“You’ve muddled it, child,” the soothsayer said. “You have such power to create change. You have such love surrounding you. True love. Undeniable love. Oh child, why are you muddling it?”
“I—I—my destiny…my mother expects it…I have to do what’s right. To sacrifice for the Healers.” The words felt hollow. When had she lost her conviction?
“Destiny, destiny, destiny, destiny!” The bird was so riled up, flapping its wings, tapping on something in between words.
The Hag pulled away and in a quick flash pricked Hazel’s thumb. A drop of blood welled and the old woman lifted Hazel’s thumb to her lips and ran her tongue over the wound. Hazel stifled a tremor of revulsion. It was so intimate. Too intimate.
“What you believe is corrupted by the desires of others.” She reached into Hazel’s shirt, ignoring any concept of personal space and withdrew the amulet her mother had given her. She spat on it, a mixture of saliva and Hazel’s blood, then rubbed her finger over it. “Child,” the old woman said as she stared down at the amulet. “Do not be led by the desires of others. To be selfless, sometimes you need to be selfish. Destiny is what you make it. It’s never set in stone.”
She dropped the amulet. It thudded almost painfully against Hazel’s chest. The old woman moved back, shuffling slowly until she was once again in her chair.
“A drop of blood from you,” the old woman said to Mahdyia as she waved her closer.
Mahdyia nodded, shifted from her stool to her knees in front of the woman. Her thumb was pricked in the same way Hazel’s had been. Sucked on in the same way too. But instead of talking, the old woman beckoned her closer, so close that Hazel couldn’t hear what was being said, despite straining to do so.
“Pet the bird,” Gilbert squawked. “Pet the bird.”
Hazel startled when the bird landed in her lap, wings fluttering. It pecked at her hand then looked up at her expectedly.
“Oh hush,” Hazel whispered, but complied, running her finger over the bird’s silky head and down its body.
It shivered under her attention, nudging for another round as soon as she reached its tail.
“He likes you,” the old woman said. “That’s a good sign.”
“Promised One,” the bird squeaked. “Pretty witch.”
“Aye, Gilbert, that there is the Promised One.” The Hag winked at Hazel. “But promises are only wishes. It’s in the action that we set our course.”
“Thank you.” Mahdyia was on her feet again, looking a little ashen. With a trembling hand, she pulled a purple feather from inside her shirt and handed it to the Hag.
Where had she gotten that?
“Oh, thank you, dear. This will work wonderfully.” The Hag stroked the feather lovingly, earning a squawk of protest from Gilbert.
The bird flew back to its perch, huffing and cackling as he did.
“Jealous, ain’t he?” The Hag waved toward the bird with her feather. “Hush you. I’ll be getting you some tasty meat in a minute.”
Mahdyia motioned to Hazel. “Let’s get back to the others.”
Hazel stood, then remembered the piece of amber she had from Anne. A stone was better used as a gift than a keepsake, her mother had always said. She fished it from her pocket then held it out to the Hag. “For you.”
The bird fluttered, then swooped toward her, snatching the amber out of Hazel’s hand.
“Hey!”
It flew off before she could stop it and landed on the old woman’s hunched back, the stone in its beak, the bird somehow squawking the whole time.
The Hag chuckled. “Gilbert says thank you.” She waved her hand. “Be on your way girls. There’s an angry wind blowing this direction.” She pushed herself to her feet, Gilbert still on her back and started toward the other side of the cabin
“That sounds ominous,” Hazel whispered as they moved to the door.
Once outside, the wind was indeed blowing. Not as hard as Hazel would expect given the Hag’s words but enough that it sent a chill of foreboding through her body.
“Let’s go, the others are waiting on us.” Mahdyia started down the path, not waiting for Hazel as she marched along.
“Thanks for that, by the way,” Hazel snapped, practically running to catch up with her cousin. “Would have been nice to have a say in the Mystic deal.”
“If I’d told you, you wouldn’t have come,” Mahdyia said over her shoulder, not slowing.
She was right about that. With the exception of the one her mother had sought out at the time of her pregnancy, Hazel had always believed Mystic magic to be one of the more unreliable and easily warped kinds of magic. It was impossible for her to feel it for some reason, one of the few kinds of magic that didn’t sing to her. She had no sense for it and it therefore made her nervous.
“Hey.” Hazel had to jog but she finally managed to tap Mahdyia’s shoulder and stop her from continuing. “Why was it so important that you couldn’t tell me?”
“Because you’re so damn blind, Hazel!” Mahdyia snapped, flashing anger as she turned. “You’re so brainwashed by what your mother has told you that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
Hazel felt like she’d been slapped. She let her hand drop and took a step back. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair? That I’m showing you the truth? That life isn’t all laid out for you like you believed it would be? That there’s uncertainty and choice? That you could make mistakes? Mistakes, Hazel, like walking away from a man who loves you in the name of a destiny you’ve only ever been told is truth.”
“Not this again, Mads—”
“You heard that Hag. You felt her power. I know you did. She knew your prophecy. She had a different take.” Mahdyia crossed her arms. “Tell me you didn’t feel it. Go ahead. Tell me.”
But Hazel couldn’t deny what Mahdyia was saying. She had felt it. Like a rock dropping in the pit of her stomach. She’d heard the truth in the Hag’s words—she just didn’t want to think about what it meant.
“Mystic magic—”
“Oh please!” Mahdyia threw her hands up. “You’ll make any excuse, won’t you? Unbelievable, even when the truth is right in front of you…” She shook her head. “What’s most amazing to me is that you’ll question this Mystic, but not the one your mother sought. Why is that, do you think?”
“Mads…I…” She brushed her hand over her face and through her hair, her mind whirling, making her dizzy. “I just—”
“You want to know what she said to me?” It sounded like a dare, her tone bold, challenging.
Hazel felt that sinking feeling in her stomach again. She was about to say no…that’s what she wanted to say.
“She said—”
The most awful screeching echoed around them, bouncing off the trees, carried on the wind. It whipped and slashed at them, the noise drilling inside Hazel’s head. She covered her ears, darting her eyes all around to find the source.
“What—”
Swooping down from the canopy were the Shadow Banshees, screeching like their evil counterparts. They shot through the forest, intertwining with one another, pulling each other’s hair, yowling and bellowing the most horrid noise.
They ignored Hazel and Mahdyia, seemingly set on wreaking havoc with their voices as they traveled the forest, heading toward where the rest of the Healers were.
“We better get back and find out what the hell is going on.” Mahdyia grabbed her hand.
Hazel nodded. “It’s not good, whatever it is.”
18
The Shadow Banshees were screeching an ear-piercing wail that made Duke’s ears throb. He didn’t have to see them to know that something was very wrong.
“What direction?” Bridget was quickly repacking her bag, motioning for the others to do the same. Whatever they’d managed to wolf down was lunch, no time for anything else.
“North.” Duke had his eyes set on the direction Hazel and Mahdyia had left. “I’m going to find Hazel. Get the ot
hers back on the trail and we’ll meet up.”
Just as he said that, the Shadow Banshees swooped from the canopy, swirling around them as they had before, but this time it was with terror in their voices and anguish on their faces. The shrill sound, the intensity of their emotions sent Duke to his knees, his hands clamping over his ears, as if that could block the noise out. Pain, like a thousand blades stabbing into his brain, distracted him from whatever it was they were trying to tell him.
“Duke!” Hazel was at his side, her hands on his hands, her voice muffled, like he was underwater and she was diving to save him from drowning. “What’s happening?”
The Shadow Banshees circled a few more times, sideswiping him, clearly growing frustrated with his inaction, before they flew back up to the trees and continued their screaming farther into the forest.
The relief at their departure had him almost weeping. He closed his eyes tighter, sucked in a few deep breaths as the pain slowly began to ebb. He lowered his hands and then hugged Hazel. “You’re back.”
“Of course I am.” Hazel didn’t resist. In fact she wrapped her arms around him too. “Why wouldn’t I come back?”
“The Shadow Banshees…” He sucked in a few deep breaths. “Oh goddess.” He pulled away and looked to the others. “We have to go, now!”
“What did you hear? Did the Shadow Banshees tell you something?” Hazel looked confused, much like the rest of the Healers.
“The Storm Hags are in serious trouble. I couldn’t make out exactly what is going on but the Shadow Banshees conveyed their distress. We need to get to that village now.”
“It’s still a half a day’s trek at least,” Bridget said, but she was already moving toward the path.
“That distress call they sent you, Bridget, it wasn’t specific was it? They didn’t indicate what the problem was?” Duke managed to shake off the rest of the trauma from the Shadow Banshees’ wails, hooked his pack over his shoulder and grabbed Hazel’s hand.
Again, she didn’t protest. He looked at her, looked down at their hands and when she didn’t say a word, smiled. He didn’t know what had changed, but he wasn’t going to squander it.
“The distress call came via scrying. It was garbled but clear that they needed assistance,” Bridget said. “There was urgency but not like this—nothing suggesting something so dire.”
“Well, whatever is going on there is bad. Really bad.” Duke felt it like it was woven into his soul. The Shadow Banshees couldn’t use words with him, or a language that made sense, not in the state they were in, and he’d never have understood with the amount of pain they were causing. Instead, they’d conveyed with mirrored emotions. Fear—no, terror. Pain—scratch that—agony, and anger, so much red-hot anger. “This is magic gone bad for sure. We need to be ready for a lot of carnage.”
“What does that mean? Like battle? Active carnage?” Chanda asked, panic clearly lacing her question. “Is it a good idea for me to even be there?”
She was worried about her Chaos and whatever they were going to find. Her emotions whipped at Duke. He couldn’t blame her—chaos begot chaos. She could do more damage if things were out of control there.
“I thought you said you were battle trained?” Bridget asked, disappointment clearly edging her question.
“I am!” Chanda snapped. “But battle training and healing don’t go hand and hand, you know? I’m either battling or I’m healing, not both. I can’t divide my attention like that. It takes all of my concentration to keep my own Chaos under control.”
“You’re going to have to lock it down, Chanda,” Duke said sternly. “Your fear feeds the Chaos, you know that. You’re not a child, you’re a trained Healer. Intern or not, you have spent years honing skills that you will have to call on now. We go into this with eyes wide and magic ready. All of you need to be prepared for whatever may come.” He met the stares of each of the interns, Hazel last, squeezing her hand as he did. “Human witches and their relationship with magic is unpredictable. They don’t always abide by the same laws and rules as we do.”
“No respect for it,” Bas blurted.
“No knowledge of it,” Duke corrected. “Their training comes at the knees of their grandparents and parents, raised on folklore and centuries of trial and error. Grimoires so old that the pages are worn, spells sometimes get lost or mutated because of that. Sometimes they stumble on power that they can’t control. We need to assess the situation, come up with a plan and then work with the humans to make sure we effectively tackle whatever is going on in the safest way possible.”
“I can null them all,” Bas suggested, his words not carrying the venom they had a moment before. “Like what I did with the Fire witch. I could bind them. I’ve never done it on a large group, but I could try.”
“We’ll keep that in our back pocket for now. It’s too unpredictable of a strategy to just throw out there. We don’t want to bind all the magic, including ours and leave everyone vulnerable.”
Bas nodded.
Duke turned back to Chanda. “You got your shit under control? We need you there but if you’re too scared, you’re more of a liability than a help.” He knew his words sounded harsh but when it came to Medic care, mindset was more important than anything else. If they were walking into a battle, he couldn’t have anyone going rogue with wild emotions that would throw him off.
Bridget moved in next to Chanda and whispered something that made her blush.
“Yeah, okay.” Chanda met Duke’s eyes and nodded. “You can count on me.”
“Good, now we’re going to head north, follow the trail until we clear the forest. If I remember correctly, the Storm Hags live in a valley where there’s a deep lake. We won’t be able to see what’s going on as we descend because there’s a layer of fog that conceals it. Am I right, Bridget?”
“Yes, so far so good. I was last here about three years ago. While there’s one main path to the gates of the village, I do know of another route in that is more in line with our current travelling direction. It’ll mean going off path for a bit of hard trekking but I think it’s wise we approach this cautiously. Chanda and I will scout. Duke, can you keep tabs on the emotional side of things?”
“I’m on it.” He turned to Hazel. “Which means I’ll be pretty preoccupied with sussing out the voices in my head.” He winked. “Can you keep the troops in line?”
Hazel widened her eyes, but the surprise passed quickly. “Sure, okay. I can do that.”
“Hear that, suckers?” Mahdyia said. “Hazel is in charge and seeing as I’m her cousin, I’m second in command.” She moved around Bas and Tate, nudging them with her shoulder.
Tate took it good-naturedly.
Bas scoffed then walked toward Bridget. “What the hell, you’re leaving me here with these losers?”
Bridget gave him one of her scathing looks, no words needed.
“Whatever,” Bas scoffed again, mumbling something under his breath as he moved back to join the group.
While everyone else was busy adjusting pack straps and whatnot, Duke took the opportunity to kiss Hazel’s hand, earning a startled gasp from her, her eyes darting to make sure no one saw.
“You sense anything amiss, you call to me, okay? I’ll be within eyeshot and I’m tuned into you as it is, so any spike of concern should rattle me enough to pull me out of my head. But all the same, yell loud, okay?”
Hazel nodded. “Be careful.”
“Always.” He smiled, wanting so badly to lean in and kiss her but instead squeezed her hand one more time before letting go. “Let’s get a move on, witches.”
Half a days’ trek away meant that he really had to work to home in on the village that lay ahead. The fog that concealed it also acted to muffle his intruding magic, but if he concentrated hard enough he should be able to get a read on what was going on, and it would only get stronger the closer they came. The goal was to have a good idea of what they were walking into. Every witch knew the basics of self-defense—when
it came to spell casting anyway. With Chanda and Bridget both battle trained, they had an advantage if there was something more than just illness causing the problems.
The descent was gradual. The trees sloped slightly, leaning more and more in the direction of the sun as they moved closer to the village. The path they were on became less of a path, splintering off in multiple directions until there was nothing left to follow visually. Duke could see how easy it would be to get completely turned around in a forest so dense.
He was zoned in on the emotions. Being an empath meant different things to different witches. For him, he’d always been attuned to feelings. With the way people projected emotions, it was enough to overwhelm him completely if he didn’t have some control over it. He’d learned that as a child, the sensation of being bombarded with people’s shit had him near crazy for the first few years of his life. Inconsolable crying, fits of rage, temper tantrums the likes of which shook the walls and caught the neighbors’ attention. Luckily his mother understood, as an empath herself, what was going on and instead of throwing him in an institution for insane witches as was the norm, she’d patiently worked with him to hone his skill. That’s what made him so rare in the world of Healers and witches alike. Most empaths did go crazy from the intensity of the emotions they absorbed—too much sensation making them lose their minds completely. He was lucky he’d been born into a family of them, Healers all, and some of the most powerful empaths in the country.
Duke had first learned how to block it out completely. His mother helped him, so that when he experienced his first moments of complete silence as an infant, he recalled the sense of peace and hope it gave him. Like a comfort blanket covering him in quiet, giving his mind a chance to heal. It was an unlikely memory for such a young child to remember, but he did because he’d known even as a baby that his mother had saved his life. From then on, as his awareness grew and his maturity progressed, his mother helped him develop techniques for controlling the floodgates of his powers. He rarely left himself wide open. Even with Hazel, when he’d thought she was human, he hadn’t ever been so vulnerable. It was too risky. But opening it just a little usually gave him enough of a sense of the situation. His default setting allowed for a trickle, opened enough to get the drift of what was going on, not open enough to cripple him.
The Witches of White Willow Page 15
