Una slammed a gloved hand on the door. Rustling could be heard from the house, and a few moments later, the door creaked open. Inlen, a short stout man, appeared at the door with a grin on his face.
“Someone seems happy this morning,” Una noted.
The man nodded. “I am. Business has been well today, and considering Alistair’s up for a visit, I expect you’ll be doing a lot of frying.”
Alistair bit back a laugh.
“Oh, really?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Perhaps, I should go see your brother across the way. It’s a further walk, aye, but maybe I’ll get less lip there.”
Inlen narrowed his eyes. “You know as well as I his blubber and butters are nowhere near as good as what I’ve got to offer.”
He straightened in the doorway and began to stroke his beard as his eyes darted around them. Alistair looked around but there was no one standing close by. He turned back to Inlen who was still glancing here and there.
Finally, the man leaned forward. He pointed at Una, then tapped his ear and mouth before slashing a hand through the air. The northern language for you didn’t hear this from me.
“What’d you gotta say?” Alistair’s aunt moved forward, completely transfixed by the chance at some gossip.
Inlen cleared his throat. “Dorren said she found rot in blubber she bought from him.”
Una raised a brow. “Rot? In your brother’s blubber? Have ye both lost ye minds.”
“I only pass on what I am told,” he said, hands raised in the air. “I never start the telling myself.”
Una gave him a look from head to toe. “That I doubt. Are ye going to let us in or not?”
He opened the door wide and bowed. “Your Grace.”
Una slapped him on the head as she walked. As Alistair stepped through the door, Inlen pulled him to his side.
“Don’t think I forgot about you, little middle-born! Nice to finally see ya again.”
“Thanks, Inlen,” Alistair said. “It’s nice to see you, too. How are Nano and Nina?”
They were Inlen’s twin boy and girl who had been born around the time Alistair left for his parents. He had only seen them a few times before he had to leave.
The man wiped his forehead. “They’re full of energy is what they are. Trying to walk now. This week was the first time I’ve had the house to myself. Wife took them up for a visit to the parents.”
“Did she make it through the storm okay?”
“Oh, ye—"
Inlen’s jaw dropped and Alistair cursed himself for taking his hood off.
“My, my, my, your hair’s whiter than a rabbit’s—"
“Inlen, I need three pounds of your latest catch,” Una said and stepped between the two men. “And I want the rest of your herbs, too. Don’t know when we’re going to see those again.”
He looked between her and Alistair. “Uh, right. I’ll wrap it up.”
As soon as he placed the package in her hand, Una spun on her heel and pushed Alistair out the door.
“We’ll be seeing ya, Inlen,” she called back.
A cold wind whipped through the street. Alistair pulled his cloak around him. A gentle weight rested on his shoulder. He turned and Una was smiling at him.
“Perhaps, it’s best we keep the hood up for now. If we don’t, we’ll never make it to where we need to be.”
Una moved through the roads quickly. She stopped at different houses to purchase items and, of course, anyone they ran into she’d pull Alistair along to act as the center of the conversation.
“Aye, he’s making his parents proud. Even worked as a messenger, delivering packages all around.”
Though his aunt’s frequent chats delayed their destination, Alistair found himself smiling.
By the time Amian’s house came into sight, Alistair’s legs ached with all the walking. On one arm, he carried a week’s worth of groceries and the other his aunt had snaked her own arm around.
The healer, Amian, lived a bit outside of the town. Alistair could only remember going to see the man a handful of times during his stay in the north. From what he remembered, he was good at what he did but hated being bothered.
The small hut of a home was quiet as they approached. Una raised her fist but knocked with more hesitation than she did at Inlen’s.
As soon as she knocked, the door flew open. In its wake stood a tall and thin framed man with long white hair and dark green eyes. He was covered from head to toe in blankets and didn’t look at all pleased to have his comfort interrupted.
“Is someone dead?” he asked.
Una hesitated. “Uh, n-no—"
“Is someone dying?”
She and Alistair looked at one another.
“We don’t believe so.”
He sighed. “Has a plague swept through the village?”
They shook their heads.
“And are there any major ills or ailments that need immediate attention?”
“We don’t think so,” Alistair stuttered out.
“Then, why,” --the old man yawned--“are you knocking at my door?”
Amian hasn’t changed. Storms did always make him grumpy.
Una cleared her throat. “There is a very personal matter I need your expertise on, Amian.”
“And what would that be after three days of being locked inside our homes?”
A redness rose in Una’s cheeks and Alistair had to fight the urge to back away from the pair.
Una crossed her arms and the two began to stare each other down, their gazes unflinching.
Between his aunt and Amian, he wasn’t sure who’d win, only that he didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.
Una worked her jaw, eyes locked in place. “Are you going to keep sassing me, old man, or are ye going to listen?”
He shrugged. “Depends. You going to say anything worth listening to?”
A taut fear wrapped around Alistair’s middle. The groceries suddenly felt like weights attached to his arm holding him in place.
Una huffed. She slammed her hand on the door and it went flying back against the hut wall. Amian fell to the side with the door and she stepped inside.
The old man glared at her. She glared right back.
Alistair stood on the threshold.
Amian sniffed. “Well, since you’re here...” He gestured to a row of small stools on the left side of the hut.
She nodded, before looking at Alistair.
“Come on in, Mer-Alistair.”
The old man shook his head. “Still refusing to use his given name?”
“Aye. He seems to be fond of the middle.”
“Children in these times.”
“Now that is one thing we can agree on,” she said. “But that’s not what I wanted to discuss with you, Amian. Our family needs your help.”
“With what exactly?”
Una looked at Alistair. “Show him.”
Alistair placed the groceries to the side and pulled down his hood. Like everyone else, the old man gaped at what he saw.
He turned to Una. “Is it some new fashion in the middle-kingdom?”
Why does everyone think that?
“I wish it were, but no. Alistair’s hair turned white after he encountered the witch.”
Amian raised a brow. He tossed the covers off him and leaned forward on his stool.
“The same one that cursed him, then?”
Una’s voiced cracked a bit as she spoke the words. “Yes, and he says he’s been to the afterlife. He met a boy there who speaks with him.”
The old man’s eyes turned on Alistair. “And I assume your silver is gone, aye? Your witch’s curse?”
“Yes,” he said.
A sharp intake of breath. “This is not something I thought I’d ever see.”
He rose from his stool and kneeled before Alistair. Suddenly, Amian’s long fingers were entangled in Alistair’s hair and his head was being turned in every angle.
Amian jerked Alistair�
�s head straight. He squinted his eyes. “And you killed the wretch?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Think, boy!”
“I-I,” Alistair took a hard breath. He briefly closed his eyes and tried to remember that day, but it was mostly empty spots.
He shook his head. “All I remember is the witch attacking, being terrified and, then Edwin appeared and killed the witch. He said I had called him.”
The old man’s eyes widened. “Helen’s Lights, I’ve never seen one.”
“A what?” Una asked, wringing her hands together. “What’s wrong with my boy?”
Amian released Alistair and took his seat again. A large smile spread across his face and he slapped his knee.
“You’re a warlock, son!”
“A what?” Alistair said.
The old man straightened. “A warlock. When one with a witch’s curse kills the witch who cursed him, he becomes a warlock, the men, at least. Sorceress is the term for women. Think of what you have as buying what you borrowed for some time and using the material in a new way.”
Alistair stilled. Una’s gaze shifted between them. She placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder before turning to the healer.
“So, he’s not ill?”
Amian shook his head. “Not at all. He’s actually very lucky. There’s only a small window of time between the transition of power that a cursed can use it. Until then you only had a few of the advantages such as being immune to magic and poison. I think you lose the magic bit now. Remember the fish though?”
“Nearly had me keel over that day,” Una said.
“Aye, you and me both,” Amian said. “But now things are different. The moment the witch used her power to pull it from Alistair, he used it. He called Edwin, killed the witch, and now he has her power. Rarely ever happens.”
Una squeezed Alistair’s arm. “That’s good, though! It means he’s well. Alistair…”
What am I?
The hut was suddenly too small, too dark. Alistair needed light. He couldn’t breathe as a dense feeling of foreboding snaked its way around him. His body became tremors, yet he couldn’t be the one shaking. He wasn’t gripped by a chilling fear, his mouth hadn’t suddenly lost all its moisture, and his hands weren’t shaking like a rattle, no, not him. That was some other young man, one who had just been told he was a monster.
He shook his head. It couldn’t be him. Because if it was that would mean she won.
She’s still inside me.
Alistair lunged forward, wrapping an arm around his middle and clamping his teeth shut as the bile reached his mouth.
“Alistair!” His aunt’s arm was warm around his shoulders.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Amian slipped a pot into the space where Alistair was hunched over. “Did you eat some bad cooking?”
“Oh, shut up, Amian,” Una barked. “Alistair, you can hear me, can’t you? Dear?”
His hair was like a white curtain. It hung loose in front of him with small waves at the ends.
When he was a boy, he had wanted his hair to be lighter like his cousins. He wanted people to stop questioning their relation, even though Una told him his dark hair was a gift from his mother.
The image of the woman who had birthed him flashed in his mind. He pushed it away.
He had finally gotten his wish. His hair was the lightest of all his cousins and now it would always be a constant reminder of what he had become.
Una rubbed his back.
Alistair gripped his sides and screamed. He dug his nails into his arms and let the anguish roll out of him.
Because this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She, the witch, was supposed to be dead and Alistair was supposed to be free. His parents had sent him away for nothing. He grew up without them for nothing.
He shot to his feet, a hand tangled and pulling at his hair as his eyes flared in search of the answer to his questions.
“I have to go,” he said and turned towards the door.
“Wait, Mer-Alistair.” Una scrambled behind him, but he would be quicker than her, he had to be. Because his aunt would try to make everything okay. It’s what she did, except this time there was no solution.
Amian had said Alistair was no longer cursed yet it didn’t feel that way.
“Merlin, stop running!”
He looked behind him. His aunt was jogging after him, struggling to keep the baskets of groceries steady in her arms. She was panting and her cheeks puffed out with touches of red on them.
“Wait,” she shouted.
Alistair slowed his run until it became a stroll. His chest burned and his body felt heavy.
Una was still several yards behind him. She staggered and the baskets fell to the ground.
I’m such a fool.
He sighed, spun around and made his way to his aunt. He kneeled beside her and began placing groceries in their basket. She stared at him.
“What happened, Alistair?”
He remained silent.
Una moved her hand across his face, pushing back his hair. Her eyes were watery and her lips were pulled into a thin line.
“This changes nothing,” she stated.
He sighed. “It changes everything, Aunt Una.”
“No,” she replied, her blonde hair moving with the force of the word.
She grabbed his chin and turned his purple eyes, so they were looking directly into her silver.
“No,” she repeated. “It doesn’t. You are still my boy. I know you and I know you are not a monster.”
“But the witch…she’s inside me.” His hands had started to tremble again. “I took her power. I took her.”
Una moved her hand from his face to his shoulders. She gripped them into him and found his eyes once more.
“It is not what you have that makes you. It is how you use it. Now, you have magic, Alistair, but it doesn’t turn you into the witch.”
He clutched his hands to stop the shaking.
“What am I then?”
She smiled. “A young man with a gift.”
The cold night air nipped at her fingers. Robin cursed herself for forgetting her gloves but there wasn’t much time for packing or preparation.
Alistair had been gone since his aunt returned and only now had Robin found a moment to sneak away. Una refused to tell anyone what happened or where Alistair was, despite their concerns.
Well, anyone, except her husband. The moment the two stepped into the bedroom, Brima and Farren had helped Robin through the guest room window. Maddy, Olen, and Deanna kept watch.
The moment she landed, Brima gave Robin directions to where Alistair liked to go to be alone. Then, she closed the window which barely made a noise and was much quieter than the door as Robin had first proposed. Apparently it creaked though Robin hadn’t noticed upon their rushed arrival.
Maddy had grinned and waved at her from the window but she was as worried about Alistair as the others. Only she was more skilled at hiding her feelings, a trait Robin admired about her and if Maddy hadn’t caught the frost on their journey, she would have encouraged her to come along.
But Robin was going to make the short trek alone.
She wrapped herself in her cloak and rubbed her hands together. Though she considered herself stronger than she ever believed, Robin doubted she’d ever become accustomed to the northern cold. Of course, it snowed in the middle-kingdom, as well, but without such ferociousness. The temperature was below zero, she was sure.
A wind blew and Robin blinked twice to clear her vision.
Past the first house, you’ll see Helen’s Tree. Make a left and walk as if you were going to the shore. If you keep walking, you’ll find a pile of rocks rising from the ground near a piece of land that looks like a cliff. That’s where he’ll be.
Brima’s words repeated in her mind.
She had passed the first house some time ago but still no tree.
“Nothing worth having is easy in getting,” she mumbled to herself. A smile tugged at her lips.
“Only further evidence Arthur was a know it all, even as a youth. Oh, if he could see me now.”
The very thought made her laugh. Her walking alone in a foreign country at night after barely making it through a blizzard…he’d probably lay an egg.
Warmth blossomed in Robin’s chest.
That was Arthur. Worrying like a mother hen was what he did. He was kind and generous and willing to put the needs of others before his own, always happy to hold the heaviest of burdens.
Then, why did you reject his proposal?
She shook the question away and clenched her hands by her sides.
I will not think about it. I’ve made up my mind.
She nodded to herself and marched harder across the snowy ground. Soon Helen’s Tree came into view. The branches were completely bare of either snow or leaf. What stood in front of Robin was simply a gray-barked tree with numerous limbs. Still, she couldn’t deny what Brima and Deanna had told her.
The branches looked like opened hands turned towards the sky either offering or waiting for a blessing. Though Robin was a believer in Trithian herself and had learned little of the old religions, she couldn’t deny her growing interest or the logic behind the old ways.
She doubted she’d ever be able to worship Helen like the northerners yet choosing a woman as a god made sense. Women birthed children. Why not believe a female spirit could have birthed all the world? Yes, men played their role, but women were like the soil, the carrier, and the caregiver. She could understand why they believed the way they did.
Robin passed the tree and headed towards the shore. Her hands were catching chill again, so she cupped them together and blew into them. As she began to warm her fingers, the sound of waves greeted her ears.
A gust of wind burst from the shore and blew her hood down. Her hair tossed in the air and she moved her face away to block the sudden gust. And that’s when she saw it.
There were five large rocks protruding from the ground, set in a sort of arc with smaller ones in similar standing. From where she stood, they looked to be rather smooth, the opposite of the jagged rocks she had been expecting.
The Woman In the Tree Page 24