Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches

by Barb Hendee

  “Well, they’ve set up camp just outside the village.” This was a voice she did know: Eveeta, a beautiful scullery maid of about sixteen. She had red hair and a charming smattering of freckles at the top of her breasts.

  “You can go and have your fortune read or buy baubles or watch the entertainments,” Eveeta went on. “I was just down there. They have a man who can swallow fire if you pay him half a penny. Oh, and they have one of the Mist-Torn in their company.”

  “What’s a Mist-Torn?” Martha asked.

  “You know, one of their women who’s born with some sort of power,” Eveeta said.

  Martha snorted. “Good gods, girl, you’ll believe anything. You can’t listen to a thing those Móndyalítko tell you. They’re born tricksters and liars.”

  The chatter went on, but Karina drew back from the archway, forgetting all about her ruined sleeve. For the first time since Bethany had left, she found herself interested in something outside of her room.

  The Móndyalítko.

  She’d heard stories of them…that women among them often carved out positions of power in the community through skills or abilities. Yet they were surrounded by mystery—perhaps self-created mystery.

  Karina wanted to see them.

  Perhaps she would go and have her fortune told.

  * * *

  About an hour past sunset, Karina arrived at the Móndyalítko encampment with four of her father’s men riding beside her.

  Her entourage made its entrance among the quaint wagons with brightly painted houses built into their beds. Campfires seemed to be glowing from the ground near every wagon, but as she dismounted, she heard music and looked to see a girl singing a haunting tune for a small crowd.

  The girl’s waving black hair hung like dark cloud around her glowing ivory face. More than merely pretty, she was exotic and alluring. No one could take their eyes from her. Karina felt a rush of envy worse than anything she’d ever felt toward Bethany, but she couldn’t explain why.

  Why should she envy some gypsy girl?

  “How might we serve you, my lady?” asked a voice from behind her. “A love potion perhaps? Or would you like to hear your fortune?”

  Karina turned to find a quite different woman, late middle-aged, with skin ravaged by disappointment and time, deeply wrinkled. The woman’s hair might have once been long and glossy, but now it hung in dried-out lanks going gray.

  “Who is that?” Karina asked, turning back toward the singing girl surrounded by enraptured admirers.

  The hag didn’t answer at first but then finally said, “My sister, Jaelle.” Hatred and venom dripped from her voice.

  “Your sister?” Karina repeated, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. This woman looked old enough to be the girl’s grandmother.

  “She is Mist-Torn,” the hag answered simply, as if this would explain everything.

  Then Karina remembered Eveeta mentioning something about this…something about a gypsy born with power.

  The girl, Jaelle, was so lovely, so fresh, with her flawless skin and warm smile as she sang.

  “What is your name?” Karina asked the hag. Her stomach felt tight. Somehow, she knew that she was standing at the crux of her life. She didn’t know how she knew this, only that she did.

  “I am Lucrezia.”

  “And that girl is your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Again, Lucrezia did not speak for a moment. Hatred and envy emanated from her eyes. “She does not age. Her body draws small bits of youth from any girl around her, just bits, but it keeps her from aging a day.”

  At those words, Karina almost couldn’t breathe. She fought to maintain her noble demeanor.

  “That is the truth?” she demanded. “She’s not just some girl your people use to lure in villagers? And don’t lie to me. I can find out if you’re lying, and my father can have your entire company banished from this province.”

  Lucrezia didn’t react to the threat. “’Tis true, my lady. She stopped aging over thirty years ago, a gift from the line of the Mist-Torn.”

  “But you are her sister, and you received no such gift?”

  Lucrezia’s expression closed up, and Karina could see the scars of jealous poison deep inside her eyes. If there was one thing Karina understood, it was jealous poison.

  “Is there something I might do to serve you?” Lucrezia asked.

  But Karina was reeling and needed time to think. Calling to her guards, she rode back to her father’s manor.

  There, she spent a sleepless night.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, she returned to the gypsy encampment. As she dismounted, a handsome young man holding a violin looked her up and down without bothering to disguise his interest.

  “Can I be of service, my lady?” he asked. His tone was insolent, almost suggestive, but inwardly she could not help being pleased at his clear approval of her beauty.

  “Which wagon belongs to Lucrezia?” she asked coldly.

  With a flourishing bow, he pointed. “That one.”

  Without bothering to thank him, she moved away from her contingent of guards toward the wagon.

  “Hello?” she called.

  The bed of the wagon was covered by what appeared to be a small house. The door opened, and Lucrezia looked down in surprise. “My lady…what did you…Do you wish to have your fortune told?”

  Wishing for a more private discussion, Karina nodded and then turned her head. “Wait out here,” she told her guards. After that, she made her way up a few steps and stepped inside a tiny dwelling with two bunk beds attached to the walls and a cushioned bench behind a table. Crystals hung from the ceiling, and balls of colored glass lined a makeshift window.

  “Please sit,” Lucrezia said.

  But Karina did not. Instead, she reached into her cloak, took out an emerald necklace, and dropped it on the table. Lucrezia couldn’t hide her shock. To her, the emeralds in the necklace would bring a fortune.

  “My lady?”

  “I’m not here to have my fortune told. I seek information…knowing you might not have it but are able to attain it.”

  To Karina’s joy, Lucrezia’s eyes narrowed in cunning, in the light of opportunity. “However I might help, my lady.”

  Karina wasted no time mincing words. “This power of your sister’s. You say she was born with it, but can it be stolen, can it be taken by another?”

  Again, Lucrezia could not contain her shock. “Stolen? Given to another? No,” she said emphatically. “The power of the Mist-Torn is sacred. It cannot be used by another.”

  “Are you certain?” Karina went on. “You must have women with arcane knowledge here…kettle witches, as they are called by our villagers. Perhaps you’re one yourself? Find a way to take your sister’s power and give use of it to me, and this emerald necklace will be but a small token of your reward. You can name your price, and I assure you I will pay it.”

  Lucrezia slowly reached a gnarled hand toward the table.

  But Karina grabbed her wrist. “Has the thought of stealing her power never occurred to you?”

  Lucrezia’s shock only seemed to increase. “To steal from the Mist-Torn? Even if such a thing were possible, I would be cast out from my people…not just by those here, but by all of Móndyalítko.”

  She appeared so terrified of that prospect that Karina began to relax a little. This Lucrezia might be jealous and greedy, but perhaps she would not dare try to take what Karina wanted.

  “Will you look into this for me? Seek information among the crones of the kettle witches?”

  Lucrezia’s eyes were locked on the emeralds. “It may take a bit of time, my lady. May I take the necklace now?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  A week later, Karina received a message asking her to meet Lucrezia a half league from the mill, down the village creek.

  Karina slipped out alone and rode by herself. She knew this wasn’t safe, bu
t the reward was worth the risk, and she also understood why Lucrezia had chosen such a secret meeting place. At this point, they shouldn’t be seen plotting together.

  Past the mill house, she steered her horse down the creek until she was well outside the village, surrounded only by trees, the creek, and the calling birds.

  The ground was damp, and her horse had some trouble with its footing, but soon enough, she spotted Lucrezia standing alone between the tree line and the rushing creek. Karina dismounted.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Lucrezia said.

  “Can it be done?” Karina demanded without preamble.

  Lucrezia’s eyes were alight with cunning again. Now that she’d had time to absorb what Karina was asking, it stood to reason that her mind would be fully focused on how she might serve herself. But Karina had no worries about that. She wanted Lucrezia to be self-serving.

  “It can be done, my lady, but it’s no simple matter.” She unrolled a scroll in her hand; it was written in a language Karina couldn’t read. “I stole this from one of our elders,” Lucrezia said. “The power of a Mist-Torn witch can only be taken from her and used if she is killed and her spirit is trapped. A spell is then cast to enslave the spirit…but the spirit must be visible to the master.”

  “Visible?”

  “Yes, the spirit must be held someplace, contained someplace where it can still be seen and commanded.”

  The hint of an idea began forming at the back of Karina’s mind. Excitement began to build.

  “Also,” Lucrezia continued, “wielding the power of an enslaved ghost will not work the same as it did for the Mist-Torn herself. You will be able to force her to use her power for yourself, but it may work quite differently coming from the hands of a ghost and being transferred to you…and I’m not sure what to expect. You may need some trial and error to harness the ghost’s abilities properly.”

  That didn’t matter. Karina would figure it out. What mattered was enslaving Jaelle in the first place.

  “Can you cast the necessary spells?”

  At this, Lucrezia’s wrinkled, ugly face twisted with an expression of greed. “Perhaps we should speak of terms.”

  “By all means. What is your price?”

  “To be free of groveling for pennies reading fortunes. I want a house of my own. Servants of my own. To be my own mistress.”

  “Done,” Karina said instantly.

  The quick response put Lucrezia on her guard. “Where is the house?”

  “In the prosperous village of Góra. My grandmother left it to me in her will, and it is mine to give. I will give you more jewels to sell, but that emerald necklace alone should keep you comfortable for years.”

  “You mean to do this, don’t you? You’re not some spoiled noble hoping to help play the kettle witch.”

  “Don’t insult me. Can you cast the proper spells?”

  “I can…but, my lady, if you are the one to enslave Jaelle, you must be the one to end her life. Can you drive a dagger through her heart with your own hand?”

  For eternal youth? Karina could slaughter half the village. “Have no fear on that score.”

  “Then we only need to a find a prison, a place where her spirit can be trapped.”

  Karina nodded. “I have an idea for that, as well.”

  * * *

  Another week later, and Karina was ready.

  She’d worked night and day painting a backdrop large enough for a life-sized portrait. The scene had come to her when she’d thought on Jaelle by the campfire at night, with large evergreen trees just behind her. Jaelle had looked so pleased with herself by that campfire.

  Karina would put her in such a setting forever.

  Near midnight, she slipped out and went down to her mother’s rose garden. Lucrezia was already there, with a campfire burning and a cauldron on a hook bubbling over a fire.

  The whole scene was like something from a dark fairy story.

  However, Karina was dragging the canvas with the backdrop, and as it was as tall as herself, she was having some trouble. Lucrezia came to help her lean it against the stone wall of the garden.

  “Is the oil completely dry?” Lucrezia asked.

  “Yes.”

  Karina had chosen this spot, as it was close to the house but always deserted at night. She knew she’d not be able to drag the painting far, and she couldn’t ask for help.

  Lucrezia had a dagger in her right hand. “Stand still.” Reaching up, she sliced off a thick lock of Karina’s hair. Keeping the hair, she held out the dagger. “Take it. It’s razor sharp.”

  Karina took it. “When will your sister arrive?”

  “Soon. I told her we were being well paid to entertain the lord’s daughter by helping her cast a love spell out here in this garden. We’ve done such things before, many times. Most young women enjoy the thrill of pretending.” Looking at the dagger in Karina’s hand, she said, “But most young women are nothing like you.”

  “No, they are not.”

  Then, to Karina’s worry, Lucrezia’s expression wavered slightly. “You must swear to me that no word will ever reach my people of my part in this…should it be discovered.”

  Karina relaxed again. She could easily promise that.

  “I swear.”

  A few moments later, footsteps sounded outside the wall, and a lovely visage came walking through the gate. Karina couldn’t keep in a soft gasp as the envy hit her. What was it about Jaelle that caused everyone to gaze upon her with such admiration? What is her glowing skin? Her wavy black hair? Or was it her complete assurance that she was worthy of such worship?

  “My lady,” she said, smiling, nodding to her sister first and then taking in the sight of the rosebushes. “What a perfect setting. Did you bring a personal object from the man whose love you hope to gain?”

  She was dressed all in black, even to her gloves, and Karina wondered if this was typical or part of the “show” she’d intended to perform tonight.

  “Yes,” said Karina, showing Jaelle the dagger. “I have something right here.”

  Gripping the hilt, she stepped up and drove the sharp blade right through Jaelle’s rib cage, upward toward her heart. The girl’s expression shifted to horror as her body jerked once.

  “Quickly!” Lucrezia shouted.

  Karina jerked out the knife and watched the body fall. But Lucrezia grabbed the dagger from her hand and held the bloody blade over the cauldron, letting three drops fall. Then she dashed back to the body and cut a lock of Jaelle’s hair, again rushing back and dropping the black lock, along with the chestnut one she’d taken from Karina, into the cauldron.

  “By the heart’s blood of the Mist-Torn,” she whispered, “this gift is enslaved.”

  Karina watched with fascination as Lucrezia took a ladle from the cauldron and dipped it into the boiling substance. Then she threw the ladleful of liquid against the painting, watching as it splashed across the surface.

  “Inside!” she shouted. “Forever inside.”

  A glow rose from Jaelle’s body, swirling and solidifying until her exact form appeared to be floating above the dead body.

  “What have you done?” the ghost cried, but then she was swept toward the stone wall of the garden…and inside the painting, standing by the campfire, looking for all purposes like a life-sized portrait of a lovely gypsy girl.

  Karina breathed in and out, with blood dripping from her right hand. But then she was struck by doubt, by disappointment. So she had murdered Jaelle, and then Lucrezia had trapped the spirit in the painting. But now what?

  “You must command her,” Lucrezia said, breaking the silence. “You need to have her use her power to drain life from a living body and pass it to you. She is your slave now and cannot refuse anything you ask.”

  Could it be so simple? Karina’s heart beat fast. She would not turn thirty. She would not age another day.

  Lucrezia strode toward her. “But the keys to my house first, and the title of ownership. Y
ou promised.”

  Karina glanced at her briefly and then back to the painting. “There is no house,” she said calmly. “Anything I inherit instantly belongs to my father, and those emeralds you took are family heirlooms, well-known throughout the province. If you try to sell them, you’ll be hanged.”

  Lucrezia hissed and stepped back. “No!”

  But Karina was still staring at the painting.

  She pointed to Lucrezia. “Jaelle, drain her.”

  A black-and-white form blurred from inside the portrait, and the spirit of Jaelle flew toward her sister. The painting was now nothing more than the backdrop again. Lucrezia screamed and tried to run, but Jaelle caught her quickly, touching her with both hands.

  Lucrezia screamed again as her wrinkled flesh began to shrivel, sinking toward her bones, and she fell to the ground, nothing more than a dried husk. Jaelle’s spirit stood beside the body, looking whole and solid.

  Karina remembered what Lucrezia had said about learning to use Jaelle’s power.

  “You will feed me her life,” Karina ordered.

  But Jaelle looked over at her in confused sorrow. “Won’t work,” she said as if finding speech difficult. “It must be youth. Must be beauty.”

  Youth and beauty?

  “Come with me,” Karina said.

  She slipped back into the kitchens, which were silent and dark, and made her way to the servants’ quarters. She knew which room was Eveeta’s. The door was unlocked, and she silently entered, looking down at the sleeping girl.

  Jaelle floated just a few inches off the ground beside her.

  “Her,” Karina ordered quietly. “Take only what you need.”

  With reluctance, Jaelle floated forward and touched Eveeta’s face with her black-gloved hands. Eveeta’s soft skin lost its luster, but only a little.

  “Pass the youth and beauty to me,” Karina whispered.

  Jaelle floated back to Karina and touched her.

  Nothing happened.

  “What is wrong?” Karina demanded.

  “Not enough.”

  Steeling herself, Karina pointed to Eveeta again. “Then take her life. Take it all.”