by Amber Argyle
She clenched her hand around the coins until they left circular imprints on her palm. “By the Creators, I’m done with it!” She dumped the coins back into the money box. She deliberately turned her back on her mother’s room and kneeled before the hearth, her heart racing and her brief flare of courage failing her. “Lies. My entire life, she’s told me nothing but lies.”
She realized her fists were pressed into her thighs and she slowly relaxed her fingers. Tugging the brick from its place, she took one of the gleaming coins stamped with the imprint of some long-dead war hero and stuffed it in her pocket.
“We’ll see if Bommer calls me a thief after I give him this,” she whispered to herself.
As she eased through the heavy woods, she sang the song that simultaneously cleared her path and made the forest grow dense around her.
Plants of the forest, make a path for me,
For through this forest I must flee.
After I pass, hide my trail,
For an enemy I must quell.
As she walked, she was aware that she was doing something she’d never done before—deliberately disobeying her mother. But she couldn’t turn back. A small part of her wanted to, but something larger tugged at her and she was powerless to stop.
When she finally reached the road to town, she realized Bruke was still following her. She sighed. He was lonely, too. “Stay.” She hated leaving him. He gave her a measure of protection. But a dog wasn’t much good against a musket. Besides, people wouldn’t approve of a dog the size of a small horse in the marketplace—especially if he was with her. Her encounter with Bommer had taught her one thing—the villagers would lie to hurt her.
Though it was obvious Bruke didn’t like it, he’d been trained from puppyhood to obey and protect. He went back to the shadows under a low-growing bush and sat on his haunches.
After leaving the cool forest, the sun seemed unbearably hot. Sweat glistened on her forehead. She wiped at it with the back of her hand. The weather was certainly odd. To freeze as early and hard as it had and then turn hot again? Not to mention the three-year drought. She sighed. So many things in her life were in upheaval. Why not the weather?
The town loomed before her like a dirty sore on the Earth’s crust. Tucking her golden hair behind her ears, she took a deep breath and plunged in. She had to endure the villagers’ stares before she finally reached the market. She froze in front of Bommer’s booth. The shutters hung askew from rusted hinges. Peeking inside, she saw sun-bleached shelves where once tins and parcels of goods had sat.
She staggered back as if Bommer’s ghost might come screeching out at her.
Had Coyel kept her promise, even though Bommer had dropped the charges?
Trying to swallow the lump in her throat, Brusenna turned to the next merchant and met his gaze. He shook his head in disgust. Her cheeks flamed as she dropped her gaze and made her way to the next. He chuckled. “I don’t think so, Witch.” A bead of sweat trickled down her back. With every ounce of courage she had left, she looked up.
A young man she’d never seen before. He flashed a smile, his white teeth straight and even. She’d never seen such beautiful teeth. “What does the lady need today?”
Lady? Startled, Brusenna looked behind her. But there was no one else. Could he really have just called her a lady? She stared at the blond man and tried to make her tongue work—to say something friendly and witty, but all that came out was, “Salt.”
He looked her up and down. “You’re probably old enough for a woman’s full-length dress, wouldn’t you say?” He pulled out a beautiful sky-blue bolt. “This would look wonderful with your soft yellow hair and …” He ducked to look under her lowered lashes. “Golden eyes. Like wheat that’s almost ready to harvest—hints of green. Hmm.”
She felt the color rise to her cheeks for the second time. “No. All I need is salt.”
He chuckled as he measured the cloth. “Salt is well and good, but a beautiful woman should have a beautiful dress.”
Beautiful? No one had ever called her beautiful before. She thought of the glittering gold piece in her pocket; money enough to pay for the salt and the fabric, with change to spare. Her mother would never miss one coin. Not with as many as she had hidden under the hearth. What could it hurt to spend one little piece?
He met her gaze with a questioning look.
Feeling suddenly bold, she nodded.
She watched in fascination as he cut the cloth. Finished, he held it toward her. Their hands touched. Instead of jerking back in revulsion, he let the contact linger. Her stomach jumped into her throat. No one—no one—ever touched her. Not unless they wanted to hurt her. Flustered, she handed him the gold piece. He reverently turned it over in his hands. A smile crept across his face, making the skin wrinkle like wet paper around his pale blue eyes. “My name’s Wardof. I haven’t seen you around before. Where do you live?”
Amazingly, Brusenna found herself meeting his gaze as she hugged the butter-soft fabric to her chest. “In the forest.”
Counting out his coins, he dropped her change into her hand. “Well, your husband’s a lucky man.”
“Oh, I’m not married,” she said quickly, part of her pleased he thought her old enough for a husband. She dropped the change in her pocket. “I live with my mother.”
He gestured to his plethora of goods. “Perhaps she’d like something?”
Brusenna suddenly felt unsure. No doubt he knew what she was. The other merchants would have seen to that. So why the kindness? And the questions? Feeling suddenly cautious, she shook her head. “No.”
“Oh, come now. I’ll throw in something free, just for her.”
Brusenna dug her toes into the dirt. Was she so paranoid as to construe cruelty from kindness? “Maybe when she comes back.”
“Oh,” he said. “Of course. When she gets back from …”
She shouldn’t have said that. Brusenna looked away. Back from fighting the Dark Witch, she thought. If she comes back at all. The soft cloth suddenly felt unnatural under her calloused hands.
Wardof gave an easy laugh. “Well, whenever she does, send her down to pick out something.”
Brusenna gave him a small smile and turned to go. He grabbed her hand. “Wait! You forgot something.” He held out the salt and placed it gently in her hand. “There.”
But he didn’t let go.
Without taking his eyes from her, he reached underneath his counter and pulled out a necklace. Dangling from the black cord was an amber pendant shaped like a crescent moon. “It matches your eyes perfectly.”
Brusenna’s eyes widened in shock. “I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could,” he said easily. “I’ll make you a deal. The rest of your change for the necklace. I’m still trying to establish myself as a merchant. A good deal is sure to buy your loyalty, no? Besides, I’m certain you’ll make it up to me someday.”
Brusenna gazed longingly at the necklace. She’d never owned a piece of jewelry before. And it was so beautiful. But he was giving her more than a good deal. Even she knew that. She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
Without asking, he moved behind her and brushed her hair over her shoulder. Drawing the necklace around her neck, he fastened the clasp. The amber felt cool against her sweltering skin. Lifting it, she rotated the pendant, watching as it caught the light. “It’s lovely.” Before she could change her mind, she dug into her pocket and shoved the rest of the coins into his hand.
“So are you.” He squeezed her shoulder and stepped back around the counter.
Her shoulder still felt the pressure of his grip. She cradled her hand against her body. She couldn’t remember the last time someone other than her mother had touched her … and after three weeks, even her mother’s touch seemed dreamlike and distant. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps you’ll come see me another time?”
To see his smile and speak to him again, Brusenna might do that. Nodding a shy goodbye, she was surprised at the tears sting
ing her eyes. Not wanting anyone to see them, she pushed them from her cheeks and darted down a narrow side street that led out of town.
She stopped short as a group of boys blocked her path. “You’re the chanter, aren’t you?” the one with the crooked nose asked her.
Dropping her head, she tried to duck past him. He stepped in front of her, close enough she could smell his greasy hair and unwashed clothes. She stepped quickly to the other side; he matched her movements as if they were partners in some kind of dance. Unable to bear being so close to him, she took a step back.
He spread his feet and folded his arms over his chest. “Chanter! Why don’t you cast one of your Witch spells?”
Knowing a reply would only make things worse, she tried again to slide past them. Crooked Nose easily blocked her. “Look at that, boys—she’s scared.” He shoved her.
She suddenly understood. Her silent acceptance would never appease this boy, or any of the others like him. Their cruelty would never stop. Never end. The strange feeling she’d experienced earlier that day washed over her. She squared her shoulders and leveled her gaze. “Let me pass.” She was pleased that the demand rolled off her tongue without a tremor to betray her fear.
He only laughed. “How’s a little, bitty thing like you going to make me?” Before she could process what he was doing, he gave one of her small breasts a squeeze.
Something inside her snapped. By the Creators, she was finished with it! Her mouth opened and a song from mother’s journal erupted from the most primal part of her.
Plants, hear my song,
An enemy wishes to do me wrong!
All the seeds and plants with in range of her voice burst into life, trembling in anticipation of her next command.
Plants, stop the boys who’d halt my flight.
Bind them though they fight.
Weeds, grasses and vines shot around the boys’ legs. Crooked Nose shrank before her and would have kept going, but vines twisted around his ankles, stopping him. She repeated the song, this time with more determination. His face drained of color as the plants edged up his legs and the legs of his companions. Any vines they kicked free were replaced with three more.
“Here now!” a voice cried from somewhere behind Brusenna. Snapping her mouth shut, she whirled to see Sheriff Tomack coming around a corner at full speed. What would he do to her? An image of herself locked in the stocks—these boys gathered around her—shot through her like a wildfire. She desperately wanted to run. But she was through running.
She would stand her ground, like Coyel did. Like her mother wouldn’t.
But to her surprise, Sheriff Tomack’s glower settled on Crooked Nose. “Corwood, you’ve done it now! I’ll have you locked up for a fortnight for that!”
“But she’s a Witch!” Corwood shouted, his face red with outrage.
Sheriff Tomack’s gaze flicked to Brusenna before returning to Crooked Nose. “That ain’t no secret, boy.” He nodded to her without taking his eyes from Corwood. “Best be getting home now, Miss Brusenna.”
She gaped at the sheriff. Even though her mother had said he was a friend, she’d been unable to believe it. He took a step toward her, his gaze shifting to the villagers who had been drawn to a conflict like flies to dung. “You best hurry.”
Giving the sheriff a curt nod, she started down the road, but she couldn’t help but pause as she drew even with Corwood. Under her breath, she hissed, “Never touch me again.”
She felt like an abandoned seed in her breast had suddenly found water and sun. Swollen with newfound strength, it had started to spread roots. Now that the seed had begun to grow, she knew her life would never be the same again.
She was so busy with the changes within herself she didn’t notice the pale blue eyes watching her with a knowing look in the crowd of merchants.
4. WITCH HUNTERS
As soon as the village was out of sight, Brusenna broke into a run. Her golden hair swished behind her as her feet flew over the packed Earth. When she reached the turn-off in the road, she dove into the trees and collapsed next to Bruke. Drawing in her knees, she marveled that she didn’t feel terrified. Quiet the opposite. She felt powerful. Even so, tears plunged down her cheeks.
“Why are they so cruel? I’ve never done anything to hurt them!”
Bruke whined and licked her face. He froze and a low growl erupted from his throat. He bit the pendant and pulled back. The black leather thong strained against her neck. “No Bruke! You’re going to break it!” She pried it from his teeth.
Wiping her face with her palms, she darted into the forest, singing the song to hide her path from any who might follow.
Trees and plants, hide my way.
Let no one come unless I say.
The entire way, Bruke whined beside her.
When she yanked open the door to her house, the light was beginning to fade. She stood, breathing hard on the doorstep. But she couldn’t seem to go inside. The house was hollow and empty. One look back at Bruke and she stepped aside. “Come.”
Bruke trotted inside as if it were the most natural thing in the world, though he’d never been allowed inside before. After making a round, he sat on the floor in front of her as if to say, “What next?”
Brusenna let out a nervous laugh and suddenly realized how hungry she was. “Next is supper.” Lighting a lantern, she busied herself fixing a meal for the two of them, but Bruke didn’t seem interested in eating. She took a hearty bite and moved the food to her cheeks so she could talk. “Come on. Eat your supper.”
Instead, Bruke jumped up and placed his paws on her thighs. His eyes fixed on the pendant, he growled.
The tiny hairs on Brusenna’s arms stood on end. She swallowed. “All right, boy. I’ll take it off.” Reaching behind her, she undid the clasp and took the necklace to the money box, placing it beside her father’s ring. “Satisfied?” she asked as she came down the stairs.
With a contented groan, he settled down to his meal.
Grunting, Brusenna plopped back on her chair. When she’d finished her dinner, she tried to memorize more songs from her mother’s journal, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. Giving in, she eased into her bed, with Bruke lying down at the foot. Almost immediately, she fell asleep.
A wet tongue in the palm of her hand and a soft whine brought her around. Glancing out the window, she saw the velvety blackness of deep night. Rubbing her eyes with the pads of her fingers, she sat up. “What?”
Bruke went to her closed door. He growled softly, as he’d been trained to do if strangers were sneaking around. The hairs on the back of Brusenna’s neck stood on end. Could Corwood have found a way through her forest? She threw off the blankets and peeked out her window. She saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Carefully, she padded to his side. That’s when she noticed a soft glow coming under her door. Had she left the lantern burning? She strained to listen over the sound of her heart thudding in her ears. The light moved! Someone was here! Pure energy surged through her veins. Bruke let out another whimper. Holding her hand on his nose, she shushed him. “Stay.”
Brusenna pressed her ear to the door. “The pendant is in the room on the left,” a voice whispered.
“How do we know she’s in that one?” another voice responded.
“We’ll check that one first,” replied the first.
Brusenna heard her mother’s door creak open. If she wanted to escape, her best chance was now. She stared at the doorknob, unable to make herself turn it. Quick! she thought. Before it’s too late! Forcing herself not to dwell on it, she flung her door open and burst into the hall. Right into a man’s arms.
“Well! Here’s our little Witch!” he exclaimed.
Brusenna looked up into Wardof’s vibrant blue eyes. All the kindness was gone, replaced by hatred and cruelty. That he had pretended to care made the betrayal so much worse.
“Let me go!”
He chortled. “I don’t think so, little Witch. You’re wort
h a lot of money to me.”
She pounded her fists against his chest. He laughed at her.
“Bruke!” she screamed.
With a snarl, Bruke bit into Wardof’s arm. He cried out in pain.
Brusenna was free. She flew down the hall. She felt coarse fur next to her as Bruke rejoined her.
“Don’t let her get outside!” Wardof cried from behind her.
She shoved the kitchen door open; it cracked against the side of the house. Her legs pumped as she hurtled through the corn. It whipped her bare arms and left a stinging welt on her cheek. Without meaning to, she found herself heading to the circular clearing. She chanced a glance behind her. His shirt torn and bloody, Wardof and a lumpy man pounded up the row behind her. Steel glinted in Wardof’s hand.
She had to make it to the forest to hide in the shadows of the trees. She tried to run faster, but she could hear their footsteps coming closer. She wasn’t going to make it. The realization hit her moments before a pain tore into her scalp. She was on the ground, fists of her golden hair in Wardof’s grip. He jerked her hard with his good arm as he pointed his blade at Bruke. “Call off the dog!”
She opened her mouth, but Bruke lunged before the words could pass her lips. The impact of the wolfhound’s enormous body knocked Wardof off her.
“Stop her mouth, Garg! Stop her mouth!” he screamed as he tried to hold Bruke’s snarling muzzle at bay.
Those words, more than anything, unstopped her voice. Another song from her mother’s journal poured free.
Corn, stop the men who hold me tight,
Bind them though they fight.
Bruke nimbly jumped off as, in a blur of motion, the corn wove around all but the men’s heads.
Brusenna sang hard and long for the corn to be strong and sure. Soon the men were trapped like bugs wrapped in a spider’s silk.
Growling menacingly, Bruke leaped on Wardof’s chest, daring him to move.