F

__j

He yanked the stone free, expecting its blazing red light to blind his eyes. He held the stone forth and stared with despair. The Heart was dull: no fire, no glow, not even a flicker. He sensed the horrible truth through his fingertips.

The Heart was dead, its magick gone.

By now, the rat had reached the doorway. Its sleek blackness and red eyes were lit by the spreading flame from the burning lamp. It seemed to have grown larger. Behind it, a score of other rats, twins to this one, crawled out of the fog, eyes afire. They all stared at Tol’chuk, hundreds of pinpoints of fire.

He could not resist them, not so many. Unaware, Tol’chuk fell to his knees. His vision dimmed again.

Ancient screams and savage laughter filled his ears.

Elena stared at Mycelle, forgetting for the moment the strands of moss that bound her left hand. She studied the planes of the woman’s face and the crossed scabbards on her back. Mycelle had once been like an aunt to her, but now it was as if a stranger stood before her. She could not reconcile her childhood memory of “Aunt My” with these poisonous revelations of the role she had played as a seeker of the Sisterhood.

While growing up, Aunt My had been one of the few womenfolk who shared Elena’s interest in the hidden paths and secret treasures buried among the mundane orchards of her valley home. While others tried to interest her in needlecraft and cooking, Mycelle had walked with Elena, hand in hand, through the fields. They had had long talks, and Elena had enjoyed how her aunt treated her like an adult, not holding back, honest in all regards, teaching her about her life and even bits of woodlore. She had showed Elena how to move quietly through the trees to peek at a family of deer; how to start a fire with only a stick and a bit of twine; which wild plants were safe to eat, which healed, and… and which would make one sick.

Elena remembered and suddenly shuddered. Leaf of hemloc’t, root of nightshade. Even then Mycelle had known so much about the natural poisons of the world.

Mycelle, always keen eyed, noticed Elena’s distress. She placed a hand on Elena’s shoulder, and when Elena tried to pull away, she held her tight. Her words, though, were for the others. “I want everyone out of here,“ she said smartly. ”Plans on how to deal with the ill’guard will wait a few moments.“

Er’ril, of course, objected. “If there is danger, we need to leave now.“

“Rash actions will only draw eyes and risk all. Presently the ill’guard do not seem aware of Elena, or we wouldn’t be speaking now.” Mycelle stared Er’ril down. “Tonight we plan; by dawn’s light we move.” Er’ril seemed about to argue further.

Mycelle’s razor voice softened its edge. “Up to now, you have done well in protecting Elena. I can’t fault any of you on this. But not all wars are won with swords and magick. Some battles turn on the strength of a heart. And there are words I sense Elena needs to hear, woman to woman, before she continues.

Give me this moment

alone.“

Elena finally spoke. “Please Er’ril, do as she asks.”

Er’ril stood with his lips drawn thin. He did not like this. Krai stood up and laid a hand on Er’ril’s arm. “We could at least pack up the other room.“

Meric and Mogweed were already standing, too. “And we’ll go fetch our dinners,” Meric said, nodding to include Mogweed. “Planning works best on a full stomach.” Er’ril’s shoulders finally relaxed, and he nodded. “Fine. You have your moment.” The four men filed out of the room. Er’ril was last. He glanced back before shutting the door. “But only a moment.” Mycelle bowed her head slightly, both acknowledging his words and conceding her thanks.

Er’ril shut the door. “Keep it locked!” he yelled through the thin pine planks.

Mycelle shrugged off her scabbards, then sagged and collapsed beside Elena on the bed. “How have you put up with him this long?”

The way Mycelle rolled her eyes and her expression of tired amusement touched old memories within Elena. Here was the woman she knew from her past, not the iron-blooded warrior from a moment ago.

“Aunt My…” Elena did not know where to begin.

Mycelle turned to face Elena. For the first time, Elena saw the deep wrinkles that now marked her aunt’s face and the tired, bruised

eyes. Her journeys across the lands had cost her more than her brave words had revealed.

Mycelle reached with both palms to cup Elena’s cheeks and sighed as she stared into Elena’s eyes. Then one of her hands lifted to finger Elena’s shorn and dyed locks. “Your beautiful hair,” she said sadly.

“It… it’ll grow back,” Elena said, glancing down.

Mycelle sighed. “Yes, but in your eyes, I can see other parts of you have been equally marred—things that don’t grow back.” Pain entered her voice. “You’ve grown, Elena. More than I think you suspect.” Tears threatened, but Elena refused to cry.

Mycelle lowered her hands. “I was supposed to be there for you in Winterfell. Aunt Fila suspected you might be the one, but we weren’t sure. The Sisterhood had been wrong in the past. When I got word of Aunt Fila’s passing, I tried to make it back to the valley, but by the time I got there, you all were gone. I should have been there for you. Someone should have been.”

“Joach helped me,” Elena said, choking on her brother’s name. “But he… but he—” Mycelle patted her knee. “I know, Elena. The Sisterhood learned what had happened. I was sent to search for you.”

“Why?”

“Several reasons. Not only to help protect you, but also to instruct you in the skills of war. How to handle a sword and a dagger.”

“But I have my magick.”

“Some problems are more easily resolved with a sharp blade than a cast spell. You were to be trained in all manner of warfare. This we could teach you. But this—” Mycelle lifted Elena’s gloved hand and slipped off the deerskin that hid her ruby stain. “—this we know too little about. Over the centuries, so much has been muddled in rumor and myth. I’m afraid that with the death of your uncle, we lost much.

He had been assigned to root through the ruined school for any ancient texts that taught the intricacies of magick. He was to help you. But with his death, the little he had learned was lost, and the skal’tum burned his cottage, destroying the rest.”

Elena spread the fingers of her ruby hand, her heart quailing with hopelessness. “Then in the ways of magick, I’m on my own.”

“Yes, but some of the Sisterhood believe this might be best,” Mycelle said. She placed her own hand over Elena’s ruby one. “And I share this view.”

Crinkling her brow, Elena faced Mycelle. “But why?”

“Prophecy has always said it will be a wit’ch—a woman mage— who will call forth the drums of war against the Gul’gotha and bear the torch of freedom.” She leaned closer to emphasize her words. “Not a man. The order of male mages could not resist the Gul’gotha before. So why seek their old knowledge or old ways? There must be a reason a woman was chosen—why you were chosen! A new path is needed—a woman’s path!”

Elena shrank under her intense gaze.

Mycelle recognized Elena’s fear. Her voice softened, and a hand again raised to her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to

frighten you.“

“I don’t want this burden,” Elena said quietly. She could not stop the tears now. Hot trails flowed down her cheek.

Mycelle pulled Elena into her arms and hugged her, gently rocking the girl. “Something tells me,” Mycelle whispered, squeezing her tighter, “you haven’t had enough of this on your journey here.” They held each other in silence for several moments. Elena could sense the warmth and love in these arms. It was not the love for a prophesied hero, but simply the love of family.

Too soon, Mycelle finally lifted Elena’s face from her bosom and wiped away her tears. “You have your mother’s beautiful eyes,” she

said softly.

Elena swallowed hard and sniffed back her tears. “And that’s all I really wanted to tell you. I didn’t mean to scare you or burden you further. I just wanted to remind you that you’re not just a sword… or a ruby hand… but you’re also your mother’s daughter. A woman. And this may prove your most important strength against the darkness ahead.”

With a small frown, Mycelle again fingered Elena’s shorn hair. “Among all these men,” she said, her frown becoming a gentle smile, “just don’t forget you’re a woman.” They shared one last quick hug. “I won’t,” Elena said, remembering that mountain morning so long ago when she had raised both her hands to the dawn’s light—one red, one white. She had clasped her hands together, declaring herself both wit’ch and woman. Had she somehow even then known the truth of Mycelle’s words? “Woman and wit’ch,” Elena mumbled. “What was that, hon?”

¦¦5“

WIT CH 5TORM

Before Elena could speak, a fierce pounding rattled the door to the room. Er’ril’s voice spat through the pine planks. “The wolf brings word! The warehouse is under attack!” Without a word, Mycelle flew off the bed and into her scabbards. “Hurry, Elena,” she urged. Then, more to herself as she bustled to the door, “Damn my ears, I would’ve sworn I sensed something earlier.” She threw off the latch and flung open the door.

Elena bounced off the bed to follow, her heart in her throat. Er’ril stood, red faced, with his fist raised.

He backed a step to make room for them. “We must hurry.”

“What’s happening?” Mycelle asked, pushing past Er’ril into the hallway. Elena followed her.

“I’m not sure,” he said. Er’ril turned to lead the way, but the woman’s voice stopped him.

“We’re not going,” she said simply, calm and sure. Er’ril swung around. “We’ve no time to argue.

Tol’chuk’s in trouble!”

“And you would take the wit’ch into the jaws of a trap?” she answered. “Into danger?” Er’ril paused at her words. “I… I… We can’t just leave Tol’chuk. Krai and the others are already on their way over.”

“Krai is a fierce warrior. I’ve seen him handle his ax. If what lies at the warehouse cannot be handled by an og’re and a mountain man, then it is foolhardy to take Elena there.” Elena spoke up, her voice sounding meek in her ears. “But I can help.” Mycelle placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you could, honey. But using your magick here would be like setting a blazing beacon for the Dark Lord’s minions to follow. You are the future, and we cannot take that risk.”

“But we have to at least try…” Elena glanced toward Er’ril for his support.

She did not get it. His eyes blazed with frustration. “As much as I detest leaving the others,” he said,

“Mycelle is right. You know the contingency plan. If danger separated us, we would meet in one moon at Land’s End on the coast.”

“But—”

“Then it’s settled,” Mycelle interrupted. “I suspect the ill’guard in town are on the move. We must do the same if we are to survive.”

JAMES

Elena raised hurt eyes toward Mycelle. “But Tol’chuk. He’s your son? Would you abandon him a second time?”-

Her heartfelt words cracked Mycelle’s firm resolve. The woman glanced away from her, but Elena saw her right hand clench into a fist and her shoulders tremble as she held her emotions in rein. Mycelle’s words were pained. “I did it once. I can do it again.”

Elena watched Mycelle’s expression slowly harden back to iron. Her eyes dried of pending tears, and her lips became firm lines of determination. Elena stared at this transformation. On this journey ahead, would she herself ever grow so strong? And, worse yet, did she even want to? Elena stepped between Er’ril and Mycelle. “No,” she said quietly. “I’ll not leave Tol’chuk or the others.” Er’ril raised a hand to his brow and sighed. “It’s a wise plan, Elena. If we let the others draw the fire here in town, we can slip away undetected. We will meet again in Land’s End.”

“No.”

Mycelle reached for her, but Elena stepped back. “Honey,” Mycelle said, “we must leave or—”

“No. You just told me that there was a reason a woman was fated to carry this magick. That it was a woman’s heart that would make the difference. And, right now, my heart says we stand together.”

“You must not risk it,” Mycelle said. “You are the future dawn.”

“Fate be cursed,” she said. “If I’m to battle the Dark Lord, I’ll confront him as myself, not as some creature of prophecy.” Elena turned to look Mycelle in the eye. “I’m sorry, Aunt My, but I will not become you. I will not harden my spirit against the world. If I must fight, I’ll do it with my whole heart.” Elena marched toward the stairs. “I will not leave Tol’chuk.” On his knees already, Tol’chuk fell to one arm on the dirt floor, his other claw still holding the Heart aloft though the stone was dull and dead. Before him, flames lapped up the blazing door frame to consume the back wall of the warehouse. Even the hungry fire failed to brighten the facets of the stone.

Without the stone’s strength, what hope did he have to resist the black magick here?

Past the burning threshold, a hundred red eyes stared at him from the rear yard. His head rang with the song of the demon rats, an

WIT CH STORM

ancient chorus of torment and laughter. It sapped his will and his strength. He could not.resist.

As he struggled, an inner fire continued to burn through his bones. He knew this familiar pain. It was the Heart of his people trying to fight off the black magick—but it was failing. He squeezed the stone in his claw with the last of his energy. Why would it not blaze?

Too weak, his arm finally dropped. He ground the precious Heart under his weight as he fell forward.

Just before consciousness fled him, he saw the rats swarm toward him—and worse, he felt the magick of the Heart abandon him.

Kral was the first through the door. He saw the og’re crash to the dirt floor of the warehouse. At first, he could not see any threat here except for the spreading fire. Had smoke overwhelmed Tol’chuk? Ax in hand, he scanned the warehouse. All he spotted was Elena’s gray mare backed in a corner.

Fardale whisked forward past Krai’s thighs.

“There!” Meric called. His thin arm pointed toward the fire.

His sharper elv’in eyes had detected furtive movement near the blazing doorway. Huge black rats, dozens of them, flowed through the burning portal.

Fardale was already beside the og’re, hackles raised, a growl flowing from his throat. His head lowered as he stared down the creatures. The rats stopped their approach toward the og’re, spreading in a line to face the wolf.

Kral did not need to be si’luran to understand Fardale’s meaning. His stance said it all. Here was the danger the wolf had scented earlier.

But it was just rats.

Krai’s ax lowered slightly.

Then the pitch of Fardale’s growl changed to a high whine. The wolf trembled. His whine became a hopeless howl that echoed through the rafters. What was wrong?

As the wolf howled and began to teeter on his legs, the rats in front of Fardale suddenly swelled larger!

Their bodies, huge already, bloated to the size of small dogs. Fasdale fell limp beside the collapsed og’re.