by Tish Thawer
“One of the brothers spotted a group traveling north of us,” one of the drivers said, changing the subject.
“Is it the group we are hoping to meet up with? The other Stronghold witches?” Rachael asked, jumping in the conversation. They all turned to her as if just noticing she had joined them. Ahote, the youngest of the brothers, kept his gaze on her longer than the rest of the group as the driver answered her question.
“No, we do not believe it is.”
Cetanwakuwa, the middle brother, confirmed his belief. “Alo felt darkness around them.”
The Ahusaka brothers had explained when they first arrived that they were bird shifters—hawks to be precise. Each had additional gifts in addition to the shifting ability. Alo was the spiritual guide, a shaman to some. Ahote was a wanderer, but would argue it was his nature and not a gift at all. Cetanwakuwa was a fighter, and they called him the “attacking hawk” when speaking of him.
“Are we threatened by this group? Do we need to move on?” Marie asked.
“That’s what we were discussing, whether it was time to move or if we should hold still and wait for them to pass farther away from our route,” Judson explained.
“Could it be Dante? I don’t think I could feel him that far away.”
Judson and Marie had explained the situation, to those not aware, of Dante and the rogue hunters. Alo shook his head, his long black hair falling in front of his face as he did so.
“It does not feel like you.” He turned his head toward Rachael. “It feels like you—magic users—but it is dark and harmful,” he elaborated.
“Okay, so we’ve got some black magic users, dark witches, on our trail . . . literally. The question is, do they know we are here?” Marie shuddered at the thought.
Chapter 8
After much debate, the group decided to stay for a little longer. The motion of the caravans and the dust they kicked up during the day ultimately could have been more of a beacon announcing “come to us, we’re over here” than they wanted. Lying low potentially could provide more protection as long as the dark witches kept on their current traveling path. After breakfast, they doused the fires, hoping to rid the sky of the smoke announcing their presence, and no one was allowed to make loud noises or play music. Perhaps they were overreacting, but they didn’t want to take any chances of stirring up trouble.
“This is not ideal,” Rachael complained as she and Marie took buckets down to the stream. They wandered a short walk through a forested area that brought Marie a smile; the air was invigorating. She hoped where they ended up settling would have beautiful scenery and flowing water even better than this place.
“No, it’s not. But they were right—we’re not ready for any kind of attack,” Marie said with frustration. “We have witches and hunters and hawks . . . we should be prepared to face anything that might come our way. We should not cower in fear and hide, but at the same time, I understand. We have young ones with us too, and we don’t need the trouble right now.”
Dipping the buckets into the cool, shallow stream, they filled them.
“Why don’t you train them then? Get them ready?” Rachael asked innocently.
“Me? What about you? You can work with the witches to come up with defensive and offensive spells, if necessary.”
Rachael backed off. “Touché. They won’t listen to me yet. I can feel they’re not ready.”
“Maybe you need to tell them that they’re ready. Did you think of that? You can’t coddle them. This is not the time or place for that. They will have time to nurse their scars when we settle, but not now.”
Rachael sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll come up with a list of spells and see how that goes over.”
“Good girl!” Marie flicked a small splash of water at her friend. Rachael sucked in a deep, harsh breath.
“That is so cold!” Rachael retaliated with a slightly larger splash at Marie, who giggled and grabbed her bucket and ran back to camp, away from her friend who followed behind.
After nightfall, the camp was quiet as everyone retired to their tents. Marie tossed fitfully and turned in her sleep sack while Judson slept soundly beside her. Something pulled at her subconscious, an itching . . . an unpleasant feeling deep in the pit of her stomach she hadn’t felt before, but had wondered about ever since she first read her ancestors’ journal. Quietly, Marie slipped her traveling dress and her boots on, but left them unlaced, grabbed her shawl, and slipped out of their tent. Just enough chill in the night air had her wrapping herself with the wool shawl she was now grateful to have grabbed.
Marie tiptoed her way through the camp and around the wagons until she was able to peer into the dark night and the vast expanse of dirt laid out around them. Not much could be seen except the amazing array of twinkling stars against the black backdrop of the night sky and the occasional firefly still buzzing about before it retired for the night. The sight took her breath away each and every time she had the privilege of seeing it. Marie inhaled deeply and slowly, calming her nerves. Her intent wasn’t even clear to her, but she knew the sick feeling in her stomach had something to do with the band of witches traveling parallel to them. She just needed to know what they were up to.
Stepping beyond the shelter of their campsite, heading toward an outcropping of tall boulders, she stopped dead in her tracks when a tall shadow emerged from the tree line not far from her.
“Going somewhere in the night, miss?” a deep male voice asked with somewhat broken-sounding English. “It is dangerous out there. Wild animals and more.”
Marie’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded so hard it was about to burst from her rib cage. Not until the man stepped away from the shelter of the trees and into the glow of the moonlight was she able to recognize which of the Ahusaka brothers he was.
“Oh, Alo, you frightened me,” Marie breathed heavily, placing her hand upon her heart as she attempted to catch her breath.
“Apologies, ma’am.” Alo tipped his head toward her, but didn’t move any closer. An awkward silence descended between them. He didn’t press her any further, but she felt she owed him an explanation to answer his first question. Knowing Alo the little she did, he probably already had an idea of where she was off to. He had a way about him that suggested he knew much more than he let on about everyone and everything. It was slightly unnerving, but he had never done anything to suggest he was a danger to their group; quite the contrary, in fact.
“I have a strange feeling. I believe it’s related to the other travelers you spotted earlier,” she admitted freely.
Alo nodded thoughtfully. “With your gifts, I can understand. You cannot go out there on your own. I gave my word to your Atsidi to watch over this camp and you. I will not allow it on my watch.”
Slightly deflated and slightly relieved at not having to sneak around, Marie nodded with understanding.
“I won’t get you in trouble, Alo. It just bothers me I don’t understand what it is I’m feeling yet.” Marie rubbed one forearm, then the other.
“Trust your instincts, and they will guide you,” Alo directed in a voice full of wisdom. His brothers had referred to him as a shaman or a spiritual guide, so she took his instruction to heart.
“Thank you. Good night,” Marie said as she turned and went back to her tent. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was happening, but somehow believing in herself allowed it to move to the background of her mind for the rest of the night.
Chapter 9
Days had passed with much the same routine as the ones before, and no trouble had arisen from the band of witches who traveled parallel to where they were camped. Rachael practiced her magic at the edge of their campsite, between large boulders and the stream to shield her and give her privacy. However, Marie couldn’t help notice a certain Ahusaka brother who watched from higher up on the cliff of one of the plateaus, overlooking where she practiced unaware. Ahote seemed to study Rachael, and perhaps he was simply curious in
a witch’s magic, but Marie saw something much deeper in his eyes.
“Judson?”
“Hmm?” Judson didn’t look up from the work table he had crafted out of two barrels and a fallen log he had split on both sides to make flat for his use. Marie moved closer to him to inspect what he worked on.
“Have you noticed how Ahote watches Rachael? I think he might have feelings for her.” Marie tested her theory on him. Judson glanced up at Marie, and she nodded to where Ahote sat curiously on the cliff. Judson’s gaze followed hers.
“Perhaps he does. Do you have thoughts against that?” he asked.
“No, just wondered what you think. If she likes him in return, I see no harm. I just care for her and her well-being.”
“I know you do, as do I.” Judson turned back to his project, unconcerned.
“What are you working on so intently?” Marie crossed her arms and bent forward to look closer.
Judson’s face turned toward Marie. He was lit up like a star, his smile reaching his eyes—the excitement he showed couldn’t be contained. “It’s for you! Well, I actually already gave it to you, but I’ve refinished it.”
“What is it?” Her own excitement mirrored his as she bounced on her toes and clapped her hands.
Reverently, Judson held out his flattened palms, where his pet project these last days rested—a small dagger, the edges blackened within the blacksmith’s fire. The shiny blade held an inscription in Latin, and intricate metalwork decorated the front of the hilt. Marie gasped.
“It’s the dagger you gave me before we left. You fixed the mangled metalwork. Oh! It’s the same design from my family journal! How did you replicate it?” Marie asked in shock and a bit of awe.
Judson’s face held a sheepish expression he rarely showed, and he hesitated.
“What? What is it, Jud?”
“I wanted to tell you earlier, but I wanted to see if I could remake it first. My mother gave it to me before she left for the northern coven where her relatives lived. She said it had come to her from Sarah’s mother, who had asked her to keep it safe and hidden. My mother told me it had belonged to hunters who had given it to her as a symbol of their vow to protect and not hunt the coven.”
Marie’s eyes grew wide as she listened to Judson’s tale, even though they refused to leave the dagger he had placed into her own hands.
“I hadn’t thought much more about it, other than it being an interesting dagger I was drawn to, but when I saw the design on your journal, I knew they were connected—items in partnership. It was in rough shape—some of the metal pieces were bent out of shape or broken, the blade had dulled over time, and it needed care and attention. I gave it some,” he said proudly and puffed out his chest.
“Indeed you did. It’s beautiful. This colorless stone in the center is amazing and truly unique. What does the phrasing mean?” She pointed to the words inscribed horizontally on the blade from tip to hilt.
“Elige tibi. It means ‘Choose yourself,’” he translated.
“That’s amazing. Thank you!” Marie reached up and pulled him closer to her by placing her hand behind his neck. She leaned her forehead against his and simply rested against him, sharing the air between them. “I love it, and I love you.”
Then she kissed him softly and tenderly on the lips, but before he could take the kiss deeper, the sound of a hawk’s cry pierced the sky, and they startled apart.
“It’s Cetanwakuwa. That’s a warning someone is approaching our camp,” Judson explained as he grabbed Marie’s hand and pulled her after him. “Hold onto your dagger, Marie. We don’t know what kind of danger approaches.”
Judson and Marie reached the edge of the wagon circle. Men stood around, hoping for a nonchalant appearance, but each one held a rifle or another weapon—some more inconspicuous than others—from Judson’s weapons cache that he had brought with them. Marie’s brother Rodney and her father Hank were among them, looking just as fierce, comfortably holding their rifles as any with metal weapons.
“What’s the trouble?” Judson asked the men out front.
“Wagon headed this way,” Marie’s cousin, Michael, stated, signaling off in the distance just beyond the gathering of rocks standing as pillars.
A cloud of dust kicked up, announcing the visitor before the wagon even came into view. It didn’t move fast, but clipped along at a steady pace, allowing them a few minutes to breathe and prepare before their guest arrived. Several of the witches strategically arranged themselves behind the wagons and sent the younger ones into one of the tents with an extra protection spell. The male witches were less common than the women from the Stronghold coven, but the ones who were skilled in their magic hid in a few of the covered wagons, watching carefully. Presenting a fairly large welcome party, Marie stood just behind a large wagon wheel, waiting to get a read on who approached them. She didn’t have offensive powers like the witches, but what she did have she would use if the time came.
“It comes,” Ahote said from where he leaned against one of the large wagon wheels off to the side from everyone else. He crossed his legs at his ankles and folded his arms, but kept his head up and his eyes trained on the approaching wagon.
Marie shook her arm with the familiar tingling she would get when visiting the coven.
“Witch,” she whispered.
The wagon slowed to a stop not far from where they all stood. The wagon itself—pulled by only one horse—was smaller than one of their traveling ones and shaped more like a rectangle with cut outs for windows and a railing on the back of a platform from which stairs could be pulled down. On the side of the box were words in a fancy script, advertising tonics, potions, lotions, and spells. It appeared they were dealing with a traveling salesman looking for his next pitch.
However, the man in the driver’s seat looked like anything but a salesman. Slumped over, he barely held the reins for the horses. His hair was disheveled and matted. The clothing he wore was tattered and singed. As Alo approached, the horse reared back, a hint of madness in his eyes and foaming at the mouth.
“Whoa!” Alo called to the beast. He then spoke in a soothing tone in his own language, and the horse slowly calmed down. Alo grabbed the reins and pulled the horse to a stop.
Judson and Rodney were the first to reach the wagon while others raised their rifles, ready for anything.
“Is he okay?” Marie shouted.
Most couldn’t hear what the men were saying, but Marie heard them trying to get information from the man, who appeared to be barely conscious. What she did hear from his garbled words was that his camp had been attacked in the night. He barely got away and didn’t know if any of his people were alive. He came looking for help. Marie ran up to the wagon next to Judson.
“Who attacked you? Do you know?” she asked with a slight panic in her tone. Fear gripped her heart.
The man raised his head and looked at Marie. His eyes widened and his face flinched.
“You. His eyes looked like yours do,” the man said with fear in his voice. He pointed a shaking finger in her face. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re a witch hunter!”
Marie gasped and stumbled back to the ground, away from the man and the wagon. Her fear was realized: Dante. Dante had attacked them. Guilt gripped her heart. She wondered, if she had been able to follow her gut feeling the other night, whether she could have warned those witches.
“You’re safe now.” Rodney tried to soothe the man.
“Not safe. You have a hunter in your camp,” the man said with a sudden renewed energy as he sat up and gripped the reins out of Rodney’s hands. “I will save myself.”
The hawk overhead screeched once more and dove from high in the sky down toward the wagon, now pulling out from their camp. The man shouted at the top of his lungs, “They will come for you, hunter! And take out everyone with you, you and all your abominations! We won’t let more of our people fall to your kind again.”
The hawk dive-bombed the driver, attacking
as he chased him away from the camp.
“Come back, Cetan,” Alo whispered to his brother as if he could hear him all the way up in the sky. Maybe he could, because the hawk stopped attacking and circled back toward the camp.
Marie and the entire camp stood in stunned silence. Her brother most likely killed that other band of witches—good or bad witches, she didn’t wish her brother’s wrath upon anyone.
Chapter 10
“I think it might be time to discuss moving on to a new location,” Rachael brought up later that day when they were gathered around the fire, preparing the evening meal.
Marie knew she needed to be grateful for fresh food while they were able to find it, but she was tired of the fish from the stream, the rabbit she had to pick out buckshot from, for fear of cracking her teeth, and the random bits of fur clinging to the occasional elk. Once they were back on the trail, they would only have available the breads they had been making while camped and the beans, rice, and jerked meats that wouldn’t spoil along the way.
“I think you might be right,” Marie responded reluctantly.
“We were going to wait a few days longer, but it won’t make much difference.” Judson shrugged.
“I’m not excited about getting back in the wagons, but I feel something bad might happen if we don’t,” Michael said, fidgeting uncharacteristically with his hands.
“I agree,” Marie said with certainty. “That man in the wagon said they would come for us, but he also said he wouldn’t allow for more of their people to fall to my kind—the hunters. Dante. He had to have been speaking of my brother, Dante. Which means he’s out there somewhere and perhaps not far from us. I don’t want to risk any of you by staying in one place too long.”
Judson reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. She squeezed his in return.