Page 15 of Up from the Earth (Equinox Seasons Duet #1)

Fourteen

If She Asks A Favor Of You, You Must Complete It—At All Costs.

A s I pushed my way through the cavern, a crooked, disjointed field stretched out from the darkness. It was little more than a passageway, not some dank cave that would swallow me whole. Still, as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light—a sudden change from the washed-out, overcast sky that still managed to convey brightness—this new terrain was hardly more comforting than the last.

The cracked earth blended into the too-thin reeds and grasses that shot up from black dirt. Just beyond the field, a forest began, but not like the one I’d seen at the castle. In fact, this forest didn’t feel connected to any part of this realm, more…adjacent to it. The trees were spindly memories of themselves, jutting up into the sky until they disappeared behind a thick layer of clouds.

“What is this place?”

My voice echoed though I whispered, and as the words drifted from me into the woods, the leaves and branches swayed. That icy wind met me where I stood, and I watched the mist clinging to the ground thicken and dance.

Cerridwen…Cerridwen…

Feminine and scratchy, the words sang through the breeze, demanding I walk deeper into the trees. While my heart bellowed in my ears—terror and panic trying to choke me—I wasn’t about to give up this pursuit. I knew in the recesses of my soul that it was necessary.

It grew darker and darker with each step, my journey into a dry, unhealthy forest changing to one where mossy tree stumps and soggy earth surrounded me. More and more of the world around me became a fetid swamp, the scent of stagnant water gagging me. Bogs of unknown depth cropped up sporadically, and a misstep landed my foot in one.

“Ugh,” I pulled it free, my skin coated in a grimy layer of sludge. It was achingly cold against my flesh as well, smelling foul beyond measure.

The hem of my black dress was stained with the off-green color of the sludge. It was like a ring of dried salt left over from sweat, and my stomach roiled, tumbling over itself. In the distance, a crow’s caw echoed through those gangly trees, and yellow eyes peered from the shadows. Fallen timber littered the ground, undergrowth of moss and slime painted over the damp bark as it eroded into crumbling piles. The festering landscape just stretched farther in front of me, and I had little choice but to continue, progressing through the marshy expanse in search of whatever had called me here.

Creeeaaaakkkk…

Adjusting wood screamed in the distance, the sound of an old spring door being forced open after years of being closed. My chest pinched, the effort of breathing somehow so very great. I swallowed, stepping beneath a closer huddle of trees. They pressed in on me, making me pull my body into itself as the image of the claw-like branches grasping me filled my mind.

“Whoever has called me, show yourself.”

Getting past the trees was a climb, and I had to grip the bottom of my dress and hike it up near my knees so I would not trip. That, too, became too much, and I restored to tearing off the last few inches of fabric. Mist slid over my skin, wet and cold, and a tree ahead of me glared.

Wait.

I froze in my tracks, shaking my head as I tried to refocus on the trunks up ahead on either side of this little path. Gnarled, angry faces appeared in the bark. They were there yet…indistinct, difficult to determine if I was just seeing things or if the forest peered at me with a hungry malice.

“Ugh, why am I doing this?”

But that yank in my sternum, the hazy image of a gold thread leading off into the trees, prevented me from turning back. I had to follow this. Here, wherever here was, held the key to unlocking a final door I’d yet to open. Behind it lay a piece of who I was. I was sure of it, and despite the unease and discomfort, I had to press on.

Creeeaaaakkkk…

That groaning wood hollered once more, this time followed by the sound of stone grinding against stone. I had no place for them in my mind. The sounds could mean anything and nothing. And still, I knew I had to follow them.

Making myself as small as possible, I slipped between the corridor of trees, their tortured, hideous faces stretching long, their mouths becoming endless voids as they moaned. Past them, the swamp darkened even further, and then, just a few yards away, was a squat pond of marsh water. A bridge of wooden slats perched just over the pea soup-green liquid, leading to the rear.

Posts sat at uneven intervals along the path, and I tracked them from the edge of the marsh to my destination. My jaw fell open, a gasp escaping me as I instinctively reeled back, my hands covering my mouth.

Her. Oh, Gods. I’ve been brought to…

At the end of the wooden bridge lay a house. In most ways, the building was as uneventful and ordinary as any other old home that had fallen into disrepair. It consisted of entirely drab shades, brown-gray panels covered in mossy stains created the siding, and dark shutters—broken and missing several pieces—hung limply from the lightless windows.

There was a single floor and a single door, at which stood a single lamp, the flame flickering behind dirty, cracked glass. The posts, glowing themselves with pitiful bouts of fire, led right up to it, as did the bridge. But there was no way to reach the door from there.

Because the house stood at least fifteen feet off the ground—on chicken legs.

A stagnant wind rushed past, and that creaking sound accompanied it. Her house groaned as it swayed on its unstable foundation. And from inside, that grinding sound of stone on stone screeched through the dark doorway.

Cerridwen…It’s about time you came inside, don’t you think?

I could scarcely breathe or swallow, my body clamping down on itself at the voice cut through my mind with the effectiveness of a dull blade. My pulse ramped up, and my hands began to tremble. I had to go on, though. This was what I’d come all this way for.

Taking one step and then another, I began to cross the bridge. Every instinct screamed to run in the other direction, and I fought the urge with everything I had. Time stretched, making the walk toward the house take hours. I couldn’t stop myself from looking around me, my stare settling on the knotted posts on either side of me.

But they weren’t knots. What I’d mistaken for large masses from gnarled branches were, in fact, skulls jammed down on the top of the thick stalks and glowing faintly from the eye sockets. The tiny orbs of flame appeared to follow me as I got closer and closer to her house.

Come on, Cerri. You can do this. After everything you’ve been through. You can do this.

I sucked in a deep breath, nearly regretting it for the stench that lingered in the air. Resolve filled my blood, and I didn’t stop, following each of those ancient boards of wood, each skull placed on a pike as a warning, until I reached the edge of the marsh, standing before the hut and its two black-fleshed, claw-tipped feet.

“I seek entrance.” My voice echoed through the clearing, this decaying landscape set between the mass of trees. “You have called me here, and I have come.”

Silence hung over me like mildew-laden fabric, but I held firm, unflinching. After a moment, the house creaked once more, and a figure appeared at the door, still too distant to make out much more than the stooped posture she held.

“Indeed you have, child.” The voice was the same as I’d heard in my mind but more penetrating as the witch now stood before me. “And are you ready for your tasks? I have a number of them for you…Cerridewn Adaire Locke.”

My heart dropped through the earth. She had my name, the whole of it, and there was not a soul alive that knew hers, not her real name.

I took a tiny step forward, my toes hanging over the edge of the final plank. “Yes.”

She regarded me, and even though I was so far away, I sensed the weight of her stare on my skin. Time trickled on, and I began to wonder if standing and waiting here for her was just the first of her tests. But then the house creaked, a popping sound accompanying the bend of the massive knees beneath it as if they had not moved in years and had grown stiff.

Her hut lowered to the ground, level with the bridge, and there, standing in the doorframe and silhouetted by the dim light from inside, was the baba ?ga. Her steel-gray irises bore into me, the sunken sockets creating a mask of shadow around her eyes. Still, as I held her stare, I realized that in the depths of all that matted gray were red pupils ringed in black.

“Well, then, child. Come in.”

She swept her arm back, gesturing inside her house, and all I could do was nod, forcing myself to move and enter her domain. The inside was no warmer than the swamp outside, even as a fire burned in the dingy hearth across from the door. It was a tiny place—the entirety of the home, a single room containing the kitchen, a table, and a stout reed basket in the corner, a lid hiding its contents.

I was inside in a blink, not remembering actually stepping over the threshold, and as I spun around, she was behind me. I could get a better look at her now, the firelight illuminating her features. She was an older woman, of course, that I had expected. But she was not folded in half over herself. I didn’t fear that a strong wind might break her bones. And she wore a long black gown, the fabric frayed and tattered at the edges, and the black color faded.

Several long necklaces were draped around her neck, hanging over the cinched tie of her dress. Several rings of pewter and black gems decorated bone-thin fingers, and she had braided her long gray hair in two pieces that hung over her shoulders while the rest dangled down her back.

“You seem surprised, child.”

“I…” My tongue and throat were dry, and I had to swallow several times over. “You are not quite as I expected.”

She cocked her head, the red bead in the center of her eyes flaring. “Is that right?”

Nodding, I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering to the shelves and curios behind her. The tiny hut was stuffed full of hanging herbs, strange broken things, and old trinkets that sat getting dusty on every surface. It was dim inside, and though even in the low light, it was clear that she had not cleaned in some time, cobwebs and grime clinging to every surface.

“Though, some things are.”

Chuckling quietly—the scratchy sound dragging nails over my teeth—the baba ?ga walked past me toward the stove. A large iron pot sat above a pitiful bit of flame, and she stirred it with a long wooden spoon, the end cracked and splintered. Next to it, on the single square of available countertop, a mortar and pestle sat atop the stained wooden surface.

I could place the grinding noise now, but I could not place the acrid smell that drifted from it like fog.

Whack!

Jumping nearly out of my skin, I shot my eyes to her again. Her hand was flat against the unused burner on the stove; the lid closed over it. The iron was charred so deep a black that her pale skin looked perfectly white against it. When she lifted her hand, a crushed bug was plastered to her palm, and I swallowed down the urge to gag.

“Hmm, waste not.” Her voice raked claws through the air, and then she scraped the dead insect off her hand and into the lightly steaming pot.

I will not make it through this with my appetite intact at this rate.

“Come now, child. Death, too, is a part of life. You should know that by now.”

“I do.” I nodded, though the woman did not face me. “I know that it is unchangeable and endless.”

She huffed, a pathetic excuse for a laugh seeping from her. There was a rough quality to her voice, like she’d been overly fond of tobacco for as long as she’d been alive. After she stirred the pot three more times, she wiped her hands on the fabric of her dress, turning around to face me with those eerie eyes.

“We shall see.” I swallowed under the weight of her stare. “Won’t we?”

Crossing the room, the old witch went to the basket in the corner. As she took the lid off, I leaned over, attempting to peer inside. I saw only darkness, however, and when she pulled out a skein of yarn, my head ached, unable to understand where it had come from.

“What is that?” The words fell from my lips, unwilling to stay locked up.

“A basket.” She smirked at me, shuffling over to the single chair in the room and taking a seat. “Do your eyes fail you?”

Biting back the urge to rebut her, I ducked my chin into my chest before shaking my head. “No, I only…how does it work?”

She grinned at that, knowing that I referred to the magic that it used to hold her belongings. After a moment during which she wound the thread through her fingers in a hypnotic dance, the witch met my eyes again.

“It gets me what I need when I ask it. That’s all.” Clucking her tongue, the woman leaned back in her chair, putting her hands in her lap. “But you did not come all this way to talk about a basket.”

I shook my head, dropped my eyes to the grungy floor, and then forced them back up to her.

“So, then, child, are you ready?”

The answer was not so clear after being in the witch’s house for just a few moments, but I had no choice. It was a necessity should I wish to stand my ground against whatever fiend tarnished my new home.

“Yes.”

Her smile stretched unnaturally wide, revealing too many of her yellowed teeth. “Good. If you are to truly know all parts of life, you must understand it at its ending as well, Cerridwen Locke.”

I nodded again, remembering how I could manipulate the fungus until it reached the end of its development.

“I do. Death is natural.”

The baba ?ga snickered, and the walls darkened, shrinking in on themselves enough to set my heart racing.

“Oh, it is at that. So, you think you appreciate life as it's waning, too. Not only the vibrancy of spring but the morbid echoes of winter as well.” I opened my mouth to reply, but the old woman held up a gnarled finger, silencing me. “She who will live in balance. The Queen of the Cycle, eh? Perhaps. But no such title can be bestowed so easily. You owe me tasks, child. Three. One for each of the stages of your life.”

The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. I was sure they would crack under the pressure, but by her power, they remained whole. Returning my attention to her, the old woman was inches in front of my face. She snatched my chin, her nails digging into my flesh as her red-pupiled eyes burrowed into my soul.

“Three stages, three cycles, three tasks.” Her voice was everywhere and nowhere, her grip holding my entire body rigid and at her command. “First, speak only truly to me, Cerridwen Adaire Locke. Let the innocence of your maidenhood sound through the purity of your words.”

A tear dripped down my cheek as I sputtered for air, for anything.

“Do you fear death?”

“I…” Every part of me was held in her grasp; I could not blink or breathe or move. “Less now. I fear…suffering. Pain taken…and feasted on.”

The baba ?ga’s form swelled, her frame expanding until it touched the ceiling and walls. The house stretched around her, groaning and creaking loud enough to be heard miles away. As my head spun, the edges of my vision went black, clouding into the center.

“Will you stay on the path?”

The words were pulled from my mouth. “No. It is…more interesting to make one for yourself. I seek my own way.”

Pressure gripped my chest, a furious burn clamping down around my lungs. I had drowned once before, and this was too similar.

“You have given birth, delivering yourself to the next stage: motherhood.”

A deep chime rang somewhere beyond the hut. It shook the foundations, rumbling through my feet and up through my legs. The drone was endless, thrumming and pounding one after the other as my vision wavered in and out.

Whoomp, whoomp, whoomp.

“You have given birth, Cerridwen Adaire Locke,” the baba ?ga squeezed my face, a crow’s call playing with her voice, “and that child will die. Would you keep him alive if it were in you to do so?”

A broken, ragged breath flew from me, and a steady stream of tears slid down my cheeks. I could taste their salt as they hit my lips. I managed the barest hint of a nod.

“N-no. When…when it is his time…It is his time.” My heart expanded against my ribs, trapped between beats, and I saw Cerberus in my mind, making the sob scream from my chest. “But…”

She studied me, this woman of grime and shadow. The baba ?ga pressed her eyes into my forehead, their sight penetrating my skull. She held the wisdom of age. She held the darkness of death perched on the edge within her; some deal struck long ago, the only thing that kept her alive.

If she was indeed alive.

Decay and death clung to her. She could pull the truth from anyone she sought it from, and she would know a lie anywhere. She held the wisdom of age, this witchly specter as ancient as time.

The Crone.

Translucent threads woven from her fingers up and back, into the corners of the room, into the shadows. I could not speak dishonestly, and I would not. I would face what I knew already, and I would offer it up to her…this first task.

“If he is taken from me…” The baba ?ga's head tilted, her eyeballs sealed against my head so that I only saw the diseased slash of her mouth, a breath away from my skin. “...if someone takes Cerberus from me, there is not a power on this earth or beyond that will stop me from protecting what is mine…or securing my revenge.”

The ground shook, rumbling so much that I fell to my knees, forced down and small by the Crone. There was no end to her, no separation of body from the hut, and I was a miniscule speck plastered to the floor. That creaking, stone-grinding laughter lanced through the air, through my mind, and I fought to look up at her, to remain in existence against her terrible power.

Past the watery, bleary mess of my tearful eyes, I could make out the wide curves of her smile.

“Onto the second task.”