The Wood Witch's Daughter Read online

  Copyright © 2020 The Wood Witch’s Daughter

  Written by: Kate Seger

  Published by: Copper Canopy Press

  ISBN: 978-1-952665-90-5 Paperback

  ISBN: 978-1-952665-91-2 Ebook

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction, All characters, organizations, and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  For All the Dreamers.

  There is always hope. If only because it is the one thing we haven’t figured out how to kill… yet.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: A Bittersweet Melody

  Chapter 2: The Queen Of Nothing

  Chapter 3: Beyond The Veil

  Chapter 4: The Skylord

  Chapter 5: Where The Lost Are Found

  Chapter 6: A Rude Awakening

  Chapter 7: A Hard Bargain

  Chapter 8: The Cost Of Loss

  Chapter 9: The Accursed

  Chapter 10: Kiss Of Fate

  Chapter 11: Watching And Waiting

  Chapter 12: The Plan

  Chapter 13: The Night Garden

  Chapter 14: An Invitation

  Chapter 15: A Touch Of Blackberry

  Chapter 16: The Morning After

  Chapter 17: A Call To Arms

  Chapter 18: The Journey

  Chapter 19: The Aftermath

  Chapter 20: Not So Grand Entrances

  Chapter 21: Unravelling

  Chapter 22: Elven Magic

  Chapter 23: The Rune

  Chapter 24: Failed Diversions

  Chapter 25: Origins

  Chapter 26: The Unbinding

  Chapter 27: The Falling Sky

  Chapter 28: The Bound And The Broken

  Chapter 29: The Reckoning

  Chapter 30: New Markings

  Chapter 31: Flee

  Chapter 32: Connection

  Chapter 33: Catatonia

  Chapter 34: The Time Draws Nigh

  Chapter 35: The Best Laid Plans

  Chapter 36: The Valley Of Heroes

  Chapter 37: Rendevous

  Chapter 38: Missing In Action

  Chapter 39: The Heat Of Battle

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  “In the beginning there was one Realm, and one rule -- the Great Mother Xennia’s. For eons there was peace between Elven and Mankind. Then came the Fae, with their Courts and their hierarchy, their precious bloodlines. They enslaved the gentle Elves and the frail Mortals.

  The Elves, wielders of the most powerful magic, foresaw the bloodshed that lay ahead and created the Veil. When the Great War came, as they knew it would, they divided the Realm. On one side of the Veil, Onerth haven of the Mortals. On the other, the Ethereal Realms, a land of rampant magic ruled over by the tyrannical Fae Courts.

  Two Courts stood with the Elves when they rose against the Courts: the Dreamers, who believed in the Elven goal of one peaceful realm, and the Sky Fae, ever their allies.

  Resistance was futile, their defeat was written in blood on the walls.

  The Court of Dreams fell, their lineage and that of the Elves ended in one fell swoop. The Sky Fae avoided utter annihilation but paid a steep price. Only the Mortals, safe in Onerth were spared the yoke of the Fae coalition’s fury.

  This is the tale that the Courts of Shadow, Fire, Sea, and Earth would have you believe. But it is not the entire story. There is a prophecy that says that the Legion Queen will come to unite the three races of the land in harmony once again.

  The time draws nigh when all must choose a side.”

  ~The History of the Lost Folk

  By Múirgan Vivane

  CHAPTER 1

  A BITTERSWEET MELODY

  The high keening sound of a woman singing mingled with birdsong and the low drone of insects. Something that did not belong, altering the melody of the primordial Greenwood. Arianette Gracelilly lifted her head, listening. She rose, following the sound, moving deftly through the underbrush, darting between the broad trunks of white birch and elm trees.

  Approaching the glade, she saw a striking woman in the opulent black robes singing in the clearing. Her skin was darker than was common in Onerth, luminous, and flushed. There was an unearthly quality about her, an aura that made it clear she was not some local peasant.

  The part of Arianette that still clung to childlike dreams hummed to life. Was this woman, perhaps, one of those spirits she had long sought in the forgotten depths of the Greenwood? But no, that was a child’s fancy and she was a woman grown now. This must be just a traveler, visiting the Greenwood to witness the Rite.

  Arianette stepped out from behind the trees and into the copse.

  “Lady, it is not safe to venture this far into these woods alone. It is said that spirits haunt them, and there are wolves to worry about. May I be of aid to you?” Arianette asked the stranger.

  The woman jerked her head up and met Arianette’s questioning gaze with wide-set almond shaped eyes, dark as a predawn sky.

  “Ah, Wood Witch. I hoped that we might stumble upon one another.” The woman’s voice was melodic as a nightingale’s, carrying the rolling accent of a foreign tongue. Arianette took a few hesitant steps closer. No matter how long she gazed at the woman, she couldn’t seem to get a clear glimpse of her features. But then, the dappled light of these woods had always played tricks on the eyes.

  “My mother, Amabella, was the Wood Witch of this land. But she is gone and I fear I am a poor replacement. Do you have some injury that needs tending?”

  “Inseoidh an aimsir,” the dark woman said with an unreadable expression.

  “I’m sorry? I don’t understand—” Arianette began, though the language sounded familiar. The woman cut her off with a fluttering motion of her hand.

  “It makes no matter, child. The night will bring answers,” she said, with an odd little smile. “I shall see you at the night fires.”

  The woman turned away from Arianette and walked deeper into the Greenwood.

  “Wait,” Arianette called after her. “Who are you?”

  The cloaked woman paused, turning to look back.

  “My name is Lorna, Lorna Blackburn,” she said. Arianette was sure she caught a mischievous glint in the woman’s eyes before she turned and strode off. Her form was lost amid the elongating shadows and towering trees, not even a footfall in her wake.

  S

  The woman in the wood tugged at Arianette’s mind even as she made her way back to her cabin. She took the long way home, following the deer trail that skirted around the town proper, rather than the major thoroughfare. The town would be bustling with folk preparing for the Rite and she would rather avoid the masses. She had never had her mother’s effortless way with the villagers. They mistrusted her magic, modest though it was, and Arianette sensed it whenever they chanced to meet.

  She reached the split where the path and the road merged into one. A few villagers were already making their way towards the western fringes of the forest, preparing for the evening’s festivities. Arianette smiled, half-hearted, at the folk as she passed. They met her smiles with indifferent nods.

  All but one.

  A bent and bowed old woman with skin like crumpled paper froze in her tracks as Arianette passed by. She stared at her, disgust contorting her features.

  “You smell of the other side. You smell Fae touched, girl. Beware the Veil tonight,” the woman hissed at her. Arianette blinked, a chill running down her spine. The woman passed by, hissing as she h
obbled down the road. She made the sign of the Goddess Xennia surreptitiously in the air as she went. Only when her form was small and distant did Arianette recover enough to continue on her way.

  A wave of relief washed over her when the familiar sight of her cottage came into view, but she could not shake the dread that had settled over her.

  The old woman had said she smelled Fae-touched… and this was the night of the Rite, when the Veil between the realms was at its thinnest. Could it be that the strange women in the Greenwood had been from beyond the Veil? Arianette replayed the events of the afternoon in her mind. One thing continued to nag her: the woman’s name. Lorna Blackburn. Blackburn. Blackburn. It repeated like a chorus in her head, until at last it dawned upon her.

  Arianette leapt to her feet and ran over to her pallet, digging around beneath it until she found what she sought; an illuminated book. Swirling ink on the cover proclaimed it to be Tales of the Fae. Such books were rarer than rare. Arianette still did not know how her mother had procured it, but since the day Amabella had given it to her on her twElfth name day it had been a prized possession. Arianette had always been preoccupied with the Fae and the world beyond the Veil. What others found terrifying, she had always found enchanting.

  She flipped through the pages, pausing at the chapter headings for each Court. Earth, then Sky, Fire, then Sea. Next came Arianette’s favorite, the Court of Dreams. Now, though, she skimmed straight past it. She was seeking shadow, not light. What was in a name? Certain names had power, and the one Lorna had uttered stuck in her mind as familiar.

  Because, she realized, she had read it half a hundred times.

  Arianette traced her fingers along the illustration. COURT OF SHADOWS- RULER - HOUSE BLACKBURN, the inscription beneath the image read.

  She sat, fingering the book, lost in thought. Outside, darkness was gathering in the Greenwood. She watched the orange light flickering as the night fires were lit. Smoke wafted through her window. She should remain here, she knew, safe within the walls of her cottage. The Veil was thin and it seemed a Faery from the Shadow Court might very well be lurk. But it was as if something out there in the woods was beckoning her, calling her forth to learn what secrets the night held.

  Giving in to curiosity, Arianette rose and flung her cloak over her shoulders. She paused a moment at the threshold, as Amabella’s words rang in her mind. It seemed her mother’s ghost shared the room with her.

  “The night fires are not for us. We are Wood Witches. We have a special connection to the natural powers and that makes this night a danger to us. We serve as a beacon when we venture too close to the fires. Those on the other side of the Veil might see the spark of our magic and seek to claim it for themselves. We dare not risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

  But her mother was dead and gone, and whatever lay in wait in the forest, the call was too strong for Arianette to resist. She stepped outside, following the narrow trail from her cottage towards the forest. Smoke rose, darker and more acrid now, as the fires raged higher and burned hotter. Despite the warmth of the midsummer air a shiver crept down Arianette’s spine. She folded her arms across her chest as she walked, pulling her cloak around herself. Tonight, everything about the forest felt strange to her.

  The eerie energy only grew more intense as she moved deeper into the woods. She was not sure where she was going. It was as if a powerful sixth sense was leading her. The deeper she went, the quieter it grew as she left behind the rising crescendo of the villagers’ fervent prayers to Xennia. The quiet seemed only to magnify the intense pulse of energy in the atmosphere. Everything seemed taut, including Arianette’s nerves.

  She smelled cedar and herbs burning; verbena, willow weep, Sadie’s tears... and something else. These were not the traditional herbs burned during the Rite. The air was laced with an overwhelming ephemeral aroma.

  Magic, Arianette realized and froze, heart pounding.

  She pressed her body against the trunk of a tree with bark so rough and gnarled that it bit through the thin cotton of her rough spun frock. Of course there was magic here, she reassured herself. It was the night of the Rite. Wasn’t the purpose to celebrate and reinforce the magic that sealed the veil?

  But this was not the magic of the Xennian Priestesses. This magic was raw, visceral, not the earth magic Arianette was familiar with.

  She crept forward until she reached a small clearing. The dark cloaked form of Lorna Blackburn stood at its center. She was motionless, but for her lips. Strings of words in a strange tongue poured from her mouth. Arianette moved towards Lorna’s black silhouette, outlined against the backdrop of fire.

  As she drew up beside her, Lorna shifted towards Arianette, her black robes falling away from a slender arm ringed in elaborate swirling tattoos. They appeared to be glyphs, but Arianette had no time to study them because Lorna seized her by the hand. Her long nails bit into Arianette’s calloused palm. She winced, but did not pull away as Lorna’s chanting grew louder.

  The language seemed to grow even more familiar as the chant went on. It wasn’t as if she’d heard it before… not exactly. It was more like the words and melody were ingrained in the fiber of her being.

  And then Arianette felt her own voice welling up inside her throat and forcing its way out. The strange words poured from her mouth, but the chant did not sound like two voices in harmony. It sounded legion, a hundreds of voice weaving an elaborate melody.

  A Fae melody…

  “The veil between the worlds slips on the night of the Rite,” her mother’s voice whispered again in the back of her mind. “Do not draw attention to yourself.”

  Too late.

  The smoke grew ghastly thick and Arianette’s eyes watered, her vision blurring. Her tongue was numb, but still she continued reciting the words. The world seemed to recede and slip away. There was only the fire and the words.

  Then Lorna released Arianette’s hand and grew silent. All was quiet but for the roar of the flames. Arianette turned to Lorna, eyes wide. A dozen questions died on her lips when she saw Lorna’s grim expression and gritted teeth, wavering in and out of focus.

  It was not a human face at all.

  Before Arianette stood the glimmering visage of a Shadow Fae, struggling to hold onto her human glamour.

  “You know the words, Wood Witch. Stolen child of the Fae. The Legion Queen, promised in the prophecy,” Lorna murmured, speaking again in her accented common tongue.

  Arianette backed away, a panic rising inside that threatened to choke her. Lorna’s face was an impassive mask, but her movements were lightning quick. She did not step so much as shift, melding with the shadows and reappearing at Arianette’s side once more.

  “I am very sorry for this, Arianette Gracelilly,” she whispered. “But it is time to return to the Ethereal Realms.”

  Then she shoved Arianette, hard, with her inhuman Faery strength, sending her hurtling headlong into the blue tinged night fire.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE QUEEN OF NOTHING

  Though her name was written all over the annals of history, Muírgan was no one now. She was a whisper of a memory; spilled ink on the pages of time. Still, her words had the power to shift the worlds – Mortal and Fae – and her creatures slithered through the swamps, took to wing in the skies, and skulked through the forests.

  It was her words and her wings that had led the shadow sorceress to the girl. It was a shame Amabella had sacrificed herself in vain trying to hide the girl. Muírgan could have used the Wood Witch. But no matter. What was done, was done, and Muírgan dared not meddle with blood magic to bring Amabella back. She could have done it. She had the power to restore life. But such spells were messy and had notoriously mixed results.

  “Aciperre,” Muírgan whispered. The winged form of a falcon stirred the air, landing beside Muírgan. A shadow detached itself from the bird and in its place stood a long limbed Elven
man with feathery hair the hue of dried leaves and large owl round eyes.

  “She has crossed the Veil, my lady, and is in the Sky Court. Though I will say, your words caused some confusion.” A little smile toyed at the corners of Aciperre’s lips. Muírgan sighed and gazed heavenwards.

  “Oh they always do, especially with the Fae. They’re so literal. And they’re terrible translators.” Muírgan flicked her wrist. A cluster of vines sprouted from the ceiling above her, draping down over her throne. She toyed with them as they coiled around her arm.

  “Yes, well, the shadow conjuror lured her to the night fires and shoved her in. Apparently she misunderstood that part about burning.” Aciperre could barely contain his grin. Muírgan’s eyebrows shot up and her laughter twinkled out like bells.

  “They never make things easy for themselves, do they?” Aciperre crowed.

  “That they do not,” Muírgan agreed. “You have done well in this, Aciperre. There will be a place of honor for you by my side when we burn the Courts and forge our unified realm.” Muírgan’s verdant eyes glittered. The fresh vines ensconcing her throne unfurled, twining themselves upwards around Muírgan’s torso. She touched one and a tiny bud sprang open into a large white lily. Muírgan sniffed it, smiling serenely.

  “And when will that be, my Queen of the realms?” Aciperre asked, eager.

  “Hush, don’t call me that. Not even here. One never knows where eyes and ears might be. I am the Queen of Nothing,” Muírgan hissed. She liked the ring of that. It would not do for the Fae to learn that their ‘prophesied one’ was an Elven queen seeking to restore the Old Ways. No, that would not do.

  Muírgan was content to be the Queen of Northing.

  For now.

  “The Dreamer sleeps still. The Legion Queen’s powers are bound and she has no memories of her life on this side of the Veil. I was with Amabella when the girl was born. I have seen the chart of her stars. She is fated for star-crossed love. We must watch and wait. An opportunity to claim her will present itself in time.”