by Sarah Hegger
If Edana knew anything about trees and their messages, she really wouldn’t sleep, but then Edana’s nighttime activities, according to coven gossip, didn’t leave much time for learning and speculation.
“The alder speaks to strength and battle. It’s a protector. Baile feels something too. The castle is…uneasy,” Roderick said, his gaze growing unfocused for a moment before snapping back to her. “You did right to bring this to me. I’ll make sure to speak to Fiona about this.”
As head of the coimdeacht, Roderick had the security of the castle and the protection of all witches as his primary duty. If she could trust anyone with the portent, it would be him.
“I have to report anything linked to the lost one,” she said.
“Understandably. No sane person would choose to tangle with that bitch if they could avoid it.” Roderick had been there the day the first had severed her from Goddess; he would know. “Can you spirit walk again? Perhaps find out more.”
“I could.” Maeve got her hand on the door latch. “I’ll use a more reliable guide next time. One who speaks more plainly.”
“You’re such a ghoul.” Edana gave an exaggerated shudder. “Never mind alder branches breaking. You’re the creepiest thing in here tonight.”
And that was enough for one night. Maeve opened the door and left.
Chapter 2
Chatter rose and fell as ninety cré-witches sat down to dinner. Ninety women did a lot of talking, and when they were angry, they did a lot of seething. And there was a lot more talking than eating going on in the hall tonight. Most of it was about the witch-hunts and the decree from Fiona that had followed it: no more unsanctioned trips outside Baile.
Maeve could spread the atmosphere on her bread, it was so thick.
Arguments for and against the decree raged all around her.
“Our purpose is amongst Goddess’s creation.” Lavina jabbed her finger at Colleen across the table. “We can’t ignore people to save our hides.”
Maeve dipped her flaky, buttery pastry into rich, meaty gravy and ate it. If only they hadn’t put kidneys in the pie, she could enjoy it so much more.
Colleen sighed. “But we can’t ignore the threat to us either.”
“We have protection.” Lavina jerked her head to her and Colleen’s coimhdeacht, the warriors bonded to them.
Colleen sighed. “But that’s only those of us who are bonded.” She leaned closer to Lavina and whispered, “And soon we’ll add a new sister to our number.”
“Blessed.” Sitting to Lavina’s right, Thomas shook his head at Colleen, but a half smile softened the admonishment. “That’s coimhdeacht business and not to be discussed here.”
“Oh, all right.” Colleen wrinkled her nose at him.
Lavina laughed and nudged Thomas. “You’re far too pretty to be such a fussy old maid.”
Thomas shook his head and chuckled.
Maeve agreed with Lavina. Thomas was very easy on the eye. So easy that she liked sneaking glances at him. Sometimes he even glanced back with a wink or a smile.
“What do you think?” Lavina turned to her.
Maeve stopped chewing her pastry. Witches tended to cluster by blessing. As the only spirit walker, and also spending the amount of time she did with the dead, she was not often drawn into dinner conversation. She swallowed quickly. “We’re cré-witches. We were created to bring her creation into closer communion with Goddess. We can’t do that locked up in a castle.”
“Well said, Maeve.” Thomas smiled at her.
Her cheeks heated. She’d wager she looked as awkward as she felt, but then the dead didn’t demand social skills.
When only kidney pieces remained, she took her plate to the serving hatch and called her thanks to Cook and her helpers.
Out in the bailey a low moon rode a cloud-laden sky. Opening the sea door, she alighted the cliff stairs. Sharp briny sea tang blew fresh in her face.
In the caverns, mellifluous chimes of thousands of crystals greeted her. As she walked through the caverns, crystals, shells and fossils that formed the patterns glowed as the souls of departed witches responded to her caress on their sigils.
“Sister.”
“Walk with us.”
“We must speak with you.”
Spoken as ghostly whispers in her mind, the voices of the dead only she could hear. Like the rest of the coven, even the dead were unsettled and she toyed with taking the spirit walk she’d promised Roderick.
Tonight, though, was her favorite night of the month. She aimed to enjoy her monthly appointment in the village.
Once she reached the central cavern, Maeve slipped on her long cloak and raised the hood. Love her visits as she did, with everything happening in the village, she wasn’t about to announce herself to anybody who happened to be hanging about.
Maeve hurried to the far corner where a rock outcrop hid her from sight. Putting her hand against the rock, she muttered the incantation she had learned from witches now beyond.
The sigils chimed a soft warning to her. Even they looked askance at how she used the passage. They were patterns embedded into cavern walls, however, and not a living breathing woman who wanted to share her blessing. “Sorry,” she whispered.
The rock slid open soundlessly and Maeve hurried into the damp, dark maw. She snapped her fingers and fire answered her call in a flare of red tendrils that coalesced into a small flame that danced in the air and lit her way. It was later than normal, and the rest of the village would be tucked up against the night.
The passage ran from the caverns and far beneath the castle as it wound toward the village. It ended in more rock and she muttered the incantation again. The rock opened and she released fire. It flared and disappeared, leaving the scent of orange and lilies behind.
Maeve stepped into the crypt below the village church. At the western end of the crypt, she found the small hidden door leading into the churchyard and opened it. The stairs to the churchyard above were slick with moss and damp, and she trod carefully.
Popping her head over the edge, she first ascertained the churchyard abandoned before she left the safety of the stairwell.
A few lost souls flitted about their grave markers, unable or unwilling to go beyond. Frightened she could force them beyond against their will, lingering spirits veered away from her. It didn’t work like that, but there was no reasoning with the lingerers. They were trapped in the moment of their death in an endless loop. Eventually it drove them mad.
The road in front of the churchyard was deserted, and Maeve hurried along it toward the beckoning rectangles of light marking the village houses. Excitement thrummed through her veins. Even had someone been about, in the dark she could pass for a young village woman on her way home.
The latch on the gate clicked as she opened it. They had oiled the hinges since her last visit. The cottage curtains were drawn, but through a slight chink, warm, yellow light peeked.
With a quick glance about, Maeve tapped on the door.
A stout matron peered through the chink.
“Good evening, Rebecca.” Maeve kept her voice low.
Rebecca opened the door wide and motioned Maeve inside.
Leaning out the door, Rebecca checked the night for prying eyes. She closed and latched the door behind them. “With all the troubles, we were worried you might not come.”
“I’m careful.” Maeve nodded to the other occupants of the cottage and took her place amongst them at the table. Three she knew. The fourth woman would be the one who needed her blessing.
A long, fat candle flickered in the center of the table. All of the women had a bag of mending and some needles and thread in front of them. If anyone happened upon them, they were a sewing circle.
Bustling over, Rebecca took her seat at Maeve’s right. “Ladies.” She nodded to each of the four women staring at Mae
ve. She held her hands out to Maeve and the woman beside her. “Before we begin, I would remind all to keep this meeting a secret.” She lowered her voice. “On pain of death.”
The younger, blond woman across from Maeve rolled her eyes. “Everybody knows not to shout this about. Can we get on with it? Fred is waiting for his dinner.”
“You don’t have to be here, Jane.” Rebecca sniffed. “It’s not like the blessed needs you.”
Jane leaned forward and glared. “I’m part of this, and don’t you forget it.”
“Let’s begin.” Maeve smiled. Rebecca and Jane could argue for hours. She looked at the visitor. “I’m Maeve.”
The woman paled and stared at her with wide eyes. “Pru.” She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Prudence. My name is Prudence.”
“I’m pleased to meet you.” Maeve tried to look reassuring, but people were always nervous their first time. “Would you like to tell me why you’re here?”
Prudence glanced at the other women.
Plump and sweet faced, Molly gave Prudence a nod of encouragement. “Go ahead and ask her. Maeve can really talk to the dead. You’ll be amazed.”
“Right.” Prudence clasped her fingers together so tightly, her knuckles whitened. “That’s why I’m here. I need to…” She faltered and looked at Molly. “Are you sure this isn’t a mortal sin?”
Maeve sat back and let the village women deal with their guest.
“Now, Pru.” Molly patted Prudence’s clenched hands. “We’ve been over this. You need to ask your mother about the locket.” She beamed a reassuring smile at Prudence. “Your mother is in heaven, isn’t she? How can that be a sin?”
“Fred makes my life a misery if he has to wait for his dinner.” Jane sighed and rolled her eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, fine. We can all go home, and Maeve can get back to the castle.”
“No!” Prudence straightened and gulped. “I need to find that locket. It’s mine and I want it.”
The rapacious gleam in Prudence’s eye gave Maeve a sinking feeling. It wasn’t going to go well. What mattered to the living held no weight with the departed.
“All right then.” Rebecca held her hands out again. “Let’s begin.”
The handholding wasn’t necessary, but Maeve let the villagers have their rituals. She drew fire from the candle and slid into the outer edges of beyond. The scent of her working blessing filled the cottage.
“I can smell oranges,” Prudence said. “And…lilies. Why is that?”
“It’s her magic, dear.” Molly took a deep sniff. “I think it smells lovely.”
Pru’s sharp whisper sounded like it came from down a long tunnel. “Why are her eyes all milky like that?”
“Hush!” Jane said. “Let the blessed work.”
The edge of beyond opened as a warm, sunbathed meadow. Blue and pink wildflowers swayed gently in the balmy breeze. A pretty brunette stood in the middle of the meadow. The passed chose their appearance and Prudence’s mother had taken the form of her younger self. “Who are you?”
“I’m Maeve.” Maeve stood still and let the girl study her.
“I’m Beth,” she said. “Why are you shining?”
She often got this. “Because I’m still of the living. You’re seeing my life force shining through me.”
“Oh.” Beth’s pretty face creased into a frown and she looked down at her hands. “I’m not shining. Does that mean I’m dead?”
“You have passed.” Maeve nodded. “You’ll remain here until you’re ready to return.”
Beth looked up at her. “Oh, I like that. When will that be?”
“Only you know that.” From the cottage, Pru was demanding to know how much longer this would take. Maeve needed to hurry things along. “Your daughter, Prudence, has sent me to ask you something.”
Beth’s girlish form thickened into that of her later years. Gray streaked her hair and lines creased her face. “Is she well? Bert isn’t a good husband.” She chewed the edge of her thumbnail. “I told her not to marry him, but would she listen?”
“She needs to know about a locket.” Maeve brought Beth back on topic. The passed could ramble on endlessly. They had infinite time to chatter.
Beth frowned and gave Maeve a sharp glare. “Why does she want to know about that?”
Splitting herself between the two realms took more power from her gift and Maeve drew deeper on fire. The candle flared. The women at the table jerked back.
Prudence squeaked and glanced about her. “Is this usual?”
“Your mother is with me,” Maeve’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. “She wants to know why you want the locket.”
“Really?” Prudence leaned forward, her cheeks flushing. “How do I know she’s really there?”
Jane snorted. “You doubt the blessed?”
“Anyone could say they were with my mother,” Prudence said. “Just last week Martha from up Oak Lane said she saw the Virgin Mary in her milking pail. I saw that smear and it didn’t look anything like the Blessed Virgin.”
Maeve looked at Beth. “She needs proof that it’s you. Tell me something only you would know.”
“I don’t care to.” Beth jammed her hands on her hips. “You tell Prudence if she and Hope are fighting about that locket, I won’t tell either of them where it is. They both know I want it to go to my sister-in-law.”
Maeve repeated Beth’s words.
Prudence stared at her. “But she’s not even blood.”
“I’m done with this.” Beth appeared as her younger self again and turned and flounced off. The meadow vanished and Maeve returned to Rebecca’s kitchen. “She’s gone.”
“What? Why?” Prudence gripped the table edge. “She didn’t tell me where the locket is.”
“I’m sorry.” Maeve shrugged. “I have no control over what she tells me.”
“This is nonsense.” Prudence frowned and pushed away from the table, her chair shrieking against the floor. “You’re a deceiver.”
Molly put out a placating hand. “Prud—”
“I knew this couldn’t be real.” Prudence looked at Maeve with raw loathing. “Nobody can commune with the dead. It’s evil.” Her gaze grew narrow and angry. “You hags will get what is coming to you. See if you don’t.”
Chapter 3
The cottage rocked from the force with which Prudence slammed the door.
“Who chose her?” Jane glared at Rebecca and Molly. “I could have told you she wasn’t the right sort.”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “But she seemed so upset about the locket. I thought she wanted it for comfort after the loss of her mother.”
Jane snorted and folded her arms. “If she goes to Father Steven with her story, we’re all in for it.”
“She won’t do that.” Rebecca didn’t look nearly as certain as she sounded. “Will she?”
“I’ve heard talk about the witch-hunts.” Around the coven it was mainly speculation. They could be what her spirit walk had been referring to.
Jane shook her head. “It’s not just talk. Not two days ago the midwife from Abbotsham was drowned.”
“Drowned?”
Rebecca grimaced. “Trial by water, and that horrible Mathew Hopkins is strutting about calling himself Witchfinder General.”
“What’s a trial by water?” That sounded like Fiona was right to worry about the safety of the witches outside Baile Castle. Not that Maeve agreed with isolating themselves, but more caution sounded like a jolly good idea.
“They tie you up and toss you in a river,” Molly answered with morbid delight. “If you drown, it means you’re innocent, but if you don’t, then they say the water wouldn’t have you and it must mean you’re guilty. Then they kill you.”
Jane glared at her. “That’s ridiculous. Either way you’re dead.”
�
�And what if you know how to swim?” Rebecca sucked in her cheeks. “My dad taught me how to swim when I was little.”
“They did this to the midwife?” Maeve didn’t want to stop her visits to the village, but she wasn’t like the healers who came to help with sickness, or the wardens who could coax good crops from the earth, or the guardians who had the affinity for animals. Her visits were for herself, but they couldn’t continue if they put those three women in danger.
“Yes.” Molly shuddered and her eyes gleamed. “They say she didn’t last four minutes and now Abbotsham is looking for a new midwife.”
Greater Littleton couldn’t afford to lose their midwife. Jane would need her services any day now.
Maeve stood and gathered her cloak. It made her want to weep to say, “I think it best if we take a small break from sewing circle.”
“Oh, no.” Molly’s voice quavered. “I do so love your visits.”
So did Maeve. They made her feel useful to the living. “I’m sorry, but the sewing circle could be putting us all in danger.”
“She’s right.” Jane stood and twitched the skirts of her gown around her swollen, pregnant belly. “Once this has all died down, we can start the sewing circle again.”
Foreboding slid down Maeve’s spine. She didn’t think she would attend sewing circle again. She looked at sweet Molly, acerbic Jane and ever-practical Rebecca, impressing their faces into her memories. She couldn’t say she knew them well, but they were her connection with life outside the castle, and she enjoyed her time with them.
“Nothing to worry about, dear.” Rebecca patted her shoulder. “This Cromwell rebellion has everyone stirred up. You cré-witches are wonderful women.” She squeezed Maeve’s shoulder. “Everyone in the village knows it. You take such good care of us.”
Jane snorted. “You overestimate the good sense of most folk.”
“Everything will be fine.” Rebecca glared at Jane and folded her arms. “You’ll see.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Molly frowned and glanced from Rebecca to Jane. She gave Maeve a tremulous smile. “But maybe you’re right about giving this a rest. Just until everything quiets down again.”
