Wit'ch Fire Page 6

  Though the bird still hunted, age had dulled the poor creature’s vision. Worried about the bird’s well-being, Elena had been sneaking scraps out to the old owl for nearly a year.

  Elena listened as Pintail flapped past her window, finding some small solace in this familiar ritual. She let out a rattling sigh, releasing the tension from her body. This was her home; here she was surrounded by a family that loved her. In the morning, the sun would shine, and like Pintail’s, her own daily routine would begin again. All these wild happenings would fade away or be explained. She closed her eyes, knowing now that sleep was possible this evening.

  Just as she started to drift off, Pintail began screaming.

  Elena bolted up in her bed. Pintail continued to scream. Not a hunting challenge or a territorial warning, this was a wail of agony and fear. Elena flew to her window, pulling the curtains wide. A fox or bobcat might have caught the bird. She clutched her throat with worry as she scanned the farmyard below.

  The horse barn stood just across the yard. She heard the mare and stallion’s concerned nickering. They, too, knew this owl’s screeching was cause for alertness. The yard below was empty. Just a wheelbarrow and a stone-chipped plow her father was repairing stood on the packed dirt.

  Elena pushed open her window. Cold air swirled her nightclothes, but she hardly noticed as she leaned out. She squinted and tried to pick out movement in the shadows. There was nothing.

  No! She took a step away from the window. Just at the edge of the empty pen that housed the sheep during shearing season, a shadow moved. A figure—no, two figures—stepped from the darkness under the branches of the orchard trees into the feeble moonlight that limned the yard. A cowled man with a crooked staff and a thin man who stood a head taller than his bent companion. Somehow she knew they weren’t lost travelers but something darker, threatening.

  Suddenly Pintail flew screeching into the empty yard, just a handspan above the head of the taller man. The man ducked slightly, raising an arm in alarm. Pintail ignored him and swooped across the open space, banking sharply as he struggled with something caught in his claws. Elena felt a moment of relief that Pintail was all right.

  Then the owl twisted in midair, flailing, and tumbled toward the ground. Elena gasped, but before the bird hit the hard dirt, Pintail spread his wings and halted his fall, sailing upward again—right toward her! Elena stumbled a few steps back from the window as the bird swooped to the windowsill and landed hard, his beak open in a scream of rage.

  Elena thought at first that the owl had caught a snake, but she had never seen a snake so sickly white before, like the belly of a dead fish. It writhed within the grip of the bird. Pintail was obviously struggling fiercely to restrain the creature, and from the bird’s screeching, the fight was obviously causing the bird harm. Why doesn’t Pintail just drop the foul thing? she thought. Why keep carrying it?

  Then Elena knew. She saw the snake thing worm itself deeper into the owl’s chest. Pintail wasn’t carrying the thing; he was trying to dislodge it. Pintail’s frantic claws were trying to stop it from burrowing deeper inside him. Pintail rolled a huge yellow eye toward her, as if asking for help.

  Elena rushed forward. Pintail teetered on the sill, trying to balance with one claw, struggling with the loathsome creature. Just as her hand reached out to her friend, it became too late. The snake broke free of Pintail’s claws and drove the rest of the way inside the bird. The owl froze, its beak stretched open in agony, and fell backward, dead, out the window.

  “No!” Elena lunged to the window, leaning on the sill, searching for Pintail. Below, she spotted his broken body collapsed on the packed dirt of the yard. Tears rolled down her face. “Pintail!”

  Suddenly the ground beneath his body churned like quicksand. Elena screamed as hundreds of the monstrous snake creatures writhed in a mass up from the dirt and swallowed the bird. Within two heartbeats, all that was left was a scattering of thin white bones and a skull whose empty eye sockets stared back at her. Her knees weakened as the worms disappeared back into the soil. Somehow she knew they were lying in wait still hiding and hunting for more meat.

  With tears in her eyes, she again spied the two travelers on the far side of the yard. The cowled one, using his staff as a crutch, began to hobble across the treacherous yard, apparently feeling no threat from the foul beasts that lurked beneath the dirt. Then he stopped and raised his face toward Elena’s window. Shivering, she bolted from the opening, suddenly fearful of those eyes settling upon her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck tingled, sensing danger.

  She must warn her parents!

  Elena ran to her bedroom door and threw it open.

  Her brother was already in the hall. Joach rubbed at his bleary eyes, dressed in only his underclothes. He pointed toward the farmyard. “Did you hear that darned screeching?”

  “I must tell Father!” She grabbed her older brother’s arm and dragged him toward the stairs leading back to the first floor.

  “Why?” he said in protest. “I’m sure they heard it, too. It’s just ol’ Pintail tangling with a fox. He’s tough enough for ten foxes. He’ll be fine.”

  “No, he’s dead.”

  “What! How?”

  “Something bad! I . . . I don’t know.”

  Elena continued to pull Joach with her down the stairs, afraid to let go of her brother, needing his touch to help control the screaming in her chest. She rushed down the stairs and through the den toward her parents’ room. The house was dark and hushed, the air heavy, as before a summer storm. Panic welled in Elena, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. She pushed Joach toward the table. “Light a lantern! Hurry!”

  He ran to the tinderbox and obeyed her order.

  She flew to her parents’ bedroom door. Normally she would knock before entering, but now was not the time for manners. She burst into the room just as Joach ignited the oiled wick. Light flared, casting her shadow across her parents’ bed.

  Her mother, always a light sleeper, awoke immediately, her eyes wide and startled. “Elena! My dear, what’s wrong?”

  Her father pushed up on one elbow, squinting groggily in the lantern’s light. He cleared his throat, a look of irritation on his face.

  Elena pointed toward the back door. “Someone’s coming. I saw them in the yard.”

  Her father sat straighter in the bed. “Who?”

  Her mother laid a hand on her father’s arm. “Now, Bruxton, don’t think the worst. It might be someone lost or needing help.”

  Elena shook her head. “No, no, they mean us harm.”

  “How do you know that, girl?” her father said, throwing back the sheets. Dressed in only his winter woolens, he clambered from the bed.

  Joach stepped to the doorway, a lantern in his hand. “She says Pintail’s dead.”

  Tears welled up in Elena’s eyes. “There’s some sort of . . . creatures. Horrible things.”

  “Now, Elena,” her father said sternly, “are you sure you didn’t just dream—?”

  Suddenly a pounding erupted from the back door.

  Everyone froze for a heartbeat, then her mother spoke. “Bruxton?”

  “Don’t worry, Mama,” her father said to her mother. “I’m sure it’s just like you said, someone lost.” But her father’s light words did not match his lowering brows. He pulled hurriedly into his pants.

  Her mother slipped from the bed and into her robe. She crossed the room and circled Elena in an arm. “Your father will take care of this.”

  Joach followed her father with the lantern as he crossed the den. Elena, trailing from a safe distance with her mother, noticed her father pick up the hand ax they used to shave logs into kindling for the fire. Elena leaned closer to her mother.

  Her father passed through the kitchen and approached the back door with Joach beside him. Elena and her mother stayed by the kitchen hearth.

  Her father hefted the ax in one hand, then yelled through the thick oaken door, “Who is it?”

 
; The voice that answered was high and commanding. Somehow Elena knew it was not the cowled one who spoke, but the other man, the taller figure. “By order of the Gul’gothal Council, we demand access to this house. To refuse will result in the arrest of the entire household.”

  “What do you want?”

  The same voice came again. “We have orders to search the farmstead. Unbar the door!”

  Her father turned a worried look to her mother. Elena shook her head, trying to warn her father.

  He turned back to the door. “The hour is late. How do I know you’re who you claim to be?”

  A sheet of paper was shoved under the door at her father’s bare feet. “I bear the proctor’s seal from the county’s garrison.”

  Her father signaled for Joach to pick it up and hold it in the lamplight. From across the room, Elena saw the purple seal on the bottom of the parchment.

  Her father turned and whispered toward them. “It looks official. Joach, leave the lantern and take Elena upstairs. Both of you stay quiet.”

  Joach nodded, obviously nervous and wanting to stay. But as always he did as his father directed. He placed the lantern on the edge of the table and crossed to Elena. Her mother gave her a final squeeze, then pushed her toward her brother. “Watch after your sister, Joach. And don’t come down until we call you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Elena hesitated. The flickering lantern light skittered shadows across the wall. It was not the speaker that gave her pause, but the other, the cowled man who had yet to speak. She did not have words for the cold sickness around her heart as she remembered the face that had tried to spy her in the window. So instead she stepped back to her mother and gave her a longer hug.

  Her mother patted her hair, then pushed her back. “Hurry, sweetheart. This doesn’t concern you. Now you and Joach scoot upstairs.” Her mother attempted a reassuring smile, but the fear in her eyes destroyed the effort.

  Elena nodded and backed to her brother, her eyes still on her parents in the kitchen.

  Joach spoke behind her. “C’mon, Sis.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  She shivered at his touch but allowed herself to be led away. They backed across the den to the shadowed foot of the stairs. The lantern in the kitchen, like a lonely beacon across the dark house, highlighted her parents. From the stairway, Elena watched her father turn away and begin to lift the rusted iron rod that barred the door against brigands. But Elena knew that what stood outside the door was much worse than thieves.

  It was this fear that kept her bolted to the foot of the stairs. Joach tugged at her arm and tried to coax her up. “Elena, we have to go.”

  “No,” she whispered. “They can’t see us here in the shadows.”

  Joach didn’t argue, obviously wanting to watch, too. He knelt beside his sister on the first step. “What do you think they want?” he whispered at her ear.

  “Me,” she answered, also in a whisper, without even thinking. Elena seemed to know this was true. All of it was somehow her fault: the change in her hand, the burned apple in the orchard, the exploded bathing chamber, and now this midnight visitation. There were too many strange happenings to be mere coincidence.

  “Look,” Joach whispered.

  Elena focused back to where her father swung the kitchen door open. He continued to block the threshold, the ax still in his hand. She heard their voices.

  Her father spoke first. “Now, what is all this commotion?”

  The thin man stepped to the doorway, now highlighted in the lantern. He stood just a few fingers shorter than her father, but not as broad in the chest, and he had a small paunch of belly protruding from a torn ruffled shirt. He wore a riding cloak and black muddied boots. Even from across the house, Elena could tell the cloak was from an expensive clothier, not something purchased in the village. He rubbed at a thin brown mustache under his narrow nose, then answered her father. “We’ve come concerning an offense. One of your daughters has been accused of a . . . um, a foul deed.”

  “And what offense might that be?”

  The speaker glanced over his shoulder and shifted his feet, as if needing assistance. The second figure now approached the doorway. Elena saw her father stumble back a step. The lantern light revealed a figure cloaked in a coal black robe topped by a dark cowl. A staff was planted in the dirt beside him. Using a skeletal hand, the occupant of the robe kept the edge of the cowl pulled between his face and the lantern light, as if the brightness stung. His voice creaked with age. “We seek a child—” He held up his bony hand. “—with a bloodstained hand.”

  Her mother let out a sharp gasp that was quickly stifled, but the old man’s face twisted toward her, the lantern light now shining into the cowl. Elena suppressed a gasp herself as those eyes turned toward her mother—they were dead eyes, like the dull globes of stillborn calves, opaque and white.

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” her father said. The cowled one collected up his staff and retreated to the dark yard.

  The younger man spoke. “Let us not disturb your entire family. Come out here where we can talk in private, perhaps settle this matter without a fuss.” He bowed slightly and extended a hand toward the farmyard. “Come, it’s late and we could all use sleep.”

  Elena watched her father take a step toward the door and knew what awaited her father in the yard. She remembered Pintail’s body being torn by the beasts that lurked under the soil. She darted up and meant to run to the kitchen, but Joach caught a fist in her nightclothes and yanked her back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at her.

  “Let go!” She struggled with Joach, but he was much stronger. “I must warn Father.”

  “He told us to stay hidden.”

  She spotted her father stepping to the doorway. Oh, dear goddess, no! She ripped out of Joach’s grip and ran to the kitchen. Joach pursued. The three adults turned to her as she burst into the lantern light.

  “Wait!” she called. Her father had stopped at the threshold, his face reddening with fury.

  “I thought I told you—”

  Behind her father, the younger intruder grabbed her father’s shoulders and shoved him outside. Elena screamed as her surprised father flailed and toppled down the three steps to the hard dirt. Her mother rushed the man, a kitchen knife raised in a fist. But her mother was too old and the man too quick; he snatched her mother’s wrist and wrenched her around.

  Joach yelled in fury, but the man sneered and shoved her mother through the door to land in a crumpled pile beside her father. Joach, spittle flying from his mouth, flew at the intruder. The man swung a cudgel from inside his cloak and clubbed Joach on the side of the head. Her brother collapsed to the wooden floor with a crash.

  Elena froze as the man’s eyes settled on her. She saw his eyes twitch toward her right hand, the one stained red. Then his eyes grew wide.

  “It’s true!” he said and took a step away through the door. He glanced out to the cowled one in the yard. “She is here!”

  Her father had struggled to a standing position by now. He stood guard over his wife as she nursed her left arm and pushed to her knees. “Don’t you touch my daughter!” her father spat at the intruders.

  Joach, his forehead bloody, rolled to his feet and stood between Elena and the door, swaying slightly.

  The old man hobbled toward her parents. “Your daughter or your life,” he creaked, his voice like serpents in the dark.

  “You’re not taking Elena. I’ll kill you both if you try.” Her father stood firm under the old one’s gaze.

  The robed figure simply raised his staff and tapped the ground twice. With the second strike, the dirt at her parents’ feet erupted explosively, the cloud of mud obscuring her parents. For the first time in Elena’s life, she heard her father scream. The dirt settled, and she saw her mother and father coated in the white worms that had attacked Pintail. Blood flowed freely from them.

  Elena screamed, falling to her knees.<
br />
  Her father swung toward the doorway. “Joach!” he screamed. “Save your sister! Ru—” Further words were choked shut as the worms climbed in his mouth and throat.

  Joach backed into Elena, pulling her up.

  “No,” she said, a mere whisper. Then louder, “No!” Her blood ignited with fire. “No!” Her vision turned red, and her throat constricted shut. She flew to her feet, quaking, her fists clenched. She was dimly aware of Joach, wide-eyed, stumbling back from her. All of her attention was on the yard, on her parents writhing on the churning dirt. Suddenly she screamed, sending all her rage out from her.

  A wall of flame burst forth and blasted into the yard. The two foul men tumbled out of the fire’s path, but her parents could not move. Elena watched it envelop her mother and father. Her ears, still humming with energy, heard her parents’ screams end as if a door was shut upon them.

  Suddenly Joach grabbed her around the waist and propelled her back from the kitchen into the dark den. The kitchen wall was on fire. Elena collapsed into his arms, spent, a mere rag doll now. Joach struggled with her weight. The room filled with smoke.

  “Elena,” Joach said in her ear, “I need you. Snap out of it.” He began coughing in the oily smoke. The fire had spread to the curtains in the den.

  She labored to get her feet under her. “What have I done?”

  Joach stared at the flames behind him, tears shining on his cheeks in the firelight. He looked forward, searching.

  Smoke choked the air. Elena coughed.

  Joach took a step toward the front door, then stopped. “No. They’ll expect that. We need another way out.”

  He suddenly pulled her toward the stairs. Elena felt pinpricks returning to her numb limbs. She started to shake with silent sobs. “It’s my fault.”

  “Hush. Upstairs.”

  Joach pushed her to the staircase, then prodded her up the steps. “C’mon, El,” he whispered urgently in her ear. “You heard them down there. They’re after you.”

  She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “I know. But why? What did I do?”