. I did, I escaped the clans hunting me and reached the island. The calling continued after that. It told me to get supplies then go into the forest, that I would find happiness within,” he peered at Ian with a sad smile, “It was easy to give in.”
“I followed the wisps and found this cottage. There was a woman living here, she was aged around sixty years but now I know she must've been here for hundreds, if not thousands. She embraced me and turned to dust, joined the forest. She gave me her knowledge, her skills and magic. I've been here ever since.”
Unsure, Ian asked, “Why do you trust me with this? My dad is the clan leader. I remember where you live. I remember everything. I could lead him here, to the magic, to the deers and the wisps,” he looked down at his feet. “Why Mickey?”
A sad smile was sent his way. “We both know you won't do that. The forest trusts you and so must I.”
“Must? You don't want to?” Ian flinched back. His heart clenched. Stop. Stop caring what he thinks, or how he feels. It doesn't matter.
“Didn't mean it like that,” Mickey replied carefully. “You said Mandy’s here? She must be close to twenty-five by now.”
“Yeah, she is,” Ian swallowed. “She's getting close with my brother Lip. They may marry.”
Mickey's expression grew thoughtful.
“You remember her?” Ian pressed.
“Of course I remember her. She was just six when I left. She was my sister's firstborn…” Mickey trailed off. “I've trained myself to forget you see. I try not to think of the past. Easier that way.”
Ian wanted to ask so many things. But what life are you living? A witch who lives in a cottage and never leaves. Never has friends or visitors. Aren't you lonely? Don't you want someone to love?
Instead, he asked something else.
“Do you want to see her? See Mandy?”
Mickey paused, his expression vulnerable. He nodded.
Ian left the forest that day with an empty satchel and thought of all the fruit trees that would grow before he returned.
*
He left you the fruit.
“I fucking know,” Mickey banged his head against the table in his home.
You told him everything. You never do that.
“I know,” he kept his head pressed against the table.
You know… gifts are a sign of courting.
“Don't take it that far.”
He's bringing Mandy as well. It seems like he cares for you.
“Probably wants another potion out of me.”
We shall see.
*
They stood at the edge of the clearing. Mandy let out a shuddering breath.
It had been hard to convince her. Telling someone their uncle that they haven't seen for twenty years was alive and well, and still incredibly young, living as a witch in the forest was difficult to prove. Mandy threatened to cut his tongue out for saying such things. But Ian had struggled out the name Mickey. A name she had not heard in two decades. Back home he was called the sodomiser and by other clans the lost brother. She listened, and Ian begged her to join him in the forest before the sun rose the next morning.
Mickey was picking herbs from the windows, his back was to them.
“Is he how you remember him?” Ian asked.
Tears in her eyes, Mandy nodded. She took a step forward, then another until she was halfway across the field and running towards Mickey. She collided into his back and wrapped his arms around him. Mickey gasped and dropped the herbs he was holding before turning around in her embrace.
“It's you,” Mandy gasped. “You're real.”
Mickey laughed. “I’m real, Mands.”
Mandy cried into her uncle's shoulder, who appeared old enough to be her brother. “I missed you. Mum died three months after you left, dad died at war. Terry still rules the clan, it's horrible,” she let out a shuddering sigh in an attempt to compose herself. “I wish you never had to leave.”
Mickey hugged her tighter. “I know,” he replied.
Ian watched the exchange from the edge of the field. He began to move towards them but was stopped by a deer emerging from the treeline beside him. He couldn't tell if it was the same one that was with Mickey the last time. He outstretched his hand and ran it along the animal’s side.
Mickey and Mandy talked for hours. She told him that she fears marriage within her clan. That she wanted to marry Philip but doubted Francis would allow it. Mickey told her of how lonely he was, and of how this life has both freed him but restricted him from the world. He gave her some herbs to burn the night of the handfasting and said that if she did that, her union with Philip would be secure. She thanked him profusely. She indicated to where Ian was wandering around and winked. Mickey blushed and told her it was nothing. Mandy just smirked and said sure.
Ian kept his distance and familiarised himself with the farm. The sheep bleated at him in alarm when he stood before the paddock and the chickens scurried around his feet. He noticed fig and grape trees scattered around the garden and smiled. The sun began to set above them.
Mandy eventually said her goodbyes and made her way towards Ian. “Thank you for taking me here,” she told him before placing a kiss upon his cheek. She then made her way to the treeline.
Mickey came to stand before him. The glow of the setting sun illuminated the side of his face. Bees buzzed around them and a butterfly landed on his shoulder before flying off once more above the wildflowers beneath them.
“Thank you,” was all Mickey said.
“Oh-uh, you're welcome,” Ian blushed and ran his hand along the back of his neck nervously.
Do it. The forest whispered to Mickey.
“Shut up,” Mickey muttered under his breath.
“What?” Ian said, alarmed. His hand dropped from his neck and his arms dangled awkwardly at his sides.
“Nothing,” Mickey rushed out. He ran his gaze along Ian’s body. He's beautiful. Maybe, just once, I can let something happen.
He grabbed the back of Ian’s head and pulled his face towards his own. Their lips met and the redhead melted into the kiss. He grabbed the witch’s hips and pulled him closer. Mickey groaned into their kiss before pulling away. He pressed his hand against Ian’s chest to create some distance.
“You both should go now. It’s getting dark,” he said with a smirk. Ian nodded in agreement, his heart was too busy fluttering in his chest for him to reply.
“I'll come back,” he promised.
Mickey pulled him in for one more kiss. “You better.”
*
Every day Ian ventured into the woods and did not return until dusk. Nobody questioned his whereabouts, many assumed he was courting the woman he would complete the handfasting ceremony with in less than three weeks. Each time he entered the clearing to Mickey's cottage the witch met him with an excited smile. He no longer needed the wisps to navigate the forest either. Each day he brought Mickey more gifts, fruits and charms. It is as if we are courting, Ian thought as Mickey placed a small gemstone Ian had gifted above his bed. Mickey seemed to agree with the gifts he gave Ian. A string of herbs to put beneath his pillow to ward off evil, a charm on his satchel for it to hold infinite things. Their days together were spent with Ian trying to help Mickey with his potions, stirring the cauldron or sweeping the floor. After the third day where yet another explosion had occurred Mickey laughed and sent him outside to farm. Ian didn’t complain, as, for the first time, his heart felt content.
It was a week before the full moon when they made love. In Mickey's home, Ian pressed him against the door with an ardent kiss before moving them onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Mickey told him he hadn't been with another for a while, only occasionally finding a trader willing. Ian said that was ok, that he would go slow. He did, rocking into Mickey and watching as the witches hands tightened against the sheets. Clenching around him, Mickey came with a shout and Ian came soon after. They lied on their backs, panting, before they did it once more. Faster. Ian’s hand stroked along Mickey's hip. He bit along his neck and licked the marks left behind. Mickey flipped them so he was on top and rolled and clenched himself around Ian. Ian came first that time. They made love until the sun set through the trees and Ian departed with a kiss and a whisper of I’ll be back tomorrow into Mickey's hair.
*
The weeks passed quickly. Ian felt his time with Mickey slipping away. Every kiss, every touch, every conversation felt like their last. He watched the rise and fall of Mickeys sleeping form. The sheets that covered their naked bodies were quickly thrown back as Ian began to kiss along the back of Mickey's neck then trailed lower. Mickey stirred awake and Ian smirked. Sometimes it was easy to forget the time they had left.
*
The handfasting ceremony was a day away.
Time had gone too fast for Ian. He was to pick a bride at the ceremony and had yet to even talk to any of the women. Mandy would hiss at him in absent hallways and ask what he was going to do. Does Mickey know? What do you want? He wanted Mickey, but he knew if he joined the witch his time with his family would be cut short. He didn't know what would happen, maybe he would grow old while Mickey stayed young. He didn't want to leave Philip to marry someone that wasn't Mandy, or Fiona to Francis’s machinations, or Debbie to her idealism. He wanted to protect his family, but he also wanted Mickey.
“What should I do?” he asked Mickey as they laid in his bed. The witch's head was resting against his chest. Mickey stiffened.
He loves you. The forest whispered.
“You shouldn't have to ask me that.”
If he did love me, he would know what he wants.
“But what about my family? If I stop ageing like you, I will lose them.”
You're asking him to live a millennium with you. He would watch his family die.
“You will stop ageing if that's what you want. It's the sacrifice, Ian. They are all going to be married off anyway, so will you. You will lose them that way.”
Ian was still hesitating. Mickey sighed and made a decision.
“You have until the night of the handfasting. If you don’t join me, you won't be able to find me again. No matter how many times you look, the forest will not lead you to me.”
Mickey…
“I thought that was up to the forest?” Ian said sadly.
“I get a say,” was all Mickey replied.
When Ian left that day he didn’t say I love you even though he wanted to. Mickey's heart broke a little more when he felt Ian exit the forest, knowing that he may never return.
*
In the darkness of the castle, three voices whispered.
“Why are we here?” said the first. A lantern glowed above them.
“What's going on?” said the second.
“I must tell you something,” said the third.
*
Night fell.
He will come.
“You don't know that,” Mickey angrily cut up some juniper and threw it into the bubbling cauldron.
He will.
“We have known each other for a few weeks, haven't even said we love each other. How can I expect a guy to want to live with me in a forest for thousands of years?”
He loves you.
The cauldron began to steam and overflow. The recipe was ruined. Too much beeswax. “Fuck,” Mickey put his head in his hands and tried to pretend that nothing was falling apart. Ian never came into these woods, Ian never brought him gifts or reunited him with Mandy, he never made love to him or told him stories of the world while Mickey told him stories of the forest. He never imagined a life with Ian. It never happened.
*
The handfasting ceremony began the night of the full moon. Ian had not seen Mickey since the witch had told him to make a choice.
Francis stood before the clans, a cup of ale in hand. “Let us begin the handfasting!” he declared. A druid priest stood beside him, four strips of ribbon for each child was in their grasp. The clans cheered. Drink and food were passed around and excitement buzzed in the air.
Ian’s stomach flipped. He was standing at the back of the crowd with Philip and Fiona. “We're really doing this,” he forced out. Fiona squeezed his hand.
“We are Ian. You're not,” Ian looked at her, shocked. “We know it's the witch you visit, we know that's where you should be.”
“Mandy told us everything,” Philip confirmed as Ian struggled to find words. “If you love him, join him. Who cares about time? We all have to leave eventually. So what if you get a thousand more years than us?” he joked.
Ian forced a smile. “But I can't just leave you all, what about Francis? He's about to marry us off, I don't deserve to escape that.”
“Ian, listen to me,” Fiona asserted, “We all have our own paths to make, it's not your duty to follow ours. Go, before it's too late.”
He hesitated before he hugged his siblings in a tight embrace. “I'll visit,” he mumbled.
“Go!” Philip stressed.
At that same time, Francis yelled from the front of the crowd. “Philip! Come forth and declare your future wife.”
Both brothers shared a moment between them, where the sound of the festivities around them tuned out and all that was left was them and the paths they were about to choose. Ian smiled before he disappeared into the darkness behind the crowd. Philip turned and moved towards the front.
Mandy had burned the herbs Mickey had given her that morning. So as Philip stood in front of the druid priest and beside Francis, and declared that Mandy was to be his wife, there was a collective cheer as their hands were bound together with ribbon and their vows were said. A haze overcame them all. Nobody questioned why Philip would choose the Milkovich, in their minds, there was not a more perfect choice.
What Mandy didn't know was the curse she had inflicted upon burning the herbs. As they finished their vows and celebrated their union before the clans, Francis clutched his chest suddenly and collapsed into the drunken crowd. He died moments later choking on his own blood. Fiona was the first to smile.
*
The moon rose. Ian ran through the forest, the light of the moon his only guide in its endless darkness. He prayed to the forest he was going the right way. I'm coming Mickey, wait for me.
His breath came out as harsh pants. He fell many times and scraped his body against the ground and rocks. Panic set in. How much time do I have? After what felt like hours of running he collapsed. “Fuck,” he hissed. “It's too late.” The illumination of the moon had disappeared, leaving him in endless darkness.
“I’m sorry,” Ian groaned as he attempted to keep his tears at bay.
A blue light flashed in front of him. A wisp cooed and Ian’s head shot up. “Please!” he pleaded. “Take me to him!”
The wisp was silent.
Then another appeared behind it. Then another, and another. A trail was being made for him. We all have our own paths to make, Fiona had said. Ian grinned, stood up, and followed the path of the wisps.
*
Mickey looked up at the rising moon.
“Time is nearly up,” he said aloud. His voice was distant, detached.
This isn't what you want Mickey. He will come, just wait.
Despite his brain telling him to go back inside his home and curl up on his bed and shut everything, thoughts of Ian, the forest, his feelings, out, he listened to the small voice in his heart that told him to stay where he was. On the edge of the clearing, just before the tree line, he waited with bated breath.
“He better fucking come.”
The wind blew through the trees. The forest agreed.
A figure moved in the darkness of the forest. Flickers of blue flashed through the undergrowth before disappearing into black. The wisps hummed to him. Red. Red.
Mickey’s breath hitched.
*
He was waiting for him at the edge of the clearing.
Panting, Ian ran towards the witch and collapsed into his arms. He sobbed out apologies. Mickey stroked the back of his head.
“You came,” the witch affirmed. His voice sounded as if he were in a daze. As if he did not believe Ian would make the choice.
“I did,” Ian said. It's time. “I love you, Mickey.” His heart clenched as he waited for Mickey’s response.
“I-I love you too.” Mickey pulled Ian towards him and kissed him roughly. “You're mine,” he said breathlessly, unbelievably.
Ian nodded and picked Mickey up. “I'm yours,” he confirmed. The witch laughed into the night sky and wrapped his legs around Ian’s waist. They entered the cottage together as the forest hummed in delight around them. Fate had been sealed.
*
Mickey panted and pulled himself off Ian’s body. Collapsing at the redhead’s side he stared at the roof of his cottage. Their cottage.
“What made you change your mind?” he asked.
Ian turned to him, a loving smile painted across his expression. “My siblings. They told me this is the path I am meant to follow. They don’t care that I will outlive them,” he pulled Mickey closer to him. “Also the fact I can't imagine living the rest of my days without you.”
Mickey snorted. “The rest of your days are a fucking long time, Firecrotch.”
“Oh yeah,” Ian kissed along Mickey's neck. “You glad to be stuck with me forever?”
“I can still curse your ass,” Mickey warned. He squirmed in Ian’s arms, his neck flushed under Ian’s ministrations.
“You'll uncurse me though, right?” Ian’s hand moved lower under the sheets and stroked the top of Mickey's thigh.
The witch smiled.
“Always.”