Eolyn (2 page)

C
hapter Two

Kaie’s ghost continued ahead
, never quite within reach, always beyond the next tree or around the bend. It led Eolyn deep into the forest before disappearing altogether.

Confused, Eolyn turned on her feet, trying to identify the path that had brought her here. Unfamiliar trees gawked at her. Thick bark twisted into expressions of loathing and disapproval. A strong gust rattled the high branches and sent a shower of auburn leaves fluttering to the ground. The birds did not sing. The squirrels did not chatter. The South Woods had never seemed so cold and heartless.

Fear pricked Eolyn’s skin. What if the legends were true? What if werewolves and seven headed rats and child-eating witches waited beyond those dark trees?

“How will I find the path?” Eolyn whispered.

The voice of Kaie returned.
Wander, my daughter. A woman’s path is made by wandering.

This was Eolyn’s only guidance now, words on the wind. Memories in her heart. Drawing a deep breath, she placed one uncertain foot in front of the other.

Days passed. Although Kaie had taught Eolyn how to find late season berries and distill water from moss, every morning the girl woke a little hungrier than the last. The further she traveled, the thinner the harvest. Emptiness began to gnaw at her belly.

One night, the restless cries of a blue-winged owl startled Eolyn out of her sleep. Barks and yelps pierced the shadows. A pack of wolves was bearing down upon her.

Panicked, Eolyn scrambled up a tree in the darkness. Branches stung hands and arms, raising jagged welts. Jaws snapped at her heels. Howls rose toward her. She clung to her perch while the pack snuffled below. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She felt like a fool. Why had she strayed so far? Why did she not wait for Ernan? What if her brother had survived? What if he were looking for her even now? She would die here before he found her, if not of starvation, then under the fangs of these terrible beasts.

By morning, the wolves had left. Limbs stiff from exhaustion, Eolyn climbed down the tree. After that night, she took to finding strong high branches in which to sleep.

About a week into her journey, as the new moon drifted behind the forest canopy, Eolyn awoke to see two Guendes leaning over her. They froze like a pair of fawns caught by surprise. The Guendes wore colors of night and forest. Their large eyes twinkled, and their button noses twitched. One held a simple lantern glowing orange-warm. The other laid a blanket of woolly moss and spider silk over Eolyn.

They seemed little more than a dream, but the Guendes gave Eolyn a sense of warmth and companionship, as if the forest had at last stretched out a comforting hand. Together, the Guendes began to sing in whispery tones. Eolyn shifted her position, closed her eyes, and slept.

The next morning, at the foot of the tree, she found a leaf dish full of ripe golden berries and a wooden cup with fresh milk from a Berenben tree. The generous breakfast delighted her. In thanksgiving, Eolyn gathered bright leaves and shiny brown nuts and left them for the Guendes, just as her mother taught her to do. From that day forward, the Guendes kept Eolyn warm at night and fed in the morning. They followed her with the invisible rustle of dry leaves.

By the time Eolyn arrived at a large stony riverbed, she had lost track of the moon’s passage. In a few months, spring would fill the river’s banks to overflowing, but now with autumn drying up into winter she crossed the water without wetting her feet by jumping from one stone to another. She paused on the opposite bank and considered following the current downstream.

Then another Guende appeared.

The creature stood a few feet away, reflecting hues of autumn. It wore colored leaves in its cap and an evergreen vest embroidered with seeds and nuts. Smiling eyes peeked out from under bushy brows. It proffered its hand. Eolyn was surprised by the feathery lightness of its touch, as if the Guende were not real at all, but a mere impulse that took hold of her and pulled her forward.

They left the river and walked almost an hour until Eolyn felt a subtle shift in the forest. The woods did not look any different, with old trunks, crusty bark, and draped moss. Yet something had changed.

Caught between curiosity and apprehension, Eolyn stopped. The Guende tugged at her hand. An intense drone filled Eolyn’s ears, as if she were passing through an invisible hive of bees. The buzzing ceased, and the Guende disappeared.

Eolyn stood in a small clearing. The thick expanse of trees that defined her world moments before had melted away. The ground sloped downward under a cover of soft grass and then rose again. Beyond a low hill hovered a faint wisp of chimney smoke.

Taken with a sudden enthusiasm founded on the hope of human company, Eolyn bounded forward. On the other side of the rise, she found a simple cottage surrounded by a thick garden.

“Good day!” she called out. “Is anyone home?”

The bushes rustled. A dark hood rose up and a voice crackled like fire. “Well, well. Who is this mouse that calls upon my humble house?”

Eolyn stepped backwards, regretting her boldness at once. How could she have been so foolish? She knew the stories about hags living in forests. They were witches, all of them. They turned children into bread and ate them for breakfast.

Rising to her full and somewhat crooked height, the hag shuffled toward Eolyn. “Don’t run away, my child.”

Eolyn had no intention of obeying, but her feet rooted into the ground like stubborn weeds.

Locating a stump next to the girl, the old woman eased herself down. Several minutes passed in silence.

“You are not much of a talker,” the hag said. “All the better I suppose. I’ve grown accustomed to an existence without chatter in this place. How long have you been in the woods?”

“Nearly a moon,” Eolyn whispered.

“A full moon?” the old one repeated with surprise and interest. “How did you survive so long on your own?”

“I know the late harvest berries and mushrooms and how to find springs and draw water from the moss. Then the Guendes found me.”

And led me here.  Treacherous beasts!

“I see,” the hag said. “What drove you into the forest in the first place?”

Eolyn blinked and looked away. Her eyes burned and a hard lump settled in her throat.

“Come, child.” The woman’s voice was gentle. “You can tell me.”

Eolyn was not going to tell her anything, but then the words spilled out anyway. “There were horses and soldiers and terrible fires, and they killed my father, and my brother never came back, and then I…I heard my mother. I saw her, I swear! She told me to follow her, but it wasn’t her after all. And then I got lost.”

The hag folded her arms and gave a slow nod. “You’re a very brave girl. How old are you?”

Eolyn shifted nervously on her feet.

“Nine summers, perhaps?” The old woman asked.

The blood drained from Eolyn’s face. Proof of witchcraft! How else could she have guessed her age?

“Speak, child. A guest in my house must say what she thinks.”

“Are you the witch who eats children?” Eolyn covered her mouth with both hands, shocked by her careless tongue.

The old lady’s eyes sparked in the shadow of her cloak. She reached up to remove her hood. Eolyn expected to see an ancient face twisted into a sharp warty nose, unkempt hair splayed like straw, and inflamed eyes that would hex her on the spot.

The truth proved oddly disappointing. The woman’s features were soft, lined with the many years that had bent her body. Her thick gray hair lay braided in a neat coil at the nape of her neck. Her nose was an unremarkable peak over narrow lips.

“Well that is not a question I get every day,” she said, watching Eolyn with keen gray eyes. “Tell me…What did you say your name was?”

“Eolyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Eolyn. I am Ghemena. Tell me, why do you think I am a witch who eats children?”

“Because you are an old woman, and you live alone in the South Woods.”

“That is rather damning evidence,” she conceded. “What else do you know about this child-eating witch?”

“She lives in a house made of sweetbread and children come to eat it. That’s how she fattens them up before she throws them into her great oven.”

“I see.” The woman nodded, her face a mask of careful reflection. “Well, young Eolyn, you can see my house. It does bear the shade of honey-sweetened bread. Why don’t you take a bite? If the legend is true you’ll be able to eat it. Even better, I’ll be able to eat you. But I will let you run first. I’ll give you a full half-a-day’s head start just for being such an astute little girl.”

The proposition horrified Eolyn, but she saw no other choice than to accept. Half a day was better than none. With half a day she might outrun the old hag, unless the hag could fly as witches were supposed to do.

Eolyn approached the house and ran her hands over the cinnamon-colored shingles. Her stomach growled, and hunger took over. Breaking off a splintery piece, she bit down hard. Pain shot through her teeth. Wood scraped her tongue. Disappointment and frustration set in.

She would have given anything to be able eat the old woman’s cottage just then, even if it meant being turned into a loaf of bread.

A loud snort made Eolyn spin around. The witch fell off her perch, wheezing. Tears streamed from the old woman’s eyes. “Don’t try too hard, child. You’ll break your teeth!”

It took several minutes for the hag to recover from her fit. Gasping for breath and clutching at her ribs, she rose on shaky legs. “A house of sweet bread! Who would invent such nonsense? Why don’t you come inside, Eolyn, and have some proper food?”

Unable to resist the force of her appetite, Eolyn followed the hag with a wary heart.

Inside, the cottage was dim and sparsely furnished. As Eolyn watched the hag stoke the fire in her meager kitchen, she considered her options. With winter standing restless at the gates of the South Woods, they were stark. She could starve in the barren forest before the first snows turned her into ice, or she could eat on Ghemena’s hearth until the witch turned her into breakfast.

“You can stay here, if you like, the whole winter through.” The old woman laid out a meal of hot vegetable stew, fresh bread, and Berenben cheese. “Come spring, I could send you back to Moisehén.”

Eolyn’s face descended into the bottom of her bowl as she drank Ghemena’s peppery brew.
Cruel witch, to talk of sending me back when she has no intention of doing so.

“I know a forester who wanders these parts,” Ghemena continued. “He could accompany you home.”

“I don’t have a home. It’s all gone. I told you that already.”

“You spoke of the deaths of your father and brother, but what of your mother? Where is she?”

“Mama went away last spring. She never came back.”

Ghemena’s gray brows furrowed. “Why did she leave?”

“I don’t know.” Eolyn’s throat began to ache. “I think she went to look for her loyalties because her allies had died. That’s what Papa said.”

Eolyn reached for a thick slice of bread and spread it with pungent cheese. She felt Ghemena study her every move, though whether the witch reflected on her father’s words or estimated the disappointing width of Eolyn’s arm, the girl could not tell. She wondered where Ghemena’s great oven was, and shuddered at the thought of charred remains of children’s bones inside.

“Was your mother the one who taught you about the forest harvest?” the hag asked.

“Yes.”

“What else did she teach you?”

Eolyn looked away from the table, her bread forgotten. Why did the witch keep asking bothersome questions? Now her stomach hurt too.
Maybe the food is poisoned!

“Did she teach you medicines?” Ghemena asked. “Did she tell you how to use plants to heal?”

The air shifted hot against the walls. Eolyn set her jaw. “I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

“I see.” Ghemena nodded. “What was her name?”

“Kaie.”

The old woman sucked a sharp breath through yellow teeth.

“I knew your mother,” she exclaimed softly, the pleasure of her discovery evident in her face. “A long time ago. Of course. I see the resemblance now. She was a maga warrior, one of the best of her generation.”

Eolyn’s gut lurched. It was not possible, not in the darkest of worlds, that this hag had known her mother. “What’s that? What’s a maga warrior?”

“A maga is a woman who knows magic. A maga warrior is also trained in the arts of war.”

“Mama was not a witch!” Eolyn’s anger evaporated the stones in her gut. “Mama was
beautiful
.”

Ghemena inhaled as if to respond and then held her breath behind pursed lips. A troubled sadness invaded her eyes. She pushed away from the table and shuffled to the front door. Unspoken thoughts trailed behind her in wispy clouds.

Eolyn’s head sank into her hands.
What was I thinking? I’ve just insulted a witch.

She would be dead before first snow fall for certain.

“It’s a fine afternoon,” Ghemena announced. “One of the last of the season, I imagine. Why don’t you wash the dishes, Eolyn, and meet me in the garden. We’ll have a cup of tea together.”