Page 1 of Rise of the Witch
Prologue
As with most beginnings, it started with death.
I could still remember the searing heat as the metal brand melted my skin, the smell of burning flesh filling the claustrophobic interior of the mud dwelling as I convulsed in pain. Although the wooden stake clenched between my teeth splintered from the pressure of my jaw and the ground beneath me scraped my bare knees, I refused to cry out. I’d accepted my fate.
The brand was finally removed, and an herbal poultice immediately placed on my back to cover the wound. Body shuddering in shock, I would have collapsed if not for three sets of unseen hands holding me up.
“Ah, I see your helpers have arrived,” the witch’s scratchy voice still resonated in my brain like the grinding of bones. “If only to remind you that you must now wait for the ones you are destined for...however long it takes.”
Nodding in exhaustion, I fell forward, gagging and retching as the raw meat I’d ritualistically consumed purged itself from my stomach. Uncaring about the vomit pooled on the ground beside me, I lay down and pressed my cheek against the cool dampness of the earth.
My back throbbed under the compress, and my guts ached, but I welcomed the unpleasant sensations. At this point, pain and emptiness were all I knew. Once, I’d possessed love and security—a hope for the future.But all that had been taken from me.
When I’d had nothing left to lose, I’d again ventured to the hut in the woods; the one no humans dared approach, so terrified were they of the witch who lived there—and rightfully so. But I’d survived her tests once before only to be sent away for being too blessed. I returned because I knew there was no way she could refuse me again.
Because, for me, there were no longer any blessings to be found.
“Rise up, Vasi! The time has come.” I lifted my head to find the witch crouched beside me, the flickering firelight reflecting off her iron teeth and highlighting the deep wrinkles lining her craggy face.
Shakily, I rose and followed her out of the dwelling, watching as she hobbled along, her unusual skeletal leg scratching the earth as it dragged behind her. Entering the sacred grove, I carefully stepped over the furrows of seeds arranged in ancient spiraling designs before stopping next to the stone altar beneath the towering oak. I let my gaze wander over the various elements that covered it; jars, herbs, animal bones, human teeth and hair, and a jeweled chalice containing familiar blue liquid. Swallowing hard, I turned to face my mentor and await the ritual’s conclusion.
“The Yaga has protected these lands for countless centuries,” she solemnly intoned, running her wrinkled fingers over the bones on the altar as if memorizing their texture. “Our kind were once considered wise and respected healers. That was before the great purge, where so many lost their lives.”
She paused and shuddered, momentarily lost in the horrific memory before refocusing her beady eyes on me. “Ours is a dark lineage passed down through women now shunned by human society. A duty that, once given, can only be escaped through death.”
With this final statement, she offered up a short, curved blade, weathered by time but still deadly sharp. Grasping the leather-bound hilt in my hand, I exhaled slowly, readying myself for what I knew I had to do next.
Kill the witch before me.
The brand on my back throbbed, the magic infused in the design humming through my veins, overpowering my movements as I felt the hand holding the knife slowly rise to strike. Boldly meeting my gaze, the witch surprised me by smirking, a knowing glint in her eye as the blade descended, aimed to transfer the cursed legacy from one Yaga to the next.
Chapter 1
Vasilisa
“You know, Vasi, your beastly screams can be heard from halfway through the forest,” Anthia’s amused voice startled me out of my unnaturally deep sleep.
Lifting my face from the worn wooden surface, I rubbed my knuckles over my eyes before blinking groggily at the white swan perched on the long table next to me.
“Just testing the potency of my latest batch,” I curtly replied, gathering the empty mug before rising from my chair and heading toward the washbasin.
The swan sniffed at the cup as I passed. “Well, I would say it’s potent enough ifyou’rethis affected!” Anthia laughed, her human form rippling over the surface as she spoke before she flapped away from the table and shifted entirely.
Shaking out her long, white-blonde tresses, Anthia strode to the hutch to examine the basket I’d packed for her, tapping her tapered purple nails on the mason jars within. “Regardless, there are always willing buyers for your dream tea and anything else you’ve managed to cook up…” Riffling through the basket, she grinned, snatching a few small spheres wrapped in gauze to raise triumphantly. “Including your famous bath bombs!”
I snorted, drying the mug with a rag. “It’s amazing what humans will pay for a ball of baking soda and cornstarch.”
“Oh, butyourbath bombs are made with an extra special ingredient,” she giggled, wrapping an arm around my shoulder to pull me against her. “Looooove!”
Rolling my eyes at my friend’s audacity, I playfully batted her away before busying myself with the rest of the dishes. Thelastthing my bath bombs would be infused with was love, but I allowed Anthia’s teasing, just as I allowed her to touch me.
Nobody touched me.
Not only because I had little interest in allowing anyone that close to me but, to most people, I didn’t look like someone you wanted to approach. Anthia saw my true form, as did the other creatures of the surrounding forest, but humans saw me as a withered old crone—a horrific witch from their darkest nightmares.
Baba Yaga.
A kindly old grandmother I was not. Yes, I appeared stooped and wrinkled, but also monstrous. Unclean and hairy, with an abnormally long nose, iron teeth, and one leg stripped to the bone. Children stolen from their beds were supposedly my favorite meal, although I wouldn’t turn down eating an adult if given a chance. It wasmyname on the lips of humans when they warned each other to avoid the woods. I was a convenient figure to blame for terrors that were man-made.
