I took a breath. What did these people want to know? What should I tell them? “My name is Aofie. I was traveling through the Beluar Woods, following the river, when I stumbled into the Vale of Monsters.” I decided it was best to leave out the centaurs and pretend to be traveling through the woods on a spiritual quest.
“Why are you armed?” The first question came from a squinting man. He appeared cross-eyed as he stared at me, his jaw set. “The centaurs allow no one to be armed in their woods.”
“I went to seek guidance from the gods, and they allowed me to take my weapons when I left.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but it wasn’t the entire truth either. A flush crept up my cheeks at the deception. Would the gods be displeased with me?
“Proceed.” Armis beamed.
My tongue felt thick as I told them of descending into the Vale of Monsters, the way the roots attacked me and dragged me to the lair of the witch woman. I omitted my conversation with her, for no one needed to know I was of royal blood. It would only put me in danger, unless there were those who still believed in the true king and queen of men. Pushing that thought aside, I told the people how I kicked the witch woman after she stabbed me. The violence of my attack still bothered me and so I glossed over the details. I kicked her. She passed out and I escaped. That was enough.
Cheers broke out when I finished and I almost fell off the chair in astonishment. What had she done to these people?
“Is she dead?” a woman called out.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. I hadn’t checked and couldn’t be sure, but she’d claimed to be a goddess. Immortals did not die easily.
“Will you kill her for us?” a man demanded.
I opened my mouth, and no words came out. A sea of hopeful, expectant faces peered at me. Some had hands clasped in front of their chest, waiting with bated breath for my answer.
“I…” What should I say? It was beyond my power to save the village from the witch woman.
A woman stood. Dark hair swept on top of her head and she wore a plain, brown dress with a gray shawl around her shoulders. Wrinkles covered her face, but it was her eyes that arrested me. She leaned on a staff, but she didn’t seem to be that old. Her tone was cold and yet rang clear as a bell across the inn. “Before you give us an answer, you should know the trouble we face. The witch woman took my son when he was ten years old, claiming his blood was needed for our survival. She said she wouldn’t take much, but when he returned, he was white, limp, and never recovered. I’m not the only one who has lost kin because of her misdeeds. She claims she needs a sacrifice to keep our village abundant with life and protect us from the terrors of the wood. But she lies. She must be killed.”
“Aye.” A man stood, his fingers trembling, his eyes glazed over and white. “My wife went up to face her and never returned.”
“My sister,” another called out.
One by one the villagers stood and their voices filled the air, accusing the witch woman of misdeeds, of stealing their loved ones, cattle and crops, a bargain to keep them safe.
My gloved fingers shook, and the blood drained from my face as I listened to them. How could I face the witch woman again? How could I kill Jezebel for them when I was too frightened to return? They did not understand. I was running away from her. There was no reason for me to go back. Blue flames danced on her fingertips and I imagined her hurling them at me, burning my skin into crisp, black blotches. Anxiety pierced my heart and my magic surfaced: purple light flowed around me in waves, rippling back and forth in sync with my heartbeat.
“What’s happening?” someone shrieked.
“You’re upsetting her.”
“She has magic.”
“Maybe she is a witch woman too.”
My lips trembled as I tried to speak, hastening to correct their misconception. I opened my mouth to speak, my throat suddenly dry as I croaked out words. “I don’t know how to kill her. Yes, I have magic, some magic, but it’s not meant for killing.”
“Surely you are a warrior,” someone protested.
I blinked, swallowing hard. I needed to keep the goodwill of the people. “I know how to hunt and fight, but the witch woman uses magic far beyond mine. She will not fight fairly. I need time to consider your request.”
Silence. I bit my tongue, shoulders hunched, waiting for a verdict. Ready to be tossed out into the night. I forced myself to look out at the sea of faces. Slack jaws, narrowed eyes, curled fists, and eyes shining with hope stared back at me. They believed I could save them, but they didn’t understand, I could only save myself.
A cloaked figure in the back of the room stood. Eyes flitted to him as he rose and the people shrank back from his imposing height and broad shoulders. He tossed back his hood to reveal a bearded face, with black paint around his eyes. A pipe hung out of his mouth and long hair—unwashed and unkempt so it was impossible to tell to the color—hung in strings to his shoulders. His cloak fell to one side and his tattered shirt hung open, revealing his well-defined chest, and mud caked his boots. Tension hummed in the air as the tattered, dirty man lurched toward me. A woman clasped her hands and mumbled a prayer as he passed. He stopped in front of me and took the pipe from his mouth.
I slid off the chair, heart pounding in my throat as I breathed in the scent of horse and pipe smoke. This man stank! Hidden eyes roved over my body, and I backed away, unsure how to react under his scrutiny. Even Armis was stunned into silence.
“Girl.” The cloaked man’s voice was deep and grave, but he spoke low words only meant for my ears. “Few travel to this vale and yet you are here. There’s more to your story than you’re telling us, but these are dark times. It’s not safe to travel alone.”
I frowned. “I wasn’t alone, I lost my guide in the vale.” As soon as the words left my tongue, I slapped my hand over my mouth, silently cursing at being taken off guard and revealing more information than I should have. If they found out who I was, there could be trouble—or they would welcome me. I didn’t know which and I wasn’t about to find out.
The man raised an eyebrow in a slow mockery of surprise. Then he turned, facing the room. “It is unfair to ask the girl to save this vale from the witch woman. You have lived under her shadow for as long as you can remember. Perhaps she is the lesser of a greater evil sweeping across Labraid. Give the girl two days to come up with an answer, and if she says no, let her go. You cannot ask strangers to save you from something you cannot save yourself from.”
His words came out a sneer. I bristled. Who did he think he was to speak up for me and rebuke the villagers?
