Chapter 12

Chapter12

Circe lived.The shock of it rooted Daphne.

Mother, why didn’t you tell me?

No answer. Then again, what could the Earth Mother say that would forgive this betrayal?

A seething Daphne faced the witch who’d trapped her for centuries. “I am going to kill you!” A threat without any power because the iron cuffs kept Daphne weak.

“Me? Shouldn’t you be mad that your precious Mother would leave you stuck in that tree for so long? I mean, how hard is it to break a curse?” The witch tapped her chin and pretended to think. “Oh, that’s right, very hard when it’s tied to a ley line that’s constantly feeding it.” She cackled an ugly sound that didn’t match her exterior.

While centuries old, Circe still appeared in her prime, her golden hair hinting only lightly of silver. Her face was mostly smooth but for a few lines by her eyes and forehead, her trim figure tall and straight.

“Thanks for the rest. I needed a break,” Daphne lied.

“Oh, how lovely. Pretending you don’t have a burning hatred for me.” Again, Circe giggled nastily. “I’ll admit I had a feeling when I felt my spell finally snap that you’d come for vengeance. I put out word that any dryads spotted in the area should be brought to me.”

“You’re the one who corrupted the Cryptid Authority.”

“Didn’t take much. Kidnap a few family members, kill a few to show I’m serious, and it’s amazing how much they’ll ignore in the hopes I won’t eliminate the rest.”

The prideful taunting had Daphne wishing for something sharp to jab in her ears so she wouldn’t have to listen. The witch had no remorse, only arrogance. But she must also have a plan. What happened here wasn’t by accident.

“You’ve been poisoning the land,” Daphne stated.

Circe waved a hand. “An unfortunate side effect to my experiments.”

“Experiments to do what?”

“Become a goddess, of course. I’m so close. I’ve managed to defy aging and sickness. Even regrew a hand after an incident.” Circe held up the limb and twisted it to show off. “At this point, I’ve amassed so much magic the next logical step is divinity itself.”

“You can’t make yourself into a god,” Daphne exclaimed.

“Why not?”

“Because gods aren’t created.”

“Then where do they come from?” Circe countered.

“Nowhere. They’re divine. They just are.” Daphne had never wondered before.

“Are they, though? Or are they simply beings who found a way to push their power to the next level?”

“Even if they were, what does that have to do with the people you’ve been murdering?”

“I need their souls.” A mad light danced in Circe’s gaze. “The idea occurred to me as I was torturing a hitchhiker. When he died, a burst of energy was expelled from his body, and it made me think of the gods and their quest to be worshipped. ‘Why?’ I asked myself. Why would they care if anyone believed in them unless it conveyed extra power? Only, what power? Humans have none. Belief is a feeling, not a tangible thing. The only thing a non-cryptid has is a soul. Their life force. What if, when they die, those souls go to the gods they worship? That led me to my experiments. It turns out, holding on to souls after death isn’t easy. I’ve managed to contain them, but the side effect is…” Circe glanced around. “Somewhat detrimental to the environment. But that’s only because I’ve yet to figure out how to harness their power for my own use.”

“And to think they call me psycho,” Daphne muttered.

Circe’s face creased into an ugly rictus. “I’m not crazy. You’ll see. Lately I’ve been expanding my collection to cryptids. And what better soul to capture than that of a champion? I can’t wait to see what happens when I add your life essence to my collection.”

“I will stop you,” Daphne promised.

“Like you stopped me before?” The witch cackled. “Maybe it’s time you remembered what happened and why you should have never come after me again.”

The witch waved her hands and suddenly Daphne wasn’t outside the cottage with its polluted yard, but back in time before the roads and buildings, before women wore trousers and people bathed regularly.

She stood outside and observed a young dryad with silvery hair listening to the frightened townsfolk talking about a witch cursing their crops and poisoning their wells because they’d refused to pay a tithe. Daphne had been so cocky. Strutting about without a care. After all, the Mother chose her to be her champion. Someone to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

Future Daphne trailed herself as she strode boldly for the witch’s tower, a tall stone affair with a surprisingly lush garden outside. A garden fed by bodies, as it turned out. Their legs stuck out from the soil and acted as braces for the tomato plants.

The witch had been killing all those who trespassed. But her real crime was the poisoning of the village lands and water supply because they refused to give in to her blackmail. Outside the garden, fields lay fallow, trees lost their leaves, dead fish floated to the shore of the river.

The Mother didn’t tolerate that kind of abuse.

At the base of the tower with no door, Daphne shouted, “Come out and face the Earth Mother’s judgement.”

A woman peered from the topmost window and smirked. “I’ve done no wrong.”

“You’ve harmed the land of your neighbors.”

“Did I?”

“I am not here to play games. Come down at once.”

“Make me,” came the taunted reply.

Daphne, the undefeated champion, eyed the tower and chose to climb, her rooting fingers digging into the mortar and stone.

The witch disappeared from sight, most likely in fear.

An assumption that cost Daphne.

The slick oil that poured down didn’t hurt until the torch that fell from above ignited it.

A screaming Daphne, covered head to toe in flames, lost her grip, falling to the ground and rolling to extinguish the inferno. Gravely injured, she staggered from the witch’s property, aiming for the forest, but not quite making it. The pain sent her to the ground, sobbing. The Mother reacted by causing the Earth to heave and buckle, a rift opening in the ground to swallow her whole—the quake rippling outwards and tumbling the witch’s tower.

The Mother wrapped Daphne in a healing cocoon from which a tree sprouted. As it drank in sunshine, air, and water, it fed Daphne, soothing her injuries. In that dreamlike state, she watched the world above. The villagers came with their pitchforks to stab through the tower’s rubble, finding no body.

Is she dead?

The Mother replied, No.

Indeed, the witch hadn’t just survived, she was angry at losing her home and blamed Daphne.

One night, as the world slept, with the Mother absent, since she followed the sun, the witch came to stand in front of Daphne’s little sapling. Hands laced in front of her, the witch named Circe spat, “Because of you, I must leave and start over.”

Daphne’s consciousness rustled the branches and leaves, the message being, Flee wherever, I will find you.

“Only if you survive!” The witch flung a fireball at the tree, but the Mother had protected it against fire and so it extinguished rather than burned.

Circe tried lightning next.

It failed to split the slender trunk.

Even hacking at the bole with a blade had no effect. The Mother had protected the tree from harm.

The boughs swayed in mockery at Circe’s attempt. But the witch wasn’t done.

Daphne had never seen the dark kind of magic she called upon next, a magic that didn’t harm the tree. On the contrary, the witch cast a spell of life, a life fed by a ley line diverted to run directly through its roots.

At the time, Daphne hadn’t understood why the witch chuckled and said, “Enjoy eternity.”

But as time passed and Daphne’s wounds healed, she realized she could not escape. Her seed remained tucked within the aging tree. A tree that went through the seasons, and years, more than was normal for its type. The ley line kept it alive even as nature took its course. Bugs infested. Dry rot settled within. The poor tree cried out in pain. But no one heard.

Not even the Mother. The ley line and the curse kept the Mother away.

And so Daphne waited…

…centuries.

Until the right people came along and broke the spell, releasing her into a world vastly changed.

Daphne woke from the memory, fearful for a moment that she’d lost yet more eons but the cage she found herself trapped in had a view of Circe’s cottage. The bars were of iron and sizzled her palms when she gripped them. The floor was metal plated and burned her soles. She reached between the rods to try and touch the ground, wanting contact with the Mother, but the witch had sprinkled it with salt. Even if it weren’t, in this poisoned place, Daphne doubted the Mother would have heard.

Would the Mother even care? After all, she’d let Circe live, then led Daphne to the witch who’d hurt her. Did the Mother want her to die?

She could have sworn she heard a faint whisper, Have faith.

Hard to have faith in such a situation.

A rumble in the distance drew her attention, a growl like the one she’d heard not long ago. The motorcycle came into view, holding a big man with an intent expression.

Her lips parted.

Baptiste.

The beast had come for her.

The elation within had her smiling in greeting, only to frown. He’d come alone and bore no weapon. Foolish. So much for being rescued.

He parked the motorcycle and slid off, his gaze focused on her. “You okay, Psycho?”

“Do I look okay? I’m in an iron cage,” she grumbled.

He glanced at the cottage. “Is the witch inside?”

“I don’t know where she is but you’d best hurry. She most likely knows you’re here.”

“I’m coming. Don’t get your roots in a twist.” He swaggered in her direction, looking nonchalant, but she saw the tension that had his eyes scanning the area, the way his nose twitched ever so slightly as he scented.

“This isn’t the time for levity. The witch is Circe, my old enemy,” she stated.

“So I’ve heard. Fucking CA handed you over.” He passed the bubbling cauldron with a frown.

“They were trying to save the lives of their captured agents.”

“At the expense of yours,” he growled as his boot crunched some brittle bones on the ground.

She rolled her shoulders. “I’m better equipped to handle her.”

“Says the woman in a cage.”

“Did you come here just to insult me?” she groused.

“I’m here to save you-ooo!” He yelped as he suddenly got yanked off his feet by a hidden snare. The tether around his ankle had him dangling upside down and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Doing a great job with the rescue,” she snickered.

He scowled. “A temporary setback.” His shirt rode up his body, but he paid it no mind as he bent in half, using his abdominal muscles, which flexed admirably as he reached to grab the rope. It took him but a moment to release the loop from his ankle, then he dropped to the ground.

Despite doing it quickly, he ran out of time.

Circe appeared suddenly in a puff of smoke. “If it isn’t the wood nymph’s lover. Say goodnight.” With a snap of her fingers, the witch put Baptiste to sleep, the spell buckling his knees and sending him to the ground in a heap.

So much for Daphne getting out of the cage.

“Leave him alone!” she futilely yelled.

“Or what?” Circe shifted to face her. “What will you do? Yell? Stomp your feet?”

The helplessness enraged Daphne. How was she supposed to fight the witch when she had all the advantages? “You won’t get away with this.”

“And yet I already have. I’ve defeated all those sent against me. None are a match for my power!” Circe boasted.

It took everything in Daphne to not react when Baptiste stood up behind Circe a finger to his lips.

He wasn’t asleep!

Daphne had to keep the witch distracted.

“One day someone wilier than you is going to take you out.”

“Not you,” smirked Circe.

“No, not me,” Daphne huffed. “But I will cheer when it happens.”

“It won’t, but even if it did, you won’t be around—” The last of her words got cut off as Baptiste wrapped his big hands around Circe’s neck and squeezed, lifting her from the ground.

Circe scratched at his hands, clawing as she gasped for air. Her eyes bulged. Her motions became frantic. The magic she tried to call fizzled as he choked her.

Crack.

Circe’s neck snapped and she went limp.

The witch was dead. Daphne almost pouted since she’d been wanted to be the one who killed.

Baptiste dropped the body and approached the cage.

“Nice job faking sleep,” she remarked as he grabbed the bars on her cage and gave them a yank.

“I’m just glad she didn’t notice Marissa cast a repelling spell on me or things might have ended differently,” he admitted.

“Marissa helped you.” A flat reply at odds with the ire brewing within.

“Yeah. When we escaped the CA, she was the one to find us the bikes. We split up at the main road. She was supposed to meet us here as the plan was I’d approach from the front and she’d circle around and come in at the rear. I hope she didn’t run into trouble.” He glanced off into the distance with concern.

Daphne muttered, “I’m sure the pretty witch is fine.”

His gaze returned to her with a lopsided smile. “Is she pretty? I hadn’t noticed.” He heaved on the bars, and with a grunt, they squealed and began to bend, just not enough for her to get out.

“Hold on, I can help.” A huffing Marissa suddenly appeared, looking disheveled, with rotted leaves caught in her hair and some kind of putrid stain on her pants. She waved her hands and bit her lip as she aimed at the cage, grunting, “Someone didn’t want you escaping. These bars are like iron metal on steroids.”

“Let me see if there’s a saw that can cut through or something to pry them apart inside.” He glanced at Daphne. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

She snorted. “Ha. So funny.”

His lips quirked. “I try. I’ll be quick.” He headed for the cottage while Marissa kept straining only to finally grouse, “I can’t get them loose. My magic isn’t as strong here.”

“The whole place is unnaturally tainted,” Daphne stated.

“What was she doing?” Marissa eyed the cauldron and bones.

“Ungodly things.” An ironic way of putting it.

An impatient Marissa planted her hands on her hips. “What is taking that man so long? Is he looking with his ass?”

Daphne snickered. It seemed some things hadn’t changed since she’d been gone, including men being inept at finding items.

“While he’s fucking around inside, I’m going to check the wood pile I saw around back. Maybe there’s an axe.”

Marissa didn’t make any jokes as she sauntered off, leaving Daphne alone in the stupid cage. Foiled by metal. It was so unfair.

Movement drew her eye and dropped her jaw as Circe, her head at a decidedly unhealthy angle, rose from the ground.

“You’re dead!” Daphne exclaimed.

“As if I’d be so easy to kill. I will heal from this. And when I do, I’ll be back for you, Champion.” With slash of her hand, smoke enveloped Circe and when it dissipated, the witch was gone.

Just in time for Baptiste to emerge with a jug. He held it up, crowing, “I found some acid that should melt those suckers.” It took him a second to notice. “Where’s the body?”

“Gone. Circe is still alive.”