The Witch Awakening (Book One of the Landers Saga)

by Karen Nilsen

  I knew Merius had fears about the babe, about his ability to be its father under the circumstances--how could he not? I knew he also struggled to keep his rage at Whitten contained lest it upset me. A couple nights ago, Merius had snuck up behind me and reached around to undo my laces--at the sight of his hands, I yelled and spun around, my fists ready to hit before I realized it was him. Then I dissolved into tears, frightened by the way my body had reacted without conscious will on my part. Merius stepped away for a moment, his hands out as if to show me he meant no harm, his eyes distant. In that moment, I knew he slaughtered Whitten in some enraged vision, as if somehow killing Whitten would erase my memories of his violation and make the babe in my womb Merius‘s get. If Whitten were snuffed from existence, he would be snuffed from my memory, his seed snuffed from my body, and all would go back to the way it should be--that was how Merius felt about it. But he couldn’t act on those feelings, lest the world discover our secret and ruin what chance at happiness we had. So instead, he had quieted me in his arms and then coaxed me to bed, where we briefly forgot all but the near comfort and ecstasy of each other. There had been other moments like that, sudden jabs in consciousness that reminded me that we were both walking on an invisible edge.

  Suddenly, the Landers courtyard gate was before me, starting me out of my reverie. I realized then I had brought Strawberry to a gallop again without noticing it. Exclaiming, I jerked on the reins. My stomach lurched. For an instant, it seemed I would go between her ears and tumbling over her head. Then I fell back in the saddle, gasping for breath. My hand firmly on the pommel, I flung my leg over and dismounted as a stable hand rushed up.

  "My Lady Safire," he said, bowing clumsily. He was one of the young ones, not more than fourteen, his face flushed under an untidy shock of blond-white hair.

  "Thank you." Still a bit disoriented from my mad ride, I patted Strawberry and gazed up at the house. I had intended to charge right in the front door, but now I was here, I remembered Arilea. She would likely come after me again the instant I broached the entryway. And I had no idea where in the house Merius might be. Mordric's study?

  The front door jerked open then and Merius strode out, his face set in a tight, white-lined expression I had seen before--it meant he was either very frightened or very angry or a combination of both. "If I ever see you ride a horse like that again, I'll tie you up," he announced, reaching for my arm.

  I shrugged. "All right, but I won't be much use around the house."

  He ignored my nervous jest. "Perry, take the lady's horse and give it water but no feed," Merius said, his voice curt. "We'll be leaving shortly."

  The boy nodded and turned for the stables, Strawberry in tow. "How dare you?" Merius spat as soon as Perry was out of earshot. "You could have been thrown . . ."

  I turned to face him. "It was an accident."

  "You mean you lost control of Strawberry? I find that hard to believe, Safire."

  "No, not that. I just didn't realize how fast I was going until I tried to stop. I was worried about you--what are you doing here?"

  "Getting our things and warning Father about your dowry."

  "We could have sent Boltan for that."

  "I needed to see Father myself--I wouldn't have trusted merely sending a message."

  "Oh."

  "You shouldn't have come here, sweet." Merius gripped my wrist.

  "You shouldn't have either. What if-"

  Dagmar came racing out of the door then and down the steps. Merius started and pushed me behind him before he realized it was her. She brushed past him, her arms outstretched. We embraced, both of us beginning to cry.

  "Let me look at you," she choked finally, pulling away. "Your color's so much better than it was--you were so pale before, and now . . ."

  "Marriage must agree with me." I held out my left hand, the golden Landers seal band winking above Merius's betrothal ring.

  Dagmar gazed at it. "Why, yours is different from mine. What's this forked tree behind the L?"

  "Merius had it redone--it's how you show the family's in two Houses."

  She sighed. "Well, the work is exquisite, as nice as mine, though it seems a shame . . ."

  "What seems a shame?" I glanced over as two menservants came down the steps, carrying my trunk.

  "Oh, never mind me," she added hastily. "Merius said you're going to Sarneth with him."

  I nodded. "In three days."

  "Oh, Safire . . ."

  I squeezed her hand and bit back more tears. "I know, but it can't be helped. I'll write you often."

  "You'd better. Merius," Dagmar looked towards where he and Ebner were securing the trunk on the pony cart, "said that I should come see you."

  "In Sarneth?"

  "No, silly. Here at home, before you leave."

  "That would be wonderful!" I clapped my hands together. "But can Selwyn spare you?"

  "I don't see why not. It's only a few days."

  I hugged her again before I sprinted over to Merius and threw my arms around him.

  "What is it?" he demanded, knotting a rope around the trunk.

  I kissed his back through his shirt. "Dagmar just said you invited her for the next few days."

  "I thought maybe she could help you." He glanced sideways over his shoulder at me. "And keep an eye on you while I'm making arrangements."

  “Keep an eye on me?” I swatted him. “She’d do better to keep an eye on you--I wouldn’t get in trouble but for you.”

  Merius turned around, his palms coming to rest on my hips. “Is that so?”

  Ebner snorted, then pretended to test the rope holding the trunk when Merius shot him a look. “I think it’s secure, Sir Merius,” Ebner said. “What I’m worried about is this cart--no amount of rope is going to hold it together. You’d best not drive it too fast.”

  At that moment, the two menservants came down the steps, carrying Merius’s trunk. We scrambled out of their way as they lumbered towards the cart. Gasping for breath, the veins popping out in their foreheads, they heaved the trunk up beside mine. The left hinge of the cart gate suddenly gave way, and the gate dropped with a crash. Shadowfoot gave a disgruntled neigh and flicked his tail at the sound.

  “What do you have in there, dear heart?” I exclaimed. “Rocks?”

  “No--books. And coin,” Merius added when he noticed my grin.

  “Books? Did you pack the whole Landers library, sir?” Ebner grunted as he tried to secure the trunk. “This cart won’t hold together five minutes--I’d wager my life on it.”

  “Then you’ll have a short life,” Merius said. “Damn it, Ebner, what are you lifting it for? Here.” He reached for the trunk.

  “I’m trying to tie it.”

  “Not that way--tie it around the sides.”

  “And secure it to what, exactly? This cart isn‘t fit for kindling.” Ebner straightened and ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead.

  Dagmar glanced over the cart critically, her arms crossed. “Why don’t you get the carriage, Ebner? I don‘t think anyone‘s using it this afternoon.”

  “That’s a fine idea, my lady,” Ebner said. “I could drive the carriage, and you could ride Shadowfoot alongside, sir.”

  “I’ll not use the carriage.” Merius’s tone was harsh, the already taut lines of his aura tightening like silver wires on the verge of snapping. “I’ll use this cart or nothing.”

  Ebner and Dagmar gaped at him. “Merius,” Dagmar said finally, “I’m not riding back with you in this rickety thing, and I don’t think my sister should either. I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “It’s fine--I came here in it,” Merius said, and I touched his shoulder to draw away some of the tension, sensing that pewter cast in the air around him that usually meant trouble. “I’ll not be beholden to the Landers for the use of their carriage.”

  “Sir Merius, do you know you look more like your father every time I see you--it’s uncanny,” Ebner remarked, a furtive grin pulling at the corners of his m
outh as he slipped his hands in his pockets.

  Merius gave Ebner a long look. “I should sack you for saying that.”

  “Sir, I’m not your retainer. Only your father can sack me.”

  “Ebner, just secure the trunk. We should have left here ten minutes ago.” Merius paced around the cart, checking the wheels and Shadowfoot’s harness, giving the stallion a pat as he passed him. I silently thanked Ebner for knowing just what to say to distract Merius from his anger.

  “Safire, he really does have a wicked temper,” Dagmar whispered to me. “He drew his sword earlier on Mordric for no reason . . .”

  “No reason?” I hissed. “He has plenty of reason to draw his sword on Mordric. I’m glad for his temper--he uses it to defend me. I’ll never have to fear another drunkard or any other man laying his hands on me again, with Merius as my husband. You should be happy for me.”

  “All right, all right.” She patted my shoulder. “I don’t want to quarrel.”

  “Good, because as much as I love you, I’ll not have you criticizing my husband.”

  “He loves you just as you are, despite your headstrong nature,” she conceded, “and that does make up for his faults. It‘s rare to find a man with such a loyal heart, sister--temper or not, he worships the very stones you tread.”

  I nodded, swallowing as I watched Merius. Ebner held up the gate on the back of the cart as Merius knelt on the cobbles, trying to fix the broken hinge. My heart seemed too large for my ribs to contain it, its beat rocking my body. Merius, I love you. I thought, again and again, the words matching the rhythm of my heart, the rhythm of the earth turning under my feet, my imperfect love somehow reflecting the perfection of the eternal, if only for a precious instant.

  Merius glanced up sharply, his eyes meeting mine as if he heard me somehow in his mind. He gave me his crinkle-eyed smile before he looked back at the hinge. I smiled, then cast my gaze down at the cobbles, shy suddenly. We’d just shared an intimate moment in the midst of this courtyard, and I wondered if anyone else had noticed.

  As Ebner headed back toward the stable, the air grew heavy on my shoulders, and I looked back up. Mordric stepped into the open doorway of the house. His aura hung around him like a thunderhead, lightning crackling in its depths.

  "Merius," he said.

  Merius stiffened. "What?"

  "Are you coming back in here?"

  "I've said what I needed to say." Merius straightened and slammed the gate at the back of the cart, and I winced.

  "All right. Farewell, then."

  "Farewell. Father."

  Mordric remained expressionless, but the shadows across his face darkened. He looked older with every breath. Slowly, he turned to go back in the house. I almost shouted, for I thought I glimpsed a flash of blue-white light against the dim interior, a mocking face, clear as ice, and a high laugh, distant as frosty sleigh bells in the winter hills, reached my ears. Then it was gone.

  Dagmar touched me. I jumped and gave a little scream. "Are you all right?" she demanded.

  I shook myself, still staring as Mordric disappeared through the doorway. "I'm fine. Just remembering that morning."

  She didn't need to ask which morning. "Should I go pack my things?"

  "Probably--I think Merius wants to leave so-o-n . . ." My mouth dropped open, my words stifled in my suddenly tight throat.

  Whitten came around the side of the house nearest the river, his hands in his pockets, whistling an old sea shanty. His eyes on the ground as he kicked at loose cobbles, he didn't notice any of us. My mind raced, my thoughts swirling ever faster as the rest of me went cold and then numb. He had been polite afterwards, I recalled, almost solicitous, tucking the quilt over me. And before, there had been the prickle of his arm hair under my chin as he held me down. It had been almost impossible to breathe, with his arm against my neck and the overpowering haze of whiskey and sweat, and I had gone limp, sometimes unconscious. The mute me, the me who couldn't remember, had endured it, not knowing what he was doing, even as my voice screamed inside and I struggled against him in the prison of my mind. I had been locked in my head while he had his way with my body, a powerless witness to my own violation.

  A cry escaped me as my knees suddenly buckled. Dagmar dropped beside me, her arm going around my shoulders. Whitten's head shot up, the whistle dying on his lips. He froze, his gaze skipping to Merius. The only sound was the metallic whisper of Merius's sword as he drew it from its scabbard.

  "You sotted son of a bitch," Merius said, with no inflection. He sprang forward, light as a cat.

  Whitten took a few faltering steps back towards the corner of the house. Then he realized Merius would head him off that way, and he changed direction, running for the front steps. Merius swore and twisted around in mid-stride.

  "Merius, no!" I screamed as he chased Whitten up the steps, almost on him. "No!" But he was beyond hearing my voice.

  As soon as Whitten crossed the threshold, a gleam of silver came down across the doorway, blocking the path. Merius's blade, which he held before him, glanced off this silver line with a clear ring, and he halted so fast that he almost toppled back down the steps. Mordric stepped into the light, pulling the silver line back in the shadows, and I realized then it was his sword.

  "God damn it, Father--let me by."

  "No, Merius." Mordric was calm, so calm that I wondered if he had rehearsed for this moment. "Go dunk your head in the rainwater barrel--it'll douse your temper."

  "I'm not thirteen and this isn't a fist fight over some girl. If you don't move, I'll . . ." Merius paused, took a deep breath, "I'll fight you."

  I blinked then, my clutch tightening on Dagmar. We were both shaking so hard the whole courtyard seemed to tremble. Praying silently, I looked skyward. As I tilted my head up, I saw the distinct outline of Arilea's white face in the arch of the doorway, snakes of hair dangling over Mordric's head as she reached for him with long, pale fingers.

  Chapter Thirty-One--Mordric

  Merius shifted into a slight crouch, his feet shoulder width apart, his sword at the ready. All the subtle moves I had drummed into him until they were instinctive. His face, not many years past boyhood, was pale but hard, the bones stretching the skin into a look of taut alertness. Nothing would miss him, and he would not back down. The warrior I had trained him to be. Is this what you wanted, bitch? She laughed somewhere overhead, her cold fingers resting on my shoulder. I barely felt the chill anymore.

  "I'll not fight you--you're my son," I said, bringing my sword forward into the doorway, the flat of the blade towards Merius in case he decided to charge again. "But I'll not let you pass, either. You'll have to slay me."

  He blinked, then pointed his sword towards the inside hall, where Whitten had fled. "You don't understand what he's done. He deserves to die."

  I spared a glance at Safire, huddled with her sister on the cobbles. Her gaze met mine, bold but haunted. "I know what he's done. I'll handle it."

  Merius gave a single laugh, a sound of bitter disbelief. "You're the one who let him do it, the one who gave her to him. Yet now you want to mete out punishment--you must think I'm mad, to trust you."

  "It's my place to punish him, Merius. He disobeyed my order. I never meant for him to touch her--I just wanted them married in case she was with your child."

  "Is that what this was all about?" he asked, mocking. "Covering up my mistakes again? Father, out of my way." He lurched forward.

  I crossed my sword with his, stepping sideways to cover the entrance completely. "I'll not see you hang over a fool drunkard. Your honor, even Safire's honor, is not worth your death."

  He raised his sword, his eyes narrow. "What if I hang over you? Is it worth it then?"

  "You speak in anger," I said.

  "God damn right I do. Now out of my way."

  "Fine. Kill me." I sheathed my blade.

  He gritted his teeth and started to bring his sword to my throat. I watched him and waited, not blinking. He had the sword half
way raised when it stopped in midair, the blade trembling. He began to shake his head, biting his lips together, his eyes clouded like an old man's. Then, as if someone had cut an invisible string, his hand suddenly dropped, the tip of his sword hitting the step. "Oh no," he whispered. "No, Father."

  Safire bolted from her spot on the cobbles and came running up the steps. She reached for Merius. He grabbed her to him and buried his face in her hair, his back heaving.

  Look what you've brought him to, the torment you've caused him Arilea hissed. He's barely a man and already he's old.

  You're the one who's made him old. But there was little fight left in my words.

  Perhaps--I had to leave him too soon. It's not all your doing, for certain. She sighed, touched my hair. You seem tired, my love.

  A small crowd was gathering, Selwyn, Eden, a couple servants, all gaping at us. Damn it--at least they hadn’t been there to hear what I’d said about Whitten. Good--the more witnesses, the better. Arilea’s voice had grown clearer--I almost could hear it in my ears, almost sense her lips brushing my neck.

  "Witnesses for what?"

  Can you feel my hand? Icy fingers crept over my shoulder and started down my arm, a light tickling sensation that made all the hairs on my head raise. My muscles loosened the way they had after Safire had touched me at Orlin's cottage, except this was cold, not warm. Like the tingling calm that came before freezing to death. I shook myself, tried to shrug her away, but they were the half-hearted efforts of a man in a trance. This was little but a dream anyway. She wasn't really here--I was imagining her, like all the other times.

  "Stop it. Just stop it," I muttered.

  I'll take that as a yes. She laughed softly. None of your mistresses have ever touched you like this. Her hand closed over mine, her fingers flowing between mine. Though I could feel her, I couldn't get a grip on her--touching her put me in mind of trying to catch spring water in my palm. It felt so real I looked down. My hand had an odd shimmer to it, a haze of icy light.

  "That's because none of my mistresses are dead," I said with great effort.