Chapter 9 Alaric #2
Destin ran his hands through his dark hair, looking around to make sure nobody was listening.
Then he leaned in again. “They said not to make eye contact or she’ll put a curse on you.
They say she worships darkness and lives in the woods alone.
Some said she’s beautiful, but if you get too close she’ll kill you. ”
“Someone else said she fled from Moanalei,” added Thatcher. “And she’s hiding from Sereth.”
“Sereth?” I blinked. What was Malia hiding?
But this is nonsense. I lived with her for days now and she did nothing but help me, serve me, and help me heal.
Yet, glancing at Thatcher’s cut, I knew Malia was not safe. She had to be warned.
My closest friends frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said my cousin.
Not a ghost. Pieces began coming together.
Malia.
Two children she once housed.
The burn marks…
It had to be them.
And they were coming for her.
I stood, the pain in my side severe from the sudden movement, but I had to go. The kids could be anywhere.
“So they’re going after Malia?” More a statement than a question.
Destin swallowed. “They didn’t say her name specifically, but they said she lives in a cottage in the woods not too far from here. Calls herself an herb witch. So…” He nodded. “I don’t know any other witches around here.”
Fear cut through the exhaustion like a blade. “I have to find her.”
She needed to be warned. No, protected until I could talk to Sereth or the twins myself.
“You have to find those twins and detain them until Sereth gets here,” I said. “I don’t care what she ordered them to do. Take care of the crew, and I’ll meet you back at the inn once I know Malia is safe.”
Destin frowned. “Are you going back?”
“He loves her, can’t you tell?” Thatcher teased. “Why don’t you just marry her, Alaric?”
“I don’t love anyone,” I snarled, the words tasting like a lie on my tongue. “She’s just a loose end that needs tying.”
I shoved past them, ignoring Thatcher’s smirk and Destin’s furrowed brows, and headed for the forest. My pulse pounded like the surf in a storm. Every moment wasted was another chance for the twins to reach her first.
As I passed the booths, I kept an eye out for a dagger to purchase. Before I left, Destin threw me a bag of coins.
Smart man. Always thinking a step ahead.
This was good.
I’d make sure Malia was safe, and I could repay her.
But first… a weapon.
Unfortunately, this was one of those quaint coastal towns. Peaceful. Artistic.
Wooden and shell jewelry sat out on display. Glass art and painted canvases stretched out amongst the booths. Koa bowls waited to be bought.
There are no weapons here… And even if there were, it’d be a hefty price. I should’ve asked Destin or Thatcher if they had a dagger I could borrow, or look in our stores if we had any extras.
The banyan trees stood like wooden statues. They reached towards the sky, yet their roots and branches dangled off like skeletal fingers, taking root in the ground again.
I kept scanning the crowds, wondering if I might see the twins or the dark haired witch.
As soon as I told her, and made sure she was safe, I’d go back to the inn, stay with my men, and return to Moanalei. This whole thing would be a deal of the past.
The assassin and ambush situation would hopefully resolve itself too.
I walked through the banyan trees, finding a group of children at play. They held hands and danced in a circle, with one child in the middle. They chanted:
Ring around the banyan tree,
The witch is coming—count to three!
One, two, three!
When they finished counting, the child in the middle tried to reach out and grab the hand of someone in the circle.
I’d never heard the chant before or seen this game.
But I knew who they spoke of, and it angered me. Had anyone tried to get to know Malia?
The children began another chant.
Hide your brothers, hide your sisters,
Or Malia will make them dinner!
“Some say she ate children,” a voice quietly said behind me. It was a woman, selling flowers at her booth, who gossiped with her customer.
“I heard she found herself a whaler,” another said.
“Maybe she put a spell on him,” said another.
“How can she place a spell when she can’t even see him?” The women snickered and I glared at them.
Anger welled up in me.
I have to find her.
The walk back nearly killed me. Each step pulled at the wound in my side, but I kept going.
Through groves and tangled paths and gullies washed from rain. Malia’s cottage rose like a mirage through the trees.
I barely managed a knock before the door swung open and her eyes widened in alarm. “Alaric?”
Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying.
“Malia…” I leaned against the door frame, exhaustion tearing me down.
“They’re coming,” I rasped. “The twins. I had to—” My vision swam, and the world tipped.
I felt her arms catch me. Felt her warm, vanilla scent envelop me.
And then everything went dark.
When I came to, I was on the settee, a blanket over my shoulders and the scent of herbs thick in the air.
The smell of soup filled the cottage and when I stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, I found Malia back to her usual self, humming and cutting a mango. Her head was turned slightly, and she held the mango at an odd angle while she scooped out the insides.
Then she noticed me there and jumped. Again, she never met my eyes, but, instead, turned her head slightly, as if she were gazing at me from the side of her face, to look me up and down.
“You clean up nicely,” she said.
“Thanks.” I rubbed my chin, feeling a little self-conscious and hoping I didn’t miss any spots while shaving.
“Would you happen to have a dagger I can borrow?” I asked.
She gave me a side look. “Why?”
“To protect you.” I quickly added, “And me. In case someone attacks.”
She paused, placed her finger on her lip, as if thinking, then nodded and brushed past me, her arm touching my chest as we both somehow fit in the kitchen doorway.
“Is that why you came back?” she asked, taking my wrist and leading me to her room. She had a humble bed with an old, ratted quilt. A little nightstand sat next to it, made of old wood scraps. A lantern sat on top of a stack of books. But something else caught my attention: a small wooden ship.
The sides of it were worn and smooth, as if a child had played with it for years. Was it Malia’s…
Or the children's toy?
The twins…
She looked under the bed, then let out a sigh. “It’s so hard to see.”
“Let me help,” I said, kneeling.
“It’s in the chest with a golden lock.”
The light was dim, but not terribly so. I found it easily.
Malia slipped a key from her apron and opened the chest, handing me a dagger.
It did not come from someone living on the streets.
It contrasted the poverty-like cottage around us.
Instead of bland colors and outdated designs, the golden dagger hilt was bejeweled.
The sheath was made of the finest leather and embedded with dazzling jewels.
I pulled it out, noting just how shiny the blade was.
It had never been used.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father gifted it to me when I was a little girl. Said I should always keep it in case someone tries to hurt me.” She shrugged as she continued preparing food. “Discovered quickly that I wouldn’t need it. There are worse ways to be hurt than with a physical weapon.”
Ouch. I watched her for a moment, the internal struggle waging.
I need to warn her.
I followed her. “The twins are coming after you, Malia. You need to–”
“I know, Alaric.” She didn’t cut me off often. “It’s none of your worry. So why don’t you just enjoy a meal before heading back to your crew, alright?” Malia touched my arm, looking at me in her strange way. “Thank you for warning me… I had a feeling they’d find me.”
“Why, though? What did you really do to them?”
“We can talk later.” She returned to preparing food.
I hesitated. She was set on not talking about this now.
So…
“Can I help in here?” I asked, almost… embarrassed. I was a whaler.
Didn’t do domestic things like this.
Yet, I felt I needed to.
I wanted to.
I owed her so much.
“Sure.” She motioned for me to cut a pineapple. We worked in a content silence, something that was… different.
Much to my surprise, I liked it.
When Malia passed me to check on the soup boiling over the fire, she hesitated next to me, then leaned closer.
“What are you doing?”
“You smell like the sea.” Her voice was thoughtful.
I raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“I like it.”
I stared at her, watched the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. She wasn’t even looking at me, just lost in her thoughts. She continued humming and returned to whatever she was doing, and I realized this is what was killing me. She was fascinated by me, and it was showing. Could this mean…
I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to the pineapple. I’d never cut one of these before, but, because she didn’t say anything, I assumed I was doing it right.
I was used to fileting fish or skinning a sea animal, not cutting fruit.
“Here, try this. I think it’s missing something.
” With spoon in hand, Malia blew on it before reaching up and putting it into my mouth.
It was such a foreign move, I froze. I wasn’t used to being fed, wasn’t used to being a kitchen, wasn’t used to having a pretty girl care about my opinion on such a domestic topic…
“Too hot?” Her eyes went wide.
“No, no…” And that’s when I realized the soup was shockingly good. Something about this simple act of someone making something for me was messing with my brain and heart.
“So? How is it?” she asked, her voice eager.
I suddenly wanted to walk away, to get out of here. What was happening to me? Something inside of me was… healing. I was being fed, not just physically.
“It’s…” I was so distraught and delighted by these new feelings, it became overwhelming. “It’s very good, Malia.”
Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door, as if someone knocked in haste. Instinctively, I grabbed the hilt of the dagger and stood in front of her. “I’ll get it.”
She nodded and followed me.
I opened the door. A woman stood there, eyes wide. For a beat, she just stared.
Then,“Is the witch here?” she asked, frantic.
“I’m here,” Malia said, brushing past me. “Samantha, right?” How did Malia know the woman’s name?
Then it hit me.
She cared about others, knew about the people in the village. But they only shafted her.
It made my insides seethe with anger, and all I wanted to do was prove to everyone that Malia was not a bad person. She was not the villain.
The woman clutched a basket. “Yes. I don’t have coins, but I brought these.” She lifted the lid, revealing baked goods, fruits, and vegetables. Her hands shook. “I’ll pay what I can later. Please—”
“What’s wrong?” Malia’s voice softened. Like she’d done this before. Probably had.
“My son. He cut himself on the reef a few days ago. Now he’s burning up. The doctor said there’s nothing more we can do.” Her voice cracked. “Please. I don’t know where else to go.”
“Wait here.”
Malia slipped past me into the kitchen. I followed.
She moved fast, already gathering bottles, tins, small cloth-wrapped bundles of herbs. “I’ll be back soon,” she said over her shoulder. “The soup’s nearly ready. Just stir it now and then. Let the fire die low. Eat something. Rest.”
There was something in her tone. A motherly gentleness that I hadn’t felt in years.
Felt like family. And maybe something more.
It twisted something in my chest.
She loaded her basket quickly, then paused and looked up at me.
There it was again—that strange way she saw me. Like she wasn’t quite looking at me… and yet, somehow, she was.
“He likely has an infection,” she said. “If I get this to him fast enough, there’s still a chance.”
“Wait,” I said, grabbing her arm. “Those twins are out there–”
“Alaric.” She slipped her arm away and squeezed my hand. “I’ll be fine. You need to rest. We can talk later.”
And then she was out the door, her words trailing behind her like wind. She talked to Samantha as she walked, explaining things to the woman who hurried to keep up.
I stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. Watching her. The way she moved. Purposeful, calm, certain.
They called her witch.
But all I saw was someone who helped without hesitation.
Her hair caught in the breeze as she walked down the dirt path. And then she turned.
She waved.
No one had ever waved to me before.
I stared, caught off guard. Then I lifted a hand and waved back.
And just like that, I knew.
I was starting to care.
And I shouldn’t.
I was a whaler. A huntsman. I lived at sea.
And, unfortunately, that life didn’t leave space for this.