Fear flickered across Sithias and Gerdie’s faces. Fate sat still beside him, their arms touching as she glanced down at her hands and gripped her legs. As much as she was keeping a tight lid on her dread, he felt the quake running through her. He exhaled slowly, resisting the reflex to put his arm around her.
Gerdie sat down next to Sithias, her small brown eyes darting round the room. “You’re right. She knows we’ve got protection against her sleepin’ potion. I figure she’ll wait us out ‘til we’re so tuckered out we’re half-witted with sleep.”
Sithias sighed. “It appearsss we’re in for a very long night. I sssuggessst some ssstory time to sssettle down these ssspirited youngstersss. As much asss squealsss of laughter can be musssic to the earsss, I don’t think my nervesss can take any more.”
Fate leaned forward, her desperation for a distraction from the stress showing on her face. “One of your stories would be so great right now.”
“Well, misss,” Sithias said with an apologetic look, “I think you’re bessst sssuited for the little onesss. I’m sure my talesss would sssail right over their tiny headsss. Too much romance, political intrigue and frou-frou, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” she said, disappointed. “But I’m not sure––”
“I think we’ll all go barking mad if we have to sit all edgy on the edge of our seats any longer,” Finn said. “Go ahead, tell us a tall tale. Or better yet, take us away to some place that’ll remind us of sweet, fresh smells, like that of heather and pine… of home.”
“You mean Scotland?” she asked.
He smiled faintly. “Aye.”
“Do you still remember it?”
He frowned, trying to see through the thickening shadow of the internal darkness slowly blotting out everything he loved. “Of course,” he said, not wanting to admit that his dearest memories were losing their clarity.
Fate nodded, unable to hide her doubt and sadness. “I have some stories about Scotland I can tell.”
“Why not Hellas?” Sithias suggested, a panicked look on his face. “You can’t go wrong with all thossse godsss and goddessesss.”
“No,” she said, scolding him with her eyes. “It’s the perfect time for a Scottish tale.”
Puzzled by the tense exchange between them, Finn watched her take a seat on the steps near the altar, while the smaller children settled in around her feet. Even the adults and the older children looked eager for a respite from the fear-laced boredom.
She glanced over at Finn, the ghost of a smile on her lips. Something passed between them. That mysterious tie connecting them shivered with a mixture of hope and apprehension pouring straight from her heart. He stared back, anxious to know what she was thinking. He could see she had no intention of keeping secrets. Her face was an open book.
Keeping her gaze fixed on him, she started telling a story about a curious boy with a love for life. A boy who found his roots in Scotland and learned he was the descendant of a long line of mysterious Druids. He listened intently with an increasing sense of discovery as she dusted off the relics of his life and brought them into the sunlight, new and shiny and beautiful. As delighted as he was to be walking down memory lane, it baffled him as to how she knew so many tiny details, especially when she described his wise grandfather’s quirky antics.
He chuckled softly, his spirits lifting as the children squirmed with laughter. For just a moment, he was home in Scotland seeing the arching backs of the fells strewn with heather, the ridge of blue mountains feathered with morning mists. Then as Fate described the boy’s encounter with the wolf wraiths of Black Spout Woods, the youngsters grew quiet, leaning forward with chins on small hands.
The deeper she traveled into his past, the more a thread of suspicion worked loose in him, tangling into a ball of troubling questions. How could she know all these things about him? The shadows in the hushed room seemed to spread and the air grew heavy. An ache like an old wound throbbed in his chest and a bewildering sense of betrayal opened wide as she described the great moose king, Lord Rakimnal, who guided the boy to the sacred grove of the Olde Ones, where they bestowed him with the tongue of the Dark Speech.
Raw anguish poured through the gash, drowning him with the forgotten knowledge that he was not the man he thought he was. He was a figment of Fate’s imagination, a meaningless toy, nothing more than an amusement. How could she keep this from him, not just once but twice? Emptied and blasted to the core, he narrowed his eyes on her.
She stopped in mid-sentence, her face paling as she slowly stood.
Sithias rose from his seat, tapping incessantly on Finn’s shoulder. He glared up at him. “What?”
“Look,” Sithias said, pointing.
Thick streams of sickly-green mist flowed through the cracks of a boarded window. The curling tendrils moved with unnatural deliberateness, splitting into filmy tentacles snaking out around the women holding babies and the toddlers sitting on the floor. As the sleeping potion came near the charms they wore, the feelers recoiled violently and evaporated.
A few seconds later, shouts and screams came from the men outside. Sickening cracks and thuds sounded against the outside walls, followed by a dreadful silence.
Finn jumped to his feet. “Get the children to the back of the building!” He caught Fate staring at him. When their gaze locked, she stiffened, the light in her eyes extinguished. Too hollowed out to care, he turned and ran to the front entrance with the other men.
The black look of poison Finn threw her sliced deeper than any knife could, confirming for her the question of whether his memories had returned or not. That hadn’t been her intention. All she’d wanted to do was remind him of who he was and where he came from. Restore his foundation and give him something to hang onto. She’d known it was risky but she couldn’t bear seeing him lose pieces of himself any longer.
Sithias had tried to warn her. She should’ve listened.
Sithias hurried over to her, looking as terrified as the little girl he was clutching in his arms. “Misss, come with usss,” he said, pulling her attention back to more immediate concerns.
Fate picked up the child closest to her, a boy no more than two, and ran to the back of the large room with the other women and children.
“Shouldn’t you be up front with the men?” Gerdie asked Sithias.
“Who saysss?” he asked in surprise. “I’m a sssnake, not a man.”
Confused, Gerdie looked at Fate, who simply shook her head. “It’s a long and weird story. I’ll tell you la-––”
All at once, a deep and penetrating force reverberated throughout the oratory. The very air throbbed and tightened around them. The pressure intensified, culminating into one momentary release––a frightening free-fall––before the entrance doors exploded inward, deadly splinters shooting out like a barrage of arrows.
Fate flew backwards, slammed against the back wall and fell to the floor. The roof caved, stones rained down and a cloud of choking dust billowed in.
Cries and screams filled the blinding ruin.
Somehow, Fate had managed to hang onto the boy. He was shaking and crying in her arms. She sat up, disoriented and bruised, trying to see something––anything––but the dust and grit watered her eyes, making it impossible to see clearly. “Finn!” she called out, knowing he’d been standing in the blast zone.
He didn’t answer.
“Gerdie? Sithias!” she cried.
Gerdie scrambled forward. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, for the most part. What about you?” She could hardly see Gerdie’s nod through the chalky murk. Leaning against the wall, Fate made a feeble attempt to comfort the boy in her arms by patting his back. “I don’t see Finn or Sithias.”
“Sithias should be here,” Gerdie said. “He was standin’ right next to me.”
Fate felt around the floor with her free hand hoping to find him nearby. Ragged splinters of wood and shattered stone were all that met her touch. She was almost thankful for
the clouds of dust still falling from the pulverized ceiling; she didn’t want to see the misery hiding behind them.
Gerdie gripped Fate’s arm. “Feel that?” she whispered.
Fate froze, gulping back the panic in her throat. She felt it too––the onset of something terrible and powerful pressing forward.
Tentacles of cold mist snaked through the ashy whiteness. Tortured, drawn-out cries of pain came from the wounded men lying somewhere in its midst. Sudden death stopped their screams in the instant of several hideous, bone-crunching cracks. Terror iced through Fate’s veins, paralyzing her the moment she glimpsed the shambling, hulking shape of Old Mother Grim emerging from the thinning mist and dust.
Dragging her clubbed feet beneath her cumbersome weight, the ragged creature shuffled to a halt, leaning on her thick-handled broom of sticklewort ‘til it bowed to the point of breaking. Her large drooping breasts hung like half-full bags of flour over an engorged belly, yet her arms were bone-thin and grotesquely long.
A cry rose in Fate’s throat as she realized Old Mother Grim’s primitive garb was a mottled patchwork of little human shapes stitched crudely together. She stifled a horrified sob against the whimpering boy’s shoulder and squeezed him tight to her chest.
The same foul graveyard stench Fate had dug up from the oak’s roots wafted off the creature, mingling uneasily with the freshly laundered scent of her own clothes. Nausea churned in her belly, spiking a needle-sharp pain right to her brain.
Craning her small, shriveled head, Old Mother Grim fixed her blood-red gaze on the boy in Fate’s arms. His protective charm had fallen off. Extending her bony arm, the creature reached out, her splintered talons just inches from his face.
The boy screamed, broke free from Fate’s embrace and leaped off her lap.
Old Mother Grim’s eyes snapped on the boy and she spoke. Her cracked, blood-encrusted lips formed the garbled sounds of some primeval language. The strength of her spell-cast words gripped him in her thrall. In the blink of an eye, he went from sheer hysteria to utter calm, and stepped beside the monster as if she were his protector.
Gerdie jumped up, a crazed look in her eyes. “Hey, you ugly old crone! Look over here, I’ve got somethin’ for ya!”
Old Mother Grim’s head twisted in Gerdie’s direction. The second the creature looked at the lump of clay in her hand, she stabbed the blackthorn dagger into the rune mark. An impossible amount of blood gushed from the talisman, spilling in thick splotches over the stone floor. “That’s for Oma and every kid you took under my watch!” she screamed, her face contorted by a rage too long-lived for one so young. She dropped the clay, a cold smile twisting her mouth. The lump splashed in the blood, splattering her skirt.
Old Mother Grim’s vulturine face betrayed something akin to recognition as a shrill, unearthly shriek tore from her gaping mouth. Thunder rumbled in the distant mountains and a sudden savage wind swept through the broken building. Old Mother Grim shrank back as if she feared something riding in the gale. She stood there, still as a rock for a brief moment, then snatched up the little boy and vanished in a billowing cloak of fog.
Lunging for him, Fate fell through the emptiness. She scrambled to her feet, frightened for the boy she’d failed to protect. The adrenaline pumping through her body diluted the guilt pushing to the surface. She didn’t know how, but she’d get him back safe and sound no matter what.
Her gaze landed on the bodies littered throughout the rubble and dying eddies of dust. In her panic to find Finn she slipped in the puddle of blood Gerdie had made. Stumbling to regain her balance, she waded through the debris, dread tightening her lungs as she searched frantically. Her breath returned only when she discovered he wasn’t lying amongst the dead and injured.
She turned back, seeing that Gerdie was leaning over Sithias. Tripping in her rush to get over to him, she saw the girl he’d been carrying patting his bloody chest. Fate’s legs buckled out from under her upon seeing a thick splinter of wood sticking out of him. She fell to her knees beside him, tears flooding her eyes. She couldn’t lose him too.
His amber eyes fluttered open. “Ssseemsss I’ve been ssskewered like a shish kabob. But no need to worry, misss, we sssnakesss have nine livesss,” he said, managing a weak smile.
Sniffing back the tears, she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re getting that mixed up with cats, silly.”
“Well, I’ll jussst have to be a cat then,” he said groggily. His human form gave way to that of a white tiger. Then he let out a gruff sigh and fainted.
Gerdie and the little girl gasped, drawing back from the tiger in surprise. Sudden wails from those survivors who’d discovered the dead and wounded, interrupted Fate’s attempt to explain. Thinking it best to escape the chaos unfolding around them, she unhooked her notepad and wrote herself, Sithias and Gerdie back into the caravan.
•
Gerdie dropped the bloody blackthorn dagger. “What in the world?”
Her nerves shot, Fate began talking fast. “Sithias is really a giant snake with wings, but he’s been wearing a glamour to look human and it can turn him into anything else he wants. He must be delirious right now, but he’s perfectly harmless. I promise. Can you help him? Get that stake out and patch him up?”
Gerdie nodded blankly. “I’ll be needin’ some supplies.”
Fate conjured the clean cloths, thread and needle, iodine and tweezers she asked for. Pacing while Gerdie went to work, she couldn’t shake a growing sense of urgency. “Where could Finn be?” she asked, not so much to Gerdie, but to the world at large.
“He’s gone to the tree,” Gerdie said, tearing a square of cloth into narrow strips.
“What?” Fate stared at her in disbelief.
“That was the plan all along,” she said, tugging gently on the large splinter.
Wincing as more blood gushed from the wound, Fate gulped and turned away.
“It’s all there in Oma’s notes,” Gerdie continued. “Once Old Mother Grim’s weakened, we knew she’d go back to the oak and burrow in like a tick to shield herself from the elements. Let the tree take the brunt of the attack until she gets her strength back––just like before.”
“I should’ve been told about this. He can’t do this alone.” Angry, Fate headed for the door.
Gerdie was suddenly beside her. “You can’t go. Finn told me to keep you here.” She reached out squirrel-quick, tore Fate’s notepad from the waist of her dress and held it behind her back. “He said you wouldn’t go without it.”
Fate glared at the little girl, wearing the implacable expression of a bouncer. “Hand it over.”
Sticking out her chin, Gerdie shook her head. “I promised Finn.”
“I’m bigger than you,” Fate warned.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Fine. Keep it, I don’t need it,” she said, not feeling nearly as confident as she sounded. She pushed through the door and was just about to leap into the air when she looked back. “Just do what you can to make Sithias better. And when you’re done, drive the caravan up to the tree.”
Without waiting for Gerdie’s protest, she shot up into the darkness and vanished from sight.
•
The sky over Shytuckle was eerily clear and the valley was free of the sinister fog. But as Fate flew up over the rise in the direction of the forest, she saw storm clouds amassing into an enormous churning whirlpool of seething darkness over the oak tree.
As she sped through the air, it seemed like the massive thunderhead rumbled and growled with fury. The closer she got, the stronger the wind became, making it difficult to gain any real speed. But as more of the oak tree came into view, she instinctively slowed, trying to make sense of what she was seeing before getting too close.
The tree had awakened, looking like a black clot against the horizon with twisting veins thrashing at something near the base of its trunk. She floated closer, hearing a shrill, spine-tingling sound––the same eldritch shriek Old Mother Grim had made whe
n Gerdie stabbed the clay talisman. This time it wasn’t vengeful magic making her shriek. It was her protector, the massive oak.
One thick branch wrapped around her swollen belly while others ripped her long, bony arms from her body as easily as plucking legs off a bug. Fate watched in horror as this monstrous justice took place. She gagged as the oak tore out one of Old Mother Grim’s short, gelatinous legs. None of this added up. Why was the tree destroying its master?
Her answer came when a bolt of lightning illuminated the entire scene. Finn stood within the center of the tree’s splayed branches, his face a mask of grim ecstasy, arms gyrating like an insane conductor orchestrating a cacophonous symphony. His movements controlled the tree’s sadistic actions.
Fate soared high, circling wide before descending. Careful to avoid the thrashing branches, she drifted down just behind him. As he ripped out another limb, Old Mother Grim’s shrieks reached an unbearable pitch. She covered her ears, wishing he would just end it.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said without looking back at her.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned, holding up a hand to stop her. His eyes were ruthless black pools. “Maybe it’s best you did,” he said, letting his hand drop with a careless shrug. “It’s time you saw what I truly am.” Turning his unfeeling gaze back to Old Mother Grim, he tore open her swollen belly.
Twisting away from the grisly sight, Fate kept her eyes on the stubble of gray moss covering a branch near her head. But as Finn spoke, she couldn’t keep herself from turning back to the gruesome spectacle.
“She was human once––eons ago,” he said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. “She was a mother of three. But her desire to cheat death led to an unthinkable sacrifice to an ancient evil. She ate her own children. And the insatiable witch liked it. Biting into soft pink flesh and tasting the sweet gooey center of pure innocence gives her the same rush of pleasure a miserably stuffed glutton gets from gorging on a dozen more raspberry turnovers.”
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