Page 8 of Between Broomsticks and Beating Wings
“Hello?” the voice called out, as familiar as ever, though never directed toward me. “Anyone there?”
I shook my head at Apple, who dared to walk forward. My hand found her back, and I swore, it was the only part of my body I was able to move. Even my lungs had frozen at the sound of the seeress' wondrous, perpetually curious voice.
I couldn’t see her from where I hid, but I could hear her ragged breathing with the help of my valkyrie gifts, the way she slowly backed away upon my silence. When the sounds of her departing quieted, I finally moved, leaving Apple behind as I lurked through the ghost-infested trees to find my little mortal. I caught a glimpse of her strawberry blonde hair, though the night never did the color justice the same way a roaring fire did.
She ducked under a rotting log, right into a cloud of pesky bloodflies. They began attacking her unmarred skin, thoughthere were more than enough corpses in the area to feast upon. It was as if the greedy little insects couldn't wait until the Stormheim folk too had perished. Her scream cut through the night, sending a shock of ice through my veins.
“Go find something dead to feast on, you rotten, no good, wastes of space!”
My shoulders relaxed, and I held in an amused chuckle as the seeress danced away the bugs, shouting at them as she went. I didn’t follow any further as she found a torch and carried it off to her village.
She and I sharing the same space was a rare thing. Over the years, I’d become addicted to her scent of wildflowers and spruce. I couldn’t help but follow the identical path she’d taken, wondering if her scent still hung in the air after she was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
A CUP OF MUGWORT
Kari
When I arrived at my longhouse, I realized just how satisfied I was with my bounty. I began separating my finds, placing the pine needles on a wooden hutch with my other tea ingredients, trying to forget all about what had occurred after collecting the goods. I carried the rest of my finds to the room where I saw clients—the room that once belonged to my parents.
I set the pinecone on a table scattered with objects tagged with my client’s names. These objects, like the pinecone, would be used in my spells. The seed-bearing cone, once prepared, would be given to a woman in the village. She’d finally come to me after years of trying to conceive a child, with no such luck. I’d felt quite proud of myself the day she’d stopped by.
I was aware many of the village folk wished my mother had been the one to survive, as she was a true wielder of seidr. She’d been practicing for decades, a master in her craft. I, on the other hand, had been practicing for half a decade and still found myself fumbling around with my ingredients half the time,though I tried to never let my lack of confidence show when I was with a client.
When I was my mother’s apprentice, she’d often told me stories of the days she too felt weary of her abilities. While she had difficulties seeing the future, she found confidence in her brews. I had the opposite problem. Though now, I suppose, I was having difficulties with my visions as well.
Pushing thoughts of my dreams out of my mind, I separated the animal bones into their individual vessels, depending on which animal they’d come from or which part of the body I’d found. A crow’s skull, some fox phalanges, the teeth of a rabbit. They all had their own uses, some more powerful than others. Tove used to be the one to collect bones for me, but now, he simply pointed them out when he’d uncovered them.
With a yawn and a stretch, I brought the handful of acorns back over to my desk, where charcoal dusted my workspace. Pairing them with my newly-acquired broomstick, I prepared a protection spell to ward off evil in the area. Protection felt more important tonight than ever. Between the bone-chilling presence, the amassing bloodflies, and the increase in wandering spirits, war was close.
Part of me debated if I should take Tove and go, but this place was my home. People like Arnesson made it clear that no matter where I went, as long as war waged on, nowhere would be safe. It was better to stand my ground and die in my home than die on the run. Worst case scenario, I’d get to see my family again. There were worse fates.
When my protection spell was complete, I swept my front steps with the broomstick laced with string and acorns, then hung it upon my warped wooden door. Walking back inside the longhouse, I felt like I could breathe again.
Another yawn tugged at my lips, so I lit a fire to boil my nightly tea and slipped into a nightdress. Tove already beat meto bed. He was curled up on the pillow next to mine, where my youngest sister used to rest her head. Haddy was a sweet child in life. She didn’t speak much, which made her a great person to share a room with. She was tidy and often made me bracelets out of the wildflowers she’d find around the yard. I kept each of them hidden away in a box so she never realized how much I loved them. It wasn’t until her ghost haunted our room that I dug the wooden box from my chest of clothes and showed her the dried vines twisting into delicate, dead flowers. She’d wept and wept, and when her face finally dried, she left the longhouse and vanished to her afterlife. Haddy was the first of them to cross over, and sometimes, I wished she’d been the last.
Once my tea was gone, I laid back, positioning my head next to Tove. On nights like this, I wanted nothing more than to squeeze him, to have someone real in my arms. I couldn’t recall the last time I had physical affection, if only just a brush against my leg from my cat. I truly believed humans needed other living beings to hold and cherish, and as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered how long it took loneliness to kill a person.
Shining gold emerged from a star-lit sky, blurring my vision with the sheer force of its glow. Black and white feathers rained down upon the ruby floor until I, too, was a shattered gem. I was a little ruby piece among the soft piles of feathers that had fallen from distorted clouds. I tried to yell out, but gems don’t have lips. Gems don’t have thoughts, and suddenly, neither did I. Someone had scooped me up into their hands, fascinated by my fractured pieces. I saw no face because I had no eyes. Eyes. If I had no eyes, did that mean I was no longer cursed?
I awoke with a gasp. My body shot up in bed, sending the top of my quilt rolling off my body, revealing my thin nightgown. I grabbed at my arms, feeling flesh and blood under their grip, not cool, hard stone. I touched my eyes next, but they felt as they always had.
Should I uncover the mirror across from my bed to check?
No, no.
When the blood thumping in my mind subsided, I reached for a piece of charcoal to start jotting down what I’d seen in my dream. It was so similar to the others I’d been having for weeks now, and even so, I still didn’t know what the vision meant.
As I wrote down my thoughts, I didn’t need to peek outside to know we were still in night’s territory. Why had I risen? Usually, I slept like the dead, my visions taking hold of me too strongly to wake.
Then, I heard it. A scream. A shaking, bitter scream.
Hilda!
I threw the rest of the quilt off my body, not caring that it fell to the dirt floor. I didn’t hesitate as I threw on leather boots, my fingers quick and nimble. When I flung my door open, I saw her, hobbling down the path to her longhouse, eyes wide with terror.
“Hilda!” I screamed, rushing over to the elderly woman, who dragged a heavy silver weapon behind her.
