by Jeff Altabef
Chapter 40 – Aaliss
Weary from all the riding she had done recently, Aaliss smiled as they approached the Witch’s home. “At least we made it before nightfall.”
She glanced at Eamon, who stared ahead and said nothing.
He had barely spoken to her since they left Santra’s cabin. In truth, he really hadn’t looked at her either.
She balled her hands into fists. I know he’s angry because I refused to take the stupid oath, but if he keeps this up, I’m going to punch him in the face.
Halfway along the trek back to the Witch’s cabin, P’mina found the spot where she first entered the Ancient Road, and told Kalhona another dozen times how sorry she was about her hand before she trudged toward her village.
Kalhona gave no ground. She only told her sister to try and not mess things up any more than she already had.
The Witch stood on the porch and watched them rein up the horses. She leaned heavily against her bow as the bulldog paced anxiously next to her. “I told you they’d come back tonight. I don’t know why you always doubt me.”
The dog barked once in response, stopped pacing, and wagged his tail.
When Aaliss climbed the creaky steps, the bulldog brushed against her legs. She smiled despite her weariness and rubbed his large wrinkled head in greeting.
At least he’s happy to see me.
“How’s Jillian?” Eamon asked.
“She’s recovering. She woke around midday, but she’s still in a lot of pain. I gave her more Sweet Leaf to blunt it. She sleeps now and is cool to the touch. She can’t travel for a few days, but she’ll heal.” The Witch nodded toward Kalhona’s bandage. “Better come inside, so I can take a look at that hand.”
The group followed her into the cabin. Chickens boiled in a kettle over the fire, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air with a sweet scent.
Jillian was sleeping on the straw bedding, and to Aaliss’s untrained eye, she did look better.
Eamon lifted the purse heavy with coins they had taken from Santra. “Payment for all you’ve done for Jillian, and to help heal Kalhona’s hand.”
The Witch laughed, which deepened the lines in her face and made her appear not just old but ancient. “I’m not helping you for coins. That’s a poor bargain. I’d receive more by betraying you, but the one true God has made his wishes clear to me. My reward will come in the next life, and that reward will be great.”
She motioned for Kalhona to lift her hand so she could examine it.
“Dinner is ready. Clean yourselves by the creek. You smell like horse,” the Witch said tersely. “Except you, Kalhona.” The Witch held Kalhona’s hand in hers, brought it close to her face, and clucked her tongue. “Now let’s peel back that bandage and see what’s been done.”
Aaliss watched as the Witch led Kalhona outside and made a salve from an assortment of plants and mud from the creek. She told Kalhona she might regain full use of her hand and fingers, that she knew a spell she might try, but it would require a few days to prepare.
Still, Aaliss heard no certainty in her voice and doubted a spell could fix Kalhona’s hand.
They ate mostly in silence, answering only the direct questions asked by the Witch.
After Eamon told her about the northern invaders, he mentioned the oaths the others took, and then looked sullenly at Aaliss. “I release Wilky from his sworn words. You’ve done your part. You didn’t take the oath. We had a deal, and you lived up to it. You shouldn’t come back to the Stronghold with me. Fintan will be unhappy to see you. He will likely want your head as punishment for your escape.”
Aaliss snorted as she strangled the fork in her hand. “Thanks for being so chivalrous, but I make up my own mind. If I want to see this through, then I’ll do just that. I’m not worried about your brother.”
The Witch smirked. “I guess that’s been decided.”
“Yes, I guess it has,” said Aaliss. “We’ll have no more talk about us staying behind.” She noticed that Eamon looked pleased.
He must care about me at least a little.
Afterward, the conversation flowed more easily, and they talked at length about the axe-wielding warriors and the strange bloody wolf markings on their saddles. Eamon confessed that he had never seen the symbol at The Exchange or in the City of Bones.
Jillian woke when they finished the meal, and Eamon rushed to her side. He chatted with her, held her hand, and smiled gently.
Aaliss felt a clamp squeeze her heart. What did I expect? I have no claim on him.
He loved Jillian—that was plain to see—and she had been foolish for imagining anything different. Nothing more than a great big fool.
She turned away from the two and found Wilky engaged in a whispered conversation with the Witch by the fireplace. She twisted again to find Kalhona asleep on the straw bedding. Standing by herself, she felt utterly and completely alone. The feeling was not unusual, but this time it felt worse, heavier and more complete than before. Needing to escape, she trudged outside, settled on one of the rockers, and moved in a steady rhythm.
How did I get myself caught in this web?
In Eden, she’d lived a clean, simple life. She’d had Wilky and, to a lesser extent, Piers to worry about, and that was enough. She had no desire to owe anyone, to need anyone, or to have people in her debt. Now, everything had changed. Wilky refused the cure, a war was brewing, and Ghost Riders seemed to notice him.
How can I keep Wilky and Eamon safe when I don’t even know the dangers?
She barely realized that keeping Eamon safe had somehow slipped into her thoughts, but it seemed as natural as her desire to shield Wilky from harm.
To forget about all the dangers she imagined and those she could not, she composed mental lists of all the people she needed to pay back: the High Priest, Uncle Aibel, the Viper, Fintan, and Cormac all stood prominently on her payback list. It felt good to stew on those she’d seek revenge on, imagining a just punishment for each. Yet the feeling was fleeting.
She sighed and glanced at the moon. “What other tricks do you have for me?”
The door opened and the Witch strolled out and settled into the rocker next to her. “There’s nothing to fear about the moon, child.”
“You sound like my older brother. He told me the same thing a few days ago. I don’t think he was right. We’ve been thrown into this storm ever since the last full moon. It has been one trial after another.”
“What color is the moonlight?”
“It’s silvery. Not quite white, but somewhere between white and gray.”
“That’s right. It’s neither white nor black. It’s neither good nor bad. The full moon amplifies what already exists. That’s why witches use the full moon to converse with those spirits who are the hardest to reach. Where there is good, the moon makes it better, and where there is wickedness, it makes it worse.”
The Witch threw Aaliss a pensive stare. “When you fled from Eden, the wickedness was already there. You escaped and that was the good.”
“What do you know of Eden?” A jolt ripped through Aaliss’s body. As angry as she was with the High Priest and her uncle, she still called Eden home. Piers lived there, and no good would come if the Soulless knew of Eden’s existence. “What has Wilky told you?”
“He just confirmed what I long suspected. I’ve dealt with a veiled stranger in the past, who I knew lived too many revolutions for this world. The veiled one tried to hide his face from my eyes, but the wool could not conceal his aura from my Sight.” The Witch shuddered as if the memory of this veiled person had shaken her. “Don’t worry. I will keep the secret.”
A veiled one?
The Priests prohibited all contact with the Soulless. A few days ago, she would’ve dismissed the notion of a veiled one from Eden as a fable, but now all she could do was nod and accept it as possible. “I’m surprised Wilky talks with you so much. He usually finds it hard to communicate with words.”
The Witch rocked steadily, the chair creaking
rhythmically. “We see the world differently from normal people. The Sight lets me perceive things ordinary people can only glimpse in the shadows or during twilight. He too sees things differently from others. Not the same way as I do, but different from those around him. The difference binds us and helps me understand him in a way few could.”
Aaliss exhaled in a long sigh. Sometimes she felt as if she spent her whole life trying to understand Wilky, and the Witch had made more progress in two nights than she had in thirteen years.
The Witch spoke in a soothing tone. “He loves you dearly, and understands all you’ve sacrificed for him.”
Aaliss curled her hands into fists. She needed someone to confide with and her instinct told her to trust the Witch. “Wilky says a war’s coming. I don’t want him thrown in the middle of it, but how can I protect him against this war when I don’t even know the dangers?”
The Witch chuckled, but not in an unkind manner. “The way I see it, he’s been protecting you.”
What is she talking about?
Clearly she had been protecting him all along. That was her role, her responsibility ever since the fire. Still, she knew truth rattled in the old woman’s words, but she dismissed it without thinking more about it. It would mean the world had truly turned upside down, and that could not be.
“I like things clean and now everything is messy,” she said. “I can’t rely on other people. They disappoint you in the end, and now I’m in the middle of this mess and Wilky’s so stubborn. He won’t leave it alone! This is madness!”
“Oh, dear, you have to choose. There’s nothing else you can do, child. Fate has already written that tune. Your life is out here now, among these people. Your future is woven with theirs. Either you help Eamon and the others, or you ally with the invaders coming from the north. Those are the only two alternatives. No one is an island by herself. Believe me!” The Witch rocked faster. “Besides, the war is the least of your concerns. You have time before that begins.”
“What do you mean?”
The Witch stopped rocking and stared at her. “You will be tested when you return to the Stronghold. Eamon will not be welcomed by everyone.”
“Great,” Aaliss muttered.
The Witch grinned. “You are given no more than you can overcome. Besides, when you’re in love, everything gets messy.”
“What do you mean, old woman? I’m not in love. I’ve just met him.” She shot the Witch her best nasty look, her eyes narrow slits, her face suddenly hot.
“Time doesn’t move in a straight line. You know enough to understand what’s in his heart.” The Witch rose with a groan. “You can deny it all you want to me, but don’t fool yourself. Even without the Sight I can tell the signs. I was in love once myself, long before I became a witch. He was a baker.”
For a second the Witch’s eyes shone with youth, and Aaliss imagined what she’d looked like when she was young and beautiful, and thought she would have been breathtaking.
“What happened to him?” asked Aaliss.
“Taken too early like everyone else but us witches. It’s a horrible thing to watch someone die and know there’s nothing you can do to save them.”
The Witch continued, a sheen drifting in front of her eyes. “He died so long ago I can’t remember his face, but the smell of freshly baked bread always brings back memories. Mostly good.”
“What difference would it make anyway?” Aaliss folded her shoulders and lowered her chin against her chest. “He’s already chosen. I can tell the way he looks at Jillian that he loves her.”
The Witch chuckled. “There are all types of love, dear.”
She grabbed the Witch’s hand before she could leave. “Ghost Riders saved Wilky at Santra’s cabin. What do you know of them?”
The Witch leaned against the rocking chair. “You can see them, child?”
She nodded. “The chill always comes first, but then I can see them. I can’t explain it, but it seems like they’ve taken an interest in Wilky. Are they good or bad?”
“Neither.” The Witch shook her head. “Happenings here, in this realm, affect life in their world. Whether you wish to believe it or not, Wilky is at the center of events. I had hoped they wouldn’t notice him, not yet anyway. Whatever you do, you cannot let them take him. Time moves differently in their realm. Wilky might not come back until it’s too late, if he returns to us at all.”
The Witch turned and left the porch, her back bent, her steps slower than they had been just a few moments ago.
The bulldog joined Aaliss and plopped his large belly on her boots, looking up eager for affection. She obliged by running her fingers against his head, and within seconds he fell asleep and began snoring.
A rustling in a small bush a few paces away woke the dog with a start. He barked and bolted toward the noise to investigate, moving faster than Aaliss would have thought possible for his short fat body.
Aaliss darted after him and drew her sword. “What’s wrong, dog?”
The dog stopped a few feet from the bush and started snarling and growling.
Aaliss peered into the thicket and saw two amber eyes staring back at her, but discovered, the animal turned and scooted away. Aaliss thought she saw the wide fluffy tail of a firefox.
Could it be the same animal from earlier in the day?
As the creature bounded off, the bulldog ceased barking and licked his own nose with his tongue.
Great, now I owe the dog.
The firefox howled.
She shuddered and couldn’t shake the feeling that she should have killed that firefox.
***
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Chapter 41 – P’mina
Upon her return to the village, P’mina went directly to the Tribal Mother’s living space, which her people simply called Home. It was the largest living space in the tribe—over thirty people fit comfortably inside. The large fabric roof was the color of summer grass. All members of the tribe were permitted entrance into Home no matter when they called, although few arrived this late.
P’mina shifted her weight back and forth as she waited outside the Tribal Mother’s hut, her palms sweating and her stomach fluttering.
Two guards, one man and one woman, armed with steel-tipped spears, stood on both sides of the entrance. Both wore gray roughspun woolen cloaks over their emerald tunics and brown pants—the uniform of Protectors.
“Is the Tribal Mother alone?” P’mina asked.
The female Protector frowned. “Is she ever alone? The Vestals hover near her always. Three are with her now, buzzing around like flies. I’m sure the remaining three will show up sooner or later.”
P’mina’s stomach lurched. She adored the Tribal Mother—the smell of wildflowers followed her like a train on a long dress—but the Vestals caused acid to bubble in her stomach. They helped the Tribal Mother govern, and P’mina felt no fondness for them—they talked with their noses in the air and had unshakeable opinions on every subject.
She wished she could see the Tribal Mother alone.
A Vestal poked her head through the golden flap of fabric that operated as a door and waved for P’mina to enter with a short, quick arm motion. She looked annoyed at being bothered so late.
As P’mina entered the chamber, the thick scent of cinnamon and lilacs made her head swim. A round firepit made from river stones sat in the middle of the hut. A pot filled with incense swung over a small fire, and smoke swirled above the flames, forming a fragrant cloud that hovered toward the ceiling.
The Tribal Mother and three Vestals sat in twine hammock chairs suspended from great oak beams near the firepit. The Tribal Mother swung in the middle; her long, braided blonde hair fell to the left side of her face. Once, when asked to describe her by a visiting entertainer, P’mina just uttered the word, “More.” Beautiful, she had wide shoulders and womanly curves, and a tattoo of a vine crown with red roses circled her forehead. Only the Tribal Mother could have that tattoo.
P’mina looked toward her feet. Kalhona’s injury is my fault. If I hadn’t run off, she’d be painting the center of the Banner for the Renewal Feast. She’ll never forgive me. “No, Mother. Kalhona hurt her hand and has gone to see a healer.”
The Tribal Mother frowned. “This is very bad news indeed. I was saving the center of the Banner for her. Now I will have to give the honor to a less deserving Artist. Is this the news you have brought me?”
“No, Mother. The news is worse still.” P’mina paused. Running away before the Renewal Feast was a serious crime. Once she warned them of the upcoming attack, they’d know her offense. Still, she had no choice. She had to think of others before herself. “Invaders from the north intend to attack us. They’re marching toward us.”
One of the Vestals, known as V’ronica, leaned forward. She was the Tribal Mother’s younger sister and P’mina liked her least of all. She had never paid Kalhona for the tattoos she did for her, and scarcely said a kind word to anyone. She smirked at P’mina as if she accused her of lying without speaking the accusation. “How do you know this?”
P’mina’s face reddened and she confessed in one quick burst, “I ran away. I didn’t want to be swapped with the girls from the Orion Tribe. I know I was wrong, but it’s unfair.” Tears formed on the edges of her eyes, but she would not let them drop. Instead, she balled her hands into fists and clenched her jaw as she described the red witch that poisoned her, and her subsequent rescue. Finally, she said, “The one called Wilky warned us of the attack.”
“How could he know? We’ve had no word from our scouts,” said V’ronica. “Did this stranger see these invaders? How many are there?”
P’mina shook her head. “He didn’t actually see them. They came to him in a vision. He would not say how many, but he did say they stretched as far as the eye can see. I know he spoke truth.”
“You want us to believe such a crazy tale?” V’ronica quipped. “All this nonsense is to cover up your own treachery. Running away when you have a duty! It is an honor to swap with the Orion girls!” V’ronica’s shrill voice became higher pitched until it could only be described as a shriek. “I knew you were no good! Did I not warn you, sister?” The Vestal turned toward the Tribal Mother. “She attempted to shame the entire tribe, and now she covers it up with lies.” V’ronica pointed at P’mina. “She is a liar!”
