“They gave you Gumdrop,” Magnus said fondly. “He’s the sweetest gelding we have.”
Gumdrop nuzzled Magnus for a sugar cube, like the terrifying monster he was.
“Good horsey,” I whimpered as we plodded into the forest. I clung for dear life. Maria, who’d dressed in trousers for our expedition, sat her horse with the air of an expert. She raised a single eyebrow as she passed by. “You mustn’t judge me,” I hissed.
“Aye, but I must,” she replied.
Always, as we passed deeper into the highlands, I waited to sense Rook’s presence, fearing and hoping that he would appear.
Maria took the lead. She could read the details of the earth with almost preternatural ease. We would often pause so she could interpret how snow dusted a particular tree trunk, or the direction in which a broken branch had fallen. Even Magnus was impressed.
“If it’d been up to me, we’d have circled round the same tree five times, made camp, and then listened to my heroic war stories for two hours.”
“Now, now. I’m sure you’d have gone on for more than two,” I said.
“I do love how you support me, Howel.”
Then, two days after leaving the camp, Maria held up a hand. “Listen,” she said. We all came to a standstill. “Do you hear it?” she whispered. I strained my ears but detected nothing. There was no sound, not even the soft plop of snow as it sloughed off branches and onto the ground. Dismounting from her horse, Maria took an ax from its place by her side. It was not her old ax, the loss of which she still mourned, but it was something. As she crept forward, Magnus and I exchanged worried glances.
“What should we do?” Magnus murmured.
“Hush up!” she whispered.
Ahead of us, a flash of gray cut across the sunlit snow. Gumdrop stamped his hooves, which meant I gripped fistfuls of his mane to avoid being flung to the ground.
The trees began whispering, as if they moved of their own volition. Voices soared on the wind, snatches of words here and then gone again. Forms came and went, visible only from the corner of my eye. I tried to catch sight of the figures while I reined in Gumdrop. Maria and Magnus turned in circles, until something moved from behind the trees.
At least a dozen forms appeared, all of them swathed in gray. They were faceless and nondescript. Maria and Magnus drew closer—Magnus even took Gumdrop’s bridle, which I appreciated.
Some of these gray figures held daggers, while others went empty-handed. They did not raise their weapons to fight us—that was one good thing. But the power of something ancient flowed through the trees and around us.
“Who are you?” Magnus pointed his stave at one of the figures. It removed its cowl and pulled the gray cloth mask from its face.
The figure was a young woman, about my age. She’d wild, curling black hair and blue eyes. She was nearly as tall as Magnus, and she held herself with a kind of ease that indicated she’d never worn a corset. She looked from one of us to the other, her face unreadable—that is, until her gaze latched on to Maria. Both girls gasped and took a step back.
“Fiona?” Maria whispered. She clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Maria!” the black-haired beauty cried. They raced into each other’s arms. Fiona was half a head taller than Maria. Both crying, they hugged tightly.
Then they kissed one another, a kiss explosive in its passion. Ah. Clearly their closeness was more than friendship. Maria was not so alone in this world as she’d feared.
“Apparently they’re, er, allies.” Magnus raised a hand in greeting to the figures around us. “Well, hello.”
“Keep your hands at your sides,” one of the gray figures barked. It was a woman’s voice that spoke, and she lifted up a crossbow, a feathered shaft already aimed at Magnus’s heart. The black-haired girl, Fiona, released Maria.
“Stop! Gemma, stop it!” she cried, holding out her arms. But the overall fear from the figures around us remained palpable.
“Perhaps allies is too strong a word,” Magnus amended.
Gumdrop blustered and stomped his hooves, while I prepared to unleash a small show of my firepower. All right. Nothing too drastic, simply a display of strength; the witches might listen then. Of course, I’d have to get off Gumdrop first, then—
Oh no. I pictured being away from the horse on the other side of the trees, and then that certain frisson went through my body, which meant my porter runes were—
Gumdrop screamed as we transported. The horse bucked beneath me, and I felt myself lose control. We reappeared in the middle of the witches, who jumped out of the way. Gumdrop kicked, and I went flying out of the saddle.
My head collided with the tree first. That was all I knew.
* * *
—
“WAKE SLOWLY, NOW,” A FEMALE VOICE said. Groaning, I opened my eyes and found a blurry image hovering above me. My vision shook violently for a moment, but then she came into focus. Fiona again. “Lie still,” she said. “The worst should be past.”
I felt something cool touch my head. Water trickled down my temples. Closing my eyes, I grunted as Fiona made me sit up. “Shouldn’t sleep yet. We must make certain that head wound isn’t more serious.”
“Where are the others?” Rubbing my eyes, I leaned forward and put my head to my knees. Something felt wrong—my waist felt too light. With horror, I realized that Porridge was not at my side. Panic flared over my skin as I clutched the space at my hip where the stave ought to have been.
“Calm now. Nothing’s happened to your stave.” Fiona knelt before me and squeezed my hands. “They want to make certain you won’t hurt anyone. That’s all.”
My stave wasn’t all that was missing. I realized why the cloth of my gown sat heavier on my legs. “You took my petticoat,” I muttered. Fiona stirred a wooden cup and nodded. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Aye. Elspeth wanted you all to stay right where you are.”
It seemed that porter runes were more widely recognized than Mickelmas thought. Then again, my spectacular job of teleporting about on horseback had to have raised a few witches’ eyebrows. Fiona handed over the cup. “Drink.”
“What’s in it?” I sniffed, but it smelled pleasing enough.
“Willow bark for the headache, cherry for sweetness. You’ll like it,” she promised.
All I could picture was Eliza drinking what Maria—rather, Willoughby—gave to her. I put the cup back down, while Fiona sighed. “I won’t poison you, girl. I’d never harm a friend of Maria’s.”
That I could believe; their kiss had not been faked. “Can you take me to her?”
“Drink, and I’ll take you.” Fiona spoke with a mother’s tone. At least, that was what I imagined a mother to sound like, someone nurturing yet stern. Taking a breath, I did as she said. Wonderful heat flooded me from head to toe, and the nauseous dizziness evaporated. Even my shoulder felt better. I handed the cup back with a sigh.
“You have no idea how good that feels.”
“Aye, I do. That’s why I made it.” She shook her head. “You English are funny.”
Not sorcerers. English. “May I see my friends now? And when will they return my stave?” Fiona settled a cloak around my shoulders. It was warmer and heavier than my own.
“I’ll take you to the others, but I can’t promise when they’ll return your stave.” She shivered as we stepped out of the tent and into the icy wind. “Our coven doesn’t take kindly to rebels.”
“I’ve lived with the sorcerers for almost a year; the last thing I would ever call them is rebellious.”
“Beg pardon, that’s the witch’s name for your kind. I know it’s history, but the older women have strong feelings about it.”
I’d no idea what she meant, but as we walked into the coven’s camp I rather forgot what we were talking about. The place was incredible.
<
br /> The witches had settled in a large glen, surrounded on all sides by dense forest. It was as secure a location as one could find these days. Within the glen, twenty or so tents had been pitched in a large circle. Each tent was round and squat, covered with gray tarpaulin and tanned animal skins. In the center of the circle stood a tent much larger than the others. White smoke billowed out of the top. Fiona clucked her tongue.
“Elspeth’s probably called a meeting of her council. They’ll be deciding what to do with the three of you.” She didn’t sound cheered by the thought.
Despite the cold, the glen was filled with activity. To the right of us, a man in a gray cloak was studying a horse’s hooves. The beast blustered and nosed at the man for something to eat. He stroked the animal’s nose.
“I didn’t know you had men in your covens.”
“Aye, and how should we create new witches? Plant a rag doll in the ground under the light of a full moon and whisper spells over it?” Fiona pulled up her hood. “Our men have magical ability, but never as strong as the womenfolk. It’s hard to keep a young man in the coven—they don’t want to be forever taking orders. Many of our boys have gone off to fight in the war.”
“On England’s side?” I asked. Apparently, that was a foolish question.
“Of course. What kind of monsters do you think we are?”
Perhaps I should craft a spell to remove my own mouth. That might help matters.
“Forgive me. I thought the witches might hate the Crown, after what…happened.” That was a polite way of saying “when most of you were burned alive.”
“This land’s our home, same as yours. We witches are people of the land.” Fiona paused. “At least, that’s what I think.”
There were more cloaked men and women working in the yard. I heard the cries of pigs and chickens, and glimpsed young gray-outfitted children carrying eggs or bundles of wood. One man worked at stretching out a fresh deer hide. In a smaller tent, I glimpsed a pair of women with bushels of herbs all about them. They were grinding something with a sharp bit of stone.
“Here we are.” Fiona pushed me inside another empty tent. A fire crackled in the center of the room, warming us at once. I might have started my own fire on our walk across the camp but wanted to keep that power concealed for now. Who knew exactly what these women wanted from us?
“Where are the others?” I warmed my hands while Fiona stood guard by the tent flap. Honestly, I wasn’t going to run.
“We’ll wait here, until Elspeth says they may enter.”
“Who exactly is Elspeth?” That name sounded strangely familiar.
“Queen of our coven.” Fiona’s strong voice grew lower. It sounded as though she was afraid. “It was a fool thing to bring her granddaughter within shouting distance. You could not have planned it worse if you’d tried.”
“Her granddaughter?”
Fiona looked as if I were simple. “Maria, of course.”
Then I remembered Maria mentioning a wicked grandmother who had blamed her for her mother’s death and tossed her out of the coven. Of course we’d run into such a woman in the middle of the highlands.
“Is Maria all right?” My pulse quickened to think of her back in her grandmother’s clutches.
“Aye. Though likely not for much longer.” Fiona worried her hands. She was trying to remain calm, but I read the signs of fear.
I was about to ask how long she had known Maria when the tent flap opened and my friends were shoved inside. Magnus entered with ease, a smile on his face and his hands bound in front. Maria was right behind him, also bound. She was not smiling—that is, until she saw Fiona. Magnus came to sit beside me.
“Never thought I’d say this, but three women searched me and I did not enjoy it.” He held his bound hands to the fire. “Have you any explosive demonstrations planned to get us out of here?”
“I’d like to keep a few surprises handy, just in case.” I averted my eyes as Fiona and Maria wandered to a corner of the tent, speaking softly to each other. They should have a little privacy. “Are the horses all right?”
“Last I saw, they were eating apples and enjoying a rubdown. Some little girls even decorated Gumdrop’s mane with holly berries.”
Horses were the worst kind of traitors.
“What did Elspeth say?” I asked the girls when they joined us by the fire. Maria shrugged.
“She wouldn’t see me.” I could not tell if she was hurt or relieved.
“Well, I’m finding the whole thing enormously educational,” Magnus said. “Who knew all the uses a person could get from one deer?”
“Never stop talking, do you?” Fiona regarded Magnus with amusement.
“Good lord, please don’t encourage him,” I moaned.
Voices drew nearer to our tent. We all got to our feet as three older women entered the room. They wore their hair long, and every one of them had eyes sharp and cold as a hawk’s.
“Let me see her.” The one in the center moved toward us. She was taller than any woman I’d yet seen—she might have reached six feet. Despite the massive difference in height, I saw a clear resemblance to Maria at once—this woman had the same pointed chin, the same broad forehead. There were shocks of steel gray in her once-red hair, and deep lines bracketed the corners of her mouth. Her eyes, a frosty blue, scrutinized Maria.
“So. It’s you,” the woman said at last.
“Gran,” Maria replied curtly.
Elspeth looked about as unfriendly as I’d pictured her.
“This just got a great deal more interesting,” Magnus said easily. Elspeth regarded him with the same warmth she might show a fascinating insect.
“What are these sorcerers doing here?” Elspeth said sorcerers as if she meant vermin.
“There’s a war going on, if you hadn’t noticed,” Magnus replied with a smile. I believed he would only stop smiling when he was dead; given our situation, that might be soon.
“Please excuse the captain, he’s taken a few blows to the head.” I kicked Magnus’s ankle.
“I’m not the one who smashed into that tree,” he pointed out. Oh, I was going to smash someone into a tree before too long.
“Enough.” Elspeth’s gaze never thawed. “I pay no heed to the war. Some young people in this coven believe I am mistaken in that.” Fiona lowered her head. “There is no need to notice what does not concern me.” The women behind her murmured in agreement.
“R’hlem has a new plan that concerns us all,” I said. Elspeth didn’t even look at me.
“You’ve brought your stick-wielding friends to die, girl.” She sneered at Maria. “With that inferior blood in your veins, it should be no surprise you’d take shelter with the worst scum in the world.”
Apparently, sorcerers weren’t the only ones obsessed with blood purity. Maria’s cheeks flamed.
“You’ve no right to speak of my friends that way.”
“Friends?” Elspeth cast an unimpressed eye over Magnus and me. “I see children with stunted, inferior minds. Senovarus’s rebellion created a race of tyrannical imbeciles.” There was that word, rebellion, again. I hated not knowing key bits of information. “In the morning, I might kill you all. Or I might send you back to your futile war. It will depend upon my mood.” With that, Elspeth made to leave.
But Maria spoke. “I call for the right of coven making.”
Every witch in the tent gasped, save Elspeth. She did not turn around.
“There is no right for a sorcerer’s bastard here.”
“There is every right for a witch’s daughter, and that I am.”
Elspeth turned. God, she towered above Maria. “You know the victor may kill their challenger, if they so wish.”
“Then you might finally get what you’ve wanted most.” Maria did not flinch.
Damn everything to hel
l, we hadn’t brought our chosen one to die in a stupid magical pissing match. “Madame, if I may,” I began, but Fiona shushed me.
“Don’t make it worse,” she hissed.
Elspeth considered Maria. “Keep these degenerates under guard until after the ceremony. If my granddaughter falls,” she said, putting a bitter twist on granddaughter, “her friends will share in her fate.” Then she left, her silent friends trudging after her. Maria looked at the fire; she apparently had nothing to say to us.
“So. When we say share…,” Magnus began, until I nudged him.
“You know what you’re doing, of course,” I said. Maria pursed her lips.
“I’ve an idea,” she replied.
An idea was not comforting. Not at all.
I spent the night in Fiona’s tent, under her watchful eye. I didn’t know where they’d put Magnus and Maria, just as I didn’t know what sort of challenge “coven making” was. When I asked Fiona, she replied, “There are some things a witch cannot give an outsider.” After that, I learned to stop asking questions.
Come morning, we were awakened by what sounded like a clanging pot in the yard. We dressed fast and then emerged to head for the large tent in the center—Elspeth’s tent. There were, to my eye, about forty witches, men and women. We all fit comfortably into the tent, which was set up rather like Magnus’s had been. Furs stretched over the floor, a fire flickered in the center. But there were no tables here, and no papers. Dried bunches of lavender and dandelion dangled from the ceiling. A deerskin had been spread on the ground, with wooden bowls, mortars, and pestles strewn upon it. Fiona led me to sit beside Magnus. We’d been given the best seats for this particular show. Witches lined up on all sides of the tent; some even lifted children onto their shoulders.
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three) Page 20
