Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

MAEVYTH

C old. So cold.

Every muscle in my body trembled. I lifted the covers higher, up to my nose and buried my head in the thick quilt. The heat of my breath deflected back to my face, an infernal warmth, but not enough. My chest expanded with a hollow cold that stirred a nauseous twisting in my gut. I wanted to call out to Aleysia, but I didn’t dare.

Instead, I breathed into the blanket, beads of sweat trailing down my temple and neck. My heartbeat throbbed in my arm, pulsing in agonizing pain. Lifting it proved difficult, like trying to lift a heavy log, my muscles useless. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it, for fear of what festered beneath the wet bandages.

Would I die? Could I die from such a thing?

The question followed me into darkness.

“ I s it a bite?” The sound of Agatha’s voice roused me from oblivion.

“It doesn’t appear to be,” a man answered. Uncle Felix, I guessed, though it was difficult to discern over the pounding of blood in my ears. “It seems she might’ve scratched it, somehow.”

“It’s a scratch. She told me so,” Aleysia answered, and I wanted so badly to tell her to be quiet. Not to say a word to either of them, but my eyes refused to open, and my voice remained trapped in my throat.

“Hush, girl,” Agatha snapped. “She cannot lose the arm. She’ll be worthless.”

“Best you can do is wait and see, then. If it gets worse, we may have to amputate.” The most I’d heard Uncle Felix say in all the time I’d known him.

The most horrific words he could’ve possibly spoken.

S creams.

Horrible screams echoed inside my head.

A young girl wearing what looked like animal hide reached for an older woman, who lay motionless on the ground in a pool of thick blood. The girl cried and wriggled in the arms of a man dressed in armor, like the age of old. I watched him carry her to the edge of the world, where nothing but a thick white mist stood beyond the rock. The young girl’s cries turned hysterical, and she clawed at the metal of his suit in futility.

With little care, he threw her small body over the edge of the rock.

A flash of black swooped down from the sky toward me.

I saw my reflection in the shiny, black eye of a raven.

B linding brightness pounded against my eyelids, and I turned over with a groan. Painfully luminous, it had my eyeballs aching and my head throbbing. A cold sting pulsed through my arm, and with a whimper, I took in the state of my bandage, profusely soaked in black blood.

Worse than the night before .

A strange metallic scent, not like rot, or infection, struck the back of my throat while I unwound the dirty gauze. When I finally reached the end of the wrapping, I paused, confusion clamoring through my already aching head. The wound had closed, the skin contractured and pulled together into a fully healed scar, the edges of which glowed a strange silver. I ran my fingertip over it, noting the slight hum beneath my skin where I touched. The marking seemed to have a deliberate shape, though it wasn’t until I turned my head a slight bit that I noticed the way the skin had tightened around the wound like vanes to a rachis, giving it the appearance of a feather.

How peculiar .

It didn’t hurt. I no longer felt the delirium, or heat of a fever. I sat up, noticing Aleysia’s bed empty and made. Squinting against the light, I rested my palm against the ache in my left eyeball and stumbled out of bed toward the dresser. In the mirror’s reflection, my skin seemed paler than before, if that were even possible. I lowered my hand from my face and jumped back on a gasp. The lower part of my iris, ordinarily a deep, winter gray, had paled to an icy silver. I leaned in, my fingertips skimming just below my eye, and studied the aberration that almost appeared like a metallic fleck stuck to my eye.

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake!” Aleysia’s voice shot a startling jolt through my muscles, and I nearly poked myself in the eye. “Thank the ever loving and merciful god!”

Merciful god? Since when had she begun crediting him for anything?

I turned just as she crashed into me, wrapping her arms around me.

“I thought we lost you! I thought … I …” The tears in her voice had me frowning. What had gotten into her? As she straightened herself, I covered my strange eye to keep her from seeing it. “You … you slept so long.”

“Yeah, I had a hard time falling asleep last night. Kept waking up in the night, after you went back to your own bed.”

Face painted in confusion, she shook her head. “After I went back to my own bed? Maeve, that was four nights ago.”

“What?” Suddenly, I was the one confused.

“You’ve been practically comatose for days.”

Days? I let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s …. That can’t be. It was just last night I was singing to you.”

Her brows flickered, and she blinked away the shine in her eyes. “Uncle Felix said you were actually dead for eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds. He tried to revive you.”

Dead?

How could that be? I’d had moments of lucidity. How could I have not known that I’d died ? That cold feeling of disbelief swept over me again, and I stumbled back into the dresser, catching myself. “I don’t remember any of that, at all. Just … moments of waking and sleeping. But it felt like it happened over the span of an evening.”

“You came down with an awful fever. Mr. Moros arrived, and you were still in bed. I had no choice but to tell Agatha about the cut on your arm, so she had Uncle Felix look at it. Then you … you stopped breathing, and he started talking about wheeling you down to the morgue …. Well, I … I was beside myself. And then you started breathing again.” Clearing her throat, she flapped her hands at her eyes as if trying to stave off the tears and pointed to my hand still covering my eye. “The condition with your eye is called duoculos , according to Uncle Felix. He doesn’t know what caused it, but he said it’s relatively harmless.”

At that, I lowered my hand, somewhat relieved. “What does he think of the cut?”

“He told Agatha to monitor it. If it didn’t get better, they were considering chopping it off. I’m just relieved you’re better. You must be starving.”

It wasn’t until she suggested the possibility of food that I noticed the ravenous ache in my stomach. “I am. A little.”

“I’ll grab you some warm broth. Probably better that you take it slow. No big meals.”

“Probably.”

“Well, now you’re awake, I can finally celebrate the victory of seeing Agatha absolutely beside herself with anger.” The worry and grief in her eyes from moments ago cut to a wicked expression of satisfaction. “Thought she was going to have to return that money to Mr. Moros. She broke three good vases, according to Lolla.” She chuckled and plucked the brush from the dresser, drawing it carefully through my hair. “Just imagining such a thing brings me joy.”

“Happy to have obliged.” I winced as she tore through a knot. “And Mr. Moros?”

“It seems you’ve not rid yourself of him. He’s come to check on you every day, leaving chocolates and flowers.” She gathered up my hair and brushed the roots, chopping at them with haste. “I hope you don’t mind, I ate quite a few of the chocolates. Had to make sure they weren’t poisoned, you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“Honestly, Maeve. I could cry of happiness right now.” Without warning, arms enveloped me from behind, the pressure at my throat damn near choking me. “You looked absolutely terrible for a minute there. I feared …. Well, with father having …” The wobble in her voice told me she was holding back more tears. “And being here … alone …”

“I’m here.” I gripped her arm still banded at my throat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll go get you that broth. Stay put.”

I nodded, and the moment she released me and scurried out of the room, I turned back to the mirror, staring at my eye. “Duoculos,” I whispered.

The sound of a shout snapped my attention toward the window, and I ambled that way, catching sight of two boys, perhaps no more than twelve or thirteen, across the dirt road at the edge of the forest. Though difficult to see from that distance, it appeared as though they were stomping on something. I squinted, noting a black object beneath the boot of the boy wearing a brown hat, and my heart shot into my throat when it occurred to me they were near the winterberry bush where I’d buried the raven.

“Oh, no.” I shoved the window open on a creak, and a rush of cold air nearly knocked me backward. “Hey! Hey, you! Get away from there!”

The boys ignored me, keeping on with their violent stomps. A dark and wicked anger stirred in my gut. I opened my mouth to scream, yet nothing but a high-pitched screech escaped me. I slapped my hand over my mouth and backed out of the window, ducking below the sill.

What in seven hells was that?

A peek over the sill showed the boys stomping away, clearly not having heard me, at all. Or perhaps they had and didn’t care.

But then they stopped, and one of the boys turned toward the forest behind them, as if he’d heard something.

I pushed to my knees, curious.

A flash of black flew past the boys and up into the sky. Looming over them, what looked like a colossal-sized raven flapped wings that must’ve spanned the width of a small cottage. My jaw creaked open as I took in the size of it. The creature exploded into a flock of ravens that cawed as they scattered off.

A scream jarred me out of my staring toward the sky, and I glanced down to find one of the boys clutching the edge of the archway, as though something was pulling him by his feet into the woods. His friend grabbed his shirt, tugging him the other way.

He lost his grip and flew backward, the impact knocking his hat to the ground.

I blinked, and the other boy was gone.

A cold sensation moved through me as I stared down at that now empty archway, with its ominous bones. An itch at my arm had me mindlessly scratching around my wound.

The other boy pushed to his feet and peered into the forest.

The itch turned to a burning sensation.

“Don’t do it,” I whispered, watching him step closer. Closer. The scratching of my arm became frantic. “Don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?” At the sound of Aleysia’s voice, I jumped back, and it was then I noticed the inflamed skin around my wound and the blood trickling into the grooves of the scar.

I glanced toward the forest again, to find the other boy was no longer there. Only a flock of ravens pecking around the grass. I’d have thought the forest had taken him, too, but there was no sign of his hat, nor the black object they’d been stomping. No upturned dirt from where I could see.

“I thought … there were boys at the woods,” I said, the confusion in my head carrying into my voice. “I saw one of them get taken.” It must’ve been the lingering shock that kept me frozen, staring. That scene looping inside my mind. “They were screaming. Did you hear the screams, Aleysia?”

“No.”

Surely, she would’ve. As thin as the cottage walls were, we’d heard strange noises coming from the forest a number of times.

“By chance, did you happen to see a … exceptionally large bird that … exploded into smaller birds?”

“No. Did you see a large bird that exploded into smaller birds?” Hearing her ask that aloud had me shrinking into myself. How completely insane I must’ve sounded.

“No. I was …. I just thought …. Some fresh air. I think I need air.” I finally turned around to see her holding out a bowl of broth and a slice of bread for me.

“I think you need some rest. Maybe some food,” she said, prodding the food toward me.

“I’ve had plenty of rest.”

“Yes, well, eat something before you slip into delirium. Though, I fear it’s too late,” she muttered under her breath.

“I could actually stand a quick walk first.”

“What? No. You need to eat, Maeve. You haven’t eaten in–”

I snatched the bowl from her hands and tipped back the broth, slurping it until I’d polished off the whole thing. Though, I immediately regretted it at the roiling in my stomach.

Aleysia’s jaw hung open as she stared back at me and half-heartedly accepted the empty bowl, when I handed it back to her.

“There. I ate.” I snatched up the bread and ripped a piece with my teeth as I stepped past her for the door.

“Where are you going? You should probably have someone go with you.”

“I just want some fresh air. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Fine. But if you’re not back at the toll of the quarter bell, I’m coming to look for you.”

“Deal.” I slipped out of my nightclothes, keeping my arm out of sight, and into my black dress and boots, then padded quietly down the stairs in hopes of avoiding Agatha. The moment my feet hit the lower level, I froze. A tall, gaunt figure stood at the foot of the stairs–Uncle Felix, munching on a sandwich of, undoubtedly, smelt fish and fig jam, as he was known to eat. He regarded me with a cocked brow before biting into his loathsome lunch.

Likewise, I bit into my bread.

He turned into the parlor, and I kept on out the front door.

The frigid air stiffened my muscles as I ran across the dirt road toward the woods, glancing up at the sky on occasion to make sure there was no terrifying colossus bird overhead. By the time I reached the woods, the birds that’d been pecking there scattered off.

As I neared the winterberry bush, I slowed my steps on seeing the undisturbed grave, no black object in sight. I swept my gaze over the area to find no footprints, no sign of struggle, or grooves, where someone might have been dragged over the dirt.

It was real. All of it was so real.

I turned back around toward the house and spied Aleysia staring at me through our bedroom window. I didn’t have to see her face up close to know lines of worry etched her brow.

I’m losing my mind. I must be.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, and on an exhale, I opened my eyes to a flash of silver buried in the piled dirt.

Leave it alone.

I couldn’t, though. Against my better judgment, I knelt to the ground and dug at the grave, until I loosened what appeared to be a black and silver, scaled and oval object, roughly the size of a melon. An egg of some sort, judging by the shape of it.

But no sign of the raven I’d buried there.

Frowning, I looked back to the empty grave and the object again. I examined its rough surface, trying to imagine what it could’ve been.

Over my shoulder, I stared at the entrance to Witch Knell. Nothing lurked there besides an errant breeze that winnowed through the crooked limbs, but it was that eerie placidity that cast a shiver down my spine and urged me to turn away.

The egg sat in my palm, and I held it up to examine the silver lined scales on its surface. I stretched my left arm out enough to slide my sleeve back for the scar there and the silvery scales that also accented the feather’s rough shape.

My mind puzzled the connection. The bird I’d buried. The cut I’d sustained. And now the egg.

“What have you got there, girl?” The gravelly voice from behind me sent a quiver across my spine like a tuning fork. I slowly turned to find The Crone Witch leaning on a wooden cane, much like Agatha’s.

Up close, I could see the pronounced wrinkles in her skin and a scar next to her milky white eye that looked like she’d gone blind.

“I, um … I found this. On the ground.”

Brow quirked, she glanced to the grave and back to me. “You dug it up?”

“No. I mean, I saw it in the ground. And … well, yes.”

A wicked smile curved her lips.

“I’m sorry. I’ll put it back.” I turned to place the egg back beneath the bush.

“It’s yours now, girl. You must take it with you.”

“Do you know what it is?” The clang of the quarter bell startled my muscles, despite being distant from where we stood, and on instinct, I looked toward the sky again.

“It’s your penance. A life for death.”

“Maevyth!” Aleysia called to me from across the field.

“Coming!” I shouted back, but at the grip of my arm, I turned back toward the witch whose eyes were wide and blazing with urgency.

“What do you see, girl?” Her gaze fell to my arm, and she ran her fingers over the scar there.

I wrenched free, nearly dropping the egg tucked into my elbow. “Do not put your hands on me.”

“You see the dead. You hear them speak to you.”

“I hear nothing of the sort. Only those possessed by evil hear such things.”

“Is that so …” Her response made me pause.

“Do you hear voices? Or see the dead?” I asked.

“My sight is far keener for this world. I see a daughter, shunned by her kin.”

“You don’t have to have keen sight to see that.”

“I also know that the delicate black rose doesn’t grow well in these parts. Our winters are far too cold for its fragile roots.”

I puzzled her words and their meaning. Everyone knew I’d been found with a black rose, but maybe she knew something more. Something they didn’t. “Where do they grow?”

“Where the gods see fit to plant them.”

The way she talked in circles had my already muddled head spinning. “You believe in the gods. Not a single god, but many.” Admitting such a thing would’ve been confessing to a crime.

“The god to which you pray fears the power of many.”

“Lyverians worship many gods. Are you Lyverian?”

“Lyverians weren’t the only ones who worshipped many gods.”

“Maevyth!” Aleysia called again, impatience thick in her tone, and I caught a glimpse of her making her way toward the dirt road.

“Coming!” I shouted over my shoulder again, not daring to take my eyes off the witch. “And what happens if this egg should hatch?”

“It begs the question … what happens when the dead return from the grave?” Her dark chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. “Go now, girl. Wouldn’t want you to get swept away like two curious boys.”

My blood turned cold. “You saw them?”

“I see everything.” The way she tipped her chin down, looking at me beneath her bushy white brows, had me backing slowly away from her. When I turned around, I tucked the egg behind my back so as not to draw Aleysia’s attention to it.

“What are you doing by those woods?” Aleysia chided, as I padded toward her. “Was it not enough to have a man’s skin tossed at your boots?”

“I was talking to The Crone Witch.”

Her face twisted to a look of pure repulsion. “The Crone Witch? The woman who eats children, Maevyth?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see the old woman yanking a cord of wood from a piled stack of them with little struggle. “Don’t tell me you’re swayed by rumor now?”

“Of course not, but don’t you find her just a little unsettling?”

“Yes, I do. I also find her intriguing because of it.”

“You’re beginning to concern me, Sister. And what in God’s eyes are you hiding behind your back?”

“It’s nothing.” I pulled it from my back, cradling it in my arms. “Just an unusual rock I found by the woods.”

“That doesn’t look like any rock I’ve ever seen. And you intend to decorate our bedroom with that thing?”

“I’ll keep it under my bed. I just thought it was interesting.” I ran my finger over the scales on the outside, the texture reminding me of an enormous acorn.

“It’s probably cursed if you found it near those woods. Better to keep it outside of the house.”

At the sound of an approaching carriage, both of us turned to see someone coming up the road.

“No,” Aleysia said beside me.

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Moros. Hurry inside. I’ll tell him you’re still ill.”

“What if he’s seen us?”

“I’ll still tell him you’re ill and can’t accept company. Now, go.”

I rushed across the yard and plowed through the cottage entrance, egg still tucked in my arm. At the top of the staircase stood Agatha, and my heart sank into my stomach.

“Good god, you look ghastly with that deformed eye. Yet, I see you’re doing well now. And how timely. Mr. Moros has arrived to check on you. Such a kind man to inquire about you these past few days. Fortunately, he wasn’t troubled by your appearance.” She hobbled her way down the staircase, and I clutched the egg tighter, offering a smile to distract her from the object.

“I heard he paid me many visits. So kind.”

She stopped alongside me, and in as subtle a movement as I could muster, I slid the egg to my side along my hip. Leaning in, she sniffed and crinkled her nose. “Heavens, you smell like a pig’s pen. Go wash yourself. Quickly. I suspect he’ll want to visit with you for a spell.”

“Yes, of course.” Lowering my gaze, I slipped past her up the staircase, and when I reached the top, she called out to me.

“And, Maevyth, he may want to examine you. A fair request given what he’s paid.”

“What do you mean, examine ?”

“No need for undergarments, my dear.”