Aida clambered to her feet, shoving at the wild mane of her hair to see the woman better herself. Stooped with spine twisted, she wasn’t much taller than Aida, though larger still and sturdy even in her seemingly advanced years. Aida did not question the idea the woman was far stronger than she appeared, wouldn’t doubt it even if the others hadn’t given her such a wide berth, fear and disgust painted on their faces. Odd, that, given what the men looked like.
“You wonder why they hate me so when I’m no uglier than them. It’s because of what I am, girl.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a witch.”
“I asked who, not… what. Unless…?” Aida ground the tip of her boot into the dirt, her pursed lips angling to the side as a line formed between the dark lines of her brows. Feeling foolish, her hands began to wring, leaving her wishing for the lengths of silk and lace to hide them in.
Face darkening, the deep lines of cheek and brow collapsing in on themselves, the old woman came closer with a sprightliness Aida didn’t expect, snatching her arm to keep her still though Aida didn’t try to back away. Eye to eye, Aida began to worry she made some offense.
“My name is Marilsa.” She breathed the name at Aida, the thin edge of her lashes almost meeting as she squinted at her.
“I am Aida Vertia.” Glancing at the others, she saw the baffled smoothness of their faces and caught Rhyn’s hand coming up toward his ear, his dancing eyes murky with an emotion she was all too familiar with. Stark fear.
“I do not speak the name I was once given, yet I tell you it. I’ll not give those blundering oafs that power. However, a true exchange should be given for such a prize. That is not your name.”
“He said the same, but I know of no other. I swear it!”
“That, I believe,” Marilsa murmured, giving Aida’s cheek a rough pat with her gnarled fingers. “Who is this man you speak of? Not Rhyn Lirkinson. He’s far too stupid.”
“You said names have power, and it is not mine to give you,” Aida said, pulling her lips tight and hoping she wasn’t being foolish yet again.
Marilsa laughed, and it was not so dry and twisted. It was a belly laugh of true humor, given as her hand gripped Aida’s arm in something less than cruelty but not friendship. “Oh, you’re not as simple as you look! I like this. Come then, tell me the name of the one whose power still seeks to darken your light. It is not the same. Otherwise, your soul wouldn’t be torn so.”
“My soul,” Aida squawked, snatching her arm back to stumble away from Marilsa.
“What are you doing to her,” Rhyn shouted, charging forward to grab Aida and shove her behind his bulk, a physical barrier between her and the witch that, no doubt, would fall.
“No, please stop! I am well. I just… she surprised me is all.” Aida tugged at Rhyn’s arm, trying in vain to pry his fingers from her.
Marilsa sneered, the crooked blackness of her teeth laid bare as she planted her staff, squaring off with Rhyn as he growled in response.
“Otaso! His name was Otaso!” Aida shrieked, twisting in Rhyn’s grip.
For the reaction the name gave, one expected an explosion, something of fire and hailing rock, not Marilsa’s narrow-eyed snarl or the stupefied wonder of the others. Rhyn’s hand went slack, releasing Aida to fall on her backside with a puff of dust that made her cough. The grimy dust coated her tongue, bitter and dark.
Aida did not understand the tears scalding the back of her eyes, but she scrubbed them away. Climbing back to her feet, she scurried between Rhyn and a tight knot of his men, putting herself well out of their reach.
“This true, Rhyn Lirkinson?” Marilsa demanded in a hiss.
“How am I to know? You’re the witch here, not I.” Rhyn swept a curt palm at Aida, his brows knitting as he addressed her with lips curled as if tasting something foul. “That who you’re worth more than gold to?”
“We’ll take her to the border. He’ll find her there.”
“You can’t really think to take her back,” Miyenth said in a faint squeak. “He’ll come after you. Doesn’t matter another had her first.”
“He’s dead!”
The silence was deafening. They all stared, making Aida squirm. Her fear of the unknown sluiced through her veins with jagged ice, tearing her asunder as her feet began to slide across the hard-packed earth, carrying her away from the looming threat they presented. In that moment, Aida realized she was all alone. There was no Er’it to snarl and bark at others who came too close, to give her that sense of safety that no true harm would come to her. Beginning to tremble, she sent a frenzied look at the beckoning woods, the promise of safety in their crooked paths luring her closer.
Otaso’s warnings began as a whisper, taunting her. They grew louder as her heart slammed in her ears, silencing Rhyn’s moving lips, deafening her to Marilsa’s words. They would hurt her, do unspeakable things to her… but not kill her. No, for she would provide far too much sport for such an end. She’d wish it by then, though not for some desperate need to save Er’it but to end her own misery.
It was with her guardian snarling his darkest words from the dungeon that she turned and sprinted toward the tree line. Ignoring their shouts and the thumping of so many running feet, Aida paid no mind to the thorny branches catching her hair and slapping her face. Raising her arms and squinting to protect her eyes were the only concessions she made as she bolted through the darkening canopy. Trunks grew more twisted, blackened, looking as if they were charred by some great fire, though the leaves overhead hissed in abundant green glory.
Darting through every narrow breach and slumped passage, she evaded them. Surpassing panting to wheeze, her lungs worked like bellows to pull in air that would not come. Feet stuttering through the jumbled weeds, her toe caught on a deformed root hidden under layers of sifting decay, her arms pinwheeling as she flew toward the ground.
When she fell at Marilsa’s feet, Aida couldn’t even scream. Heels and hands digging into the fetid duff, she crab walked away from the old woman and the inky tendrils licking around her. Dull and sullen, the lightless aura hissed and rattled. Marilsa’s laugh formed of rank power. Aida shook her head in denial of what she saw and continued to deny it even as Marilsa went to one knee with the aid of her staff to lay a dry, coarse palm on Aida’s crown.
