Page 102 of The Unbound Witch
“Hurry! There’s bread at Neena’s.”
The witch that had spoken dragged a small child behind her. With arms covered in markings, one hardly noticed how bone thin she was. How hungry and gaunt her child was. They were starving. Bastian had donated a crate of food and they’d dropped it over the edge of the isle, preferring to die rather than take his offering. Sad really.
The rose-colored glasses at the change in scenery faded as I watched the people passing by me. All were thin, everyone’s eyes a bit wild, and none of them traveled alone. Apart from me. I pushed myself into another group of whispering witches, realizing their coven’s name was incredibly appropriate.
“Wings and all,” the youngest next to me hissed. “Flying through the Forest Coven.”
“That can’t be true. She killed him. I heard the shifters have all evacuated to the Fire Coven to hunt her down.”
I fell back a few paces, enough to hear them, but far enough to keep the attention from falling on me as I listened to the gossiping men with a lump in my throat. Bastian couldn’t have been seen in the Forest Coven. The cabin was in the mountains there, but he hadn’t gone flying beyond our training session … Gossip was like poisoning the water and feeding it to your friends. Eventually, someone was going to be hurt by it. It was just a question of who. Bastian wouldn’t care if they spoke of his resurrection in secret. No one could confirm it and, when he was ready to reveal himself to the world, he would do it with a reckoning.
The part about the shifters, though? That was proof of how fast the whispers could spread. Having dropped that thought in the Moon Coven only days ago, I couldn’t help but wonder who’d carried it all the way here. And if it were here, it’d likely gone further.
As I walked, face cloaked in the shadow of my hood, I wondered what Endora thought. Did she think Bastian was dead? Did she care that the shifters were hunting me? Did she want me for herself now that she knew without a doubt I carried the death spell? She’d killed her own lover, cursing him should he speak of her. She cared for nothing.
“Yes, the Moss book.”
I nearly stumbled. Walking past another cluster of homes up a hill toward what must have been a very small market, inching closer to the next group. A blonde, with her hair down to her waist in braids and no cloak, took the arm of her companion. A man with a long, black beard and sunken eyes.
“She must be mistaken,” he grumbled. “That book’s long gone and anyone that says otherwise is a downright fool.”
“I thought the same, but Endora confirmed it to Beatrice. Their power hasn’t returned, but they believe it is no longer fading.”
I had to keep myself steady when every ounce of me wanted to jerk to a stop, grab her, and force her to tell me more. But that wasn’t the plan here.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” the man said.
The blonde patted his arm. “Later, then.”
He harrumphed an agreement and said no more. As we approached the few stands at the top of the hill, I stopped to see what they had. Some simple crystals, a few decks of cards, twine, fabric in many colors… No food. Not an ounce of the wine they were known for. Each of the items were priced for trade though. Instead of coin, I could get a jar of dried mint for an apple. A new cloak for any meat.
“Quick, grab her,” a man shouted above the swarm of people, pointing directly toward me.
I took a giant step to the side, looking over my shoulder behind me as my heart raced, boomed even. There was no way they could have recognized me, but I was in trouble all the same. Four witches with arms outstretched marched in my direction. I searched the crowd, wondering if I could take them all on, if I should let them take me somewhere more private. All the scenarios raced through my head in seconds as I thought of the king on the isle, likely pacing while Tor tried to calm his unbridled rage.
I needed to get close to Endora though, and if this was the way to do it, then so be it. With one goal in mind, I kept my hands to my side as they rushed toward me, but when they raced passed, I spun, nearly taking a relieved breath, until I observed them grab another woman.
“I watched you take it,” one of the men said. “Give it back.”
“I didn’t,” she cried, clutching something wrapped in cloth to her chest. “Look around. There’s no food to steal here.”
The man took the cloth, revealing a slab of cooked roast and lifting it above his head to the crowd. “This was taken from my cart. This woman is a thief.”
A small child clutched the ends of his mother’s skirt, wailing as the man showed off her meat. I didn’t miss the wink he shared with the man next to him as they dragged the lady through the tiny market. I wanted to save her. To protest the unfairness. But they’d discover my true identity if I did that. Sadly, I kept quiet, knowing they were likely taking her to Dasha and I needed to follow. The prisoner didn’t risk casting, likely in fear of the whole mob turning on her. For that, I couldn’t blame her.
Perhaps that was why these witches traveled in pairs. A friend could vouch for you, a child was far less reputable. Who knows how much she’d worked to gain that meat? What she’d meant to trade it for. The crowd began to throw stones at the woman as they dragged her on. Eventually, the child let loose and ran backward, as fast as his legs would carry him down the hill. Hopefully to get help for the woman whose screams still filled the air.
Shoulders pushed into me as the crowd grew more intense, growing as we passed more and more witches. A lynch mob, before the woman had a chance at a defense. The stones grew bigger as she thrashed back and forth, trying to rip free of the man’s grip on her brown hair.
“A shifter and a wraith, working together, I swear,” a man with red hair said, trying to weave his way in the opposite direction of the crowd.
I paused, people slamming into me as the words swirled through my mind. It couldn’t have been. But then what were the odds he spoke of anyone else? I needed to follow the woman to see if they were taking her to the coven leaders, which oddly enough, was not the direction of the Grimoires. But if these other witches were going after Kir, Nym and Atlas and I could warn them, or save them somehow…
I shifted back and forth, watching the man with red hair slip through the crowd. I’d lose him in seconds at this rate. I looked back toward the woman being dragged, torn. With a heavy sigh, I turned, following the red-headed man back down the hill. Bastian was going to kill me.
40
RAVEN