Rough Magic Read Online Free PDF

history would call him, “Alonso the Just.”
    He had told her that on another sea voyage. How long had it been since they crossed the sea alone together in a small boat, sped by her power, sustained by their love? Less than a year. They had lain together on the bottom of the boat and laughed at the pictures they saw in the clouds. He had played with one of her thick braids, tickling her nose with its feathery tip. The waves had lulled them both. They had been free.
    â€œI should have known it was a fool’s happiness,” she said aloud. She routinely muttered to herself now. Often she spoke to the shadows of her past. “I deserve to be brought down for what I’ve done. But I also deserve to destroy him. If I do, then maybe I will be forgiven for betraying my father and my country. Alonso was always my enemy. I’ll ruin him.” She made it a promise to the small life within her.
    There was a cry from on deck. Land had been sighted where none was known to exist. The command was given to sail near, to check for inhabitants. She felt light-headed and lay down on her hard bed, likely the last bed that she would ever know. She waited, time spinning out before her like thread from a spool dropped by a careless child.
    It did not take long for the report to come back. A boatload of men had searched the island. It was fair enough, but small, and desolate.
    This place, then, was to be her final home. She would die here, and so would her child. Her thoughts of revenge seemed pitiful and desperate. Her husband would have a long, satisfied life. His reign would be legendary. She would become a storybook villain, used to frighten children into obedience. Curses began to flow from her as though they were her mother tongue.
    When they came for her, Sycorax fought them like any other caged and cornered beast would. Her wildness gave them permission to be rough with her. She was thrown into the bottom of the boat. Two men actually sat on her to keep her still. They laughed at her and swapped several lewd and boorish comments. When they reached the shore, they called her a hag and flung her onto the rocks. Their only mercies were a small cooking kettle and a blanket they tossed onto the beach with their parting jeers. And so she called down the storm.
    As soon as her body had touched the land, she found her power again. It was shaky, its flow only a trickle after so many months of disuse. But it was there, singing in her veins, intoxicating her. The wind tore the ship to shreds and the waves swallowed the boat whole. Now it was her turn to laugh, while the sailors could only scream. She danced on the rocks as the last of them disappeared. Mermaids bobbed in the waves, pulling the lost men down.
    The tempest died as quickly as it had begun. She was alone, and now she had nothing to curse but her own stupidity. She should never have let her emotions rule her craft. There had been a ship at her disposal, and she sank it. She could have destroyed only the sailors and then gone to Carthage, to the estate awaiting her rule. She could have sailed back to her husband and cursed his land.
    She could have gone home.
    The weight of her punishment came down on her again. She could never go home. There was penance to be paid before she could win back her freedom, before she could wreak her revenge.
    She left the beach and went inland, like an animal, looking for shelter. After a short search she found a cave, empty of wildlife. For now it would do. Doggedly she gathered wood, refusing to think of her past life, her royal life. The fire warmed her, and the mushrooms that she found under some trees stilled the gnarling pain in her belly. Sycorax went back to the trees, this time breaking off fir boughs and dragging them back to the cave for a bed. They were fragrant and surprisingly soft. She slept.
    When she awoke it was deep night. She rose and left her cave. The moon shone brightly. The air was warm, gentle. She felt and