Cora slung her bow over her shoulder and turned back toward Salinda. “It’s not?”
With slow steps, Salinda closed the distance between them, stopping a few feet away. She and Maiya looked similar with their petite stature, dark eyes, brown skin, and warm smiles. Salinda, however, had the slightest point at the top of her ears. Even being half witch, she still might have had the most Faeryn blood of any of the Forest People. Salinda also had more tattoos than most, with black ink trailing from her palms to her inner forearms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of her green linen dress, only to peek up again above her bodice. From there, geometric shapes adorned the sides of her neck, ending in a single tattoo at the tip of her chin—the sign of the triple moon. A symbol only the elders’ chins were marked with.
Salinda gave Cora a warm smile, one that made her eyes crinkle abundantly at the corners, and took another step closer. “I think you should take the path of elders.”
Cora stared back at her, stunned silent. Taking the path of elders was a high honor, as one could only begin training by invitation of another elder. Thirteen Forest People comprised the council of elders. Aside from Nalia, the High Elder, there were six witches and six Faeryn descendants on the council. The six witches represented the strongest in each of the six senses, while the six Faeryn performed a separate vital task. Unlike Maiya, Salinda’s magic favored her Faeryn side, although she understood witch magic just as deeply as the Magic of the Soil. She was so skilled in her Art that she’d earned herself a place as one of the Faeryn elders, tasked as the commune’s Keeper of Histories. It wasn’t just Faeryn lore she kept either. She also recorded anything relevant to the witches of the commune. With how intermingled the two people had become, the distinctions between the witches and Faeryn were growing less stark. New traditions were being created every day, new spells, tonics, and rituals that combined witch magic with the Magic of the Soil. It made Salinda the perfect candidate for the job of Keeper of Histories.
Cora knew she should feel triumphant. Proud. To be singled out as a witch worthy of one day becoming an elder…it should have been a dream come true. The way her heart raced, cheeks warm under Salinda’s kind gaze, made it seem like Cora’s body knew exactly what kind of honor it truly was.
But her mind…
Her mind filled with echoes of her nightmare. Echoes of Roije’s warning. A reminder that being singled out for anything could be dangerous. And not just for her. For the Forest People.
Reining in the joy that begged to fill her chest, she took a step back. “I don’t think I’m the right choice for the path of elders.”
Salinda reached for Cora’s hand and cradled it in hers, Cora’s palm to the sky. “You’ve only been with us for six years, yet look how yourinsigmorahas grown.”
Cora’s eyes dipped to her inked palm, taking in the pattern of overlapping shapes. The tattoos were a Faeryn tradition, the process itself meant to represent the elements—minerals from the earth to form the pigment, water to turn it to liquid, fire to transmute it into ink, air to aid the tattoo’s transformation from a wound to a permanent marking of the flesh. The symbols themselves were thought to help connect one to the elements as well as direct one’s magic. Another high honor Cora wasn’t sure she was worthy of.
She slid her hand from Salinda’s. “There are other witches stronger than me who’ve earned far moreinsigmorain a shorter time.”
“Time isn’t everything, Cora. And I promise you, you’re stronger than you think. You came to us fully clairsentient.”
Cora chuckled. “You mean plagued by it.”
Salinda’s tone softened. “You didn’t understand it. Yet you learned so quickly what your powers meant after we took you in. You learned to put up mental shields within your first three months of being with us. The way you can feel what others feel, sense outside emotion…not all clairsentient witches can do that. Most simply connect to their magic through feeling, bodily sensation, and personal emotion. What you do is no small thing.”
It felt like a small thing, but Cora didn’t say so. She was grateful she’d learned to control her Art, but even after six years, being clairsentient didn’t make her feel powerful. Or safe. Archery, on the other hand, made her feel at least somewhat capable. Strong. That was all she wanted—one thing that could make her feel like she could face the horrors of her past and overcome them.
Instead of being destroyed by them.
Cora’s hand went to the bow slung over her shoulder. She closed her fingers around the solid wood wrapped in smooth leather. “I think I’d rather take the path of hunters.”
Salinda’s smile fell, revealing the full weight of her disappointment.
Before the woman could reply, Cora rushed on to add, “I’ve been practicing. You saw me use my magic to make that last shot. I’ve been joining the hunts.”
“And do you enjoy them? The hunts? Do you honor the process of taking life from an animal, blessing its spirit and its sacrifice for the good of the commune?”
Cora bit the inside of her cheek, trying to form a proper response. The truth was, she cared little for the hunt itself, only for the opportunity to learn how to use her weapons in a practical manner. She hated the act of killing. Hated skinning rabbits and carving hides. The other hunters didn’t relish such acts either, but she could tell they honored the process, held it in high regard. Cora didn’t have a sacred connection to hunting. If there was a path of warriors, she’d prefer that.
“Cora, I’m proud that you’ve learned to use clairsentience with your bow, but your magic has more potential than you’ve been giving it. If you let it flourish, you could step fully into the role of empath.”
Again, Cora knew she should feel honored. An empath was the strongest kind of clairsentient witch, much like a seer was the strongest clairvoyant or an oracle was the strongest claircognizant. An empath had the power to do more than read feelings. According to legends, she could use the power of sensation to accomplish many magical feats, and most were too fantastical to believe—use another’s emotions to read their mind, control physical material using touch. Cora wasn’t sure shedidbelieve any of those things were possible. The commune had one empath, an elder. Her greatest feat of magic was taking on the pain of the ill or wounded so they could be more easily healed. But that would always leave her recovering from the pain she’d taken on, and the actual healing was left to those skilled in brewing tinctures and salves or setting bones.
Salinda released a sigh. “You don’t value the role of the empath.”
“I’d rather be more useful.”
She placed a hand on Cora’s cheek. “Magic is so much greater than you know. You don’t believe in its power because it leaves very little evidence to the naked eye. That is the way of things. True magic is quiet. Unassuming. Easily explained away through logic. But remember, just because magic is quiet doesn’t mean it isn’t strong.”
Cora wanted to argue. She’d seen magic before that was neither quiet nor unassuming. It was dark. Terrifying. How could she value the gentle power of the empath when she’d witnessed something so much darker?
“Sit with me at the Beltane ceremony tonight,” Salinda said. “Feelwhat it’s like to be amongst the elders.”
Her heart sank. Part of her yearned to make Salinda proud, to be the person Salinda thought she was.
If only she knew the truth…
