Lies Become the Truth
Chapter 2: Of Painful Realizations and Difficult Explanations
Author's Note: Wow, I've never been so full of ideas. I really hope people aren't adverse to this but I must satisfy my desire to write somehow! Enjoy!
Fezzik carried my sobbing mass back to the camp, as it seemed I had lost control of my limbs completely and they wouldn't function properly. I clutched the pentacle so tightly in my fist it left an imprint. I was scared to let it go; suddenly, it was as much a part of me as my notoriously stubborn spirit.
As my shock died down into a dull pang in my chest, I noticed more subtle changes to my senses, besides the strange super-strength I'd somehow conjured earlier in my battle with Jocelyn. All my senses seemed sharper; I could hear an animal rustle in the forest a mile away, a fox, I knew, because I could smell it with my refined nose. I knew I was still myself, but I didn't feel quite human…like I had the spirit of a wild animal trapped inside my soul, taking me over from the inside out. How could Jocelyn have wanted this? It was torture.
My heightened senses picked up on a warm, jubilant, happy, hopeful atmosphere as we neared the camp. Buttercup, glowing with joy, ran over to meet us.
"Oh, Isabel, Fezzik!" She cried. "At last, you're back!" She gazed at me more closely, saw the puffy evidence of crying on my tear-stained cheeks and froze. Her eyes roamed to mine, and as she read the mood behind them, she recoiled in shock. It hit me that I must have that crazy, wild look that Jocelyn always seemed to possess and I howled even harder, burying my face in the crook of Fezzik's vast arm. "Oh, Isabel! What's happened to you? You should be happy!"
I raised my head and stared blankly at her. What cause did I have to be happy?
"It's Inigo! He's woken up!" This news was obviously supposed to delight me, and about an hour ago it would have. Now, though, it just made me want to wail louder. I didn't want to share this with him. Not when he'd already been through so much because of my stupid lies.
Lyrics from an old Michael Jackson song I'd loved what seemed a lifetime ago echoed in my head:
Be careful what you do,
Because a lie becomes the truth.
I'd never put much stock in that before now.
Buttercup, with her annoying naivety and tactless, albeit well-intentioned, remarks, was doing me no good.
"Fetch Westley for me," I begged her, speaking for the first time. Westley would know what to do. Westley always knew what to do.
Buttercup skipped off, puzzled. Fezzik laid me down in the grass where we stood. He was more perceptive than anyone thought. How could he have known that I didn't our recovering friend to see me in this state?
A few moments later, Westley was by my side. "Hello, Isabel," he began slowly, regarding me, gathering as much information as he could from my appearance. He, too, started when he saw my eyes. I wished I had a mirror. "Buttercup said you needed me?"
I managed a stiff nod. I looked at Fezzik, "Go and talk to Inigo. He'll be getting irritated with Buttercup. You needn't mention me."
The giant nodded and walked over to where Inigo lay.
Westley looked at me, a mournful look of pity and sympathy that sent me over the edge of the cliff I'd been hanging onto, falling deep into the despair that waited below, tears spilling out of my eyes.
He lay down beside me in the grass. Neither of us spoke for a long time. I knew he was trying to figure it out. It'd never happen.
"Jocelyn," I croaked.
"Who?" He asked.
And then I began, and once I started talking I couldn't stop. I told him of the red eyes in the shadowy wood, of the way she had spat and hissed, of the way she had threatened their lives, of how she'd accidentally revealed her weakness. I told him of the chase, of how I thought I was winning, of the cliff, of Fezzik and the trees, and the sunlight, of the pain…oh, the searing pain…
He said nothing while I spoke. When my description finally tailed to a shuddering end, he said, "Jocelyn is a witch."
"Was." I corrected.
"You should never have left Fezzik's side."
"I know. This is gonna sound strange but…I'm actually kinda glad I met her, or rather, I was, before now."
Westley frowned. "How's that?"
"Without her, I would never have met you guys."
I could tell he knew that when I said 'you guys' what I meant was 'Inigo'.
"Please explain," he said, his brow still furrowed.
"She…" I paused, choosing my words carefully. "…Engineered my fate so that I was in the right place at the right time. Now, though, I'm wondering if all this was worth the bother."
There was a long pause.
"You know that symbol around your neck is that of a witch?" He said eventually. Instinctively, I clutched at my pentacle and nodded.
"I think that, somehow, with the combination of your mystic powers and Jocelyn's pitifully bad emotional control, she accidentally amplified your powers, taking Jocelyn's away in the process."
I frowned. That made perfect sense to him, but none for me, as I knew that I had no mystic powers.
Westley, seeing my doubt, explained, "Jocelyn was a powerful witch, that much is true, but raw and inexperienced and very much overconfident, a very dangerous combination of traits. I think she meant to suck away your strength, physical, mental and paranormal, she did something wrong, made a minor mistake that lead to her downfall. Instead, she gave you strength."
This made more sense. Jocelyn made a mistake in the first place, sending me back here; she could have made another mistake back in the woods, but that still didn't explain how she came to be rendered helpless.
"But why did that make her go all…human?" I asked, confused.
"You remember I said that Jocelyn was powerful," Westley said. "But not powerful enough to perform a spell like that unaffected."
"I don't understand…"
"Giving someone powers as strong as what yours seem to be is very difficult for even the most proficient of witches, from my knowledge," That was a point. How did Westley know all this? I'd always supposed he knew everything, but I'd thought his knowledge stopped at the supernatural. "Jocelyn must somehow have managed it by raw, unbridled anger alone, but, as I said, she was unskilled, and therefore unable to conjure magic, only transmit and transform it."
"So what you're saying is she gave me her powers?" I couldn't believe it. I felt sullied, dirty, invaded and unclean. I didn't want Jocelyn to be a part of me at all.
"No. I can tell you're nothing like her, even if I've never met her. From your experiences, she seems to be evil, vengeful and bitter. Even a fool could see you're not like that. People's powers match their personality."
"But I punched her! She went flying!" I was having a hard time taking this in. "That's nothing like me! I've got more chance of turning purple than punching somebody! I'm a wimp, through and through!"
"Human instincts. Self-defence."
"I'll show you human instincts-" I advanced on him impulsively, before regaining control of myself. "Hell! Why I am I being so aggressive?"
Westley looked undisturbed, but something strange within me told me he was a bit scared. "You're frightened," I murmured incredulously. Westley was never scared of anything.
"Yes, a bit," He admitted with a little laugh. "How did you know? I pride myself on having a perfect poker face."
"I don't know," I stammered. It was true Westley always managed to look composed, and now was no exception. "I just knew."
"Maybe it's a special talent," he said. "Some witches have them."
"Did Jocelyn?"
"I don't know for sure, but it doesn't appear so."
I knew he wasn't lying, with that same unexplainable certainty. Maybe he was right; maybe I did have some strange underlying talent.
"Going back to your uncharacteristic hostility, I believe you are having the same trouble Jocelyn did."
"I'm raw and inexperienced?"
"Indeed. I think that it's slightly different though. From your description Jocelyn sounds a wild character, yes?"
I nodded.
"I think that she just couldn't control her emotions, no matter how she tried. You, though, are just a young witch who hasn't got used to it yet."
It was good to know that I didn't have Jocelyn's freakishly bad temper. Slightly mollified, I relaxed somewhat.
Westley said, "You're tired." It was a statement, not a question. "I'll leave you to sleep." He went to rejoin the others.
He was, as usual, right, I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. If you'd just been told you were a naturally talented witch, I don't think you'd sleep either. Insomnia and big news are never a good combination.
I pondered my situation. I forced myself to believe I was a witch; after all, there was no other even-slightly-plausible explanation, but the strange thing was I didn't know why. I had a tiny knowledge of witches from a paranormal documentary I'd watched long ago, so I knew that you could not just 'become' a witch. You had to have potential, potential that sometimes even be latent talent and cause you to have special powers when you did become a witch. Westley clearly thought that my 'future-vision' was a very strong latent talent, but obviously, this was untrue. I must've had witch potential, but I'd never been aware of it. I racked my brains for any hint of paranormal experience. Nothing. I'd have to think about it in more detail.
When dawn rose I hadn't slept a wink.
I listened to the forest waking up around me. Birds started to sing, cheerful and chipper. Swallows dipped and dived around the sky. A slight breeze roused the trees into a whispering, swaying chorus and chased fallen leaves across the field in a cart-wheeling parade.
After a while, I heard someone shifting in the grass. Assuming it was Westley or Buttercup stirring from their sleep, I didn't look around, at least, not until I heard someone swearing profusely in Spanish. Inigo was awake.
Feeling heartened by the beauty of the nature around me, and having regained a bit of self-trust from the relaxing hours of silence, I allowed myself to roll over and look at him.
He was propped up on his elbows, his hair fuzzy and messy after being laid down. Continuing to curse due to the pain, he checked to see if the others were awake. He looked at me and caught my eye. A wide, warm, genuine smile spread across his face.
Without even thinking about it, I got to my feet, went over, and settled myself down next to him.
"Hi," I whispered.
"Hi," he replied. "How are you feeling? You seemed pretty rough last night. Nobody would tell me anything. It was really frustrating."
I grimaced. "Sorry about that. I asked them not to. I didn't really know what was going off myself. I'm a lot better for talking to you though." I smiled.
He smiled back. "The feeling's mutual."
"How is your stomach?"
"On the mend, I do believe," he said. "It hurt a lot when I sat up though. I was bored with lying down. It doesn't hurt so much now, though."
"Liar," I accused jokily. "You're in excruciating pain. I know it."
He sighed. "Shouldn't really try to lie to mystics, should I?"
I shook my head cheerfully. "Lie down. It'll ease the pain."
I assisted him to lie back down in the grass.
"Am I allowed to know what happened to you yet?" He enquired after a few seconds of gazing at me wonderingly.
"I suppose," I said quietly, laying down in the grass beside him and beginning to recount my tale.
He listened intently with the same absorbed expression I've been told I get when reading The Princess Bride. When I had finished he said nothing for a while, staring at me with eyes as wide as Jack's.
When he finally spoke, he said, "I shouldn't be surprised, really. Your talents have always run a lot deeper than seeing the future. In fact, that pales in comparison to everything else I've noticed about you."
I looked surprised. His expression changed to mild disbelief. "You didn't know?"
I shook my head.
"How you just always seem to know how I'm feeling. How you look at me like you know everything…sometimes it's like you've read the book of my life." I froze and didn't reply.
"I don't want to be a witch," I eventually whispered.
He turned awkwardly onto his side to face me, hissing in pain. Our eyes met.
"I know you don't," He replied. "But maybe one day you won't feel that way. Maybe one day, you will want it. Maybe you'll like it, love it even. You might be the happiest witch on earth."
"Something in your tone suggests we aren't talking about witchcraft anymore." I didn't break his gaze.
"No. Maybe we're not."
We fell silent. After a while his eyes closed and his breathing levelled. I rested my head against his shoulder, wondering how long this could last. What seemed like ten seconds later, although must have been ten minutes at least, his arm snaked over my body and rested on my back.
"You know I'm not really asleep, don't you?" he whispered in my ear.
"Yes," I replied with a smile. "I know."
Author's Note: Finally, are they getting closer? Will Fezzik ruin the moment yet again? Will Isabel come to terms with her new-found powers? What of Jocelyn? Stay tuned!
