The Earthborn (Mythos of Cimme Book 3)

by CJ Flynn

  I watched the sun rise over a cluster of small, stone houses. Eba had prepared me ahead of time for the village-like compound where the Coven lived. The place was ringed by a perfect, round stone wall, and contained thirteen buildings where the witches lived and worked.

  Our SUV was not allowed past the gates, and I knew that Daniel would have to wait in the carriage house until nightfall. He was staying at a rented house about a mile away, but was at the mercy of the witches until night.

  I was sort of glad for the extreme safety measures—didn't have to hear his litany of complaints about the arrangement.

  I shouldered my backpack and followed Eba as she headed towards one of the larger buildings. They all looked to have been built at different times, some with stucco walls, others with smooth, gray stone. Our destination was two stories high, with a thatched roof and whitewashed stone. There were a handful of other people around, all witches by their auras, and most wearing black cloaks.

  I watched as a woman dressed in one of the cloaks strode towards us. She was pale as the moon and her red hair hung in ringlets nearly to her waist. Her hood was thrown back and she was wearing a solemn look as she reached us.

  “Eba.”

  The two witches grasped wrists and kissed each other on the cheeks. Eba turned to me.

  “Allie, this is Wren. She is one of the Crows.”

  Wren gave me a small smile and a nod. “Welcome, Allie. I wish your first visit to our sacred space was for better reasons. I hope you will find your accommodations suitable.”

  I smiled. “I'm sure everything will be perfect.”

  Wren gave off the gentlest energy of any witch I'd yet met, but the fierce gaze in her eyes didn't match its flow.

  “Most of the drawn members have already arrived. You should get some rest today. We will convene tonight, at the new moon.”

  Eba bowed her head, Wren returned the motion, and we continued on our way as Wren went down a path that led to a small cottage standing off from the rest.

  “We need to get to our rooms, and I'll need to find something for you to wear,” Eba said.

  I looked down at my standard uniform and frowned. “I thought black would be okay. Everyone else is in black.”

  Eba shook her head. “No, not for this. You can't wear regular street clothes. We have special ritual robes that we have to wear—and nothing else. The fibers are natural and humane. Your department store jeans don't fit the bill, I'm afraid. We'll find something.”

  The large cottage had several bedrooms, where many other witches were staying. Eba explained that anyone who had a personal stake in the trial was welcome, but otherwise only members that had been “drawn” were permitted to participate. Apparently, there were so many witches in the Western hemisphere it necessitated a lottery draw for high-level rituals.

  Eba showed me to my room, and had turned to leave when I stopped her.

  “Any chance you can give me an idea what to expect here? What is this trial going to be like? Fire? Brimstone?”

  Eba smiled. “We are not violent creatures like the vampires, though we are more alike than most of us would prefer. There will be no violence tonight, only the giving of love and light.”

  I raised my eyebrows, but didn't comment.

  “It is our belief that love is stronger than violence. We will remind Golda of what we are, and hope that she will remember who she is. In all my years, I have seen only one witch fail to reunite with the Coven at trial.”

  “What happened?”

  Eba shrugged. “She was drawn in by the power of darkness that lies within us all. We are not like the creatures of the light. We come from the earth, from a place that is both dark and light. It is up to each of us to find that balance. Our sister Xanthe proved herself unable to find the light in the end. She must carve out her own path now, separate from us.”

  I didn't understand what she was trying to tell me, but it wasn't the first time I'd found myself mystified by the peculiars. Eba bowed her head and pulled the door shut behind her without further comment. I leaned against it and took in the space they were giving me for my stay.

  My room was a tiny, odd-shaped box in the very corner of the upstairs. The bed was jammed under an angled roof, and both ends of it were touching a wall. Thin white curtains covered the window, and a dresser covered in faint, hand-painted flowers and birds dominated the wall next to the door. I tucked my bag under the window and settled on the bed. On our way upstairs, Eba had promised me a meal and new clothes in a few hours and the message had been well received: it was time to sleep.

  * * *

  I awoke when the sun was moving towards the western horizon. I straightened my hair, slipped my shoes back on, and opened my door, hoping I'd have an easy time finding Eba.

  There was a clatter and a bundle of fabric fell to the floor from the front of the door. I grabbed it, immediately recognizing the robes Eba had promised to provide. I went back into my room and stripped down. The robes were medium-weight and black. They smelled like lemony gardenias. I pressed my face to the fabric, breathing in the rich, heady aroma that seemed infused into every bit of the fabric. Amazing.

  I slid into the robe, and fastened the fabric-covered buttons that ran up the side. The smell surrounded me and I felt lighter, and the room around me seemed brighter. After twisting my hair into a braid, I went back out, searching for others.

  Eba was downstairs in the common space, talking to a group of witches, two men and three women. They all beamed the earthy green auras that I was growing more accustomed to seeing.

  She noticed me and motioned for me to join them. After introductions, one of the men announced that it was time to head in for dinner.

  The cluster of witches fell into a loose line and went outside, headed towards a low, single story building with a large fire burning outside.

  As we got closer, the aromas of roasting food filled the air, and Eba pulled my arm to hold me back a little.

  “The meal before rituals is usually a quiet time. It is meant for us to gain energy, reflect on the work we are about to do, and commune with one another without having to rely on spoken words. Speaking isn't exactly forbidden, but it is definitely not favored.”

  I nodded, feeling intimidated by the ritual of the witches. I hadn't expected this—the vampires were masters of ritual, but it all seemed like pointless pageantry. I could feel the magic in the air here, and knew that a great deal of it would be expended in the night to come.

  I followed Eba into the low building, a large meeting space for anyone at the estate. There were round tables scattered around the room, and long tables with an assortment of simple foods. There were round loaves of bread, platters of fish, bowls of clams, and pans of roasted root vegetables. I filled my plate, and followed Eba to the table, where each place was set with water and wine. Exactly as she'd described, everyone ate in relative quiet. There were still occasional sounds of enjoyment from the food, and the atmosphere was by no means oppressive, but it was a far cry from the usual raucous affairs the vampires held.

  After we'd finished eating, the witches assembled by the double doors at the back of the room. Wren moved to the front of the group, and faced everyone.

  “I thank you all for joining us. This is a solemn occasion, and I appreciate your efforts in helping us resolve the wrongdoings of our sister, Golda.”

  Without further speech, everyone exited through the double doors onto a large grassy lawn that stretched to the edge of a cliff. I tightened the drawstring on my hood as we walked through the cold night air.

  A narrow path arced away from the stone wall, and as it crossed over the cliff, it turned into stone steps that descended in a curve along the rocky cliff that loomed over the endless water below. After about ten minutes, we arrived on the beach, and made our way into a large circle enclosed by a low wall of gray and brown stone. All of the witches stepped into the circle, and Eba asked that I join them. I was the only non-witch present.

  Wren an
d twelve other witches stood in the middle of the stone circle, where a large bonfire was waiting to be lit and a wood table was laid out with various articles I didn't recognize.

  They all circled the fire and clutched hands, before beginning a chant I could faintly hear over the rhythm of the surf. After a few moments, the bonfire burst with flames.

  I stared at the purple, blue, and orange flames that danced in the center of the circles. There had been no matches or lighters used, and the flames weren't the color of ordinary fire.

  After the chanting was finished, the outer-ring witches joined hands, leaving an empty space at the outer edge opposite where I stood. Through here, two men led a tied up Golda into the very middle of the circle and left her standing in front of the fire.

  They joined hands with the rest and chanted a few more lines before everyone stopped. Those in the outer circle let their hands drop, but the Coven of the Crows remained linked.

  “Thank you for your blessings, brothers and sisters.” Wren's voice rang out in the ensuing silence. “We have gathered on this New Moon to seek guidance for our sister, Golda Astor. We have heard of Golda's misuse of her magic, and we wish to harness the energy of this time to bring her back to the light and help her with whatever troubles have taken her into the dark.”

  This trial was not at all what I imagined when Eba had first informed me of what was to happen in England. This felt a lot more like everyone was getting ready to hug it out than dig to the root of what had happened. She hadn't been lying about all the love stuff.

  “Step in, sister, and show us what has transpired.”

  Eba grabbed my left hand, and an unknown witch grabbed my right. Golda stepped forward, her eyes downcast, and linked hands with the inner ring.

  The wild green energy leapt through me, filling every ounce of my body and pouring out of me via the hands I held. The energy from the outer ring of witches formed a visible signature in the air around us, arching out of each person and creating a glittering web above the Coven. I lifted my eyes to the maze of energy, dazzled by the bright, tangible waves in the air. I wondered if they could all see it, or if only I could.

  My mind began to fill with an image that was not a memory of my own. I was back at Golda's cottage in Savannah, and the sun was high in the sky. The perfect little herb garden was glowing with soft wintery light, and everything had a sort of washed-out tone that I hadn't seen when I'd last been there. I saw Golda, opening the back door of her little apothecary, and shuffling inside with a white canvas bag that seemed to be overflowing with some kind of dried herb.

  The image shifted indoors, to the kitchen I'd been in just forty-eight hours ago, and the blonde—Hannah—was still there. She was stretched out on the long, kitchen table, unconscious, while a young man with jet-black hair and very fine features loomed over her. He was wearing an intense look of concentration, and in my version of this strange episode, I could see sharp, erratic waves of magic flowing from him and covering Hannah.

  “Rafe? What's going on?” Golda’s voice bounced around in my mind, a ghost of itself. I could hear the concern and fear laced in her voice.

  The young man froze and the erratic waves of magic stopped. He looked up at his mother, and I saw the same fear there that had been in her voice. “Mother.”

  “What have you done to her?” Golda dropped her bag by the door and stumbled across the kitchen, reaching out to press her hands to Hannah's cheeks. “She's ice cold. She's not—”

  “No. She's not dead. But I can't get her to wake up.”

  Golda's fingers were tracing over Hannah's features, and she even opened one of Hannah's eyes. “Tell me exactly what's happened.”

  “I've been helping someone out. Just a few small spells. The money will help—”

  Golda held up her hand and shook her head. “Not right now. I just need to know what you did, or I can't help you.”

  “I used—”

  The image cut out and my brain filled with a buzzing black energy that was somehow blinding and deafening at the same time.

  After a moment, another image faded back in, this one of Golda coming home to her now-empty kitchen. She set a couple of bags of groceries on the counter and went through a small hall to a locked door. She paused, closing her eyes as her hand rested on the doorknob. After a moment, she whispered something and the door unlocked. She pushed in to a small bedroom, with only a twin bed and a small, empty desk and rickety chair. Hannah was curled on the bed, murmuring. There were ropes at her wrists that stretched under the bed.

  Golda stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of Hannah's face. She whispered more words that I couldn't understand and Hannah started convulsing.

  After a minute, Golda moved away from the bed, and the horrible convulsions stopped. Hannah returned to the curled up position and Golda left the room.

  She locked the door, and left the cottage.

  When the next image faded into view, I saw Golda walking up the garden path, and I saw a flash of movement in the wide open back door, but Golda didn't catch it.

  The rest was familiar. Daniel and I had apparently stumbled on Golda's cottage just a day or two after she'd found her son and Hannah.

  The images faded away altogether and the woven magic dropped back into the circle.

  An angry murmur rumbled through the group. I heard the witch next to Eba say something about the missing chunk of memory.

  “Is she hiding it? Or is he?”

  Eba shook her head. “I haven't a clue.”

  Chapter 12

  The beach was pandemonium. The Coven of the Crows closed the magical circle and quickly retreated to the main compound, Golda in tow, while the rest of the witches were left to gossip and fret about the missing memories. It had quickly gone very south, with arguments breaking out over who was to blame for such strong black magic.

  After more than two hours, the Coven appeared again, just as the sky was deepening towards dawn. Golda was still with them, and looked exhausted and haggard. Her aura was wavering in and out, and I could even see the magical signatures of other witches bouncing off her. My heart twisted as I realized the Coven must have performed very strong magic in an attempt to recover her memories.

  “Sister Golda's memories cannot be retrieved. We will summon Brother Rafe for questioning, and to see if he can remove the spells he has cast upon his mother.”

  More murmuring through the crowd, and I felt my own anger begin to rise. No one seemed to realize or care that so many innocent people were wrapped up in all this mess. The Coven of the Crows retreated again, taking Golda back to the main house. I followed after them, despite repeated requests from Eba to stay back. She finally tagged after me, and we went right behind the Coven.

  I stuck my foot in the door as the last witch, a tall man with electric blond hair and green eyes tried to pull it shut.

  “We're coming in. I want a word with the Coven.”

  He stared down at me. “You are the Tracer. We have no business with you at this time.”

  “That may be true, but I have business with you. We need to talk.” I stepped closer, wedging my body between the frame and the thick slab of wood. “Now.”

  “Allie. This isn't wise.” Eba's voice came from somewhere behind me.

  I held up my hand to keep her quiet and kept my gaze locked with the witch.

  “Very well,” he said. He stepped away from the door and I shouldered the rest of the way in.

  Eba squeezed in behind me as the door slammed shut.

  The main house was a strange, magic-filled space. We had entered a kitchen that looked as old as England. Green, handmade wooden cabinets were stationed against the walls and a deeply scarred butcher block countertop stretched the length of them. There was a large stone fireplace, complete with a cast iron cauldron, and thick bundles of herbs hung from the wood beams in the ceiling. An old witch with long, silver hair sat on a spindly chair next to the cheerful fire, apparently asleep.

  Throug
h a large, open doorway, I could see into a sitting room filled with chintzy chairs and threadbare rugs. The members of the Coven were assembled there, with angry looks on their faces as I entered the room.

  “You are not welcome in here, Allie Stuart,” said Wren. “We welcomed you into our circle because we realize you are part of this situation, but it is far too serious now to allow outsiders.”

  I stared at her, wishing not for the first time that I was about six inches taller. “I don't think you understand. This Rafe person has something to do with the disappearance of someone I care about very deeply. I'm not leaving until we find him, and he tells me where Ben is.”

  “That's not possible. We've summoned him, and it is up to Rafe to answer the call. If he doesn't, we'll have to examine the situation and determine our next course—”