Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series

by Maggie Shayne

  “Mam tried to stop me,” she explained.

  “An’ you came anyway?” Celia asked with an arched brow.

  “I’m a woman grown. I’m a witch. I do as I will.”

  Celia tilted her head. She exchanged an indulgent glance with her two companions. They each smiled and shook their heads helplessly. “Do what thou wilt is but a part of the Rede, child. Tell me the rest,” Celia said.

  “I dinna-”

  “Tell me the rest.”

  Sighing, Arianna muttered, “‘An’ it harm none, do what thou wilt.’“

  “Exactly,” Celia said. “Do you think you harmed your mother tonight, child?”

  “Nay! I dinna so much as touch her.”

  Celia’s eyes narrowed. Arianna knew full well what she meant. She also knew that she likely had hurt her mother tonight—and that she would have to make it right.

  Celia nodded, seeming to read Arianna’s face. “Come,” she said, and led Arianna closer to the fire. Arianna nodded her greetings to Leandra, the eldest of the three, a woman whose face was so lined it resembled the surface of the trembling sea. Her snow-white hair was piled atop her head, and when she spoke it was with the voice of gravel. Then Arianna turned to Mary, plump and always smiling, with silver-gray streaks in her thick ebony mane.

  “Merry meet,” Arianna said.

  “An’ to you, lass,” Mary returned. “You ought be lookin’ forward to this night’s ritual.”

  Arianna smiled broadly. For a year and a day The Crones had been teaching her, letting her observe, answering her questions. But tonight, for the first time, she would be welcomed into the sacred circle as a witch. And after her Initiation, she would be allowed to participate in a magical rite. She could barely contain her excitement.

  So far, The Crones’ “magic” had consisted mostly of concocting herbal remedies for various ailments, and they had managed to raise a cooling wind one hot summer’s night. Arianna had been mildly disappointed. She’d been expecting explosions of smoke and light, thunderbolts, and evildoers changing into toads.

  She’d been hoping. . . .

  Well, what she really wanted to learn from the old women would take far more magic than what they’d shown her so far. But Arianna had learned one thing. Even in their minor workings, there was real power. Magic was real. Knowing that made Arianna certain she would one day learn what she needed to know.

  Perhaps even from The Crones. For it may be that they were simply saving the stronger sorts of magic for later on.

  “Tonight, you become one with us, Arianna. Our own sister in the Craft of the Wise.” Leandra smiled, and more wrinkles appeared in her face before the smile died. “And then, we conjure rain,” she said with a nervous glance at the sky. “For unless we get some soon, the crops could well begin to wilt.”

  “Aye,” Arianna said, “and those fool villagers would no doubt blame you for it.”

  The three Crones exchanged glances, but didn’t speak their fears aloud. Still, Arianna sensed their worry.

  “Come, let us cast the circle,” Leandra said.

  * * * *

  I FOLLOWED ARIANNA that night. I had been watching her often at night, hoping I could keep her out of harm’s way, certain from what Joseph had said that she was too reckless to heed my warnings. I was right.

  She went to The Crones on the night of the full moon just as I had suspected she would. Dammit, didn’t she realize what a risk she was taking by sneaking out to that croft alone? What could happen to her if she were found out?

  I followed, of course, and hid myself in the trees just beyond reach of the dancing firelight’s glow.

  Then I forgot why I had come. My mind became too involved in the beauty of what I witnessed.

  The beauty of Arianna.

  By the time I reached the edge of the clearing, the four of them had cast their circle, and were well into their ritual. Arianna had removed her dark cloak, and beneath it wore a garment of flowing white, which reminded me sharply of the ritual robes of my first teachers—an order of Druid priests. In Arianna’s fair hair was a ringlet of flowers, and as I looked on in silence, I realized this was some sort of initiation rite. Arianna knelt in the center of the circle, near the fire, and one by one each of the old women presented her with a gift.

  Apparently, Arianna had studied long enough to be recognized as one of them now. It was almost laughable. Gods, if those Crones only knew.

  In silence, one of the old women gave her a book. I recognized it as a grimoire, in which spells and rituals and ancient knowledge would have been painstakingly copied. The second old woman presented her with a pendant that I couldn’t see in detail. The third gifted her with a dagger.

  This made me peer more closely, for it seemed to be a very special dagger. One much like the one I carried—like the one we all carried at our sides.

  But The Crones didn’t know of our existence, or of their student’s true nature. Did they?

  There was no time to ponder this mystery, for the initiation rite concluded, and the four of them moved on to whatever magical working they had planned for this night. I crept nearer, so I might hear them.

  “Dinna be disappointed if the spell doesna work right away, child,” the one who looked to be the eldest said softly. “It oft takes several tries before the rains come. We simply repeat our rite until they do.”

  Arianna nodded and took the small pouch the old woman handed her, looping its drawstring ‘round her wrist.

  “In honor of your initiation, Arianna, we’ve decided to let you perform tonight’s incantation.”

  I saw Arianna’s huge eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, but I—”

  “You know what to do, lass,” the plump one said with a smile, patting Arianna’s arm. “We’ve taught you well.”

  “Aye,” said the third, the one who seemed to personify grace, and whose face defied her years. “An’ besides, ‘tis in the grimoire.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Arianna opened the book. She clutched the dagger in her right hand. The pendant hung ‘round her neck. The three Crones moved to the center of the circle, surrounded the balefire, and slowly began to move in a deosil direction. Arianna stood close to the fireside, so they were circling her, as well. Laying the dagger upon the open book, she opened the small pouch the old one had given her, and withdrew herbs, which she pitched into the dancing flames. Her face was a study in concentration as she worked.

  Something about her touched me just then. I couldn’t have said exactly what. But it had to do with the golden fire glow on her cheeks, and the light in her eyes. Or perhaps with the curve of her lips, or the slender grace of her neck.

  Lowering her gaze to the book, she began to read the words written there in a voice that came soft and uncertain.

  “Ancient Forces of the Sky,

  “Winds and Clouds and Rain on high,

  “Rainbow Goddess, hear my cry!”

  I saw Arianna’s shoulders grow straighter, saw her chest expand as she inhaled, and I knew she was feeling it; the surge of power. In our kind, it was magnified, and in a rite like this, she would have to feel it. She may not know it for what it was, but its essence would fill her; the very essence of the Divinity she’d called upon.

  She lifted her head, her chin pointing skyward, and her voice came louder now, and firm.

  “Mother Earth is parched and dry,

  “Without thy dewy kiss, we die,

  “I call forth rainclouds. Draw thee nigh!”

  I glanced skyward, saw the barest hint of shadow crossing the face of the full moon. Quickly I fixed my gaze on Arianna again. Partly concerned for her, and for the reactions of her teachers, but mostly, I felt pride.

  Her body seemed to elongate and tense as she let the book fall to the ground, and lifted her arms over her head, dagger pointing at the sky. Her voice came as strong as thunder then, deeper than before, echoing unnaturally in the night.

  “I call forth the rain!

  “I call forth the rain!
/>
  “I call forth the rain!

  “And as I will it, so mote it be!”

  A clap of thunder punctuated her command. The wind came then. A harsh downward sweep of it sent her white robes snapping behind her and her moonlight hair sailing. The Crones stopped circling, went still, and looked at one another with wide eyes. Then they were staring at Arianna as if they had never seen her before, and looking skyward as if in fear.

  Arianna noticed none of it. She remained as she was, arms stretched to the sky, eyes closed, body buffeted by the wind as she silently commanded the rain to fall. She seemed completely lost in the power she wielded.

  Dark clouds surged as if from all directions, collecting in one grim mass overhead, blotting out the face of the moon. Thunder rumbled. Lightning cut a jagged swath across the sky. Then the sky opened, and the rains poured down.

  Arianna’s eyes blinked open. Her face still tipped back, she parted her lips as if to taste the raindrops that pummeled her. Slowly she lowered her arms and her head, smiling as she sought approval in the faces of her teachers. But instead she found only shock in their eyes.

  “I . . . I did it,” she said. I could barely hear her words over the pounding rain.

  Shaking her head slowly, the plump one backed away, and quickly walked the perimeter, chanting a closing rite as she did.

  “Celia? Leandra? Did I . . . did I do something wrong?”

  It was the elder who spoke. “Go home, child. This rite is ended. We’ll speak of this on the morrow.” She turned and walked back toward the cottage as Arianna stared helplessly after her.

  The third gripped Arianna’s shoulders. “I hope to heaven you know how to stop it, Arianna. Suppose it goes on until we’re all swallowed up by floodwaters?”

  Arianna looked wounded, then angry. “If I’ve the power in me to call forth the rain, then I can certainly halt it. An’ I dinna ken why you all act as if you’ve suddenly discovered a demon in your midst! I only—”

  “Celia!” the old one called from the cottage.

  With a sigh, Celia turned and walked away, leaving Arianna alone in the deluge she’d summoned forth.

  * * * *

  ARIANNA TURNED AND strode back toward the village, filled with too many emotions to count. Gods! The power that had surged through her! Such a feeling had only come to her once before; as she’d knelt on the shore of that dark-water loch, moved beyond reason to shout her commands to the sky.

  She’d made it rain. She had made it rain!

  And yet The Crones had seemed stunned, and almost fearful of her afterward. She’d expected them to beam with pride. It was all very odd, and she had no idea what to think. She only knew she felt powerful. She could wield magic and command the elements to do her bidding. Her hair and her dress were even now soaked through with proof of it!

  When Arianna turned to walk along the muddy path to her home, Nicodimus stepped out of the shadows in front of her, arms crossed over his broad chest, rust-and-gold hair plastered to his head. “This has to stop, Arianna.”

  She didn’t jump, didn’t cry out in surprise at his sudden appearance. She’d sensed him there in the instant before she’d seen him. So she simply stopped walking and stood facing him as the rain continued to beat down upon them both.

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “You know what I mean. The penalties for witchcraft are not to be taken lightly. And if you continue on this reckless course, you’ll surely be found out.”

  She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “An’ how is it you know about me and my so-called reckless course?”

  His eyes, when they probed hers, were piercing and sharp. “I’ve been watching you.”

  “Aye, so you have. I wondered if you’d admit it.”

  He lifted one brow slightly higher than the other. “You knew, then?”

  “I have felt your eyes on me more than once since last we spoke.” She shrugged. “Tis all right, Nicodimus. I’ve watched you, as well.”

  That seemed to take him by surprise, for he looked up sharply. “Have you?” She nodded. “But why?”

  “Why? What a silly question. For the same reason you’ve watched me, of course. We’re connected, you and I. Linked together in some way . . . some way I’ve yet to understand. But you obviously feel it, too. Just as I do.” She stared up at him, and when he said nothing, planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “You’re not goin’ to deny it, now, are you?”

  “I. . .” He seemed to think deeply before he spoke, his eyes studying her, as if seeing more than anyone else ever had. Or ever could. Pushing his wet hair away from his forehead, he pursed his lips, set his jaw. “I did not come here to speak of such things, Arianna, but to warn you.”

  “Warn me?” She shrugged. “I fear nothing, Nicodimus, so there’s no reason to warn me of anything at all.”

  “I think there is.”

  Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Speak your warning, if you must. I canna promise I’ll heed it.”

  “You’ll heed it,” he said, and she thought she detected a hint of a threat in his voice. As if he intended to make certain she did. But he didn’t say so. “You mustn’t visit The Crones anymore,” he told her. “There’s no more they can teach you. And already they begin to wonder about you, Arianna. To fear you.”

  “Fear me? What rubbish, Nicodimus! Why would they— ?”

  “Because, foolish girl, you’re a far more powerful witch than any of them. More powerful than any witch they’ve ever known. They have realized that even if you haven’t yet.”

  His hands closed on her shoulders as he went on. The delicious tingling of his touch rocked her, and she closed her eyes in response, but he barely seemed to notice.

  “They brew herbal potions to cure the croup while you cast spells to bring the dead back from their graves! Can you not see the difference?”

  She blinked in shock as the import of his words sank in, but she did not pull free of his grip. Somehow he already knew her ultimate goal–something she hadn’t dared confess to anyone.

  He took his hands away, looking at his palms and shaking his head. He’d felt it, too. That sizzling jolt. That heat that had no place amid this cold, pounding rain.

  She swallowed hard and voiced the suspicion she’d always harbored about him. “What do you know of spells, Nicodimus? Dinna tell me you’re a witch yourself.”

  “What I am or am not is between me and my Creator, Arianna. You’d do well to take a lesson from that.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t care, but took his refusal to answer as an admission. “Why should I heed your advice if you dinna even trust me enough to tell me your secrets?” she asked.

  “I trust no one with my secrets. I have lived too long and seen too much to make that mistake.” He studied her eyes for a moment, and his expression seemed to soften. “But I’ll tell you a little of what I know, if you will promise to stay away from The Crones from now on.”

  She lowered her head. “I will promise this much. I shall be more careful, and will think about your warnings.”

  He dipped his head to search her eyes, seemed to resign himself to the fact that she would promise no more, and nodded. “All right. Then I’ll tell you this much. Your sister will come back one day, Arianna. We all come back,” he said softly. The Crones must have taught you that much, at least.”

  She nodded. “You speak of reincarnation. But some would call those words blasphemy, Nicodimus.”

  “And some would call them truth,” he countered. “But you cast a spell when your sister died, didn’t you, Arianna? A spell to make her coming back . . . different.”

  “How do you know?”

  He lifted a golden brow, tilted his head.

  She sighed. “Kenyon an’ Lud Lachlan told you how I shouted it to the heavens, did they? I made them swear ne’er to say a word.”

  He kept his gaze riveted to her eyes, only the raindrops, a misty curtain, between them. “What
sort of spell was it, Arianna?”

  Closing her eyes, she told him what she’d told no one, not even The Crones. “My sister sank into the cold embrace of that dark water,” she said, lowering her head slowly as the pain of that day renewed itself in her soul. “I lay upon the shore, fighting to breathe, choking water from my lungs, searching for her. And Laird Lachlan’s sons, Kenyon and Lud, they both went back for her. Frantic, shouting. But I knew she was already gone. I felt it somehow. Like a large, heavy stone where my heart should have been.”

  Nicodimus sighed, and when she looked up at him, he squeezed her shoulders. “I know the feeling well, child. Go on.”

  “I felt anger, rage, an’ . . . something else. Like some other voice tellin’ me what to do, only . . . nay aloud. I heard with my heart, with my soul, nay my ears. I knelt up, an’ lifted my fists to the heavens, an’ I demanded that my sister be returned to me. Aye, Raven will live again, but when she returns, she’ll look the same, and bear the same name, and I’ll know her again, for she will come back afore my lifetime is ended. Those are the words I shouted, the commands I sent forth, an’ I tell you, Nicodimus, when I did so I felt as powerful as the Goddess Herself.”

  Nicodimus expelled his breath. “That is because it was Her power you wielded, Arianna.” He turned slightly away from her. “Within your lifetime,” he muttered. “Sweet child, if only you knew how long that might be.”

  “Nicodimus?”

  He faced her again, and she searched his eyes, not understanding what he’d meant. But he shook his head at her as if to tell her to forget about it. “Do you have any doubt your spell will be effective?” he asked.