Hexed

to the right, then a thick copse of fir and cedar to the left, a faint light began to sparkle up ahead.
    Rounding a curve in the path, we found ourselves facing an inn, just right of the path, about sixty yards ahead. Lit up like a Yule tree, with eye catchers all over the outside framing the three-story building, the inn had been carved out of stone. As I gazed at it, I suddenly remembered: I’d been here before. This inn had been witness to the end of my life in the Northlands.
     
    THE JOURNEY DOWN from the temple had been achingly hard. There had been several blank spots in my memory, then the image of a sparkling woman in the mists who had carried me across a chasm. I’d struggled through the snows, not sure if I would survive even to reach the next morning.
    They’d cast me out before I fully healed from their interrogations, and every joint in my body ached. The ishonar—magical flames of ice colder than anything in nature—had stripped my back with every lash, and while there were no open wounds, the weals that the whip had raised along my back ached. But the pain of my body was nothing compared to the pain in my head. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take a deep breath, to keep it together.
    Vikkommin, Vikkommin . . . his name echoed in my head.
    Did you kill Vikkommin?
    No, I don’t know, I don’t know anything.
    The pain of a lash slashing across my back. Did you bind his soul to a shadow?
    I don’t know . . . I don’t remember anything. I loved him—I loved him with all my heart. How could I have done anything that horrendous to him?
    Another lash, another hellishly cold sting of ishonar, another scream that I slowly realized was emanating from the back of my own throat.
    Tell us what happened.
    I don’t remember. . . There was a knock on my door. I answered to find a message from him. He had called me to his room. I went, and I remember him opening the door . . . then it’s all blank, until you found me.
    A pause, and then the lashes began to fall in earnest, as if all the pain in the world could break through the wall that had formed in my memory. And I began to scream, unable to stop, as I realized I had just lost everything dear to me in the world. And at that moment, I willed myself to die.
    Later, when they had done all they could to me, but could prove nothing—no truth uncovered—I stood on the edge of the temple as they administered the final punishment: With one quick lop, the High Priestess sheared off my ankle-length hair at the nape of my neck. Now everyone would know I’d been banished from the temple—at least as long as it took to grow it out again. As she threw the golden strands into a fire pit, my nose wrinkled at the smell, and I hung my head, weeping silently.
    My life was shattered. My head ached from the violation my mind had suffered. My back hurt beyond any pain I’d ever felt. But I understood that I wasn’t going to die, as much as I’d prayed for it.
    The doors slowly began to shut. I turned and screamed, throwing myself to the ground. “Don’t forsake me. I am called by the goddess! She is in my heart. Kill me, please.”
    The High Priestess stared down at me and a sorrowful look filled her eyes. “This is the last any of us will ever speak to you unless you can prove that you did not kill Vikkommin and bind his soul to the shadow. You have been stripped of your strongest powers and are no longer a threat. You have been stripped of the title of Ar’jant d’tel. You are excommunicated from the order. Go forth, back into the world. For your life here is over.”
    She turned away, slamming the giant doors against me.
    I stayed prone for a long time, weeping until the tears froze on my face. Slowly, when the cold ate into my body, I stood and shouldered my pack and—as it rubbed against my wounds, setting off sparks of pain—began the harrowing journey down the mountain toward the portal that would take me out of the Northlands, back home to Finland where I would have to lie to my family to avoid the embarrassment my downfall would bring on them.
     
    “IRIS, ARE YOU okay?” Camille poked me on the arm.
    I shook out of my memories and blinked. “I just . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I stayed at this inn a long, long, long time ago. It is very old yet still it stands against the ice and snow.” And so do I , I thought.
    We headed up the steep flight of steps—the entrance to the inn was a full story off the ground, to avoid