I hid a message for my wife in the spine of a book. Ye must get it to her.
I swallowed and straightened in the saddle as Bruce asked, “How far?”
I glanced at the tree line, thinking back to the fateful night I’d entered these woods with Freya, Katreine, and Elena. How naïve we had all been to think we could ‘borrow’ a goblet from a known, powerful witch and walk away unscathed. And how foolish we’d been to make such a decision based on a tale we’d heard from a traveler that the goblet, when dipped in the waters of the Fairy Pools, had the power to grant a wish to one who drank from it on the night of Samhain. And how utterly foolhardy not to have planned for every possibility for the night, such as what to do if the witch caught us with the goblet before we could return it.
“Nae far,” I whispered. “Keep to this path.”
“Are ye still certain of this?” Bruce asked. My brother was a brave man, but I heard the underlying fear in his tone. He knew Morgana’s power, for he knew the curse she placed on me that I lived with.
I nodded, even as my pulse quickened. “Aye.”
As we rode further into the forest, the brush grew thick, so that the light was swallowed, and all that remained were shadows. The closer we drew to Morgana’s cave, the colder the air became, until I was shivering under my cloak. Complete silence fell around us, reminding me of how the birds had taken flight from the trees last time I was here, as if creatures were afraid to live near the witch. I was, in that moment, transported back to that fateful night in my mind.
I felt my lips touch the rim of Morgana’s goblet as if I held it now. My hands tingled with the strange vibrations the goblet had possessed. I could see the woods around me draw inward, as if recoiling from what I was about to do. I sucked in a sharpbreath, just as I had that night, and just as that night, everything around me faded. I’d been driven by one powerful thought to save my mama from the death that wanted to claim her. I could see myself tipping the goblet, and I could recall the water sliding down my throat, turning from cool to warm. Instantly, my belly had burned as the liquid from the goblet reached it.
And then Morgana had appeared in the woods, cradling her mama in her arms. Her mama’s head lolled back unnaturally, eyes staring at nothing, lips tinged blue. A thin line of white foam had clung to the corner of her mouth. I shuddered even now, recalling it. Bruce said something to me in the present, but his voice was dulled by Morgana’s voice from the past, which was loud in my mind.
“Stand,” she’d commanded, her thunderous tone cutting through the pain.
I’d been jerked upright by some invisible force before I could decide to obey the command. And then she was before me, her dead mama floating beside her.
“Ye took what was nae yers,” she’d hissed. “And because of yer thievery, ye took my mama’s life.”
I wanted to scream that I would give it back. That I had never meant this. That I would trade anything to undo what had been done. But the woods had swallowed my voice, and Morgana’s grief and fury had rolled through the clearing like a gathering storm.
“Ye must all pay a debt,” she’d hissed, white smoke swirling from her lips towards me. I recalled the fear and shock when my lips had parted without my making them, and Morgana’s smoke had slithered into my mouth, filling it with a bitter taste that made me cough. Something had brushed the edge of my hearing, soft and wrong, like breath against stone.
“Murieall Buchanan,” Morgana had said softly, my name already weighted with judgment. “Ye wished to save yer mama’s life.”
“Aye,” I’d whispered. My voice had sounded so small in that vast, waiting dark.
“Yer mama shall live,” Morgana had said. “But ken this—magic demands balance. A life has already been taken.”
She’d lifted her hand, fingers curling as if plucking something unseen from the air.
“For the life ye saved,” she went on, “ye shall carry the dead with ye always. Ye will hear the lost, the wronged, the restless, until ye beg for silence that will nae ever come.”
I’d gagged then, and my breath had turned shallow as whispers in my head had surged and swelled into a storm. Old men and frightened girls. Mamas and sons. Confessions breathed like last prayers. Their regrets had pricked me and pressed against me, and I’d cried out.
“Murieall!” Bruce said, his voice sharp.
I blinked, and I was back in the present.
“Are ye alright?”
“Aye. Memories are rising,” I said simply.
“We can nae ride any further,” he said, bringing the horses to a halt. He dismounted, helped me down, then led both horses to a tree and tethered them. I followed close behind, my fingers fisting in my cloak. Every step deeper into the woods made my skin prickle.
Once the horses were secured, we continued in silence, as if we’d agreed we’d needed to be listening for danger around us. The path narrowed until it was barely more than a suggestion, winding between gnarled roots and slick stones. The forest seemed to close in around us, branches arching overhead, snagging my cloak as I walked.
When the cave suddenly appeared in the mist, my breath caught in my throat. It was half-hidden behind a curtain of ivy and moss, the stone dark and wet, as if it breathed. A faint glow pulsed from within the cave, not firelight, but something colder.
I halted abruptly and turned to Bruce. “Wait here.”
He frowned. “Nay. I’ll nae send ye to a witch without—”
I placed a hand on his chest. I knew this would happen. I’d planned for it. “Ye do nae ken her.”
