Key to the Journey (The Chronicles of Hawthorn, Book 2)

by Rue

  She looked up to catch a glimpse of the Guiding Stars and give herself some sense of direction in the creepy darkness. The branches of the trees were woven together and the leaves fluttered exactly the right way to block out all notion of a sky.

  A rustling in the underbrush brought her attention crashing back to earth. The thin moon had not yet risen and could offer her no help in identifying the source of the sound.

  A low growl brought sharp prickles to the skin on the back of her neck and a fluttering of fear to her gut.

  She couldn’t spend the night on the ground, but the lowest branches of the birch trees were at least the height of a moa above her head. So, she slipped off her belt and wrapped one end firmly around her left hand. She passed the remaining length around the trunk of the tree and wrapped the other end of the belt around her right hand. Now she simply needed to lean back, place her feet on the trunk of the tree, and walk up while sliding the belt. She had seen the village boys do it a hundred times.

  THUNK! The pain in her skull radiated in waves. Her foot had instantly slipped and launched her freckled forehead directly into the solid wood.

  The next growl sounded sharper—and closer.

  She dropped the leather belt and kicked out of her sandals. The sandals went into her satchel and she repositioned the belt for another try.

  A twig snapped.

  Her bare feet stuck to the tree and she inched upward. The climb stole the last drops of energy from her limbs, but she could now see the lowest branch.

  A snarl and a flash of movement below caught her eye and urged her upward.

  The muscles in her arms were burning. She needed to climb a few more inches…

  Something large hit the tree and she nearly lost her perch. She leaned back and flung her leg over the nearest branch. Slipping one hand out of the belt, she worked the numb hand up and over the limb—kicking and squirming until she finally got herself on top of the branch. She struggled up a few more feet, straddled another thick branch and wrapped her arms and legs around the trunk.

  Three or four more hits shook the tree, but Hazel kept her balance.

  A series of distant yips and howls sent whatever battered the base of her tree crashing through the underbrush in search of easier prey.

  She exhaled. Silent tears spilled down her freckled cheeks and mixed with the sweat of terror on her skin.

  She was lost in Dreamwood Forest with a day’s water and possibly two days’ worth of food. Hazel remembered that Pounamu had been very clear about eating anything from the forest, “Never eat food that grows within the boundaries of the forest. Once you have partaken of his fruit you may never leave his limbs,” the witch of the wood had said.

  Hazel took a tiny sip from her waterskin and considered releasing her hold on the tree so she could tap her fingertips together—it always helped her think.

  She cautiously switched her position to lean her back against the tree and she managed to wrap her belt around one of her legs and the branch she straddled. It wouldn’t hold her forever, but it would keep her from falling to her death if she ever managed to find a way to sleep.

  She tapped her fingertips together and blinked back her tears—no point wasting any water. She made a mental list and decided she must find water. In the current rainy season she imagined that even through the tightly woven leafy canopy of a magickal forest—a little rain must fall. She rationalized that rain did not technically come from within the boundaries of the forest, so if she could catch some rainwater, she might survive.

  She put food out of her mind and focused on getting sleep.

  The low growl returned and a wide-eyed Hazel dreaded what the sunrise would reveal.

  The mouth-watering smell of mango stuffed sweet bread wafted into Flynn’s room. She opened her eyes and rubbed the sleep from the corners, noticing a cup of water that had not been on her cluttered beside table when she fell asleep. Flynn smiled and stretched one arm toward the gift. She could not remember the last time her mother had checked on her in the middle of the night. In fact, she usually she did all of the cooking in the cottage, too, so it took her a moment to process what she smelled. “Nana!”

  Flynn rolled out of bed, nearly tripped on the clothes strewn about her floor, and yawned her way down the short hallway to the cozy kitchen.

  The full-figured Hawthorn matriarch, Nana Kapowai, bustled around the hearth and lifted the lid on her heavy iron oven pot to check on the rolls. She nodded, smiled, and replaced the lid.

  “Nana, what are you doing here?” Flynn rushed across the bare wood floor, stubbed her toe, and caught her grandmother in a clumsy hug.

  Nana Kapowai ignored the stumble and returned the embrace threefold. “Your mother tells me we have something to celebrate, my little witch.”

  She nuzzled into her grandmother’s thick grey braid and mumbled, “It’s true. I’m a witch.”

  Nana caught her granddaughter’s face in her weathered hands and tipped Flynn’s chin toward her own prominence. “I knew the Goddess would smile on you one day, I knew it.”

  Flynn smiled on the outside, but inside she doubted the truth of her Nana’s claim. No one had believed in her except Hazel—a simple fact. As soon as she finished eating the sweet rolls Nana had made, she would run over to Hazel’s, apologize for being a terrible jealous friend all summer, and share the good news.

  Kahu walked into the room wearing a beautiful yellow dress that Flynn had never seen before. The sunlight streaming through the unshuttered windows caught the fabric and the whole outfit seemed to glow.

  “Mother, you look amazing. What’s the occasion?” she asked.

  “Can’t a girl wear a pretty dress for no reason?” replied Kahu, without making eye contact.

  Nana snorted and mumbled something under her breath, but made no official comment.

  “What? What’s going on?” asked Flynn.

  “Tell the girl, she’s old enough to know,” prodded Nana, as she set plates on the table.

  “I’m going away for a few days,” said Kahu.

  “Oh, all right,” replied Flynn. The warm feeling of appreciation waned and the feelings the self-doubt quickly surged in to fill the void.

  “No, it’s not like that, Flynn. I’m going on a little trip, with Cabot. He’s my—we’re taking a boat up to Zingiber Sound to see if we can catch some blue crabs.” Kahu fiddled with the hem of her dress, and looked more like a teenager caught in a lie than a High Priestess.

  “What about my father?” asked Flynn, coldly.

  Kahu’s eyes snapped to the stubborn set of her daughter’s chin. “That is a lifetime ago for me, Flynn. I don’t even know that man’s name. He spoke another language—he’s beyond the mist, sweet child. Would you have me wither and die alone?”

  “But why Cabot? He’s one of the teachers and—oh, it’s so embarrassing. Can’t you find someone else?” Flynn sat down and leaned her forehead on the table while she sighed loudly.

  Kahu walked over and took her seat at the table as she replied, “He’s not one of your teachers anymore, Flynn. When I return from my short journey I’ll be refreshed and ready to teach you everything you need to know about becoming a High Priestess.” She reached across the table and rubbed the back of her daughter’s head.

  “I might have a thing or two to add to that training, Kahu,” offered Nana. She wrapped a thick piece of woolen cloth over the handle of the iron oven pot and set it on the stone hearth. Fresh waves of syrupy sweet roll scents filled the cottage when she removed the lid and placed the rolls on a wooden platter.

  The luscious aroma lifted everyone’s spirits. “Yes, please.” joked Flynn.

  The three generations of Hawthorns tucked into their breakfast with murmurs of satisfaction.

  Flynn let a thick stream of sweet viscous nectar drip from the honey dipper onto her roll. The delicate moment of perfection could not last.

  “The people need to believe in you, Flynn. That’s why I let your initiation test result
s stand. Being a High Priestess isn’t always easy—the decisions aren’t light and shadow, right or wrong. You’ll have to learn to listen to your inner voice and find a balance within yourself.” Kahu smiled at Nana Kapowai, who nodded affirmatively while she chewed.

  Flynn had never had any trouble listening to her inner voice. Her inner voice had been telling her what a huge, cursed disappointment she’d been for as long as she could remember. Getting her inner voice to give her special High Priestess insights might be more of an issue. “I don’t think I’m ready, Mother. I think it would be better for me to stay in the levels and train with Hazel.” Flynn nearly whispered the last word.

  “Hazel! Hazel, Hazel, Hazel. For years I’ve listened to your blind allegiance to that girl. She is skilled, Flynn, but she is not Priestess-trained. She does not understand the Way of the Wand.” Kahu’s hand landed firmly on the table.

  “Watch your temper, Kahu. Flynn does not know what lies ahead.” Nana ran her fingers down the length of Flynn’s shiny black tresses and smiled wistfully. “You have a great burden to bear, my little mokopuna.”

  “And also a great honor,” Kahu quickly added. “You will be the first heir to the wand to receive your rank without bearing a daughter. The youngest High Priestess in the known history of Aotearoa.”

  Flynn could feel her shoulders slumping and her back bending from the weight of this responsibility. “Will I have to get one of those?” She pointed to the intricate chin tattoos on her mother’s and grandmother’s faces.

  “To receive this moko is an honor reserved only for a High Priestess, Flynn.” Kahu rubbed hers reverently.

  “But the chisel—the shark’s tooth—the hammering…” Flynn swallowed audibly, “What if I can’t stand the pain?”

  Kahu stood up quickly and her eyes flashed fire. “The pain of this is nothing compared to the agony of bearing an ungrateful child!” She swept from the room in a swirl of yellow fury.

  Flynn looked at her grandmother and shrugged her shoulders. “What did I say?”

  Nana Kapowai took a long measured breath and leaned back in her chair. “She suffered deeply to get you, Flynn. Did she tell you?”

  Flynn thought about the stillborn infants, the brothers with names, but no lives, and nodded.

  “Did she tell you of the love she had to forsake?”

  “No.”

  Kapowai nodded and sat silently for a long time. “At the tender age of fifteen, she fell deeply in love with a young boy named Hauatia. A kind and gentle boy, but a Watcher.”

  Flynn nodded knowingly, the stigma of being a Watcher still fresh in her mind.

  Nana Kapowai poured a little more papaya juice into her cup and continued, “She bore the burden of the eighth daughter, destined to bear the daughter that would save Aotearoa. She could not sacrifice the future of her people on the whim of love. I forbid the bonding.” She took several deep breaths and a sip of her juice before she continued. “Hauatia said he could not live without her. He took a boat from the docks beside the fish market and paddled out into the Aniwaniwa. He may have gone over the precipice at Aura Falls or he may have drifted into the mist when he reached the Tangaroa Sea, but either way, she never saw him again—in this land. He is beyond the veil now, in the sleep where there is no turning.”

  “How awful.” Flynn had never been in love, but she understood the strong emotion of caring deeply for another person. She wouldn’t want to live in Aotearoa without Hazel—not ever.

  “Your mother lost a piece of her heart that day. She focused on her training and kept her emotions buried. When the time came for her to wear the mask of the Earth Mother in the Spring Rite, she did so without hesitation. She never asked who wore the mask of the Sky Father, and she never wanted to be bonded to any of her partners.” Nana adjusted her position in the chair and leaned toward Flynn. “Five times, my sweet child—five times, and nothing, but loss and disappointment. Now, she can finally catch her breath. You are fit to take the wand and she has fulfilled her duty to this land.” Nana leaned back and rubbed the fading tattoo on her chin.

  “I’m scared, Nana. I want to take my place in the Grand Coven, but I’m scared. Up until a few hours ago everyone thought I was cursed, or actually a Watcher. I didn’t grow up using magick like all the others. It’s brand new, and it doesn’t work like yours and Mother’s.” Flynn blinked back tears of frustration. “I wasn’t trying to be ungrateful, I just need more time.”

  Nana Kapowai rose from her chair and buried Flynn in a warm hug. “If I could give you more time, sweet child, I would, but time is running out and the sun will not hold its place for any woman—not even you.” She released her hold on Flynn and pulled her up from her chair. “Now, go and tell your mother how happy you are that she is taking a trip with Master Cabot.”

  Flynn scrunched up her face and felt the morning’s sweet roll flip and swish in her belly. “Yes, Nana.”

  She walked toward her mother’s room and slowly pushed open the door. She saw her lovely, young mother unpacking her satchel.

  Kahu did not look up when her daughter entered.

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” Flynn fiddled with a lock of her own hair and continued, “I want you to go on the trip with Master Cabot, I mean, Cabot.” An idea bubbled into her brain. “I’ll take care of things while you’re gone and when you get back we can talk about keeping me in the levels to train. We’ll both be refreshed, right?”

  “Are you attempting to manipulate me, daughter?” Kahu’s voice held a hint of pain, but she covered it with a good-natured grin.

  “A little,” replied Flynn, through a hesitant smirk.

  “I’ll agree to your terms, partially.” Kahu refolded the items she had pulled from her satchel and stuffed them back inside the worn leather bag. “A lot happened today, for all of us, and I think this bears further examination. I’m not saying yes, I’m only saying I will hear your petition, when I return.”

  It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it wasn’t a “no.” Flynn hurried to her mother and squeezed her in a desperate hug. “Thank you, Mother.” She buried her face in her mother’s soft yellow dress and added, “But please don’t kiss him, all right?”

  “Oh, Flynn!” Kahu ruffled her daughter’s hair and chased her out of the room.

  A sharp knock at the door caught Flynn’s attention—sure it would be Hazel, she ran to the front of the cottage and flung open the door.

  The towering form of Cabot, Master of Protections, filled the doorway. His shimmering blonde hair fell loosely about his shoulders and the muscles of his chest stretched the fabric of his thin linen shirt.

  She wanted to say; “Good morning, Master Cabot,” but his casual dress and the loose hair made her words catch in her throat. Flynn made a strange half cough, half groan sound and ran to get her mother.

  Kahu hastily said her goodbyes, hugged Flynn, and rushed out the door, slamming it a bit loudly in her wake.

  Nana Kapowai chuckled and put a kettle into the hearth for tea. “He’s a strapping young man, isn’t he?” she teased.

  Flynn’s warm brown skin went from a tinge of pink to beet red. “Nana!” She turned to run to her room, but another boisterous knock on the front door stopped her in her tracks.

  She took a moment to smooth her hair before she walked to the door. “Did you forget—?”

  “Hazel’s missing,” Po blurted out before the door opened an inch.

  Flynn glanced back at Nana Kapowai and saw her grandmother occupied with kitchen clean up. She stepped outside and closed the door softly. “What do you mean ‘missing,’ Po?”

  The story rushed out of his mouth like water from a spring; the eavesdropping, the Grand Coven’s decision, his running to tell Hazel, Hazel’s riding off to Dreamwood Forest—

  “What?” Flynn shouted. She glanced back at the cottage, shook her head and pulled Po farther from her home. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

  “She went to get help.” Po exhaled in frustration and contin
ued, “She told me to tell you, but not to tell anyone else. I saw you last night, but I couldn’t get you away from your ma.”

  “Are you sure she’s not at home?” Flynn hoped that Po had overlooked something or missed a detail, like usual.

  “I came straight from her house. Her ma said she didn’t come home last night and must’ve spent the night with you.” Po shrugged. “She’s not with you, right?”

  Flynn tapped Po hard on the forehead. “No, she’s not with me, fool.” Her first instinct was to run off and find Hazel, but the new feelings of closeness with her mother and her growing sense of responsibility for all her people gave her pause. Flynn turned and paced back and forth in the dew-damp grass hoping a plan would come to her, but Hazel was the one who always came up with the best plans. She wished she had one of Hazel’s great plans right now; instead Flynn’s plan would have to work. “All right, here’s what we’ll do…”

  Po liked the plan and raced off to take care of his part.

  The sun had barely inched across the sky when they regrouped behind the moa nursery.

  Flynn arrived with her satchel slung across her chest and a regal falcon perched on her left forearm. The bird wore an intricately sewn red and black hood with matching red anklets and a streaming black jess tied to each anklet.

  Po joined her, leading his moa, which carried a bundle of dry kindling, food, and extra waterskins. “What did you tell your ma?”

  “She’s on a trip, with Mas—she’s on a trip, and Nana is napping. I left a note about going to visit Pounamu and getting back in a couple days. I’m sure she’ll be all right with that,” said Flynn, mostly trying to convince herself.

  “And Hazel’s ma?” he asked.

  “I told her that I invited Hazel to come with me and she was in the stable getting our moas ready. Because of the incident last spring, she didn’t believe me right away, but when I showed her Hazel’s clothes in my satchel she gave me a packet of dried eel and told me to be careful.”