Witch Path

Chapter 4

     You frown. Of course, you've seen all manner of weather in this forest, but something about this heat feels... wrong. You pause by a brook that's uncomfortably warm. Still, better than the shade. You try to focus.

     It could be the work of another, more powerful witch, but there's really no point for a witch to waste her talents with difficult weather magic just to screw with you. The only other witch you've met was the one you learned witchy things from, and you parted on good terms.

     The weather could be natural, but you doubt it.

     The last possibility, the one you were hoping against, was it was an omen. Heat like this could mean plenty of things, but for a witch, it meant heartbreak was coming. There had been a massive heatwave before the last witch-hunt a hundred years ago, and in your lifetime, the night before your father died.

     Your heart seems to slow. The only source of heartbreak for you, the only thing you care about in this quiet world, is your forest home.

     Your feet carry you swiftly the way you came. The hot air seems to part before you like water around a rock. The instinctual part of your magic surges to the surface, lightening your steps and sharpening your hearing. Relics from long ago, but helpful. They're the reason you hear the crackling before reaching the ring of oaks.

     Your home is burning. Scorching air slams into your body as you pass under the blazing oak branches. You cough, pressing one hand to your mouth and trying to wave the stinging smoke away from your eyes. You can't see your hut, never mind a way to stop this nightmare. Your vision grows hazy.

     You realize almost too late that you're about to pass out and throw yourself beyond the ring of oaks. Panting on all fours, the blaze to your back, you feel hot tears welling in your eyes. Your life, on fire...

     Your hands clench into fists. Your home isn't ash yet.

     You reach out to the dying spirits of the oaks and begin chanting. They respond, eager to give the last of their lives to protect the rest of the forest. Waves of heat continue to break over your head, but you carry on. You must.

     The trees sway, slowly rocking themselves from their ancient roots. Your chanting drops lower. With a thunderous groan, every oak in the circle falls inward, throwing sparks into the air. You hear stone give way as whatever was left of your hut collapses. Leaves reach out, overlapping until every trace of flame is smothered. You stagger to your feet and climb among the smoldering leaves, stamping out the final, inconsequential fires.

     The smoke begins to clear.

     You stare at the mess of fallen, blackened oaks and let the tears fall. Stumbling, your dress ripping on the stray branches, you find a patch of ground and press your hands to it. You listen. You hear the rustling voices of thirteen oaks. You hear birdsong, from the family of sparrows in your rafters. They were so scared as they died. You hear—no.

     Papago is gnawing on the bones from last night's dinner. The hut is slightly cooler than outdoors, so he crawls under the witch's bed to nap. Footsteps outside, the sound of liquid being poured. The door opens. A sharp, overpowering scent. Papago is barely out from under the bed when he's clubbed over the head. Through his daze, the fox watches a figure break the lock on the ornate chest on the table and take its contents. The figure leaves. A minute passes. Smoke reaches Papago's nose. He tries to rise but can't. He watches the flames slide under the door.

     You scream and recoil from the ground. Your burnt hands clutch at your heart as you sob. Tears run down your face, into your mouth, wet the ground. Your heart feels like it has been smashed.

     Time passes, and the heat begins to fade from the air. From the husk of your home.

     You slowly get to your feet. Who did this? Who dared do this?

     It was senseless.

     You know where they must live. Your face turns in the direction of the village.

     Something tugs on your senses. A presence that's always been with you. For a moment a cruel hand squeezes your heart as you think of Papago, but it's something else. The amulet. Your eyes widen. Was it broken in the fire? Heart pounding, you try to think, as you did with the heatwave omen.

     If it was broken, there would be a portal to the underworld beneath your feet. So, no. But the question was, where was the amu—Papago's vision. The murderer took the amulet from the chest. Why? Your eyes narrow. You're still deciding what to do when you find this person, but you do need the amulet back.

     Every witch has one. Breaking it opens a portal to the underworld, and as long as it'sunbroken, the link to your powers remains. Commoners sometimes think they contain a witch's soul. In a way, it does. Perhaps you've come across a witch-hunter.

     In that case, they may not live in the village, but they're certainty based there now. Which means you need to act fast. Decision, decisions...

Question the forest creatures (Go to Chapter 11)

Go to the village (Go to Chapter 12)

Sleep (Go to Chapter 13)