Till Death And Beyond (Witch World)

by Lyn C. Johanson

  “She said you are a disgusting, hideous monster—but you are no such thing,” he declared passionately. “You saved Nyssa, and you are beautiful!”

  Amira had never felt the urge to smile as strongly as she did now. If only she knew how … her eyes drifted to the little hands she held, and the urge to smile vanished.

  “Who did this to you?” she demanded, turning his hands slowly, noticing bruise after bruise underneath all that dirt. His whole body … dear gods, she inhaled. And the scars … she was going to kill someone! “Who?” she repeated when she didn’t get an answer after what seemed an age. Instead, Adam pulled his hands away and turned to leave.

  Amira cursed silently. She was scaring the boy. Gentle, be gentle with him, she reminded herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t bite, I promise.”

  Adam laughed. It was an innocent childish chuckle she imagined people rarely heard. A shame, she thought. A child as young as he was should be happy and carefree for as long as was possible. “You wanted to ask me something, didn’t you?” Amira inquired, after a bit of mind-reading.

  He nodded. “My pug broke a leg, and—”

  “And you were wondering if I could heal him?” she finished it for him, also knowing that the dog didn’t just break its leg. It was broken by Mode. On purpose. Only the why of it eluded her.

  He nodded again. “How did you know?”

  “I can read minds,” she said. “Lead the way.”

  Adam’s smile widened. Taking her hand, he dragged her towards his home, if one could call it such, and showed her the kennel.

  Amira glanced back. Her chaperones were standing a few feet away, closer than usual, probably anticipating having to intervene when the need arose. She fully expected to cause disturbances by coming here. It didn’t mean she liked being watched.

  She crouched over the animal, only too aware of the mob gathering around her, to witness yet another show.

  “Maddy,” she called the dog’s name and waited for him to reveal himself. Maddy whined, raising his head higher. The small, pathetic brown eyes that gazed at her were full of fear and pain.

  “What is she doing?” someone murmured in the crowd.

  Amira blocked the voices. They could curse, rail, or express their fears later. She was sure they would. Right now, she had no desire to listen to them.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said as she reached for the dog, and instantly knew why he was injured. The scenes of it were playing in her head. Mode’s anger penetrated Amira’s body.

  The woman hated her own son for the way he was conceived, and constantly lashed out at him. Punished him. And the dog he cared for.

  “It won’t hurt,” Amira spoke aloud on purpose, so Adam could understand what was happening. She soothed both the dog and the boy with her voice. Finally, she placed her hand on the small, helpless brown puppy, and took a deep breath in. Concentrated. Felt the energy swirling inside, coursing through her veins; and with her next breath out, released it. The dog happily yapped and jumped up, tail wagging. Adam gasped with amazement, covering his mouth one moment, and hugging her the next.

  Whatever she was about to say, or do, fled her mind irretrievably. Her hands were left hanging in mid-air, frozen. Not pushing away, not exactly embracing him either. She felt flustered. Warmth intruded on her heart. Chill gripped her spine. Chill?

  Amira lifted her eyes to the woman staring down at her. Frost and ice. If there ever was a colder gaze, it would surely freeze her into a callous stone.

  “Adam!” his mother’s raised voice made the boy spring up, “come to me at once. And you, witch, stay away from my kids.” She ordered.

  Amira clenched her fists and stood up.

  “Don’t you think your behavior is a bit unwise, Mode?” the man standing nearby intervened, as if sensing the change in Amira.

  “Asinine, I should say,” a woman agreed. “Do you really want to test this … this girl?” she added after a pause. It was apparent they were afraid, and thus careful, if not respectful, around her.

  “A girl?” Adam’s mother yelled. “She is an abomination. Because of the likes of her, we decent folk can’t live in peace!” She grabbed a cane from the ground.

  “Mode,” someone whispered, “I don’t think the lord will be happy—”

  “Well of course he won’t,” Adam’s mother interrupted the speaker, “don’t you see he’s already under that thing’s spell? After all, spreading legs is one of their talents.”

  That did it. Amira gritted her teeth. No one called her an abomination, a whore, and attempted to beat her with a cane, without consequences. She inhaled deeply, and without even touching Mode’s body, lifted it a few feet above the ground.

  The woman shrieked, flailed, waved with her stick—which appeared in Amira’s hands a second later—and called for help. Amira glanced around, trailing her gaze from one person to another, encountering no resistance. People actually took a step back. Only Adam stood motionless, stupefied.

  The child’s big blue saucer-like eyes brought Amira back. She clenched her fist around the cane even harder, trying to regain control. Fear was the last thing she wanted to see in Adam’s eyes. He had already lived too much of it.

  Amira slowly approached the levitated woman, and with the tip of the stick touched her chest. “If I notice another mark on Adam’s flesh, you will answer to me”—she stared her down,—“understood?”

  “Who are you to command me how to raise my children?” She uttered the words that were supposed to sound threatening, but instead came out as a timid squeak, amusing everyone around.

  “Someone who will be very upset if even the smallest hair is to fall from his head.” She touched Adam’s head. “You really don’t want to make me upset.” Amira glanced one last time at Mode, and released her hold on the woman. Chin high, she turned for the house without looking back, as Mode crashed inelegantly to the ground, sputtering insults under her breath.

  “Oh, and I really think Adam could use a bath,” Amira added, feeling the way she never thought she would feel again. Herself. Try to stop me now, she muttered, as lightning cracked the sky. Damn, but this felt good.

  Chapter 16

  “She did what?” Raven took the sword from the wall and threw it to Jim.

  Jim caught it with his left hand, measured it in his palm and nodded. “I believe she made lightning strike the wooden pole,” he repeated the news he’d already shared.

  Raven knew, just knew he heard it right the first time. Still, he had to ask. Again. Leave that woman to her own devices for a few hours and she would turn his whole world upside down. He was certain of it. Why did he leave her then—for a few days, no less?

  You needed to breathe air, remember? Something other than the honeyed fragrance of her hair and skin. Too sweet. Too tantalizing. Too… He groaned inwardly, and focused his full attention on the wall in front of him. Dozens of swords and daggers laughed at him.

  Raven walked to the opposite wall, surveying the cold, stainless steel. He examined the sharp edges and carved handles, finding it hard to choose from such a vast number of blades.

  He had weapons aplenty, all around the house—easily available to people if the need arose. In case Venlordians were to attack. He harbored a lot of so-called witches, after all.

  People here trained constantly. And Raven joined them whenever he could. Be it outside, or here, in the space where he and Jim were about to begin a practice. The area was huge and empty. Except for the walls lined with weapons of every size and shape imaginable and the few chairs and a table in it. The furniture so damaged during the fights over the years, he was amazed it still stood.

  Raven picked a simple, long, double-edged sword with a plain, uncarved handle. He lifted it. Changed hands and swiped it through the air, testing the sword’s balance. He wasn’t left-handed, but he’d learned to use both, knowing no skill could ever really be inutile. He lived by the sword since he was fourteen years old and trusted the thing he held in his hand more than a
human at his back.

  A sword could break, but it couldn’t betray.

  “Ready?” he faced Jim, already feeling the rush in his blood. Anticipating working himself until exhaustion claimed him. A dreamless sleep was something he could definitely use.

  Their swords met. Clanged. Separated, and met again. On and on they went, swinging lethal blows at one another. Dueling until the sweat beaded over his opponent’s skin. Raven didn’t stop. He threw himself harder into the battle, all the while questioning Jim about his “guest’s” activities.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you the rest after…” Jim panted, forcing Raven to notice how his blows became fiercer with each new tidbit he learned.

  “Maybe you should concentrate more!” Raven sidestepped, throwing Jim off balance. Too easy. Oh, what he would give for a practice session with a worthy opponent.

  “She conjured up a pony,” the man moved, placing a chair between them.

  Raven was about to ask how long he was going to hide behind furniture when the meaning of Jim’s statement sank in.

  “A pony?” The sound of his amazement was quickly followed by a loud clang of their swords. “She conjured up a pony?” Why not, he almost snorted. She could probably conjure up a dragon. Why not a pony?

  Raven ducked to avoid Jim’s hit and seized the opportunity to bypass the chair. He turned, countered a clumsy strike with one of his own, and went into a full-frontal attack.

  “It appeared regular horses were too large for the boy,” the other man breathed shallowly, moving backwards.

  Wrong move, Raven sighed. He was almost backed against the wall, exacerbating his own situation by the second.

  “What else?” he inquired, swinging his sword again.

  “She helped during Lizzy’s labor.” Jim took another step. A fallible move yet again.

  “How exactly did she help?” Another swing. Another move.

  Jim gasped, finally feeling the wall against his back. His grip on the sword loosening. Raven kicked. The sword flew from Jim’s hand and landed loudly on the floor.

  “Always observe your surroundings,” he advised, pointing the tip of his own blade into the man’s chest. “Leave yourself space. And never let anyone corner you unless you plan it that way. Understood?”

  Jim nodded.

  “Good.” Raven withdrew his weapon. “So how did she help exactly?” he asked again, retrieving the fallen weapon.

  “I’m not sure,” Jim muttered. “I only heard women talking about how she put her palm on Lizzy’s stomach. Something similar to Adam’s dog.” Or Nyssa, Raven added the last one, to himself.

  “I see,” he said. Though actually he didn’t. Not a bit. She wanted to render him demented apparently. It had to be it. Why else would she use magic every other second, doing things like frightening the hell out of Mode, transforming his sun-chamber into a freaking jungle, or conjuring up ponies—instead of trying to run away. Not once. He already had a splitting headache from trying to figure her out. But now … and she wasn’t helping at all. Only confusing him further.

  Her uniqueness. Her behavior. There was something about her that made him re-evaluate the whole picture. Made the scales tip. If only he didn’t have to sit and wait… But going after the witches was futile. He’d already tried that. For about ten years. The one time he killed a witch aside, he hadn’t found another until just recently. Until her.

  Raven had to remind himself he would not be able to enter the Impenetrable Mountains. No man could. And leaving this place would most definitely guarantee his missing the witches. His chance, along with them. He had to sit and wait. But damn it, if it wasn’t killing him. Stretching the limits of his patience, for sure.

  Mostly because of one mesmerizingly seductive creature unleashing havoc under his roof and in his head. Teasing him to the point where he no longer knew which desire was the keenest—to shake her relentlessly, or to kiss her breathlessly. Just what he needed! He rolled his eyes heavenward, grabbing his shirt from the hook.

  He wasn’t ready to finish the practice. Far from ready. Jim, on the other hand was. Frustrating. It was just frustrating—that’s what it was.

  Would he need to call another man to challenge him? Tire him? He doubted it would help. He didn’t even break a sweat training with Jim. Oh, but it took one thought about her, one stray, wayward thought, and he was burning. His skin heating up…

  Raven frowned, realizing where this kind of delusion could take him. Some place where every cell of the body craved, and yet his common sense was dead against going to. The place of pleasure? Probably. Of intoxicating desires? Maybe. A place to forget all his troubles? Perhaps. A place of pain and betrayal? Absolutely.

  He didn’t need it. Just like he didn’t need daydreaming about her. It was dangerous. He could lose his head one day. How many times did he have to remind himself of that?

  A heady scent wafted towards his nose—honey—raising the hair on his skin, and his eyes to her determined gaze.

  He was definitely going to lose his head over her one day. Some day even sooner than he thought, judging from his lack of concentration. She’d got inside the room and he hadn’t even noticed it, for the love of gods. And just as he knew, his flesh was taken over by the heat.

  Raven watched her sit in one of the chairs, lay her hands on the chair’s arms, and hiss.

  “Please, do sit down,” he gestured towards the chair she’d already occupied.

  “We need to talk,” she stated solemnly. “Could you please send the boys away?” She glanced at Willy casually leaning against the wall, and then at the still-panting Jim. “Not that I don’t like the company, but enough is enough.”

  Raven signaled them to leave, and without waiting for the door to be closed behind the men, turned his full attention to the woman.

  “So, I am all yours,” somehow just slipped out.

  Bright Eyes narrowed her eyes, as if to say really? but held her tongue. For a second. “I’d say you’ve been avoiding me.” She lifted her hand and her fingers began playing with one of her bobbing locks. “Now why is that?”

  Raven ignored her question. “You are not here to make demands. I think I am being more than reasonable, letting you roam wherever you like only with Jim and Willy as your guards. And—”

  “Nursemaids, that’s what they are,” she interrupted him with a snort.

  “Just by not tying you up again, I risk a lot—you do understand?” Somehow he couldn’t even think about tying her up again.

  She looked at him with one of her soul-searching gazes, and softened. “If you worry about the witches, don’t. I guarantee you they will come.”

  “How do you know?” He leaned forward, his hands settling on the backrest of the second chair.

  “You really wish to know?” she asked, standing up and moving towards the wall. She examined weapon after weapon, finally stopping in front a small dagger with a dragon’s tail wreathing around the handle.

  “Yes.” His eyes never left her fingers as they gently stroked the steel. “No.” He remembered her conditions. “I don’t know,” Raven answered truthfully.

  She took the dagger from the wall, pretending to study it more closely. Her fingers intently caressed the shape of the fire-breather, and then they moved back to the steel. “You better decide which one,” she uttered, and just as casually, sat in the same chair.

  Raven’s brows arched slightly. He would have told her to be careful. She was treading on dangerous ground. Instead, he just swallowed hard. There was something sensuous about her with that dagger.

  She toyed with it for a second and directed her gaze onto him once again. “Everything would be so much simpler if only you could trust in others.”

  “Meaning you?”

  “Why not?” she shrugged.

  “Why not?” he repeated the question with bewilderment in his voice. He could have stated hundreds of reasons, except suddenly he couldn’t remember a single one of them.

  “Let me answer it,�
�� she breathed angrily. “Because I am a witch. A demon’s spawn. A tainted creature with only destruction on her mind.” She began tapping with the blade.

  Yes, she was a witch. A demon’s spawn? He no longer believed that. Tainted? Nonsense. With destruction on her mind? Suddenly, he craved to know what exactly was on her mind. He must be out of his own mind, completely.

  “Do you think every human is worthy of death just because there are few bad seeds among them?” she continued with such passion, he was overwhelmed.

  “Of course not.” He released the chair and leaned against the wall. Watching. Studying.

  “But you do think every witch is worthy of death just because some of them committed crimes.” It was not a question.

  Still, he answered. “Not any more, apparently, or you would’ve been dead. Already.” When did he become so frank with her? When did he lie to her? He wondered.

  “I thought you needed me.” Was this desperation he was hearing now? Surely not.

  “They are coming, you told me yourself.” He believed her few days ago, but now, he sensed them coming. “Meaning I no longer need you.”

  “Then let me go,” she sounded more demanding. Forthright. Her flaring eyes all but nailed him to the wall.

  “And if I said no?”

  He could see confusion darkening her face. She shook it off. Stood up and began trailing the dagger edgeways on the table. Back and forth. Back and forth. Slowly. Deliberately. Raven was only too aware of the dagger she so innocently wielded in her hands. The only thing missing was a mischievous smile curling her lips, but as always they were devoid of mirth. Her eyes, on the other hand, were sparkling.

  “Then, we shall dance,” she said lifting the blade, the tip pointing at him.

  “Angel, you don’t even know the steps,” he protested as he straightened, determined to prove what they both knew: she was fierce and strong, and even dangerous, but not the ruthless murderer he first believed her to be.

  Still she approached.

  He met her in the middle. Completely exposing his scarcely-buttoned chest. Felt the coldness of the steel against his feverish skin, and waited. He was insane to trust her in this. And yet, he trusted. Trusted his instincts completely.