The woman calling herself Rizla flashed a smile. “The third knot is of my own making and can’t be revealed.” She said this without the slightest trace of fear. Elymas felt his amusement flee. 

         “You can’t be Rizla the Red Witch.”

         “Why?” 

         “Because I’m Elymas, the Earth Skyll, and I would know.” 

         “I will indulge your suspicion,” she said, still smiling. “Watch this.” 

         Instantly, all two hundred candles went out, and the room was covered in darkness. A cold rain began to fall, not sparing his ears and bald head, which he found greatly annoying. She would pay for this trick. Her fingers snapped, and suddenly the air was dry and the candles were burning as though nothing had occurred.

         “I can do that,” he returned through clenched teeth. “Watch this.”

         Elymas covered his head with the sleeve of his robe. With a twist of his wrist, the room fell to darkness, and rain fell for the second time. He changed it back almost at once, and the candles burned brighter. Elymas assessed the water stains on his cloak. 

         “Very well,” replied Rizla. “Try this.”

         The candles didn’t go out, the wicks continued to shine light while the wax bubbled blood. It was blood, he recognized the leaden, earthy smell at once. A cascade of bubbles soon covered the floor. The shadows came alive and were licked at the surface. A couple of aggressive tongues broke through the stone.

         Elymas knew he could do this, though not as well. It was done with a pocket scent and visual deception, but what a deception it was! She was quite an accomplished witch. But he could only endure pranks for so long. He thought of the vats, one in particular; then, he thought of the man chained in a corner. 

All materials © Joan Heck Spilman.