24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Greya
“Okay, so the agreement is twelve bottles of soil enhancer in exchange for the four pigs and twenty bags of milled wheat you brought with you, is that right?” Greya asked, looking up at the middle-aged mortal man from Northumbra standing before her desk.
“Yes, that’s correct,” he agreed respectfully.
Greya recorded the intended transaction in her record book, which was illuminated by a fresh candle beside her.
“And also,” the man continued politely, “we do intend to trade this year’s corn crop as well, but it will be later than usual. The field itself, with all the new seedlings, was completely burned week before last.”
“Oh, Gaia,” Greya said, looking back up at him in shock. “How ever did that happen?”
“You didn’t hear?” the man asked, his wrinkled brow lowering. “It was daemons, you see. They took what was left of our overwintered food stores and burned the field behind them to aid their escape.”
“Daemons, you say?” Greya asked, shocked but not surprised.
This was the third attack she’d heard of in as many weeks.
Cole was clearly sending daemons out in force, just like Steig had predicted, though what their goal was—other than to steal and cause chaos—she wasn’t entirely sure.
But they were bolder than ever before—not even attempting to hide, especially now that word had spread that their Powers worked against witches.
Greya knew that witches weren’t supposed to get involved or intervene—fighting was not their way, but…to stand by and do nothing while mortals suffered felt wrong too.
So last week, she’d sent Steig a message.
When she’d let him go, he’d agreed to spy for her, and pass her information that might help the witches to minimize harm from daemons, and now, she was calling that in.
But whether he would deliver remained to be seen.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Greya said to the man. “Please let us know if you require anything else in the meantime to get the crop restarted.”
He nodded at her. “Thank you, Greya, I’ll do that,” he said gratefully.
A knock on the altar room door interrupted them.
“Come in,” Greya called.
Perse peeked his head in, making pointed eye contact with her, letting her know something was up.
“Sorry to interrupt my love, but Jon and Aria would like to speak with you,” he said, not sounding particularly pleased about it. What was this about?
“Okay, you can send them in. We were just finishing up here,” she said, turning back to the mortal. “I’ll see that one of the other witches brings you the potions first thing tomorrow morning,” she said, effectively dismissing him.
He nodded again, and thanked her, before making his way out.
Within seconds of him leaving the room, Perse entered, followed by the two Auster witches, who seemed agitated.
“Jon, Aria—what’s going on?” she asked.
“There was another attack—in Northumbra this time. Did you hear?” Jon said in a rush as he approached her desk. He was older, in his late fifties, with graying hair, but seeing as he was the Coven’s chief builder, he was still very fit and healthy.
“I did hear. Sounds like quite the tragedy,” Greya said, suddenly worried about where this was going.
“And you think we should just stand by and do nothing? After what they did to our Coven?” Jon asked, getting visibly worked up by the second.
“I’m not sure,” Greya said, wanting to hear his thoughts on the matter. “You think that we should intervene somehow?”
“I do,” Jon said staunchly.
“And I explained to him, that that is not the witches’ way,” Aria chimed in.
She’d been silent as Jon spoke his piece, but the older woman seemed quite agitated herself now—which was not unusual for her.
Aria was a sweet woman, but she often expected the rest of the Coven to follow suit, simply because she was an elder.
“We should not intervene and put our people in more danger.”
Greya listened to her as well, because the truth was, she saw both sides in this matter.
The Coven was hurt—and incredibly angry—after the attack in the Sacred Grove.
For some, it had stoked their fear and hatred for daemons, and for others, it had made them want to become even more insular and isolated.
Despite what she’d told them about the binding spell and the witches’ part in it, it hadn’t changed much, not since daemons were still such a threat.
But Greya had chosen a different path—and she hadn’t necessarily run it by the other witches first.
“I hear you—both of you—and your concerns,” Greya said, taking a deep breath. She needed the Coven on board with her if she was going to be successful in the long run. “But if I am being honest, I think a different path is necessary—one that protects us, but is still proactive.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Aria asked, her wrinkled brow wrinkling further.
“The daemon—the one we held here—” she began.
“You mean the one you let go,” Jon interrupted bitterly. Half of the Coven had been glad to be rid of the daemon in their company, and did not desire more bloodshed, but the other had been upset to learn that he’d been released, unpunished for his involvement.
“Yes, that one,” Greya said, not backing down. “I haven’t told the Coven yet, but he’s agreed to spy for us—for our Coven—and feed us information. He is a daemon who does not desire this level of conflict. He wants to channel Gaia’s will, and eventually overthrow their king.”
“What?” Jon asked skeptically. “And you believe him?”
“I do,” Greya maintained.
“Well then, where’s this information? Have you heard anything from him that could help us?” Jon asked combatively.
“Not yet,” Greya answered, feeling her resolve falter ever so slightly. It was one thing to have promised to pass on information while he was here, it was another to actually do so.
“We should stay out of daemonic affairs entirely!” Aria exclaimed, placing her hands on Greya’s desk in emphasis. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by working with them, but they cannot be trusted.”
“As I explained,” Greya began patiently, “I hope to pave a new way—to help those who want a different path to overthrow their king, so that violence is reduced, if not eliminated. It does not have to be this way, but it takes courage to change.”
She could tell Aria was not buying it, and she wasn’t the only one. It was hard to get the entire Coven on board to do anything, let alone change their entire dynamic with daemons.
But she had faith—she had to—and she’d keep trying until she was blue in the face.
“I don’t know about this, Greya,” Jon expressed.
“I have heard both of your concerns,” Greya responded with finality. “And they have been noted. I am sure this is not the last time we will discuss it. However, for now, I feel we must stay this course, and see what comes of it. Can you both agree to that at least?”
The witches eyed each other, and then her.
“I suppose,” Aria grumbled.
“And you, Jon?” Greya asked when he did not respond.
“Not for much longer, Greya,” he said, and it sounded like a threat. “I need to protect my family.” Then he turned on his heel and walked dramatically out of the altar room.
Aria looked after him, tsking, before turning and making her way out as well.
Greya sighed as they left, looking over at Perse, who had been watching silently during that entire exchange.
“Well, that was no fun,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t,” Greya agreed, rubbing her forehead.
“I think they’ll come around—in time,” Perse said soothingly, coming to rub her shoulders.
“Maybe,” Greya said. “But only if my daemon spy can deliver results. Only if they can see that we can work with some of them—trust some of them—to figure our way out of this mess. But my fear is…what if he doesn’t? What should I do then?”
“You’ll do what you need to, what Gaia guides you to,” Perse said with confidence.
He always had so much confidence in her, and it buoyed her ever so slightly.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, stopping her shoulder rub and reaching into his pocket.
“This message arrived for you—brought by a messenger from Aquilo.”
Greya took the folded and worn piece of paper from him. Was it a message from Northe? Or a mortal desiring a trade? She wasn’t sure she had the energy to process either of those right now, but she opened it nonetheless. It was her duty after all.
The ink on the paper was dark, and the paper ripped, as if it had been taken off of a larger piece. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, and there was no signature at the bottom. In fact, there was just one word—the name of a medium-sized village, located halfway between Aquilo and Ternan.
Invale.
Greya looked up at Perse, who’d begun tidying things on her desk for her.
“What is it?” he asked, noticing how serious she’d become. “What does it say?”
“I think it’s from the daemon,” she said. “It just has the word Invale written on it.”
“Invale? What do you think that means?”
“I think that’s where the next daemon attack will be.”
Perse went silent, letting this sink in. “He actually came through.”
“He did,” Greya said, sounding just as surprised as Perse did.
“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked.
Greya paused for a second, thinking. She did not want to risk her people in a direct altercation, but she could…
warn them. Tell the mortals to temporarily relocate, or to hide their goods.
She wasn’t sure exactly what the daemons would be after, but Invale mostly specialized in breeding goats, so if they conveniently took their herd far out to graze soon… maybe they might get lucky.
Greya took out her inkpot and quill to write with, and a fresh piece of paper.
Who knew if this was the right thing to do, but right now, it felt like the only thing to do. Her Coven was in turmoil—split—and the mortals they tried to help were under attack. She had to do something, and if Steig had risked himself for this information, then she needed to use it.
She was pleased, and excited, to actually have intel that could help, but in the back of her mind, she wondered…
how long could she forestall these attacks?
Would it even be enough? With the king still in power, there was only so much she and Steig could do.
How could she protect them all until he could be removed? And when would that be?
She didn’t have the answers, but she also didn’t have a choice. She had to see this path through, and trust that things were always darkest before the dawn.