She was not injured, not seriously, a few cuts lined her arms and knees from where she had landed and she was sure bruises would appear in the next few days. Her limbs were stiff too from walking. Wynn sat up, her head spinning as the blood pumped through her vitally. It was a few moments before the world became still, but when it did Wynn wished desperately that she was trapped back in her confusion, that her body would not respond, because the traveller’s thoughts and emotions were pressing on her more urgently than her own and she had to listen, had to feel.
Pain and fear were strong like wounds in her chest and her breath caught in her throat; and the thoughts, voiced so quickly and felt so gravely in her head made her eyes roll in their sockets as her body shook with the effort. It was worse than it had ever been, this strange and unwanted ability to feel and hear everything from everyone, because she was weak and her mind vulnerable. She had not the energy to fight it, to strengthen her mind as Arabella had taught her, and so the thoughts flooded into her and the emotions surged through her.
“Where are we?”
“Take a breath, just breathe, we landed safely. Do not let them see your fear, they need you to lead. Breathe.”
“Control yourself Arabella, it would not do to hurt her, she is young and inexperienced –”
Wynn’s eyes darted up as she heard this thought and she glanced at Arabella’s form. She was crouching over a figure, her black hair blending in with dark shadows of the night. Her thin limbs graceful even in the filthy, blood splattered clothes that she wore. Wynn would not have known Arabella’s anger if not for the thought, for her body was relaxed and Wynn would have bet her life that her face was controlled, smooth and blank, or now that Wynn’s eyes were focusing again, her face might be pinched in concentration for the figure she was bending over was Braelyn. Unmistakable in the paleness of the moonlight, her blonde hair almost silver against the black dirt of the ground; Wynn crouched forward, on her hands and knees to gain a closer look. Braelyn’s face was almost white, her expression as blank as snow and for a moment Wynn’s heart nearly stopped. Was she dead?
Arabella’s head snapped up at Wynn’s thought and their eyes met. Wynn felt the rage, felt it burning through the stare, but Arabella’s face did not change because as Wynn’s view of the world expanded she saw Griffin hovering behind her and Jareth on the floor clutching his knees to his chest. Arabella would not betray herself with her expression, and so she turned back to Braelyn and Wynn let out a breath she did not realise she had been holding. She had never seen someone so angry, it radiated from Arabella, visible if one knew what to look for. Her jerky actions as her hand moved over Braelyn’s body, searching for injury, her stiff posture and most of all the mask of stone that was her face.
At least when the soldiers of Woodstone had been angry Wynn knew what would occur, a beating of some description with any implement or tool they could find. Arabella was a mystery to Wynn, capable of harming her in new ways, lighting fast and skilled beyond question, the pain she would inflict would be monumental. So Wynn did not move from the ground, she stayed on her knees, sitting down so that she rested on her heels. She could not go closer, not with Arabella so furious, and what would she offer if she did get closer? Arabella was busy and from the waves of pain and nausea that emanated from Jareth she was not done. Wynn watched as Arabella leant back and nodded at Griffin. Braelyn was fine and for the moment out of harm's way in her dreams, her eyes flickered in recognition of the noises around them. Wynn drooped in relief, she could not forget the sickening sound Braelyn’s head had made as it connected with the ground.
Jareth was next; Arabella knelt next to him and spoke softly. Wynn did not hear the words. Jareth’s thoughts centred solely on pain and now Wynn was coherent she could push them aside so they were nothing but small noises at the back of her head. Jareth was flexing his leg, still sitting on the ground and flashes of pain danced across his face. A bone was protruding out of ankle, gleaming white in the moonlight. He had broken his ankle. Wynn watched them together, he was trying to argue that it was no more than bruised but she saw him catch a glimpse of the pure white of his bone sticking from his ankle and he lost his voice. The blood was flowing freely and he now felt the warmth as it seeped over his skin and clothes, finally mixing with the dirt that he sat on.
“Can you fix it?” He whispered, his face pale at the sight of his injury. Wynn heard this, heard the desperation in his voice even from where she sat. How could he doubt Arabella? Pain made him fearful. Calmly, Arabella took a deep breath waved her hand over the gash, calling her magic from deep inside her and sending it into the wound. Wynn could see the bone slowly retract back into his leg and could feel Arabella’s magic fusing it together again; Jareth cried in pain but Arabella worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning the wound, killing off any sign of infection, and knotting together all veins and arteries before attaching the muscle. Once she was satisfied she rejoined the skin. Jareth’s breath came rapidly as the pain subsided.
Arabella stood up, patting Jareth on the shoulder and Wynn studied the wound in the moonlight; nothing remained but a slight pink tinge where the hole used to be. At the moment Jareth’s bone had retracted, finality had settled on the travellers, all were well, in body at least and had to stand, had to move. Wynn stood shakily and tentatively walked over to them, they had grouped around Braelyn. She looked horribly vulnerable, her golden hair white in the moonlight, her pale skin contrasting with the dark bark of the trees, and gazed out to the swamp. Wynn knew for a fact they were not in Inlo anymore, the tales of lands undiscovered revolved in her mind and she felt like curling up in a ball and hiding, it was too frightening and happening too fast.
“Where are we?” Griffin asked, it made Wynn feel better that even he did not know. How could he? None had left Inlo before, the army and wall saw to that. If indeed they had left Inlo then Wynn was truly free. The army would never believe she had managed to escape The Wall; they would not search for her out here, in the wilderness. Arabella stared out at the solitary house on the horizon for some time before replying.
“I cannot be sure, as I have never left Inlo’s walls,” Arabella answered quietly, turning to face the travellers, her face grave, “but this place is full of magic and somewhere in my mind a memory stirs, if I am not mistaken, we are in Herth and over there is The Widow’s house, the greatest Seer that has ever lived. Her past is shrouded in mystery; she is only one of maybe a dozen Seers left.”
Wynn studied the house, it seemed so simple, so poorly made and yet Wynn could feel the power emanating from it. She had to speak with this woman; it was not a question but a fact. This was the next step in their journey. It pulled on her like a rope, and it hurt that she was standing motionless instead of getting closer. She had never felt like it before and she glanced at the swamp desperately, it bubbled menacingly.
“How do we reach her?” Wynn asked. It was a question in general, not aimed at anyone in particular but Arabella’s emotions answered her. She was surprised and Wynn realised that Arabella had been planning to leave as soon as possible; talking with The Widow was not something she had considered, she was wary of the woman and that made visiting her all the more important to Wynn. Arabella scowled as Wynn felt her emotions and snapped, “You have to be worthy to pass.”
Wynn sighed and raised her hands instinctively, led by a primal impulse, but a hand gripped her forearm and the emotions that flooded her were northing but furious. So much so that the travellers all but disappeared to Wynn, she could feel nothing from them and if she had not been able to see them in her peripheral vision she would have believed them gone, she relied too much it seemed on the extra sense given by her magic. Wynn turned to face Arabella – for it was most certainly she – just as enraged as the foreign emotions that inhabited her.
“Arabella, you need to trust me.”
“Oh, I need to trust you;” Arabella cried sarcastically, throwing her arms in the air dramatically, “so what happened in Cratewood w
as planned? You meant to send yourself flying into Braelyn? It could easily have been far worse Wynn; you could have killed us all! When will you grasp that?” In Arabella’s mind Wynn saw flashes of when her magic had failed her and felt her face flush with embarrassment. Arabella had warned her countless of times, and her arrogance had almost cost them their lives.
Wynn gritted her teeth, suddenly aware that the Griffin and Jareth had taken a few paces back to stand closer to Braelyn’s unconscious form, and were watching the fight warily, “I grasp it,” Wynn hissed, “but you told me I had to practise my magic.”
“Yes, but on small things like a light or – or I don’t know, but anything other than moving us across The Wall! I would not even attempt such a thing and I am a very experienced Magus. I can forgive the first time because it was out of your control and you did not fully understand the implications but I have warned you countless times since then.”
Wynn felt her jaw tighten, the tension was evident in the air and she felt trapped inside it. She could completely understand what Arabella was saying – Arabella knew full well she did – but there was an undeniable need for her to visit The Widow and she knew Arabella did not wish to. She closed her eyes and tried to find the words to explain herself, knowing Arabella could hear her efforts and feel the sincerity of her thoughts. It was some time before Arabella took a step back and dipped her head submissively. It was a small sign, to any other the gesture was small but to those such as Wynn, who knew Arabella more intimately that she would have ever allowed, it spoke volumes for how serious Arabella was about Wynn being the Foreseen. The need that Wynn felt was something Arabella understood, for she had felt it the moment she met Wynn, the need to follow her and protect her.
Pointedly ignoring the second lapse in Arabella’s cold and indifferent exterior – the admittance that she would follow Wynn anywhere was startling and comforting and Wynn did not wish to ruin it by dwelling on it – she relaxed deeply, allowing the magic to run from its source into the palms of her hands. Arabella subtly turned her hands palm upwards and Wynn knew she was ready to protect them should Wynn’s magic go awry. Wynn took another breath and focused entirely on her magic. She sent it far to the corners of the swamp, following what her impulses told her. This time, with a single minded determination she called stones, rocks, boulders, anything that would help make a bridge across the decaying water. They came hurtling through the air stopping inches from her outstretched palms, then slowly writhed into position forming stepping-stones right up to The Widow’s house.
Arabella raised her eyebrows, her face blank and walked over to Braelyn, who was still unconscious and snoring gently, shaking her gently until she slowly opened her eyes.
“Come,” she said sternly and helped Braelyn to rise. Wynn, feeling Braelyn’s emotions wash over her as she became conscious, took a deep breath, then hesitantly stepped onto the magic-made stones. They shook as though about to give way, but held fast under Wynn’s insistent magic. As she walked she felt the tiny sparks of life of slimy creature’s inches below the surface and shivered. The swamp was vaster than it had seemed back in the trees, and Wynn found herself wishing to turn back, but could not turn around on the precarious stepping stones, and so forced herself onwards. Beneath them the black and thick water bubbled menacingly. The travellers followed behind Wynn, stepping only where she stood, tense with fear.
Eventually they stepped onto the boards that held the house high above the swamp, it felt like years had passed to Wynn, but it could only have been a few minutes. Once they had all stepped off the stones and onto the boards they peered through the holes into the house. It was a mess of jars, pots and pans, old discarded clothes and dead creatures nailed to the walls. Behind the house darkness reigned, the sky and swamp merging together in the blackness.
“I must assume, as one does, that you do not mean to stand on my threshold and peer into my home,” a voice said from the darkness and the travellers jumped guiltily and spun to see an old, dishevelled woman standing at the doorway. Her face was lined with a thousand wrinkles, her eyes almost lost in the folds of skin, her hair fell over her face and she brushed it away at that moment with irritation. The golden light from inside framed her and at that moment Wynn had never seen a more impressive person. She commanded a level of respect unknown to Wynn, a respect born of kindness and power, not fear and cruelty. She felt her knees buckle to curtsey but caught herself in time; she no longer had to curtsy to anyone, unless she deemed it fit, and the woman that stood before her did not seem the kind of person to demand such a show of respect.
Wynn wanted to glance at Arabella to see her reaction but her emotions told her all she needed to know. Arabella too was overwhelmed and humbled by the raw power that emanated from this woman. Wynn swallowed nervously and joined the travellers as they bowed their heads in apology. The woman indicated for them to enter and they followed her inside. The house was one large room, sections cordoned off by large wooden screens and the beams holding the roof up. From the ceiling dead animals and hides hung by hooks. Jars of eyeballs and other unmentionable body parts littered the floor. Seats of various materials and sizes were placed haphazardly around the room, most placed around an unlit log fire. The only light came from candles placed all around the room; so that the whole room had an orange tint. The dark wood the house was made from was almost completely concealed by tapestries and painted artwork. Overall it seemed a cluttered and confusing way to live.
The woman mumbled to herself, hunched over, as she cleared a mess of wool, old clothes and endless bits and bobs off of a small round table in the middle of the room by the wall. She sat behind it on an old stool and huffed a sigh. The travellers stood before her, arranged awkwardly in a line and waited as she unashamedly examined them. The woman’s eyes darted from face to face, resting on them for a few seconds then moving to the next. The silence stretched uncomfortably as the woman stared.
“You are The Widow?” Griffin asked hesitantly after a long while, breaking the silence. The woman twitched at the use of the name, her expression ambivalent.
“I am called that by some, yes,” she said huskily, “but that is not my name. A name holds so many things, so many identities, a name ties one down. So you are right that I have been called The Widow but my dear boy it was not the name I was born with.”
“Then, ma’am, I beg your pardon but what is your name?”
“Medea my dear boy, a name I rarely liked as a child but feel I have grown into, but come now, my name is not important, I know why you all have come for you have all come for a reason. All end up here eventually; even though they think it by chance... there is no chance.”
She smiled, showing her straight white teeth. Wynn had never met anyone like her; she spoke quickly, her accent strange, her eyes bright with – with what? It looked like amusement, like everything was one huge joke. Medea closed her eyes then and sat completely still. The travellers shuffled uncomfortably, afraid to breathe or move and interrupt the strange woman. The silence was complete and the candles flickered as though a breeze blew. Wynn had the strange thought that they were quivering because of The Widow.
When Medea finally opened her eyes, after almost five minutes they rested solely on Wynn. Wynn gazed back at the woman, determined to appear confident but something was confusing her. She could feel nothing from Medea, no emotions, no urges, no thoughts, nothing that she had accustomed to feeling from a person. It was not like the Fallen, who were devoid of human sensations due to their unnatural, magical given life. Or even like Procel and his jurors who were made of the shadows and darkness and so never had human emotions, it was something different entirely. Medea was alive, Wynn could feel that much, the very essence that made Medea human was there, but it was as though her thoughts and feelings were shielded. The flame of the gifted even was hidden, though Medea had a static energy around her that not even magic could conceal.
Wynn wondered privately at the silence, she had never met another, in the sma
ll space of time that she had acquired her gift, who had the ability to hide their emotions. Wynn opened her mouth to enquire further, but before she could utter a single sound she felt Medea’s presence on the corner of her mind. She wondered briefly if Medea wished to converse mentally but the thought was pierced suddenly and painfully by a flow of magic from Medea. She was forcing a lifetime of memories flood into Wynn, giving her no other option than to watch the loss of Medea’s husband three centuries ago, the slow and painful corruption of the lands and its people, all the battles, all the losses, every memory, every hurt, every gut wrenching moment of loneliness. It wracked Wynn’s frame, centuries of hurt flooded into her mind and heart, and the compulsion to watch, listen and feel, made Wynn fall to her knees.
Wynn suffered on and on, lost in an endless sea of pain. She felt nauseas and her head swam with Medea’s emotions. Combined with her own agony it was completely overwhelming. Nothing in life existed save pain. She lost track of time and it was only when tears streamed down her face and sobs wracked her frame that she choked out, “Enough!” It was somewhere between a strangled scream and a plea. Braelyn rushed forward and helped her to her feet.
“You have not known suffering,” Medea said in a monotone, “you feel alone but look who stands beside you, you think you are weak but look what you have accomplished. My girl it is time you grew up. I have no time for a child, this day you must become a woman.”
Wynn swallowed, unsure how to feel. Medea had caused her such undeniable, inescapable pain, but she did not seem sadistic or – now that Wynn really looked at her, having centuries of memories to gain an insight into her character – in the least bit frightening. Medea spoke the truth, with a wisdom she could only have gleaned from years of pain. Wynn held onto Braelyn tightly whilst she regained her balance.
Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) Page 26