Page 4 of Eldritch
“I … It was not my intention, I swear it.”
“But it is your intention to let The Eating Woods devour this child.”
“Pa … He says it is the will of The Red God.”
The Crone tightened her grip on his hand, her long, pointed nails digging into his flesh. “The will of your god will be your demise. For, one day, it is you who will becomeThe Banished.Maledicio tej’per nomed vetusza deosium.”I curse you by the name of the ancient gods.
The crackling sound of sizzling skin brought a smile to her face, as she watched the sign of the gods burn into his hand—five stars and a moon. His eyes turned a milky white, as the curse she’d cast hooked itself into the boy’s heart.
“Goddess Death,” she rasped. “You will perish in the name of the goddess. For that is your fate.”
“God … is … death.”
The Crone Witch sighed. “Close enough.” The moment she released him, the boy’s eyes returned to normal.
Trembling, he let out a shaky breath as he lifted his cursed hand, and a whimper escaped him. “What does it mean?”
“In time, you will know. Now, run along. Your father waits for you.”
The boy’s shallow breathing sent puffs of white steam from his lips as he backed away. He spun on his heel, tripping over his feet, and darted off in the direction of his father.
The Crone Witch snorted, watching him disappear into the darkness, then turned toward the infant, where the ravens had gathered around the basket once again. “You are a bit of trouble already.” She reached into her cloak for a small wooden box that she’d kept close to her heart for nearly a millennium and she opened it for a tiny black rosehip inside. When the largest raven flew toward her, she held out her arm, allowing the creature to land there. She placed the rosehip in its beak, and it flew back to the ground, setting it on the baby’s chest.
A soft orange glow indicated the heat it released across the child’s skin, warming the little one down to its little bones. The skin of the rosehip split, and out grew a thorn and stem as it elongated into a perfect, silver-tipped black rose atop the child’s chest.
Not even as the infant’s tiny fingers clung to the petals did the rose falter in shape.
“You belong to her now. May the gods be merciful.” Her eyes fell on the raven that remained beside the basket, while the others kept guard around it. “I look forward to seeing your Corvugon return one day. Goddess bless.” When she nodded, the raven cocked its head to the side, as if absorbing her words.
She turned to head back toward her hovel but paused as one of the ravens cawed at her back. Ignoring it, she kept on, grumbling to herself. “Cursed bird.”
The blasted thing flew into her path, flapping its wings at her.
“Be gone! I’ve fulfilled my promise! It is done!” As she tried to sidestep the creature, it flew toward her head, pecking its beak in her silvery hair. “Enough! Leave me be!” She swatted and flailed her hands, but it refused to fly off. “Alright! Alright! I will find it shelter!”
The bird once again settled to the ground beside the basket.
The old Crone snarled at it. “You are a wretched thing.” With a huff, she hobbled back toward the child. “I will ensure the babe has a place to stay, but it won’t be with me. I want nothing to do with an abandoned child.” Groaning, she snatched the basket into her arms. “May the gods grant me eternal sleep after, so that I should never have to see your loathsome, beaked face again.” Carrying the basket, she headed toward a house in the distance that belonged to the old winemaker of the village, Godfrey Bronwick. A kind, old man with a granddaughter not much older than the infant. One who might serve as a playmate to her.
The old wood creaked as she climbed the stairs of the cottage porch and placed the basket on the doorstep. Soft cooing drew her attention to the baby inside, whose eyes glowed like an animal’s—frightening, in a way. The old woman sighed and ran her sharp fingernail over her thumb, drawing a small sliver of blood. “Argenticulos tej cinere, sole fractir’per mortiz.”Eyes of silver to ash, a curse only broken by death. She smeared the blood over the baby’s lips, feeling the slight suckling at the pad of her finger. The infant’s eyelids lowered and when they reopened, the stark silver from before had dulled to a winter gray. “Much better.” The old woman cocked her head to the side and stroked a finger over the baby’s warm cheek. “May you fulfill your destiny, little one.”
With that, she knocked on the door and hobbled off into the night.
CHAPTER ONE
MAEVYTH
I’d never felt the inclination to resurrect someone from the dead, just to throttle the life out of them, but had that Crone Witch been standing near, remorse be damned, I’d have surely killed her twice.
“Zevander, please!” I lurched toward the hole in the floor that housed my sister, fighting against the thick arm banded around my midsection. “Let me go!” I screamed, clawing at the floorboards for her. “I need to see if she’s alive!”
With little effort, Zevander hauled me away, my back pressed against his chest, and I squirmed in his grasp to get loose.
“If you don’t let me go at once, I will gnaw your arm clean off!” His grip tightening around me elicited another shiver of rage, and I set my teeth to his arm and bit down, feeling his muscles tense as he let out a grunt.
“Godsblood, will you wait, woman! She could be infected.”
Infected. Yes. The rational side of my brain awakened with his comment, and I stilled, releasing his arm on a string of saliva. Breaths shallow from the struggle of fighting him, I gave in to his logic. As devastating as the thought may have been, he was right.I had no idea what condition she was in. She might’ve very well been dead.
