Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I rediscovered my power, and in so doing, found my grandmother again, and eventually my whole line of people that ran all the way back to Branwenn on the bank of the river, trying to offer aid to a stranger. Our line had been blessed, and now I was in possession of thousands of years of that gift, strengthened and honed to the power of flight that took me home to my land.
The iron ball hitting me in the chest was not a surprise. Of course Rulaine would try and shoot down the ravens. Witches, unlike the fae, were as susceptible to being killed as any other human being. Every raven was me, so harming them would hurt me. The thing was, though, much like the time a peregrine falcon came out of nowhere and caused me a moment of excruciating pain, it took me a moment to refocus, and then I was back, the magic regenerating another raven in flight.
My grandfather believed that every bird would have to be killed at the exact same time for me to die. He was certain of that because many in our line could turn, as he could, into a huge bird, something the size of an Andean condor. He was always careful when flying because many a witch was lost from being shot out of the sky with an arrow or killed by an owl or set upon by trained falcons. It was when we were most vulnerable. Except for me. I was different. I was many, never just one. The first time I shifted, at nine, my grandfather was overwhelmed, and when my grandmother went to our library, hunting for answers, she came back empty-handed, with only a supposition: “I don’t think he’s a mage like you,” she’d told my grandfather. “I think he’s something different.”
When they eventually discovered I was a witch instead, he’d been so happy. “What an amazing adventure you’re going to have.”
I wasn’t sure about that, but now, in the present, as I flew at a blurring speed, I was thankful that the forecasted rain had yet to materialize, and though I could hear more shots, nothing hit me.
Landing on my cobblestone path, I shifted back to human, then ran up to the front door, touched the knob so the house knew it was me, and went inside quickly. I asked for light as I ran to my bedroom, and the house illuminated, oil lanterns sparking to life as I made my way through. Once I had on sweats, a T-shirt, and an oversize sweater, I felt better. It had been freezing outside. Heavy wool socks completed the outfit, and I got a fire going, catching glimpses in the windows of things circling my home, the ancient glass making everything look scarier than in daylight. I threw a few pine wood logs in the hearth, stoking the fire, before finally taking a breath, opening the front door, and stepping onto the porch.
Thunder boomed, and the lightning gave me a view of the vargrs in my drive. I could hear one close, to my left, breathing in the darkness. But I was in my doorway, so I leaned against the frame and waited.
“So certain of your power, are you?” a woman’s voice came from my right. She wanted me to step out and look for her. I wasn’t the brightest bulb, but I wasn’t stupid enough to do that.
“To whom am I speaking?”
“Did you kill the faun yourself, or give him to the nymph?”
I remained quiet.
“I had plans to watch him being taken and bled before I skinned him alive and had him roasted for my master. You’ll need to find me another.”
“I’m sorry, faun, you say? When was this?”
She purred, “I could find him, you know. I could slaughter every man, woman, and child in this town, and one of them, somewhere, while they begged for death, would confess that they were he.”
I highly doubted she had either the manpower or the time to carry out that threat. I suspected her master had tasked her with enabling him to come through the rift on Corvus sooner rather than later. Her time was running out. But either way, I had never been the type to frighten over hollow threats. “That would take a minute, wouldn’t it?” I grimaced for her benefit. “Don’t you have to move your master successfully through the rift at some point?”
She snarled softly.
“Speaking of, you wouldn’t want to give me his name now, would you? The faun I had the nymph torture and kill didn’t know, and Sola refused to say.”
Her scoff was loud—we both knew full well I was not in the torturing and killing business.
The vargr on my left stepped out of the darkness, no more than a couple of feet from me. I noted that he didn’t put a paw on my doormat—too much black salt and hyssop spread there over the years made that impossible. My wind chimes, which I blessed daily, were whipping around in the rising wind, and all that ringing was making the vargrs shake their heads in annoyance and, I suspected, pain. In the breeze, the chiming was continual, and they began to pace in frustration.