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In the land of Ingary, where such things as magic mirrors and love potions really exist, it is not quite a misfortune to be the most beautiful girl in your village. In fact it is not so bad a fate in any land at all—but Lily Gardner, unquestionably the best-looking girl in all of Shirring-on-Smoakes, would argue otherwise. If it wasn’t the boys catcalling or going cow-eyed, depending on how gently they’d been reared, it was everyone else in Shirring-on-Smoakes with their utter conviction that a clever thought simply couldn’t take up house in a pretty head–and for Lily, who had every idea of becoming the strongest magic-worker Ingary had ever seen, this was a problem.
It simply wasn’t fair. Dorothea Aberworthy, sanctimonious bluestocking and as middling a spellcaster as ever Lily had seen, was widely acclaimed as a prodigy, all because she had a face like a horse. But Lily, who had created a spectacularly clever twist of magic to cure the Mayor’s gout only received a pat on the head and a gentle admonition to put all that energy towards her family’s lovely flowers.
That was why, on the Midsummer’s night our story begins, Lily could be found on the hill overlooking Shirring-on-Smoakes, with several pints of beer and the intention of doing nothing for the next few hours but grumble. That was another thing you weren’t meant to do if you were beautiful, which naturally meant Lily reveled in it. It might have been quite a pleasant night, too, if the stars hadn’t begun to fall.
“Like all my hopes,” Lily sighed, which says rather more than it should about her general personality. Fortunately for all concerned, it was at this point that one particular star came careening past, letting out a shriek that even Lily, absorbed in her melancholy, could not ignore.
”What in blazes,” she murmured and, intrigued and a little drunk, tossed around several thoughts in her mind before remembering that Dorothea Aberworthy had never caught a falling star. “That’ll show her,” she mumbled and clambered to her feet.
The fleet-foot enchantment she cast on her toes was really a thing of beauty, had there been anyone around to notice. But more importantly, it was quite functional, and so it was that not a few seconds later, Lily was cradling the luminous sphere of a fallen star in her hands. She was rather proud of what a tranquil, sublime picture it all made, or at least she was until:
“Don’t let me die!” screamed the star. “You mustn’t let me die!”
”I won’t!” Lily bawled back, more to shut it up than anything else.
The star paused, and considered her suspiciously. “You will? You swear?”
“Of course,” said Lily with her nicest and most artificial smile, wondering if it wasn’t too late to drop the star where she stood and go back to her beer and sulking.
The star’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Do it now.”
Lily blinked. ”Do what?”
”Give me your greatest human treasure, and I will hold it safe for you.”
”I….” Lily paused to consider this. “I have a diamond ring of my mother’s, at home. But,” she added hastily, “I think I know better than to store it in the heart of a flame for safekeeping.”
The star hissed with annoyance. ”Your heart, mortal fool, your heart.”
“Absolutely not,” Lily said at once.
“I shall start screaming again,” the star threatened.
“Do,” said Lily, tiring of the whole affair. “I’m sure you’ll last all of a minute once I leave you here. I shan’t give you another thought after that, Dorothea Aberwothy and her admirers be damned.”
The star spluttered with rage, but then quieted, just as Lily was about to drop it and run. “I suppose,” it said silkily, “that you can’t help it. Quite all right. It’s not your fault that you’re not clever enough.”
Lily froze. “What?”
”Oh, nothing,” said the star, “it’s only that it’s dreadfully clever magic, and I shouldn’t think a witch of your standards could manage it.”
”Ooh!” said Lily, and slid one hand into her chest to pull out her heart. “Here,” she said, offering it to the star. “How do you like that, from a witch of my standards?”
The star lunged for it and let out a slow, contented breath once it was solidly inside the star’s middle. “Very well, thank you.” It gave Lily an appraising look with a pair of enormous black eyes. “And now I must repay you.”
”Repay me?” Lily echoed and nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. You must. What can you offer me?”
The star hummed contemplatively. “You have given me freedom from that which I feared most, so it’s only fair I do the same thing. Lily Gardner, of Shirring-on-Smoakes, I offer you eternal life.”
Lily smiled.
She became quite learned, of course. It took one lifetime to become the greatest witch in Ingary, and another to become the greatest witch in all the world. Of course that didn’t leave much else to do; Lily emerged from her books one morning to see the star blinking up at her quite crossly from her fireplace.
”Hmm,” said Lily, “did we always live in a castle? Particularly one made out of chimney pots?””
”I had to do something,” murmured the star (or not quite a star anymore; Lily supposed fire demon would do as well). “Otherwise we would have gone on living in the same miserable shack. It wasn’t as though there was anything else to build with.”
”There’s no need to complain,” Lily said severely, but got up anyway. It had been years, quite literally, since she had last gone out into the marketplace. It was time, she determined to show Dorothea Aberworthy who the true master of magic was.
To her surprise, Shirring-on-Smoakes had quite dried up. There were only a few scattered cottages here and there, and when she asked what had happened, the simpleminded villagers who were left babbled some nonsense about the river drying up decades ago and everyone whose livelihoods depended on it seeking their fortunes elsewhere. Fortunately Lily had never cared for most of her neighbors and her social circle did not suffer as a result.
Her last question was to ask what had happened to Dorothea Aberworthy. She had gone to the capital, more’s the pity, and made a name for herself. These days her grandson was Royal Wizard to the King. It was insufferable, but it made it clear to Lily that she must go to the capital herself. If a dunderhead like Dorothea and her spawn could rise to such heights, only imagine what she, Lily, could do!
The fire demon was not so enthusiastic about these plans. “And what,” it snarled, “am I to do?”
”The same sort of nonsense you usually do,” Lily said loftily. “Don’t let anyone steal the palace, darling.” And with that she closed the door behind her and started out to make her fortune in Kingsbury.
Lily took to Kingsbury soon enough, but more importantly, Kingsbury took to her. She was feted at a hundred parties during her first six months there, her magical powers and political influenced rivaled by none, least of all Dorothea’s idiot grandson who went by the name of Pentstemmon. And to add to which, King Julian was such a dear. They became quite intimate, the two of them, and for some time, the gossips of Kingsbury expected to welcome a Witch Queen to the throne.
It was perhaps inevitable, then, that Lily’s pride should go before a fall.
The first signs were subtle; there were not so many parties, not so many anxious knocks on the door. But the Season was ending, and darling Julian was busy with his dry old politics. It was nothing to worry about. Then the parties stopped altogether, and during the one time Lily deigned to favor the ungrateful hosts with her presence at their christening, they cringed and shuddered and altogether made quite the fools of themselves.
It was Pentstemmon’s stuck-up bride Myrtle who explained matters to her. There had been whispers from the North, you see, of black magic being worked there, of perhaps the prosperous Smoakes River Valley (they called it the Waste now, because that was all there was) owing its destruction to the actions of a particularly unscrupulous witch. Lily had nothing but scorn for that; how else did they expect her to perfect her craft? Did they not see that sacrifices must be made to gain certain advantages, namely that of having the best-trained magic worker that had ever drawn breath.
Myrtle flattened her lips in a way that suggested she did not approve but did not choose to pursue the matter further (Lily suspected that if Myrtle could have known her grandmother-in-law, they might have gotten on quite well). What was more, she continued, King Julian was engaged to the rich and lovely daughter of a High Norland banking establishment, gently reared so as to disapprove of…inappropriate liaisons. So naturally that meant Lily’s presence in Kingsbury was a tad inconvenient.
At that Lily’s composure failed her. She howled all the way home to her cracked chimney-pot palace.
“It’s not your fault,” said the fire demon from the fireplace.
Lily sniffled.
”You had no way of knowing.”
Lily dabbed at her eyes.
There was a loud, aggrieved sigh. “Your King betrayed you. So make your own.”
Lily froze.
Finding a proper King, it turned out, was more difficult than it seemed.
Lily had no shortage of paramours who could serve as potential candidates, but somehow all of them came up lacking. The farmer lad with the long lashes had charming eyes but no common sense. The scholar had brains but an unfortunate profile. The general had no shortage of strength and stamina but lacked self-preservations.
”That’s the way humans are,” crackled the fire demon soothingly. “You’ll just have to make do.”
”But I don’t want to make do!” Lily snapped. “I want the best. I deserve the best!”
”Of course you do,” said the fire demon, sounding appalled that she’d think anything else. “And I could help you find him, if only…”
”Yes?” said Lily eagerly.
”If only I could leave this hearth.” The fire demon drooped. “There’s not much I can do from here, is there?”
Lily bit her lip. “Well….there is a way. Quite difficult, and it would take quite a bit of power—“
The fire demon leaned forward. “Yes?”
”—but I think I might manage it. Yes. I might.”
The fire demon blinked its eyes demurely. “Only think,” it murmured, “of all I could do for you.”
Years went by, and the search continued. Neither the fire demon nor Lily could ever seem to find anyone just right, no matter how much dollops of magic Lily afforded the fire demon. There were a few run-ins, over the years, with Kingsbury. It seemed Julian had taken it upon himself to repent for the wild ways of his youth, mostly by eradicating them entirely, mostly to set an example for his two useless sons. Lily became very good at taking apart soldiers in the nastiest of ways, as much to defend herself as for something of a pick-me-up, and this naturally gave her what could be considered a soiled reputation throughout the rest of the country.
"Faugh!" Lily spat when she heard of this in a manner that reminded her of nothing more than the crones that hobbled around her village in her youth. That sort of thing was happening more often than usual. The fire demon might keep her eternally young, but it didn't seem to do anything for the weariness that clouded her mind. But nonetheless she didn't care to give Julian the satisfaction of knowing he had upset her. At least until she was able to replace him with the clearly superior model of manhood she would find, no matter how many young men she had to take apart.
Take apart.... now there was an idea. Of course the perfect man didn't exist; she'd have to literally create him herself. And what a thought; to take the smile of one man, the touch of his fellow; the brawn of one, and the brain of another, all to create the perfect candidate for King. That'd show Julian. That would show Myrtle (or was Dorothea?) hiding away in Kingsbury, laughing up her sleeve at her and how far she'd fallen.
She swept inside the hallway of the palace. There stood a woman with a sheet of blue-black hair and olive-brown skin, and for a moment, Lily thought that looked quite familiar. A face glimpsed momentarily in a window, perhaps, or a mirror. "Who are you?" she demanded at this intruder.
The woman smiled, and the fire demon's eyes twinkled. "I'm Lily," she said, very sweetly, "Lily Angorian, in fact."
Something about that seemed not at all right, but for the life of her, she couldn't piece together what it was. She reached for a tendril of magic to clear her thoughts, and found there was none left.
"And me? Who am I?"
The woman--Lily's--smile grew cruel. "You, my dear, are the Witch of the Waste."