Page 16 of Up from the Earth (Equinox Seasons Duet #1)

Fifteen

Forge Flesh From Flesh. Forge Steel From Iron. Forge Destruction From Malice.

O range light flickered around me as a shock of air rushed into my lungs. I gasped, floundering on the matted floorboards like a fish plucked from the ocean. I could see nothing past the stinging tears and hear nothing but the broken attempts to fill my lungs at last.

But I was alive.

Jerking my head up, I forced myself to face the witch, meeting her unblinking gaze. The hut was its four walls again, and the woman before me was sitting in her chair with her yarn. I hauled myself up off the floor, wiping my hands on my dress, unwilling to consider what coated them.

“Before you begin this next task,” she gestured with her chin at the door behind me, “answer that. My bones are old and achy. I will not stand up.”

“What?”

I furrowed my brow at her, turning over my shoulder toward the door. I hadn’t heard anyone knock, though I could admit that I had been distracted . But even now, waiting to hear something, there was no voice or footsteps outside the hut, and I couldn’t see anything through the windows.

“Go on. I haven’t got all day.”

Refusing her was unwise, so I clamored over to the door, my legs not responding to my brain’s signals as readily as they should. I reached for the knob nonetheless and pulled the door wide. Standing on the other side, the forest not the scene behind them, I was greeted with the sight of my King and Cerberus.

“Cerridwen!”

The King launched himself inside, growling as he yanked me into his arms and peered over my shoulder at the baba ?ga. Cerberus could not fit within the hut, and as I gaped in shock at the feeling of being pressed against my King, I smiled at my son in wonder.

“How—”

“They have been banging on my wards for hours now.” The Crone narrowed her eyes at the unexpected visitors as I turned to face her. “It seemed easier to just let them in. Quieter, too.”

“What have you done to her?” The King’s roar shook her hut, and I laid a hand on his chest, steadying him.

“I’m alright. Truly. A necessity much like your own trials.” He held my stare, his black-tipped fingers ghosting over where the baba ?ga had held my chin. “I’m fine.”

“She is not finished. The more important truth as of now.” The old woman stood from her chair and walked to the basket once more, retrieving something from the lightless expanse. “Here.”

As she crossed the room, I stepped forward, trusting The King to stay back as I held out my hand. Bony fingers reached out, depositing a small blackish-gray lump into my palm. Inspecting the rough orb, it appeared to be a raw bit of iron, the weight solid and warm against my skin.

My lips parted, a question there, but I held it back, awaiting the witch’s instructions. She grinned again, the edges of her teeth painted in green-brown decay.

“I require steel. Make it.” She nodded at me. “With only your hands.”

Movement behind me, and The King surged forward. “You cannot demand that of her. This has gone on long enough. I will—”

“You will what, Beast King?” The Crone eyed him, the edges of the hut curving in on themselves as the shadows grew. “Bah, men. You have no power here, Beast King of the World of Below. This is my realm.”

A low growl reverberated up from The King’s chest, his eyes shifting to the wolf-yellow, their features elongating and smoothing over with androgynous, terrifying beauty.

“I am no man , witch. And you hold my wife hostage.”

I stepped between them, facing The King. “I am not hostage. I have chosen this, and I will complete my tasks. Down, boy.”

He sneered at me, a touch of amusement in his pitch-dark eyes. “Fine. I am here should you need—”

“This is a task for Cerridwen, and Cerridwen alone may complete it.” The Crone glared, a nasty smirk still spreading her lips as the hut thrummed with power. “You are lucky I let you watch.”

The standoff between them was vibrant, this territorial agitation filling both of their beings. It was hard to see the immediate difference between the two of them. Still, some part of me knew that the baba ?ga was not an ancient god like the Beast King. He was—they were—a constant, a part of the fabric of the universe, and there was no destroying what they were. The Crone was…not quite a god, but certainly not a mortal woman. I could sense life within her. A life that still felt connected to the natural cycle. I could also sense fate stretched thin like sheep’s hair being spun into wool.

It could very well be possible to destroy her, at least this form of hers. But something told me that the grand skein would simply pluck another from the ages to fill her seat or conjure one up from the bones of the earth.

Which, of course, meant that this pissing match between them would never be settled.

“I should rend this little pocket of reality you squat in. Let us not forget that it is my realm that you stole my Queen from. That is quite the offensive move, Eigrha.”

So she does have a name…interesting.

“My King,” I pushed between the two of them, nearly standing nose to nose and ready to tear into each other’s throats, “please. I am aware of the risks, and I am choosing to do this so that I might do something about the malice that affects our realm.”

The Beast King dropped their stare to me, looking spread between their three forms, a reflection of who they were at their core instead of the delineated beings they wore in turns. Huffing, they stepped back, pacing about the room like the angered wolf they were.

When I turned back to the baba ?ga, she grinned at me. “Now, that was a sight. But…”

She approached me, lifting my hand where I held the bit of iron ore. I examined the hunk of earth’s metal, my stomach knotting at the thought of turning it into the manufactured steel she requested.

“I still require a second task.” The Crone positioned my hand in front of me, then walked back to her seat, creaking as she sat in the wood chair. “Go on.”

My pulse surged in my throat. Steel was not of the natural world. I couldn’t just change the ore into it like I could manipulate the mushroom, the trees. The King stood at the door, Cerberus at his back as he once again wore the shape of his masculine self. I could see the distant flicker of nervousness in his black stare, and my son hid his concern even worse.

Come on, Cerri. Think. Steel is made from iron. This metal is of the earth. What must be done?

As I dropped my stare to the gray orb in my grip, I sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled off, stale and stagnant. The air of the hut had warmed to an uncomfortable level, and sweat clung to the hairline at the back of my neck where my long locks trailed down my back.

Wait…Heat.

Smits smelted steel from iron with heat. Heat was of the natural world, existent in the very core of the earth. But it was not all I needed if I were going to be successful. The most basic steel, the kind that the baba ?ga would at least accept, contained coal.

I looked around the room, my attention going to the stove where the baba ?ga had been stirring her cauldron. As I approached it, the fire in the well went dark. Snapping my head toward her instinctively, I stopped in my tracks, my jaw dropping slightly.

“Oh, that damned draft. You never know when it’ll blow through and ruin your cooking. But you’re more than welcome to use the pot. Little bit of steel will be perfect with what I’m cooking up.”

Crafty old witch.

Continuing to the stove, I dropped the orb of iron ore into the deep well. If I hadn’t seen her stirring, seen her toss in a dead insect, I would have assumed the thing was clean. It didn’t look like she’d used it at all, and peering inside, there were no contents for me to be aware of—just the iron.

Working to understand the intricacies of her odd magic was a task for another time, however. I needed to hurry up with these tasks before the realm outside was plunged into permanent chaos.

Coal. I need a bit of coal.

Furrowing my brow, I lifted the cover on the burner next to this one. The one where the bug had perished. Beneath the iron cover was a mound of old charcoal, the black dust left over from setting fire in the well. I scooped up a bit, coughing as a cloud of it puffed out from the stove. Once I’d deposited the stuff in the pot, there was only the fire to be concerned about.

How would I start it?

I looked down at my soot-covered fingers. Heat was a part of the natural world, and I was connected to it. In all my training with the coven, I’d been terrible at conjuring elemental magic—particularly fire. We all had our specialties, and mine had yet to be revealed to me. I was a beginner when I left home for the woods, with hardly any training under my belt.

Just a novice. Some baby witch who couldn’t so much as get a candle to light. Dammit.

“Cerridwen,” The King’s voice was like an explosion from the side of the room as it pulled me from my concentration, “keep going.”

I glanced his way. His gaze was pinned to me, holding me to the task like a moth stuck to felt. Cerberus was behind him, still standing outside in the hazy magic of the ward, only able to see us because the door remained open.

“Heat is of this earth, Mother. As are you.”

Smiling, I held my expression as bravely as I could. I wouldn’t let my son see me falter. He needed me strong, capable.

My son…

Chuckling under my breath, I smiled softly at him. I was a mother now. The maiden I had been was gone, if simply buried beneath layers of accelerated time. I had given birth to him, this fearsome, gorgeous wolf of three heads, along with the sweet boy I knew lived in the center of his heart.

I had done that. I had given birth. I had survived the journey required to bring him into the world. And I would survive this.

Turning back to the stove, I looked down into the pot, the expansive black interior seeming to stretch on into nothingness.

“Heat, heat, heat. How can I make heat?”

I half-expected The Crone to step in and say something, but when I glanced over my shoulder at her, she just smiled at me. False kindness was painted over her face, and I clenched my jaw as I returned to my work.

“Heat…I need to make heat. I—”

I stopped. Natural warmth came from the center of the earth, the well of molten rock that kept the entire planet at a livable temperature. It was like a heart, its steady drumbeat lighting up rivers of magma that spread through the crust like veins.

Like a heart.

Dropping my head, I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of my heart pounding against my ribs. That constant rhythm was there, booming as strong as ever despite everything. Because I was strong. I was as steadfast and stable as the earth beneath my feet.

I was the earth.

My heart was its heart, my core was its core, and my veins were its veins. Running beneath my skin were winding streams of liquid iron melted by the enormity of the fire that dwelt within me.

I hovered my hands around the base of the pot. There was still a bit of kindling left unconsumed by the previous fire. The stout sticks charred logs that might catch again—if I could provide a source of flame. My skin hummed, a steady orange glow emanating from my naturally blue veins. Heat swelled in the palms of my hands, and it burned .

“Ah,” I groaned, the pain radiating up my arms.

Voices, sourceless and eerie, chanted somewhere invisible, and my skin burned. The smell of heated air, that familiar scent of the furnace coming on during the winter, swelled around me. When I looked down, my illuminated hands shook, the air around them wavering like that over blacktop in the summer.

Heat enveloped me from head to foot, sweating now pouring from my forehead. The charred logs beneath the pot began to glow at the edges, but they weren’t catching. I pulled more from the center of my being, forcing the heat of the earth to enter my body and move through my hands to the wood.

At that, a wave of dizziness swam through me, and I stumbled, my right knee buckling so that my elbow crashed down into the stove.

“Cerri—”

“Step in, Beast King, and your precious wife will not secure this task. You know the rules.”

I could hardly hear their squabbling for how that chanting crescendoed in my head. It was a furious drumbeat, a droning cry that made my ears ache, and screaming voices that demanded I give everything to the flame.

Pulling myself up, I squeezed my lids shut, grasping for that place inside me that had seen me through the birth. I had to push through this just as I’d pushed through that, through the pain, through the exhaustion, through the doubt.

The sounds were everywhere, louder than the screams I knew bled from my mouth. Energy surged up from the center of my chest, and I didn’t hold it back. I allowed it to roar through me, channeling the raw essence of primal fire through my hands.

The wood caught, a whoosh of flame licking up around the pot. I knew it was not over. I had to maintain the flame—give it everything I had—so that, at last, the metal would liquefy.

Roasted meat. I could smell something so similar to it, that fragrance of a potential supper. But I knew. I knew there was nothing here burning, nothing here cooking, but my flesh. My hands throbbed with pain, so much that it had transcended the physical, and my consciousness hung on by a thread.

Still, I would do this. I would keep going.

Practically hanging on the stove, I held my hands in place, giving myself to the magic that kept the fire burning. I shook, balanced now on one knee. Time stretched into nothing until my awareness of the world dropped away. I could sense myself about to pass out when a creak in the floorboard to my right pulled my head up.

“And look at that.”

The baba ?ga’s voice was a crooked stick dragged through the mud of my mind. I needed to get up. I needed to see the product of my efforts and know that I had indeed survived this. It took a strength I was sure I’d already used up to pull myself up to standing. Gripping the stove to do so had nearly sent me down again, the pain enormous.

But I was up, and I looked down into the belly of The Crone’s large pot—her cauldron.

In the center, a slowly dimming pool of liquid metal sat. The orange gradually changed to a swirling gray-red, and the still-burning logs kept the steel from solidifying.

I’d done it.

And I hated what I’d created.

This horrible hardened iron, what it was used for by mortals, it was a weapon, a destruction, a disease. I looked to the baba ?ga, my jaw tight with fury and agony.

“Are you satisfied?” She nodded with a mangy grin. “Good.”

I reached into the pot, gathering up the sticky, unwieldy metal into a ball. When I pulled it free from the pot, this place where both it and I had changed, it quickly hardened, becoming a solid ball similar to the iron ore. It was larger and smoother, but at its core, it was still a metal of the earth.

“Cerberus?”

He stuffed his nose through the door at my call, and I smiled at him, walking over to run my singed hand along his muzzle.

“Open up.”

Cocking his head at me, it took a moment before he understood. When he made the connection, a light glow suffusing his skin from the inside and creating an orange backdrop behind his ribs, Cerberus silently nodded, opening his mouth for me.

I stuffed the steel inside, trusting him to swallow it down. He did, and I watched the lump travel down into the pit of his stomach, a furnace the likes of the earth’s core residing there.

Turning to The Crone, I met her gaze hard. “I will not have that in my realm.”