Chronicles of Steele: Raven 3: Episode 3

by Pauline Creeden

  The witch caught up to them in the backyard while Jack stood with his two guardsmen. Her hair no longer looked wild as it was before. She’d taken a moment to tame it. The woman sidled up alongside Colton and looked up at him, batting her eyelashes. Colton stood tall and stiff, trying his best not to look at the woman. He leaned toward Jack. “Perhaps Marietta could be of assistance to us? She’s offered to allow us to stay at her house in Ipswich if we’re interested in using it is a base?”

  Jack gripped his coat in his fists and continued staring toward the woods. He nodded absentmindedly. It had grown too dark for travel. With the group’s loss of sleep the night before, it would be best to get a rest. He turned back toward Colton and the witch. “Tell me everything. Why did Raven mention the Wood Witch eating Darius’s heart?”

  Raven stopped and leaned against the rough bark of a pine. The deeper woods had grown pitch black, the trees shrouded shadows. She gasped, hyperventilating. Panic had her in its grip. She couldn’t let the witch kill Darius. He was her one chance to redeem her part in her father’s death. If the boy died now, it would be her fault and she’d need to redeem him, too.

  Leaves rustled behind her and she whipped her head toward the sound. Moving in otherwise specter-like silence, Monroe’s outline strode for her. He called out when he was still but a shadow. “Raven, you must stop running. You do not even know which way you are going. You cannot let your emotions take control of you now, when the boy needs you most.”

  Raven swallowed hard. What he said sounded just like something her father would say. And the thought of that sobered her but she couldn’t stop the tears. Monroe wrapped his arms around her. She sunk into him, wiping her face on his rags. He smelled faintly of animals and hay—the shed barn he’d slept in the night before. It was a comforting smell and reminded her of the farm she and her father had lived in outside of New Haven.

  How could she become so weak over this? She felt embarrassed. But the man reminded her of her father, and her father had never seen tears as weakness. Only because she needed to stay strong for the sake of other men did she learn to swallow her tears. He patted her on the back after she’d been silent for a few minutes. “Are you ready to return?”

  She nodded into his rags and pushed away from his chest. The dark sky peeked through the pine needle canopy, almost starless. She knelt, picked up a handful of snow, and scrubbed her face with it. The flash of ice cooled her hot cheeks and melted, washing away the streaks made by her tears.

  He patted her on the shoulder, and they walked together, backtracking their way toward Grandview. Monroe led her the same way her father would have. He blazed the trail ahead of her, while she followed his shadow. It became easier to see as they neared the edge of the forest. The gas lamps of Grandview created a glow at end of the trees. They broke from the canopy into the open, enveloped in amber light. Her eyes had adjusted in the slow progression.

  The three guardsmen huddled together next to the manor in deep conversation. Raven scooped snow again and wiped at her face once more. She hoped that her eyelids wouldn’t be lined with tell-tale red. With a set jaw, she approached the group beside Monroe.

  The witch spoke, her hands moving vigorously. “The very idea that the duke would kill his own son because he believed him possessed by a demon is ridiculous religious nonsense. This just goes to show why the southern province has continued to remain autonomous instead of coming under his rule. If the elder baron were to usurp his father’s seat, it would be an entirely different story. But as it is, we’d never come under the rule of a child-killing tyrant.”

  Rupert gripped his sword’s hilt, and his face held the grimace of a man trying his best to withhold a dissatisfaction. Jack and Colton listened to the woman with polite smiles, but neither nodded in agreement.

  “What the child needs is a tutor to help him learn to control the power he holds. I suppose I could tutor him. It would force me to relocate to New Haven, but I’ve got nothing tying me here, for certain.” The witch turned toward Monroe and Raven as they crunched through the snow on their approach.

  Jack and Colton’s smiles became more genuine. Rupert continued to grimace. He strode into their path. “Great. Now that we’re all present, I suggest we get out of this wretched cold and get a blasted night’s rest.”

  Guilt panged her chest. Her useless run into the woods had kept everyone waiting in the cold.

  The same open carriage pulled by a white horse started up the hill to the manor. Everyone stared in confusion. The witch cackled and rubbed her hands together. “I’ve got all of you wondering what sort of magic I used to call the taxi, don’t I?”

  The same reflection of confusion ran through the men as Raven felt.

  The witch continued, “Well, it must be ten-thirty, since I told the cabbie to return to collect me at that time. I’m surprised your stunt earlier didn’t keep him away. He probably likes the taste of my gold too much.”

  They followed her through the short snow pack. It had begun to ice over. Grant’s eyes rounded her in a questioning, worried glance. She quickly darted her eyes from his. She didn’t need his pity or his help.

  The cabbie gathered up his reins tighter as the group approached the cart. With a wave of her hand, the witch dismissed his apprehension. “I’m bringing this lot with me, Max. Open the back.”

  In a hesitant leap from his driver’s seat, the coachman rushed to the rear of the carriage and let down the gate. “I’ve got room for only one of you at the front with Marietta. The rest of you will need to sit in the bed of my coach. It’s for holding supplies, baggage, and cargo—not people, so I’m sorry for your discomfort.”

  Grant nodded toward Raven. “Take the seat. The men will sit in the rear.”

  Raven’s brows knit together and she opened her mouth to protest. Monroe set a hand on her shoulder. He nodded and his calm expression made her acquiesce. She pulled herself up to the coach seat next to the witch. The woman smelled of strange and foreign spices, similar to cinnamon and ginger, but a little sharper. Once Raven sat, the witch pulled a brown woolen blanket over her lap to share. The blanket added the smell of leather and horses to the mix.

  The cart swayed while each of the four men hopped into the back of the cart. When the cabbie returned, he cleared his throat and spit before pulling onto the bench seat. The white horse woke to the pull on the reins and started forward. Between the warmth of the blanket and the steady rhythm of the cart as it rolled down the cobbles, Raven found herself wanting to doze off again. The day’s stresses weighed her down with such heaviness sleep could be the only cure.

  Her chest felt hollow and more broken than when she’d first met Gregory’s wife. Maybe the same hole remained but with the new heartaches, it had grown a little bigger. Her father’s death had created a hole she’d hoped to fill with Gregory’s love, but now that hope had been taken from her. Did she have the right to be mad at him for not waiting for her? No, it had been too much to ask.

  The witch put an arm around Raven’s shoulder and hummed a tune. The lullaby had an eerie but light tone to it—something happy which held promise. Though it didn’t fill the emptiness inside her, it made her ache a little less. Raven wondered if the woman was bewitching her. Somehow she didn’t care.

  The horse’s hooves clopped with a hollow sound as they crossed the deserted bridge. A grey haze hung over Ipswich and made the gaslight in town seem more yellow than amber. It mixed with the salty air and created a unique odor with the tar mixed in the street’s cobbles. Even the fallen snow hadn’t muted the scents.

  After passing the area where the crew had left the boat, the cart continued toward the industrial district. A harsh layer of soot covered the walkways and buildings in a black film. Homeless vagrants huddled together for warmth over fire-filled metal barrels. The change in scenery woke Raven as she searched the area for possible dangers. Someone dumped liquid toward the street from a second story window. She hoped it wasn’t a chamber pot. Surely this section of tow
n had indoor plumbing.

  When they reached an area of Ipswich where the gas lampposts became fewer, the coach pulled to a stop. The coachman hopped from his side of the carriage and traversed to the other side. Raven jumped down before he could offer a hand. His eyes narrowed, before he lightened his expression and took Marietta’s hand. She lit from the carriage with lady-like grace, chancing a glance in the direction of the back of the cart, where the men were disembarking as well.

  The snow on the streets had all but cleared, and the rest remained black with soot. Where they’d stopped, the buildings stood close together with narrow alleys between them. No one stood on the street like they had in the earlier section. Raven’s eyes darted in every direction, straining to check the shadows for any sign of life.

  The red haired witch had already taken Colton’s arm and inclined her head toward the cabbie. “Thank you, Max. Could I ask you to come in the morning at about seven-thirty? I will be travelling with my guests to Cirrus Mountain and would like you to take us as close as possible before we need to negotiate the remainder on foot.”

  Max narrowed his eyes at Colton. “Yes, milady. But I’d rather go no farther than Corsair, if possible.”

  She nodded and guided Colton toward the brick structure, dismissing Max with a wave of her hand. “That will be fine.”

  The steel door had three locks the witch produced keys for. Raven assessed the structure and took note of the lack of first story windows. “Which floor will we be staying on?”

  Marietta eyed her and nodded upward. “I own the entire building, but the top two floors are my laboratory, and the first floor is my shop. My quarters are on the second story, and there are four bedrooms.”

  Raven nodded and took a few steps to the right. Monroe followed her lead and headed to the left. Both the reapers checked for a means of escape. Raven’s side of the building sat next to a shorter structure, consisting of one story. The alley was about three meters wide. It would be possible to jump from a window to the roof of the building if escape became necessary. The river backed the building. It might be possible to jump from a window in the rear into the river. Monroe reached the group again a moment before Raven.

  He nodded her direction. “There’s a fire escape on the other side.”

  Raven nodded back. There was a means of escape from each side of the building. This was a safe location for staying the night provided no one was stuck on the first floor or the upper floors except when on the left side of the building. The situation looked promising.

  The small retinue continued after Marietta. She turned the handle of a lamp vein on the wall and punched the button to light the fuse. Instantly, the lights in the downstairs shop brightened up every corner. She swept her arms in a smile and twirled in a circle. “My humble abode. Please make yourselves at home. I have a kitchen down here, and the icebox has a few victuals within. Upstairs the mattresses are straw-stuffed and lying on the floor, but they are preferable to sleeping outside. I will be as gracious a host as possible.”

  Raven stepped toward her, spying the spiral staircase to the second floor. “Is this the only way up or down?”

  Marietta laughed. “Unless you want to use the fire escape on the outside, yes.”

  No one felt at home. The small group huddled, refusing to spread out, and continued en mass toward the kitchen. Marietta preceded them and turned the knob to light the burner. The icebox had been recently stocked with a large block of fresh ice, and there was room for little else in the small fridge. Marietta pulled out a plate of cheese and a ham. Then she reached over her head into a cupboard and took hold of some quick porridge. After measuring the amount she needed and the water, she set the pot on the wood stove and turned toward the group.

  Rupert, Colton, and Monroe had taken three of the chairs at the small table in the kitchen. Grant and Raven remained standing, neither of them heading for the last chair. The last thing Raven wanted to do was let him be gentlemanly or magnanimous, so she refused to make eye contact with him. Instead she remained standing at the counter and set her eyes on watching the witch flit about the kitchen.

  Marietta turned about. “It seems I only have a few items, but I can put them together into an edible dish with enough for everyone.”

  Colton reassured her. “Whatever you are willing to serve us, we’ll be grateful for.”

  She gushed and squeezed his shoulder.

  Raven rolled her eyes and abhorred her uselessness. Even though she had been making meals for her father since she was nine years old, she felt awkward asking to help. Because she was taught to cook by her father, her technique was rough compared to just about any woman she’d watch prepare a meal.

  Rupert’s leg bobbed under the table in an anxious manner. He eyed Grant. “So what is our plan?”

  Grant stepped toward the table and leaned on the top. He met the eyes of each man and nodded for Raven to draw closer. “We will be making for Mount Cirrus. Where we’ll find the witch is uncertain.”

  Marietta interrupted, standing over top of Colton with a hunk of cheese in her hand. “I know where the witch will be heading and am willing to lead you there.”

  Grant nodded. “Right. And we thank you for your help.”

  She smiled and danced back toward her stove.

  “So we have some idea of where we’re going. The witch has the power to incapacitate–both Raven and I have been put out of commission by a blue light from the woman’s hands. Monroe has the theory that the woman is stronger in her own home than she would be on the outside.”

  Marietta tsked. “Actually, Cirrus is a bewitched mountain. She will be just as strong there as she was in her own home, possibly stronger,” Marietta called over her shoulder.

  Silence swallowed the room as each person at the table assessed what that meant. The oblivious woman continued to slice the cheese and meat, adding each to the boiling pot on the gas burner. In the quiet she began to hum.

  Monroe cleared his throat while his eyes darted between Grant and Raven. “What sort of spell did the witch use to debilitate you?”

  Grant’s expression turned grave as he stared at the table. “I couldn’t move. No matter how much I attempted to get my muscles to move, I sat there frozen. I couldn’t even blink my eyes.”

  Raven nodded when Monroe shot her a questioning glance.

  Grant continued, “It was worse than that, though. The witch put a voice to all my doubts and fears. Her words stabbed me, and the thought that Raven could hear them, too, made me grossly ashamed.”

  Raven slapped her hands on the table. “What do you mean, she voiced your fears? I never heard her say a word about you. She only poked her fingers in my open wounds.”

  His eyes widened. “But the words weren’t in my head. I heard them aloud. I know I did.”

  With a curt shake of her head, Raven said, “I heard it audibly, too. Unless you killed your father, she was talking about me.”

  Monroe leapt to his feet. “You did not kill your father, Raven. Why do you feel as though you did?”

  Grant held his hand in the air to stop Monroe, and his grey eyes locked onto Raven’s. “My father is alive and living in New Haven. I heard her say nothing about your father.”

  The red-haired witch chuckled as she turned from the stove with wooden bowls. She set them on the table. “Sounds like you both were taken in by the spell of fear and shame. Nothing incapacitates a person to inaction more than those two feelings.”

  Raven shot a menacing look at Marietta who never returned her glare.

  The woman continued back and forth from the counter to the table as she continued her prattling. “Yep, blue light is the sign of confusion. She probably used the tongue of the elves. Those words twist into any language for the target’s hearing. It’s dark alchemy, and I’ve never used it myself. It costs too much. The bearer of the curse ends up taking into their own body some of the same sort of lactic acid that builds up in the victim. It can cause all muscular dysfunction in the witch
if it’s used often.”

  As the woman ladled a portion of her gruel into Monroe’s bowl, he looked up at her. “Is there a way to defeat the curse or render it useless?”

  “Of course. You must counteract the curse. Don’t fight it by struggling against the immobility. Speak affirmations to the curse—in your mind of course, since you are unable to actually verbalize.”

  Relief washed over Raven, and she saw the reflection of her release in Grant’s loss of tension. He almost melted to the floor in a puddle before he straightened. “It makes perfect sense now that we know how the curse is formed. The method of counteracting it seems too…obvious.”

  Marietta shook her head and smiled wider. “Alchemy is usually so simple that it’s amazing that the common man doesn’t use it on a daily basis. Of course they can’t, since all magic takes its toll on the user.”

  “You’ve said that before. What sort of price does the Wood Witch pay for what she’s doing now to the young baron?” Raven’s stomach growled, and she picked up her bowl. She spooned a portion into her mouth. It was a little salty, but as a beggar, she couldn’t be choosy.

  Marietta’s face turned grave. “Any time a witch takes another’s life, she loses a bit of her soul. It starts her on a track of bad decisions, where she becomes unable to redeem her ways. If she continues that route, it will shorten her life.”

  Part of Raven felt smug. The purpose of redemption for each life a reaper took was to keep from going down that road. But another part of her felt guilty again. Wasn’t the feeling of smugness part of the pride she’d amassed, evidence that she was not the humble servant she was supposed to be? Could her father be proud of her as she was now?

  Grant frowned and set his spoon into his empty bowl on the table. “So are you saying the Wood Witch is not an old woman? We saw her, and she appeared to be at least seventy.”

  Marietta’s eyes were sad, and she shook her head. “The Wood Witch is only a few years older than me, thirty-five at the oldest.”