Chapter 59
Avice
Avice was ice cold.
She could not open her eyes to see where she was. Her limbs were so frigid that she thought she would never feel warm again. But then, gentle heat spread to her fingers and toes. A soothing voice reached her ears. Suddenly, her face and neck were wet, and she thought she may have been crying.
Avice wept.
Deep wailing sobs wracked her body. She dropped to her knees in front of Agnes’s funeral pyre.
It burnt in the cottage garden. Her Great Aunt had been a force of Nature.
Then, she had sacrificed herself for Father Richard by pulling power from Bramble to heal the old priest’s heart.
Dear, sweet Bramble sat beside Avice now as she wailed.
He snuffed at her face and whimpered along with her as she mourned.
Forgive me, he begged. I could not say no to her.
Avice – being a Gardener woman – could always vaguely understand the Grim, but now his voice was clear as a bell in her mind.
She should have been surprised by that, but there was only the drowning loneliness.
That deep overwhelming isolation that plagued all women who were too wild, too different, and too witching for the order forced on them by the church.
She covered her face with her ash-stained hands.
The soot and salty tears smeared across her pallid skin.
Avice cried until there was not a drop left within her.
Agnes was all she had left. She lived with and learned from the elderly woman all her adult life.
They had shared meals, gathered plants, and pressed together in the pallet in the coldest nights.
Now, she was gone.
Avice… Bramble snuffed at her ear. Please forgive me.
She dropped her hands and sniffled. “You are a good boy,” she croaked. “I do not blame you.”
The Grim lapped away her tears, smearing more soot across her cheeks. I know you will miss her, but you will always have Ashling and me.
Avice rubbed her red eyes. “I will? How?”
Ashling chimed and rose from the pyre. He insisted on managing the fire that would send his witch through the Shimmering Veil. He cooled his flames and perched on Avice’s outstretched hand. He flickered from blue to purple and back again.
Avice pinched her face at him. “I am sorry, I still cannot—”
A drop of your blood, Bramble explained. We will be bound to you like we have been to the Gardener witches before you.
“It is that simple?” she asked.
We must be willing, the Grim said, and we are both willing.
Ashling chimed his agreement and warmed her with his light.
“So, we will not be alone?” she asked. “We will all have each other?”
Of course! Bramble whuffed.
Ashling pealed his agreement.
Avice did not hesitate. She bit her sooty finger, hard enough to draw blood. She pinched the bleeding skin with her teeth, and quickly dripped her blood onto Ashling’s flames, then smeared the rest on Bramble’s wet nose.
She sobbed again. Happy tears this time. Weeping rivers into Bramble’s fur as she clung to him. Her dress front quickly became soaked, and her sweet, new familiar lapped away the tears that gathered on her chin.
Avice knew she was not alone.
Avice was soaked.
Every single part of her was drenched.
Then the water was in her mouth. It was sweet, and strangely warm. Not like the ice cold or tepid water she was used to drinking.
She swallowed it down and slipped back into a dreamless sleep.