See Prologue (A) for Disclaimers

Chapter Seven

They picked up several more "shadows," but Dar didn't pursue them this time.  Occasionally they would catch a glimpse of a figure in the branches, behind a tree, just over a hillside.  It would have been unnerving if it were not for the sounds of the forest that had resumed once they passed the boundary of the Wood.

Birds sang and fluttered, squirrels and other small creatures rushed.  Ruh stalked calmly beside the humans, making it clear he was likewise not a threat.  Sharak's attention was completely involved in the strands of magick his newly restored Sorcerer's second-sight could detect throughout the Wood.  His Power was still inaccessible, both from being out of practice and in a great deal of pain, but his Sight was in perfect order.

"Amazing," he murmured to himself, his eyes half-closed as he "traced" the strands.  They traversed the entirety of the Wood, weaving together to form a thick, complex shield.  Now he understood why the villagers had said no one could find their way to the heart of the Wood more than once: the magick formed a mirror-effect, fooling them into going  around rather than through.  The Wood was truly Hidden, its inhabitants perfectly protected.  But the sheer amount of Power necessary to create such an enchantment -- let alone maintain it for all these years -- was incomprehensible.

"How did she do this?" Sharak wondered aloud.  "Even Amerys could not have woven this complex a spell -- and Ricenne does not have her power, never did . . ."

"Who is Amerys?" Miren asked, curious.

Sharak opened his eyes fully and looked at her, abandoning his second-sight.  "Someone I lost long ago," he said simply.

"She was a Witch as well?" Tao asked, his voice a bit strained with the effort of carrying the litter.

"No," Sharak said.  But he wouldn't say anything further.

It took them a little less than an hour more to find the spot Dar had been advised of.  The yellow-eyed girl was waiting for them, seated on a fallen tree, her feet swinging with impatience.  She hopped down from her seat when she saw them and advanced with a grin and a sway to her hips that was older than her years.

Ruh growled slightly when he saw her.  The girl looked at him and growled back.  Ruh snorted in something like amusement and settled back.  The girl's eyes lifted to the human travelers.  "Follow me," she said, and turned down a side-path.  The travelers exchanged a look, then followed.  

Sharak's skin tingled slightly as they passed through another shield, a secondary protection in case the first should ever be breached.  He was certain that if they had not been "invited" past this point, they would have gone around without ever knowing its existence -- even Sharak's second-sight would have been no use, since he "saw" the shield only when they passed through and were on the other side of it.   A truly complex enchantment, he thought in admiration;  one which becomes deeper with every moment.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Dar offered their names.   The girl looked at him over her shoulder, considered, and then answered, "I'm called Pasha."

Dar nodded, smiling slightly.  "I thought you said others would meet us.  Are you the chosen guide?"

Pasha's eyebrows lifted.  "For now.  'Til th' Elneseyrna decides if ye speak truth or falsehood."

"Who?" Dar asked.

"Th' Witch," Pasha clarified.  "Most times, we call her th' Elneseyrna -- th' Mother o' th' Wood."  Her eyes shifted to Miren.  The other girl met them without flinching, despite the intensity of the gaze.  Pasha grinned in approval.

"She must be a great judge of character indeed," Tao said, trying to make conversation.

It was Sharak who answered him.  "The best I have known," the shapeshifter said quietly.

Pasha looked back at him, slowing her step so that she walked beside Dar for a moment.  "Do ye truly know th' Elneseyrna?" she asked bluntly.

Sharak met her eyes evenly.  "Her name is Ricenne.  And we were friends for a very long time."

"Were?"

Sharak lifted an eyebrow.  "Being cursed to the form of an eagle for a few thousand years tends to put distance between people."

Pasha eyed him for a moment, her strange eyes unreadable, then quickened her pace again to lead them on the path.

Tao watched her with a shake of his head and turned to Miren.  "What do you think?" he asked.

Miren smiled slightly.  "I think whether I stay here or not, this is turning out to be a much greater adventure than I could have dreamed."

Tao laughed.  "I have a feeling it's about to get greater," he said.

His voice was soft, almost wary.  Sharak frowned at the expressions on his and Miren's faces.  He turned his head carefully to try and spot what they were looking at.  He caught only a glimpse through the gap between Dar's arm and side, then the group stopped.  "Th' Elneseyrna will meet with ye," he heard Pasha say.  "Then we shall see what's t' happen next."

Dar and Tao turned the travois slightly and Sharak finally saw what they were looking at.  It was a house, stone with a neatly thatched roof.  A well-tended herb garden stood on one side, a gurgling brook tumbled down a slope on the other.  They were standing at the beginning of a worn path, bordered with stones, that led to the open door.  From within, Sharak could hear a light, pleasant soprano singing indistinctly.  He smiled instantly.

"Ricenne," he whispered.  He looked up at his friends as they started moving again, quickly reaching the middle of the path.  "Wait!"  Dar turned his head to frown at him.  Pasha looked equally surprised.  "I will greet her standing on my own feet."

"Your own feet aren't working properly right now," Tao reminded him.

He glared lightly at the scholar.  "I have not seen her in over a millennia.  And I have not seen her while in my natural form in far longer than that."  His eyes were both determined and pleading.  "I will greet her standing, or not at all."

Dar sighed and shook his head, but he lowered the litter, forcing Tao to do the same.  He muttered something about pots and kettles, but Sharak paid no attention.  The pain was great as they helped him to stand, Dar supporting him on his uninjured side, blanket wrapped about his waist, but he bore it as he had borne the pain of the past twelve millennia.  The door grew slowly closer, affording a view of the inside of the house.  Within was a bed, a table, a chest; herbs hung on the walls and from the rafters to dry, bottles containing their already prepared brethren.  There was a low fire in the hearth, and a figure moved in front of it, singing something that they soon realized had no real tune.

Pasha entered first, rapping her knuckles gently against the clearly aged wood.  "Elneseyrna," she called.  "There is one who needs your aid."

The woman turned from the fire to look at them.  She was lovely, in a gentle way that was closer to Miren's looks than those of the Sorceress.  The high cheekbones were flushed by the heat of the fire, the light dancing on her face to illuminate clear green eyes and put echoes of flame into the deep brown hair that flowed past her shoulders.  It was carefully plaited, but strands slipped out of the braids to curl about her face and neck, as if the locks refused to be tamed.

Even her hair had not changed, Sharak thought with an inward chuckle.  The woman who had come to be known as the Elneseyrna smiled brightly at them, friendly and eager, and advanced.  Sharak smiled back, his heart soaring, and waited for recognition to hit her.

It never even touched her eyes.

"What's this, then?" Ricenne asked, her voice gentle and amused as she regarded her visitors.  She looked at Pasha and frowned slightly.  "You, I believe I know . . . I do believe, yes.  But you four --"  She looked at Dar, Tao, Miren and Sharak.  She seemed about to say something else, then her gaze fell on the splints on Sharak's arm and leg and the bruises that mottled the flesh above his ribs.  "Oh.  Well, no.  No, no.  This will never do.  Not at all."

She turned smoothly and glided over to the bottles of herbs, murmuring to herself.  Dar, Tao and Miren exchanged a look of confusion, then turned to Sharak.  The expression on his face showed only an echo of physical pain.  Predominantly, all they saw was shock.  Pasha noticed as well, but her eyes remained shuttered as Dar helped the man to a nearby chair and gently settled him into it.

Ricenne had gathered a number of herbs and was now straining them into a cup.  She brought it over to them with a bright smile.  "This will help with the pain," she said, and offered it to Sharak.  He took it numbly.  When he didn't drink, she frowned at him.  "Now, come on, then," she chided, as if to a child.  "Drink.  Drink, drink, drink."

Sharak obeyed.  The woman knelt in front of him, waiting until Sharak had drained the cup, then turned to Miren seemingly at random.  "Here, now, dear -- take that back to the cupboard, yes?"

Miren complied, watching the woman carefully.  Ricenne turned back to Sharak and reached out, placing her hands atop the skin over his broken ribs.  She closed her eyes and hummed softly, smiling as she sent Power through her fingertips.  Sharak watched her, wincing slightly as the ribs began to knit.  Ricenne had always had the power to Heal; it was one thing the Ancient One's curse had not been able to take away.

The warmth of both the herbs and her power spread through him as her hands moved.  Bleeding stopped, bruises faded, bones mended themselves.  And Sharak's own Power, innate and learned, instinctively reached out to hers.  For an instant, his mind brushed hers, and he felt the chaos of her thoughts.  Only Dar, crouching next to him, saw the tears that suddenly welled in his eyes.  And the horror and rage.

Ricenne's eyes opened and focused -- truly and clearly -- on the man seated before her.  She frowned slightly.  "Sharak," she murmured.  For a moment, there was comprehension in her eyes.  Then it slipped away and she smiled as brightly, emptily, as she had before.  "There now, that's done.  All fixed.  Will you be staying for dinner?"

"It's too early for dinner, Elneseyrna," Pasha said gently, from her place by the door.

Ricenne looked at her, frowning.  "Is it?" she asked, and shook her head.  "Dawn and dusk and night and day.  So confusing, all these times, and stars and suns.  Terribly confusing."  She stood and her gaze turned to Miren.  "But you're not confused at all," she said, closing the distance between them with a few steps.

Miren frowned slightly, but neither backed away nor flinched when the woman reached out to touch her rounded belly.  Somehow, she felt no sense of threat from this strange Witch of the Wood.  Ricenne lifted her eyes from Miren's belly and smiled, her expression gentle now.  "No, you know your way," the Witch said softly.  "It twists and turns and is never the same twice, but you know it well.  Good born from evil, two generations, two lives, two paths that are the same but not. . ."

She smiled and cocked her head slightly, regarding her with a bright but now empty gaze.  She chuckled and touched the girl's cheek, patting it gently.  Then she went back to her hearth, reaching out to stir the liquid in the small pot that hung over the fire.  Sharak, Dar and the others waited for something more, but she seemed to have forgotten their presence entirely.

Dar looked uncertainly at Sharak, but the man was lost in his own thoughts as he watched his old friend.  Grief mixed with anger in his eyes, creating a mask of devastation.  He looked as if he were at her funeral, not her home.  Perhaps in a way he was, Dar thought.  The BeastMaster looked at Pasha, his voice harsh out of anger for his friend's pain.  "Have we passed your test?"

Pasha tilted her head, then nodded slowly.  "Test an' answer enough for me."

Dar nodded and turned to Sharak.  Wordlessly, he helped the shapeshifter to stand.  Sharak didn't resist, only followed silently as Dar led him to the door.

"Feathers floating, softly falling," Ricenne said from the hearth.  Her back was still to them.  "Love's strength and folly, floating, falling.  Fight as will and we all. . ."

"Die?" Pasha offered.  She seemed used to completing the woman's sing-song wanderings, though her choice for words seemed an indication of her own personality.

Ricenne stopped and turned to look at them.  Again, there seemed to be a glimmer of comprehension in her eyes.  She shook her head slowly.  "No," she answered.  "No, not die.  We never die.  Want to, need to, wish to, but never die."  Her gaze went to Sharak for a moment, then she shook her head again.  "Life goes round and round, spinning, spinning, spinning.  Threads all connecting, drawing us in and out.  I'm afraid the dragon's breath are fading a bit."

Pasha nodded, nonplussed by the sudden switch of topic.  "I'll send Iolan to fix the irrigation."

Ricenne nodded, smiling, then suddenly frowned.  "Who are you, again?"

"Pasha," the girl reminded her.

"Ah yes.  Yes.  Wolf's daughter."  Ricenne nodded and turned back to the fire.  "Don't forget to water the plants on your way out, dear."

Pasha nodded, but it was Miren who answered.  "We won't."

"That's a good girl," Ricenne said absently, over her shoulder.

They left silently, but left the door open, as they had found it.  As they reached the middle of the path, out of hearing distance, Tao murmured, stunned, "Now we know why the villagers call her the Mad Witch."

Sharak turned, his eyes flashing.  Tao flinched instinctively from the rage and Power in that gaze, but it was aimed at Pasha.  His voice was dangerously soft.  "Who did this to her?"

Pasha was not as unimpressed as she pretended, but she clamped down on her instinct to flee or show him her belly.  "No one knows," she answered, somehow keeping her voice steady.  "She's always been like this, as long as anyone alive remembers.  As long as those alive before them could remember an' pass on."

"No."  Sharak turned and looked up the path, through the open door to the figure that moved within the house, still puttering and singing tunelessly to herself.  "Not always."  There was grief in his eyes behind the anger.  "Not always," he repeated.

Pasha regarded him for a long moment, then turned towards the forest.  "Come on, then.  Dinner's a while away, but supper is comin' on soon."

(continued)

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