Everspell

by Donna Grant

  To be honest, he wasn’t certain of anything but that he needed to find the woman. He didn’t know where she was, didn’t know why he needed to find her. Nor did he know her name. Or what he would do once he located her. Brom debated going up the mountain to his cave to see if he could discover something more, but a feeling within prodded him not to waste time.

  He squatted next to the stream and splashed the frigid water on his face. Then he straightened and returned to the cottage. It didn’t take him long to gather the items he would need for his journey. With his cloak clasped around him, he hefted the bag over his head to wear across his body before walking out the door.

  Brom waited until he was at the top of the hill before he looked back. The last time he had set out on a journey, he had been just a lad. His mother had stood outside the door of the cottage that spring day and gave him a wave and a smile. Still, he had seen her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  Eventually, he had returned. This time, he had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case. The cottage nestled in its small glen next to the stream had been a glorious place to grow up. They rarely had visitors, but he hadn’t cared. He had the wilds of Scotland to roam, animals to play with, and the freedom with which to do it all.

  Those days had been simple. But they were long gone.

  Brom drew in a deep breath. “Farewell,” he murmured before he continued walking.

  He hadn’t chosen a direction. Instead, he let the magic within guide him. His pace was steady, and his strides long. He gave the nearest village a wide berth since he didn’t want to see anyone. He had to go into town on occasion, and each time, at least one person asked him how it was that he could live alone. No one understood that he preferred his company to that of others.

  At noon, he paused to rest near a tree and ate a quick bite. The sky was filled with clouds, warning him that more snow was likely on the way. He didn’t mind the cold. There was something soothing about being surrounded by all the glittering whiteness. However, his favorite was watching the snow fall or see flurries that danced upon the air as if they were fairies.

  His thoughts took him once more to the woman from his dream. The voice he’d heard in his head was female, but he didn’t think it belonged to the one he searched for. There was so much unknown about the entire situation. Most others would’ve ignored the things prompting him and forgotten all about the dream.

  But he wasn’t most people. He was half-Varroki. It was a part of himself he’d learned to keep secret. He had thought to seek out the Varroki and learn his magic, but he didn’t regret not finding them. The path that he had taken was the one he was supposed to be on. And while he might not have formal training, he had garnered enough knowledge to ensure that no one messed with him.

  After he ate, he packed away his food and waterskin, then climbed to his feet. When he set out again, instead of continuing east, he turned slightly right and walked more south. The farther he traveled, the more he realized that something was wrong. It was as if the balance of the Earth had shifted.

  He couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but something was definitely off. The next time he spotted a village, he decided to take a closer look. Instead of people milling about or standing around conversing, the streets were deserted—except for some chickens, a couple of goats, and a cat.

  Brom stood at the outskirts of the town and let his gaze move from building to building. Smoke billowed out of chimneys, so he knew people were there. And it wasn’t the cold that kept them indoors. Scots embraced the winter months. No, something else had them huddling inside their homes.

  Brom didn’t venture farther into the village. He walked to the next one, and the next, and the next. All of them were the same as the first. Finally, he stopped at the fourth town. It was nearing dusk anyway. He’d thought to sleep outdoors, but the way to learn what was going on somewhere was to visit a pub and rent a room for the night.

  A dog barked in the distance, and a cat ran across his path while chasing a mouse. The somberness of the village would have given anyone reservations about staying. Brom made his way to the pub and entered. The moment he stepped inside, every eye in the room turned to him as all the patrons fell silent.

  He ignored them, shutting the door and leaving the cold behind him. Brom noted that the pub was nearly completely full with a roaring fire in the hearth. It wasn’t filled with music and laughter, but instead whispers and fearful looks. He walked to the bar and nodded at the man behind it.

  “Not many travelers nowadays,” the man said in greeting.

  “I’ve noticed. Do you have a room available for the night?”

  “Take your pick,” he said with a shrug.

  Brom spotted an empty table in the back corner. “I’ll have an ale and whatever you have to eat.”

  The man nodded and turned away. Brom walked to the table and removed his bag to set it on the floor before he unclasped his cloak and hung it on a nearby hook on the wall to dry. Once he was seated, he let his gaze slowly run over everyone. Most of those inside were older and leaned forward so others couldn’t hear their whispered words.

  A woman set down his ale. Before Brom could reply, she was gone. He lifted the cup to his lips and drank heartily. The ale warmed him as much as the heat of the room. Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait for the stew placed in front of him.

  “Why is everyone talking in whispers?” he asked the barmaid as he jerked his chin to the others.

  She swallowed nervously. “Do you not recognize fear?”

  “I do, but what could keep everyone inside? Is it wolves?”

  “If only,” she said beneath her breath.

  Now, he was intrigued. “If it isn’t an animal, then it must be a person.”

  The maid glanced over her shoulder to the owner of the pub. “You better hope you don’t run into her.”

  Her. Unease ran through him. “What woman is this that I should be afraid of?”

  “Keep your voice down,” she admonished as she anxiously looked about to see if anyone had overheard.

  “They’re too busy talking to hear me.”

  Her thin lips flattened as she looked back at him. “I shouldn’t talk about it.”

  Brom held up two coins. “Will this help?”

  She didn’t hesitate to try and snatch them from his fingers.

  He tsked as he pulled them away before she could get them. “First, you talk. Then, you get the coins.”

  The barmaid clearly wasn’t happy, but she moved closer anyway. Then, in a low voice, she said, “A woman came through here about a week ago. She killed two men without even touching them. They just fell dead at her feet. She made the rest of us get on our knees before her.”

  Brom knew it was a witch the barmaid referenced. However, most didn’t realize that magic was part of their world. When they saw it or found out about it, their reaction was to kill whoever wielded it. He could’ve told the maid exactly what was going on and probably helped the village. But he wasn’t going to. Not when the odds were that they would react by trying to harm him, leaving him no choice but to defend himself. It would only make things worse for the village and for him. So, he kept his mouth shut.

  The barmaid raised her brow, waiting for the money. Brom handed it to her and pulled the bowl toward him. While eating, he took the opportunity to continue sizing up the individuals in the pub. Witches were a fact of life. They had been persecuted, which was why they usually kept to themselves. Except for those in the Coven. He knew the Varroki had warriors that searched for Coven members who had killed those without magic. He was also aware of a group of humans called Hunters, who also fought—and killed—witches who had harmed others.

  While Coven members didn’t care about hiding, they didn’t generally come out and show themselves either. Then again, so much had changed after the three elders had been dispatched, and Sybbyl took over. The Coven was strong, always had been, even since the days after the First Witch. But something more had changed. Something
Brom wasn’t aware of.

  That didn’t sit well with him at all. Brom should’ve taken the time to learn what was going on in the world around him before setting out. If he wasn’t careful, he could find himself in a tricky situation. Though, as long as no one discovered that he had Varroki blood, he should be good.

  He finished eating, then sat back and leisurely drank his ale. Try as he might, he couldn’t pick up snippets of any conversations around him. Finally, he gave up and placed a coin on the table as he grabbed his things and made his way upstairs to one of the rooms.

  Once inside, Brom bolted the door and started a fire in the hearth. When it was blazing, he sat before it and closed his eyes. Bit by bit, his mind disconnected from the present and sought out the Varroki. He picked up voices but wasn’t able to discern words. It took several tries before he was able to make out anything.

  “…we can’t just wait around,” a woman stated angrily.

  Brom was surprised at the English accent.

  “We can no’ rush out either, lass,” replied a deep Scottish voice.

  Then, Malene, a woman Brom had heard before, said, “Synne, we’re well aware that Sybbyl has Asrail. They’re using her to get to you.”

  “Because Sybbyl thinks we have the sword,” said the first woman.

  Armir, the man who was usually with Malene, said, “If Asrail had her wish, she would rather us find Avis and Lachlan’s sword.”

  “You doona believe the witch is taking my weapon to Sybbyl? You think she’s going to keep the bone within the pommel to use on her own?” asked the first man.

  Malene released a breath and said, “I don’t. I believe Avis plans to use the bone for herself. Like Sybbyl, she wants power. The two of them are going to clash.”

  “And my grandmother will be right in the middle,” Synne said.

  Armir made a sound in the back of his throat. “Sybbyl wants to destroy the Varroki, and she wants to find another bone. She’ll do whatever is necessary to accomplish both goals.”

  “Like I said, we need to find Elin,” Synne said. “She made me believe she was a friend. Then she released Avis from her prison. If we want the truth, we need Elin.”

  The more Brom heard, the more intrigued he became. He wanted to know who Synne and the man were. More importantly, it sounded as if they’d had a bone of the First Witch—and lost it. Was he after Avis, the witch they’d said had stolen the sword? Or was he after Sybbyl? He wished he had a name to go with the face from his dream.

  No matter how he tried to keep listening, the voices faded. For whatever reason, that’s all the magic allowed him to hear at the moment. A lot more had happened with the Coven and the Varroki since the last time he had listened in. He knew of the Blood Skull, the Staff of the Eternal, and the Heart of the First Witch, but he hadn’t known that another bone had been found.

  There was only one more. And no one would ever discover where it was.

  Brom opened his eyes and stared into the fire. Things weren’t going according to plan for Sybbyl. He really hoped the woman he was after wasn’t the new Coven leader. He wasn’t afraid to face her, but he knew from listening to the Varroki that she was incredibly powerful. Helena and Jarin had spoken in-depth about their battle with her.

  Synne, Sybbyl, Malene, Elin, Avis. Any of them could be the female he was meant to find. Or, it could be none of them. Brom couldn’t focus on that right now. He would continue learning names and see who these people were in the grand scheme of things. It was the only way he could safely navigate this sea of magic and betrayal.

  He wished he could speak to the Varroki. He might be able to get a lot more information if he did. But he had tried that numerous times. Brom wasn’t sure why he could hear them, and they couldn’t hear him. And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t see them either. Whatever connected him to the Varroki was done only through his hearing.

  Brom rose and went to the bed to lay down. He rested his eyes, but he didn’t sleep. He went over everything he’d learned that day since waking up, seeing the woman’s face, and having every instinct within tell him he had to find her.

  He was dressed and out the door before the sun rose. When he walked out of the building, a light dusting of snow had fallen, while more flurries swirled around him. He blew out a breath, watching it puff in front of his face. He looked first one way and then the other before he set out in the same direction as the previous day.

  Brom was half a league from the city, making his way through a dense forest when something caused him to halt. He looked around but saw nothing—not even tracks in the snow other than his.

  Yet he knew someone was near.

  He turned in a full circle, searching for whoever it was. When he came back around, a woman stood before him with two short swords pointed at his throat. Clear blue eyes gazed at him from a visage of exquisite beauty. A face he knew all too well.

  “Who are you?” she demanded in an accent he’d never heard before.

  3

  When the man didn’t respond, Runa quirked a brow and gently pushed the tips of her swords against his skin. She didn’t prick him, but it was a warning all the same. “Who are you?” she repeated.

  What worried her was that, for just an instant, there seemed to be a flash of recognition in the man’s hazel eyes. As if he knew her. That wasn’t possible since she had never seen him before in her life.

  “My name is Brom,” he said.

  She heard the deep timbre of his voice as well as the brogue that pegged him as Scottish. Runa found herself unable to look away from his eyes. There was something magnetic about them. Just as there was something different about the man himself.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d had her swords at a man’s throat. Usually, they sneered at her, not believing that she could wield them. Or, whoever it was quivered in fear. She had never had someone stand solemnly, their face devoid of expression.

  “And you are?” he asked. “Seems only fair that you give me your name since I gave you mine.”

  “I’ve got blades pointed at your throat.”

  His lips turned up slightly at the corners. “Your swords are short. Which means, you’ve got to get closer.”

  Something tapped against her inner thigh. Runa frowned as she looked down to find a curved dagger in his hand, the blade set against her leg. No one had ever managed to do that to her before, and she didn’t like it. Now she knew why he hadn’t seemed bothered by her weapons at his throat. With just one flick of his wrist, he could have her on the ground bleeding out.

  “Your name?” he pressed.

  She stepped back and lowered her blades. “Runa.”

  “Runa,” he said, drawing out the syllables.

  Suddenly, she wanted him gone. She took another step back, needed to separate herself from him. Even if she couldn’t stop looking at his face. His light brown hair brushed his shoulders, the top part tied back with a strip of leather. Thick brows slashed over unusual eyes that were steady and penetrating. The color was a mixture of gold, green, and blue, as if they couldn’t decide which color to be.

  As remarkable as his irises were, that wasn’t what kept drawing her gaze. His face was all hard angles, as if it had been chiseled from granite. The short beard he wore couldn’t hide his impressive jawline. But it was his full lips that seemed so at odds with the rest of his face. They were…sensual.

  She’d never in her life used that word to describe anyone or anything before. But it fit him.

  While she couldn’t see much since his cloak covered his body, there was no denying his broad shoulders. He didn’t act like a warrior, but she had a hunch that there was much about this man. Things that others underestimated. There was clearly more to him than he revealed, and she knew from experience that anyone who purposefully hid things about themselves did so for a powerful reason.

  Brom might intrigue her, but she had no time for such things. She sheathed her swords and started to walk past him. Then she looked over her shoulder d
eeper into the forest where she knew the Gira were. “You should give these woods a wide berth,” she told him before continuing on.

  “Why?”

  Runa stopped and blew out a breath. Why hadn’t she just left well enough alone? Why did she have to warn him? Without turning around, she said, “There are dangers you can’t imagine waiting for you.”

  “And how do you know of them?”

  At this rate, she’d never leave. “Because I do.” She headed out, telling herself that no matter what he said, she wasn’t going to stop.

  With each step she took, she expected to hear him call out to her. When he didn’t, she found herself frowning. It should make her happy that he hadn’t pressed her. And she shouldn’t care if he was stupid enough to ignore her warning and proceed deeper into the forest. She shouldn’t care at all if the Gira got him.

  “Bloody hell,” she murmured and then stopped.

  Her gaze rose to the sky, but the sun was quickly swallowed by thick, gray clouds. Snowflakes landed on her lashes, making her blink. She should keep walking. She didn’t know Brom.

  But he knew you.

  That’s what’d got her. She wasn’t sure how he knew her, but it was clear that he did, and she wanted to find out how. It wasn’t like the Coven to send a man after her, but then again, with Sybbyl ruling the group now, nothing was the same.

  Runa turned and found Brom standing where she had left him. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching you.”

  She took two steps toward him. “Why?”

  “Why no’? It’s no’ every day I encounter a woman who no’ only brandishes swords but also wears trousers. Even more curious is that other than the tracks you just made, there are no other footprints but mine.”

  Runa wasn’t used to anyone being aware of such things. Normally, if someone noticed the lack of tracks, it didn’t matter because she was about to end his or her life. But she hadn’t been sent after Brom. Perhaps he was hunting her.

  She walked closer.

  He shrugged and continued talking. “From what I understand, this is no’ a safe time for a woman to be traveling alone.”