Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series

by Maggie Shayne

  “We’ve been walking for hours,” she said, her eyes intense, probing mine. “It’s nearly dawn, Raven.”

  Nearly dawn? How strange. How very wrong that the sun would rise again now that Duncan was gone. It made no sense, somehow.

  “Dearborne’s following. We must keep moving.” And she started forward again, tugging me into motion.

  My legs hurt, and I glanced down to see that my dress was ripped to ribbons now. I could see bloodstains here and there. Obviously I’d walked like a blind person, through brush and brambles, never moving them aside, scratching my flesh and never feeling the sting. I felt it now. It began slowly, as my brain registered what my eyes were seeing, and told me that my legs should hurt. Then the pain grew sharper, hotter. I lifted my hand to my cheek when that, too, began to pulse, and I discovered a long scratch there.

  ‘Twould heal soon enough. ‘Twas one of the powers we both possessed, the rapid regeneration of any wounds we might suffer. Already, even the faintest bruise caused by my fall from the cliffs would have vanished. These new injuries would, as well. ‘Twas one of the things we all had in common.

  Our other powers were not so easily identified. For they differed from witch to witch, just as they did in ordinary mortal ones. Some were gifted at divination, some at reading the stars. Some were psychic, some in touch with the spirit realm. Some could manipulate the weather, while others could communicate with animals. In immortal High Witches the area of power became magnified, and, Arianna had explained, other magical gifts began to appear, and to grow. She’d told me that some of the very old ones had even mastered shape-shifting, though I doubted the validity of that tall tale.

  My own powers were those of healing, always had been. But the longer I remained in this new form, this stronger, more sensitive, immortal form, the more I realized that my healing magic was only one of my abilities.

  There were more. Many more. Some, I’d discovered aboard the Sea Witch during my crossing. The acute hearing, the enhanced eyesight, and night vision. The ability to scent things, and people. And every spell I had cast since coming here had been incredibly potent, bringing immediate, incredible results. The fertility ritual I’d done for Aunt Eleanor’s old cow had produce a successful mating the very next day, and twin calves, big and healthy. When I’d worked a charm to increase our flock of laying hens, the results had required a larger shed be built for them all! When I wanted a sunny day for Aunt Eleanor, or rain for our vegetable patch, it happened almost as soon as the thought appeared in my mind. And a prickling sense in the back of my neck usually warned me when danger was near.

  ‘Twas there now.

  “He’s near,” I said.

  Arianna stopped walking, turned to scan the woods. “I know. I feel him, too. But I don’t think he’ll make a move when I’m with you, Raven. He knows I—”

  An explosion ripped through the forest, and Arianna stopped speaking and jerked. Her jaw gaped, worked soundlessly, and I cried out as I saw the gaping wound in my beloved sister’s chest, and the blackened edges of the hole in the shirt she wore.

  I reached for her, but Arianna’s eyes rolled and she slumped to the ground. Whirling, I scanned the trees, and then I saw him. Nathanial Dearborne, there among the pines. In his hands he clutched a musket, which stank of sulphur and spewed black smoke from its dark, deadly eye.

  “You bastard,” I whispered. “I’ll not let you take her heart. I will not!” In a heartbeat my dagger was in my fist, and the numbness was fleeing from my body. I may have had no reason to live a moment ago. Now, though, I had found one. Vengeance. “You killed my mother in the name of God, when you’re nothing but purest evil. And I lost my love to the same vile lie. I’ll not let you kill my sister as well!”

  “Sister, is it?” He stepped forward, dropping the now useless weapon to the ground, knowing, perhaps, that should he try to load it again, I’d attack before he could finish the job. He pulled his own dagger from his hip, saluted me with it mockingly. “For now, Raven St. James, ‘Tis your heart I want, not hers.”

  “Then try to take it!” I shouted.

  “Oh, I will. And long before your sister revives to come to your rescue. ‘Tis almost too good. Not only do I get my vengeance on you, but on her, as well. Can you imagine her grief when she wakes to find your lifeless body lying at her feet?”

  “The only corpse to litter this ground will be yours!” I cried, and stepped closer, my blade before me, though my hand trembled.

  He came a step closer to me as well, then another. “I’ve killed hundreds, over the centuries,” he told me, his voice strong, sure. “How many have you taken, Raven?”

  I blinked. He was trying to frighten me, to shake me. And he succeeded. I had never killed. And despite all of Arianna’s training, I doubted my skills now.

  “I could kill you so very easily, so quickly,” he said, coming still closer, then standing near enough so I could feel the heat rising from his body and see the fog of his breath appear and vanish again on the deadly blade he held. “So very quickly, you’d never know what happened.” Then he smiled. “But I’m not going to.”

  I lunged forward, swinging my blade, and nicking his belly before he could jump back. He hooked a leg behind mine as I drew back from him in anticipation of his return thrust. Then he shoved me with his hand, so that I toppled backward to the ground.

  He was upon me in an instant, straddling my chest and pressing me down onto the earth so forcefully that I could scarcely draw a breath. Clutching both my wrists in one of his large hands, he pinned them to the ground above my head. He smiled down at me, a frightening grimace of a smile. “It’s going to be slow, Raven,” he said. “We have time.”

  “Why?” I whispered. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “Puzzle it out it, whilst I do my work,” he told me, and with his free hand, he sliced open the front of my dress, from my waist to my neck. Using the blade again, he parted it, baring my chest, my breasts. Then, the knife still in his hand, he touched me, the backs of his knuckles pressing to the center of my chest. “Right there,” he said. “Beating so fast...so hard. ‘Tis strong, your heart. You’ll stay conscious as I begin to cut it from you, you know. I know how to do it.”

  “Please,” I whispered, a tremor working through me from head to toe. Suddenly I didn’t want to die at all. Not at all, and most certainly not like this. “Please, I’m so young. What good can my heart possibly be to you?”

  “You’re so naive, my dear,” he whispered. “So very young, and naive.” He traced a path on my breastbone with the cold tip of his dagger. “You have immense power in you. Wasted on one with no idea what to do with it.”

  “I...I...”

  “And then there’s vengeance,” he went on. “Always a strong motivator.” He traced the same path again, this time cutting me, but not deeply, just breaking the skin and leaving a bloody outline of the pattern he drew.

  I whimpered. He smiled wider.

  “What have I ever done to you?” I cried.

  “You took my s– You took Duncan. You turned him against me, and now you’ve cost him his life.”

  “B-but he’ll return-”

  “As my sworn enemy! All because of you! Damn you, Raven St. James!” Eyes blazing, he lifted the dagger high above me, blade pointing down.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound never emerged. There was, instead, a soft hissing sound, and then the thud of an arrow driving into Nathanial’s chest. He looked surprised for just an instant, then fell over backward.

  I scrambled to my feet, pulling my torn dress around me and searching the forest.

  The silver-haired Indian man, the one who had given me the fish for breakfast a full two years ago, stood in the distance, his bow in one hand, his black eyes holding mine. My hands went to my face as relief swamped me and tears sprang to my eyes. And my dress fell open again. The man’s eyes lowered, affixed upon my bared breasts, I thought at first. And then I realized that wasn’t it at all. He looke
d at the place where Nathanial had cut me, and his eyes widened as the skin there drew itself together, and mended. I quickly covered myself, but too late. He’d seen.

  And even if he hadn’t, our secret would have been out. For when I turned, ‘twas to see two other shirtless, dark-skinned men in buckskins, leaning over Arianna, then backing away as she sucked in her first new breath with a loud, desperate gasp. Her back arched off the ground, even as the hole in her chest closed in on itself and the younger men’s eyes widened.

  I lunged forward, uncertain what they would do to her. But the silver-haired man touched my arm, and when I turned, implored me with his eyes. Narrowing my gaze, I searched his face. And finally, seeing no ill intent there, I nodded once.

  He in turn raised a hand to the other two, and they picked Arianna up even as she was blinking her eyes open and looking around her. Silver-Hair took my arm, his grip gentle, and the five of us marched away, through the forest. I tugged free once, turning back, realizing Dearborne would revive, that there was only one way I could ensure that he stay dead.

  But the old man met my eyes, shook his head once, and took my arm again.

  “Another time, then,” I whispered. “Another time.”

  * * * *

  His name, in English, was Trees Speaking. In his own tongue, ‘twas impossible for me to pronounce, and my constant attempts only made the other members of his tribe laugh at me as we all sat around a fire that night in their village. Long, narrow buildings all covered in pale bark served as their homes, and it seemed many generations of a given family resided in each one. But the gathering place, which seemed to serve as many purposes as the meeting hall in Sanctuary, was the area around this central fire.

  ‘Twas there we were taken, and urged to sit. The old one spoke in a tongue that was like something ancient and sacred to my ears, and people spilled from their homes and stopped whatever they were doing, to stare at us, with wide, shining dark eyes. In a moment they broke away, running in a dozen directions. A dark, beautiful woman brought cloaks of whisper-soft doe hide to drape gently over our shoulders, while another, a plump young woman with an infant strapped to her back in some ingenious contraption, brought bowls filled with something like stew. Another draped a dress across my lap, and another dropped beads atop it. And one by one every member of this clan gathered round the fire, all seeming to vie for the spots nearest Arianna and me. We kept exchanging glances and shrugging. Neither of us knowing what to expect, much less what to say as they spoke to us in words we could not understand.

  Finally a young girl, perhaps twelve or even younger, began to speak to me in halting English.

  “I know some...white man tongue,” she said slowly. “My name Laughing River.”

  I was surprised at her knowledge of English. And yet should not have been. The settlers were all around these people. They’d be wise to learn their language, and obviously they were that.

  “My name is Raven,” I told the beautiful, sloe-eyed child.

  “Raven?” And when I nodded, she turned to repeat the word to the rest in their tongue. Then turned to Arianna.

  “I am Arianna.”

  Laughing River tilted her head. “Ahhhrrrr. . .”

  “Arianna,” my sister repeated.

  “Ahhrranna.” Laughing River nodded hard and said it again, with authority this time. Many in the circle tried to pronounce the name, but it only resulted in more laughter.

  Laughing River pointed to the silver-haired elder. “Trees Speaking.”

  “Trees Speaking,” I repeated. “‘Tis beautiful.”

  “When Trees Speaking is born,” she told me, and waved a hand toward the towering pines around us, “wind in trees tell all he is Shaman.”

  I tilted my head. “Shaman? What is a Shaman?”

  Laughing River frowned hard. “Trees Speaking tell us you are Shaman, like he. He say you...” She moved her hands trying to express her words, and Trees Speaking spoke softy to her. She nodded hard, and translated. “He say you like him. You walk with spirits. You make big medicine.”

  I blinked, and glanced at Arianna. She lifted her brows and looked at the girl. “Magic?”

  “Yes! Magic!” Laughing River said, nodding hard.

  “Is that what a Shaman does?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked again at Trees Speaking, as I did. And then at those around him. They looked at him with respect, listened when he spoke, seemed to love the man.

  “Then, I guess we are Shamans...of a sort,” Arianna finally said. I heard the relief in her voice, for it seemed obvious a person of magic would be treated far differently here than among the whites.

  “White man fear Shaman,” Laughing River said. And her eyes went sad. “Trees Speaking say white man try kill all who make magic.”

  I nodded. “Trees Speaking is telling you the truth, I fear. They do not understand us.”

  The girl translated, and the old man nodded. Then he spoke again, and the girl smiled. “Trees Speaking say no one hurt you here. Magic sacred, even white woman’s magic. He say you stay.”

  I glanced at Arianna. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I hate to drag them into this. Suppose Dearborne hurts them because of us?”

  Laughing River quickly translated what was not meant to be shared, and to my surprise, the men around the fire burst into laughter. Our eyes must have registered our surprise, because the girl quickly explained. “They laugh because they know one old white man no threat to them. They warriors, Crow-Woman.”

  Crow-Woman? I supposed it might be close to “Raven” from her point of view, but....

  “No white man harm you here. Our warriors fierce. Strong.” There was pride in her voice.

  Trees Speaking rose from his cross-legged position on the ground and smiled down at us. “Show me,” he said, very slowly, eyes narrow as he struggled to put the words together properly in his deep, raspy voice, a voice like the wind he was named for. “Show me...your way...your...magic?” Then he touched his chest, patted it three times. “I show you my way, my magic.”

  I looked at Arianna and blinked. A sparkle appeared in her eyes. “There are many, many kinds of witches, Raven,” she whispered, “and not all of us use that particular word for what we are. Some call themselves Druids, some monks, some holy men.” She glanced at Trees Speaking. “Some Shaman. He could teach us a great deal, I think.”

  Looking back at him, I recalled the way he’d watched me—perhaps, watched over me—when I’d spent that lonely night in the woods so long ago. “Why not?” I replied. “We have nothing to lose.”

  A flash of sadness clouded her eyes, but she turned to Trees Speaking and nodded. “Yes. We’ll stay. Thank you.”

  Trees Speaking smiled broadly. And so we stayed.

  * * * *

  We spent well over a fortnight at that Iroquois village, sharing knowledge and esoteric wisdom with Trees Speaking. And I realized that Arianna had been right. There were many kinds of witches. He was practicing virtually the same belief system we did ourselves. We only called it by different names. Trees Speaking told us of the sacred importance of the circle, and how he worked within one when making medicine. And we told him we did the same. He spoke of calling upon the Divine spirit residing in things like the wind, and the water, and the earth itself, and we marveled at that, for we had, as well. He told us how the basis of his power was his belief that all life is truly linked together through a common source, and again, we were awestruck.

  But there was more Trees Speaking taught us. Things we hadn’t seen or practiced before. He taught us to hear what animals might be telling us by watching their movements and picking out signs and omens. He taught us the medicinal uses of many plants and herbs native to this land and growing wild within its forests. And perhaps, most amazingly of all, he taught us the secrets of invisibility.

  I thought the man insane when he brought this up with us, but he only smiled, and, through Laughing River, explained. One doesn’
t truly vanish. One simply becomes so attuned to his surroundings that he blends into them, and onlookers don’t see him there. He demonstrated this by hiding and asking us to search for him. When we did, we couldn’t find him anywhere. But then he spoke, and we turned and saw him clearly, standing with his back pressed to a tree trunk. He insisted he’d been there all along. So we listened and practiced and learned, and tested our newfound knowledge by games of hide-and-seek with the villagers.

  Each night Trees Speaking would whisper some of his beautiful words to me before I retired to a place of honor in his family’s long-house. He would move his hands over me and chant. And he told me he was working to mend my broken heart, for he could see it clearly in my eyes. Truly, my time there helped me far more than anything else could have done. By immersing myself in learning about these people and their ways and their magic, I was able to go on living. But the pain of losing Duncan remained fresh and strong in me. I thought it likely always would.

  Finally we had to move on. ‘Twas riot planned, nor even thought through. But we knew ‘twas time to leave when one of the young men returned from a journey bearing meat and furs aplenty, and bringing news that shook me to the marrow. He spoke it to Laughing River, and her face paled, eyes widened. She turned to me, and I saw moisture spring into her shining eyes.

  “Crow-Woman,” she said. “Bear Killer say white women...die. Many, many killed.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand. What white women? How were they killed, and why?”

  She lowered her head. “White man say they like you. Shaman. Witches. Lock them up and kill them.”

  My stomach convulsed, and my lips pressed tight as if to stop it.

  Arianna’s face went stony. “Where?” she asked.

  “If you go they kill you, too!” Laughing River cried.

  “Where, Laughing River?”