Page 32 of Up from the Earth

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

“Onto the second task.”

Fifteen

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

Orangelightflickeredaroundme 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 beendistracted. 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 ega. 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 ega 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,BeastKing?” 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 ismyrealm.”

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

“I am noman, witch. And you hold mywifehostage.”

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 ega 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.

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