Page 34 of The Noldrin Witch

“Careful then, Devon,” Morgaine shot back. “You don’t want to lose your closest ally.”

Silence filled the place until Seth stepped forward and spoke with less ease than his uncle, but with an authority one might expect from a king, no less.

“We are not asking you a favor,” he raised his voice. “We are offering to work together in preserving the balance between the worlds. Fight no war and your powers would be lost in time. Fight now and you won’t regret it later.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Beth shouted out of nowhere. “The boy has face and guts. That’s how I like my men!”

Elise laughed as a few joined. Beth’s remark, however, didn’t go unchallenged for long.

“Your husband is uglier than a poorly cooked turkey, Beth, and I’ve seen him run from less,” Mirel rasped. “The poor man has had the trembles since the day he married you.”

The tension eased enough among the crowd that the laughter spread even to Devon. Elise didn’t know if she imagined it or if a soft smile showed on Seth for a moment as well.

Beth grumbled in protest, “Leave Barron alone, you hag. He has his witch to defend him.”

Chapter 15

The pentagram was drawn with powdered herbs in the middle of the clearing. The fire had reduced to a modest glow at the center of it all. After all the excitement, Elise assumed the most thrilling part of the gathering had already passed. She was enjoying the scent of pine and the warm night breeze at the edge of the clearing. She was far enough to be safe from the forces of the pentagram, yet close enough to enjoy the witches’ chatter. The kind women told their stories loudly enough for Elise not to miss a single detail.

After a few sips of the concoction the witches had generously shared with her, Elise was beginning to feel freer, and the memory of her misfortunes with Edward and Lady Patrice seemed so distant they might well have been one of the many tales the witches were sharing.

There were witches of all shapes and ages, and although none looked younger than Elise, all of them enjoyed a freshness of spirit that was hard not to covet.

Elise had listened attentively to what all the women had to say. To her great surprise, everyone was willing to tell a portion of their story, seeing how curious she was.

The distance helped the witches feel as though they were at center stage, as if in a play in a town square. They all took turns, and there were claps as their stories usually ended in a claim of power over themselves. There were no wretched ones there. They all owned the outcome of whatever had happened to them.

Beth began to talk more about her husband. The spirited witch had shared so much that by now Elise already knew the troll’s favorite dish and the corresponding effects after a few generous servings.

Elise was taking note of everything said, and so far it appeared as if all the witches were happily married, all but Morgaine. Elise was eager to know the details of her protector avoiding wedlock, and thankfully the opportunity presented itself just before the rites.

“I would only marry to secure my legacy,” Morgaine said. “But that is the very reason I keep my distance from any union. Mothers are among the most put-upon creatures I have encountered. They spend their days taking stock of all they did not quite get to, and the danger of a growing waistline is something to think about. A potion can only do so much. As for the husbands, one might risk ending with one of those complacent souls who becomes little more than another child. I am well as I am, darling.”

“You are bitter because you have never fallen in love, witch,” Beth croaked. “Taking girls as pupils instead of making your own from scratch.”

“Wedlock is like employment, my dear Morgaine,” Isadore yelled. “If you establish a convenient role from the start and focus on fulfilling your duties, it’s all good. The problem is when a child comes along, the whole damn contract needs to be redone from the ground up. You either become your own best lawyer or quit.”

“Enough of that, witches,” Morgaine laughed. “The man to trap me hasn’t been born,” she said, though something lingered in her gaze.

Elise wondered who she might be thinking of. In the short time she had stayed with the witch, two names had come up: Volker and Henrik.

Morgaine, likely noticing how intent Elise was, listening to every word as if it were prophecy, raised an arm and shouted, “Stay there until I call you.”

Elise had been told that the divinities’ power concentrated at the center of the pentagram once invoked, though only the witches could feel it. As Seth had warned, it was best for her to remain well away. She had learned that the forces were dangerous when more than one divinity came at once, as was the case in this sort of rite. Elise wondered whether she might receive her calling then, with the deities so close at hand. But the famed calling had to come under natural circumstances. Otherwise, one risked becoming possessed rather than being granted a connection to magic.

No demons were present. Only witches were there enjoying lively conversation before the evening turned to more serious affairs. The night grew quiet, and Elise knew her part as an observer had begun. Before leaving, Seth had tried to speak to her, but Devon had caught his nephew by the arm, and the two of them had disappeared into the fire before it died down. If this was the most frightening part of being a witch, Elise felt she had already seen the worst of it. She would soon, however, learn that she had judged the matter a tad too early.

*****

Elise watched the moon swell as the ritual began. The sky cleared, and the forest seemed to whisper. One by one, the stars came into view, as though the world itself wished to witness the ceremony the witches were conducting. She felt no particular force, but the witches had all gone stiff, and the night air had shifted from light amusement to something with the gravity of a vigil.

Morgaine raised her arms, standing closest to the pentagram. The mark was a couple of yards across, and the witches were spaced around it. The full moon shone almost as brightly as the fire, and just after Morgaine muttered what might have been a spell, the pyre went out.

Elise gasped as a strong current of wind rushed through the fabric of her light dress. It was as if an immense presence had snuffed the fire like a candle.

The darkness filled with shrieks before a blue fire lit up the pentagram. The mark was now traced in something unmistakably magical, hundreds of sparks dancing around it. Elise’s first instinct was to run, but she stopped herself as the witches joined hands and began to dance, turning in laughter and celebration as they circled the symbol in flames.

She did not know if the divinities had gone or what on earth was happening, but the forest felt more alive. It was as if an infusion of energy had been drawn from the other world into this one.