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Authors: C. S. Friedman
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sickly sweet smell filled Hedda’s nostrils as she picked her way down the hill, closing the distance between them.
Stay back , Hedda thought. Her hand tightened on her knife.
And then the girl was directly in front of her. Those strange hooded eyes locked on her own, transfixing her. Such darkness in those eyes! Such hunger! Their form and color was human, but their substance was something very different. An alien madness, nameless and terrible, seemed to shimmer in their depths.
“Stay back,” she whispered. Suddenly very afraid.
The world began to spin about her. She tried to draw her knife from its sheath, but it fell from her hand and clattered to the ground beside the basket. She heard the sound as if from a distance. Too late, it occurred to her that she must have been bewitched. She should have grabbed up the basket and run away while she’d still had the chance, she realized.
It was too late now.
She tried to scream, but her voice would not come. She tried to run, but her body would not obey her. She tried to pray, but the gods did not respond
Stay back!
The world began to fade around her. Colors seeped out of the landscape like dye bleeding out of a wet garment. A sudden wave of vertigo overcame her, and it took all her strength not to be sick. And then—
The sky overhead was clear and blue.
The girl was gone.
Blinking, Hedda swallowed back on the sour taste in the back of her throat, trying to get her bearings. A breeze gusted briefly across her face, chilling the film of sweat on her skin. Every muscle in her body ached, as though she had just run a long distance.
Weakly, she raised herself up on one elbow. She must have passed out and fallen. Some yards away, the pile of laundry she’d been working on was nearly dry now. Hours must have passed since she had lost consciousness.
The basket was a few feet away from her. Thank the gods she hadn’t landed on top of it and crushed the baby! Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she reached out and pulled it toward her. Her hands were shaking as she did so, and she muttered an apology to her poor child for leaving him alone for so long. How hungry he must be!
Then she looked into the basket, and her heart froze in her chest.
Her son was gone.
She could see the hollow place where he had last rested. If she lowered her face to that spot, she could still smell him there, his scent intermingled with that of her Ladyship’s sweat. But there was another smell there as well, foreign and foul, that made bile rise in the back of her throat.
She turned away just in time. Waves of sickness wracked her body, and she vomited beside the basket. Horror and loss were expelled in a gush of foul-tasting liquid, again and again, until finally her body—like her soul—was empty. Then she lay on her side on the hard, cold granite, wrapped her arms around her chest, and began to shiver violently, as if winter’s cold had descended upon her. She was so lost in spirit now that she no longer knew where she was, or even exactly what had happened . . . only that a part of her soul had been stolen away from her and she did not know how to go on without it.
Later, when her mind could function again, she would think about following the girl’s trail. Later her husband would remind her that a skilled woodsman would know what signs to look for, and if an ordinary man couldn’t find them, then a witch certainly could. They’d find the money to hire one, somehow. He would promise her that.
For now, she simply wept.
Chapter 4
T
HE LAND stretches out in all directions as far as the eye can see. Dry earth, cracked and gray, crumbles to dust beneath Colivar’s feet. Here and there a tiny sapling has taken root, but only precariously; the narrow leaves, thin and dry, curl defensively beneath the blazing sun.
Kneeling in the dirt, he struggles to tend to the saplings. Now and then he pours water over one of them from the wooden bucket by his side, but it is
Stay back , Hedda thought. Her hand tightened on her knife.
And then the girl was directly in front of her. Those strange hooded eyes locked on her own, transfixing her. Such darkness in those eyes! Such hunger! Their form and color was human, but their substance was something very different. An alien madness, nameless and terrible, seemed to shimmer in their depths.
“Stay back,” she whispered. Suddenly very afraid.
The world began to spin about her. She tried to draw her knife from its sheath, but it fell from her hand and clattered to the ground beside the basket. She heard the sound as if from a distance. Too late, it occurred to her that she must have been bewitched. She should have grabbed up the basket and run away while she’d still had the chance, she realized.
It was too late now.
She tried to scream, but her voice would not come. She tried to run, but her body would not obey her. She tried to pray, but the gods did not respond
Stay back!
The world began to fade around her. Colors seeped out of the landscape like dye bleeding out of a wet garment. A sudden wave of vertigo overcame her, and it took all her strength not to be sick. And then—
The sky overhead was clear and blue.
The girl was gone.
Blinking, Hedda swallowed back on the sour taste in the back of her throat, trying to get her bearings. A breeze gusted briefly across her face, chilling the film of sweat on her skin. Every muscle in her body ached, as though she had just run a long distance.
Weakly, she raised herself up on one elbow. She must have passed out and fallen. Some yards away, the pile of laundry she’d been working on was nearly dry now. Hours must have passed since she had lost consciousness.
The basket was a few feet away from her. Thank the gods she hadn’t landed on top of it and crushed the baby! Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she reached out and pulled it toward her. Her hands were shaking as she did so, and she muttered an apology to her poor child for leaving him alone for so long. How hungry he must be!
Then she looked into the basket, and her heart froze in her chest.
Her son was gone.
She could see the hollow place where he had last rested. If she lowered her face to that spot, she could still smell him there, his scent intermingled with that of her Ladyship’s sweat. But there was another smell there as well, foreign and foul, that made bile rise in the back of her throat.
She turned away just in time. Waves of sickness wracked her body, and she vomited beside the basket. Horror and loss were expelled in a gush of foul-tasting liquid, again and again, until finally her body—like her soul—was empty. Then she lay on her side on the hard, cold granite, wrapped her arms around her chest, and began to shiver violently, as if winter’s cold had descended upon her. She was so lost in spirit now that she no longer knew where she was, or even exactly what had happened . . . only that a part of her soul had been stolen away from her and she did not know how to go on without it.
Later, when her mind could function again, she would think about following the girl’s trail. Later her husband would remind her that a skilled woodsman would know what signs to look for, and if an ordinary man couldn’t find them, then a witch certainly could. They’d find the money to hire one, somehow. He would promise her that.
For now, she simply wept.
Chapter 4
T
HE LAND stretches out in all directions as far as the eye can see. Dry earth, cracked and gray, crumbles to dust beneath Colivar’s feet. Here and there a tiny sapling has taken root, but only precariously; the narrow leaves, thin and dry, curl defensively beneath the blazing sun.
Kneeling in the dirt, he struggles to tend to the saplings. Now and then he pours water over one of them from the wooden bucket by his side, but it is
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