To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (7 page)

This made him feel even more out of control, but he understood it.

“So good to see you both,” Alondra said, sniffing and wiping her face with one arm. “I never thought to meet young seers from the line of Fawe again.”

“We’re here to find out who did that,” Amelie said, pointing to the dead apple orchard. “And to get you out of here.”

Alondra nodded sagely. “Yes, yes, I thought as much. I wondered if Helga would see what was happening, but I never expected her to bring help.”

Jaromir glanced at Amelie, who shrugged. Not all of this discussion was making sense.

Helga grasped her sister’s hand. “How far into those dead fields can we go?”

Alondra shook her head in alarm. “Not at all. We can’t leave the meadow.”

Helga thought for a moment and then said, “Jaromir, take me to the edge. I want to see what I can.”

Glad for some action, Jaromir looked over to see Céline and Marcus on the steps, waiting for her first patient. He trusted Marcus to stay with her.

“Come on,” he said, reaching down for Helga.

She let him haul her to feet and said to her sister, “You, too.”

Just as they were about to head for the edge of the
meadow, Helga stopped and her body went rigid. In alarm, Jaromir followed her gaze.

She watched a man who had moved away from the white wagon, but not dispersed with the others. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair cut short. His feet were bare. His eyes were on Céline.

“Not now, Helga,” Alondra said, her tone desperate. “Don’t do anything. Griffin is dead now, and Gerard leads our family, so things are different, but you stay away from Jago.”

Jaromir had no idea what any of this meant, but Helga continued glaring at the man.

“Your seer has Marcus right there with her,” Alondra pressed. “Nothing will happen.”

Amelie’s expression shifted to alarm. “What’s wrong? Who’s that man?”

“Jago Taragoš,” Helga answered, as if that explained everything. The hatred in her voice was thick. “Lieutenant, you watch him. He’s a killer.”

Jaromir stepped closer. “What?”

“He’s a killer, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Helga,” he insisted, “what do you mean?”

She didn’t answer, and the man called Jago turned and walked away.

“See, he’s gone,” Alondra said, grasping Helga’s arm. “Now come to the edge of the meadow, like you wanted.”

After a moment, Helga nodded to her sister. Jaromir wanted to press her but knew it would be pointless. Until she was ready to speak, he’d get nothing from her. The term “killer” was ambiguous. He himself had killed when necessary, and so had Amelie. For that
matter, so had Céline once. This man named Jago didn’t appear to concern anyone besides Helga, so Jaromir wasn’t sure what to make of the situation.

Still, he made a mental note to find out more about Jago.

After this, the four of them walked through the wagons and made their way south toward one side of the dried meadow. Jaromir spotted an area with about sixty paces between two guards, and he led the way.

Upon reaching the edge, Helga knelt and put her fingers into the dusty soil of the dead strawberry field. “Look at this,” she said.

He knelt beside her to see what she’d uncovered. About two inches beneath the dried topsoil, the dirt was dark and damp and rich. The berries should be thriving.

His eyes flew to her face. “What does it mean?”

“It means there’s no doubt this is some kind of curse, something cast by a kettle witch. You saw the forested areas. Someone has targeted the crops and only the crops.”

Jaromir absorbed that and stood up. He turned to Alondra. “When did this happen?”

“Eleven days ago,” she answered. “But it took several more days for Prince Malcolm to come and blame us.” She paused. “For some reason, he turned on a young outsider named Gallius, who’d married in to the line of Renéive. The prince had him tied to a tree and beaten and burned with irons and finally killed.”

“You’ve no idea why this Gallius was singled out?” Amelie asked her.

“None. The prince said Gallius had been seen in the
orchard with his arms in the air, but that’s nonsense. Gallius had only been with us since last year, but he loved summers in the meadow. He’d never have done harm to the crops.”

Helga glanced away as if trying not to wince.

“Has anyone else been questioned?” Jaromir asked.

“Just one,” Alondra answered, “but not down here. Twice now, the prince has sent soldiers to take Lilah . . . Gallius’s young wife, up to the castle. I think you all must have seen her today? She’s Rupert’s daughter, pretty thing, a bit full of herself, but I’d never wish her any harm. Thankfully, she came back both times unhurt.”

That made little sense to Jaromir. Princes normally had no reservations about using harsh methods against women when their livelihoods were at stake. It seemed odd that Malcolm had tortured the girl’s husband and then simply questioned her twice.

“That isn’t the worst, though,” Alondra went on. “The people are starting to suspect each other now. This would be a powerful curse for an outsider to cast. What if it was one of us?”

Amelie reached out and touched the woman’s arm. “If it was, my sister and I will find out, and we’ll get the rest of you free.”

Céline hurried inside the white wagon and lifted her wooden box of medicinal supplies onto the table. Opening it, she looked inside and began taking out the most commonly needed ointments, syrups, and elixirs.

Oliver was up on the top bunk. As of yet, he’d not ventured out of the wagon, and she wondered if he might be better off remaining inside for now.

Marcus stood in the open doorway watching her.

“I just saw Amelie heading off with Jaromir and Helga,” she said. “If I need assistance, can you help?”

“Yes. If you tell me what to do.”

Keeping busy helped to stave off the emotions running through her, and she kept seeing Sinead’s stricken face. Other snippets of the exchange that had taken place out front began coming back to her, and she had a few questions before any other people began to arrive.

“Marcus, you asked if you were welcome here, but Helga did not. I assumed she was somehow driven from her people, but no one questioned her presence. Do you know why she left?”

He dropped his eyes in embarrassment. She knew he didn’t care for such questions.

“I’ve been trying to remember for days now,” he answered. “But if she left five years ago, that was the same year my own family began falling into difficulties. The only thing I cared about was hunting and bringing home food.”

“So you have no idea?”

“I know there was some trouble between the Taragoš and the Ayres early that spring. Jago was accused of killing one of the Ayres, and there was a gathering of the leaders to make a judgment, and they found him innocent. If they deemed him innocent, he most likely was.” His embarrassment seemed to deepen. “But I don’t even remember Helga from back then. As I said, we were in difficulty ourselves, and I spent all my time either hunting or sleeping. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She almost regretted asking him now. “You can’t be blamed for seeing first to the needs of your family and spending most of your time hunting as a wolf.”

What a very odd conversation.

Footsteps sounded from the steps outside the door, and Céline looked over to see a mother with two children. Both children were coughing.

Céline smiled. “Come in.” She turned to Marcus. “I may need hot water. Can you build a campfire and get some started?”

After that, the time passed quickly. She’d brought plenty of cough syrup made from a mixture of honey and water that had been extensively steeped in rose petals. She treated several festered insect bites.

Marcus brought hot water when she needed some for cleaning.

For the most part, Céline thought these people were suffering most from fear and stress. She spoke with some of them and learned that the Yegor guards carried in water from a nearby stream for the horses and for cooking, but it was never enough. The shifters weren’t allowed to leave the meadow to hunt, and food supplies were running low. Grain for the horses was being rationed.

Marcus listened to this with a darkening expression, but Céline continued to work as quickly as she could.

A little girl came in with a particularly concerning injury on her hand. Her father carried her and sat her at the table.

“One of the guards has a dog,” he said. “She tried to pet it, and it snapped at her. The man did apologize and had the animal sent back up to the castle, but the wound has grown worse.”

Frowning, Marcus leaned down to look as well. The poor child’s hand was swollen and infected. Céline guessed several of the dog’s teeth had gone all the way through her palm.

Picking up a bottle of poppy syrup, Céline poured a spoonful and then spoke to the girl. “I have to clean your hand, and it will hurt a little. But this will make it hurt less.”

Without question, the child opened her mouth and Céline poured in the spoonful. She wanted to wait a bit to let the poppy syrup work.

“You like dogs?” she asked.

The child nodded. “’Cept ones that bite.”

“You must be careful with dogs you don’t know.” She pointed to the top bunk. “I have a cat, and he’s nice to most people.”

“What’s his name?”

“Oliver, and when we’re done here, you can pet him if you like.”

The girl’s eyes glazed slightly, and Céline knew it was time to work.

Picking up the jar of adder’s tongue ointment and a clean rag, she said, “All right, this might hurt a little.”

She started at the heel of the girl’s hand and began to work her way forward. When she finished cleaning the wounds, she put aside the adder’s tongue and switched to a mixture of ground garlic and ginger in vinegar.

“This is going to sting, but it will help with the infection,” she said.

The child flinched only once. She was quite brave.

Upon finishing with the adder’s tongue, Céline wrapped the hand in clean bandages and spoke to the father. “Bring her back tomorrow so I can check this. The wounds will heal, but we need to stop the infection.”

As the girl was too sleepy from the poppy syrup to pet Oliver, her father carried her out again.

After this, a few elderly people with painful joints arrived, and Céline switched to rubbing an ointment made from monkshood into their knees and shoulders. She was careful to wash her hands afterward.
Monkshood was astonishingly good for joints, but it was poison if ingested.

Marcus helped the last aging man down the steps and then came back inside. Céline sank down on the bench to rest for a moment.

“What these people need most is a decent meal and enough water for drinking and washing,” she said.

She could see he thought the same thing, only he seemed more angry than regretful.

“Marcus?” a voice said from the doorway.

Whirling, Marcus looked back toward the door. A young man stood there, hanging on the frame. He was small and wiry, with long dark brown hair tied back. He wore three small silver rings in his right ear.

“It is you!” he nearly cried.

To Céline’s astonishment, Marcus’s face broke into a smile. “Leif.”

Like a spring-loaded coil, Leif’s body sprang forward, and he embraced Marcus with a quick but fierce hug.

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard,” he said, moving back and gripping Marcus by the shoulders.

To Céline’s further astonishment, Marcus gripped Leif’s shoulders and playfully shoved him backward. Leif dashed forward again, as if to shove Marcus, and in the small space of the wagon, Marcus somehow managed to step aside.

Oliver jumped up in alarm, and Céline feared a wrestling match was about to take place.

But then Marcus laughed once and held out his hand. “Not in the seers’ wagon,” he said. “This is Céline Fawe.”

Leif studied her curiously and then bowed his head once. “Forgive me. I’m just so glad to see Marcus.”

“This is Leif Kaleja,” Marcus said. “He’s another shifter. A coyote, and a good hunter.”

Céline had no idea how to respond to such an introduction, so she nodded back.

Leif’s good-natured countenance grew more serious. “Marcus, where is everyone else? I heard you came with Helga Ayres and two Fawe seers. I know your family was banished from the meadow, but where are your parents and brother? Where are your cousins, Mercedes and Mariah?”

The happy expression on Marcus’s face faded.

“Mother is dead,” he answered, “and Mikolai. My father, Mercedes, and Mariah are safe, and much of the rest of the family.”

“Safe? Where?”

This was what Marcus had most feared, having to make explanations, and he didn’t want to talk about Ryazan.

Céline cut in. “The Marentõrs made the choice to settle in one place, and they’ve taken on a plot of land near Sèone. Marcus visits them frequently, but he travels with us, as the road is in his blood.”

Even though this was a slight embellishment to the agreed-upon story, it made more sense. He’d never simply abandon his family.

Marcus exhaled.

“Oh, I see,” Leif said. “Marcus, I’m sorry about your mother and Mikolai.”

“Can you tell everyone else?” Marcus said. “I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“Of course,” Leif said. “I’m just glad you’re here, and I wish we could hunt.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed, and Céline wondered what he was thinking.

“Leif,” she said, “do you have any idea at all who might be responsible for cursing the croplands?”

“It wasn’t one of us,” he answered adamantly. “Why would anyone here destroy our own summer haven? That’s why we haven’t tried to overpower the guards, even after Gallius was killed. No one knows why Prince Malcolm blamed him, but the leaders of the families would rather this be solved, the curse lifted, and for everything to go back the way it was.”

“Then who could it be?”

“Someone who hates Prince Malcolm, I imagine. But it wasn’t one of us.”

The three of them fell silent, and then Marcus slapped Leif lightly on the arm. “I need to finish setting up camp. We’ll talk later tonight.”

Both men left the wagon, but Leif’s final words kept repeating in Céline’s mind.

Someone who hates Prince Malcolm.

*   *   *

By early evening Céline, Amelie, Jaromir, and Helga had settled the horses and prepared the wagons for what might be an extended stay. Stairs had been set up at the back of both doors, secured cupboards had been opened, and most of the supplies unpacked from the rooftops.

Marcus had helped for a while, and then he’d vanished.

Céline wondered where he’d gone but didn’t want
to call attention to his absence, so she didn’t go looking for him.

The campfire had been circled with stones, and Helga procured water for tea and to make dinner. Water was limited, but Céline thought they could manage.

They had no fresh meat.

“Shall we do a lentil stew?” she asked. “And we’ll need to share some of these supplies with the other Móndyalítko. People are running low.”

“Share supplies?” Jaromir repeated. “With how many?”

As these words left his mouth, Céline looked up and saw Marcus walking toward them from the trees. He wore nothing but his pants again, and he wasn’t carrying his shirt. Instead, he carried a large dead deer—a buck—over his shoulders. His face and upper chest were smeared with blood. As he approached their wagons, other people saw him and came hurrying over.

A few paces from the campfire, he stopped and dropped the deer. Then he crouched beside it and reached for a knife Helga had left on a cutting board.

He’d barely gripped the handle when a guard in an orange tabard came jogging over. He was young and stocky, and his sword was still in its sheath, but he pointed at the deer. “Where did that come from?”

In one swift motion, Marcus stood up. “I caught it.”

Céline tensed. He looked feral and dangerous, half-naked with blood on his face and torso. His black eyes were locked on the guard. Céline had never been on the receiving end of that look, and she had no wish to be.

“Out in the forest?” the young guard sputtered. “You’re not supposed to leave camp.”

“I came back,” Marcus said calmly.

As this was indeed the case, the guard backed away a few steps. “Well . . . don’t do it again.”

Marcus ignored him and crouched down to begin skinning the deer.

“Céline,” he said, “spread word for the other women to come. Everyone should be able to take enough meat for their pots tonight. Give them potatoes and onions, too.”

“To everyone?” Jaromir asked. “There must be a hundred people here. That will cut down on our supplies.”

Céline reached out and touched his arm. “Marcus is right. These people respond to loyalty and goodwill, and they all need a proper meal.”

With some reluctance, Jaromir gave in, and soon, women began arriving with cheerful, grateful faces.

“Marcus, it is so good to have you with us again,” one older woman said. “But you must be careful. Some of the guards are worse than others.”

Apparently, none of the other shifters had thought to try to slip out at twilight.

The deer was butchered—Jaromir helped—and sections of meat were handed out. Céline, Amelie, and Helga passed out onions and potatoes.

Soon, every campfire in the meadow was aglow with a pot of venison stew hanging on a hook.

The mood of the meadow had changed, and the voices Céline heard were almost happy, as if the guards standing at various points around the perimeter didn’t
matter. As the Móndyalítko finished eating, they began to migrate toward Céline and Amelie’s wagons. They carried violins and small flutes.

“What’s happening?” Amelie asked.

“The hour of joy,” Helga answered, not seeming particularly joyful. “Time for us to entertain one another.”

Céline knew that most Móndyalítko spent a good part of the year earning their living by putting on shows—music, magic tricks, fortune-telling, and such—but she didn’t know how they spent their evenings.

By the firelight, a few of the men began to play their violins, and she stood frozen, listening to the beautiful strains floating on the air. Then, without warning, the pace of the music quickened, becoming wild and lively.

The pretty girl Céline noticed earlier, with the silky black hair, jumped from the crowd, nearer to the campfire, and began to dance. Again, Céline couldn’t move. She just watched.

The girl’s feet danced swiftly, and her hips moved in erotic circles as her skirt whipped about her on the night air.

Some of the Móndyalítko cheered and the music grew faster. Then another girl jumped forward to dance beside the first one.

Céline had spent many evenings entertaining others with stories or songs or telling fortunes, but she’d never seen anything like this. A part of her was filled with joy, but another part felt sorrow at the familiarity of it all, as if she had been part of this countless times before . . . and yet she knew she had not.

Some of the people nearby her parted to let a
newcomer through, and Céline looked over to see Sinead approaching. She was as lovely and dignified as a princess, wearing a long sapphire blue gown.

Reaching out, Céline took Amelie’s hand for comfort and support. Her sister grasped her fingers.

Sinead came right to them. Her soft voice could be heard easily over the music.