Read Online The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson - Free Book Online Page B

eyes off the Darkwood. Martha had been watching her ever since the night she’d returned from the forest. Her eye was keen, and Immanuelle knew that the punishment would be swift and painful if she was ever caught wandering the woods again. So she kept her gaze trained on the floor of the wagon, her hands clasped in her lap.
    By the time they arrived at the cathedral, most of the congregation was already gathered in fellowship on its lawn. Immanuelle hopped out of the buggy and scanned the crowds for Leah, but instead her gaze found Ezra, who stood with a few boys hisage and a gaggle of girls, including Hope, Judith, and a few of the Prophet’s other wives.
    At the sight of Immanuelle, he nodded by way of greeting. She waved in turn—conscious of the way Judith and the rest of the girls studied her as she did—and escaped into the shadows of the cathedral. There she found Leah kneeling at the foot of the altar in prayer. At the echo of Immanuelle’s footsteps, she opened her eyes and turned to face her.
    Leah was a vision, draped in white, her hair hanging so long it touched the small of her back. She broke into a smile and sprinted down the aisle, catching Immanuelle in a fierce hug.
    They held on to each other in silence for a long time.
    This was to be the end of them, the end of what they’d shared in girlhood. Somewhere amidst the passing years, Leah had become a woman and Immanuelle had not, and now the two of them would be split apart.
    “You look like the bride of a prophet,” said Immanuelle, trying not to sound as sad as she felt.
    Leah beamed and gave a little twirl, the pale skirts of her cutting gown billowing, light as fog. She’d hand sewn them from chiffon months before her wedding, working through the night by candlelight, stitching the verses of the Prophet’s Scriptures into her underskirts, as was custom for young brides. Her feet were bare and clean, her hair parted down the middle. About her neck was a new golden holy dagger much like the ones the apostles wore, though its blade was dull and much shorter. She toyed with it a bit as she spoke. “I thought you’d never come. I was worried.”
    “Our mule took his time,” said Immanuelle.
    “Well, I’m glad you’re here now. I need you. For strength.”
    “You have me. Always.”
    Leah reached out to grasp Immanuelle’s hand, her fingerscold. She studied the bandages. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
    “I wasn’t planning to.”
    “Well, I want to know and you can’t refuse me because it’s my cutting day. Out with it.”
    Immanuelle gazed down at her boots. “I was burned as a punishment.”
    “It was Martha’s doing, wasn’t it?”
    Immanuelle nodded, not looking at her.
    “She’s too hard on you. Always has been.”
    “This time, the punishment was warranted. Believe me.”
    Leah frowned. “What did you do?”
    Immanuelle stalled, half ashamed, half afraid to tell her. “I went into the Darkwood. My ram broke free of his tether, fled for the trees. I tried to follow him, but night fell fast and I got lost. I was going to give up, wait until morning to find my way home again . . . but then I heard voices.”
    “And what did the voices say?”
    Immanuelle faltered. “They weren’t saying anything I could understand.”
    “So they were . . . foreigners ?”
    “No. I don’t think so. It’s just that the sounds they were making, they weren’t words at all. It was just whimpers and moaning.”
    Leah looked very pale and very sick. “What did they look like?”
    “They were tall, very thin. Too thin. And they were lying together in a glen in the woods, embracing the way a husband and wife might.”
    Leah’s eyes went wide. “What did they do when they saw you?”
    Immanuelle opened her mouth to tell her about her mother’s journal but stopped short. It was better for the both of them if she bit her tongue. She feared she’d said too much already. After all, in a short while Leah would be the