CHAPTER TWO

HER MOTHER’S ELUSIVE shadow continued ahead of Eolyn, never quite within reach, always beyond the next tree or around the bend. After leading her deep into the forest, the image of Kaie disappeared altogether. Loneliness descended upon Eolyn. Unfamiliar trees gawked at her, their thick bark twisted into expressions of loathing and disapproval. A strong gust rattled the high branches, sending a shower of auburn leaves fluttering to the ground. The birds did not sing. The squirrels did not chatter. The South Woods had never seemed so cold and heartless.

Frightened, Eolyn turned slowly on her feet, trying to identify the path that brought her here, but everything looked the same. For the first time, the forest made her tremble. What if the legends were true? What if werewolves and seven headed rats and child eating witches waited beyond the terrible faces of those dark trees? Yet Mama had always insisted she had nothing to fear from the forest. Though she often expressed the opposite opinion, Eolyn now remembered, about the King. Surely it was safer under the dense cover of these trees than out in the open, where soldiers and swords could find her.

If you are ever lost in the woods, Mama had once said, do not be afraid. Remember the trees are your friends, and they will receive you well. Remember the songs I taught you, and do not take anyone’s path but your own.

“How will I find my path?” Eolyn whispered.

Your path will be made by wandering.

It was one of her mother’s favorite sayings, and though Eolyn was not sure what Mama meant, these words were her only guidance now. She chose one of her mother’s songs and with the tune wavering upon her lips, placed one uncertain foot in front of the other.

Days passed while Eolyn wandered. Although Kaie had taught her how to find late season berries and distill water from the thick moss, every morning the girl woke a little hungrier than the last. The further she traveled, the thinner the harvest. The scattered fruits that turned up in her path did not alleviate the emptiness that gnawed at her belly.

One night the restless cries of a Blue Wing Owl startled Eolyn out of her sleep. Barks and yelps rose out of the shadows. A pack of wolves was bearing down upon her. Panicked, she scrambled up a trunk in the darkness, guided by some desperate instinct that pushed her so hard the branches stung her, raising jagged welts. For hours she clung to the tree while the pack snuffled about below, jaws snapping in the dark, barks and howls rising toward her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt like a fool. Why had she strayed so far? Why did she not wait for Ernan? What if Ernan had survived? What if he was looking for her even now? She would die here before he found her, if not of starvation, then at the fangs of these terrible beasts.

But in the morning, they were gone. Her limbs cold and stiff, Eolyn climbed down the tree. She listened to the forest. Her sharp senses caught no sound or movement, and after some hesitation, she continued on her way.

After that, Eolyn took to finding strong high limbs in which to sleep. About a week into her journey, as the new moon drifted behind the forest canopy, she awoke to see two Guendes leaning over her. She gasped and they froze. They looked almost like children and bore the colors of night and forest. Their large eyes twinkled and their button noses twitched. One held a simple lantern glowing orange-warm. The other watched her with a curious expression of embarrassment. He held a blanket of woolly moss and spider silk, and gently laid it over her. The Guendes seemed little more than a dream, but they gave Eolyn a sense of companionship. It was as if the forest had at last stretched out a comforting hand. Exchanging a glance, the Guendes began to sing in soft whispery tones. Eolyn shifted her position, closed her eyes and slept again.

The next morning at the foot of the tree she found a leaf dish full of ripe golden juice berries and a wooden cup of fresh sap milk from the Berenben Tree. The generous breakfast delighted her. In thanksgiving, she gathered the brightest fall leaves and the shiniest brown nuts and left them as gifts for the Guendes, just as her mother taught her to do. From that day forward the Guendes kept her warm at night and fed her in the morning. They followed her with the invisible rustle of wind through dry leaves.

By the time Eolyn arrived at a large stony riverbed, she had lost track of the moon’s passage. In a few months spring would fill the river’s banks to overflowing, but now with autumn drying up into winter she crossed the water without wetting her feet, by jumping from one stone to another. She paused on the opposite bank and considered following the current downstream. Before she could decide on her next step, Eolyn saw another Guende.

The creature stood but a few feet away, reflecting the hues of day and fall. It wore colored leaves in its cap and an evergreen vest embroidered with seeds and nuts. With smiling eyes peeking out from under bushy brows, it proffered its hand. Eolyn was surprised by the feathery lightness of its touch, as if it were not a real hand at all, but an impulse of energy that took hold of her and pulled her forward.

They left the river and walked for almost an hour, until Eolyn felt a subtle shift in the resonance of the forest. The woods did not look any different, with its old trunks, crusty bark and draped moss. Yet something had changed. Caught between curiosity and apprehension, Eolyn’s heart beat so hard it pushed into her throat. The Guende tugged on her hand in reassurance. An intense drone filled her ears, as if she were passing through an invisible hive of bees. After a few steps the buzzing stopped, the Guende disappeared and Eolyn stood alone in a small clearing. The thick expanse of trees that defined her world moments before had melted away. Under a cover of soft grass, the ground sloped downward and then rose again. Beyond a low hill hovered a faint wisp of chimney smoke. Taken with a sudden enthusiasm founded on the hope of human company, Eolyn bounded forward. On the other side of the rise she saw a simple cottage surrounded by a thick garden.

“Good day!” she called out. “Is anyone home?”

The bushes rustled. A dark hood rose up and peered at her. “Well. Who is this mouse that calls upon my humble house?”

The hag’s voice crackled and hissed like a night fire. Eolyn stepped backwards, regretting her boldness at once. How could she have been so foolish? She knew the stories about hags living in the woods. They were witches, all of them. They turned children into bread and ate them for breakfast.

Rising to her full and somewhat crooked height, the hag shuffled toward Eolyn. “Don’t run away, my child.”

Eolyn had no intention of obeying, but her feet betrayed her and rooted into the ground like stubborn weeds. Locating a stump next to the girl, the old woman eased herself down. Several minutes passed in silence.

“You are not much of a talker,” she said at last. “All the better I suppose. I’ve grown accustomed to an existence without chatter in this place. How long have you been in the woods?”

“Nearly a moon, I think.” Eolyn’s voice was subdued with dread.

“A full moon?” the old one repeated with surprise and interest. “How did you survive so long on your own?”

“I know the late harvest berries and mushrooms and how to find springs and draw water from the moss. Then the Guendes found me.” And led her here. Treacherous creatures!

“I see. And what drove you into the forest in the first place?”

Eolyn blinked and looked away. Her eyes began to burn and her throat ached.

“Come, child.” The woman’s voice was quiet and gentle. “You can tell me.”

Eolyn was not going to tell her anything, but then words came spilling out anyway. “There were horses and soldiers and terrible fires and . . . they killed my father, and my brother never came back . . . and then I . . . heard my mother. I saw her, I swear! She told me to follow her, but it wasn’t her after all . . . and then I got lost.”

The hag folded her arms. “You’re a very courageous girl. How many summer solstices have you seen?”

Eolyn shifted nervously on her feet.

“Nine, perhaps?” The old woman asked.

The blood drained from Eolyn’s face. Proof of witchcraft! How else could she have guessed her age?

“Speak, child. A guest in my house must say what she thinks.”

“Are you the witch who eats children?” Eolyn covered her mouth with both hands, shocked by her reckless tongue.

The old lady’s eyes sparked in the shadow of her cloak and she reached up to remove her hood. Eolyn expected to see an ancient face twisted into a sharp warty nose, unkempt hair splayed like straw and inflamed eyes that would hex her on the spot. The truth proved oddly disappointing. The woman’s features were soft, lined with the many years that had bent her body. Her thick gray hair lay braided in a neat coil at the nape of her neck. Her nose was an unremarkable peak over narrow lips. She watched Eolyn with keen gray eyes. “Well that is not a question I get every day. Tell me . . . What did you say your name was?”

“Eolyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Eolyn. I am Ghemena. Tell me, why do you think I am a witch who eats children?”

“Because you are an old woman, and you live alone in the South Woods.”

“That is rather damning evidence,” she conceded. “What else do you know about this child-eating witch?”

“She lives in a house made of sweetbread and the children come to eat it. That’s how she fattens them up before she throws them into her great oven.”

“I see. . .” The woman nodded, her face a mask of careful reflection. “Well, young Eolyn, you can see my house. It does indeed bear the shade of honey-sweetened bread, now that I think about it. Why don’t you take a bite? If the legend is true you’ll be able to eat it. Even better, I’ll be able to eat you. But I will let you run first. I’ll give you a full half-a-day’s head start just for being such an astute little girl.”

This proposition horrified Eolyn, but she saw no other choice than to accept. Half a day was better than none. With half a day she might outrun the old hag, unless the hag could fly as witches were supposed to do.

Eolyn approached the house and ran her hands over the cinnamon-colored shingles. With sudden determination her hunger took over. Breaking off a splintery piece, she bit down. Pain shot through her teeth. Wood scraped her tongue. Her stomach growled, and disappointment set in. She would have given anything to eat the old woman’s cottage just then, even if it meant being turned into a loaf of bread.

A loud snort made Eolyn spin around. The witch had fallen off her perch wheezing. Tears streamed from her eyes.

“Don’t try too hard, child, or you’ll break your teeth!” It took several minutes for the hag to recover from her fit. “A house of sweet bread! Who would invent such nonsense?” Gasping for breath and clutching at her ribs, she pushed herself to her feet. “Why don’t you come inside, Eolyn, and have some proper food?”

Unable to resist the force of her appetite, Eolyn accepted the invitation. As she watched the hag stoke the fire in her meager kitchen, the girl considered her options. With winter standing restless at the gates of the South Woods, they were few and stark. She could starve in the barren forest before the first snows turned her into ice, or she could eat on Ghemena’s hearth until the witch turned her into breakfast.

“Come spring I could send you back to Moisehén,” the old woman commented after serving a meal of hot vegetable stew, fresh bread and Berenben cheese.

Eolyn’s face descended into the bottom of her bowl where she licked the last drops of Ghemena’s peppery brew. Cruel witch, she thought, to talk of sending me back when she has no intention of doing so.

“I know a forester who wanders near these parts. He could accompany you home.”

“I don’t have a home anymore. It’s all gone. I told you that.”

“You spoke of the deaths of your father and brother. But what of your mother? Where is she?”

“Mama went away last spring. She never returned.”

Ghemena’s fine gray brows furrowed. “Why did she leave?”

“I don’t know.” Eolyn’s throat was aching again. “I think she went to look for her loyalties because her allies died. That’s what Papa said anyway.”

Eolyn reached for a thick slice of bread and spread it with pungent cheese. She felt Ghemena study her every move, though whether the witch reflected on her father’s words or estimated the disappointing width of Eolyn’s arm, the girl could not tell. It seemed a great injustice that Ghemena should have real eyes. In all the stories the forest witches had eyes made of wood. They could not know the width of their captive’s finger unless they touched it. The cleverest children always proffered a stick instead of a finger, securing precious time to plan their escape. She wondered where Ghemena’s great oven was, and shuddered at the thought of charred remains of children’s bones inside.

“Was your mother the one who taught you about the forest harvest?”

“Yes.”

“What else did she teach you?”

“I don’t know.” Eolyn looked away from the table, her bread forgotten as soon as she finished preparing it. Why did the witch keep asking about her mother? Now her stomach hurt too. Maybe the food was poisoned!

“Did she teach you medicines? Did she tell you how to use the plants to heal?”

The air shifted hot against the walls. “I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

“I see. What was her name?”

“Kaie.”

Ghemena sucked a sharp breath through her yellow teeth.

“I knew your mother,” she exclaimed softly, the pleasure of her discovery evident in her face. “A long time ago. Of course. I see the resemblance now. She was a maga warrior, one of the best of her time.”

“What’s that?” Eolyn’s gut lurched. It was not possible, not in the darkest of imaginable worlds, that this hag had known her mother! “What is a maga warrior?”

“A maga is a kind of witch. A maga warrior is a witch trained in the arts of war.”

“Mama was not a witch!” Eolyn’s anger billowed up and evaporated the stones in her gut. “Mama was beautiful!”

Ghemena inhaled as if to respond and then held her breath behind pursed lips. A troubled sadness invaded her eyes. She pushed away from the table and shuffled to the front door. Her unspoken thoughts trailed behind her in wispy clouds. Eolyn’s head sank into her hands. What was she thinking? She had just insulted a witch.

After a moment Ghemena announced, “It’s a fine afternoon. One of the last of the season, I imagine. Why don’t you wash the dishes, Eolyn, and meet me in the garden. We’ll have a cup of tea together.”

Anxious to undo her transgression before Ghemena laid a curse on her, Eolyn obeyed. After cleaning the table she went outside and found the old woman on a bench, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. The subtle aroma of dormant herbs drifted about her. Inviting the girl to take a seat, Ghemena gave her a cup of water with a neatly placed sprig of mint. “I want to show you something. Watch me.”

Folding her hands around her wooden vessel, Ghemena closed her eyes, lifted the liquid to her lips and uttered a short verse in an odd language.

Ehekaht naeom tzefur. Ehukae.

In an instant steam began rising off the water.

“How did you do that?” Eolyn’s curiosity shoved her caution aside. “How did you heat up the water?”

“Did you not see? Give it a try. I believe you can do it just like me.”

Folding her hands around the cup, Eolyn repeated the verse as best she could, but the water did not heat up.

“That was very good,” Ghemena encouraged, “but it is not just a matter of imitation. Stand up straight with your feet firmly on the ground.”

Eolyn did as she was told, gripping the cup and keeping her eyes closed tight.

“Wait, child. Open your eyes. Give me that cup. Take off your shoes and stockings.”

As Eolyn pressed her bare feet against the damp earth, the resonance of the night changed. A vaguely familiar energy coursed through her legs, opening her senses and bringing every subtle sound of the season to the forefront of her awareness.

“That’s it.” Ghemena returned the cup to her hands. “Now relax and close your eyes. And breathe.”

The cold air filled her lungs, pressing sharp against the solid wall of her ribs. Eolyn had the distinct impression she no longer stood in the same spot, as if Ghemena’s garden were replaced by another that looked the same but worked very differently.

“What do you feel at your feet?” The old woman’s voice brought to mind the quiet songs of Eolyn’s mother.

“The ground.”

“Yes, but tell me what it feels like.”

“It is solid and still. . .” Eolyn spread her toes against the cool soil. “But also in motion. How can that be?” She opened her eyes.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Eolyn obeyed.

“Now take a deep breath and tell me: What do you feel in the air?”

Eolyn drew in the evening air and felt its passage down her throat, its expansion against her chest, its departure in a warm and humid cloud. “It carries life, like . . . like an invisible thread.”

“Very good. Now think about the water in your cup, and tell me about it.”

“It is still. Yet it flows . . . in the cup and . . . beneath my skin.”

A slight tremor invaded Ghemena’s words. “And finally your heart, Eolyn. What do you feel in your heart?”

This was the easiest question of all. “Warmth. My heart is warm. It burns like the hearth in your home.”

“Excellent, my girl. Now here is what I want you to do. Pull together all the elements you just told me about, the earth at your feet, the air in your lungs, the water in your cup and the fire in your heart. Imagine all of that coming together into a single brilliant point of light, and when you see that light, repeat the verse just as I said it.”

The night thickened with Eolyn’s effort. The task was not easy. The air could be smothered by earth or the fire extinguished by water. Eolyn recognized this and worked with care until a small white glow illuminated her interior. She opened her eyes and exhaled the verse.

Ehekaht naeom tzefur. Ehukae.

The cup responded with a soft rise of steam.

“Very good!” Ghemena exclaimed.

The sound of chirping insects and shifting herbs returned. Eolyn looked around as if seeing the garden for the first time. She felt different inside. Warmer. More complete. As if she just found something she always wanted, something that had always eluded her.

“Now come and sit with me,” said Ghemena, “so we can enjoy our tea together.”



Read Chapter Three