Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches)

by Maggie Shayne

  Beyond the dagger, I had only the drawstring sack my mother had given me, all my worldly possessions tucked away inside. Armed with a crudely drawn map, and pitifully few coins, I set out at dawn on the day after the Sea Witch had docked, bound for Sanctuary. My new home.

  I rode on narrow paths, amid forests of such grandeur I’d never seen their like. The trees towered to the heavens, their trunks incredibly large. I marveled at the natural beauty around me, the forces of nature I could feel thriving in this place. There was great power here. I sensed it the way an animal can sense the approach of a storm.

  After riding for an entire day, I estimated my journey to be nearly half complete, and stroked Ebony’s neck, praising her in soft words.

  The dampness that coated my palm and her gentle nicker told me ‘twas time to stop for the night. “All right, girl. Time you had some rest. And me, as well. Though one would not think I should feel so tired when you’ve been doing all the work.”

  The mare snorted as if in agreement, and I glanced at the area around me. Truly, there was little here. Woods that might be the home of giants towered on either side of me. Ahead, there was only the dim outline of a well-worn dirt track, and even that vanished a short distance away as the sky turned dusky with twilight.

  Sliding from the mare’s back, I gathered the reins in my hands and went very still, closing my eyes, listening to my instincts to tell me which way to go. ‘Twould be far from wise to camp beside the road, lest some ne’er-do-well come upon us in the night. Besides that, Ebony needed water. She’d last drunk at midday.

  Softly I scented the breeze, waiting, listening. And my senses did not let me down. I could hear the trickle and splash of a stream off to the left. Moreover, I could smell the water.

  I glanced at Ebony and realized I needn’t have bothered. She smelled it, too, and looked eagerly off toward the woods in that direction. “Come on, then,” I told her, and led her off the trail and into the darkness of the forest.

  It took a long while to find that stream. It seemed we walked a mile, though it could not have been that far. But surrounded by the lowering darkness and towering trees, I felt the full extent of my solitude here more than I had since leaving the ship at Boston Harbor. I was alone, in a strange, new land.

  And yet, not quite as alone as I might have been. Somewhere in this New World was Duncan Wallace. And I wondered if he might be staring in awe at the virgin forests, or gazing up at the same purple sky. I wondered if he thought of me.

  Ebony tugged at her reins, and I glanced ahead to see the stream, wide and bubbling like an excited child. I released her, and she trotted to its bank and bent to drink from its crystalline waters.

  Hands on my hips, I inspected the lush grasses here. “‘Tis a good spot,” I told the mare. “Tonight, we’ll sleep right here.” Using the length of worn and fraying rope the liveryman had given me, I picketed Ebony in a spot where she could reach both the sweet grasses and the water. Then I tossed my bag on the ground to use as a pillow. My cloak would be my blanket, the grassy ground, my bed. 'Twould do quite nicely.

  A twig snapped in the woods to my back, and I stiffened, turning to look around. I saw nothing, but for the first time I wondered what sorts of beasties might roam these woods. Large ones, if the size of the trees was anything to go by. I’d not expect an animal to harm me unless I provoked it. A witch is in tune with nature, and its creatures, and I’d come to believe that even wild animals could sense that and know instinctively that I meant them no harm. But these might be new creatures, animals with which I’d had no experience.

  A rustling sound came then, and I forced my brain to calm, my senses to open. Slowly I moved toward the center of the place I’d chosen as my camp for the night and stood there, still and silent for a long moment, letting my eyes fall closed and my breathing slow, and lengthen. Opening my mind, I sensed the intense energy of the earth drumming beneath my feet, and instinctively I crouched down to place my palms flat to the ground, the better to feel it, to absorb it, and fall into harmony with the forces moving here. Then, after a moment, I rose again, gradually unfolding my body until I stood upright. Tipping my head skyward, opening my arms to the heavens, I let the energies of the sky above me flow into me.

  When I felt the familiar sense of being in perfect harmony with all around me, I lowered my arms to my sides and opened my eyes, feeling confident again that nothing in nature would harm me here.

  And then I saw him, peering at me from within the trees, so much a part of the forest he nearly blended into it. But once I’d spotted him, my eyes focused, and he became clearer and clearer to me. A dark skinned man, dressed in animal hide all adorned with beads. His long hair hung in streaks of dark and light, and his eyes were very dark.

  I’d heard talk of these natives of the New World. Indians, they were called. Or savages. ‘Twas said they murdered and raped at their pleasure, and took the scalps of their white victims. A chill of unwelcome fear slithered up my spine as I held his gaze with mine.

  He did not move. Nor did he look particularly savage nor bent on my murder. In fact, he seemed natural there, in the woods...as if he belonged there. As if he were even more in tune with his environment than I could ever hope to be.

  And then I realized...this was his home. It had to be his home. The sense of that came to me too strongly to be a mistake. I’d simply walked in without knocking and decided to spend the night without an invitation.

  Licking my lips, rather nervously, I said, “I’m sorry if I have intruded. I’d like to sleep here tonight. If ‘tis all right.”

  He remained as he’d been before. Perfectly still, unblinking. Just watching me. It occurred to me that he might not speak my language. So I spoke to him with my hands, as best I could manage. I pointed to myself, then folded my hands beneath my head, closing my eyes to indicate sleeping, and then pointed to the ground. Looking back at him, I waited.

  He nodded, just once, and so slightly I might have mistaken it. I should thank him, I realized. But how did one make a sign for “thank you”?

  Perhaps a gift. Kneeling, I opened my pack, searching my mind for something to give the man to show my gratitude and friendship, and finally found the small piece of glittering amethyst that I’d salvaged from my plundered home. But when I glanced up again, the man was gone.

  I went to the spot where he’d been, but saw nothing, and the woods were so utterly undisturbed, I might have imagined him.

  But I hadn’t, had I?

  I didn’t think so.

  Kneeling, I placed the stone on the ground, then returned to the grassy bank where my pack awaited.

  I had a single biscuit in my pack, saved from my last dinner aboard the Sea Witch. I ate half of it, washed it down with water from the stream, and then lay down upon my pack, beneath my cloak, and slept. I dreamed that another man watched me from the shelter of the woods. A beautiful man whose face, it seemed, would haunt me until I died.

  My nose woke before the rest of me. It twitched and sniffed and smelled something that made my stomach rumble. Then warm sunlight brushed my eyelids open, and the first thing I saw was food. Something golden colored and fragrant, resting on a slab of bark very close to my face.

  Blinking and wondering vaguely if this was a dream, I sat up, grabbed the bark, and looked more closely. It was a fish! Coated in something and cooked...still warm, in fact.

  “Who in the...?” I turned my head, scanning the woods around me, but saw no one. But it had to have been the Indian man I’d seen the night before.

  I ate the fish eagerly, closing my eyes at the heavenly taste. And when I finished, and licked every crumb from my fingers, I leaned back, sighed in contentment, and muttered, “Savages, indeed. That man is kinder than many a white man I’ve known. Don’t you agree, Ebony?”

  The mare only looked at me. Getting to my feet, I gathered up all my belongings once more, making ready for the second leg of my journey. But before I left that place, I crept into the trees where
I’d seen the man the night before and looked for the stone I’d left him.

  The amethyst was gone.

  Nodding in approval, I mounted the mare, and we meandered out of the woods, to the trail, and began our long trek again.

  And again, we traveled all the day through. I hadn’t expected it to take so long and, in fact, hoped to arrive at Sanctuary well before dark. I ate my remaining half biscuit, stale and crumbling now, at midday, and thought fondly of my delicious breakfast. But the trail seemed endless. Nightfall came, and still hours went by.

  I was quite weary, and terribly hungry, when I finally rode into a small settlement with muddy paths running between a handful of small log structures more roughly built than any I’d ever seen before.

  “Hello, mistress,” a deep voice called.

  I turned in the saddle to see a heavy man with whiskered jowls and curious eyes.

  “Elias Stanton is my name,” he said. “I be the town elder. What business have you in Sanctuary?”

  “This is Sanctuary?” I asked, my heart sinking. I should have been glad, I suppose, that my journey was finally at its end. But this place was hardly what I’d expected.

  The man’s eyes narrowed on me, and I realized my tone might have offended him. “I hadn’t realized I had come so far,” I amended. “My name is Raven St. James.” I saw no reason now to use a false name. My aunt would wonder why, if I did. “I am looking for my aunt, Eleanor Belisle. Do you know her?”

  His bushy dark brows drew close. “I know her well,” he said, and I sensed a grimness settling about him. “Have you traveled far, then?”

  “All the way from England. My ship only arrived at Boston two days past, and I rode from there.”

  At that his frown changed to one of disapproval. “You traveled alone? Spent a night on the road? Unchaperoned?”

  I’m afraid my chin lifted a little, when I likely should have assumed a humble and apologetic posture. “I had little choice, sir.”

  “Well now, such impropriety will not be tolerated here, mistress. You might learn it now as well as later. Unmarried young ladies do not go about—”

  “I am not unmarried,’’ I blurted. And my own words surprised me, for I had loathed liars for as long as I could remember. Yet the man’s attitude reminded me so much of the arrogant priest who had murdered my mother that I could not help but wish to take precautions. “My husband died, during our crossing.”

  “You’re a widow-woman, then,” he said. His gaze roamed down my body, to my slippers, and up again. And I did not care for the shadow that darkened his eyes. Nor for the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.” ‘Tis still unwise to travel alone, mistress, but at least not quite as scandalous.”

  “I am weary, sir. My journey has been very long. Pray, direct me to the home of my aunt before I fall from the saddle.”

  “Ah, yes, your aunt. I’m sorry my news is not better,” he said. “But your aunt has been taken ill. A physician came from Boston, as he does once in the month, when the roads are passable. He examined her and said there was nothing to be done.”

  “What ails her?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

  “Old age,” the man said. “Her heart has worn itself out. She’s all of fifty years, you know.” He shook his head sadly. “But ‘tis good that you came. She needs caring for, being so far from Sanctuary proper. ‘Twill be good for her to have you there.”

  “I'll go at once. If you’ll just—”

  “Yes, yes. Follow this road, mistress. It runs along the coast, all the way to the very tip of the peninsula. High on the cliffs above the sea is where she and that man of hers, God rest his soul, built their cabin. Though the good Lord only knows why. ‘Tis no more than two mile.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I snapped the reins lightly, and the mare, though likely as weary as I, lunged forward. Perhaps she sensed this journey’s end was at hand. Or perhaps she simply found the little man as distasteful as I had.

  I found the cabin just as the man had said, on the cliffs, with the mighty sea and its waves crashing below. But unlike Elias Stanton, I saw immediately why my aunt had chosen this site. I could envision no place more magnificent. Surely the gods themselves would gladly place their thrones along such majestic cliffs, while far below the rolling power of the sea paid homage.

  The log cabin was humble but neat. And there was a crooked shed, which housed a cow and some hens, though the cow looked as if she’d been neglected of late, her ribs showing, her bag swollen. Though ‘twas fully dark, no light shone from within the cabin. But of course, I could see quite sharply in darkness by now.

  I took Ebony into the shed, relieving her of saddle and bridle, and rubbing her down as best I could with a rag that hung from a peg on the wall. Quickly I gathered hay from the small stack outside, and a pail of water from the well for her, and for the poor cow as well. And then I took up my sack and went to the cabin.

  The door creaked as it opened, and I stepped inside to see a frail form hunched in a rocking chair beside a dwindling fire. I moved closer and softly whispered, “Aunt Eleanor?”

  The graying head came up, turning slowly toward me in the dim room. The dying fire was the only light, so I stepped closer that she might see me better, and knelt beside her chair. “Aunt Eleanor, I am Raven, the daughter of your half sister.”

  Her parched lips parted, and her eyes widened slightly. “Lily’s girl? You be Lily’s little girl?”

  “Yes, Aunt Eleanor. Lily’s little girl.”

  “Saints be praised,” she whispered, and tears brimmed in her clouded eyes. “Oh, mercy, child, I thought I would never live to see you.” She opened her arms, and I embraced her. Her thinness made me wince, but though weak, she squeezed me tight. Sheer joy gave her that strength, joy at seeing me. A welcome I’d neither expected nor hoped for...from a woman who was all that remained of my family.

  Family.

  All at once so much emotion rose up inside me that I could scarcely speak and my eyes burned with tears. She would never know what such a welcome meant to me. Never. But I’d be grateful for it all my life. And I hugged her back just as firmly, though with great care.

  “You’re not to worry anymore,” I told her. “I’m here now, and I’ll care for you.” I sat away slightly, and kissed her careworn cheek. “You’ll be well again soon, Aunt Eleanor. I promise you that.”

  And, of course, she was.

  I pampered my aunt in every way I knew. By day I took long walks in the woods, finding, growing wild in this lush land, many of the herbs and roots that would help her. I never told her of it, of course. My mother had warned me to trust no one, and though I was certain my dear aunt would never intentionally bring harm to me, I was equally certain it was best I never give her the means to do so. I seasoned the meals I prepared for her with the natural remedies for her weakening heart and made teas of the tonics I brewed. Hawthorn berries and devil’s claw. Valerian root and chamomile, and wild garlic.

  By night I performed quiet rituals over her bed as she slept, calling on all the powers of the Universe to aid in restoring her health. And of course, my magic was effective, though not as dramatic and shattering as it had been that night in Duncan’s cabin aboard the Sea Witch. Never once did I feel the surge of power I’d felt when I’d called down the power to heal Duncan. Never once. And I wondered why.

  I thought of him often. Mostly when I lay alone in my bed at night, wondering what would become of me. Would I live alone for all eternity? Would I ever stop seeing the longing in his deep brown eyes every time I closed my own?

  In between struggling with these unanswerable questions, I milked and cared for the cow and the hens, so that we had fresh milk and eggs aplenty. More than we needed, in fact, so that each day I would ride into town and trade the excess for other goods. Vegetables and game and freshly caught fish. Good for my aunt’s health, all of it.

  Within a week of my arrival, Aunt Eleanor was strong enough to walk outside in the sunshine for a few mi
nutes each day. Within two weeks she was gaining weight again, and the color had returned to her cheeks. After a month she was vigorous enough to supervise me as I planted a vegetable garden near the house. And at the end of my second month in Sanctuary, she was helping me gather eggs and nagging at me to take her to the Sunday meetings in the settlement.

  I did not want to do this. The very idea of another clergyman, like the evil one back in England, glaring down at me with judgment in his eyes made me feel ill. And though this small church was no part of the Church of England, I was reluctant. But there was really no choice. I had to keep my secret, and attending services was necessary if I hoped to do so.

  Since my arrival, no one had come to call on my aunt Eleanor, and I was quite happy to have it that way. People asked after her, of course, when I made my excursions into town. And each time I was asked, I would say that Aunt Eleanor was improving, and that we were fine and in no need of assistance. When they remarked that they hadn’t seen me at the Sunday meetings since my arrival in Sanctuary, I replied that I dared not leave my aunt alone for that long.

  I truly thought I was handling things well, and discreetly.

  But when I walked beside my aunt into the meeting hall that first time, I knew that I hadn’t. There were gasps and exclamations at the sight of my aunt’s rosy cheeks and shining eyes and renewed vigor. And for the second time in my life, my neighbors began looking at me with suspicion in their eyes.

  * * *

  Duncan worked like a mule, pouring himself fully into physical labor. And not just to help his friends, though he told himself that was the reason. He was trying to make himself forget. Forget her and the brief flirtation with madness he’d suffered while he’d been ill aboard that ship.

  But no matter how hard he worked, she haunted him still. Her eyes, gleaming black and full of mystery and promise. Her lips, full and tasting vaguely of honey as they moved in delicious, erotic response against his own.

  It hadn’t been real. He told himself that again and again as he worked by Samuel’s side, sawing timber, building a cabin, hunting and fishing, and tilling the soil. Cutting firewood, harvesting vegetables.