Chapter 12
MERCY
Silas' hands wander up my sides as we walk, teasing and though the urge to give in an allow him to ravish me, again, is tempting, the sun drops ever lower behind the trees and I am anxious to be home.
"You are insatiable, Silas Cohen. We are already late." I shoot him a pointed look.
"You know what they say about idle hands, Mercy. I simply cannot be found responsible for these uncontrollable urges," he smirks, supremely pleased with himself and the scratches my nails have left on his newly minted skin.
"Yes, well those urges have turned a half day's journey into a full, so come now. We must make haste."
He allows me to pull him along behind me without further protestations, but his steps slow a fraction, as though all the love making has suited another purpose as well. Then he speaks, and the fears in his heart are made known.
"What if she does not like me?" Silas asks, somber and serious. His hand is warm in mine, the last remnants of sunlight dancing over the lighter tones of his locks, but there is a nervousness to him that has me halting our steps in the middle of the wood.
"She is going to love you," I assure him, knowing in my heart the words I speak are true. I search his eyes, see the worry and hesitation there.
"You have spent the last day telling me how close the two of you have become in the last three turns.
..I worry how my presence might affect that dynamic.
" He frowns, eyebrows knitting together.
"When I found Molly, she was not in a good way.
She was frightened and traumatized and then I left her in the wood, promising I would return for her.
And I did not." His voice falters, and I know that he wears that guilt, heavily. I cup his face.
"You led me to her. Your talisman showed me exactly where to find her, Silas. We speak of you every day. I have shown her memories of your face, your kindness. In many ways, you are at the disadvantage, for she knows you already."
A muscle in his cheek jumps as the barest grin ghosts his lips.
The rarity of Kindred is a marrow deep, divine connection.
We feel each other, our souls connecting and recognizing kind, the urge to care and protect a natural mandate.
Even in the short time Silas spent with Molly, she imprinted herself on him as she did I.
Still so young, so uneducated in the ways. ..
"She does?" His voice is hopeful. I smile, give him an encouraging nod.
"She is excited to see you. It was she, who grew the gourds and plants that brought you to life," I inform him, and he looks impressed, for a moment.
"Surely not all the components?" His mortification sends a snort from me, and I shake my head, body rocking with laughter.
"No, the squash was all my doing," I assure.
"Thank Hells," he mutters, and we walk, closer to home with every step.
"She lived in a cottage on the edge of Hawthorne land while I set the Cast these last turns, but I did not want her near tonight in case things turned foul.
" Silas nods as I speak, lapping up every word, hungry for more knowledge.
His eyes twinkle with pride, the bursts of green and the hazel around the middle a tapestry of color no memory could compare.
His fingers brush a lock of my hair behind my ear, his touch tender and grounding as we approach the home Silas built for us many turns ago, when this new world was newest.
Before the dream, before Molly, before the threat of more Witch Trials.
We walk in silence, and I allow him space for his mind to adjust to the changes of our realm.
In many ways, he has awoken to a new life, now a parent, if not in the traditional sense.
But having Molly in my care these past turns, even though we lived so long without her, has colored my memory.
I could not imagine our future without her.
"What is she like?" he asks, and I consider.
"She has come to her own quite beautifully, but she remains shy, still contemplative. The scars she bears are more than physical, but she learns her craft more and more every day. To begin, she can heal herself, now." He listens with rapt attention.
"Tell me, does she like to hunt? What is her affinity?"
"Plants, as we surmised, but she is also very good at piercing through the Veil, which can be tricky for her to navigate.
Sometimes she does not know if with whom she speaks exists in this realm or another," I reply, recalling the instances of confusion in markets that left me having to weave over the minds of mortals on-looking her conversations with air.
"But she learns, and she grows. There will be much for you to teach her. "
We round the last bend of the flowing river that juts through the land our home is built on and I feel the Wards prickle over my skin as we cross the barrier.
The trees grow thinner as we leave the wood behind and a sense of rightness settles over me.
The ground underfoot is softened by a barrier of pine needles and browning copper leaves that crunch lightly under the pads of my feet.
Silas exhales a deep sigh of relief as the cottage comes into view, nestled in a copse of trees he cleared.
Walls of timber and stone, each lovingly laid by his own hands, the sloped, thatched roof in decent repair even with his absence, a testament to his craftsmanship, shedding curls of smoke from the chimney.
I watch him take it all in, eyes darting to the familiar bones of the place, catching on the abundance of changes too.
The once barren soil I tried and failed for many seasons to cultivate swells with abundance.
Pumpkins fat and orange sprawl across the earth, vines twisting and tangling with gourds of yellow and ghost white, marrows and cabbage heads peppered throughout.
Sprigs of fresh herbs, rosemary and thyme and clove spills over the little wooden fence in fragrant clusters, catching on the gentle wind, filling our senses.
"Beautiful," he notes, crowding against my back as we take the cobbled steps to the slats of the front door, a wreath of woven ivy and rowan berries crookedly hanging in greeting.
Above it, the sigils carved by my hand, a combination of Algiz, Thurisaz and Othala, are seared into the threshold, creating a powerful bind rune of familial protection.
Countless times, Molly's fingers traced over the rough edges, committing each of the Elder Futhark to memory.
Algiz, the shield.
Thurisaz, protection against threats.
Othala, invoking the power of our ancestors.
I pause, turning to look over my shoulder at Silas, "You should know, we had to turn your woodworking room into her room," I wince, but he does not look the least bit vexed.
"Somehow I will find the will to carry on," he laughs, until my hand pushes the door open and the smells of stewed meats and vegetables mingle in the air. Behind me, Silas hesitates over the threshold, but I tighten my grip, urging him onward. He follows, subdued for man of his large stature.
"Molly?" I call.
"In here!" she responds, her voice light and airy.
If I did not know better, I would wonder if she had a little of the fair folk in her but alas, she is all Kindred.
We pass through the short hall, and as with the exterior of the cottage, every bit of this house has been transformed by touches of her.
Bundles of drying herbs are tied to the steps of a hanging ladder near the window, little stone jars and clay bowls filled with acorns and polished chestnuts for Casts and offerings.
The little kitchen bustles with the pops of liquid boiling in the iron cauldron heating in the fireplace, and beside it on the hearth stands Molly, cheeks pink, her blonde hair longer than last he saw her, body strong and hearty now that she eats proper meals.
"Molly, I would like you to meet Silas..
.again." He shuffles beside me, fidgeting, eyes landing everywhere but on her.
She swallows, waits patiently for him to speak and when he does not, my elbow finds purchase against his ribs.
He hisses, giving me a reproachful look, fingers massaging against his injured bones.
"You look well," he manages, the words thick, sticking in his throat. Her nose pinks, green eyes swimming with emotion as relief floods through her.
"Silas," she cries, and then she is off, tearing across the room, feet flying over the wooden floor.
She launches into his open arms, and he scoops her close, holds tight as she sobs against his chest. His arms curl around her carefully, large hand cupping the back of her neck as he rests his chin over her crown and soothes with whispered assurances.
Her body shakes, the sobs wracking through her frame and he accepts them all, takes them onto himself.
He saved her life. Sacrificed his own to ensure she had a chance to live, and that bond is sacred.
Seeing them together, I know that he would do it again, without hesitation, no matter the cost.
Molly's hand reaches out, beckoning me closer and I go to them, press my body against her back, stroke my fingers through her hair, respecting and holding onto the gift of this Harvest. Her people honor this time as Samhain, for us, Alfablót and though we are from different roots, we grow together in solidarity, our branches reaching and shading one another.
We are Kindred, and now, family.