by Ross Turner
But then once again Ekra’s words rang in her ears clear as day.
‘But you’re not alone, dear.’
The mysterious, aged woman had been right of course, Marcii realised, looking around at her companions: her friends.
She was not alone.
Marcii smiled again.
“My visions…” She started. “What about my visions?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Your visions are also because of your link to Mother Nature.” Malorie explained. Sometimes they are caused by your emotions, and other times they control the feelings within you.”
Marcii nodded, silently agreeing with her fellow witch Malorie. As she thought on Malorie’s words for a moment she quite clearly recalled instances of both.
She remembered the furious storm that had raged after her vision of Alexander’s execution, and only now it struck her that her own surging emotions had caused it.
Then she thought of the vision she’d only just had, where she had seen the real Alistair and Tyran’s Newmarket and Ekra Custos.
After speaking to Alistair and being poisoned by his words, Marcii had been so angry. So disappointed in herself.
Her fury had escalated past her control. And then, when Vixen had appeared, that had sent Marcii over the edge, apparently triggering her vision.
Perhaps Vixen had appeared purposefully to initiate it?
Marcii didn’t know.
But, even as Malorie drew breath to continue, the young Dougherty imagined it wouldn’t be long before she found out.
“You’ve been starting to gain control of them.” Malorie went on with her explanation.
Again, Marcii agreed, thinking back now to how difficult it had once seemed and how disoriented she had been at first.
Now she seemed to slip between people and places in her visions without effort: almost without realising sometimes.
“Because Mother Nature shares our emotions so closely…” Malorie went on. “She knows precisely what means a great deal to us, and what does not. So, in turn, when something happens that She knows we would want to know, but there is simply no possible way for us to, She shows us. She wants to give us the choice.”
“The choice to do what?” Marcii asked.
“To act.” Malorie replied simply. “She shows these things to us so that we may act on them, if we choose to.”
Marcii took a sudden, sharp breath.
“Like Kaylm…” She breathed, instinctively glancing to the young Evans at her side, her hand still clasped tightly in his.
He smiled warmly and Malorie nodded in agreement.
“Exactly.” She agreed. “You saw that Kaylm was in danger and you chose to rescue him.”
“But, how is that possible?” Marcii asked. “I understand why she shows us these things, but I don’t understand how…”
Malorie thought for a moment before replying.
“Have you ever noticed…” She began. “How, just before you have a vision, your head seems to spin?”
Marcii nodded firmly, certainly able to agree with that.
“You feel sick to the stomach, everything goes black and it throws you completely off balance…” Malorie went on.
“Yes.” Marcii concurred again. “Definitely.”
“Do you think your head is actually spinning?” Malorie posed.
Marcii looked on a little blankly.
“I don’t know…” She admitted. “I never thought otherwise…”
“That isn’t really possible.” Malorie continued. “Your head can’t actually spin.”
“So, what is it?” Marcii asked, confused. She had no idea what other explanation there could be.
“The world is spinning continuously.” Malorie explained, gesturing slowly and expansively with her arms as if she could encompass their entire world in her embrace. “Even though we are never aware of it.”
The young Dougherty’s eyes widened as her fellow witch pressed on.
Her explanations were just as awe inspiring as Reaper’s.
“Your head isn’t spinning. Mother Nature is simply making you aware of the world’s movement. She makes you aware of the spin.”
Malorie paused for a moment, drawing breath slowly and considering how best to phrase her explanation.
“Such a thing is so much greater than ourselves…” She went on. “That it opens a window of opportunity. It’s only in that moment that Mother Nature can make you aware of whatever it is She knows you will want to see.”
“That’s…” Marcii started, astonished, unable to finish.
Malorie continued without a pause.
“She can show you how the entire planet spins in just a single instant. It’s a simple thing, don’t you think? And She will go to any lengths, regardless of how small an event may seem. No matter how insignificant something might appear to one person, to another it might be absolutely vital.”
“But then, why show me anything at all?” Marcii asked. “If it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Because it means something to you.” Malorie assured her. “And that’s where the real truth lies.”
Stunned, Marcii couldn’t find the words to reply, yet she knew it was true. She could feel it within her very soul.
“She is limitless.” Malorie went on. “But even so, She only ever shows us select things, for She knows we are but mere mortals. We can only handle so much…”
Marcii could tell Malorie was speaking from experience and she found herself wondering all of a sudden what visions Mother Nature had shown her fellow witch.
There had been so many things over the months, years even, whilst Marcii had known Malorie, that she had always wanted to ask. And that was true now more than ever as a thousand and more questions hung upon the young Dougherty’s lips.
It wasn’t long before the desire to know became simply too great and the first question slipped helplessly from her tongue.
“How did you survive the river?” Marcii blurted, unable to hold the question back any longer.
It was the first on a long list, though it would certainly have taken much more time than they had to ask them all.
Outside the snow was falling more heavily and beginning to settle upon the abandoned Ravenhead. The air was filled with white flakes that glistened and shimmered in the morning light, glowing brighter and brighter by the moment.
Kaylm and Reaper and Midnight remained silent and motionless. They listened to Malorie’s explanation with as much fascination as Marcii herself.
It was only Reaper who already knew all that Malorie was telling them.
He had been born in and out of it after all, and when his Malorie had returned all had been revealed to him in an instant.
Nonetheless, he enjoyed the sound of her voice and listened to her soft words with great content.
“I didn’t survive.” Malorie replied, her voice growing dreadfully serious. “Mother Nature saved me. That’s entirely different.”
“What about us?” Marcii asked then, unable to help herself.
“Us?” Malorie questioned.
“Witches.” Marcii clarified. “What are we? Why are we here? Why are we linked to Mother Nature like this?”
“We’ve always existed.” Malorie began again. “Over the years we’ve been known by many different names. Demi-Gods. Necromancers. Warlocks. Sorcerers. It just so happens that now it’s witches…”
“What are we here for?” Marcii asked next. “What are we supposed to do?”
“What we’ve always done.” Malorie replied, smiling. “We are Mother Nature’s protectors, just as She is ours. Alistair has upset the balance of the world, bringing destruction with him wherever he goes.”
“We have to stop him.” Marcii agreed, knowing for certain at least that was true, thinking back once again to all that the mysterious, aged woman Ekra had told her.
“More than you know.” Malorie agreed, smiling warmly still.
The enormous demon Reaper nodded calmly
as if to finalise the heavy weight of the truth.
The old man Midnight too, though his expression was level and his gaze was steady, tinged with everlasting sorrow and regret, stood in silent accordance.
“More than you know…”
Chapter Thirty
The night was cold and harsh and biting. Driving snow thrashed down from the thick clouds above, whipping and lashing in a furious maelstrom. Frantic though it was, the storm had nothing on the squalls Mother Nature released to vent her pent up anger.
It was not a blizzard strong enough to create a Storm Born. But regardless, there was already a lonesome soul wandering alone in the vast wilderness, lost amidst the blinding, cascading snow.
Kaylm’s older brother, Malcolm Evans, was lost in more ways than just one.
He hadn’t been cast out of Newmarket so much as he’d simply detached himself from society.
So many people had been killed, although Tyran’s mind bending reign had ensured that Malcolm wasn’t too bothered about that. It was the circumstances around the death of his parents that haunted him so.
In his mind, the responsibility for their murder rested squarely on Kaylm’s shoulders.
Forcing his way through the driving snowstorm, dragging his legs through ever deepening snowdrifts and banks, the look in Malcolm’s eyes was wild and determined.
As he’d spent so much of his time of late, he was once again on the hunt. Only this time he wasn’t searching for Marcii or Reaper, or even Kaylm.
Though he would have very much liked to get his hands on the coward responsible for his agony, alas, his younger brother would have to wait.
There aren’t words strong enough to describe how much he wanted to finish Kaylm himself; his fingers ached and itched in the cold night to feel his younger brother’s last breaths fade away between them. He longed to feel the coward’s pulse thin and weaken as the blood drained slowly from his body, sapping his life painfully away.
He shook his head suddenly and tried to force such bleak thoughts from his mind.
Pleasing as they might have been, there would be time enough for that later.
First he had to find them, and for now at least, in order to do that, he had appointed himself another task.
The so called Lord Tyran had run his mouth for long enough without results.
Malcolm was sick of coming close.
This had to end.
And so now, searching and tracking as best he could in these dire conditions, he sought the pack. After yet another massacre in Newmarket, they had once again disappeared without a trace.
But this time he wasn’t going to let them get away.
They must have a den.
They must have an Alpha.
He knew it was probably suicide, but by that point he didn’t really care.
Snowfall shrouded the air in the dark night and made it seem almost as if a thick fog hung all around.
Sometimes the blizzard was relentless, turning fierce and stormy and barraging the landscape in the darkness. At other times, calming unexpectedly, the snowflakes slowed their descent and seemed to drift down quite casually, peacefully even.
Little did Malcolm know, as he trekked endlessly through the wilderness, that he himself was being watched.
Wolfish eyes surveyed him as he stumbled blindly through the darkness. Easily keeping pace with the troubled Evans, Alistair’s pack relayed updates of his progress to their Alpha.
Alistair knew instinctively, either through intuition, or perhaps by some other means, that it was he who Malcolm sought.
What he didn’t know however, was why.
Human’s didn’t seek him out.
It just wasn’t the natural order of things.
It was he who hunted them.
That simple unknown fed Alistair’s curiosity and as he watched, biding his time, he allowed the troubled Evans to draw closer and closer to the den. Even unknowingly, Malcolm sunk deeper into wolf territory with each passing moment.
All but unaware, he was in perhaps the greatest danger of his life. But it mattered not, for it was exactly where he wanted to be.
Suddenly, upon Alistair’s silent command, his loyal underlings began materialising from the darkness. The pack slowly revealed themselves to Malcolm, slipping and shifting between dim shadows like watchful ghouls.
Malcolm froze where he stood, suddenly more alert than he’d ever been in his life. His eyes were everywhere, but then so were Alistair’s wolves. No matter how hard he tried he could not keep track of them all.
Within what felt like barely the space of a heartbeat, he was surrounded. The bear sized beasts circled endlessly, navigating silently around their prey with invisible black eyes filled with malicious intent.
For some reason though, even as they stalked around him, the giant wolves seemed wary.
They knew this human wasn’t here by chance and they were under strict orders not to harm him. Instead, they closed in carefully around him until he was surrounded on all sides. Soon enough he stood barely half a dozen feet away from a wolf in any direction.
Confused at first, Malcolm daren’t move a muscle.
But soon enough their intent became clear, as they began moving forward at a slow, purposeful pace, herding him towards their Master.
Malcolm half expected to be taken to some sort of lair. A cave perhaps, like the one they had found the demon Reaper and the witch Marcii hiding in.
Of course, he had no way of knowing how far the pack had travelled.
He might have caught snippets of information from the old man Midnight, but there was no way he could know the full extent to which his younger brother Alistair had scoured the lands.
For years, decades, the Alpha who was more animal than human had hunted his brother, forever on the move, tracking his prey.
As a result, he did not seek out lairs to inhabit.
There was simply no need.
He rested his pack when they needed it. He fed them when there was prey to be had. He worked them continuously.
When Malcolm eventually laid eyes upon the dim, shadowy figure of the wolves’ Alpha, concealed in the dark of the forest as if a cloak of blackness had been drawn up about him, it was not what he’d been expecting at all.
There was no officious ceremony about the way the wolves treated him. He demanded nothing from them but their loyalty. In return, he led them, taking on all the responsibility that brought with it.
He gave them a common purpose.
Perhaps due to having been exposed to it so excessively, Malcolm had been expecting a reception similar to that of which the Lord Tyran always demanded.
But the creature Alistair was not a Lord of men.
He was a Master of beasts.
Slipping from within the shadows, making not a sound, the driven, weary old man approached the troubled Evans.
Malcolm stood firm, fighting to control the terrified shakes that ran amuck through his body.
Alistair surveyed the boy stood before him for a moment, breathing the cold, midnight air into his lungs. He quickly came to respect the boy’s fierce determination, foolish though it might have been.
Malcolm had put his life on the line making this journey, and he knew it.
Upon the old man’s breath, words hung between them like knives in mist.
His wolves grinned and their vicious fangs gleamed in the darkness, spotted here and there even still with blood.
“Why have you come here?”
Chapter Thirty-One
“I know…” Malcolm’s shaky words hovered in the air, shrouded by the thick mist Alistair’s voice had created. “I know what you want…”
The old man Alistair’s eyes were black coals, burning with hot fire as they buried themselves into Malcolm’s mere mortal gaze.
“Do you now…?” He breathed menacingly in reply. “And what might that be…?”
Malcolm swallowed nervously but remained steadfast and unwavering, for the most part.
Surprised, even a little shocked, but at the same time pleased, Alistair smiled slyly, wearing a look that was entirely indecipherable.
“You sound very sure of that.” He responded in a voice level as a calm ocean, giving nothing away.
“I heard them. The old man and the witches…” He paused for a moment. “And Kaylm…”
Alistair raised his eyebrows slightly, but did not speak.
“He told them everything.” Malcolm went on. “About the mountains where you used to live. About the storm. How you tried to protect your family. How he abandoned you…”
The malice in his words was growing with every breath, feeding his own rage.
“So…” Alistair breathed. “My brother has finally admitted his cowardice. How, might I ask, did you come to know all of this? Did he tell you the whole thing too?”
“I eavesdropped.” Malcolm confessed, with not the slightest trace of guilt in his voice. “Back in Newmarket, before your wolves attacked again.”
Again Alistair did not speak, but his black eyes were inquisitive. He traced a path slowly around the boy.
The troubled Evans reminded him of himself, once upon a time.
Obliging, Malcolm continued.
“Kaylm is my brother…” He conceded, his voice finally wavering. “He’s joined them. He’s a traitor.”
Malcolm’s looked up at Alistair then and held his gaze with steely eyes.
“And my parents were killed by one of your wolves. Because of him…”
“Ah…” Alistair breathed, feigning sympathy, even empathy. Whilst his sincerity might have been false, his understanding was not. He knew all too well what it felt like to be betrayed by your own kin.
Perhaps Malcolm should have hated Alistair too for what had happened.
But he didn’t.
Silence hung between them for what felt like an eternity, heavier than all the guilt and remorse in the whole world.
“I can help you.” Malcolm breathed, breaking the quiet. “I can help you get Midnight.”
