There's clutter everywhere for children, and lots of them. Toys, boots, and jackets in a dozen different sizes. There’s bedding and pillows strewn everywhere, as though they all fell asleep where they landed at the end of each day. A long table has plates still laid out, ready for a meal that never came, dust covering everything. There are paintings on the walls, simple and crude but full of color and life. There’s a scratching of ink in the corner by the door, barely legible, but scribed in the looping characters of the common tongue.
I murmur, “Pemba… What sort of a name is that?”
The look the witch gives me is enough to flay the skin from my back, another warning of the predator she hides beneath the calm demeanor of a healer. “A strong name given to a firstborn son as wise and as cunning as an owl. You would learn a lot if you were ever so lucky as to meet him.”
She steps farther into the large room and ducks down for a moment to press her hands against the wooden slats that make up the flooring of the hut before striding into the adjoining bedroom. It's far too small for me to follow her, barely big enough to fit the downy mattress within it, and so I stay in the larger room to watch over her from here.
My gaze gets caught on the patch of floorboards she touched. The wood is stained, and it's only on closer inspection that I realize the dark mark is dried blood, and quite a lot of it spilled. Another witch was slain in here, a member of her family dying at my enemy's hand.
The walls of the hut begin to close in on me, the air heating up and squeezing from my lungs until I’m sure she’s cursed me. The thumping of my heart in my chest breaks me out of the spiral, loud enough to stop my racing thoughts and center me in the tiny room once more.
This place is evil.
I snap at the witch, “We’re leaving, grab your trinket, and let's go.”
She ignores me, taking exactly as long as she would like as she moves around in there. A snarl slips out of my mouth when she finally steps out of the room, her face oddly blank and a large wooden box in her hands.
Fixing my attention on the box, prepared to defend myself if she’s finally going to reveal her true intentions, I grasp the pommel of my sword, but she ignores me. Without fear of my aggressive stance, she walks straight past me out the front door, giving me no choice but to follow her.
Reed frowns when she approaches the horses, but she simply rearranges the satchels already tied on the back of Northern Star until she can secure the box there as well, checking the leather bindings three times before she's certain it's secure, then climbing back into the saddle without offering a word.
She’s too practiced at all of this for my liking, too comfortable in the saddle and steady with Northern Star. Everything about her is too confident, as though she knows more about the world than we do and has superiority over us as a result.
Standing before her, I meet her eyes and snap, “You can't take that into Yregar without telling me what it is. You could be carrying in a death curse, for all I know.”
I’ve seen one in action, and I'll never forget it.
Before Kharl had perfected his process to transform the witches into the raving masses we now face, we fought smaller groups with stronger magic. In the weeks after my gravest injuries, the scarring permanent thanks to the aid in my healing, we fought the witches at Yrmar, and they took control of the castle with a death curse.
The witch holding the cursed object rode into the walls, her eyes glowing silver as the magic began to eat her alive. We stood by and watched, frozen in horror and confusion, because she never faltered in her path. Even when her skin began to melt from her bones and screams of agony tore from her lips, she pushed her horse harder until she entered the inner walls.
The moment the curse broke out, thousands died in the blink of an eye, their bodies ripped apart by a blast of power.
We survived only by chance, the outer wall encasing enough of that evil to aid our retreat. Prince Valorys, the Lord of Yrmar, and his forces were killed where they stood within the inner walls as they fought to defend their home.
It belongs to the witches now, at the heart of the Witch Ward they thrive within.
The witch’s face stays blank, and she tightens the reins, guiding her horse back to the path. Reed jerks his hands on his own reins to trot after her, intent on dragging her back before me. “It’s a dress, nothing more and nothing less. I’m bringing it in the box because I don't want it to be damaged on the ride home.”
Tyton and I mount our horses and trot after them, riding quickly to catch up and then matching the witch’s pace. The path is too narrow and too slippery with disuse to go much faster, but I find my skin itching to get away.
Reed mumbles under his breath for only high-fae ears, “Why would she need a dress? Why would that have anything to do with a witch’s wedding? I thought they just dance naked under the moon—“
He cuts his jesting off, possibly realizing that if it’s true, I’ll be forced to do the same.
Tyton cuts through the dismayed silence, his voice echoing with power. “Robes. The Ravenswyrd witches are bound together by the Fates and wear ceremonial robes passed down from Mother to Maiden. The Fates have commanded the Favored Child be returned to us, youmusthonor us.”
I’ll be happy when we're back at Yregar and no longer tiptoeing around the old gods that walk amongst the trees, something I no longer question now that I’m here to feel it for myself.
As we reach the river where the wraith hunted, chased away by the witch’s magic, she pulls her horse up short. “You both still need to fulfill your sacrifice to the forest.”
Reed scowls at her, but I lean down and pull a dagger out of my boot. A quick slice through my palm, and I’m holding out my hand to let the blood drip down on the mossy path, watching as it soaks into the green and disappears. The forest drinks it greedily, the sound of the trees louder for a moment before the witch nods. The forest accepts the sacrifice.
Reed does the same, surly and almost pouting, but when the forest is satisfied, the witch nudges at her horse and directs us back on the path out of this cursed place. How Tyton has fought off the claws of the trees and whatever old gods live here to keep his mind is beyond me. I’d rather face a hundred raving witches with nothing but my sword.
When we make it out of the trees and back to the deadened lands at the base of the Augur Mountains, the peace and calm have left the witch, leaving behind a scowl as she stares into the darkness of the night, the moon lighting our way up the side of the mountain.
“When I arrived at the Seelie Court, I found out the truth of what happened to my parents and our coven. My brother and I were unaware there was a war happening outside of the forest. It protected us well, but Kharl and his forces had centuries trying to figure out a way in…and that day, they did.”
