The Witch Leah rode her leggy blue roan Skye southwest towards the cliffs over the Western Ocean where the Castle Verionen sat. The annual festival and meeting of citizens of Zandor was upon them.
As she traveled the country, the healer talked to people, so she knew the rumors and the realities. There was trouble afoot in the form of a man named Elias. What the people didn’t know was, he wasn’t really a man. He was a deamhan, hell bent on their destruction.
Destruction of their way of life, their belief system, their land.
Elias was trouble and very few could see it, he was so charming and smart. He stayed away from the areas of the country that were prosperous. He avoided the farms that weren’t struggling. He focused on the places where they’d had drought, illness, or other discontent. He sowed the seeds of anger, greed and ill will towards one’s family, friends and neighbors.
The false prophet told of disasters that would occur if the people didn’t follow him and because there was just enough going wrong in their life and he was canny, with an understanding of human nature, they believed.
The Witch considered all she’d seen and heard in her proving years. At twenty-five she was young to be traveling the land. Most Witches were closer to thirty or thirty-five before they started chasing their dreams. Leah hadn’t had a choice. Her Aiti Alanna had died the previous winter, passing all her knowledge in one fell swoop to her only daughter. As the possessor of generations of knowledge and information she was bound to travel and heal the sick, educate the young and find the man in her dreams.
They had a shared future that couldn’t be denied or run from.
As she’d ridden from Castle Zaire to Ruija to Santeri and across the Pekko Plains she’d searched for the blue eyes from her dream, but so far hadn’t encountered them.
The Witch came to a wash that was too wide to cross, so she turned Skye north and hoped to find the head without going too far out of her way. She got lucky. The beginning of the wash was less than a quarter mile from where she’d turned.
There was a small, clear stream trickling into the end surrounded by cottonwoods and grass. It was late in the day, and this was a good place to camp.
Leah dismounted, unsaddled the mare and let her graze. She wasn’t worried about the horse straying or setting a guard. In this part of the country peace still reigned and the Pekkos, the earth dwellers, were never far away.
Lokai stood on the Castle wall and stared inland. The sea breeze blew his hair around his face as his long seeing eyes searched across the plains. Someone was moving through the grasslands towards the Castle, him, and his future.
The young Shaman expanded his senses, touched the auras of the citizens traveling towards the Castle for the festival and annual meeting. None of them was the one he sought. The aura he was searching for was bright, silvery, wild on the edges, disciplined dark blue in the middle. He felt a need to leave his home and duties to go towards it. Only discipline kept him standing on the parapet. The festival would begin in the morning and his parents, the Old Shaman Valdin and the Goddess Helena would expect him to be here. Future or not.
A movement at his left elbow caused the young Shaman to turn his head. His never aging Aiti stood there looking in the same direction, a knowing smile on her lips. Sometimes having an omnipotent being for a parent was tough. You couldn’t lie or be evasive and even though she never went into his mind she always knew, with an Aiti’s knowledge, what he was thinking. It made it hard to get away with anything.
“Soon Lokai, be patient.” She said, her voice melodious. He sighed heavily. She had been saying the same thing his entire life. He wanted to run blindly into the future and see what would happen. Leap and shout and explore. But he was tied to the Castle, heir to the old Shaman until the day he had his own child. But not just any child. It must be a child of extraordinary birth to become the next inhabitant, the next caretaker. ‘No pressure there.’ He thought bitterly. Helena nudged his shoulder with her own, slid her arm around him and hugged him tightly. Lokai closed his eyes, released the thoughts of running away to the universe. The Goddess released him and turned to go, knowing he would follow.
A chill breeze woke Leah at daybreak. Her small fire had burned down to embers and gave off very little heat. Skye stood on the other side, head up, ears pricked, sniffing the air. The mare snorted and blew. Moved two steps, stopped, snorted again.
The Witch sat up, pulled her cloak on and pulled up the hood, then pulled on her boots. She heard footsteps, lots of them. With the way the blue mare was acting she chose to err on the side of caution and cast a glamor about her camp as she stood bringing her blanket with her. She folded it, pushed down over the coals with her hands flat until the fire went out all the while watching the direction the mare was looking.
It took several minutes to gather her things and saddle the mare, a sense of urgency pushing her.
Glamor tightly in place the Witch mounted and moved into the thickest part of the trees as a group of people, mainly farmers and men, entered her clearing. They stomped across the creek, muddying the water in their mindless haste, led by the dissenter, Elias. They were headed for the Castle and the festival.
Leah watched from her hiding place in the trees, one hand on her sword hilt. When they finally vanished from view, and she could no longer hear them she relaxed. The evil that emanated from the false prophet was palpable.
Maintaining the glamor Leah moved the mare forward and rode to the top of a small rise. The hoard seemed to be gathering people as they marched. The Witch followed, unheard and unseen, moving around their edges, trotting rapidly, finally passing the leaders. Once she was ahead of the group, she nudged the mare into a canter and headed for the Castle.
“Remember son, regardless of what happens, our purpose isn’t to rule, but to advise.” Valdin said for the fourth time.
“Yes Iso.” Lokai replied as he stood in front of a huge fireplace. The Castle thrummed around him, a living entity that welcomed them, housed and fed them. Lokai had spent most of his life in the Castle and knew it nearly as well as it knew him.
The building rumbled, the Koti Halitja or spirit alternately being pleased, then displeased by the people gathering on its grounds and the surrounding cliffs. Then it stopped. It was the momentary lack of anything that caught the young Shaman’s attention. He reached out to the Castle, then the area around it and felt the silver aura. The Halitja rumbled a joyous sound and Lokai walked swiftly to the doors, down the steps to the courtyard just in time to see a blue horse and a cloaked rider appear out of thin air. He knew the glamor for what it was. Knew the golden-brown eyes and silver aura were the ones he’d been seeking.
The woman looked around at the small knots of people, her gaze finally coming to rest on the man at the foot of the stairs, blue eyes flashing in amusement. She pushed her hood back and that was when he saw it, the Witch Light. The silvery white streak in the woman’s hair, slightly off center, glowing for all to see. Most of the conversations had paused at the sound of the mare’s shoes on the cobbles as the crowd turned and watched the Witch dismount.
Lokai moved the few steps to the horse’s head, lightly touched her rein as the woman’s feet touched the ground. She loosened the cinch, then turned and looked into his eyes. She was tall, nearly as tall as him. The Haltija rumbled happily as the assembled crowd moved closer.
Lokai was just about to introduce himself when a women with a crying child came up to the pair and said, “Please lady, will you help my babe?”
Leah set up a small tent in a corner of the courtyard and began seeing patients of all shapes, sizes and ages. Lokai tried to get in the doorway but couldn’t. After a while he went out into the Castle grounds proper and did his duty as Shaman. He listened to people’s problems and concerns, never actually offering advice, but helping them figure out a solution.
There was a large group just outside the Castle walls full of anger and discontent. He could feel it seeping into the air around him. The Haltija wasn’t happy but kept its peace, for now.
Just past the knot of descent was the main body of citizens of Zandor. Happy, content people setting up camp, talking to old friends, discussing the weather, crops and economics. Lokai expanded his senses again and touched on his Aiti Helena, now at the Witch’s tent, the Witch, the false prophet Elias. He lingered over the last one, curious at the things he felt emanating from the man. Hate, discontent, malice, and there, near the middle, something else, something not of this world.
Lokai poked the little spot, all the while watching the man. Elias turned towards him, eyes searching the grounds for the being with enough power to probe him that deeply.
The young Shaman pulled back, fluffed up the innate magic in the immediate vicinity of the man and went in search of his Iso.
“It does not matter what or who he is, we do not interfere. We advise.” Valdin said when Lokai told him there was a deamhan in their midst. The Haltija rumbled its displeasure.
“But,”
“No, no buts. You know the rules. This is a free country. The people govern themselves. Watch, listen, learn.”
“Yes Iso.” Lokai finally relented.
Footsteps behind him caused the young man to turn and find his Aiti and the Witch. The younger woman was looking at the living marble walls in amazement. She could not only hear the Haltija but could feel the heartbeat of the Castle. It made her feel welcome, invited her to stay within its protective walls and she wanted to. Here she could let down her guard and really sleep, something she hadn’t been able to do since her Aiti had died.
The Witch realized everyone was watching her as she focused on the house spirit. The Goddess with a motherly smile, the Old Shaman with a knowing one and the young Shaman in awe. Their eyes finally met and the Haltija rejoiced, loudly and the bulk of the crowd reacted with a joyous cheer, two souls had met and recognized one another. It was an occasion for celebration.
Lokai walked to the two women and bowed, first to his Aiti, then to the Witch who responded with a formal curtsy.
“Lokai, rakas, this is Leah, the last true Witch in Zandor. Leah, this is our son Lokai, the young Shaman, heir to the Castle Verionen.” He reached for her right hand, slid his across her palm and grasped her wrist as she did the same. The entire Castle reverberated rapidly, then settled into a rhythm like a heartbeat as the two souls collided.
The young Shaman pressed his luck and leaned down, kissing the Witch, sliding his free hand under her braided hair. When their lips met a glow emanated from the Castle and he knew he’d met his mate.