by Wendy Koenig
Laurence blew out his candle and whispered, “Stay quiet or else you’ll disrupt the energy.”
Fiera gave a single nod, though she knew he couldn’t see it. She kept her gaze on the tableau in the center of the barn.
Facing north, Gwen raised her candle, speaking loudly. “I present this candle in the name of the Mighty Ones, past and present, male and female. May power and blessing descend upon this place and those gathered here.”
She lit four more candles—Fiera thought they might be light blue or green, but it was difficult to tell in the dim light—none as big as the first, and placed one in each direction of the compass, outside the circle of stones. “I call upon you, Lords of the Watchtower, Lords of the Earth, Sky, Water, and Fire, to witness our rite and guard over our circle.”
With that, the other witches came from the south and joined her around Marie. Gwen drew the tip of her sword mere inches above the stones in the circle, starting in the north. “I conjure the Circle of Power to be a boundary between the world of men and the realm of the Mighty Ones.”
Goose bumps tingled across Fiera’s skin as the power in the room built. She glanced at Laurence, now able to see him dimly from the light of five candles. His face was flushed and he stared at those within the circle with rapt attention, his eyes shining.
The witches in the center of the circle, men and women, spaced themselves equally as Gwen took the position to the north. They all closed their eyes, seeming to concentrate, some with hands toward Marie and some muttering softly to themselves.
Fiera’s own magic hungered to enter into the circle, to be part of the wheel of power, and, if not for Laurence’s hand on her arm, she would have joined them. No doubt to the ruination of the rite.
After a moment, Gwen raised her hands, her eyes still shut. “Oh, Mighty Ones, Lords of the Watchtower, heal Marie’s body. Flow your energy into the wounds. Heal her torn flesh and bind her pain. Oh, Mighty Ones, heal your child well. This we desire. So shall it be.” She fell into silence, once again joining the others in meditation.
Fiera felt her own magic expand and leap outward from its containment within her. Always a murky noise in the background of her mind, the voices of the animals that had been moved from the barn now became clear as if they were in congress right next to her. She felt her hair change color, of its own. She’d never felt it do that before.
Twice more, after a time of meditation, Gwen repeated her spell on Marie’s behalf. With each incantation the power built within the barn until the air felt electric with it. Fiera could only imagine how strong it was within the circle.
By the time the witches filed out of the southern end of the circle, Fiera could clearly hear the thoughts of every animal in the city. Not only that, but she could single out a thought and follow it back to the individual. Her skin felt like it was alternately on fire and then doused with cooling rain.
“Wow,” came Laurence’s voice from beside her.
She turned and found him appraising her, his gaze roving up and down her, stopping at her hair. Self-consciously, she reached up and twitched a lock of it into her eyesight. Red. No surprise there. She supposed she’d have to change it back to brown when she’d decide to go among normal people again. It was all right for now, though. She raised her chin, suddenly very proud of being a witch.
But, the way Laurence kept looking over her made her glance at her clothes. They were still the same: torn and disheveled. Unnerved, she looked away from him to find Gwen approaching. The tall woman had the same look, although much more tired, as Laurence. She reached out and ran her hand down Fiera’s hair. “Beautiful.”
Gwen stepped back and also looked Fiera up and down. Several others came up behind her and stared. The tall witch said, “Let’s go into the house and get something to eat. My servants will have cooked.”
She reached out to slide her arm around Fiera’s waist, but Fiera moved away. “I’m not leaving Marie.”
The tall woman smiled. “You’re a faithful friend. Mind the candles, but don’t go near the circle. I’ll be back in a moment. Then we can talk about what terrible thing happened in your past.”
Chapter 6
Bartheleme arrived at his father’s Chester home in the dark between midnight and dawn. They’d ridden straight through, disregarding those they passed when warned about thieves. Really, what was there for a dragon to fear? He almost relished a chance to let a little blood. Sadly, they’d reached the city gates unmolested.
Sitting in one of the heavy walnut chairs, he gazed around the lamp-lit great hall. His father had arranged it much the same way as the war room in the castle. More chairs, such as the one he sat in, lined the walls with thick tapestries hung between.
In fact, heavy everything was everywhere. The place felt small, too small for a dragon of his stature, but it was comfortable and he liked it. Instead of less, it felt like more. More comfort. More peace. More freedom from prying eyes.
His father’s agent entered the room and bowed. “Your Highness.”
Bartheleme waved his hand languidly, playing the role that would be his in a few centuries. “What is it?”
The fat man straightened, his calculating eyes meeting gaze for gaze. “No one has seen the two witches, My Prince.”
“Not yet. But they’re here.”
“Yes, Sire. That is certain. We will find them.” His air of conviction was absolute and Bartheleme trusted his father’s agent would not fail the mission, knowing who the next king would be.
Bartheleme nodded as the fat man bowed again and left the room. The man was good at what he did. He had his own agents who, in turn, had those who worked for them. It was a net that would cast wide enough to catch one specific kind of witch. One who could expose the dragons’ deepest kept secret.
His father’s agent returned a few moments later, a robed woman beside him. Dark hair spilled from her head and down her back. The fat man bowed and said, “Sire, this woman brings news of the girls.”
Bartheleme waved the agent away, stood, and approached the woman, who seemed to shrink within herself the closer he came. She was breathing hard and a fine sheen of perspiration covered her skin as if she’d hurried to share her news. He smiled as an encouragement. “You may feel comfortable here. We’re all friends.”
She curtseyed and he felt his smile deepen. There would be many such meetings with informants when he assumed the throne. The agents wouldn’t be his father’s, but his own. She said, “They’ve come to the meeting place. It’s a barn behind the parish wife’s home. One of the girls was badly injured. We prayed for her.”
He glanced over her head at the fat man, who nodded, confirming he knew the location. Bartheleme returned his attention to the woman. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. You need concern yourself with this no longer. Your service will be remembered.”
“Bless you, Sire.” The dark-haired woman blushed, bowed, and backed out of the room.
He turned to the agent and said, “We leave now. Get all the men you have.”
****
Alone, Fiera walked to the edge of the circle and stared down at the body of Marie. The girl was still pale as death, her tiny chest not seeming to move with her breathing. The only obvious indication she was still alive were the occasional twitches of her fingers.
The candles burned in their assigned places, sending a heavy wax smell into the air, surrounding Fiera in the halo of their light. She lowered to the ground, as close as she could to the circle without touching it. She sent her own small prayer into the void of what she assumed must be the spirit world. “Mighty Ones, I’m new to you, as is Marie. And I know that’s probably not her real name, but it’s the only one I have for her. She’s just a child, and so much bad has happened to her. Please, please, please heal her.” She didn’t quite know how to end it—her parents had never prayed with her—so, she just said, “Thank you.”
Beside her, Gwen reappeared out of the gloom. She handed Fiera a plate of steaming
vegetables and meat, and then settled beside her with another plate of her own.
Fiera picked up a piece of meat with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. It took no effort at all to chew and savory broth coated her tongue. She recognized the light musky flavor right away from her parents’ table: lamb. The potatoes were braised: crunchy on the chopped edges and soft in the middle.
She motioned toward Marie and the circle. “Is it always like that? So powerful?”
Gwen shook her head, swallowing a bite. “Oh, no. We had our strongest healers inside. The need was great and, it seems, the Mighty Ones favor her.”
The tall woman looked over at Fiera. “They favor you, as well.”
Confusion filled Fiera. A spark of fear, too. What had she gotten into? Who were these Mighty Ones? Would they hurt her? “I...I don’t understand.”
Gwen sighed. “I’m sorry. This is all new to you, isn’t it?”
At Fiera’s quick smile, the parish wife continued. “Food and drink are not the only nourishments our bodies need. We also need companionship, happiness, and love. Without any of these our bodies begin to suffer. You lacked food. Your body shows obvious signs of starvation. But, that wasn’t all you lacked. As witches, we also need to be surrounded by magic. When we aren’t, it leaves a physical manifestation on us.”
She paused to see if Fiera was following. At her nod, Gwen continued. “At my door, tonight, you showed clear indications of being near death, yourself. Your skin was thin and sallow. Your eyes were clouded and deep-set. Your cheekbones were pronounced. But, it’s not so now. Your color is better and your skin looks fuller. Only one thing happened between the time you entered my home and now: magic. So, I ask you, what terrible thing happened in your past?”
Fiera blushed. It was true that during the fullness of power from the circle, her hair had returned to its natural fawn red. She looked at her arms. The skin looked more rosy than yellow. She even thought that her wrist bones didn’t stick out quite as much, either. But had it really been enough of a change to warrant Laurence’s reaction? And Gwen’s?
She swallowed hard at the meat that had become tasteless in her mouth. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “One day, when I was a child, a wagon rolled past our door, a large crowd following. In the wagon was tied a woman who looked just like me: red hair and green eyes. The crowd jeered and threw stones and waste at her. She was covered in manure, bruises, and cuts. She saw me and stared. That’s when a large rock smashed against her head, killing her while she held my gaze. My family decided, that day, that it would be safer for me to never leave the house again. They told everyone I had died. They even had a funeral.”
Gwen nodded slowly, her eyes filled with compassion. “You thought you saw your future in that poor woman. So, you’ve lived without magic all these years. Locked away because of it. That explains everything. You poor, poor girl.” She pulled Fiera into an embrace and held her for a long moment.
Eventually, she pulled away, wiping her eyes, her voice thick with emotion. “Tell me how you ended up here, with Marie.”
Fiera told the tale of her parents’ deaths and how she’d run from her home, met Captain, rescued Marie, and befriended Efar. She didn’t tell about Efar’s griffin; that was his business if he wanted anyone to know. Then, she told of the werewolf attack.
Gwen asked, “This young man, Efar, has gone in search of your horse?”
Fiera nodded. “Efar will find him. He knows how much I care for Captain, even though the horse can be difficult at times. He saved my life.”
Gwen paused, then said, “Witches usually have familiars who help them. They’re sometimes demons, but often animals. It sounds like your horse is yours. And your young man seems to be more than just a traveling companion.”
Fiera’s face heated, remembering Efar’s kiss and his naked body. It was too embarrassing to face her new friend. She glanced away, but not quickly enough.
Gwen chuckled. “So, it’s true then.”
The whole thing with Efar confused Fiera. How was it that Efar’s slightest glance warmed her from the inside out? That she still felt the trace of his finger on her cheek and she’d wanted to lean into him, even though she’d pulled away? That his kiss still burned her lips? How could she explain any of this, especially when Laurence’s attention had done nothing for her? She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Laurence rushing into the barn, several acolytes behind him.
His words came out in a rush. “Gwen, there’s a large contingency headed this way.”
****
Efar crawled out of the mere and fell onto his back, staring at the sky. The stars were disappearing; dawn wouldn’t be far away. Rolling over onto his side, he watched the shadow that was Captain. He had no troubles seeing the animal, his eyesight enhanced by the creature within him. Here, between the green growing trees, where the sun could warm the soil, grass grew lush and long. The horse ripped it by huge mouthfuls, often tearing the roots out of the ground as well. His long ears swayed flat out on either side of his head in a very undignified manner, and Efar suspected the horse had water in them.
Without looking at his human counterpart, Captain began walking east, jerking up the grass as he went, so that his front hooves almost clipped his jaw with every bite.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Efar jumped to his feet and ran after him. “Stop! At least let me get on. Then we can collect clothes and some kind of bridle along the way.”
When Captain didn’t stop, Efar reached for the horse’s withers, preparing to vault aboard.
In a snap, Captain whipped his head around, ears flat back against his skull, grass tumbling from his wide-open mouth, and thick, crushing teeth reaching for Efar’s bare chest.
“Hey!” Efar jumped back, covering his chest with his hand, mostly to reassure he’d escaped unscathed. It’d been a close call; he’d actually felt the horse’s whiskers brush across his skin. “I saved you! Without me, you’d be warming in a dragon’s stomach by now.”
Like a switch had been turned off, Captain returned to his grass-ripping walk.
Efar kept pace. “I can’t walk the whole way. The forest will tear up my bare feet. I can fly, but if anyone sees you alone, you’ll be captured again. Is that what you want? Do you even understand me or am I speaking aloud to myself?”
He stopped and stared, frowning, at the determination of the horse. After a moment, he called out, “Fiera’s not where you left her. I had to move her and Marie.”
Captain stopped dead at that, still facing the direction he’d been going, chewing on his most recent grass clump, a big ball of roots and dirt hanging out of his mouth.
“Oh, so you can understand me, you devil.” Efar nodded and sauntered up to the horse’s face, wagging his finger. “You don’t know where I’ve taken them. You need me, don’t you?”
The horse laid his ears back and swished his tail, but didn’t offer to bite or kick.
“Okay. Since we’re both trying to get to Fiera and Marie, we’ll have some rules. First, you’re going to play nice.”
Captain’s tail swished harder and he stopped chewing. The mud lump fell to the ground, partially ground grass still attached.
“Second, you’re going to let me ride. Is that clear? And, you’re going to have to listen to what I say, or we won’t get there at all.” Efar paused to be sure his words sank in. Then, he boldly gripped Captain’s withers and lifted himself onto the horse’s back.
Immediately, he felt the horse’s hip shift as he kicked right to where Efar had been standing a few seconds before. His statement was clear: he didn’t like any of the rules.
“You couldn’t quite help yourself, could you? That’ll be the last of it, or we might as well part ways now.”
Slowly, Captain’s ears lifted from their plastered position against his skull. He waited quietly beneath Efar.
“I see we understand each other. Let’s go back to where that fellow fell off the dragon. It’s not to
o far away. Some of his clothes should fit and, hopefully, he’ll have the rope they led you with.”
With a final tail swish, Captain turned south. They traveled for only twenty minutes before they found the body of the fallen thief, his head horribly twisted at an impossible angle.
He dismounted and wiped horse hair from places that none should ever be. Then he inspected the thief’s body.
The clothes were, of course, too small for Efar.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. There were no more clothes where they’d last camped, not that Captain would tolerate going even further out of the way. He eyed the angry, eating horse, who was slowly putting distance between them. Whatever did Fiera see in that animal? His estimation of her patience grew.
He shook his head and returned his attention to the problem of his clothing. Running his hands along the thief’s beltline, he found a short dagger. Fingering the blade proved it was dull, but it should be sharp enough to cut thread and cloth. He smiled and bent to his task.
****
Fear gripped Fiera at Laurence’s words.
Gwen pointed to two robed men. “Help me move Marie to one of the bedrooms in the house. Laurence, hide Fiera in the loft. The rest of you bring in the animals and cover the floor.”
Everyone jumped into motion at once. Laurence snatched Fiera’s hand and pulled her toward the loft ladder hidden against the front wall. As they climbed Fiera looked over her shoulder. Gwen was muttering a soft prayer over Marie. When she finished, she walked the circle, blowing out the candles. For a brief moment, they were surrounded in darkness. Fiera stopped dead, her breath echoing off the barn wall in front of her. Then light grew in the great center of the barn as lamps were lit and hung on the supporting posts around the edges. When Gwen placed the last one, she looked up at Fiera. “It’ll be all right.”
Fiera hesitated and then nodded. She would trust Gwen in this. After all, her new friend had been doing this whole witch thing for a long time. She continued her climb. As she reached the top of the ladder, she looked down again.
