A Witch's Destiny

by Leigh Ann Edwards

  Ever since he’d been told she continued to suffer a womanly impairment due to the mishap in England as well as the long-lasting effects of the cursed dagger, he had kept his healthy male desires in check. She missed their heated passion and once frequent lovemaking, but with the dark evil growing within her, intimacy was not an option at the moment. She sighed deeply as she was unable to sleep, and assumed it was best they remain celibate for now, for Killian would soon see upon viewing her breasts that they continued to blossom and her belly had also begun to expand slightly.

  She prayed the gods would be capable of seeing the matter resolved for she loathed the being within her and she longed to share the physical relationship she and Killian once claimed. Always before, their lovemaking had taken away her woes, made her forget whatever adversity they faced and transported her to a place where only the two of them were present. But now, she couldn’t even allow herself to be comforted by the memories of their uncommon passion, for it only made her hunger for Killian’s touch. She felt the movement within her again and she shuddered.

  She heard a night owl call out in the distance and she watched the fire as it lowly burned. When Killian turned in his sleep, she moved from him. She covered him with one of the thick blankets and took another to wrap about her shoulders as she sat before the fire, attempting to determine the location they must go to find the creature known as Bulwark.

  Conner kept watch at the moment. His hand went to his sword as he saw her move from where she’d been. He nodded when he saw her sit beside the fire and must have surmised she could not sleep. Alainn glanced at both Killian and Danhoul, relieved to see they both appeared to be sleeping sound. She saw that Shylie was even now sitting near Danhoul staring at him with lovesick eyes. Alainn hadn’t known spirits could fall so desperately in love with someone, but Shylie had most certainly done so. Even now, the spirit’s eyes met hers and filled with sadness for although a relationship between a spirit and a human, especially a magical human was apparently not entirely unheard of, Shylie was fated to be three and ten for all eternity. Shylie turned away and dared to lie down beside Danhoul and boldly placed his arm around her.

  Alainn simply sighed at the spirit’s misfortune at having her life ended by a demon at such a tender age, never having known love and then falling in love with a human. It was an unenviable fate even to Alainn whose own dilemma at this time wasn’t remotely appealing.

  “Follow me.” She heard a voice call lowly to her, and she glanced back at Shylie but she had her eyes closed and had scarcely spoken to Alainn lately.

  She gazed up at Conner but he looked off toward the forest in rigid form intent on his duty of keeping watch. It was clear it wasn’t he who had spoken to her and he had not heard the voice.

  “Do you want to find Bulwark or not?” She heard the sound, but couldn’t determine where it was coming from. She looked up toward the tree and could see the owl as it blinked its huge eyes and stared back at her, but did not appear to be speaking.

  She glanced around, expecting to perhaps see another spirit intent on aiding her, or a magical creature who knew of her need to find the keeper of the portals. She could see no one or sense nothing.

  “Well come on, do you think I have all the time in the world? I was told to locate you and so I have done that, now get up and follow me.”

  She attempted a telepathic conversation presuming that whoever was speaking to her must surely be of a magical origin, but she heard no response. Alainn narrowed her eyes and looked out into the darkness hoping to discover who the mysterious voice belonged to.

  “I will not wait around all night, witch!” The impatience in the voice became abundantly clear. “Time is marching on and should daylight find me here instead of below the ground, I will be of little help to you scorched by the sun and in an immobile state.”

  “I have no intention of setting out to follow an unseen creature to an unknown origin, for you could simply be a trickster or the demon’s henchman,” she whispered.

  Conner turned to look at her suspiciously. “Were you needing something, Lady Alainn?” He whispered as well.

  “No, no, nothin’ at all, Conner. I was just talkin’ to myself.” He glanced at her oddly and then turned back to continue his watch.

  Alainn heard a rustle in the branches above and both she and Conner looked up to see the owl hastily take flight as though it had been frightened away. Conner listened intently for a time, and then breathed a sigh of relief when it remained quiet. Alainn realized the large brave man was surely on edge even though the night was quiet and there had been no indication it would be otherwise.

  Alainn looked back toward the tree where the owl had perched and was certain she saw a slight movement, perhaps a smaller bird or a squirrel although neither of those would frighten away a large owl.

  She saw the movement again and soon stood to which Conner turned to stare at her again.

  “Just needin’ a private moment beyond the tree, Conner. I’ll soon return,” she whispered again.

  “Aye, but you must be quick about it, Lady Alainn, there are often wolves found in the highlands.”

  She nodded and deducted she was reasonably certain wolves weren’t found in trees.

  When she neared the tree and stepped behind it, she stared up attempting to locate whatever had moved.

  She heard something drop from above, but couldn’t see much of anything on this dark night. She dared to employ her magic so that a soft glow radiated from the palms of her hands. She bent down to look at the ground and nearly fell backward at seeing the peculiar creature.

  “Finally, you decide to come. I was nearly ready to leave you to locate Bulwark by yourself entirely, that I was, witch!”

  Alainn stared down into the homely face of a small creature that appeared to be have a full round body, a small misshapen head, odd disproportionately large ears, tiny spindly arms and legs and a long tail similar to a rat. It had three fingers on each hand and long claws at the end of each finger. On its feet were shoes with long pointed toes.

  “What are you?”

  “Is that relevant to me leading you to Bulwark?” He snapped.

  “I suppose not, but I would like to know what type of creature I might be following out into the dark.”

  “You might be following? You’d better follow me! I should not like to think I have gone to all this trouble searching for you, coming out in the cold in the dead of night for nothing at all.”

  “And what if you are a troll intent on causing me harm?”

  The small creature spat upon the ground at that and Alainn stepped back with some disgust for it nearly hit her slipper.

  “Am I to take it you bear no fondness for trolls?”

  This time she purposely stepped back as she spoke for it spat again. She found this most entertaining and couldn’t refrain from taking some amusement for there had been precious little to find humor in as of late.

  “Troll, troll, troll!” She giggled and the creature’s eyes bulged and it spat three more times.

  “Would it not be simpler to tell me what being you are?”

  “If you must know you vexing witch, I am a trow.”

  “A trow? I thought trows were only found in the far northern islands of Scotland; you are certainly nowhere near those islands. Sure, I have always heard trows are cousins to trolls.”

  He spat again in displeasure. “A lot you know, witch. If that is your way of thinking, does that indicate because you are female and possess unusual abilities that you are perhaps a cousin to a shee?”

  “Ahh, I see your reasoning. So trows are not nasty wee creatures who swap changelings for infants or kidnap musicians and take great delight and merriment in hiding human possessions and frightening them whenever possible.”

  “Hmmmm, you may know something of trows after all.” He declared as he tapped his clawed fingers against its face in contemplation.

  “Why didn’t you come directly to me if it was so important you tal
k to me?”

  “I don’t like the fire. Come to it, I thought witches didn’t like fire either, especially if they come from a fairy lineage.”

  “I love the warmth of the fire. I just cannot tolerate being too near the fire or having it touch my skin.” Alainn noticed the creature’s legs were largely ineffective and that he scuttled along on his round bottom more than he actually walked as he drew closer to her.

  “And I don’t like men, they are disgusting beings.”

  “Really… and what is it you find disgusting about men?” Alainn was undeniably curious.

  “We have no further time for trivial discussion. You must follow me.”

  “Well, I won’t simply follow you off into the woods when you have admitted to being to being a devilish sort, and I wouldn’t leave without alerting my companions of my intentions.”

  The trow squinted his eyes in impatience and crossed his unusually long arms. He drummed his foot upon the ground and hummed unpleasantly in a disturbing manner.

  “Lady O’Brien.” She heard Conner calling to her.

  “I’m well.” She quickly crouched down as though she were actually in the act of relieving herself and stuck her head from behind the tree to call to Conner and show him she hadn’t been eaten by wolves.

  He waved to her and sat back down upon the fallen log.

  “Do you have a name?” she asked.

  “It is Trow,” he declared.

  “You are a trow and your name is Trow?” She clarified and he simply nodded.

  “True it is; all of our kind are named Trow.”

  She briefly pondered questioning him as to how they would distinguish one trow from another if their names were all Trow, but she thought better of it.

  “I must go tell my husband you are here to assist us.”

  “I am here to assist you, not them. I would not care to assist the men!” he said again with distaste. “Which one of them is your husband?” The trow turned up his long nose at discussing the apparently unpleasant subject as he peered around the tree and curiously glanced at the three men.

  “The tall, handsome man who now lies closest to the fire, the one with the broad shoulders and the narrow waist, the rich brown hair and enchanting green eyes.”

  “Well I can hardly see his eyes if he’s lying near the fire and not facing me, can I? And you’ll not convince me of his physical attractiveness no matter how long you speak on his supposedly appealing traits or how diligently you try.”

  Alainn shook her head and attempted to understand what might have made the trow dislike men so adamantly.

  However, the trow soon unwittingly revealed a telltale inkling for his rationale. “And does he have a… a… one of those…” The trow seemed unable or unwilling to elaborate.

  “One of those…” Alainn repeated as she put her hands out before her in uncertainty as she waited for him to continue.

  “The dangling appendage that is located between the legs?”

  “A penis?” Alainn chuckled in disbelief, and the trow shook his head wildly in revulsion and stuck his tongue out as if he might spew.

  “Is that the word they’ve given it?”

  “It is, but I believe you’d be hard pressed to find a man who actually refers to it by its given term, although they do seem to have come up with any number of unusual names in ascribing them. And of course my husband possesses one; all men do unless it’s been severed in battle or by mishap.”

  The wee creature was apparently strangely conflicted on discussing the topic, for he appeared offended and yet undeniably interested for he looked away from her, but held his odd ear closer to listen.

  “But, Trow, I well see, you have a strong aversion to the male genitalia?”

  “And you do not?” the trow asked as though it would be unthinkable to have any other opinion of them.

  “Well, I’m not saying I’d care to have men walk about naked with their diddlers waggling about free as the breeze for all to see, no. And I’d certainly not care to possess one myself, but, aye, there is one I am most especially fond of.” She smiled, knowing her words would disturb the trow.

  “Hmmmpphhh!” The trow was obviously repulsed by her words.

  “Are you not male, for I assumed it to be so?”

  She glanced down at the peculiar creature as if trying to distinguish if she could actually determine his gender. He seemed insulted by this and he shrieked and placed his hands over the lower portion of his round body.

  “You are a nosy sort, witch! You attempt to peer at my personal bits.” He accused.

  “Well, it’s not as though you wear garments covering those personal bits.” She declared.

  “Trows do not don garments as humans do. That would be entirely absurd.”

  She wanted to inform him nearly everything about him and this odd conversation was absurd, but she refrained.

  “You wear shoes,” she observed.

  “Ahh, well, have you ever attempted to walk barefoot over the thistles and brambles of this land?”

  “No, I can’t say as I have or that it would be a pleasant consideration, but I also have observed you don’t appear to walk on your feet, but seem to scuttle or bounce about on your backside and it is not covered to protect it from the thistles.”

  Although most of his small, unusual body was shrouded with long, stringy hair, he turned and smacked his own backside to show her it was protected with a hard shell-like covering. In so doing, he left his frontal area in full view and Alainn glanced at his lower body once more. She saw there was entirely no indication if he was male or female, and indeed there most certainly was no male digit.

  He sneered at her again and clucked his long tongue as though to shame her.

  “It is of no consequence to me if you are male or female or somewhere in between.” She truthfully declared.

  “I’m sure it isn’t. Why would it be a concern to you? You are clearly female and obviously capable of producing offspring since you carry a child… a hideously evil child, but an offspring nonetheless!”

  She sneered at his magical ability of second sight and of his callous words.

  “Troll!” She hissed at his cruel observation and he was driven to spit again.

  “So, your kind is unable to produce offspring?” Alainn estimated by his disenchanted attitude.

  “You dare to mention that sore subject? Do you actually want my assistance this night?

  “I did not broach the subject; that was you, Trow.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose it was.” He lamented.

  Alainn considered all she’d heard and offered her opinion. “It has been my experience through my years as a healer in dealing with humans, and though I am not certain humans and trows share many similarities, I recall two sorts of people who have such a dislike for the male sex appendage. One sort are those women who have been raped and abused by men and therefore understandably surely despise the object as you appear to. However, there are those who actually envy a man his diddler… sometimes because they want the power that often accompanies possessing one, or because they wish they had been born a man rather than a woman.”

  The trow listened to her speak and all the while slapped his foot against the ground clearly displeased.

  “Myself, being a woman, I think it would be an uncomfortable consideration and disturbing to have to contend with the logistics of possessing one, but men do seem to have an obsessive fondness for their diddlers though.

  “I have heard it is a particular concern when going into battle and that they would prefer to lose an arm, a leg, or even both legs rather than suffer damage to their diddler. There have been the rare instances where I have dealt with men who have been emasculated in battle or as a form of particularly horrendous punishment. They possess a distinct jealousy of other men who have not suffered such a loss and sometimes come to deeply resent and despise other men who have not been maimed in such a way.” She eyed the creature to see his reaction to that statement.

&n
bsp; “Lady Alainn.” She heard Conner’s concerned voice, this time it sounded as though he was approaching. “Are you quite well; should I alert your husband?”

  “Ahhhhhh, do not allow him to draw nearer!” the trow ordered in an indignant tone.

  “I am surely well, Conner. Do not disturb Killian. I am simply enjoying the quietude of the night air and resting against this fine oak tree. As a witch with druid lineage as well, I have an inclination toward oaks.” She had stood to meet him as he approached.

  “Lady Alainn, yer actin’ altogether peculiar… even for you.” He added though she did not take offense. “There are a good many other trees closer to the fire where I’ll be capable of watching over you much more easily. You’re sure to catch yer death out here in the bitter cold. I dinna ken what trouble is brewing this night with you, Lady Alainn!” he said as he approached.

  Chapter Twelve

  Killian and Danhoul had wakened and both came straight to where she and Conner now stood.

  “Alainn, what is it?” Killian asked with some dubiousness.

  Considering all the falsehoods she’d told Killian in the past weeks, the truth in this instance was surely the best option. “I am conversing with a magical creature that has claimed knowledge of the whereabouts of Bulwark. However, I should warn you, the creature is a timid sort and is much adverse to men.”

  “What creature?” Killian needed to know.

  “It is a trow.”

  “A troll?” Killian said and they all heard the loud spitting coming from behind the tree.

  “No, a ‘trow’!” Alainn enunciated more clearly and couldn’t prevent the amused smile that crossed her face.

  “A trow… och, not one of those horrid creatures? My great-grandmother hailed from the northern islands and as a wee child I remember she spoke of trows often. I recall she put the fear of God in me regarding the devious lot. She said they are wicked wee creatures who steal children and kidnap musicians for they apparently adore music, and it is said they are ugly as sin!” Conner revealed.

  “You’d best hide your fiddle, Danhoul,” Killian said with a smirk.