The Moon Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Then why would you not ask for my help when you hurt?”

  He carried her and the bedroll without so much as a hitch. Of course she could’ve asked for help. Ryn would’ve carried her all day without a word of complaint. “I am accustomed to doing for myself,” she said softly. “I don’t wish to be beholden to anyone.”

  “A wife need not feel beholden to her husband just because he…Ryn changed his course of direction. “A woman is naturally weaker than a man. She should not hesitate to ask for a man’s strength when it is needed.”

  “I’m sure that comment is meant to be sweet and gallant, but instead it sounds simply overbearing. Women are not necessarily weaker than men.”

  “You wish to walk.”

  “No,” she answered quickly.

  After a few steps she muttered beneath her breath. “But if you ever meet my sister, you’ve got a surprise coming.”

  “The dark one,” he said almost reverently.

  “Isadora.”

  He climbed a steep rise as if he still strode easily across flat ground. “I’m glad she’s not the one,” he said as he crested the rise.

  “I wish I could see her again,” Juliet said softly, not expecting a response. “I want to know that she’s safe, and let her know that I’m alive and unharmed.”

  “You can, if you try,” Ryn said in his deep, matter-of-fact voice.

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  Ryn came to a stop and placed Juliet on her feet. For a moment she was light-headed from the sudden change in movement, and he steadied her with his large, capable hands.

  “The mountains, they are powerful. There’s magic in the rock, in the trees and the soil, in the air. If you listen to the earth and let it feed you, your affliction will grow to new heights.”

  “Affliction?” She placed her hands on her hips and glared. “I’ll have you know...” The corners of Ryn’s mouth turned up just slightly, and Juliet knew she’d been teased. “Very funny.”

  “There is magic here,” he said seriously. “All you have to do is reach out for it. Grab it. Make it your own. Do not be afraid of what you will find within yourself.”

  “For your information, my affliction has not grown stronger in these mountains. It doesn’t seem to be working at all. I see almost nothing of you.’’

  “That is my doing, not a failing of your abilities.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You can actually keep me out?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how,” he replied, unconcerned. “It just is. Your powers are not dampened here. Quite the opposite. I cannot explain well, but I can show you.” Ryn took her hand in his, and together they dropped to their knees. It was an awkward move, since Juliet had not been expecting to drop down, but he did not let her fall. “All animals are connected to the earth, wife. You are more connected than others.” He forced her hand to the ground and held it there. “You are connected to everything and everyone that shares this land with you. Find the streak of power that binds you to your sisters. Tap into it, drink from it, and you will see.”

  A surge of something unknown flashed and fluttered through Juliet’s body. It was bright, and painful, and frightening. Afraid of the power, she snatched her hand from Ryn’s and clutched it to her chest.

  “I’m not an animal,” she argued, not for the first time today.

  “You are not ready,” he said kindly, and then he stood and much too easily tossed her over his shoulder.

  Ready? Juliet shuddered as Ryn began to run. She could barely stand to touch a person’s hand and know secrets of their future; she would never be ready to embrace a power that tied her to everyone and everything.

  Isadora crept toward the soldiers’ camp, which was situated outside a small village. Earlier in the afternoon she’d stolen a man’s worn brown cape to cover her black dress. She didn’t know how quickly word would spread among the soldiers, but she did know that they would be looking for a dark-haired woman dressed entirely in black. When the opportunity arose, she’d steal a frock, too, but for now the cape was enough.

  The soldiers’ camp was a small one. No surprise, since the village so far from the main road consisted of no more than ten houses. There were a few small farms in the area, as well, but they were spread far apart. The soldiers had put up tents on the outskirts of the village. They’d been here awhile, judging by the campsite. Maybe from these headquarters the soldiers collected taxes, or perhaps there had been a rebel uprising in the area and they were here to squash any further trouble before it had a chance to start. Whatever the reason for their presence, they were well established.

  A long, well-used table sat near a stone circle where a fire burned low and steady. Supper, a pot of something that smelled heavenly to a woman who hadn’t had a decent meal in well more than a week, simmered above that fire. Outside one of the tents, on yet another table, loaves of bread had been laid out, ready to be sliced and served to the soldiers.

  Isadora was hungry, and she’d need supplies before she headed into the mountains. She glanced north. The mountains looked so far away. She’d been circling around the most direct routes, steering clear of soldiers...steering clear of all people...and making her way cautiously toward Juliet.

  The soldiers had congregated in two groups. One bunch gathered around a tent at the far edge of the camp, drinking deeply from tankards and laughing at words she could not hear from this distance. A smaller band of soldiers assembled not far from the fire. The cook and two friends, she supposed. Friends or assistants. In any case, they looked chummy enough.

  These soldiers were not looking for her or any other problem to come along to stir up their cozy existence. They had been here long enough to get comfortable, and apparently saw the villagers as no threat.

  Good. Their laziness would make getting to the bread that much easier.

  Isadora kept to the edge of the camp, hiding behind the tents and keeping an eye on the larger group of soldiers. The table where the bread sat was just a few feet away, and she hurried quietly toward it intent on one full loaf. Maybe two. She’d need more provisions and a sturdy sack before much longer, before she entered the mountain range to search for her sister. She kept to the tents that were arranged in a half-circle around the camp between her and the soldiers. With any luck, they wouldn’t realize anyone had been there until they sat down to eat supper and found a loaf missing. Even then—they would likely blame one of their own.

  She stopped at one end of the table where the bread was stored, and grabbed one loaf. One only. Then she stepped into the forest behind the camp, breathing deeply and with great relief as she left the camp behind her. A low wind and the whisper of many small animals kept the forest from being completely silent, so she felt confident that no one would hear her step.

  Isadora hadn’t gone far when she rounded a tree and came face to face with a soldier. He had not seen her and crept around to catch her; she surprised him, as he had surprised her. He’d been urinating against a tree and hadn’t even yet righted his trousers. She turned and ran, but he gave chase and quickly caught her, grabbing her arm and yanking her about to face him.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?” a gruff voice asked. The soldier was not very old and not very young, but somewhere in between, and he had the beefy look of a man who could be fat with little effort. He wore an emerald green uniform, a short knife, and a sword, and he was in bad need of soap and water.

  The bread she had stolen fell to the ground, and the soldier pinned her arms at her sides. Her power was still weakened, and words alone would do her no good. She could make him drop into unconsciousness, if she could lay her hand on his head while she said the proper incantation, but he was physically stronger than she and his grip was firm.

  “I’m very hungry,” she said softly, wondering if the soldier had a heart beneath that green uniform. "I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “That’s not my
problem. Stealing from the emperor’s men is as heinous as stealing from the emperor himself.”

  Would they hang her for taking a loaf of bread? Maybe. Nothing any man would do surprised her, not anymore.

  “I haven’t seen you around the village,” the soldier said as he squeezed her wrists tightly. “Are you traveling through?” His brow furrowed slightly, as if he had only now thought to question her presence in the woods. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked past her brown cloak to the black frock beneath, then raised his gaze to her dark eyes. “Ah, you’re the witch they’re looking for. There’s a nice reward for you. Dead or alive. They say you’re a dangerous one, and dead is preferred.”

  The soldier pressed her against a tree and unsheathed his knife. Isadora closed her eyes. He was going to kill her, here and now. She hadn’t found Juliet, and Sophie still needed them. If Juliet said that was true, then it was true. It was too soon, and she didn’t want to die. Not yet, not until her duty to her sisters was done.

  “If I do the deed without calling for help, I’ll have the reward to myself,” the soldier said thoughtfully. The tip of the knife touched her throat. “You don’t look particularly dangerous, but I suppose that’s a chance I shouldn’t take.”

  Isadora hadn’t fought to this point, so her burst of resistance surprised the soldier. She reached not for him but for the immediate threat—the knife. She grabbed his wrist and pushed the blade away from her throat, turning the sharp tip toward his chest. They struggled for a moment, no more than a moment, and then they fell, entangled and wrestling for the knife.

  They hit the ground. The soldier grunted and went still. Isadora’s weight plunged the knife into his heart and he died almost instantly. There was no shout of alarm and very little blood, just a whoosh of air from his lungs and a surprised expression on his hideous face. His hands fell away and Isadora scrambled up and away from his body.

  She leaned down and, with a burst of strength, pulled the knife from his chest and wiped the blood from the blade onto his uniform. The forest around them remained quiet; apparently no one had missed him just yet, and when they did, it would take them a few moments to become alarmed enough to search for him.

  With her heart beating so hard it threatened to drown out everything else, she took the time to unfasten the weapons belt that held his sword and the sheath for the knife that had killed him. If he was wearing anything but an imperial uniform, she’d take that, too. There would be less conspicuous clothing to steal down the road. She buckled the weapons belt to her own waist, tying the soft leather instead of fastening the buckle, since the belt was much too large for her. It hung low on her waist and was covered by the cloak.

  The other soldiers would find the dead soldier eventually, but there was nothing here to indicate anything other than a simple robbery. The man had been emptying his bladder in privacy when someone had surprised him, killed him, and stolen his weapons. A rebel, perhaps. Not a woman. Not a witch. There was nothing to point Bors or the soldiers in this direction, in their search for her.

  Isadora grabbed the bread from the ground and turned away from the body, unexpected tears burning her eyes. The flicker of magic at her core dimmed once more, fluttering and threatening to go dark. It was death that stole her powers from her, she knew that now.

  She had been meant for protection, not destruction, and as she turned from her destined path, her magic decayed. Even though this soldier’s death had been an accident, it had come at her hand...and she was not sorry that he was dead. He would have killed her without a qualm if she hadn’t fought back.

  “Help me,” she whispered as she hurried away from the camp. “Please, Will, help me.” There had been a time when she’d thought Will to be perfect, a loving husband, a kind man. But he’d left her alone. He’d died and abandoned her, and now when she needed him most, he refused to come to her. Was it her own loss of power that kept him from her, or was he punishing her?

  “You’re no better than the rest of them,” she muttered as she moved more deeply into the forest. Was she trying to goad his spirit into appearing? If so, it didn’t work. She remained utterly alone. Isadora kept moving away from the soldiers’ camp, determined and angry and empty with loneliness. Occasionally tears tried to fill her eyes but she pushed them back, knowing that weakness of any kind could only hurt her and her chances to reach Juliet.

  It was almost nightfall before she gasped with the knife-sharp realization that she’d killed a man for a loaf of bread.

  Chapter Six

  Camp was made beyond a stand of trees that blocked the wind. Perhaps tonight would not be quite so cold. The trees made this site feel less harsh—less unwelcoming and more like home. A shallow cave offered shelter, in case the snow Juliet continued to feel in the air came during the night, and Ryn gathered wood and built a fire not far from the cave entrance, to offer real warmth and to cook the animal he’d caught and killed for supper. He called the animal a tilsi, and it looked and tasted like a large rabbit of some sort Juliet had never encountered.

  She did not doubt that all things in these mountains were different, in some way. In many ways.

  Ryn glanced to the western sky often, waiting for sundown, and when the darkness of night was near, he walked into the woods. Alone.

  Juliet expected that he would join her, once the transformation from man to wolf had taken place, but he did not. She huddled by the fire as the night grew colder, and her eyes searched the wooded area beyond camp for signs of life. Like it or not, she missed Ryn. The wolf, not the man. The man had kidnapped her and dragged her away from her sister and insisted that she was his wife. But the wolf had comforted her. The wolf had become her friend. She missed his company, his warmth, his very presence. Now and then she caught sight of a small flash of gold in the darkness of the forest. Ryn’s eyes.

  In spite of her mixed feelings, she never forgot that man and wolf were the same being. They shared the same soul, the same mind. The same determination to keep her.

  “There’s no reason to be angry,” she said, her voice soft, but loud enough to carry in the deep silence. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just trying to help.”

  There was no response. Not even a growl or a yip.

  Ryn said she was connected to the earth and all things that shared it, which meant she was connected to him. His ability to keep her out of his mind had begun to annoy her. She wanted to know what the future held and how she might escape, but that was impossible as long as Ryn maintained the barrier between them.

  Juliet gingerly placed her hand upon the ground, much as she had when she’d first sensed Ryn behind the rock, back at the soldiers’ camp. She imagined a river running from her hand to Ryn, lost in darkness and in the commanding form of a wolf. She reached out to him, in a way she had never before reached for anyone but her sisters.

  You want to kill me.

  Even though she had been attempting to reach Ryn, she was startled by the sudden return of her ability. “I do not want to kill you,” she argued.

  You want to kill the wolf in me.

  She was actually communicating with that wolf, so she considered her response carefully. Did the animal act independently of the man? Or were they always one?

  “Can you read my mind as I can read yours?” she asked.

  Sometimes.

  She watched the forest for a dash of that gold again, but all was dark and quiet.

  Then you know I would never knowingly hurt another living soul. It is not my way.

  You do not yet know your way, wife.

  I do.

  Stay close to the fire tonight.

  The connection was severed with a suddenness that startled her, and all was dead once more. She no longer knew what Ryn was thinking. If he believed her to be a danger to himself, would the wolf consider himself justified in doing away with her? Perhaps he had kept her warm last night, but he was a wild beast with powerful claws and sharp teeth, and if he decided to attack her, she would
not have a chance against him.

  Were the claws in her nightmares his? It was certainly possible, and yet nothing in her sense of Ryn, nothing in the glimpses she had seen in his heart and soul, led her to believe that he would ever hurt her. Not the wolf or the man. Of course, she had seen very little of him, so not sensing violence within was hardly comforting.

  Pondering on the thoughts of the animal that paced not so far away only frustrated her, so Juliet turned her thoughts to Sophie and Isadora. Sophie had Kane to take care of her, and her own newly discovered abilities would also keep her safe. Isadora had always been strong, and since she’d escaped to the south, she was likely safe by now.

  But they were separated, and Juliet hated that. She stood and shook off her worries, walking toward the edge of the forest searching for the flash of gold to indicate that Ryn watched. She saw nothing.

  “What would it take to convince you to escort me back down the mountain?” she asked softly. “There are many women who would be overjoyed to be taken and made wife to an Anwyn such as yourself. You do have many good qualities.” And he wasn’t at all bad looking, once you got past the fact that he had such long tangled hair and didn’t seem to care much for clothing. “But I am not that woman, Ryn. I need my sisters, and you’re taking me away from them. With every step, I’m further away from my family. I just want to go home.” The cabin was gone, but the land remained. They could build another cabin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so nice as the old one, at least in the beginning, but it would be home because her blood, her very essence, flowed through Fyne Mountain.

  Without sensing or hearing or seeing anything, she knew that Ryn considered himself as a viable replacement for her sisters. He was family, now. His mountain was home.

  She glimpsed a flash of something small and bright in the forest, and for a moment she thought it was Ryn’s eyes that once again caught her attention.

  But the glowing eyes were not gold, they were green. Emerald green and bright as fire. Those bits of light moved quickly and silently closer. Juliet stood motionless, her feet rooted to the ground as those eyes in the darkness came closer and closer. Fallen leaves rustled, and a new sound was added to the quiet of the night.