22 Alisdair

22 Alisdair

She saw us together tonight.

It enrages me that I lack the tongue to speak words she might understand.

I would tell her to run, with greatest haste, and never look back! Do not even so much as idly reflect upon this cursed place

again.

Already, the young witch is sinking, sinking, and I am powerless to cast her a line to save her from the quicksand sucking

her down.

Darkness on all sides of her.

Light, too, but the handicap light always suffers is that the darkness doesn't fight fair.

There are rules a light witch won't break. There are rules broken, for which a light witch will be punished, and harshly,

as she will soon learn.

There are no rules a dark witch heeds.

Sometimes you have to dirty your hands, witch—not let them be dirtied for you, with you too distracted by the distractions

they've set into play.

By Dagda, I am right here!

Somehow, I must find a way to communicate.

Usurping the grimoire's pages has proved beyond my means for long. There are many who seek to control it. The air in the old cabin, which should have been razed long ago, is thicker with interference than cobwebs!

Ah, how innocently it began, and how quickly it became anything but...

The child was twelve the night Death came again.

Her da was carried home from war, the wound of a battle-axe deep in his chest, too grievous for any to heal. Her mama had

taken one look and gone to fetch the village priest, while the men who'd brought him returned to their own families, nursing

their lesser wounds.

Alone, weeping, this time when Death came, the young girl's voice rang with power and authority, for she had already once

defied him, and her demands were the same.

Death demanded: Are you certain you wish this?

Yes , the girl shouted. Leave him alone! Restore him to me!

There is a price, Death said.

I don't care! she screamed.

His gaze considerably cooler, Death replied, One day you will.

Then the great Arawn melted into the shadows, returning to the Otherworld, far from defeated. For when Arawn came, someone

went. Never did the Lord of Death return to his kingdom, Annwn, without a soul.

When her mama returned with the priest, it was to find her husband sitting at the table, eating bread and meat in bemused

and wary silence.

Babbling, nearly incoherent, her mama assured the priest she must have mistaken her husband for one of the other injured men

in the darkness, and hastened the man of the cloth from their hut.

But she knew it was her husband who'd lain at Death's door, a mortal wound cleaving his breastbone.

And she knew well how many others knew it, too.

Her gaze wary and frightened, she gazed down at the girl, recalling the day she herself had tumbled from the roof. She'd been certain she'd felt something strong and hard go soft and broken in her neck. She'd not permitted herself to dwell upon it overmuch. Blessings, miracles, these were matters too lofty to be questioned by the likes of her.

The girl, jaw jutting defiance, with a measure of what would soon become enormous arrogance, cried, I sent Death away, just like I did for you! And stop telling me that I imagine things. Look at Da—he's healed. I did that!

The crofters exchanged a look, then her da nodded. Turning to the girl, he said, You will ne'er utter a word of this e'er again . Tae any!

Ordering her mama to grab only what was absolutely necessary, he went quickly to retrieve the gold, for they would surely

be burned as witches at dawn, accused of consorting with imps from hell and commanding demons to do their bidding, were they

still in the hut to be found when the villagers came.

As they stole through the forest beneath a silvery moon, they encountered a neighboring crofter, a braw man and friend, who

was at first astounded, then enraged and horrified to see her da up and alive, moving as if never harmed. For their great

laird, the O'Keefe, had died that night, the killing wound of a battle-axe suddenly appearing in his chest when no such injury

had been done him in battle. Before the eyes of dozens of witnesses, the O'Keefe had begun to gush heart blood, collapsed

heavily to the floor, and died as an icy wind whipped the tapestries into a frenzy upon the walls. Such doings were clearly

the work of devilish hands!

Da was forced to use his sword against the man to permit their escape. The crofter's innocent blood seeped deep into the ground

as they fled, and blood spilled in such ways leaves a residue in the soil. Some places are tainted forever, and there are

witches who deliberately seek them, using them to amplify their power for nefarious ends.

One would think the girl would have learned something that night, and one would be right.

But it was the wrong thing.

She learned silence, she learned stealth, she learned to begin seeking the lonely ones, the strange ones in the villages that

soon became too numerous to count, as Death came again, and again, and her small family was forced to flee, again and again.