World Weaver (The Devany Miller Series Book 4) (21 page)

The townsfolk were gathered in the middle of the village. A group of young warriors stood apart from the crowd, packs on their backs. There were many tearful goodbyes. My eyes snagged on one of the women warriors. Her dark blond hair was braided and hung down her back, wild curls escaping to frame her face. Her dark eyes were crinkled at the corners, both because of the bright light and happiness. A white scar ran from her ear lobe to her collarbone. Blue tattoos curled around her jaw and down her neck. More color swirled at her temples and on the backs of her hands. It was Sephony, without the crazy goddess look about her.

“Caw!” The raven flew up from the rack to my shoulder. I tensed but its claws didn’t hurt, another reminder that I was dead.

“Hello?” Though I was close, none of them turned their heads. ‘Memories,’ I reminded myself. I moved closer to a small woman at the edge of the group and waved a hand in front of her face. Her hand flew up as if to shoo away a fly.

Weird.

This was how I would find the eye, then? Tagging along like a ghost to watch Sephony meet the Witch King?

A man and woman came forward, older than Sephony but obviously her parents. They weren’t happy with each other. Their movements were anger-stiff and too formal. The mother came forward first and gripped Sephony’s arms tenderly. “I wish you luck, Daughter. May your arrows fly true and your sword bite deep.”

“May hearth and home remain safely in your keep,” Sephony replied. The words, so familiar, ghosted through my body. All those many centuries ago, and they were still using the same greeting to send loved ones on their way. The weight of the Wydlings’ history settled warmly on my shoulders.

“Remember,” Sephony’s father said. “The Witch King bespells with his words as much as his looks. Do not let him distract you from your mission.”

“I will remember my vows, Father,” Sephony said, reproach in her voice.

He had the decency to look abashed. “I know. Take care, Sephony. You take my heart with you when you go.”

Sephony’s eyes swam with tears.

After the goodbyes, the small contingent of warriors set on their journey. Sephony looked back once and then they traveled out of sight.

I followed, making my way through the throngs of villagers, intent on keeping up with the band of warriors. At the edge of the village, dread filled me, a sense of wrongness that set me on edge. I spun around, eyes searching, snagging on a mist that curled through the crowd like a swarm of bees. The Wydlings didn’t seem to see it, but they felt it—boy, did they feel it. People fell off the path or turned abruptly away. One young girl started screaming, her mother bouncing her frantically on her hip as she tried to figure out what had made her baby cry.

The raven screeched at the mist, flapping its wings in my face. I spluttered, stumbling backward as I tried to dislodge the stupid bird from my shoulder. When the raven finally flew off, the mist had vanished, leaving behind the stench of evil

The black bird landed on a cactus a few hundred feet from me. “Caw!” it said.

“Caw, stupid bird,” I answered. “What the hell was that thing?”

It snapped its beak at me, which wasn’t helpful. When I got within a few feet of it, the raven flew off into the distance.

Like an idiot, I followed.

***

I didn’t have to catch up to the warriors after all. One minute I was alone in the Wilds but for the raven, and the next I was standing with a group of witch soldiers beside a small stream cut deep into the ground. The soldiers made disparaging jokes about the Wydlings on the opposite bank, muted laughter rolling through the ranks. “Savages,” I heard more than one witch mutter.

I moved away from them, my eyes on a man who stood near the stream. He wore dark brown leather armor molded to his body by an expert craftsperson. His movements were sure and sinuous despite the extra layers of protection. He was a man who commanded armies and whose smile would conquer kingdoms. Tytan and Krosh both had told me my power was attractive; I knew on an instinctual level that was true. I had nothing on this man. His power was written all over his tightly woven aura and the deceptively relaxed way he stood.

He had to be the Witch King. No wonder Sephony had fallen for him. No wonder his betrayal had driven her insane.

Why would a man with such obvious power need to steal the Omphalos?

Sephony strode forward and the soldiers behind me fell silent. She was young, but she had presence and all eyes turned to her. The Witch King’s interest in her was obvious.

They had been doomed to their fates the moment he laid his eyes on her.

“I am Sephony o’ Durro of the First Clan.” For a moment, Sephony paused, obviously struggling to remember what she was supposed to say. She looked relieved when the right words snagged in her memory. “Daughter of Tyrstan o’Durro, Inkosi of First Clan. These are my shield brothers and sisters and we come to treat with Sorgen of Valley’s Head, King of the Witches.”

The Witch King smiled and the effect on Sephony was obvious even from where I stood. “Welcome, Princess Sephony of First Clan.” His voice held authority as well as the lilt of humor. He bowed to her with a flourish that I suspected held a hint of mockery in it. “It is with great pleasure that I, King Sorgen of Valley’s Head, welcome you and your own.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Sephony had given him barely a nod, which annoyed the witches. Someone muttered, “Thinks she’s above us all.” Someone else grunted in agreement.

When it became obvious that Sephony wasn’t going to bow, the king said, “I pledge that you and your people will be safe from harm and under my personal protection all the while you sleep, eat, and breathe on my lands.”

She licked her lips. “And I pledge that you and your people will be safe from harm and under my personal protection all the while my people sleep, eat, and breathe on your lands.”

The king gave her the smallest of nods, as if he were proud of her, then he lifted his hands and the magic shifted, tugged by the sheer power of the man. The hairs on my arms stood on end as the Witch King stole energy from the ground and air to create a bridge that materialized over the small stream. Why they couldn’t have stepped over, I didn’t know. Probably the water was filled with magical killer fish that would strip a person’s flesh in less than thirty seconds if one dared step in it.

The party of Wydlings crossed the bridge, wariness writ in the set of their shoulders and in their tight, tense silence. I didn’t blame them for being nervous. They certainly weren’t among friends.

I prayed I wouldn’t have to witness any violence. This was all just a memory, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change things, no matter how distressing.

“What did you get me into, Bird?”

The raven cawed and flew over to the Witch King, landing on his shoulder. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized Sorgen not only noticed the bird, but fed it bread from his pocket.

***

“What is going on?” I asked the bird when I caught up to the group.

It ruffled its feathers, its head tipped to stare at me with a beady, black eye.

“He can see you, but not me?” I asked, walking closer to the Witch King. When I did, he looked up sharply. His eyes didn’t quite land on me, but he definitely sensed me. “Can you hear me, Sorgen?”

“What are you up to, Raven?” he murmured.

“Caw!” it said.

“Just so?” His gaze sharpened and for a moment it touched me. My stomach fluttered, damn it all, and then his attention was drawn back to Sephony.

I forced myself to remember him as the burnt figure standing guard in Tempest Peaks, ash flaking off him with every gust of wind, to remember Sephony’s pain when she talked of him. It dulled his bright beauty.

I wished I could do the same for Sephony, help her see the danger under the liquid promise of his eyes, but I was stuck as observer and what I was observing was the past. Already done. Already finished.

King Sorgen gestured with the arm not occupied by bird. “We will camp here today. Tomorrow we will ride for my home and my people will honor this parlay with a full table, wine, and much celebration.”

Sephony frowned. “Should we not get to the talks as quickly as possible? The Red Riders will not wait for us to exchange pleasantries.”

He held out his arm for her and she looked at him as if he were slow in the head. “May I escort you?”

“What?”

“It is polite for a man to offer his arm to a woman.”

“I don’t need help walking,” she said, affront in her voice.

He dropped his arm, a small smile playing on his lips. “Of course you don’t.”

They walked in silence for a few yards and then she said, “I hope you don’t think me rude.”

I snorted and he glanced over his shoulder as if he’d heard me. “Of course not,” he said. “Come, we can talk informally about the situation in my tent. I have maps of the surrounding areas and some information about the movements of the Riders.”

“I have documents to share with you as well. Our Dream Mother has been keeping a close, but shuttered eye.” At his look, Sephony said, “It is in Dreams that we pursue it, though a few of the People have fallen victim to its spell.”

I could tell that she’d lost him with that. A faint curl of distaste flickered on his lips before he composed himself. “Well, we will talk about that and many other things. How did you find your journey?”

She shot him another look. What she found odd this time? “It was a journey. We did not find it well nor ill.”

“A courtesy,” he said again.

“Ah. You have a lot of courtesies here, then?”

“We do.”

“Why?”

“To make it easier to live together.”

“I would think kindness and honesty would make that a simple thing.”

He gave her a practiced smile. “Perhaps it is easy for your people as you live in such small groups. In Valley’s Head, there are thousands of witches and something more than mere kindness and honesty is needed to keep the peace.”

She laughed, and boy did that not sit well with him. “Mere kindness and honesty? I can see that my father was right. Your kind do not value the important things.”

He stopped. “Are you saying our society is defect?”

“Yes.”

The answer obviously caught him off guard. It took him a moment before he found the humor in it, and when he did, he laughed. “You are a refreshing change from my ever duplicitous court.”

They were falling for each other and I wished very badly I could prevent it. Instead, I tagged along, listening, feeling creepy and interested all at the same time. Surely I was hearing all this for a reason. “There’s a reason for all this, right?” I asked the bird.

It shifted its body, wriggling its tail feathers, dismissing me. I stuck my tongue out at it and plodded on.

SEVENTEEN

Sometime in the middle of the night, after everyone had fallen asleep but the guards, I sensed the wrongness again. I pushed myself off the ground where I’d been drawing in the dirt, bored, and opened my Magic Eye. A brilliant, white-hot spot of power glared from Sorgen’s tent and beside it, the black mist roiled. Was it attacking Sorgen? Or had he invited it in?

Whatever it was, it oozed evil, the kind of evil that curdled milk and shriveled men’s courage. It couldn’t hurt me, though, because I was dead. Because I was only here as an observer. Sure, Sorgen had caught a glimpse of me and heard my snort, but that didn’t mean I was really here. I could pass all that off as coincidence or the weirdness of magic that I still didn’t fully understand.

It didn’t mean I would be able to affect anything here or be affected by it.

I was safe.

I was safe.

That was my mantra as I crept toward the tent, past one of the guards who looked as bored as I had felt moments ago. She obviously didn’t sense what I did. The tent flap was shut, but power glared through like the eye of Sauron.

I so didn’t want to see what was behind the canvas.

I couldn’t not reach for it.

It was
her
voice that stilled my hand.

“If I say that she is the one who will solidify your power in Midia, then it is so. Do not forget who you are dealing with, witch.”

Terror threaded through me, right to my toes.

Ravana.

It was impossible; she was dead. Except, she wasn’t. Or rather, we both were.

My head ached, instantly, despite my status of dead person. I fought not to hyperventilate and reminded myself I killed her. I killed her.

My traitorous brain conjured up the arena, the overwhelming fear, Ravana’s head in my hands, Neutria’s strength pouring into me so I could do the gruesome deed of breaking Ravana’s neck.

I broke her neck. I killed her. She was gone and she couldn’t hurt me anymore.

The raven was suddenly in my face, wings beating desperately, driving me back.