Cast In Stone: A Cré-Witch Chronicles Prequel (The Cré-Witch Chronicles Book 0)

by Sarah Hegger

  “Roderick.” She followed him. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

  He growled at her over his shoulder. “Again, Blessed, you’re short of hearing. It matters not whether I think you did the right thing. It matters only whether you think you did.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then ask yourself this,” he said. “If knowing what you know now, you were presented with the same choice, do you still believe you did the right thing in taking the healers to the village?”

  Chapter 15

  Yes. The answer to Roderick’s question was yes. Even had she known beforehand the uncomfortable consequences now hers to bear, she still would have acted as she had.

  They were cré-witches, tasked by Goddess to serve humanity. Their extraordinary gifts were given not so they could hide in Baile Castle assured of their safety. Their gifts had been given to spare Goddess’s creation from suffering.

  So, yes, even knowing all she did now, she would still have taken the healers to the village. A certainty that became more sorely tested as the days wore on and more young witches fell to the plague.

  The acolytes and the apprentices, and even the journeywomen, were as susceptible to the disease as the villagers. Even with their connection to Goddess, and repeated wielding of magic for protection, as the days wore on, the older witches fell too.

  A dark column of smoke hung constantly over the village, carrying with it the stench of burning flesh. The sick within Baile had the full strength of the healers. The villagers had only the small medical knowledge their wise women possessed, most of that gleaned from the healers in the first place.

  Five days after their ill-fated trip to the village, Maeve woke in the middle of the night to her chamber full of images from Rose’s life. The summoning familiar, but no less tragic, was Rose’s spirit calling out to her to scribe Rose’s story on the cavern walls so her mortal body could pass.

  Maeve understood death so much more than the average person. But Rose had been so young, and so full of promise and the mortal part of Maeve cried for the loss of such a beautiful, light-filled girl. She dressed, not hurrying but neither did she tarry. Rose’s soul would wait for her.

  She lit a lamp and let herself into the dark, silent corridor.

  A large form materialized from the dark. Roderick.

  Maeve had journeyed to a deathbed many times, but always on her own. She jumped a bit when Roderick’s large hand folded around hers, offering her silent comfort. She took the comfort he offered.

  They reached the healer’s hall and Maeve let her gift guide her.

  Two mature healers kept vigil by Rose’s bed. One of them was Sheila and she was bent over Rose, her hands on the younger woman, trying to draw the illness out of her.

  It was too late.

  She looked up and saw Maeve and paled. “No.” She sobbed and shook her head. “Please, no.”

  The other healer, a tiny, brunette clapped both hands over her mouth and stared at Maeve. Huge brown eyes filled with tears. “Please,” she whispered. “Give us more time. If we had more time.”

  Maeve hated this part of her gift. It felt more like a curse. Mourners begged her for more time, as if she had any control. No, the spirits came to her, tired of fighting, weary of pain, depleted by this life and ready to pass beyond.

  So, Maeve said what she always did, “Rose feels no pain now. She’s ready to go.”

  “Goddess, no.” Tears streamed down Sheila’s face. “She’s not yet twenty. So young. So gifted. This can’t be right.”

  Maeve approached the bed slowly. Once she took Rose’s soul, the body would die. Rose’s story would flow from her onto the walls of the caverns as sigils. Rose would never be forgotten, nor the story of her journey as a cré-witch.

  Rose’s spirit hovered near her body. Sometimes the spirits wanted her to say something to the bystanders. Others were confused, not sure of what happened next. Rose’s spirit flared a brilliant pearlescent white, as beautiful in its essence as the girl had been in life, already no longer tied to this realm and needing only Maeve to guide it to the next.

  “Come.” She spoke aloud for the benefit of the living. The spirit had already responded to her beckoning. As always, the spirit entering Maeve was like frigid water filling her skin to capacity. Rose’s memories played through her mind. Her life experience, everything Rose had learned or knew, said and done, seen, sensed, smelled, touched, heard and tasted all shared space within Maeve.

  “No.” Sheila wailed as the breath left Rose’s body. She gathered the girl’s body and rocked it.

  Maeve could tell her that Rose was already gone, but the grief belonged to the living. Mourning was as much a part of being alive as death.

  Maeve trudged back through the empty castle, Roderick by her side.

  A stiff wind buffeted them as they crossed the bailey to the door in the wall. Beyond the door, on the seaward side, the wind enthusiastically tugged at her hair and clothes. Fine ocean spray dampened her skin and turned her lips salty.

  In the caverns the dead waited to receive one of theirs.

  As Maeve crossed the threshold, all the crystals glowed. A thousand soft chimes filled the air, strangely discordant and harmonious at once.

  Roderick drew a harsh breath but stayed beside her as they moved from cavern to cavern until they found the space Rose’s spirit guided her to.

  After fetching her basket, Maeve lit her brazier and surrendered self to Rose. From the basket, she took the shells and crystals, knowing her blessing would guide them into the pattern representing the soul of a being who had, in this incarnation, been born woman, who had walked amongst the cré-witches as one of them, learned to be a healer and been named Rose. Under Maeve’s guiding hands the pattern formed and sunk into the rock.

  Rose’s spirit flowed from her into the pattern on the wall in a heady rush of senses, emotions, and memories. And then Rose was gone.

  Maeve slumped, suddenly exhausted, and her own grief, held at bay while she did what she was called by Goddess to do, burst from her and Maeve sobbed.

  In the past she had lain, alone and exhausted, and sobbed into the cold cavern rock. This time, Roderick picked her up, like she weighed no more than a small child and held her. “There now,” he murmured against her hair as he carried her from the caverns. “You did well.”

  “But this is only the beginning.”

  A bell tolled from deep within the keep and woke Maeve. By the angle of sun on her chamber floor, it was late afternoon. The bell meant all the witches were being called to a meeting.

  Maeve hurried and finished dressing. She opened her chamber door to Roderick leaning against the far wall. “You’ll come with me?”

  He nodded and relief flooded her. Rose’s death would touch the entire coven.

  Mostly silent, witches filed into the great hall. Some still wept, whilst others showed signs of having recently dried their tears. Still others huddled in small groups and spoke softly amongst themselves.

  Maeve took a seat near the healers.

  Face drawn and haggard, Sheila stood and hugged her. She took Maeve’s hand and pulled her down on the bench to sit beside her.

  Maeve clung to her a moment.

  On the dais, the council stood around Fiona.

  “That bodes ill.” Roderick’s deep voice was for her ears only.

  Edana looked up suddenly and caught her eye. The look of cold triumph in Edana’s gaze chilled Maeve to the bone.

  Roderick touched her shoulder, a quiet reminder that he was there, and he stood with her.

  From amongst her fellow healers, and not from amongst the council where her position as head healer should have placed her, Joy stood.

  Slowly at first, as if people were reluctant to acknowledge Joy and the news she bore, a charged silence filled the hall.

  Joy waited for
absolute quiet before she spoke. “I’m here to share the death of one of our journeywomen.” She clasped her hands before her so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Despite our best efforts, we were unable to save Rose.”

  About her, Maeve sensed the healers’ grief. The idea of losing one of their own throbbed like a neglected wound. Around the hall, other witches also drew close to their own, seeking comfort and affirmation of life.

  “We ask that you mourn with us.” Joy’s voice cut like jagged glass through the hall. “We ask that you join with us in mourning a sister taken well before her time. We commend Rose to Goddess and return our sister to her infinite care. Blessed be.”

  “Blessed be,” murmured the hall.

  Maeve tried to draw comfort from those two words, which she uttered daily without thinking what they truly meant. They were a recognition of their service to Goddess. More importantly they were an affirmation of the bond between Goddess and blessed. An acknowledgment that in this, like in everything else, Goddess watched over them, guided them, and protected them.

  But the peace that usually accompanied those words escaped her.

  Goddess had raised Rose to be beside her. Her trust must always be in Goddess, whom she served. Some days however, and this day was one of them, trust came hard.

  “With respect.” Fiona held up her hand. “There is more at play here than the death of one witch.”

  An uneasy ripple ran through the hall, and Joy tensed. “Now isn’t the time.”

  “Your pain touches all of us.” Fiona clasped her hands before her chest. A dark smudge appeared behind Fiona and disappeared.

  It was gone so fast Maeve couldn’t even be sure she’d seen anything. She glanced over her shoulder to Roderick.

  Like a wolf arrowing in on his prey, he studied Fiona intently. Fiona’s continued silence about the lost one and blood magic in the village chafed him as much as it did her. Events within and around Baile were gaining dizzying momentum and Fiona didn’t appear to be doing anything about it.

  “One of our sisters has died today,” Fiona said. “And as much as I wish it so, I can’t say blessed be.”

  Shock reflected in the faces all around her.

  “I can’t say blessed be”—Fiona raised her voice—“because in my heart I don’t believe this death came from Goddess.”

  Joy sprang to her feet. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that Rose was indeed taken from us.” Fiona paused to wipe tears from her cheeks. “But my heart is sore because it’s not Goddess who took Rose from us, but one of our own.” Silence fell about the hall, and Fiona looked directly at Maeve.

  Gazes followed Fiona’s and landed on her. Most looked genuinely confused, but some stares held sharp condemnation. They blamed her for Rose’s death.

  Shock held Maeve immobile.

  A warning rumble came from Roderick, and he moved close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from him.

  “How dare you.” Joy’s plump form shook with outrage. “How dare you use this death in such a way.”

  “Me?” Fiona looked aghast. “I’m not the one whose ill-conceived decision led to the death of a young witch.”

  Around Joy, healers sprung to their feet, each one shouting louder than the other.

  Roderick slid his hand beneath her elbow and tugged her to her feet. He tucked her on his left side and drew his sword with his right. His message resonated on the shocked faces staring at them.

  Fiona gaped at him. “Coimhdeacht! You serve this coven and Goddess.”

  “I serve this witch.” Roderick put himself between her and the hall. Behind him, his fellow coimhdeacht gathered in support. “And until Goddess herself tells me I don’t, my life for Maeve’s.”

  “It’s lore.” Thomas stood beside Roderick. “A coimhdeacht serves his witch, forsaking all others. It’s who we are and what we stand for and by.”

  “They’re right.” Lavina shot to her feet. “The bond between witch and coimhdeacht is inviolate. It predates the council even.”

  Mutters and murmurs followed her pronouncement.

  Edana stood and raised her voice to be heard over the babble. “Don’t be distracted from the issue at hand.” She pointed at Maeve. “Because of her, a young witch is dead.”

  It hit Maeve like a punch.

  Thomas gave her a glance loaded with sympathy and shook his head. He didn’t blame her.

  Roderick’s attention remained on the hall. Tension radiated from him to her.

  “Fiendishly clever.” Thomas grunted and shook his head.

  Stung, Maeve turned to confront him. “You believe her?”

  Unabashed, Thomas waved her to silence. “You miss the point.” He indicated the hall around them. “Look.”

  Coven sister faced off with coven sister, the anger between them palpable. Voices raised and raised higher as witches stopped listening to each other.

  “They’re all fighting,” she said.

  “Exactly.” Roderick nodded. “But look who’s not fighting.”

  Across the hall, Fiona sat, a smug smile on her face.

  “Come.” Roderick touched her arm. “She doesn’t know yet that you’ve seen through her, and it would be best if we kept it that way.”

  “But why?” In the safety of her own bedchamber, Maeve gave vent to her feelings.

  Roderick checked the corridor before shutting the door and bolting it. “Fiona ferments dissent and we both saw who she serves.”

  “We can’t be right about this.” Unable to sit still, Maeve paced.

  Roderick positioned himself by the door. “You saw the same thing I saw. In the hall. Remember what I said about her before? She already knew about Rhiannon before you told her about what the first had said.”

  Maeve shivered and wrapped her arms about her. “And she asked us not to tell anyone. Like she was concealing it from the rest of the coven.”

  “The evidence mounts.” Roderick shrugged. “In the village, Alexander made you his target.”

  Maeve couldn’t entertain what Roderick suggested. “That was because of you.”

  “Partly.” Roderick paced. “That whoreson would do anything to get at me, but he was prepared to let the other five go to ensure he got you.”

  “You’re suggesting he wanted me dead?” Maeve hated that Roderick made so much sense.

  He nodded and kept pacing. “And the one thing you did out of the ordinary—”

  “Besides bonding you?”

  “I bonded you.” A smile ghosted over his face. “You went to Fiona with your suspicions. And now, this night, she tried to unite the entire hall against you.”

  “She did more than try.” Most of the faces turned her way tonight had done so in condemnation. “She has turned most of them against me, and now anything I say about the lost one and what I know looks like a weak attempt to justify my actions.”

  Chapter 16

  Four days later, along with her coven sisters, Maeve kept a grim, silent vigil on the battlements as a growing knot of villagers loomed at the outer edge of the wards, watching and waiting, looking for a way in to Baile Castle.

  Too few witches stood on the battlements as the contagion swept through the castle. All night Maeve had led spirits to beyond and scribed their stories on the cavern walls.

  The sight of Alexander stepping forward hardly came as a surprise. “We’ll burn you devil bitches out of the there.”

  “Oh, dear.” An apprentice paled and swayed beside her. “Can they get in?”

  “No.” Maeve put as much certainty as she could muster into her reply. The wardens had assured the coven the wards would hold. That wasn’t what concerned Maeve most. Waves of malevolence crept from the villagers. Blood magic prickled through the air, like steel filings against her skin. She couldn’t say how many of her coven sisters recog
nized the taste/scent signature of blood magic.

  “I’ll make that whoreson eat his steel.” Roderick locked his gaze on Alexander. “We kill him, and the rest will scatter like mice.”

  Yesterday there had been barely a handful. Today the number had swelled to over thirty, including many familiar faces who had turned to the cré-witches for help a time or two. Agnes came to the forefront of the group. “My baby,” she screamed. “Give me back the soul of my wee, dead girl.”

  A roar rose from the villagers.

  Roderick murmured for her ear only. “If Alexander is here, Rhiannon won’t be far behind. She won’t risk him being alone this close to Baile.”

  “Can you see…her?” Maeve dared not say her name aloud.

  Roderick squinted against the muted sun and searched the crowd. “You don’t know what she looks like?”

  “No.” Maeve kept her eyes on Alexander. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Alexander was looking right at her and Roderick. “When I spirit walk, she’s only there as a shadow. Not even an image of her lingers in the firsts’ memories.”

  Roderick grunted, all his attention on the distant figure of Alexander. His fingers curled around his sword pommel. “When they severed her connection to Goddess, they must have severed her connection to all witches.”

  “We’re surrounded.” Maeve shifted closer to the stalwart Roderick. “If they get through the gates—”

  “I’ll be here.” Roderick touched the small of her back.

  Maeve held back a sigh. “Almost hourly. It grows.”

  “They’ve called for Matthew Hopkins,” Roderick said. “They’ve invited him here to officiate over your trials once they break through the wards.”

  “How can they be so certain they will break through?” At the fore of the villagers, a lanky man faced the castle. He raised his fist and shook it in their direction.

  “That’s what bothers me.” Roderick pushed his hand through his hair. “It is as if they wait for something or someone.”