“Who is this, come into my glade, who dares to speak to me? Small creature, you are not even man or elf—you are a girl child who wakes me, offends me. Come, let me eat you. I will be quick.”
The creature was not afraid, for its strength had come from spells, magic, and vile potions stirred in the waning moon. It had great height and breadth, was blacker than night, and was made in the image of a bear—but it was no bear.
Breanna took three deep breaths and held her air, waiting for the White to cover her. Willow, I need you now, she pleaded, remembering the words and instructions. She loaded her bow and pushed off from the woodland floor as she had when she killed the deer.
The White dropped, enraging the beast. Huge, hair-covered arms and legs pounded the rocks and trees in the path to its victim, but it quickly lost sight of her under cover of the protecting shield. The beast moved toward her, seeking where it had last seen the living creature, and Breanna faltered for a moment, afraid the White wasn’t enough to save her. She felt it shift as she lost belief.
Willow, don’t leave me, she begged. Somewhere in time the ancient elves shook their rattles, issuing power to the girl as their old knowledge recalled days and nights when demons walked the world and destroyed all people, both elfkind and mankind.
The beast had come from the witches’ cairn, its black eyes hundreds of flies gathered into spinning circles, their buzzing part of the creature’s roar. The creature’s body was gigantic, part mordant, part black hunting spell, sent to find and destroy those in its path. The beast’s great mouth was open, and inside it, Breanna could see whirling darkness going straight down, below the world, into a lake of green fire. She loosed her arrow and pulled another while the beast was blinded by the White. Drawing the sinew back, she sent the thin strips of yew through the monster’s shifting hide, but, undamaged, the beast continued toward her, for it was not flesh and bone to be stopped by puny weapons.
She moved out of its way, hoping to stay alive long enough to find a weakness, a way to kill it.
Winona, this is a witch’s creature. I need you. Casting her bow and arrows aside, Breanna moved toward the beast, seeing deeper into its giant maw. She drew it to her, but its size defied the length of her arms. She stretched and encircled the thing whose fury at her touch was the loathing evil has for good. Breanna spun, around and around, moving as a whirlwind, but the beast held on, getting its grip into her.
Fire, Breanna, fire. Her mam’s voice penetrated the whirlwind and the White. Fire, Breanna.
Mathena, Mother! Breanna screamed as the beast squeezed. She freed her fingers and moved from its grasp. With her arm extended she first threw a spark, and then lightning with great streams of elven fire that set the moving mass ablaze. Pressure eased in her chest and she drew in air. The White disappeared as a rush of consuming heat encircled, and covered the demon beast, and she heard great, suffering sounds as the thing sizzled and burned. The old trees nearby caught fire, and they too were destroyed. Their long trunks groaned and exploded outward, exposing old hiding places.
The witches’ spell broke as the demon was defeated. Breanna stepped back and viewed the ash covering the forest floor. The beast was gone, but another would come—if not that day, then tomorrow or the next, until it found a way to defeat her. Unaware of her true power source, she believed it had taken her mam and the others to save her. She was afraid for the future. Either beast or mordant would learn the secret of her abilities and counter them unless she had help. It was imperative she find someone strong, someone willing to face the horrors of the witches’ craft alongside her.
“It was a tree bear, very large, but frightened of me. I drew my arrows and sent it running. It won’t be back.” The story worked for Elida, but Breanna saved part of the truth for Sean. She told him about the beast, how it was made and how she fired her arrows into it. She said the beast had burst into flames and taken out some of the old trees.
“A similar creature might be back, Sean. The witch will know we’re here; we aren’t safe. We must move on. The ice has melted on the Tribon, and the winter cold is less harsh, we can safely travel again. If you want to try, we may be able to build a raft to carry us downriver. What do you think?” She knew the words were coming fast, but she was afraid he might try to force her to tell him all that had happened and they would fight about it.
Sean surprised her with his quick response. “I can build a raft. In the early morning I’ll start putting it together.” He sounded excited, eager to put his growing strength to work. Building a watercraft to take them away from the farmhouse was something a boy could do. Elida would be disappointed because they had to leave, but after thinking it over, the child would be fine. She needed security, and the old house had given it to her for a while, but if they were no longer safe, Elida would understand they had to go.
“Your sister will object, probably cry because we are going to leave. Maybe if you give her some work on the raft it will ease her mind.”
“A’right,” he said. “I can find her some jobs to do. In the meantime, I’m going to be looking for old lumber, so I’ll be gone for a while. Tell her for me, would you?”
“Yes,” Breanna agreed. “I will tell her.”
6.
The team of Farqells grew weary less than a week away from Nore Mountain, and Mathena could only imagine the heavier valley air was the cause. She and her journey sisters felt the change in their breath, and rested more in the back of the carts than they had the day before.
“Do you think this is a natural feeling, this tiredness within us and within the Farqells?” She had thought about it, and hoped the others would dispel her worries.
“Willow said she was feeling weary and ill, as though she’d eaten bark from a black locust tree, so no, I don’t think it’s natural,” Mara said. Always quick to speak her mind, she was a woman with self-confidence and spunk. She had been troublesome in her youth, but as she grew into Qay adulthood, her spontaneity and heartfelt words had become dear to Mathena.
“I’m thinking those black-hearted wraiths following behind have put a spell on us. Perhaps Miralda will give it a go, and blow the bad wind away, send it back on them who set it on us,” Mara said, and her eyes sparkled at the thought.
“We’ll wake her and see if she can cast it aside,” Mathena agreed. “I’m sure the Farqells would approve, for their sluggishness is very unusual, even with the change in the air.
“Miralda, come awake, dear,” Mathena whispered. “Your talents are needed. Yes, that’s it, you get to work a little, sharpen your skills long put aside.” Mathena shook her friend lightly, not wishing to upset her in sleep.
“The wagon they travel in is not far behind, though I think it was brought unnecessarily. The witches I remember have no need of those trappings for movement. Also, it is for our eyes and ears that they do not call the Phoebus to attack us. They think us fools who are unaware of their presence,” Mara scoffed, not willing to entertain the idea of someone believing she was foolish.
Yawning from her nap, Miralda sat up and took a moment to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “My dear Mara,” she said, yawning again, “it is better they think we are fools than to believe we are their equals. We are given an advantage. Yahmara has sent her minions to keep eyes on us, and the less we concern them, the more careless they will become. For the now, I feel their black hearts close by. Do you think we can slow the wagons a bit?”
“I see them,” Mara whispered. “There are four with witches’ bonnets. Only four! Do they think us so weak? And they are ugly sticks with unprepossessing faces.”
“Hush,” Miralda whispered, “don’t call attention to us. They don’t know where we are going, but a good guess would be we are going to see the councilor. Let’s not confirm their beliefs. Watch now as we turn the tables on them.” Miralda rose to her knees from her pallet in the wagon, closed her eyes, and began a soft chant.
“Let the maker of this spell, its bearer be.
Turn, turn
, evil enchantment, fly to the one who created thee.”
She glanced at Mathena and asked mischievously, “May I go back to sleep now?”
As the day progressed, Mara noted she was more energetic and the Farqells were prancing in the cold air, their long hair usually a hardship in hot weather warming them in the early winter’s chill. Eager to move on after the break, the grass eaters waited for directions from Mathena. Her memory had guided them toward Eliandor’s realm, and the others were assured of the destination as long as their leader was at the helm.
“My, we have been put away such a long, long time,” Miralda said to no one in particular as she rose from her sleep. “This new age may find our presence upsetting.”
The thought had entered the minds of all seven, and they considered it well.
Each morning at breakfast, after giving thanks to the Creator, the seven gathered around the central fire and discussed their thoughts from the day before, or brought up new ideas for the day ahead. The next morning, after Miralda reversed the witches’ spell, Willow was quiet, keeping her thoughts to herself, but obviously troubled. Each moment or so she would look from the corner of her eye toward Mathena, hesitating as though waiting for a sign she should speak. Finally, she said the words she had been dreading since the night before.
“She has used the White, twice now, keeping herself and two others from a fierce mordant. That is all I know. I saw it, three dicants in breadth and five tall. It was terrible. Yahmara is sending the strong ones for her. But they do not know of the ancient power; not even Breanna knows she possesses it.”
“Yes,” Winona said, “I have not spoken of it, but a witch’s black demon came, and Breanna called it to her, defeating it. This I felt in my memories. If the ancient ones sent power to her, she will not know how to control it.”
“How long since?” Mathena whispered, dropping to her knees. “She is alive? My child is alive? Tell me!”
All had felt Breanna’s touch and stepped forward. “It appears so. We have felt her, seeking memories.”
“Where has she been these years?” Mathena questioned frantically. “Tell me all.”
It was Winona again who answered, who told Mathena all she knew. That Breanna had been with a human family and was healthy. That she had passed the maturing, and afterward, the hunt by Yahmara had begun.
“We wanted to give you the news, but it did not seem good. We were concerned it might deter you from our mission. Please forgive us?”
“She will not last long against mordants. We must go to her,” Mathena replied, ignoring the apology. She scrambled to her feet, rushing toward the wagons.
“Stop, Mathena!” her sisters spoke as one. “Eliandor’s realm must be our destination, for only he has the power to disenchant Yahmara,” Mara said “He gave her the gift, and he must revoke it. Let us make haste to Pentara Wood, trusting that Breanna will hide herself well in the winter cold. Yes, we must find her, but the old ones who chose her for their champion may be her greater enemy. Their desire for revenge against the evil sisters may destroy her.”
Anola’s voice was soft and reassuring, and the calmness of her instruction reached the panic inside Mathena. “Our task is straight away to him, praying he will have the answers we seek. Your daughter has wisdom far beyond yours or mine, for she carries the knowledge of the seven and the power of the ancients. She will survive.”
“Of course,” Mathena replied. “Forgive my loss of control. I know what is best. Only the councilor can unravel the threads of magical spells. I am taken by surprise and gratitude that my child has been alive for these five summers since she was taken. Now we know for sure witchcraft was the child thief, and my old enemy has thrown the gantlet, seeking revenge.” She relaxed in her seat, for even with the knowledge Yahmara had taken her daughter, Mathena was joyous, knowing Breanna had not been eaten by Orbels or other cruel monsters.
The wagons following closely behind the seven slowed and disappeared from sight as the creatures pulling them went their own way. Two of the coven occupants were asleep on the seats, while the others shuffled here and there in only brief moments of clarity. Returned witches’ spells were disastrous, for they doubled in power as they bounced back and forth between beings, and Miralda’s enchantment had assured the result.
At some point, the beasts towing the witches’ wagons drifted away from the valley road, onto another trail toward the Desert of Desolation, putting many leagues between them, and the seven, before the spell thinned. Mara, who had the power of extended sight, laughed at their plight, for she knew Yahmara would rave when the spell’s treachery was discovered. Her good spirits faded briefly upon realization that they would never be underestimated again.
“Hurry, we must hurry,” Miralda cautioned her sisters and the Farqells. “We have little time before the witch sends worse entities than we have ever imagined.”
By nightfall they were far into their journey, a great distance from home, sleeping under cover of the White. The morrow might bring great distress, but for a night the seven Qays slept soundly and dreamed of family and home at Pentara Wood.
7.
Building a raft was not as easy as Sean had thought—every part of it broke at one time or another. His logs for the base were too green to float high, and too heavy once it had a load to carry. Removing some, and adding old fence posts helped, but those were bug-eaten and difficult to keep from breaking through into the rot. The hemp rope he found in the farmer’s barn came apart when he tugged on it, causing his too-green logs to spring apart. Finally, Sean devised a method of connecting the logs by hammering long pieces of hard wood into the midsection of the old, softer wood, until he had a base that wouldn’t leak. Although it was as heavy as ten men, or so it seemed, the three of them, Sean, Breanna, and Elida, managed to inch it to the river one corner at a time.
He tied it to the bank to test it for floating—a good thing, too, because it was flighty, and wanted to dance across the swirling, dark water. Such raft behavior would have had them dropped off the side, into the Tribon. Sean added a small rail around the edge and made it more a boat; not that it floated like one, he thought, but at least a person could sit, and not slide off each time the raft dipped on its side.
Sean was pleased with his work and cut poles to steer it, yelling over his shoulder to his sister and Breanna to be ready soon. They couldn’t carry all the comforts from the house, but there was room for food, bedding, and cooking pans. Elida had found a dead mother fox with one tiny kit at the edge of the forest. The babe was mewling and eager to be fed after the little girl wrapped it in her apron and returned to their temporary home. Recognizing it no longer had a mother, the little fox snuggled against Elida and swallowed greedily as she fed it bits of fish. The furry ball refused to leave her side, and Elida refused to leave the house unless Kit, as it was called thereafter, went with them.
Sean was unwilling at first to take the animal along, but it was playful and climbed over them as if they were littermates. After a short discussion in which Elida repeated she was not going if Kit didn’t go, they loaded the rest of their goods and pushed off. The winter snow and ice had melted on the upper headwaters of the Tribon, raising the level of the river, bringing brush and the occasional dead animal to the surface near the raft. Elida was frightened that the fox would fall into the water and drown like those animals she had seen mixed with the trash from the runoff.
Breanna used one of the steering poles, getting better each day, and thought while she poled down the Tribon how much she hated leaving the house for unknown territory. The little cottage had been home to them for most of the winter, and it was with sadness she said goodbye. They had even celebrated Sean’s birthday there. Familiarity was important in their lives after they had lost so much. She remembered her distraught feelings after being kidnapped and hoped to dispel some of Elida’s fears by agreeing to take the baby fox on their journey.
Breanna had a numb place in her heart where she had set her grief
aside, and no amount of daily activity could ever touch it. She didn’t want the same feeling to live forever in the younger girl. If they were fortunate, they would find a good family somewhere to take Elida in and give her a home. Breanna hoped it would happen. It was a sad thought that the little girl might grow up without a mother to love her.
They stopped that first day just as the sun moved toward the horizon, giving them just enough time to put their camp together. They thought it unwise to try and sleep on the raft, for the water beneath the logs made the floor too damp and cold for comfort, and might cause them to become ill in their chests. Sean as their captain made certain the raft was out of the water and on dry land. If it was in the river and broke loose, they would once again be left high and dry. He took the old hemp rope, wrapped vines throughout the strands for extra strength, and attached the raft to one of the trees along the river. With their transportation secured, they set up camp and prepared food for the evening meal.
The forest had thickened and widened more with each passing mile as the three traversed further along the river. The place they camped was overgrown with unfamiliar tall trees and brush, and although there had been no recent signs of mordants, Breanna was anxious in the darkness. She hurried to build a small cook fire, using the knowledge her mam had given her. Elida helped carry wood as Kit played at the child’s heels and got in her way. Giggling and running back and forth with the small animal, Elida appeared happier to Breanna than any time since her mam and poppa were killed.
In the middle of the darkest part of the night it came, pounding the land with huge, hammerlike fists. The sky darkened even more as all signs of light from the stars above disappeared. Yahmara had outdone herself with the making of this monster, but demons and spells depend upon the direction set for them by their maker, and evil in the world, gigantic though it may be, cannot smote its target if it can’t find it.
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