The Witch (Dragon Eyes Book 1)

by Kristina Hlaváčková

  “Cheers,” the youngster said and Dru nodded to him, his eyes still searching the trees. There was something fishy, he knew.

  “What can I do for ya’, gentlemen?” the boy said. Dru noticed him shift one of his feet to get a better fighting stance.

  “Where are your companions, lad?” spoke the dwarf finally, still searching his surroundings. Michael raised his eyebrows, thinking the situation was all wrong. Elena should be standing here, talking. He should be the one covering her back. Elena simply spoke better than he. Besides, it was usually his mouth that got him into trouble.

  Laboriously, Borgin pushed himself into a sitting position. Elena watched him worriedly, afraid his fresh scars might rupture.

  “Greetings to you, Dru. There is no need for hostility!” he came to Michael’s rescue. Dru looked at him, stepping forward quickly. Michael seemed unnerved by it. Dru halted again.

  “What did you do to him?” he barked at the boy.

  “Save his life, I’d say. A bear tore him up badly,” retorted Michael slightly grumpily.

  “Where are the others?” Dru held his own. This time, Michael was quiet, trying to watch ten dwarves at once.

  “Tell him to check on Borgin,” Elena spoke to him telepathically.

  “Then I’ll have him behind my back,” Michael protested in his thoughts.

  “I think Borgin can be trusted.”

  “But can that Dru be trusted also?”

  “I have your back,” Elena assured him. Michael glared doggedly for a while before stepping aside slightly, saying: “Go see for ya’self.”

  Suspiciously, Dru obeyed.

  When Elena cautiously emerged from the forest, Dru watched her in pure disbelief. This sliver of a girl was the reinforcements he was so worried about? The chit was hardly taller than he and compared to him, she was skinny and looked frail. Thinking about it later on, it dawned on Michael that Elena had taken great care to look utterly harmless.

  The dwarves took the shelter apart quickly to use the material for a simple stretcher for Borgin. Elena overruled his protests, stating his newly healed wounds may rupture, should he move too much. With the stretcher hitched to Ashkent’s saddle, the group set out. Kran was pulling a second stretcher with most of the bear’s meat and hide, each dwarf was carrying a well sized pack on their back. Dru turned to look towards the spot he had first noticed Elena. Was he seeing things, or was there just one row of footprints in the snow? Only the footprints coming out of the forest were visible. He shook his head disbelievingly. This was simply impossible.

  Though the dwarves were grateful for Borgin’s rescue, they were still extremely cautious. Both children were helped into their saddles with their eyes blindfolded. Elena leaned onto Ashent’s neck, caressing it gently, whispering in his ear. He would remember the way, she knew. To get at least a sense of the direction, she regarded the wind, weak sunrays touching her cheek, the sound of Ashkent’s hoofs. Her heart was racing. Being in the dwarves’ hands made her nervous. She felt powerless, though she was still armed.

  ◆◆◆

  Hoof beat echo suddenly vanished, as they emerged from a passage into some kind of a large underground space. Elena felt her heart high in her throat as someone ordered them to dismount. Carefully, with as much dignity she could muster, she slid down from her saddle. Sharp light hurt her eyes when someone removed the blindfold. It took a while for her eyes to accustom to the light. When they did, Elena opened her mouth in surprise. She heard Michael gasp. Both children stared into a humongous cave with a ceiling so high it escaped their vision. Bulky columns decorated with gold and gemstones supported the dome. Its entire space was bordered with several floors of galleries through which dwarves could be seen moving from one spot to another occasionally. Huge statues of dwarf warriors were simply everywhere. The entire space was lit by thousands, hundreds of thousands of torches. In their light, the gold and gemstones glimmered gorgeously.

  “Holy crap!” Michael breathed out. Dru smiled proudly. They followed him down the cave. Elena turned to Borgin, but the dwarf had vanished.

  6 CHAPTER

  BRETA

  Nelson shut the door behind him, stopping the snow from streaming in. Carefully, he stashed a small pile of wood next to the fireplace. Still, his movements were slow and stiff. Straightening his back, he watched her for a while. Breta was carefully sorting out herbs she would take to the market once it stopped snowing.

  “I must go back,” he said quietly. She had known this would come one day. They had both known it. Slowly, he walked to her, taking her gently by the shoulders. She refused to lift her eyes to him.

  “Look at me.” Staring at her feet, she disobeyed. Gently Nelson lifted her face to him by her chin. Finally, she looked at him with huge sad eyes.

  “Please, come with me,” he pleaded. She gave him that velvety smile of hers, and caressed his cheek.

  “My place is here.”

  “Come with me, please.”

  She shook her head and extricated herself from his embrace.

  “I do not belong in your world, darling. I will be condemned and you with me. Yours is not my world, this is.”

  “You have always helped people, just like your mother did. They will be happy to have you close by, so they would not need to travel for help.”

  “People are a lot happier when out of my reach. Apart from moments of need, they would be content if I did not exist.”

  “They don’t know you, not like I do,” Nelson protested.

  “And that is how it should stay.”

  “Please, come with me. In all decency.”

  Breta laughed a bitter laugh. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Be my wife,” said he, firmly. Turning her back to him, Breta crossed the room to look outside the window, into the snowstorm. It was impossible for her to imagine leaving her dear mountains for a village where everyone despised her. She had lived here her whole life. Everything she needed was to be found in these mountains. People would come to her when they desired help, when they were ill, wanted her to cure sick animals or heal wounds they themselves could not deal with. Women who would speak ill of her behind her back, calling her a witch, who would spit in the dust superstitiously when she passed, would knock at her door at night, when in trouble, or when midwifes could not cope with difficult delivery. She was happy where she was.

  “Your father will disapprove,” she said quietly. Nelson sat into a chair heavily. His movement was still slow, breath often laborious. Breta had torn him out of death’s clutches, but his strength was far from fully recovered.

  “You saved my life and he cannot make a living without my hunting, so he will be grateful. He will love you just like I do,” Nelson replied. She smiled sadly into the storm.

  “You think too kindly of your father,” she commented, aware that Nelson didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to believe ill of his father.

  “You should know better than to believe all the gossip,” he replied.

  Breta was silent, not wanting to argue. But she could trust her eyes. Besides, she was not burdened by personal relationships in the village, although she knew all its inhabitants. About the older ones she knew from her mother, who had all her knowledge while she was still alive. She knew all the ill of body and soul of every each and one of them, and thus had the worst opinion of the butcher, Nelson’s father.

  “You should not stay here on your own. It’s dangerous. Evil things are happening in the mountains. You would be safer in the village. Most of all, you would be with me.” Nelson interrupted her thoughts.

  Breta stepped away from the window and busied herself with a cauldron hanging above the fire. Rich smells filled the room. She could do marvels with herbs. He was enchanted by her though he knew what his neighbors said about her, though, perhaps, once he had been afraid of her. Never revealing her secrets, she laughed at his questions, saying that some things simply did not belong to men’s ears. Breta knew herbs, healing recipes, she
knew nature and she knew about people. She made use of people’s fear and hopes. And she played on the knowledge that people feared what they didn’t understand. It was her beauty and independence that drew unwanted attention to her. People, generally, tended to be jealous. To protect herself, she veiled herself into a cloak of mysterious unknown. At home, she cast this veil away, allowing him to get to know her, the real her; charming him with her wisdom, kindness and beauty, even with her sharp sarcasm.

  Even now she was sarcastic. Nelson knew what she thought about his father. But the butcher was nevertheless his father and Nelson loved him, regardless of their frequent disagreements. Still, he believed fatherly love would transfer to his beloved Breta.

  Breta waved him goodbye. Wading through deep snow, he tried not to think about leaving her in the mountains, alone. And he was wondering if what she said was a refusal, or not… Would Breta be alright? Sure, why shouldn’t she? She had managed to survive alone in the mountains for years, why would things change now, just because he entered her life?

  Verend drove his chopper into the counter and frowned at the newcomer. He was losing customers lately, having to pay hunters for fresh meat and even this supply was running thin. Soldiers roamed the country, making people’s lives miserable. The only reason he could not use them for easy money was that he did not have enough meat to sell. All this on his mind made him grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual.

  “Greetings, father,” Nelson acclaimed with a light smile on his lips and Verend finally took a good look at the newcomer.

  “Where were you?” barked the butcher at Nelson and Nelson stopped in his tracks.

  “What were you thinking? I almost lost the shop because of you! Where’s your kill?” the butcher set off. Nelson gave him a searching look. His light smile disappeared from his face.

  “I see you really missed me, father. I was torn by a boar and nearly died,” Nelson replied, walked around the counter and into the house. Looking around, he put down his little pack. The room had changed since Mother died. A woman’s touch was missing here. Clothes, tools and unwashed dishes were all over the place. It seemed like high time for him to come back home. His father appeared behind his back.

  “You look good for a guy who got himself torn by a boar. Where were you? The hunters are blood suckers. They charge inflated prices for every bit of meat, which is sometimes real bad. You should go for a hunt, the shop is empty.”

  Nelson turned to face his father. Was it possible that Breta was actually right? Could Father have changed since mother died?

  “Do you know the girl living in the mountains? Her name is Breta. She’s a healer.”

  “She’s a witch,” spat Verend.

  “No, father, she is not a witch. She simply knows a lot about herbs, nature and people,” Nelson replied calmly.

  “No matter who she is, she did not help your mother.” Verend sounded spiteful. Nelson straightened his back; the look in his eyes suddenly hard: “You never told me what happened to mother.”

  “She died,” the butcher hissed angrily.

  “Father …”

  “Stop chitchatting and go back to the mountains. My counter is empty. There are many soldiers around and everyone needs to eat.” He turned on his heal and returned to the shop. Nelson shook his head disbelievingly. Verend had not even given him a chance to explain how much Breta had helped him, that she’d saved his life. Father really did not care.

  Nelson walked to the courtyard at the back of the house. It looked pretty much as messy as the house. At least Father locked the pigs in the pigsty and did not leave them to freeze outside. They were, however, not as fleshy as they should be this time of the year. Nelson filled their mangers. The pigsty needed cleaning. Luckily the piglets had survived and seemed to thrive. Taking his coat off, he set to work. He had to figure out how to deal with the slaughtering. Father would not be willing to hire help.

  ◆◆◆

  Breta stood in the dooryard, looking at the man slowly toiling up the hill. Not only did he have a heavy pack on his back, but he also hauled a laden sled. She had noticed him the moment he emerged from the valley. Returning to the cabin, she hung a kettle above the fire and walked outside again. There was no doubt now, it was Nelson. She pulled her shawl closer to her body and hurried down the hill. Without a word, she helped him with the sled.

  Putting his sack down, he smiled at her and hugged her, drowning in the pleasant smell of her hair in which he buried his face, wishing he could stay like this for ever.

  “Did you have a good hunt?” asked Breta, withdrawing from his embrace, leading him inside the cabin.

  “I was lucky.” He enjoyed watching her move around the room, lost in thought for a moment. This, of course, could not escape her attention. She stood with her hands on her hips. It took him quite some time to react. Nelson lifted serious eyes to her.

  “Nitram’s soldiers are all over the mountains,” he said and Breta could hear the worry in his voice.

  “I know,” she smiled at him.

  “They are dangerous. You know what people say.”

  She simply nodded, watching him with those beautiful, wise eyes of hers.

  “I am scared for you and I want to be with you. Please, accompany me back to the village.”

  “Your father will be against my presence in his house.”

  “I don’t care!” he smacked the tabletop with his palm, surprising her by not defending his father, by not trying to convince Verend would love her. Nevertheless, she didn’t answer.

  “I don’t care if I have to choose between him and you. I don’t give a damn! I chose you for my wife. I want you to be safe by my side.” For a split second, Breta looked surprised. She took a few steps towards him.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not customary to ask a girl for her hand first?” she laughed.

  “First? Before what?” he seemed baffled.

  “Before you butt into a girl’s life and start bossing her around.”

  “That depends. I cannot imagine someone successfully bossing you around,” he grinned at her.

  “You are cheeky, Nelson, son of Verend!” Breta scolded him.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her towards himself, reaching into the depths of his shirt. Something shone between his fingers.

  “Well then, if you insist on formalities, Breta, daughter of Hanah, will you be my wife?”

  “How daring of you, Nelson, son of Verend,” she replied severely, but her eyes gleamed with happy fire. Nelson pulled her even closer to himself.

  “I’m not attempting anything I couldn’t handle.”

  She laughed a quiet, merry laughter, as she gave him her left hand, letting him slide a skinny ring with a tiny green gem onto her ring finger. The stone looked more like a wee chip, but it was beautiful. Breta extended her hand to the firelight, letting the gem shine prettily. That little ring had cost Nelson most his savings.

  “Will you come with me, then?” Nelson finally dared to ask and Breta simply pointed to a corner. Several neat packages were lying there. Breta was prepared, packed to go.

  “What you want here?” Verend barked at Breta instead of a greeting. Nelson stood in front of her.

  “She is my fiancé, father. If I don’t get your blessing, I will move out of your house, get my own shop and let you fend for yourself. Your blessing, however, would be appreciated.”

  Verend’s face went crimson. “You would never!” he spat.

  “I would, father!” Nelson stood his ground.

  “So …” Verend began. He wanted to spit: so get out of here! But just for this once, his brain was quicker than his pluck and hate. If there was something he was good at, it was counting money. It took him just a few seconds to figure out, that without Nelson, his business would fast go to ruin. Nelson had never opposed him. The witch had to have enchanted him, had to have some kind of power over him, Verend thought.

  “… don’t let her get in my way,” he finished c
lumsily and turned his back on both of them. Gloomily, Breta watched him leave. She knew a few things about Verend and none of them were nice. He was a nasty piece of work with a few little, but very ugly secrets. He was not to be trusted. For a moment, she regretted following Nelson to the village. She could not restrain herself from saying: “he forgot about the blessing.” Nelson frowned.

  It would never cease to surprise her, how could even the smartest people be unsubstantially trusting to their family. They were living in dangerous times, nobody could be trusted. Nelson was a splendid tracker and a hunter, clever businessman and a smart man. However, he did not know much about the butcher, or perhaps did not want to know, and his confidence in his father was absolutely astray. His judgment was hooded by love which Breta did not understand, but was smart enough not to underestimate it. Nelson refused to listen to anything bad about his father and Breta knew she had to act quickly. She would have to talk to her future father-in-law before the wedding.

  Nelson had business in the village. Breta knew he would be back soon, but this might be her only chance. Determined and dignified, she entered the room.

  “What do you want?” Verend barked at her and she smiled coldly.

  “I love your son. I will be his wife in two days and you will not oppose the marriage. I know how and why your wife died. Nelson respects you, but we both know he will listen to me, should I choose to reveal the naked truth to him.”

  “You know nothing!” the butcher spat furiously, looking rubicund. He took a step forward in an attempt to intimidate her. Though he held a butcher’s knife in hand, poised to strike, she just gave him an icy look, standing her ground.

  “You used to beat your wife. She was pregnant more than once. After Nelson’s birth you always drubbed her so badly she lost the babies, just so you wouldn’t have any more mouths to feed. Finally you beat her into unconsciousness and death. You didn’t call a doctor nor me, and left her die slowly. You waited for her to die. It was Nelson, coming home early from a hunt, who found her feverish, who summoned me. It was too late, I could not have helped.” She measured her words carefully, without emotion, watching the butcher hunch his shoulders.