The Werma’s Hut
TheWerma’shutsmellsof sage and sharp herbs. Exactly how I remember it. Stepping through the door almost takes me back to a time when I was only a knee-high young girl with bouncing golden hair who slept easy at night knowing that she had two parents who loved her.
Now that girl is all grown up and battle hardened, and she knows the truth. Her father died and her mother only ever wanted a successor. The moment that little girl decided not to be that she no longer had a mother.
I must think of the Werma as simply a soothsayer, otherwise I’ll allow my bitterness to take over and disbelieve everything she tells me. But despite the fact that she lied to me my entire childhood and my father died believing her untruths, shecansee the future.
And she believes it to be her sacred duty to accurately convey that future that she sees, even if she will lie in every other facet of her life.
I step to the side, making room as Marcello moves into the room behind me. I make certain that I keep my ax angled away from him, so he doesn’t try to make a grab at it again. As much as I respected his earlier attempt, I don’t want him making me look weak in front of the Werma.
He turns a bit, taking in the cramped hut that we have entered. Drying herbs and quail hang from the rafters. A rabbit’s foot is nailed into the post beside the door, supposed to signify good fortune but it really just leaves a grizzly sight.
Woven blankets are stacked to one side and there is a large black cauldron in front of the fire. A big wooden chair that I remember my father sitting in takes up another section of the room, leaving very little room to walk in. On top of that, animal bones are scattered across the floor.
“Where have you brought me?” Marcello demands, his voice coming out slightly pitched.
I move deeper into the room, perching on a wooden box that is probably filled with more dried herbs. Or perhaps other desecrated animal bits. “Thisis what the house of a wise woman looks like.”
“I have no idea what that is,” he murmurs. From the look on his face, it appears that he is close to bolting and taking his chances with the dragons. For once, I don’t fault him for his cowardice. I am close to doing the same, but then the fur flaps to the back room lift and Tira steps out, followed by a head of silver hair.
The woman straightens, looking me over with a glint in her eye. Despite the color of her hair, not a single wrinkle shows on her face, making her age impossible to ascertain. However, her features are unmistakable and eerily resemble my own. Looking at her is like peering into a still stream and seeing my reflection look back.
A reflection that I hate with my entire soul.
Marcello doesn’t seem to miss the resemblance either. He whips his head from her to me before understanding begins to dawn in his eyes.
I make a note to watch him more closely. He’s a sharp one. And desperate. Those are not a good combination to have against me.
The corner of the Werma’s mouth turns up when she sees me. “Ah, Laduga. The chief’s daughter was just filling me in on your…” she glances at Marcello, taking him in for the first time. “Ailment.”
I don’t like the way she said that or how she looks at me as if she already knows what the matter is and just can’t wait to break the bad news to me. If there is one thing the Werma loves, it is the power that seeing the future gives her over people.
It’s that love for power that drove her to abandon her own family.
She steps forward, holding out her hand to me. Her face may be untouched by age, but her hands are wizened and gnarled like that of the old crone she is.
I hesitate a second before placing my hand in hers, palm up so that she can see the marking on the inside of my wrist. She takes only a second to look at the Valknut that has dramatically altered the course of my life in such a short amount of time before dropping my hand with a click of her tongue. “I can’t believe that it took a fear of death to bring you willingly to my doorstep.”
I allow my arm to drop to my side, resisting the urge to scrub at the skin that she touched. “I do not fear death. I am just not quite ready to embrace it just yet.” I rub the pad of my thumb against the side of my fingernail. A little tick that the Werma doesn’t miss. Her eyes lock on my hand, and I force it to still. “So?”
“So what?” she demands moving away from me. She picks up a large shallow bowl that had been resting upside down on top of a wooden table and flips it over.
“What does it mean?” I demand, stepping after her.
She doesn’t turn as she rips some leaves off the herbs hanging from over her head and dropping them into the bowl. Next go in a pair of carved bone dice, two dots stare up at me like the eyes of a snake. “It’s a Valknut, child. You know what it means.”
“Why is it onme?”I demand, clenching my fist. I remind myself that matricide is one of the unforgivable crimes of my people. The other unforgiveable crime being bringing harm to a soothsayer.
Tira moves over, sitting on a pile of sacks arranged halfway to resemble a chair in front of a small window that allows some of the smoke out. Through the window I can see Drekki and Worm’s glowing eyes as they peer in with concern, probably after sensing my distress. Marcello is still at the door, shifting from foot to foot, probably calculating how far he would get if he tried to run now. He must not like his odds against my dragons because he doesn’t make that move.
The Werma hums slightly under her breath, seeming to ignore my question as she pours a pitcher of dark mirky water into the wooden bowl. She drops several berries into the bowl. They float for a second before one by one they slip below the surface.
“To answer that question, girl,” she replies at last. Just as I’m about to reach my boiling point and make a mess of the Werma’s floors. With her blood. “Is to delve into a past that is not your own.”
“Speak clearly, old woman,” I snarl. “I do not care for your meaningless words.”
“Tut, cease your squabbling. You will get your answers soon enough. You would have them already if only you would embrace your own visions.”
