The Elder Witches Page 21
Chapter 20
The sun had been down for a few hours, Rutger still snored softly, legs kicking on the floor next to me. Maeve had passed out beers to each of us. I sat quietly watching the witches. They had been alive for hundreds of years, had seen so much, experienced so much. But some things never changed. The pain was visible on both of their faces for having lost their mother, 1/3 of their coven taken for no reason other than petty fear.
Finishing her beer, Gwen set her bottle on the table. “It’s time to pay tribute to our fallen.” Tears threatened to well up in her eyes, but she fought them back as she rose and headed to the sliding glass doors leading out to the patio. Without a word, Maeve followed her outside.
Losing somebody was deeply personal. I didn’t want to overstep my bounds by inviting myself to whatever they had planned. My hesitation proved unfounded as Gwen leaned back in.
“Gordon, you’re our third now, come keep us company.” That new feeling that had nothing to do with magic hit me again. I was finally a part of something that I didn’t realize I had even been searching for. I stood up, took a deep breath and called over to Rutger.
As we meet the girls outside, Gwen smiled, “Forgive me Rutger, of course you’re invited too.” He woofed softly and wagged his tail so fast that it was in danger of flying off. He seemed to respond to her on an uncanny level.
The crisp air carried the smells of nearby pines. We stood quietly around the pyre that had been created. Speaking of uncanny timing, Eros could still be heard insulting the TV in the other room.
“What in Hades is a Bieber and why has nobody taught that rapscallion wretch the manners of a cow! Wizard Gordon, we must teach him proper when your pressing business is concluded. If we don’t die of course.”
A pile of wood was made into a tepee in the fire pit out back. It wasn’t quite a funeral pyre since we didn’t have Marianna’s body. Maeve put her hand on a large log until it started to smoke. Blowing gently on it the embers caught the kindling, replacing the crisp air with campfire smells. Something about the way she did that touched my heart. I’d seen her create a fireball out of thin air and throw it like a fast ball but she was almost tender in starting this fire. The fire now roaring, Gwen produced a knife that was tucked in her boot.
“Marianna was with us for many years. She was our coven, our mother, and our friend. We owe our lives to you and vow to carry on the craft in a way that will make our ancestors proud.”
Holding out her left hand she drew the knife across it, a thin red line appeared on her hand where the razor sharp blade sliced pale flesh.
Maeve took the knife. “Aye, she’ll be missed. I plan to kick somebody’s arse in her honor.” A quick motion with the knife and blood dripped from her hand.
She handed me the knife, I stared at it understanding what they expected. I drew the knife across my hand once, then again when it didn’t draw much blood the first time. We all held our bleeding hands out, pressing blood to blood in an awkward three way handshake. Our blood mixed together in the warmth of the pressing flesh. I was reminded of being a kid and hearing how some boys would have a blood brother.
Then before I knew what was happening, I was staggered as a vision hit me. My head spun for a few seconds until I pushed the images away, then switching to my Sight, I could see Gwen’s blue aura filling her hand and Maeve’s green aura. I concentrated on sending my aura to my hand. Not sure how it was working but I could see it like a facet of red rushing out of my hand meeting theirs.
The women breathed deep. The aura was relaxing and energizing, more pure than any drug could ever be.
The vision came back. I saw Gwen through the mental link we now shared, looking much the same, wearing clothes from long ago, she she stood in a field surrounded by cattle pens. A rough mud house stood behind her. She smiled as a mother thanked her over and over for saving her little boy. She refused the loaf of bread the mother pulled from inside her coat.
“No, you keep that, You still have two to feed,” Gwen said.
The woman broke down in tears and hugged her.
Men, in full armor and chainmail could be seen trotted through the mud toward them, pushing through anyone foolish enough to beseech mercy. These weren’t the type of men to ask for mercy of any sort, they were duty bound by higher powers. They came on horseback, their armor emblazoned with a red and silver crest, long swords hung from their sides. They stopped the still elated mother and asked for Gwendolyn the Healer. The woman, knowing something was wrong, hesitantly pointed to Gwen and with a sinking feeling Gwen watched them spur their horses and rush toward her.
Her fear finally got the better of her and she ran. She only made it a few meters before being knocked to the ground by a 1500 pound mare, her face hitting the mud as men laughed. One of the soldiers jumped from his horse and drew his sword. Gwen tried to scurry away on hands and knees fearing the worst, but there was nowhere to run. The men easily caught her and beat her for her disobedience.
“Under the orders of the Bishop you are under arrest. You will come with us.”
Gwen pleaded with them, but it did no good. They hit her, tied her wrists with a leather straps and pulled her along for miles back to the castle. Straw and feces littered the floor. The stone walls had mold growing on them that made the entire room smell of damp fungus. A small slit of a window at ground level showed the courtyard of the Lord of the Lands castle.
Two guards opened the heavy wooden door to her prison. A woman barely able to move on her own other than to clutch her swollen midsection, shuffled along in their grasp. The men easily handled the scarecrow of a woman, heaving her into the cell where she hit the dirt floor with a wet smack. The woman had blisters on her thin face, her eyes were yellow with sickness and clumps of her hair had fallen out.
“Heal her!” one of the guards ordered.
She stood, silent, afraid of what they might do if she showed her healing ability to them. So far it was only speculation on their part. She had learned long ago that people feared her more when they thought it was her power and not God’s that healed them.
Stepping from behind the guards a man with a long red cloak appeared. He wore a heavy silver cross around his neck. “If you don’t heal her she will surely die.” He smiled but his eyes were hard as black coals.
“Do you want her to die?”
“Please sire, I’m just a peasant,” Gwen told him.
“No,” he shouted. “You are most certainly not just anything. I know what you are. Now heal her. Or you will take her place.”
For the first time Gwen was afraid that her healing gift was more of a curse. She was more afraid that the Bishop was going to crucify her like his God, no matter what she did. Her fear turned to rage as she looked at the smug fat man in front of her. Her thoughts turned to hurting him instead of helping the woman. She got an image in her head that was crystal clear, and as she saw it all those years ago we now saw it through her.
It was a vision of ice flowing from her hands. She didn’t understand it but the voice in her head promised it would provide the information needed for the magic to make is so. A soothing voice, hers but not hers, reassured her that it was only to save her life, not to harm them. It was her only hope.
That was the last ruling day for the Bishop, and the last day Gwen could help her village. It was also the first time her magic had killed instead of healed. Feeling her emotions as though they were my own, I knew she still had sadness for the people she had murdered that day in order to save her own life.
Then my vision cleared and I looked with my Sight at the bond our hands where creating. It was like a rainbow of blood and aura flowing into one another. We all shared the same visions, the same thoughts. I was sure that Maeve saw the same thing and I wondered if it was the first time they had done this.