“I’m to believe that hogwash?”
Blinking down at me, his mouth opened and closed for a minute, hands cupping his swinging knees. He seemed truly stumped. “Well... yes?”
“Is that a question?” Incredulous and a bit put out, I just stared at him. His response sounded oddly like a question to me.
Gnawing the inside of his cheeks, his eyes narrowed, staring off over my shoulder for a long moment. Finally, he gave a slight nod, glancing towards me through the corner of his eye.
Focus going back to me as I stared, strangely fascinated by this odd man, he let out a half-hearted chuckle and mumbled, “Uhm, no?”
I wasn’t afraid or leery of this scrap of a male, he was too disarming to have my back up, though I did proceed with caution. I didn’t sense anything warning me off from him, so I let things stand.
At my dubious look, my lips pursed tight, he rushed to explain, “I saw another lonely soul on this bitter eve, and merely thought to extend the invitation. Others have died in less, you know.”
Ignoring the fact that he had a point—the village would have, I’m sure, by now, heard all about ‘Crazy Daphedaenya’, ready for a proper witch burning any day now, so I couldn’t seek shelter there—and the ramshackle hut was too far.
I’d be right toasty then, wouldn’t I, if I’d chosen to face the masses? A Daphy-pire, I thought rather sardonically.
How lovely.
Maybe Otvla and Troll could come together to dance over my ashes before the wind takes them.
“Have a swig?” Waggling a small water skin that smelled strongly of mead in front of me, I shook it off.
“No, but thank you.” My voice came out low and soft, more tired than anything.
“Eh, suit yourself.” Shrugging, he downed the lot.
Knowing I was out of options, no troll caves reappearing, or trolls, or other means of warmth in sight, I asked, almost casually, “Invitation to what?”
Red brows winging upward, Bavol licked his lips, relishing the last of his drink, setting his pouch back in the small satchel at his side. His happy, toothy smile slowly brightened and he climbed to his feet, holding a wide, long fingered hand out to me warmly.
Blue eyes dancing, he admitted jovially, with a flourish, “Why, to the gypsy camp, mistress, of course.”
Travellers
Thoroughly questioning my sanity as I tromped a good three feet behind the kooky man leading me—like the pied piper without a flute—I followed behind nervously, wondering if I’d just signed away my own fate.
No, wait, he’d had a flute. Had, I stressed. And I may or may not have snarled at him to knock it off—tooting that noisy thing in my face as he babbled about nothing and everything all at once, in between—as he possibly led me to my certain, sudden, and rather painful death when he thought my back was turned. He may even have planned to use the flute, originally, to do it. Who knows...
I also might have had enough two miles back, snatching it from him and breaking it in half over my knee, swiftly tossing it into the river. You know—ahem—I could have. Can’t be too sure.
Maybe I should have thrown him in too.
“Are you always this...?” Bavol searched for a word.
“Much of a mean bastard?” I finished for him, not bothering to wipe my scowl, or the black mood hovering over me.
“Interesting,” he corrected gently, still smiling bright.
Clearing my throat, I pursed my lips, tipping my head up to eye him evenly. “No. At least... I didn’t used to be.” The smile I tried for fell flat and I soon gave up on it, dipping my head back down to follow the tops of his boots as he danced around me like a hopped up man-fairy.
“Do you think there are man-fairies?” I murmured aloud.
“Man-fairies?” Bavol barked out a laugh. “Why, Nugget, would you think that?”
“Dunno.” I shrugged. “Why not? I mean, there are Troll’s, after all. Why not man-fairies?”
“Do you feel that you’ve seen one?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side in a manner that made me think of a hawk or a bird.
“You’d certainly fit the bill, I’d imagine.”
At the look on poor Bavol’s face, shock mingling with surprise, his happy jig faltering, I burst out laughing. As I started to gain on him, walking right past him at a clipped pace, he easily caught up.
“And coming from you?” he challenged, flicking my hood. “A woman named Nugget, draped in bed linens?”
“Not much better than Bavol, the pirate man-fairy,” I retorted, just as we reached the edge of a large gathering.
There were dozens of fire pits littered throughout, and a large camp was setting out around it all, forming a large circle, a huge, roaring fire set up right in the middle. The blue and red flames, dancing around in a circle in the pit as couples embraced around it, twirling and weaving out in a dizzying pattern, swaying and belting out songs joyously as some sat and watched, had me rooted to the spot.
Inhaling deeply, I was surprised to scent magic in the air, brushing at my skin like a warm caress, welcoming me like a lover’s touch.
“You should see Magda first,” Bavol whispered next to my ear, tossing an arm over my shoulder.
“Oh?” Shrugging him off, I lowered my hood, the air unusually warm as we stepped foot inside the circle, working our way between a wagon and a tent. “And why is that?”
“She’ll like your eyes. Neat trick you’ve got there.”
“It’s not a trick,” I murmured absently, fingertips brushing over my brows self-consciously.
“Don’t hide it, Phedaenya.” His fingers brushed my cheeks warmly, brushing my hands away, platonic and unfamiliar, yet still filling me with comfort. “Don’t you know they’re beautiful? You’re beautiful.”
“Pfft. They’re cursed, not beautiful—anything but. You must be bli...” My guts clenched and my chest squeezed. Still facing the crowd, I murmured on a stammer, “B-bb-bavol?”
“Yes, little one?” His voice was a low, kittenish purr, right behind my ear.
My skin pricked and my breath stilled.
“H-how did you...” When I went to turn, he gripped my shoulders firmly but gently, nudging me forward.
“Don’t be rude, Phedaenya,” he whispered, voice gone breezy and light, “meet your new friends.”
“But... I... but you... I never told you my-”
The revelers next to me froze when I stumbled into view, not a one dressed like Bavol—they all looked seemingly normal—and I fidgeted nervously.
As they just stood there and stared, my stunned gaze staring back, I grew increasingly uncomfortable.
“What?” I called softly when the two closest to me glanced to each other, then back at me, eyes widening like saucers. “What are you staring at?” Turning to Bavol for reassurance, I found myself alone, his spot right behind me empty. He was gone. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air—here one minute, gone the next—leaving me to fend for myself in a camp full of strangers.
“Move!” A high pitched, booming voice called above the rest. “Let an old woman through! Do you know who I am, child?! Hah! Do they teach the youth nothing?! Move! Move for Magda!” As the sea of people, all stopping to stare curiously now, reluctantly parted, a small, plump woman with a crumpled but flowing dress, and long, thick black hair streaked with grey braided down her back, partially covered by a wide swath of fabric, stopped a few feet from me. Bracelets jingling in her wake and flowing up her wrists, they clanked to a stop when she came to a jerky halt.
Eyeing me as she came to a jarring stop, she let out a very unladylike sniff, running her thumb along the side of her nose, finishing off her display with a disgruntled harrumph and a stomp of her walking stick.
“Beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” Lifting a hand carved, thick wooden cane with a strange, glittery stone embedded in it high up in the air, she gestured me forward. “This way, this way. Vidi has the food on.” Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed me ag
ain, deep jade eyes alight. “Didn’t know your state. Saved some, just in case.”
Still looking around for Bavol, I finally asked, “The man, the one I was with when I came here, did you see where he went?” I was ready to run in whichever direction she pointed in search of him, as fast as my thick legs could carry me.
“What man?” the old woman called. “Weren’t a one here but you, girl.”
Frowning, I gestured towards the spot just off behind me, gob smacked. “No. I was with the tall man, he was just here a moment ago, but I seem to have, uh,” a nervous laugh escaped me, “misplaced him.” Glancing to the couple still gaping at me, I thrust a finger out, right in their direction. They all flinched, the boy thrusting the girl behind him protectively. “You know, you saw him, didn’t you?”
Flinching again like my finger was a dagger or a witch’s wand as I waggled it at them, they both shook their heads hard in response, and I quickly dropped it.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath. “Someone must have seen him?” Blank looks all around.
How could they not have? I wondered. He was right there! A goofy, crimson haired, babbling, jittering beacon. You couldn’t miss him.
“Thin, tall, bright red hair... a sword, a gun, scarf tied around his waist... dressed like a flamboyant pir-” At the odd looks I was receiving, increasing by the second, my trap clapped shut. Obviously, no one had seen him, and are all now possibly questioning my sanity. Lovely. Just lovely. Why did I leave the dilapidated hut, again? Or even bother waking up?
Oh, that’s right, no more magic for me. Yet, here I am, once more, surrounded by it. I can feel it.
About to follow after the old woman and get this all over with, maybe get some answers, and hopefully a place to bed down, if just for the night, my steps faltered and I squeezed my eyes shut tight, feeling like I’d just been hit by a ton of bricks.
Thinking of sleeping reminded me of all those weird dreams/visions, flashing through me, so fast I felt it like the flash of a whip, yet there it all was, crystal clear. Which, in turn, as I thought of all that I’d lost, gained, then lost anew, as well as what was taken from me, I felt my eyes pricking again, harsh breaths growing sharp and shallow.
At the reminder of the nightmare I was forced into in the field, before all of this utter madness—the long sleep, the trauma that had facilitated it all—I shuddered. Body clammy, hands sweaty, it felt as if the large caravan of people gathered around had somehow grown smaller, like walls closing in on me, and it was growing difficult to breath.
What’s happening to me? I thought in a panic. What is this?
I’m dying, this is it. This is whatever Troll was going to do to me! It’s happening! As I stumbled back a little, a hand shot out and steadied me. Eyes still shut tight as I tried not to lash out, I allowed it.
“There’s only so much a body can take before it cracks.”
I knew someone was talking to me, I’d heard their voice, but the thudding in my ears, matching my thundering heart, was growing deafening. If I thought on it too long, I could almost feel Trystan’s hands pawing at me again, a ghost of a bad memory, feel his heavy breaths along my nape, his unwanted, desperate kisses, thick body pressing on top of mine as I fought, panic clawing at me, and then... Shaking my head sharply as a small whimper slipped out, I bit my lip hard enough to make it bleed, willing my thoughts to still.
No. I won’t think on it. I refused to. I relived it for days in those dark dreams, over and over again, brought on by the poison slipped down my parched throat, torturing my soul as it locked me in a never ending loop. I’d thought I’d gone mad, and maybe I have. He won’t win, though. I won’t let him. Strengthening my resolve, I released my swelling lip, taking a few deep breaths before slowly straightening my shoulders, forcing myself to meet everyone’s eyes, staring every single one of them down until they all looked away.
That hand was still there, tethering me to the present, grounding me, but I hadn’t bothered to see who it belonged to yet, too busy staring down the last of the gawkers to care.
“It’s your eyes,” the quiet voice whispered, “they’re glowing.”
“Oi! Girl! They don’t mean no harm, just nosy. Pay them no mind. Too watered down to harness anything, they’re no better than garden sprites! Been a long time since we’ve seen one like you. A long time.”
“Like me?” My brows nearly kissed my hairline and my face flushed as the older woman toddled off. They know?
She made it a short distance away before she realized she was still unaccompanied. “Come along!”
“Powerful,” the quiet voice supplied, her hand slipping away as she stood just off to my side.
“Can’t miss those eyes when you’re emotional, tell more than a mouth ever could. Windows to the soul.” Turning back around to find I hadn’t moved an inch, the old gypsy woman rolled her eyes and huffed, “Walk with me, bright eyes. Don’t you pay them any mind! Now, right this way. Step lively!” When some wouldn’t move fast enough for her liking as she hustled through the waning crowd, she wacked the back of their legs with her intricately carved stick, hissing at them to scat as she bustled by, ignoring all the pained yelps and muttered curses. She may have even let out a muted cackle a time or two.
“She gets like this near the full moon.”
Turning my head to glance at the speaker, the low voice that had pulled me back to the present, my solid blues met with a set of glittering, deep emerald orbs. Serious yet light somehow, dancing with mirth and brimming with intelligence, there was a warmth about her that was downright disarming.
“Lavidia,” the young woman murmured quietly, and with a nod, motioned that I should follow the cane whacking menace swathing a path through the poor, unsuspecting gathered about, brandishing her cane like a sword as she twirled it around expertly over her head, shouting this way and that. “But Granmamma calls me Vidi.”
“She’s your... You mean... You’re related to her?” I sputtered, studying this Vidi person intently. This stranger next to me, possibly a few years my junior, if not more, was quite tall and sturdily built, with long limbs and wide hips, all softness surrounded by sharp edges.
Something about her had the back of my head tingling, a small trickling tickle, but not in alarm. No, her mere presence soothed in a way I couldn’t explain. I felt rather short and frumpy standing next to her, though—lackluster—glancing up at her long enough to take her in without being accused of staring.
Solid but still feminine, she had long, thick, snow white blonde hair, trickling down her back in spiraled, streaming waves, streaking with bits of dark brown. A heart shaped face with small, thin lips, framing wide, almond shaped eyes, surrounded her startling green eyes with a thick fringe of black lashes, finishing off her look.
Holding out an olive toned, deeply tanned hand in a quick wave, she shrugged. “Better get going now or she might start swinging that silly stick at us.”
“Vidi!” her granmamma bellowed.
Offering me a quick smile over her shoulder before she trotted off, she turned, and at another bellow, whipped back around, long, green hued skirts swishing around her ankles and bare feet as she spun and sprinted to catch up. “Coming!”
Bare feet? It’s the middle of a- I noticed, belatedly, that there was, indeed, no snow around us, or anywhere on the ground within the campsite. Squinting into the darkness beyond that, I thought I could make out the faint outline of snow softly flurrying all around.
How interesting. More magic at work.
“Bright eyes!”
Jerking, startled, I bit back a yelp with a grunt. I was beginning to loathe those two words, dander up as she continued to call after me. About to shout out that I had a name, I held back. I don’t know this woman, magic greetings and safe feelings be damned.
Pausing to let my senses do their thing, no pangs alerting me of any imminent danger, or so I’d hoped, I resigned myself to follow.
Reluctantly trailing after, I sighed h
eavily, and as is custom lately, my thoughts immediately drifted back to Troll.
You should be happy, I told myself unconvincingly. He left. Isn’t this what you’d wanted, once upon a time, to be rid of him? For it all to just... go away? He gave me exactly that. So why am I not happy, and why does it feel like someone died?
Dread filled me again, and a wave of nausea hit me square in the middle. “Gersthart, you stupid male, what have you done?” I whispered. He won’t be coming back—he won’t—and we’ll both suffer the fall out.
‘Heed the warning, claiming Ornthren.
Distance weakens, minds do forth rend.’
I felt as if the Fates had fashioned that piece just for me. Minds do forth rend—we’ll go mad.
Hah. No. I’m already mad. I’ll lose my ever-loving altogether.
“Vidi! Bright eyes!”
As a large wagon came into view, this one made of wood, unlike some of the smaller ones I’d wandered past, whose tops were made of canvas and other similar materials, a thick, oak looking door slammed wide open.
Illuminating the dark night, a deep orange glow emanating from the inside, Madga’s head popped out and darted around. The action made me think of a chicken, ready to peck at its first sight of corn.
Fingers slowly creeping up my throat to tap at my lips, I had to stifle a small snicker into my hand.
Jade eyes met mine, flashing briefly with what looked like a hint of silver before it disappeared.
Magic. Other, definitely, but what? I still knew so little.
“Don’t keep old Madga waiting, girl. Already been up more than half the night. I wish to sleep at some point before the morn.”
As my feet landed on the first step and my hand reached out to grasp the aged oak door, levering myself up, my skin prickled, tingling as my senses went berserk.
Shifting and climbing higher, my hands reached out, smoothing across worn oak, a frisson of magic suffusing me. The feeling of a warm, stomach tickling welcome overcoming me, my eyes bulged and my mouth swung open. Magic. The door is magicked.
The Toll Page 33
