The Rings of Hesaurun Page 21

  The hunters brooded as a bonfire was made in the roasting pit then allowed to burn down to coals. The roasting pit was close to where they were hidden, so they had a clear view, and heard much of what was said. When they understood the goat was about to be roasted rather than the children, a mutual sigh of relief passed between the two men.

  Once a good bed of coals was established, the meat was buried in the pit and covered with soil. An hour before dusk, the meat was removed from the pit, and the family gathered for a feast of roasted goat that smelled delicious. As they ate and talked around the warm fire, the hungry hunters shivered and salivated in their snowy stakeout.

  With the evening meal out of the way, the spies watched in wonder as the hag stood taking center stage to speak to the man and his family. The witch’s face illuminated in flickering firelight added a strong sense of drama to the strange scene. Captivated by the witch as she spoke, the huntsmen tensed, focused hard, straining to hear every word.

  Although they weren’t able to understand every word spoken, the message’s gist was unmistakable: the information she was about to reveal was important. The healer began by calling her audience “friends,” thanking them for their hospitality, and announcing she had important news and gifts for all of them. She claimed to be a traveler from a distant land and they should accept the gift she offered—the scene bordered on surreal with the witch speaking with undeniable authority.

  Then as if revealing a secret, her voice softened, becoming unintelligible to the onlookers in the snow. However, one word was unmistakable: magic. And with it, the spies’ pulses quickened.

  The hag raised her voice, held out her right-hand high for everyone to see, then ordered a log into the air with a command that sent it into the fire without anyone ever laying a hand on it. The log landed among the embers, releasing a shower of sparks high into the night air.

  “You are a witch!” cried the clansmen’s voice as he jumped to his feet. With that, Ammon and Hethe had seen all the proof they needed; this old woman was unarguably the Cailleach Bhéara— a witch. Without a word, it was mutually decided it was time for Ammon and Hethe to leave. Quickly gathering their things together, the huntsmen backed away on hands and knees into the safety of the darkened woods.

  ________________________

  With everyone working together, Valerie’s new home took shape rapidly. The women and children hauled red shale stones from a nearby landslide in a wagon pulled by a cow while Pearse and Tierney prepared the building site. Relative uniformity in thickness made the flat shale stones a suitable building material. The brittle nature of shale made breaking them into desired widths and lengths manageable. Mud was dug out of the river for use as mortar, and timbers cut for beams and sheeting boards. Thin slabs of shale were used as shingles.

  Working together, they were able to complete the new home within a week. Valerie was pleased with the results. She judged it to be the equivalent of many homes built as late as the nineteenth century. It was sturdy with straight walls, a pitched roof, with a wooden door secured to the opening by thick leather straps. Window openings framed in wood, a wooden shutter also secured by leather straps, hung above each window opening. Shale stone floors would keep the dust down in the dry season.

  Pearse’s home had a fire pit built into the center of the room for cooking. Although it worked, the house was always cold and smoky. However, Valerie saw no harm in introducing fireplace flue and chimney technology to the world, so she explained what she wanted and made the fire pit obsolete in a day. When Pearse and Lauryn saw how nicely it worked, they wasted no time in adding a fireplace to their own home.

  Pearse’s dwelling was nearly void of furniture, so Valerie was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the furniture he crafted for her. Tierney’s help produced a good solid table with four chairs in under a week; a desk and storage cabinet according to her dimensions came soon after. The house was warm, secure, and comfortable. It was more than she had hoped for.

  At first, Valerie had no choice other than to stay with Pearse and his family, but she felt a great sense of relief with the project completed. Standing back to look at it, she was genuinely pleased. The little house was soundly built, clean, and solved her privacy issues. The feeling of being a visitor rather than a resident in this new world would never leave her until she had her own secure space. Safety from snoopers, thieves, and wild animals would be excellent in the little stone house.

  Considering the self-imposed mission she had set herself upon, Valerie feared failure more than anything else. As she saw it, everything, including the future of humankind depended on this gambit’s success. The responsibility of going it alone was a heavy burden to bear, but she saw no viable alternative.

  Then there was the unrelenting fear of creating a time paradox. That, more than anything else kept her awake at night. What if I died before I can successfully transfer the rings to my new family? Would I fail to reappear in the future timeline? Would anyone I have known and loved ever come into being? What if I have already altered the future in a way I cannot perceive? Those questions haunted her from the first day she seriously began planning her escape from the future.

  In her mind, the nature of her dilemma was just that; any problem-solving decision or judgment made rested on her own shoulders. She had no one else to consult or rely upon for a second opinion, which left Valerie feeling hollow inside. The fear of failure followed like a lost dog; it just wouldn’t go away.

  Recently, Valerie began second-guessing her decision to leave Hafien Tohm behind. I’m lonely for intelligent conversation, she thought. Pearse and his people are by no means stupid, but that doesn’t make up for the seven-thousand-year developmental gap separating us. That disparity hinders the type of interaction to which I am accustomed. If only I had brought Tohm along!

  Although Tohm was never Valerie’s lover, he was at the heart of her inner circle of friends, her closest companion, and confidant. Hafian Tohm was the nearest thing to a mate she’d had for centuries. Leaving him behind had turned out to be more difficult than Valerie thought. She remembered how her association with Hafien began when he was assigned to her as a mentoree. However, they had quickly developed an affinity for one another, and in no time, were inseparable.

  Thinking of Tohm, Valerie’s face paled. I knew he would have jumped at the chance to go with me. But that doesn’t make it any easier because I couldn’t allow it. Removing two people from the timeline doubled the chances of a paradox. In the end, I was forced to leave him behind. I had no choice. It was simply too risky to include him.

  As planning for the adventure began in earnest, hiding her true intentions from Hafien became increasingly difficult. Aware he suspected she was concealing something from him only heightened the sense that she had betrayed her friend’s trust. She hated herself for the supposed transgression, purposely moving the timetable forward in search of relief. She just wanted to get on with it, in a sense running from the hurt and guilt. Even so, she had underestimated the impact of feeling forever alone would have on her, and now she was paying the price.

  But this was the reality Valerie had chosen for herself, and it was too late for second guesses. She had done due diligence and steeled herself for the challenge. With construction completed on her new house, it was time to move forward. The house provided her with a new level of security and privacy. It was time to implement the next stage of her plan; educating Pearse and his family.

  Since the family was illiterate, she would need to change that if they were going to learn everything she intended to teach them and retain that knowledge for future generations. Thinking of this made Valerie chuckle. In addition to serving as her home, the little house would now become the world’s first and only schoolhouse run by a three-thousand-year-old teacher.

  ________________________ The River Nore snaked through the fertile basin surrounded by wooded highlands. Situated below a mountain pass at a crossroads made the settlement of Erlin a convenient place fo
r travelers to find lodging and resupply before moving on. An arched stone bridge placed where the two roads intersected gave the village a sense of permanence, providing the enclave with its sole landmark.

  Eager to share what they learned, Ammon and Hethe made their first stop in Erlin at Abiah’s home. They were able to confirm the healer they had observed for more than a day, was in fact, a witch. Both men were eyewitnesses: they saw the death in her eyes first-hand, as well as the magic the woman employed. Although unspoken among them, the truth of Jotham’s death hung above Ammon’s head like a sword hanging by a hair.

  Abiah reported the elder council had already organized an inquest into Jotham’s death and was scheduled to be held in seven days. The three hunters would be required to make a statement about what happened. Abiah warned Jotham’s father, Riordan, had formally accused Ammon of bloodguilt in the matter. Jotham’s brothers could be touchy, but with Riordan provoking them, they were downright dangerous. The three men agreed to be on-guard if Riordan or his sons attempted to avenge the blood.

  Days of travel and nights spent in the snow had sapped Ammon’s strength. He went home that night with a stiff body and downcast spirit. Ill at ease about the inquest, the fear of avengers weighed heavily on him. After lighting a lamp, he decided it was too late to start a fire, so he went straight to bed. He heard a knock at the door and groaned as he laid among the warm woolen blankets considering his testimony for the inquest. The last thing he needed was a visitor—or worse, for Rio,rdan or his sons to show up.

  Ammon put his big hunting knife in his belt, ready to defend himself if necessary. Slowly, carefully, he opened the door. To his surprise, he found the witch standing there wrapped in a blanket. Startled by the unexpected visitor, his first instinct was to slam the door and hide behind it, although instinct also told him the witch wasn’t going to be stopped by a door if she really wanted in. But what surprised him most was the color of her eyes. No longer were they the foreboding black orbs he remembered from his cold camp, but rather pale blue, without a hint of threat.

  What kind of witch’s trick is this? Ammon wondered. Just hours ago, the Cailleach Bhéara was an old hag with the eyes of the dead. But now she is more youthful with blue eyes? Do not believe your eyes; you know what she is!

  Ammon struggled to make sense of it, feeling like he was being pulled in two separate directions. On the one hand, there was no question as to what he saw; a magic-wielding witch with the eyes of the dead. A witch who resurrected the dead! Who could do such things but a powerful witch? But on the other hand, there was a harmless-looking woman at his door. What do I do? he thought.

  Gazing at the unexpected woman at his door, Ammon trembled. His heart pounded. Up close and in person, the witch didn’t look to be nearly as old as he remembered, nor as menacing. In the thin light, Ammon saw no threat from her, which puzzled him. In his estimation, she appeared to be in her mid-to-late forties, roughly his own age, which did not seem to match up with what he thought he saw from his hiding place in the woods.

  But none of that mattered. Too many questions remained demanding answers. What was this woman doing on his doorstep? How did she find him? And most troubling was the question: how did she know he had been watching her?

  “I would like to speak to you, Ammon. Is that possible?” the witch inquired, a disarming smile pulling at her lips. Ammon stared at her in wonder for a long moment, not knowing what to do. Then he recalled the log she had thrown into the fire and knew that if she really wanted in or to cause harm, he couldn’t stop her. Reluctantly, Ammon stepped aside, silently inviting the woman into his home with a welcoming hand.

  “Sit,” Ammon gestured to a bench in front of his fire pit. “It is cold. I will light a fire.”

  The witch didn’t object, sitting in silence as Ammon started a fire. Ammon kept a wary eye on her at all times while he moved around the room. Ammon sat across from the late-night visitor once the fire was up, his brows furrowed, his eyes guarded in the flickering firelight.

  “How did you find me? And why are you here?” Ammon asked directly.

  The healer countered, evading the question by shifting the topic. “Next week, there will be an inquest, a trial for the murder of your fellow hunter. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Ammon nodded, wondering how she knew these things. That this old woman seemed to know more about him than he knew about her was not lost on him. Somehow the hag knew his name, occupation, and where to find him. More witch’s tricks! he thought.

  “I will be there with you,” she said convincingly, still smiling.

  Ammon’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “It will not be safe for you. There will be a fight. I can help you.”

  Ammon tensed. He didn’t like what she said but knew she was probably right. I know Riordan and his sons well enough to know they may never forgive the death of one of their own. Jotham’s death was unavoidable, he got what he deserved, but that changed nothing with those people.

  I can’t fight them all by myself; there are too many, and they are too strong. Nor can I expect help from Hethe and Abiah; they know what would happen to them if they fought beside me. Riordan and his men would make quick work of all of us. The truth is, I am on my own and probably doomed!

  “Why would you want to help me?”

  Now it was the witch’s pale blue eyes that narrowed. “I want you to return the favor by helping me afterward. Also, it will no longer be safe for you here any longer.” Then she added, “And I think you know why.” But now the smile was gone, replaced by a mask of foreboding.

  Ammon looked away as he considered her words. I can’t argue with her, he thought. It would probably be better for me if I walked away now and just kept walking. Jotham’s family is not going to care about the truth. They will want to avenge the blood and will not stop until they have it. Although having a witch at my side has a certain appeal. Ammon brightened at the possibility.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “You and I, we have the same problem; neither of us are safe. Although, we could keep each other safe—in different ways.”

  “You are the Cailleach Bhéara—a witch. Your magic will keep you safe,” Ammon scoffed.

  “I am not a witch,” she fired back, her brow furrowing. “However, I cannot help what others think of me. In some places, they burn witches. Don’t you see? I cannot stay awake all the time—and I don’t have eyes in the back of my head! We can help each other by working together.”

  “I think you are a witch,” Ammon huffed, avoiding admitting he had seen her magic just hours before her unexpected arrival at his door.

  “It’s easy to call someone a witch when you don’t understand them,” she objected. “Is the wind the work of witches? You cannot see it or touch it, but you see and feel its power, and yet you do not blame the wind on the work of witches. Do you?”

  Ammon remained silent, listening and thinking as Valerie went on. His eyes searched her features, exploring her eyes for signs of sorcery but finding no visual or verbal queues.

  Valerie continued. “What force pulls you to Earth when you fall? Can you see what pulled you down? When you hit the ground, do you blame the fall on witches?

  “Those powers are invisible, you cannot see them, but you know what they can do,” she reasoned. “You do not understand them, but you do not deny they exist nor call them the work of the spirits, do you? Maybe you saw something I did and did not understand it, so you call me a witch. Do you call everything you don’t understand the work of witches?”

  Ammon winced as he considered her argument. Her words cut deeply, made him feel stupid, but he saw her point. Maybe I was too quick to call her a witch, he thought and felt a twinge of guilt for it. She was also right about his safety. Right or wrong, innocent or guilty, none of that would matter when Jotham’s brothers came after him in force. And they might never stop coming until they decided Jotham’s death had been properly avenged. His gut told him that was more likely to oc
cur than not. Ammon felt cornered with no way out.

  Stories of witches being hunted and killed were commonplace. He supposed she must also be right about her own safety. He didn’t have to look far for an example, either. Jotham was ready to kill the woman based merely on suspicion until he put an end to it. Ammon decided to take a chance and throw his lot in with the woman.

  “Enough. What would you have me do?” he said, frustration evident in his tone.

  “Protect me. You protect me, and I will protect you, then we both can be safe.”

  “I see, and if Jotham’s brothers surround us?”

  “I nuke all of them.”

  Ammon looked puzzled. “What is ‘nuke’?”

  “Sorry. I meant I would destroy them if necessary.”

  “You can do that?”

  “If necessary, yes,” the witch said calmly, her hands working swiftly under the blanket. Suddenly her eyes were black as obsidian, reflecting flames from the fire like a pair of oval mirrors.

  “I must see this ‘nuke’—show me!” Ammon cried as he pulled the big hunting knife from his belt and in one swift motion, threw it straight at the witch’s heart. The knife flew true but stopped inches from her upraised hand—the right hand, the one wearing five dull copper rings on all four fingers and thumb. And then the knife dropped safely to the floor with a clatter.

  Ammon gasped, his mouth hanging open. “I see,” he said, his eyes fixed on the big knife. “I needed to know if what you say is true.”

  “Consider yourself nuked,” the witch laughed.

  “How did you know I would do that?”

  “Your heart spoke to me, and I heard it. Healers do that; we listen to hearts. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that you would make a valuable partner, and you just proved it.”

  The witch’s hands moved under the blanket again, then the blackness in her gaze dissolved and was blue once more. Although Ammon had agreed to work with her, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Would the arrangement she proposed be more than a simple security partnership between them?