Home > Witching Fire(8)

Witching Fire(8)
Author: Yasmine Galenorn

“You must walk,” the guard said.

I glanced at her. “How long have you worked for the Banra-Sheagh?”

She hesitated, then said, “For as long as I can remember. Time moves differently here, when it moves at all. I have always been a guardian of the realm. I will always be a guardian of the realm. That is my existence.”

I thought about asking her what she did for fun, but I had the feeling my query wouldn’t be appreciated. And she probably wouldn’t even understand the question. I was quickly getting the feeling that the Banra-Sheagh’s guards were almost automatons. I watched them as we walked along the trail. They moved in sync—they strode along in rhythm. Even their subtle head movements were aligned. They didn’t look alike, but I realized that none of the other guards had spoken. Were they some sort of hive mind creature?

“What are your names?” I asked.

Without a blink, the guard who I had been talking to said, “We are guardians of the realm.”

The others said nothing. In fact they didn’t even seem to acknowledge I had asked them a question.

“But do you have a name? I’m Raven—”

“Yes, you are Raven.” The guard turned her face forward again and I realized the conversation was over.

Kipa and Phasmoria were behind me, but the two guards who weren’t flanking me had interjected themselves between us. I wanted to drop back to talk to them, but one glance at the guard who was willing to talk to me told me that it was better I didn’t try.

The night was cold—the wind blowing past us in a constant stream—and I was grateful I had put on boots and a coat. The snow was up to my shins, and it was so crisp that when I stepped into a fresh patch, it crackled like thin ice, shattering into small poofs.

I had no frame of reference for how long we had been walking. My muscles weren’t sore, but then again, I could walk for a long time without hurting. I wasn’t terribly cold—I had chosen one of the jackets I had charmed into being perpetually warm. No matter how cold it got—within reason—I would stay toasty. I had begun making similar jackets for my friends as well. Or rather, I would ask them to bring me one of their jackets and I enchanted them. I wasn’t exactly good at working a sewing machine, and I didn’t even try to pretend. I had once attempted to make a poncho for Raj, and it had ended up looking like a potato sack.

As we approached a thicket of tall fir and cedar, I shivered. I didn’t relish the idea of walking into a forest during the night, in a realm that I wasn’t familiar with. I wished I had tried to memorize the position of the portal—then again, Kipa was here, and my mother, and both could dimension shift if necessary. I tried to relax as we ducked under the boughs that were bowing, laden with snow.

The moonlight was so dazzling that it splashed through the trees to light up the forest.

Once inside the woodland, the noise level increased. Here, the wind blew through the limbs of the trees, howling as it rattled against them. And noises from all sides bombarded us as we trudged along. The sound of creatures rushed through the undergrowth, and beneath it all, I heard a heavy beat that reminded me of a heartbeat. I could also hear our breathing in the brittle cold, but as I listened, I realized that the Banra-Sheagh’s guards weren’t breathing. I squinted at the guard to my right.

Her chest neither rose nor fell, and I realized there was no puff of white in front of her face like there was in front of mine. She wasn’t breathing. For a moment I panicked—thinking that somehow a group of vampires had interceded and they were leading me into some sort of trap. But then I shook it off. Vampires wouldn’t go to this trouble for me, for one thing. And for another—I didn’t have a problem with any vamps, not that I knew.

I was debating whether to ask why they weren’t breathing when we emerged from the forest to yet another clearing, long and narrow like a spit of land.

Up ahead, across another barren field filled with snow, stood a vast structure. It looked like it was made out of sticks and thorns, and it was the size of a football field, but the proportions seemed out of sync, and every time I looked at it, I saw something else, as though it had shifted once again. I wondered if it was actually blending and changing right before our eyes. Was it alive? Was it in another realm of its own? Confused, I looked away because watching it gave me a headache.

“The palace,” the guard said, shattering the silence that surrounded us. Her voice hung in the air, echoing faintly, before it was snatched away by the wind.

“Is that where the Banra-Sheagh lives?” I asked. “It’s hard to look at.”

“That’s because the palace lives in the realm of Chaos. You must—all of you—listen to me and obey my orders lest you harm yourself or your friends when entering the palace.”

I glanced over my shoulder, trying to see Kipa’s and Phasmoria’s faces. Neither of them, however, were standing close enough to the moonlight for me to see.

“All right,” I said. “What do you have to tell us?”

“When you enter the palace, do not step off of the center tiles. Three tiles wide are safe. We will go ahead of you and behind you to keep watch. If you try to run, you’ll step into the territory of the shadows. The shadow demons are living, breathing creatures and they are hungry. If you step into their space, they will drain you dry without a second thought and we won’t be able to help you.”

My stomach lurched. “What if we accidentally stumble?”

“Then you pay the price,” the guard said. “When we come to the doors, enter behind us and keep silent until you are spoken to. Even you, Lord of the Wolves. You may be a god, but this is not your territory, and while you cannot be killed, you can be taken prisoner. The goddess Arianrhod is the patron goddess of the Banra-Sheagh. You don’t want to provoke a war with the Lady Arianrhod.”

Kipa said nothing. Neither did my mother. I glanced back at them and Kipa gave me a tight shake of the head, a warning look darting across his face.

“Anything else we should know?”

“Do not attempt escape. Again, you would be overwhelmed by the shadow demons, and no one would step in to help.” The guard fell silent again.

My stomach was tied in knots by now, and again I wondered what I had done to warrant this level of treatment. That my mother didn’t know, either, was disturbing. Phasmoria was usually on top of everything. I wondered if the Morrígan had said anything to her, but the best course of action seemed to indicate keeping my mouth shut.

As we approached the structure, I caught my breath yet again. It was beautiful in a jarring way, and I could now see that it was built out of vines and brambles that had entangled so much that no one in the world could detangle it. The vines overlapped and entwined so tightly that not even a flake of snow could penetrate the walls, and the thorns that jutted out from the walls were three and four feet long—dangerous spikes that gleamed under the moonlight.

There was one entrance that I could see, and the guards in front of the opening looked very much like the guards escorting me. In fact, now that I looked at them closely, I could see a resemblance between them all. They weren’t exactly clones, but they were so alike they could have all been siblings.

As we approached, the guards at the door saluted my guards. Without a word, they moved aside to let us in. I could feel an undercurrent of discussion, but if they had anything to say, they kept it below the surface.

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