Chapter 2
An awful spell of rain confined Carwyn within the village for two additional days.
Given that she didn’t wish to grow sick simply due to stubbornness, she stayed despite the itch to move on. Although she, like most witches, enjoyed the exhilarating sensation and how it invigorated her magic with the elements, she stayed by the warmth of the fire.
Too many people attempted to speak with her.
Some out of boredom, others out of loneliness from their own travels.
She often grew dismayed by the attempts at courtship from men when she wanted nothing more than to be left alone with her meals.
They approached her as she ventured through the village in search of supplies when the downpour temporarily reduced to a light drizzle.
She was young, pretty, and alone.
The corners of her mouth quirked whenever she gave them a taste of her sister, Valerie.
Sure, Carwyn had a few mean bones in her body when she needed it, but Valerie’s particular twist of cruelty came in remarks that often left people scratching their heads, unsure if they’d been complimented or subtly offended.
That confusion provided her with time to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t get her harassed on her exit. A simple “no” could often lead to trouble, even if she was just expressing her right, and too much kindness caused other alarming issues.
She’d learned through her other older sister, Aldora, just how much the word no mattered little to some. Something she hoped never to face herself.
Even more so with her empathic abilities.
When the rain permanently ceased, she was able to leave from the other side of Coldbourne’s gates to head further southwest.
With her belly full, her body well-rested, and her bag restocked with supplies, she set out on her path once more.
She followed the road she intended to exit at a marking her sister had informed her of in the past. Forests lined either side of her, confusing the matter of when she should disembark into the brush.
I would’ve been terrified to undertake this journey if I hadn’t accompanied Valerie in the past. Carwyn wasn’t the greatest at reading maps, and she would’ve gotten hopelessly lost. There are so many markers. And so many times she was required to backtrack because she missed one.
She kept her gaze vigilant along her path for a particular, odd-shaped boulder that appeared like a rabbit lying down.
From there, she’d need to go around the snowy mountain peak she could see jutting out from the horizon.
She had to be careful of which way to go, as following it too far west could lead her to the edge of a cliff wall that descended into the ocean.
It’s likely many dragons live that way. A great reason to avoid the area, as she didn’t want to face such troubles.
She came across a boulder that kind of looked right... if she squinted her eyes and tilted her head a little. She paused at it while chewing the inside of her cheek for a long while. Why can’t there just be signs? Why did things have to be so complicated and obscure?
Then again, a sign saying “witches this way” would be rather moronic. She chuckled at the ridiculous notion.
Deciding it wasn’t correct, she stepped to the side to move on.
A stick snapping in the distance drew her attention behind her. On the very path she walked along, much further back and around a bend, a hooded figure’s head bobbed between tree trunks. Then the top of another peeked into view.
Carwyn threw herself into the brush. Hiding right next to the road, she lowered behind a large decomposing log. On either side of her, she delicately reached out to the leaves of the surrounding shrubs and spoke a quiet chant, and they grew to shield her further.
She’d rather be behind unknown travellers than in front of them, especially when they journeyed further along the path and she could make out that there were three of them.
They were quiet. She was unsure if that was because they were following her or just due to the nature of the companionship.
Surely not, Carwyn thought, peeking through a gap in the leaves as they drew closer. This is a road. It’s not unusual for there to be multiple travellers. From what she could tell of their approaching faces, there were two men and a woman. I’m just being paranoid, she told herself.
But it was always better to be safe than sorry.
I’ll just let them pass and–
“Stop,” one of the men commanded as he flung his arm out, whacking the chest of the other man. They ceased their movements in tandem... right where Carwyn had been standing not even five minutes ago. Staring at the road, he squatted while rubbing his shaven chin. “The little miss’ tracks end here.”
Carwyn rolled her eyes, and the desire to sigh was nigh overwhelming. Not again. This was one of the reasons she hated stopping in towns. So my gut was right.
Once more, she was pretty and alone; apparently easy pickings for the vile dregs of society.
“Which way did she go?” the woman asked, drifting her gaze around the area.
Do they intend to rob me? They’d come up short. She barely had any coins on her, and most of her magical ingredients weren’t worth much.
“I’m unsure,” he answered, turning his sight towards the bunny-she-wasn’t-seeking boulder to his left, and then in the direction she’d jumped to hide. “Fan out. She couldn’t have gone far, and it’s doubtful she knows we’re following her.”
As quietly as Carwyn could muster, she unslung her bow and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She nocked it but waited to pull the string so its creaking wouldn’t give away her location.
Her heartbeat was only slightly elevated, normal in such a tense situation, but held steady. She took a deep, calming breath, let it out, and prepared her next one as the woman neared her.
In this life, it’s either me or them. She, like all her family, had learned a long time ago it was best to be rid of an ugly situation than sit in it for morality’s sake. If they sought to harm, then she saw no reason why she should care for their well-being. They made their choice.
And hers would no doubt protect many others. Those who might not be as strong and determined as she was.
Carwyn stealthily rose to her feet while pulling her bowstring taut under the cover of a sharp gust of wind that rustled leaves.
Instead of bending in the woman’s direction, she twisted around the other side of the tree.
She muttered the words she needed, those that imbued magic into her arrow, and lined up her shot with the back of the man still standing in the middle of the road.
As she released the string, the feathers brushed along the tips of her fingers, tickled across her cheek, and the arrow darted through the air.
“Uck,” was the sound he made as it speared through the back of his neck, through his throat, and the sharp stone came out of his mouth. He palmed his chin while dropping to his knees, coughing blood and gurgling around the wooden intrusion before falling onto his stomach.
Carwyn had just enough time to reach for her dagger as the woman rounded the tree trunk and struck out with a sword.
She blocked it, redirected it to the side, and obtained a new arrow to hold in her fist so she could stab it into the woman’s thigh.
She let out an ear-splitting yell, and Carwyn used the opportunity to put distance between them.
At the same time, she chanted once more, calling upon the small, intricate roots beneath the woman to dart through the damp earth and capture her feet.
Just as her boots were about to touch the dirt road, Carwyn squealed when a ball of green fire shot past her head.
She ducked, eyes wide, and drew her stark gaze towards the lone man remaining.
He stormed through the forest on the other side of the road with his hand lifted in readiness to conjure another.
“She’s a witch!” the woman yelled as she tugged her feet from her earthy binds, just as Carwyn was thinking the same about them.
The man, his face peppered with a short beard, sneered. “Only means she’s more valuable.” He conjured another green flame to float above his powder-coated hand, and the substance he was using made it stronger than hers, larger and hotter. Wrong. “Witch hearts sell better.”
At least that’s a preferable reason to wanting my body.
She’d rather be dismembered for parts than the alternative.
He threw the fireball and Carwyn conjured her own white flame.
She caught his within hers, giving her the ability to grab it midair, spin, and throw it back at him.
His eyes grew wide right before it smacked him in the chest and threw him backwards.
It engulfed his torso long enough to singe his clothing but quickly died.
The woman roared as she sprinted at Carwyn, the blade of her sword glinting with a purple sheen – poison, or perhaps even a curse – and Carwyn drew her own sword.
She blocked it while reaching into the hidden pocket of her skirt and pulled out a handful of dust. She threw it at the woman’s face, and she screamed as the grit of nightshade scratched into her eyes.
It gave Carwyn the opportunity to focus on the other threat just as the ground beneath her turned to ice and captured her feet. A shard of ice flew towards her, and she didn’t have the ability to catch or redirect it. She ducked backwards, narrowly avoiding it, and gasped as she fell onto her arse.
She threw her gloved palm towards the ice, and a white flame quickly pushed out, melting it enough to work a foot free so she could break the other one out.
Then she dived for her bow while retrieving an arrow, spoke the same chant as before, and aimed for between the man’s eyes.
She released it, then quickly grabbed a second and repeated the action.
As if he expected her to shoot, he incinerated the first arrow with a chuckle, only for his expression to pale when her second one cut through the fading flames. It speared him right in the forehead, her arrow true, her wood strong, and her stone sharp – just as her spell dictated.
The woman blindly swung her sword now, her vision temporarily impaired, unless she was incapable of healing such a wound.
When she couldn’t find her target, she squeezed a vial of blood until it was smeared across her palm.
A bone fragment dangled from her wrist, and it sparked with yellow lightning before a zap of electricity shot from the tips of her fingers – and into a poor tree.
Carwyn silently tsked.
“I will get you for this! Dante! Help me! I can’t see.”
Which one was that? Carwyn wondered, tilting her head. Should I tell her he’s dead? No. It was better to remain quiet. This battle was over, and she’d barely broken a sweat.
Such were the ways of a prepared Faerydae child. She had her sword, her bow and arrow, and pockets full of defensive magic. Not to mention her arsenal of spells and incantations that enhanced the deadliness of a weapon, even if white magic couldn’t destroy by itself.
Carwyn loosened her hold on her sword, twirling it before gripping it tightly again in readiness.
“Dante?!” the woman screamed, releasing another zap of lightning that was nothing compared to the great and terrifying Strolguil the Vast.
Carwyn crept forward, waited for the woman to turn, then placed her other hand under the rounded pommel of her sword to give her shove strength as she ran the blade through her final attacker’s midsection. The woman’s cloudy eyes grew stark, and she gasped in surprise, horror, and pain.
“Witches like you are what is wrong with the world,” Carwyn said without emotion, without anger – only truth. “Your own actions caused this.”
She twisted the sword slightly as she withdrew it, and blood splattered against the dirt when the tip of her blade flicked back.
The woman collapsed to her knees, and Carwyn’s expression was bored as she stepped out of the way. The woman clutched her bleeding wound, gasping and shuddering as crimson began to seep from the corners of her mouth. All of this death and destruction was deserved – even the woman’s pain and fear.
But there was one thing about Faerydaes: they weren’t cruel, even to the evil. Carwyn slashed her sword sideways and slit the woman’s throat in mercy, offering her a quick death.
Then she stepped back and assessed the three corpses. She sighed with her shoulders falling. What a mess.
Carwyn crouched to go through the woman’s belongings, searching for anything safe she could add to her collection of trinkets and concoctions. She also pilfered any coin the woman had, then did the same to the two men.
Before she continued on her journey, a little wearier and her coin pouch heavier, she left behind a note for all those who followed after.
A ‘W’ painted on the dark witches’ foreheads in blood, letting all know that they were evil and should be disposed of freely.
They would never go back to their dragon ancestor in death, not with their filthy, cruel hands tainted by corrupt magic, and they didn’t deserve a proper burial.
Nor any pity.
Better than being burned at the stake, though, she thought, once more resuming her hunt for the boulder that looked like a sleeping bunny.