Coven: a dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 2) (12 page)

“Well, when it comes to guarding her magical secrets, she won’t even share them with her own niece. I’ve never even been properly initiated into their coven,” I said, wiping my mouth. My head buzzed from the sudden intake of alcohol. “Since my mother died giving birth to me, I think it was just
assumed
that I was the third witch. I’m pretty useless, though.”

“Yes, Maerwynn mentioned that.” said Brunhild. “She said you didn’t even know until recently you were a flame witch. That’s not right, Ada. We’ve all grown up learning about magic, just as we learned how to hunt for food and groom horses. If you have power that isn’t properly trained and direction, it can be dangerous. You could get angry or upset and really hurt someone.”

I thought of what Bernadine had said about my having inherited power from both my mother and father, and of how I’d set Clarissa alight with that ball of flame from my hand, and how she had screamed and struggled to put the fire out. Brunhild didn’t even know how right she was.

“It is dangerous,” I said. “But it might be a good thing we’ve come here after all. My aunts don’t want to teach me, but if I can learn from you how to channel and harness my magic, then I could be an asset to Ulrich in his battle, rather than simply something he has to protect.”

That night, I tossed and turned on my furs, Brunhild’s words running through my head. The ladies in Haven were so well-developed in their powers, whereas I didn’t even know how to perform even the simplest spell. Even though I’d never shown any sign of magical ability before, perhaps if I’d had more attention, more training… why had my aunts never taught me the ways of the coven, if they knew what volatile combination lurked inside me?

I had no answers, but I was beginning to see that my aunts weren’t the all-knowing, infallible witches I’d thought them to be.

My eyes had barely shut when a strong hand clasped my shoulder and shook me roughly. My eyes flew open and I tried to scream as I saw the dark shadow towering over me. Immediately my mind flew back to the terror I’d felt when the men of the village brought me to Ulrich for the first time.

A scharfrichter has found the Haven. He’s come to take me away again.
I froze in terror, unable to move as the figure loomed closer. A hand cupped against my mouth, and Maerwynn’s harsh voice spoke. “Get up. You will join me tonight for a ritual. Do not speak. Do not ask questions.”

My whole body surged with relief. Fear was replaced by excitement. A ritual. I was actually going to learn magic! I was breathing heavily as I rose from my bed and reached for my dress. Maerwynn shook her head. “Do not bother. We will perform this rite skyclad. It will enhance our powers.”

No longer terrified, but nervous, I jumped out of bed and followed her outside. A light rain had been failing, and mud squelched up between my toes. The crisp night air raised goosebumps against my naked skin. I used my arms to cover myself, feeling as if many eyes were watching me, even though there was only Maerwynn, and she didn’t even glance in my direction as she led me through the camp to the edge of the river.

I stood behind her and watched as she collected up some objects wrapped in a linen cloth that had been placed on one of the altar stones. Feeling anxious that one of the other women might decide to go for a walk under the moon and see me, I used my hands to cover my breasts and my mound. When Maerwynn turned around and saw me, she gave a grunt of frustration, grabbed my wrists and lifted my arms above my head.  

“Shame is a construction of the church, designed to enslave women,” she said. “You must not feel shame of your body, for it is an instrument of great power. If nothing else, Ulrich should have taught you
that.”

My face burned with her words. I was grateful that the night hid the deep blush that must have covered my cheeks. Maerwynn dropped my wrists, and, with a pointed look at my chest, turned her back from me. I placed my hands at my sides, fighting against the urge to cover myself again.

At the edge of the water, Maerwynn turned to me. She raised her hand, and I saw that she held a short, double-edged knife. I stepped back, terrified. Was this what Ulrich had warned me about? Had Maerwynn dragged me out of bed to stab me?

I took another step back, raising my hands to defend myself. But she merely smiled.

“If I’d wanted to hurt you, I would have done it some time ago, and I wouldn’t have required a blade.” Maerwynn tilted the knife, turning it in her hand so that it caught the moonlight. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen a knife like this before. Your aunts must own several. It is an
athame,
a ritual dagger.”

Maerwynn grabbed the blade between her fingers and offered the handle of the dagger to me. I took it gingerly, feeling the heat of Maerwynn’s touch on the carved wooden handle, the solid weight of the blade. I peered into the fuller, and saw a line of runes stamped there. This wasn’t a weapon like Ulrich’s black sword, brutal and barbaric. It was slender, graceful – the weapon of a strong and powerful woman.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, tracing the line of the blade with my finger. I felt a sting, and saw that I’d opened a small cut across the pad of my finger.

“Beautiful, and deadly sharp,” Maerwynn said. “Like a woman.”

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked, sucking on the end of my finger. I held out the blade to Maerwynn.

“I heard you asking your aunts to teach you a spell to see Ulrich’s movements, and they refused. They told you there was no such spell, but you suspected was a lie. I am going to show you that spell.”

My heart pounded. Maerwynn was going to teach me magic.

“But why? You don’t even like me.”

“That has nothing to do with anything. I will not have anyone in the Haven who is not properly in control of her magic. Without knowledge, you are dangerous, Ada. You could endanger my coven, and I can’t allow that. I will give you the knowledge you need, but you have to trust me completely. Do you?”

My heart pounded. I looked up into Maerwynn’s harsh features, her lips pursed and her green eyes piercing mine. The moon behind her framed her thick hair in a pale, unearthly glow. She was a hard woman, and she and Ulrich obviously had some issues, but she had always been honest with me. Which was more than I could say for my aunts. I nodded slowly. “I trust you.”

Maerwynn held out her other hand, and I took it. She led me to the edge of the river, and together we stepped into the water. I yelped as the cold water sent needles of pain up my legs, the cold like a burning beneath my skin. Maerwynn seemed impervious to the icy water. She tugged at my hand impatiently, leading me further out into the torrent.

Together we waded deeper, until we were standing up to our waists in the water. The cold clamped around my body, forcing the air from my chest. I gasped for breath, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. Maerwynn gave me an amused look, the cold didn’t seem to impact her.

“You must do exactly as I do, follow my exact moments, and repeat the words I speak. Do not ask questions, do not break your grip, and do not drop your focus, or the ritual will be broken. Do you understand?”

I nodded, too cold to find my voice.

Maerwynn held out her hand, palm up, facing the moon, with the knife blade pointing into the sky. She ordered me to do the same, pointing my fingers above my head. Gingerly, I raised my arm, the cold making it shake as I struggled to hold it up above my head.

“Earth, Fire, Ice and Air, protect our ritual and hear our plea.” Maerwynn chanted, her eyes flicking at me. I repeated the words, my voice barely audible over the roar of the river.

“Winds of the huntress, come to me,” she continued. “Bring me news of the warrior Ulrich.”

She leaned over and grabbed my outstretched hand, pressing the knife against my palm. I yelped as the blade dug into my skin. Maerwynn ignored my cry as she dragged the blade across my palm. A line of blood trickled down my arm. Without flinching, she then slashed her own palm and pressed her hand to mine, entwining our fingers together so our blood mingled together.

My skin pulsed with hot energy as Maerwynn squeezed my hand hard, her face twisted with concentration as she spoke a chant in an ancient tongue I didn’t understand. I chanted the sounds along with her as best I could, wincing as my hand grew uncomfortably warm, then hot, then so ferociously hot tears sprang to my eyes. It was all I could do not to tear myself away from her and dump my fiery arm in the icy water. My stomach churned as the two extremes battled it out inside my body. My head screamed with pain, and I could feel the bile rising in my throat.
What was happening?
I’d never felt anything like this before.

Heat raced down my arm, through my torso, and out into the water, pushing out the chill. Now, I no longer shook, but my body felt as if it were burning from the inside out. Around my legs, the stream bubbled and hissed. Steam curled around me. My ears rang.

Maerwynn gripped my hand tighter, her voice rising through the din inside my head as she continued to chant. I tried to chant along with her, but I couldn’t hear my own voice over the rushing of the water as it pounded inside my head.

The water below us swirled, colours and shapes forming in the ripples. At first I thought it must be a school of colourful fish swimming around us, attracted to the heat we were creating. But soon I could make out scenes and images. The water was forming pictures, showing us a vision of something. Trees rushing past in a blur, the flicker of a black-horse galloping through the forest. A hooded man stooped over a drink at a public house. I leaned forward, desperate to catch a glimpse at his face.

The hooded man turned toward me, his eyes were hollow, haunted. The man was Ulrich. They stared right out of the water into my eyes. Ulrich! He was under the water. He would drown. I had to save him.

I screamed, and plunged forward, yanking my hand from Maerwynn’s as I slumped into the water, feeing in front of me for Ulrich. The images disappeared. The heat slid from my body, and I was enveloped in the icy water, the cold pricking my skin like a thousand needles.

“Ulrich!” I cried, thrashing about as I felt for his body. Panic seized me. I couldn’t feel anything under the water. Where was he? “Ulrich!”

“What are you doing?” Maerwynn snapped. “You foolish girl. You’ve broken it!”

“Where’s Ulrich?” I cried, splashing through the water, the ice burning up my body.  All I could see was the churning surface and the faint outline of the rocks beneath my feet.
He’s not here, why can’t I see him any more?

Maerwynn clamped her hand around my wrist. “Ulrich’s not in the water.” she snapped. “What you saw was his imprint, his shadow. It is called
scrying,
Ada, and it allows us to see what happens in lands far from our own.”

Scrying.
The word sounded familiar. I’d heard my aunts mention it before. My shoulders slumped. Relief set in. “He’s not drowning?”

“No.” Maerwynn gripped my arm and dragged me toward the shore. As we waded out of the water, the cool air brushed my skin, sending fresh shivers through my body. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. “Ulrich is alive. Although from the look of his expression, his quest is not going well.”

“D-d-does the spell t-t-tell us the truth?” I managed to get out through

“Mostly,” Maerwynn said, dropping my arm and tossing me a wool blanket to dry myself. “It depends on the skill of the witch attempting it. A vision can be corrupted by the will of the scryer, or by someone else who wishes her harm. Instead of seeing what
is,
you might instead see what you
wish
to see, or what you secretly
fear
to be true. And it takes a skilled practitioner to recognize the difference.”

“Did we see the truth now?” I remember that way Ulrich’s eyes looks, so dead and hopeless.

“We did.”

“Can we see more?” I reached for her hand again. But Maerwynn snatched it away.

“You ruined the ritual with your foolishness. We will not be able to scry again until the next full moon. Only then will you catch another glimpse of what your precious Ulrich is up to.” Maerwynn stalked away up the hill, leaving me shivering alone in the moonlight.

U
LRICH

Tjard and I continued our journey toward Stuttgart, each corner of the road revealing new horrors. The Great Pestilence had hit this area of the countryside hard. Everywhere we travelled the plumes of smoke from the fires dotted the horizon. Some burned out of control, devouring houses and fields in great plumes of flame. We passed through whole deserted villages, their tools rusting out in the rain, whole meals left half-eaten on tables, their contents now devoured by the swarming rivers of rats. Tjard and I camped in one of these villages, filling our supplies from the stores we found under the houses. We had to stick with the water from the streams, though, for three bodies floated in the town well.

As we drew closer to the city, we could no longer afford to ride during the daytime on the main roads, even with our disguises. My face was well-known among the other scharfrichters of the region, and we saw several black-clad men bringing their harvest of witches to the city. Instead, we returned to the forest, and the reassuring cover of the trees.

While Tjard slept through the high afternoon sun, I watched the road from our hiding place. The scharfrichter Sadon, who oversaw the Ulm region, sat proud atop his black stallion at the head of a convoy of miserable prisoners. I’d met Sadon on many occasions, and it pleased me that I no longer had to pretend to approve of his vile personality and lust for violence. Sadon’s löwe marched beside the horse, his beaklike nose in the air and his hands clasped around a ceremonial spear bearing the strange seal of the two swords and the snake.

Behind the pair marched the sorriest bunch of prisoners I’d ever seen. They had been marching for some time, for they were caked with dirt and filth from the road. They made not a sound as they trudged along, their heads bowed, their shackles dragging in the dirt. I counted thirty-two in all, mostly women and young girls, but three emaciated men trudged at the back. As I watched, a mother clutching the hand of her small child collapsed from exhaustion, dragging down the man next to her. Soon the whole line was in a tangle. The löwe ran over and kicked the woman, shouting at her to get up. The child – a little girl, no older than five winters – screamed as blood streamed from her mother’s face. She pleaded with him to stop, but her cries only incensed the löwe further. He kept kicking at the woman until she no longer moved. When the woman stopped twitching, the guard rolled her into the ditch, and swung his whip at the child until she fell back into line. The sorry convoy continued on.